March 6, 2014
Burrito and Tamale are really into a few songs right now. One of them happens to mention the word “pray.”
This has led Burrito to keep asking me about prayer. I’ve been telling him:
“Some people pray as a way of talking to G-d or Jesus.”
(Even though he is Jewish, he has heard of Jesus from the aforementioned song as well as random other places, such as medieval art and an ichthys on his preschool teacher’s car.)
“Other people pray as a way of talking to their own minds. In Hebrew, the word for pray is a reflexive verb.”
(Linguistics are clearly way beyond him, but this point is highly relevant to my own conception of prayer, so I mentioned it.)
“Whether or not people believe that anyone else can hear their prayer, they know that they can hear it. Some people are praying to talk to someone else, and some people are just talking to themselves. Just by saying it, you make it more likely that it will become real. In yoga we call this an intention.”
(I know he’s done a bit of mediation in yoga classes, but I’m not sure if there have been any intentions. Very relevant for me, though.)
“There are different kinds of prayers. A lot of prayers are wishes. You could wish that someone sick could become healthy, or you could wish that someone who is having a hard time will get better, or you could wish that something scary will be okay. Other prayers say thank you. When we say ‘Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam Borei Pri Hagafen’ we are being thankful for fruits.”
(Technically this blessing on “the fruit of the vine” is for wine, and there’s actually a different Hebrew blessing for fruits, but he knows the wine blessing from synagogue.)
“When we say ‘Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam Hamotzi Lechem Min Haaretz” we are being thankful for bread. We could be thankful for food, or people we love, or being healthy, or friends, or anything.”
Then Burrito said, “I am thankful for honeydew and cantaloupe and pineapple and cookies. And Mommy and Daddy and Tamale.”
What does prayer mean to you?
February 13, 2014
There’s a meeting that I go to once a month with people who work at all different places. There’s one guy at the meetings who looks like he should be in The Octagon rather than a conference table. Very tall, very muscular, shaved head, menacing goatee. Stoic expression all the time.
One day we went around and said our hometowns. He joked, “Earth.” Another member of the meeting said, “I would have guessed the planet Krypton.”
The big guy said, “Actually, it’s more like Vulcan.”
He goes through life looking like an enforcer, when inside he’s really a brainiac.
My husband’s home planet is even harder to identify, because he’s full of complexity. Even when I first met him, I kept encountering more layers in the onion… and he’s gotten more and more interesting in the almost 20 years since. He’s smart and charming and athletic and warm and snarky. So, you’ll never guess the planet right because no one alien race suffices. Anyone first meeting him will get an accurate sense of him, yet they also have no idea how much more there is. Even our own children have no idea about certain facets of his personality. He’s quite chill with them, but every now and then they’ll get a glimpse of the manic whimsy often displays with me and his friends, and they look at him like he actually is an alien.
With me, I think what you see is pretty much what you get. I haven’t read/seen enough sci-fi to have found a planet of beings like me. Let’s call it Planet BabySmiling. For anyone who was familiar with this theoretical planet, they’d be able to peg me as a BabySmilingite instantly. I’m glad there is no such planet though… I don’t think I could handle more than one of me.
Do people get the wrong impression from the image you portray? Or is what you see what you get?
January 9, 2014
Sorry to disappear for a month — so, so busy. It turns out that my promotion brought a 30% pay increase and a 100% work increase. I deeply enjoy my work, but I am not enjoying having this much of it. I am not enjoying staying up working until 3 a.m. once or twice a week in advance of fake deadlines.
I never used to mind, and sometimes used to really enjoy, working super-hard. But I only enjoyed it when it was by my own volition, which is much more palatable than being asked/told to work super-hard.
But, since I’ve been ill, I just can’t push push push like I used to. I still work very hard when I’m working, and I mostly enjoy it once I get started, but I now have a hard time getting started. Sometimes I procrastinate for hours. Which then means that I have to make up those lost hours or work twice as hard in fewer hours. Which means that I do have to push push push after all.
Which perhaps explains why I haven’t blogged in a month. But here I am.
How often do you work really hard? Do you like it?
November 21, 2013
Welcome to the November Intelligentsia.
If you watched The Office during the brief Will Ferrell era, you may remember the Inner Circle episode. The new boss hand-picked a few people for exclusive meetings, including some obvious choices like Jim and counter-intuitive choices like Kevin. The inner circle was particularly egregious because everyone could see the secret meetings going on, so everyone else knew that they had been left out of the inner circle.
I’ve never experienced the inner circle phenomenon, as far as I know — if it has gone on around me, I guess my bosses have been good at hiding their existence. Recently, though, the Big Boss has, for some reason, brought me into his inner circle. A few weeks ago there was a meeting to make some big decisions, with 3 very senior staff, a newly recruited hotshot, and me. I frankly held my own in the meeting, but still I had no business being on the list. No one asked me what the hell I was doing there, but they would have been totally within reason if they had.
Then again today, I was on a short list of people that Big Boss emailed to ask for a vote on something. I should be at #23 in the organizational hierarchy based on status and experience, but somehow I made Big Boss’s top 7.
This is all particularly ironic given that one of my immediate bosses is constantly disappointed in my work. Today was the first meeting in two months where she didn’t chastise me for something. Two weeks ago I totally killed it with outstanding work, which she absolutely couldn’t criticize, so instead she complained that I hadn’t turned in my time card.
Yeah well fuck her. I am riding my inner circle membership all the way to the top! I will leapfrog right over her!
Until Big Boss retires.
Have you ever been in the inner circle? Have you ever been left out of the inner circle?
October 31, 2013
I’m glad to see Halloween end. I adore little children in costumes, and I’m often amused by big kids and adults in costumes. I’m fine with pumpkins and candy. But I do not like all of the scary stuff. I don’t like the scary movies on TV and in theaters all month, I don’t like the death-themed decorations, I really don’t like the horrifying costumes. Last year, two different trick-or-treaters who came to our door were so scary that they made Burrito cry (out of more than a hundred, so the odds were small, but still). I abhor haunted houses. Few things in life sound less appealing than someone jumping out at me or, worse, grabbing me in a dark room.
Burrito and Tamale are consistently confused by all of the scary Halloween stuff. Why would someone make their lawn into a graveyard? Why do so many big kids choose to dress in scary costumes? Why does our neighbor’s door have a ghost that makes scary noises when you walk by? Why would people want to be scared?
Beyond Halloween, they both don’t understand the drive for being scared. One of their favorite activities is adjacent to an amusement park, and they can hear the people on the roller coasters screaming. They are so perplexed by people voluntarily putting themselves in a situation where they would be so afraid. Burrito in particular has no plans to ever, ever go on a roller coaster. Tamale at this point wouldn’t particularly seek it out, but she’s game for pretty much anything, so I predict that in a few years I’ll be sitting next to her on roller coasters while Burrito and his dad watch from the ground. I’m fine with roller coasters, not because I like to be scared but because they don’t particularly scare me. I’m not seeking thrills because I don’t experience a thrill. Sometimes they’re whatever, and sometimes I enjoy the weightless feeling of coasting and flying, but it’s not exciting for me. Based on the number of people lining up for roller coasters and haunted houses, I am clearly in the minority.
Do you enjoy being frightened?
October 24, 2013
There are a lot of things I like about the house I now live in, but this red maple tree in my front yard may be my favorite.
(The color of the sky is accurate, but the leaves are even more vibrant in person.)
Before I lived in this city, I lived in the epicenter of foliage, the kind of destination to which leaf peepers make pilgrimages. And my house was surrounded by trees on all sides. It was glorious. There are a lot of things I don’t miss about that place, but at this time of year, I do miss the leaves.
I grew up in a place with no foliage whatsoever. Many trees weren’t deciduous, and the ones that did lose their leaves in autumn just seemed to turn brown. In high school biology class when we were learning about the leaf cycle, the teacher pointed out that the new girl had just moved from New Jersey. We all clamored around her, bombarding her with questions about the foliage. It was as if she’d just moved from Jupiter.
There are two things I really love about winter. #1: Walking outside in the morning after a big snowfall and trying to identify the animal tracks. In my previous locale, I did not love the snow that stuck around for months and months, and mostly I vastly prefer winter in my current city where the snow almost always melts instantly (and where we sometimes get days in the 60s or 70s). But, it was wondrous when I lived in the forest and tried to track all of the visitors who’d passed through my driveway that morning. Deer, rabbits, birds, squirrels, mice, beavers, woodchucks. There were some animals that I almost never saw, but they all left their mark. I loved solving the puzzle of the footprints, and I loved imagining them walking/running/hopping around my driveway while I was asleep.
#2: Super giant snowflakes. I’ve never seen them in this city, and only a couple of times in my last home; really only a handful of times in my life. My first time was during my first year of college, when I moved from a place where it never snows to a place where it snows plenty. One January day I was sitting in sociology class, and I looked out the window and there were marvelous, enormous snowflakes. Really enormous — some were as large as an inch in diameter. They danced through the air. It was like a cartoon version of snow. Everyone kept watching them dance. Even the students who came from snowy places were mesmerized. Our poor professor and Durkheim just couldn’t compete.
In the spring, daffodils are my absolute favorite. My appreciation largely stems from learning Wordworth’s poem as a child. When Burrito and Tamale were small, instead of telling them nursery rhymes, I’d recite poetry. When I was pushing them in the stroller in the spring, any time we’d pass daffodils, I was compelled to recite the whole poem. There are other flowers I enjoy too, but there’s something unique about daffodils that “my heart with pleasure fills.”
And in the summer, even though I grew up very close to the ocean, I don’t particularly care for the beach. I don’t like sand, I don’t like hot weather, I don’t like bathing suits, and I am unimpressed by flat coastlines. I do like the sounds of the waves, and I enjoy watching the surfers, but what really floats my boat are the hills and lakes of the Pacific NW. I shot the photo below just a few blocks from my house at the time; when I would come around a bend, or over the crest of the hill, and be confronted by a view like this, it got me every time.
What are your favorite aspects of nature?
October 10, 2013
Welcome to the October Intelligentsia.
The first of my husband’s high school friends turned 40 today. Exactly eighteen years ago today, I teased that friend that since he’d turned 22, he was now in his mid-20s. He protested, “No, I’m still in my early 20s!”
I’ve seen people freak out about turning 30, 40, 45, 50, 60… And even some of the non-round numbers.
My mother objected to every age. She always looked much younger than her age, and her lies continued that illusion. She would even try to get me to lie to her friends, acquaintances, manicurists, baristas, et al., since “I don’t want to be old enough to have a 25 year old” (or any other age).
I’m the opposite, at least so far. With each new birthday, I’m happy to announce my age (38 coming up shortly!). As my husband always says when someone laments getting another year older, it beats the alternative.
Are there any ages, future or past, that freak you out? How do you react to getting older?