and for a minute, I lost myself

2 nights in a row, nightmares crafted so perfectly as to enable them to haunt me all day long, so twistedly that all comfort has left my bed. Poking me in all the right spots, tearing me apart. I am SO not going back to sleep tonight.  They're to do with Grampa, maybe because we're burying him Mother's Day weekend. (I know, not my choice either. )

There are other theories too. The good part is that Brian and I have moved out - hence the middle of the night posting on the fizzast netz. Further goodness (and even I don't know if I meant that sarcastically) is that now we'll have M (his daughter) every other weekend with over nights. This past weekend was the first, and it was rough on me. Very. I clearly don't have the skills I need to parent her well, and I don't know how to go about getting them.

Because I need them - we're getting married in less than 2 months. I want to be a good parent to her. This past weekend I felt like she tested me and I failed. But hey! I get to try again soon!

Did you know that you if you have itunes, you can subscribe to all kinds of free pod casts? Like This American Life caliber of podcasts? It’s possible that I am coming to podcasts late, but it’s like itunes is my Christmas stocking and everyday some magical fairy puts new treats in there. All of the fun NPR stories, awesome BBC shows, and lotsa languages.

I listen to them at work when Martha's not here, and sometimes on the bus on the way home. It's like a smorgasbord in my ears!

(Brian, not an Apple fan, would point out here that one does not need itunes to get most or all of these wonderful things, but then I would point out that itunes makes it awfully easy, and you just need the player on your comp - you don't need to have a shuffle or a whatchamagiggity)

I swear, This American Life is my new religion. Laughing, crying, and generally rejoicing that life exists, it’s got it all. Especially the laughing part.

In other news, my favorite sign of last week will never see the light of day. Why? Well, because someone either was or might be offended that the new bathroom was for women only, so now it’s become a unisex bathroom. I’m old-fashioned, and while I was fan of Allie McBeal for a time, I won’t be using it without locking the door. I wasn’t really geeked about hearing anyone else pee anyway, so it’s all good. Except really silly, and now the world has been deprived of a fun sign.

In other other news, we are closer than ever to moving the heck out of the attic.

I am really antsy - it's too late to go out, and I spent all day inside.

I'm now doing the quarterly newsletter for Rock Point School, which is great. However it means that on the weekends I have "homework", which feels both good and terrible. I'm starting with another designer's file. Working with someone else's file is like trying to make a baked Alaska in a stranger's kitchen. It's extra cash though, and good for my resume whenever I might to write that again.

I'm trying to talk myself into a good mood here.

Yesterday was a Marin day. We took her on a roadtrip along with my Dad and my aunt Sara to a museum in Stowe. They're having an exhibition of the work of Vermont cartoonists of whom there are a surprising number. Marin is an excellent museum goer, especially for an 8 year old. I can't wait to blow her mind with the Museum of Science in Boston, and the Fine Arts Museum in Montreal.

What's amazing and humbling is to see Dad get to be a Grampa to her. He's great, ready for any question, ready to be silly, and ready to keep her in line. Somehow he manages to be right at her level without being condescending in any way. I get to re-experience what my childhood was like in some ways, and it reminds me just how damned lucky I am.

When Brian and I finally have our own place (cross your fingers) there won't be Marin days anymore - it'll be Marin weekends. I look forward to that so much. I want to make sure she knows she has a place with us. She often leaves something important behind - homework or a hat, and I think it's a way of making sure she'll see us again. I just hope I can be as good a third parent to her as my parents were to me. (I keep looking at the bookstore for advice on becoming a step-parent but there's nothing - isn't that strange?)

If you've been homesick at all for the Co-op, check out the Seven Days website. There's some fun video of the store and it's denizens.


http://ads.bear-code.com/images/citymarket/

Grampa died yesterday morning. His nurses said he wasn't aware of being in any discomfort at the very end, and I am sure that he knew we were there singing to him on Friday night.

I am happy for him, knowing that he isn't struggling any longer, and so grateful that Dad never had to make a decision about whether or not to continue feeding him.

And it goes without saying that I am incredibly sad.


Grampa had a cunning wit, and a love for words, and he looked for the good in people, and more often than not, he found it.

Wednesday, Brian, Squiddy, and I went for a walk. A few minutes and a slippery slope later, I'd broken my arm. All my fault, i was wearing shoes not meant for muddy steep paths.

i'm mostly fine, Brian is taking awesome care of me. The bummer is that the drugs they gave me are causing lots of vomiting. but that tends to keep my mind off of my arm, so maybe it's the good news?

It's official.

The Board has decided to exercise its option and terminate the general manager's contract.

Bam.

ok - I prolly shouldn't have deleted Moxiebramble - I just tried 3 times to log in to semagic using that name. But it felt like the right thing to do at the time.  I'm not sorry.

This past Thursday, I got out of work a little early, and met Brian at the library. I'd scheduled a mental health/play hooky day for Friday, and I had Saturday and Sunday off, so we were together until this morning. And I still didn't ever imagine it could be this good.

We fit.

On Saturday we drove down to see Grampa.  Grampa's been in the hospital with an infection, and it's weakened him. Grampa is dying, not of anything in particular, but of age.  Right now, Grampa is too weak to be at home, so he's in a home, with the idea that he'll do some therapy and get strong enough to go home.

but he's angry, and terrified that he'll never ever get to go home, and he's been taking it out on Dad, and the nurses, and just seriously NOT being Grampa. If you saw The Soprano's last night, you know what I'm talking about. It's just lucky that Grampa doesn't have access to a gun. (I'm kidding, sorta)

Here's the thing though, Brian is so affable, so amenable, and just so wonderful, that the visit went very well. It helped a lot that Grampa was in a good mood, and perhaps I am one of the last people he'd take anything out on.  The Home is a nice place as far as those places go, not too hospital-y, nice colors, and the staff seemed friendly.

We were able to take him out to Seward's, packing a wheelchair in the back of my car. It was a good visit overall. Grampa couldn't stop telling Brian how marvelous my dad is, I think out of some sort of knowledge of how tough he's been lately, and he also told him his nickname for me when I was wee.

It meant a lot for Brian to meet Grampa. A blessing of sorts.

I am very very lucky.

I never, ever, had any idea that it could be this good. Even with both of my feet on the ground. Really.

 

 

 

(comments disabled cause I am sucking at returning them, even as appreciated as they are.)

Grampa is ok. He went home yesterday, and my parents said he was talking and eating and he's alight. It was a mini stroke.

I overreacted probably, but I am so emotionally overdrawn that rational is really hard to get to right now.

What's that song where the chorus goes "I'm not ok, I'm not ok"?

I am here at home babysitting the roast, because Mom and Dad have gone to Pittsford because Grampa had a stroke sometime this morning and he's in the hospital. I have to work in an hour and so I couldn't go down with them.

In my current snively, snotty state I'm not sure what kind of a help I'll be at work today, but I am going to give it my best shot. I am. That's the putting one foot in front of the other part.

I've had a lot of practice in the last week at hiding tears. There's the bite the inside of your lip method, the turn away and hold your breath method, the oh I'll just be in the bathroom for a moment, and the yes my car really does need 15 minutes to warm up method.

Unfortunately, none of those methods, though I employed about 3 at once, worked this morning when I saw my father's red eyes, and knew that he was as worried and upset as me.

Please, I know that he has to go soon, please let it be in his sleep, at home, on his own terms. Please.

My parents are off delivering Grampa safely back to Pittsford, and I've just come back from grabbing some things from my ex-apartment. The outlook is bleak.

it was a fine day today, I got some great books, and the things I gave people will enjoy. I'm not in a place where I can feel any of the Christmas magic though. Pretty much I was glad that I could hold myself together. Yesterday I distressed my mom because I kept going upstairs to cry. She wants me to be at peace, and I don't know when that will be. Having everything out of my old apartment, and finally feeling settled in here will go a long ways towards that. I don't know how to do this any differently. Sometimes I tell myself that I'm traveling because that explains the lack of any safe space, the missing distractions that I can normally calm myself with.

Ok - you know what? There's this stuff called Rescue Remedy. It's made of essences from flowers, and there's no good scientific reason it should work but it does. There's some other stuff that's happened recently at work, and I had been having panic attacks about going to work, and it HELPED. HUGELY. There's my advertisement of the day.

I'm listening to a CD my dad made for me. It's a copy of a record that I used to listen to over and over and over and over when I was little. Since it's a record, and record players are in museums these days, I haven't heard it in a very long time. Oh - Who is it? Well, that's kind of the embarassing part - it's a recording of a Pete Seeger/Arlo Guthrie concert. I might be a hippie at heart.

I finished a book trilogy yesterday by Phillip Pullman. It's written for children but all the way through I found that hard to believe. The story follows a girl named Lyra, and Lyra has a daemon (more of a familiar). Everyone in her world does, as children the daemons can change shape, and they settle into one kind of animal as their person becomes a grownup. Lyra meets someone from what is kind of our world, and it's shocking to her that the boy Will doesn't have a daemon. It turns out, in the end, that everyone has one; it's just that in our world they're invisible inside us. Each person's daemon says something about them - like someone with a dog is likely to be a servant.

This is NOT my way of coming out as a furry. However, I have been thinking about what my daemon might take form as. A rabbit maybe.

The scene here at the moment is this:
I'm typing on my mother's computer on the first floor. My parents, Aunt and Uncle and Grampa are behind me in the living room, shooting the breeze. To my horror, they're talking about who's having babies. I've just taken a leek tart out of the oven.

A couple of days ago, I moved back into my parents. I had a vague plan to save up money and move to Boston. Vague because he made no guarantees. He's smart like that.

On the same day I moved, Sean and I broke up. For the final, last, absolute time.

I am broken and lost to an extent I didn't know was possible. I know this won't last forever.

What I'm struck by is that so many doors have suddenly closed, and so many are suddenly open.

Gosh - it feels like I am way behind on a book report or something.
heh - I guess I am in a way.

So - these'll be brief but i want ot get them in before I lose motivation entirely.

For Christmas, Jason gave me a hard bound copy of all of the Hitchhiker's Guide books by Douglas Adams. There's really not a whole to say, except if you haven't read them you should. These books - at least the first few should be required reading for all humans. They're very funny. I even learned a new word: Froody. I think it means something along the lines of swank, or natty even.
I'd read most of these books before in highschool. I don't think I got the humor quite as much then, but I got all of the lessons. I'm thinking maybe that's why they didn't hit me so hard this time around.

I've also read Gatekeeper by Archer Mayer. I usually love his books, they're murder mysteries set in Vermont. [for the record we have very few murders here] It was entertaining but not nearly so much as other books of his. Perhaps it's because I couldn't relate to the locations as I usually can. It's also incredibly depressing to think of all of the hard drugs that are now coming into the state courtesy of Amtrak. Maybe he's run out of interesting murder material in a small state with very low murder rates. Regardless, it won't be first on my list of recommended Archer Mayer books.

I got a lot of reading done while I was in Tennessee.

I have long liked Dan Savage's sex advice column, he's very funny and outspoken. In his book Skipping Towards Gomorrah his mission is to accomplish every one of the seven deadly sins. He manages all of them but one on a technicality. The book is funny while being dead serious. Were I in a debate club and had to take the side for drug legalization and gun control, I would be sure to reference it.

I splurged in the airport on the way down and bought Diary, by Chuck Palahniuk. I read his books like they are crack, or...fudge! You know, the first bite of fudge is soooooo good, but then all of your senses are overwhelmed and the next bite is not so good, but you eat the whole piece anyway. I can't slow myself down when I read his books and I know that I am not stopping long enough to smell his brilliance.
If I may, here's an excerpt:

A woman calls from Seaview to say her linen closet is missing. Last September, her house had six bedrooms, two linen closets. She's sure of it. Now she's only got one. She comes to open her beach house for the summer. She drives out with the kids and the nanny and the dog, and here they are with all their luggage, and all their towels are gone. Disappeared. Poof.
Bermuda Triangulated.

This book is dark, and I found myself a little uncomfortable while reading it, maybe that's because it's set in New England. Or, maybe I found more of myself than I wanted to in the protagonist, and not quite enough at the same time. I highly recommend it.


I'm not proud, but I also read Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper, Case Closed, by Patricia Cornwell. Vacations are good for an excuse to read salacious things. It turns out that we now know, just about definitively who Jack the Ripper was, thanks in large part to Patricia Cornwell. She's just a little full of herself, and more than once describes in great detail what modern day investigators would do at various crime scenes and that Jack the Ripper wouldn't have a chance today. I'm a sucker for books set in this era, and the parts I enjoyed the most were descriptions of the way of life then. I need to credit this book for saving me from having a tantrum when Grampa and I were dragged along to Sharon and Joe's pedal steel lesson in Stoney Stonecypher's crowded and cold basement.

I recently finished As Nature Made Him, the boy who was raised as a girl, by John Colapinto. It the story of a boy twin who's botched circumcision led doctors to convince his parents to raise him as a girl.

I've always been interested in gender roles, maybe because my parents never went for traditional ones. My father is the nuturer and he makes better bread. My mother is stern and is the enforcer.

One of the major forces in this book is Doctor John Money. The twins presented an ideal case for him, a test case and a control all in one. His research has shaped much of how we think of gender roles. He believed that a person's gender could be altered, if done early enough in life. I remember where I was when I learned about the idea that we treat boy and girl children differently and how that supposedly had some effect on how they grow up. I was so struck with the idea, and I've been careful ever since to follow a childs lead, ask them how they feel about things and not place any of my expectations on them (some of that might have been because of Free to be you and me as well). Now we know that it has a lot more to do with hormones that babies are exposed to in the womb, but that idea has taken much longer to surface in our collective unconscious, due in large part to Dr. Money and the publicity and power that he wielded.

David's parents wanted to do the best they could for their son, and they believed in Dr. Money. But David (known as Brenda as a child) never ever felt like a girl. Brenda wasn't accepted by her classmates and had endless troubles with school. Her twin had troubles as well. But David is clear that he knows his parents loved him and he holds no ill will against them.

It was Dr. Money and his odd practices (showing the twins pornographic pictures and gaging their reactions and other horrible things) and his willingness to ignore the facts, who turns out to be the monster in this book. He had a theory and by god he stuck to it, even when proven wrong time and time again. It is based on his published reasearch that so many babies born with unclear genders had surgeries that altered their bodies to "correct" their sex.

It's a fascinating book. For me it was especially interesting to realize that even still I had wrong ideas about gender. It all turns out fairly well in the end. Brenda was finally told what had happened to her, and almost immediately started living once again as a male. He married a woman with a son whom he adopted. The family healed.

Alright dammit - this might not go along with the rules, but they're my rules.
I noticed that no one else on the live journal planet admits to knowing who Archer Mayor is. I thought this was because I'd spelled his name wrong to begin with, but now that I've corrected it, I'm still the only LJ'er listing him as an interest. He's so good - I'm just finding that hard to believe.

Mayor writes mysteries, and they are mostly set in Vermont. I read the first one when I was living in Chicago, and it turned out that part of what happened in the book took place in Chicago - in fact it took place at the one and only police station I ever went to in Chicago (the Pier One I worked at was robbed at gun point, and lo and behold, the guy was caught). After that I was hooked.

He writes about the Vermont that is rarely seen, the corners and edges of our state that perhaps we aren't so proud of. The so called cults in the Northeast Kingdom, the drug traffic in Rutland and Brattleboro, and the many people living below the poverty level. His detective is a good guy, but hard, and human in his struggles with his anger.

/soapbox

I've been thinking about doing this for a little while. I've been inspired by folks on my friend's list. I read a lot - a lot. I'm terrible at remembering what I've read since I'm so voracious and I thought it might be a good idea to keep better track. There's a little ego in there as well, I'd like to know just how much I've read in a year's time. Think of this as an early New Year's resolution. I'd also like to improve my writing and I thought writing about books that I've read might be a good way to start. Kinda like wee assignments.