In Which I Unabashedly Show Off My Daughter

(I was going to just type these off and send to grandparents and aunts, but why not share with the world?!) (All transcriptions verbatim.)

E's "I Am Thankful" assignment

I am thankful for my family. My sister who plays with me. My dad who takes me to school wet or dry. My mom who takes care of me. My uncles who plays with me and my sister and cousins. My aunts who take care of my cousins. My grandparents who take care of me when my parents are away and all the other people who I did not mention. It is important to be thankful because it meen you have a lot of good things.

E's pumpkin poem (first they "brainstormed" the alliterative words, she told me) (she did not say alliterative)

Pick pumkins in a patch.
Under leaves find them
Make many mavalois Jackolanterns
Put ps o Jackolanterns
Kids kick and crack pumkins
In a wheelbarrow lots of pumkins lay
Naging parents for more not to many

Can You Plagiarize Yourself?

Or is it OK if one piece is published in America and the other in England? When do you think the book comes out? And if she can't manage to get enough material for two DIFFERENT articles, does she really think she'll have enough for a book?

Well, goodness, she's Jane Smiley's daughter. That will help with the book contract. And explains Salon and the Independent.

[Note: I am being snarky. I am assuming she is trolling for a book contract. Really I know nothing about her beyond the links above. The first paragraph is based on a Jezebel post which reminded me of something I recalled blogging. The second paragraph is based on my out-of-control google habit. Neither article is worth this much of my time and attention.]

Literary Tidbits

Recalling our first successful foray into books on tape, we prepared for Thanksgiving driving with a visit to the library. This time we discovered that books on tape are not magic bullets: it all depends on the reader. Since it was our first time, we had no idea that part of the reason we loved Ballet Shoes was the engaging, multi-vocal, dramatic voice of the woman who read it. Little Women, in contrast, was a bust. The reader's voice was not particularly attractive to begin with, and her reading was monotonous at best. We made it to supper after the Christmas play, and that was it. Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's Farm was a great improvement, even if the dramatic variation occasionally verged on shrill. The book is a wacky commentary on, hmm, I'm guessing either 30s or 50s middle-class motherhood. Looks like 50s. Anyway, the fathers are useless, the mothers are distraught, there are lots of women's clubs and crazy food like peanut butter-sardine-prune salad (I made that one up, but really they are all like that), and Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, who has no kids of her own, as far as I can tell, is the master of motherhood.

***

On a lovely hike in a rocky glen, the grandfather, uncle, teenager, M, and I played Quotations--is that a game? If not, it should be. Basically (you knew this ten words ago), one person says a quotation and the others have to guess who said it. We ranged from Archimedes to A Tribe Called Quest, but we specialized in Big Bill, Big Bob, and the Big Bs*, which tells you something about how white, middle-class, liberal, and over-educated our family is. At any rate, it was very fun, and especially fun that everyone was having such a good time and could contribute and participate, and that the rocks of the rocky glen made for such good climbing.

***

E spent about half a day with Abby Hayes and has now moved on to the Beacon Street Girls. She is in first grade, and the Beacon Street Girls are in seventh grade, or so M tells me, and I'm feeling a bit anxious about this, but it's not like I'm going to stop her. M says the stuff that's too old for her will just go over her head, and I'm guessing she'll give up pretty soon, as the real point is to Do What M Does. She's quite excited, though, pointing out to me how the font changes when there are emails, and that each chapter has the name of a girl so you know who's thinking it. She is becoming very observant in her reading. The other day she told me that some books take you into people's heads, but some books just watch people. I did not take the opportunity to discourse upon omniscient narration, but I did tell her she was right.


*That would be Shakespeare, Dylan, and the Beatles, for anyone who might be wondering.

Thanksgiving Knitting

Thanksgiving is usually the beginning of my knitting season, but this year the season started early, when K and D visited a few weeks ago while the knitting store around the corner was holding its going-out-of-business sale. I should probably feel sadder--or more guilty--about the knitting store around the corner going out of business, and I know I will rue its absence when I go to my knitting box and discover I don't have the size needles I need for a project (though truly, by now I have so many needles I can't imagine that happening, though of course it will, for I will inevitably choose the one project that uses the one size needles I don't have). But really that store was mainly good for emergency needles: the yarn selection was small and not particularly interesting: they rarely had what one needed for a project, nor did they inspire impulse buys.

But a knitting store's going-out-of-business sale is a knitting store's going-out-of-business sale, that is, something not to be missed, especially if it is around the corner, so off we went, and K got yarn for a baby present and herself, and I got blue striated yarn to make leg warmers for M and purple yarn and red textured yarn to knit together for a scarf. Given the Clapotis road block, I felt the need for completion, so I started the scarf that weekend, 17 stitches on size 15 needles, seed stitch. I finished it on Thanksgiving, really I knitted almost all of it on Thanksgiving, and it is quite pretty and satisfying.

Then I spent Friday night un-knitting Clapotis which was annoying but satisfying. The rest of the weekend I knitted Clapotis, and I am now eight rows from beginning to decrease, which means I'll finish sometimes around next Thanksgiving (especially if I deviate to the leg warmers), but at least I'm back on track.

By contrast, Libby really accomplished something (I cooked absolutely nothing, though I did set the table: truly, Libby has me beat on every front).

Where (and What) Do You Read?

The couple of times I've tried Virginia Heffernan's new column in the Times Magazine, I've not been so engaged, but tomorrow's (yes, my dear sister, I'm reading tomorrow's paper today) is excellent. I too lurk all over the internet, and I too am skeptical of doom-and-destruction analyses of, well, pretty much anything cultural. Yes, things are changing, but things have always changed: that's how culture works. On the internet, we spend a large part of our time reading. Middlemarch sold about 18,000 copies when it first came out; The Kite Runner has sold 1.4 million copies (not that the two are comparable, and neither are 19th-century and contemporary publishing and reading practices, but I was trying to find an example of popular literary fiction). Look at slash fiction sites, and try and tell me we are no longer literate and creative. Or you could just go lurk on Jezebel. While avoiding reading The Inheritance of Loss (oh, that would be me, not you).

Holiday Observations: Thanksgiving 2007

Icon of the contemporary holiday: person sitting on front stoop, talking furtively or frantically (or both) into cell phone. Spotted several when M and I went for a bike ride. Never got to that point myself, though I must confess to some sotto voce texting.

A guitar and a copy of Rise Up Singing can improve any social gathering, so long as your generations include a certain type of 40something white folk.

Okkervil River on the Beach

S played a video of Okkervil River’s “A Girl in Port” and I said “we’ve been to that beach,” but it’s an Italian beach in the video, and the beach I’m thinking of is south of Barcelona, and it doesn't look like that after all.

We spent a week in Barcelona when M was two--we were in England and wanted to go on vacation, and it seemed like a good place for a two year old, which it was: a park every three blocks, a zoo, Gaudi and Miro, bird cages on La Rambla, the beach.

“A Girl in Port” is almost unbearably romantic.

I’m thankful for Okkervil River, and the beach, and Barcelona, and Mike Lowell, and the fact that in 424 days we'll have a new president who I probably won't like much but will not like much less than this one.

(And, of course, for all the standard stuff: family, friends [very much so, my friends], work [enough work, finally, more than enough work, and good work!], health--actually, I am truly and alertly thankful these days for all of those things, standard though they may be.)

Late Decadence in the Reign of Consumer Capitalism

[The title doesn’t corollate perfectly, but I like the way it sounds.]

How can you not love Mike Lowell even more when he talks about why he stayed with the Red Sox?

"I enjoy Boston," he said. "My family enjoys Boston. Secondly, the Red Sox organization does everything it can to win a World Series - for my career, that's a big factor. Thirdly, before this contract I had financial security, so I like to believe that I'm not all about money." [more here]

On the other hand, it’s easy to say you're not about money when you’re making $12.5 million a year.

I was thinking the other day about baseball salaries, stimulated by A-Rod of course. $27.5 million a year? For hitting a bat and catching a ball? Can we just take a moment to acknowledge that this is totally out of control? I mean, I love Mike Lowell to death, and there’s simply no way to justify the fact that he makes $12.5 million a year for doing what he does. As far as I’m concerned, nothing anyone does is worth anything like that kind of money.

I’ve been hanging out with teenagers again. Poor inner-city Black and Latino teenagers. The ones newspaper articles veer back and forth between demonizing and pitying.

In real life, these kids want jobs. The other day one was talking about looking in three different towns and not finding anything. Another was all excited about getting an interview at a non-profit work program, until he discovered that it was for high school graduates. They share tips and grasp at irrelevant straws.

These kids are no saints. Is it possible that they walk into stores, heavy with attitude, ask if there are any jobs, and then leave when told no? Uh, yeah. In fact, it's likely.

S meets a lot of kids like that. He hires a few. Some work out. If a kid has a good work ethic, but no skills, he teaches her skills. If a kid has skills but no work ethic, he's usually gone within a few shifts. If a kid has neither skills nor work ethic, forget it. The rare kid with skills and a work ethic (and there are some) makes everything worthwhile, and he is thrilled to launch those kids into their careers.

White suburban kids have skill and work ethic issues too, but they are more likely to have cultural capital and connections.

When the headquarters of big local corporations leave town because of mergers and acquisitions, they tend, sooner or later, usually sooner, to give up their local philanthropies. No more sponsorship for Shakespeare in the park; no more summer jobs for local kids.

I should be able to connect all this to mortgages, credit, and recent high-level resignations, but, honestly, I don't really get that stuff.

I just know we've got some really big problems here.

My Little Public School Brainwashee

E: We're doing the funnest thing in morning work today! There are these parts of a turkey and we get to cut them out, put them together, and color them!

Sweet Caroline

This has got to be bullshit. I mean, read the lyrics, for god's sake. But it was sweet of him to say it.

My Favorite Republican Candidate

I'd been thinking of writing a post about Mike Huckabee even before Salon proclaimed him the environmentalist Republican. OK, so he's against global warming because God wants him to be, and he supports nuclear power, but still, compare to Republican currently in office and be impressed.

That's not why I liked Mike Huckabee, though.

I like Mike Huckabee because he is a huge supporter of arts in education. I like this for two reasons. First, because I'm a huge supporter of arts in education (again: compare dude in White House). Second, because it shows he has the capacity to think for himself, not just toe some poll-generated party line (do we even need to go there with the comparison?). Which does, in a way, bring us back to the environment.

I'm not going to look up the rest of his record. I don't need to know his positions on abortion, gay marriage, or even the war. It's not like I'll ever vote for him. I just like knowing he's out there.

Edited to add: For some reason I'm seeing lots of Huckabee references today, and I'm getting an inkling that's he's not so hot on evolution, but I am not going to do the legwork, I tell you, I refuse to give up my illusions of his reasonable enlightenment.

Oh My God! Oh My God! Oh My God!

I was just, not an hour ago, driving home from a meeting, thinking that it's actually kind of nice to be done with baseball, to have all that baseball bandwidth free for other things, and that I was even pretty calm about Mike Lowell, I mean, if he goes, he goes, that's the way it is, or so I thought an hour ago.

Then M just called me from school and told me they'd signed Mike Lowell, and my response is memorialized in the title to this post, though words can't quite capture the squeals. It's actually not quite so definitive (ah, sixth graders and the transmission of information), but it's looking good.

I guess I do care. And I'm really really happy. And so is M.

How About...Being Really Superficial, For a Change?

I've been writing posts in my head about books, movies, economic injustice, E's tantrum-filled weekend, and my achievement of a new state of parental Zen patience, which hopefully will persist till the end of this trial, but I think I'm going with cosmetics.

I have also recently achieved a new state of cosmetic stability, and I am quite happy about it.

I have super-sensitive skin, and for years, like, uh, maybe 20 , I used only Clinique products. Then I got sick of them. So I went to Origins, talked at length with an earnest and supportive beautiful-skinned saleswoman, emerged with a slew of White Tea products, took them home, used them, and was not so happy. But they were expensive, so I finished them, not so happily.

Meanwhile, Lucy's friend K is a famous dermatologist (really, she was in a magazine), and she says Neutrogena is just as good as anything else. So when I started to run out of the unhappy White Tea products, I replaced them with Neutrogena. Now I have Neutrogena make-up remover, toner, face moisturizer, cleanser, and scrub. And they're all great. And cheap. And I can get them at the drugstore.

The best thing is that, all those years using Clinique, I thought I had dry skin. My face was so dry I felt it. I used this Clinique super-moisturizer in a pretty little blue glass tub at night, and it was like giving my face a drink of water. I was positively a Clinique advertisement. But, you know what? Now that I use Neutrogena, I don't even need moisturizer at night anymore. I'm now a Neutrogena advertisement!

Then there's the hair. The hair has never been stable, and while I would predict 20 years with Neutrogena barring unforeseen circumstances, I'm sure the hair situation will change within months. But for now, we're good.

The lice fiasco led to much discussion of my hair, with conclusions regarding dry hair, dry scalp, and dandruff, which led to experimentation, which led to current solution. But first I must explain that I have ridiculous hair. It is quite thick and was once curly, but now it is generally straightISH except when it is curlyISH and then there are the times when it is something in between. In other words, my hair is highly variable, depending on outside variables including weather (mainly), product, swimming, running, blowdrying, and probably things I don't even know about, but wish I did, because then I might be able to control my hair. My hair is also much more of a problem in winter. I also need a haircut because I am totally sick of my hair, but I don't know what to do with it, so I'm taking suggestions.

Currently, though, my hair looks and feels fairly reasonable when I wash it with Grandpa's Wonder Pine Tar Shampoo and use Paul Mitchell Instant Moisture Conditioner.

As for my body, I've used Lubriderm Seriously Sensitive since I can remember, and I don't see that changing.

And if this post doesn't make you question why you read blogs, then you may be too far gone for help.

[Note: there are no links in this post, because those cosmetic sites are complicated and confusing, and I didn't feel like running back and forth into the bathroom to check what I actually have, and I certainly wasn't going to bring all my cosmetics out to the computer, so I didn't have to run back and forth into the bathroom.]

Gram

The latest from the purveyor of all things CD is Amoeba Records' Gram Parsons with the Flying Burrito Brothers, Live at the Avalon Ballroom 1969, complete with liner notes by Miss Pamela (and how excited are we to discover that she has a new book? very excited). It's taken from the amazing Grateful Dead vaults--the Flying Burrito Brothers opened for the Dead that night, and what I would give to have been at that show!

It's funny how Gram gets rediscovered every few years, but I suppose he is so fundamental that it's just going to keep happening. You don't need to subscribe to the great man theory of history to say that Gram was a crucial, perhaps the crucial, link in the chain that led us to Uncle Tupelo, Wilco, the Jayhawks, basically alt-country as we know and love it today. This live recording actually sounds super-country to my ears, and the word that keeps coming to mind as I listen to it is "pretty," which I think has become a totally debased word, but really does have something to mean.

Why pretty instead of beautiful? Because there's something light about these songs. Eh, that's not right either, because I don't mean anything flimsy, which light seems to evoke in this context. And I don't want to go down the overworked road of beautiful, lovely, sweet. I've been thinking about this CD for two days now, and I still can't find the words, which is very unusual for me.

I'll just say that it is a total pleasure to listen to, if you have any investment in this strand of music history, but also for itself.

This Is The Weirdest Day

I started out running at 7 this morning in a long-sleeve shirt over a t-shirt, but the long-sleeve shirt was tied around my waist within three blocks. I went to a meeting in a skirt and top, no sweater or jacket, and boots with no tights. I saw a woman walking down the street in a tank top.

But I just got home and put on jeans, a sweater, and a sweatshirt.

November 15. Craziness.

Causality

Pretending to be the mindful parents people believe us to be, S and I are trying to figure out WHY E might be behaving this way (this morning she was delightful again, but I have no faith). We've come up with some ideas.

1. Not feeling well. Yesterday she complained about her stomach hurting, and she farted a lot, so gas could explain yesterday's extremity, though I don't think she's had gas for ten days.

2. A's imminent departure. Her best friend from school is moving three towns away and his last day is the Wednesday before Thanksiving. She talks about this a lot.

3. General minor upheaval. We had guests the last two weekends. I have been working a lot more--and a lot more visibly to her. I have been out more than she is used to recently. She is almost always with S or a grandparent when I'm not there, and both girls like their new babysitter (who has gotten E to bed without tears three times in a row!), but she has passionately expressed her displeasure at my absences. Ironically, S has been working less and home more, but that could still count as upheaval.

4. Swimming. I just have a gut feeling that the physical exertion and anxiety (diving off the block, learning new strokes) of swimming might be stressing her, though she claims to love it.

I guess, cumulatively, all that might make a little girl fussy, though the rest of us are fine with it (M, by contrast, is great these days, and I think swimming is an important part of it).

Can Mercury Be In Retrograde for Only One Person?

J and J came to visit the weekend of the time change. E stayed up late Friday and Saturday night, and by Sunday she was a basket case. We went for a lovely walk, during which the kids climbed lots of rocks, which usually she loves, and all she did was weep--everyone else got to climb first, nobody was paying attention to her, the world was unfair.

Well, it's been ten days now, and she's still weeping, and the world is still unfair. I am mean and horrible, M never pays attention to her AND gets everything her way, S is mean and horrible for going to work, everything is my fault because I am trying to get some work done, everything she tries to do goes wrong, and NO, SHE IS NOT HUNGRY!

She doesn't want to play, she doesn't want to read, she doesn't want to go to the playground, and SHE DOESN'T WANT ANYTHING TO EAT. She can't do the monkey bars because of her calluses, but she can't not do the monkey bars because they're always there.

There has been much rolling on the floor, weeping, and running into her room, throwing herself on the floor, and weeping.

We're talking ten days now (with, to be honest, some normal periods, but really, it is like this for a good chunk of every day).

Baths are one of the few things that calm her, but tonight there wasn't enough hot water, so the bath wasn't deep enough, so no go. Not for the first time, I've resorted to TV, which is working for now, though I have little faith.

I'm trying to stay patient. I text S regular "updates from the psych ward" to keep my sense of humor in operation (because, truly, her melodramatic agony can be quite hilarious). But at this rate, one of us is going to end up in the real psych ward, and it's not going to be long.

Edited to add: After an hour of TV, she was sweet and loving at bedtime. Maybe I need to start administering TV prophylactically.

This I Love

A-Rod ditching Boras?

Reason #Umpteen That I'm Glad We Live In Town

Today M went to school wearing, in her words, the "typical Town girl outfit": pajama bottoms, a t-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, and her hair in a ponytail with a thin headband (can you tell she hangs out with the sixth-grade girl hockey players?!). Clearly we do not inhabit the world described in this article about middle school fashion.

(Reason #Not-Very-Big-Number That Living in Town Is Kind of a Pain: My work seems to be taking me to East Coast Big City, where S also works, so there is a fair amount of inconvenient or unenvironmental [or both] commuting these days. But I guess that's the price middle-class parents pay to keep their kids happy in semi-suburbia.) (We're hoping that "semi"will keep our kids happy instead of disaffected in suburbia. Pajamas and all, Town kids do seem generally happy.) (Except when mean girls who should know better don't let them go to the park to play soccer with the boys.)

I Know Baseball Is Done

But after a long day, in lieu of meaningful content, I offer you my favorite Red Sox fan line(s) of 2007:

Jacoby Ellsbury is the bomb
I want to be his babies' mom