Our town's week-to-week governing body, the Board of Selectmen, consists of seven elected volunteers with various, largely non-governmental backgrounds. The ultimate, twice-a-year governing body is Town Meeting, which potentially consists of all registered voters in town. It is cumbersome, unwieldy, and sometimes frustrating, but it's pure democracy. You're a registered voter + you show up = you get to vote on the warrant articles at Town Meeting. Your vote will be disproportionately powerful, too, because not all eligible citizens are registered voters, and further, only a small subset of registered voters actually attend.
It has been amusing to see, over the years, how many candidates for public office have had virtually no history of attending Town Meeting or voting in town elections. I think that takes a special kind of arrogance. But I digress.
Like everywhere else, our town has no extra money these days. Budgets are being cut, cut, cut. It appears we can't afford to maintain, let alone construct, the buildings we need. (Actually, we can't afford not to maintain them, but that ship appears to have sailed. After all, it's so much easier not to spend money, look like a hero, and let the folks elected after you inherit a bigger problem. Anyone who served on previous boards and running for election again now should maybe be asked about this strategy.)
Yet... yet. Sometimes opportunity knocks. There is grant money available from the state to fund part of the construction cost of a new library in our town. The Library Trustees have been working on the plan for quite some time. They have the land. They have the architect. They have the plans. They have this grant opportunity. To be eligible for the grant, they need a vote by Town Meeting to agree to accept the money, should it be offered. To get a Town Meeting vote, the issue has to be on the Town Meeting warrant. To get on the warrant, they had to go through the Board of Selectmen.
And that's where the project died last night. Our Board of Selectmen voted not to allow the presentation of the library idea to Town Meeting, saying a new library is not a priority, and we can't afford one, and the proposed building is "over the top" in any case.
All that may be true. I just don't get why we couldn't have voted on it at Town Meeting, where the idea would pass or fail on its merits after having been considered by more of us who'd be paying for it if it went forward.
Frankly, it would have been a hard sell. Town Meeting is chock full of naysayers to expenditures of any kind. I have serious questions about the project myself, and I consider a robust public library to be a primary indicator of a healthy community. Clearly the Library Trustees faced an uphill battle to get their building project approved by the voters. Why not let them fight it? Why do the proponents not get a say in front of us all? The Selectmen wouldn't have been endorsing the project by allowing that much, and could in fact have spoken against it as private citizens, if they wanted to. They said that it would send the wrong message to approve the Trustees' request for a Town Meeting vote, but what 's wrong with the message, "let the voters choose"?
Friday, March 04, 2011
Thursday, March 03, 2011
You're OK... and nobody's going to arrest Mommy.
Our Peanut had an upsetting Wednesday this week.
At dismissal time, her teacher reminds kids who are in chess club to go to that, while everyone else gets lined up for buses or to be signed out by their grown-up. Yesterday the class had a substitute teacher who didn't mention chess club. The Peanut being the Peanut, and also being 6, forgot that it was Wednesday, and got on the bus to go home. Settling into their seats, another kid asked her, "Hey, where's the Bean?" The Peanut suddenly remembered she was supposed to be at chess club with her sister, got off the bus and came back inside, very upset at almost having let the bus take her away. The Bean found her crying in the hallway, and they both came to the library, where, by happy coincidence, I volunteer on Wednesday afternoons. ("Do you have any books on cobras/war/knock-knock jokes/Yoda/President Taft?" Yes. Yes, we do.)
Once the sobbing calmed down some (you're OK, you're OK...) we went over what to do if she hadn't realized her mistake until the bus had left school. We practiced some what-ifs and recited all the phone numbers she needs to know, and the places she knows she will be safe, and that if she ever finds herself somewhere that I don't think she is, she is to call me right away, etc. Phew.
Later, the Bean and I are making dinner and suddenly the Peanut is in the kitchen in tears again: "Another thing? That happened at school? is that I told Avery that you let me have a sip of your wine! and he said you could be ARRESTED FOR THAT!" Poor kid clung to me as if the cops were at the door.
It's true -- the other day I'd poured myself a glass of wine, and, feeling intensely observed by two pairs of little-girl eyes, offered the offspring a sip. Bean declined -- she'd tasted wine before and didn't care to again (it didn't seem to matter that what she'd tried was a Cabernet and this was a Zinfandel). The Peanut accepted, took a wee sip, and rejected it as "too spicy." That was that, and dinner continued.
Evidently she mentioned it at school the next day and her classmate was horrified. Fortunately he's mistaken. Sure it's against the law to buy alcohol for kids or sell it to them, but a parent is allowed to give her Peanut the occasional sip of a full-bodied red so she can see what it is.
We got into a discussion of why there are laws about alcoholic drinks, what "drunk" means, and that they are never, ever to drive if they've been drinking or to go in a car with anyone who has. No matter where they are, when it is, or if they've been doing something they know was wrong, we will come and get them, and we'll (try to) postpone expressing anger about any wrongdoing.
Seems kind of silly talking to them about this when they're almost 10 years from their learner's permits, but hey. Time goes fast, and I'll never have their ears more completely than I do now. Also there may be fewer of those years than we think. I got loopy on beer at 14 -- a silly one-time thing that didn't become a habit, but still, it happened. At about that same time (though not the same night), I started driving my parents' car around when they went out for the evening. Point being, parents sometimes have less time than we think to have these conversations. We will certainly be repeating a lot of them, but I think it's not too soon to start, if the subject naturally comes up - and even if the primary take-home message is that nobody is going to arrest Mommy.
In the meantime I might also explain, as long as it naturally came up, that the wine was not, in fact "spicy," but had a woodsy and pomegranate-inflected nose, balanced with traces of vanilla, complex red fruit, sandy soil, and cigar wrapper on the palate, with a trace of mineral on the elongated finish. Or something. See what Avery makes of that, kid.
At dismissal time, her teacher reminds kids who are in chess club to go to that, while everyone else gets lined up for buses or to be signed out by their grown-up. Yesterday the class had a substitute teacher who didn't mention chess club. The Peanut being the Peanut, and also being 6, forgot that it was Wednesday, and got on the bus to go home. Settling into their seats, another kid asked her, "Hey, where's the Bean?" The Peanut suddenly remembered she was supposed to be at chess club with her sister, got off the bus and came back inside, very upset at almost having let the bus take her away. The Bean found her crying in the hallway, and they both came to the library, where, by happy coincidence, I volunteer on Wednesday afternoons. ("Do you have any books on cobras/war/knock-knock jokes/Yoda/President Taft?" Yes. Yes, we do.)
Once the sobbing calmed down some (you're OK, you're OK...) we went over what to do if she hadn't realized her mistake until the bus had left school. We practiced some what-ifs and recited all the phone numbers she needs to know, and the places she knows she will be safe, and that if she ever finds herself somewhere that I don't think she is, she is to call me right away, etc. Phew.
Later, the Bean and I are making dinner and suddenly the Peanut is in the kitchen in tears again: "Another thing? That happened at school? is that I told Avery that you let me have a sip of your wine! and he said you could be ARRESTED FOR THAT!" Poor kid clung to me as if the cops were at the door.
It's true -- the other day I'd poured myself a glass of wine, and, feeling intensely observed by two pairs of little-girl eyes, offered the offspring a sip. Bean declined -- she'd tasted wine before and didn't care to again (it didn't seem to matter that what she'd tried was a Cabernet and this was a Zinfandel). The Peanut accepted, took a wee sip, and rejected it as "too spicy." That was that, and dinner continued.
Evidently she mentioned it at school the next day and her classmate was horrified. Fortunately he's mistaken. Sure it's against the law to buy alcohol for kids or sell it to them, but a parent is allowed to give her Peanut the occasional sip of a full-bodied red so she can see what it is.
We got into a discussion of why there are laws about alcoholic drinks, what "drunk" means, and that they are never, ever to drive if they've been drinking or to go in a car with anyone who has. No matter where they are, when it is, or if they've been doing something they know was wrong, we will come and get them, and we'll (try to) postpone expressing anger about any wrongdoing.
Seems kind of silly talking to them about this when they're almost 10 years from their learner's permits, but hey. Time goes fast, and I'll never have their ears more completely than I do now. Also there may be fewer of those years than we think. I got loopy on beer at 14 -- a silly one-time thing that didn't become a habit, but still, it happened. At about that same time (though not the same night), I started driving my parents' car around when they went out for the evening. Point being, parents sometimes have less time than we think to have these conversations. We will certainly be repeating a lot of them, but I think it's not too soon to start, if the subject naturally comes up - and even if the primary take-home message is that nobody is going to arrest Mommy.
In the meantime I might also explain, as long as it naturally came up, that the wine was not, in fact "spicy," but had a woodsy and pomegranate-inflected nose, balanced with traces of vanilla, complex red fruit, sandy soil, and cigar wrapper on the palate, with a trace of mineral on the elongated finish. Or something. See what Avery makes of that, kid.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
From the department of unfortunate street names
A man was shot to death in Hyannis on Sunday night. This is, of course, awful, if not out-of-the-blue awful; the man had reportedly been involved in an earlier shooting of someone else, and drug trafficking is possibly involved.
(What, you thought Cape Cod was some kind of haven? Sadly, no - though murder is pretty rare.)
In any event, for me, the shooting is made more cringe-worthy by the name of the street on which it occurred: Fresh Holes Road.
Ouch.
(What, you thought Cape Cod was some kind of haven? Sadly, no - though murder is pretty rare.)
In any event, for me, the shooting is made more cringe-worthy by the name of the street on which it occurred: Fresh Holes Road.
Ouch.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Oscar thoughtzzzzzzzzzzzzz. But see "Inside Job"!
So, the Oscars last night... boring, am I right? Anne Hathaway was perky, James Franco was almost certainly wasted, and neither of them were clever or funny. You want a younger audience, Academy? Bring the funny. Yeah I know, by "younger" you don't mean me, anymore. But still -- the funny. Bring it. Because last night was a lengthy dispatch from Planet Meh.
I did enjoy Colin Firth's acceptance speech ("I have a feeling my career's just peaked"). Disappointed that Geoffrey Rush didn't get the Supporting Actor nod -- The King's Speech is as good as everyone says -- but since I didn't see The Fighter, for which Christian Bale won it, it's not really an informed opinion. I kind of hate boxing, so I'm slow to get to movies about it even when they're great. I was unimpressed by Melissa Leo's (supporting actress, also for The Fighter) potty mouth -- odd criticism coming from me, as I swear a lot more than strictly necessary myself, but geez, Ms. Leo, have some sense of context, m'kay?
Incidentally I hope Christian Bale's beard is for a role. It's otherwise unforgivable. He is no Jeff Bridges. Behold:
Less incidentally, but I have to put it somewhere, Natalie Portman is all kinds of lovely but I hated her hairstyle. I wore mine like that in 8th grade -- up on one side, hanging limply down on the other. It was 1981, and it was terrible then, too, but it was The Thing. For my daughters' sakes, let's not make it the thing again. Pretty earrings though:
And now The Serious:
Charles Ferguson, accepting his award for Best Documentary, began, "Forgive me, I must start by pointing out that three years after a horrific financial crisis caused by massive fraud, not a single financial executive has gone to jail, and that's wrong." His movie is Inside Job, which documents the catastrophic financial collapse of 2008. You should see it. Every American, at least, should see it. It will piss you off, and if you're an Obama fan it will disappoint you (meet the new boss, same as the old boss...) but knowledge is better than ignorance. Which is not to say I understand it all -- the vocabulary flies around pretty fast, and I wanted to say "wait, explain the part about subprime mortgages/collateralized debt obligations/credit default swaps again?" I saw it in the theater, but will watch it again at home so I can pause it when I get confused.
Yes, haha, that could be a long night... but unlike last night's Oscars, at least it won't be dull.
I did enjoy Colin Firth's acceptance speech ("I have a feeling my career's just peaked"). Disappointed that Geoffrey Rush didn't get the Supporting Actor nod -- The King's Speech is as good as everyone says -- but since I didn't see The Fighter, for which Christian Bale won it, it's not really an informed opinion. I kind of hate boxing, so I'm slow to get to movies about it even when they're great. I was unimpressed by Melissa Leo's (supporting actress, also for The Fighter) potty mouth -- odd criticism coming from me, as I swear a lot more than strictly necessary myself, but geez, Ms. Leo, have some sense of context, m'kay?
Incidentally I hope Christian Bale's beard is for a role. It's otherwise unforgivable. He is no Jeff Bridges. Behold:
Less incidentally, but I have to put it somewhere, Natalie Portman is all kinds of lovely but I hated her hairstyle. I wore mine like that in 8th grade -- up on one side, hanging limply down on the other. It was 1981, and it was terrible then, too, but it was The Thing. For my daughters' sakes, let's not make it the thing again. Pretty earrings though:
And now The Serious:
Yes, haha, that could be a long night... but unlike last night's Oscars, at least it won't be dull.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Oh wow, cause I would never have thought to use the other side.
So I was shopping in Target the other day (which I think is now OK to do again since they apologized for giving money to homophobes, or something?) and I was browsing the bed and bath section, when a tag on a hand towel caught my eye. It said "REVERSIBLE!" It was an ordinary hand towel, no printed design, or anything.
Do we need to be specifically told this now, about hand towels?
Do we need to be specifically told this now, about hand towels?
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Right: I am back.
Everything feels better (and thanks for asking, everyone). Normal is so sweet.
Even when healthy, I get a lot of medical attention in January/February. Annual physical, semi-annual dentist visit, annual eye exam, annual mammogram (DO THIS, LADIES), annual everything seems to fall within the first weeks of the year. Being sick added four (4) more visits to doctors' offices.
I have shelled out a whole lot of copayments lately. It is getting old fast.
The newest medical professional to join my contact list is an otolaryngologist (spell check suggests "paleontologist." Spell check obviously didn't have the month I've had). After all other symptoms had finally subsided, my right ear remained stubbornly clogged. This made me dizzy, headachey, and even more cranky than usual. The primary care doctor tried a few things and then sent me to the ear-nose-throat guy.
This fellow looked up my nose with a flashlight and didn't say "ew." He looked in my ears, and said my right eardrum looked "dull." Dull! And here I thought dermatology was probably the least interesting of the medical specialties. Evidently a not-shiny eardrum is evidence of fluid behind it and why not check my hearing, just in case.
Turns out I can hear grass grow. "You have ears like a teenager," said my new favorite specialist. None of my other parts fit that description any more, so I'll take the compliments where I can.
Hey. I heard that.
Even when healthy, I get a lot of medical attention in January/February. Annual physical, semi-annual dentist visit, annual eye exam, annual mammogram (DO THIS, LADIES), annual everything seems to fall within the first weeks of the year. Being sick added four (4) more visits to doctors' offices.
I have shelled out a whole lot of copayments lately. It is getting old fast.
The newest medical professional to join my contact list is an otolaryngologist (spell check suggests "paleontologist." Spell check obviously didn't have the month I've had). After all other symptoms had finally subsided, my right ear remained stubbornly clogged. This made me dizzy, headachey, and even more cranky than usual. The primary care doctor tried a few things and then sent me to the ear-nose-throat guy.
This fellow looked up my nose with a flashlight and didn't say "ew." He looked in my ears, and said my right eardrum looked "dull." Dull! And here I thought dermatology was probably the least interesting of the medical specialties. Evidently a not-shiny eardrum is evidence of fluid behind it and why not check my hearing, just in case.
Turns out I can hear grass grow. "You have ears like a teenager," said my new favorite specialist. None of my other parts fit that description any more, so I'll take the compliments where I can.
Hey. I heard that.
Monday, January 17, 2011
ailing again
Folks, some damn virus is kicking my ass. Again with the sore throat, and now here comes the congestion. I got two discontinuous hours of sleep Saturday night. Last night, four in a row. Progress, I suppose.
I haven't spoken a word aloud since Saturday morning. Throat hurts so much I cringe to think about using it to talk. I'd almost rather drool than swallow, even.
I've been subsisting on apple sauce, chicken soup, and tea. After this is over I will not be drinking green tea for a while. Antioxidants or no, it just doesn't taste that good.
Here's hoping the girls miss out on this one.
I haven't spoken a word aloud since Saturday morning. Throat hurts so much I cringe to think about using it to talk. I'd almost rather drool than swallow, even.
I've been subsisting on apple sauce, chicken soup, and tea. After this is over I will not be drinking green tea for a while. Antioxidants or no, it just doesn't taste that good.
Here's hoping the girls miss out on this one.
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Is it harmless, or is it incendiary?
Reload... take aim... target. That lovely map first appeared in March 2010 -- "Don't retreat... reload!".
Gabrielle Giffords said then that this kind of rhetoric has consequences.
Yes, I know the shooter does not appear to have been a Palin fan.
Still. Does the metaphor, cheerfully thrown around by an elected official, contribute to, sanction, encourage a culture of gun violence as problem-solver?
Further - do people really need to be able to carry concealed weapons in this country?
Is it really such a freakin' big deal to wait a few weeks before you're allowed to buy a gun?
A 9 year-old girl was shot today at that Tuscon supermarket, along with the grown-ups. Her name was Christina, and she went to see the Congresswoman's event because she'd just been elected to her school council. She danced, and played baseball. Now she's dead.
A lot is going to be said about the killed and injured grown-ups. Tonight, I'm thinking about Christina and her family.
Friday, January 07, 2011
Yep, I still read.
I finally updated the "books on my nightstand" section of the right sidebar. Willard Randall Stearne's biography of George Washington, begone! I was so disappointed in it. After reading David McCullough's wonderful John Adams, I thought it would be cool to read biographies of all the Presidents (in order, natch), and somehow chose this one of Washington. That was over five years ago. It was a poor choice. I'm sure it's well and carefully researched, but it was boring. How can that be?! George Washington's life and times! But yeah. The writing bored me so much that it took half a decade to finish the book. So I should be on to Jefferson, next, but I'm reading Ron Chernow's Alexander Hamilton first. It's already promising. Lesson learned: don't buy these weighty books in a hurry. Ask for recommendations, and take longer test-drives at the bookstore.
I read a fair bit while we were out west. There were a lot of garden-variety weekdays with the girls in school, Mr. Sandy at work, and with inclement weather and/or too little time for a drive to the mountains or the coast. Some of those days, I headed to the library to read whatever caught my attention.
One strange rainy morning I read The Bell Jar -- Sylvia Plath's semi-autobiographical novel about a young woman's descent into mental illness, her suicide attempt, and her treatment -- in one sitting. Now I wouldn't say don't do that, exactly, but if you do, be sure you're in a resiliently good mood when you start. Particularly if you are a woman who (ahem) sometimes feels she doesn't quite belong where she is, who ever doubts her self-worth, and who is even somewhat prone to dark moods, or who has ever, ever thought of killing herself.
Fear not, I also read fluff. Jennifer Weiner's novels are always fun -- quick, witty reads and good stories. I read Best Friends Forever, about a woman whose childhood pal arrives at her doorstep desperate for her help after decades of estrangement. Wacky adventures naturally ensue. It was entertaining, but to my mind, not her best. If you're new to Jennifer Weiner, start at the beginning, with Good in Bed, a very funny novel about a humiliating break-up and Our Heroine's life afterward, or Goodnight Nobody, in which a mother of toddlers doesn't fit in at all with the perfect mommies in her new town, but becomes obsessed with solving the case when one of the perfect mommies is murdered. At some point I will get Weiner's latest, Fly Away Home. It looks to be a bit different from the others, with a more mature protagonist, and possibly without the once-fat-sensible-heroine/skinny-kooky-friend motif that is becoming just a little bit tired with BFF.
There's more, but hey. That dishwasher's not going to empty itself.
What are you reading?
I read a fair bit while we were out west. There were a lot of garden-variety weekdays with the girls in school, Mr. Sandy at work, and with inclement weather and/or too little time for a drive to the mountains or the coast. Some of those days, I headed to the library to read whatever caught my attention.
"To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.How, indeed. The lure of the novel is its perspective - the reader is on Esther's path with her, and when she tries to kill herself, it seems almost reasonable. Unnerving in 1963, still unnerving today.
How did I know that someday — at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere — the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?"
There's more, but hey. That dishwasher's not going to empty itself.
What are you reading?
Thursday, January 06, 2011
ailing
Predictably, I have come down with some version of the illness that the girls had during their school vacation.
I know there are a lot worse things to be suffering from than a sore throat, but damn. I have the worst sore throat I can ever remember. It feels like someone's been at it with a cheese grater.
Drinking hot tea, sucking ice chips or throat drops, gargling salt water - none of it is much relief. Ibuprofen is some help, I guess, because when it wears off during the night I wake up crying. Boo-hoo, me.
More bad news: Swallowing is exceedingly painful, and I'm hungry, goddammit.
Been to the doctor, got antibiotics, so I'm hoping this starts to feel better fast. In the meantime I am canceling appointments, skipping meetings, and communicating via notepad and pencil. It is funny how people whisper or pantomime back to me, even though there's no reason for them to.
On the up side, I feel caught up on sleep.
I know there are a lot worse things to be suffering from than a sore throat, but damn. I have the worst sore throat I can ever remember. It feels like someone's been at it with a cheese grater.
Drinking hot tea, sucking ice chips or throat drops, gargling salt water - none of it is much relief. Ibuprofen is some help, I guess, because when it wears off during the night I wake up crying. Boo-hoo, me.
More bad news: Swallowing is exceedingly painful, and I'm hungry, goddammit.
Been to the doctor, got antibiotics, so I'm hoping this starts to feel better fast. In the meantime I am canceling appointments, skipping meetings, and communicating via notepad and pencil. It is funny how people whisper or pantomime back to me, even though there's no reason for them to.
On the up side, I feel caught up on sleep.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
And -- scene.
Phew.
Christmas is finally over. It was eventually lovely, and we have some cool new toys to play with. My brother came to visit and that is always a good time. The now-annual Christmas meatloaf (I know, but it's kind of a fancy meatloaf, with sun-dried tomatoes, basil, and provolone cheese, and everyone loves it) was delicious. My cheesecake crust was too thick but nobody complained except me.
May I take a moment for shameless bragging about my daughters? They waited an extra week for our Christmas this year, and even then they didn't wake us up early, and even then they waited patiently to begin opening presents until midday when my parents joined us. They are so good, and I am so appreciative and proud, and I hope they're really listening when I tell them how awesome they are.
I can't remember the last time I got to bed before 2:00 AM. In the two weeks since we got home from the West coast, we've had two major snowstorms and two feverish girls, leaving me two days to do all the gift and food shopping after Mr. Sandyshoes got home. Pre-holiday stress brought to you by the number two. Then we had one Christmas celebration, and, just as I thought I could sleep the sleep of the righteous: one 3:00 AM emergency room visit that same night. It was nothing too awful, and all is now well, just very bad timing for a simple thing to need checking out. This left us one day to recover, and tomorrow: back to school.
I will be busy with a ton of stuff. There are piles of laundry to do, books to shelve, wrapping paper to put away, boxes to flatten, outgrown clothes and toys to donate, papers to file. There are thank-yous to be written and phone calls to be made. There is the 2011 dump (does anyone call it the "transfer station," really?) sticker to be bought and the recycling to be brought there. The calendar is beginning to fill with appointments and meetings and the running "TO DO" list needs updating. I do love an updated TO DO list.
At some point I plan to make a big cup of tea, head down to Sandy Neck, breathe deeply, and watch the waves roll in. Have I mentioned it is good to be home?
Happy New Year, all.
Christmas is finally over. It was eventually lovely, and we have some cool new toys to play with. My brother came to visit and that is always a good time. The now-annual Christmas meatloaf (I know, but it's kind of a fancy meatloaf, with sun-dried tomatoes, basil, and provolone cheese, and everyone loves it) was delicious. My cheesecake crust was too thick but nobody complained except me.
May I take a moment for shameless bragging about my daughters? They waited an extra week for our Christmas this year, and even then they didn't wake us up early, and even then they waited patiently to begin opening presents until midday when my parents joined us. They are so good, and I am so appreciative and proud, and I hope they're really listening when I tell them how awesome they are.
I can't remember the last time I got to bed before 2:00 AM. In the two weeks since we got home from the West coast, we've had two major snowstorms and two feverish girls, leaving me two days to do all the gift and food shopping after Mr. Sandyshoes got home. Pre-holiday stress brought to you by the number two. Then we had one Christmas celebration, and, just as I thought I could sleep the sleep of the righteous: one 3:00 AM emergency room visit that same night. It was nothing too awful, and all is now well, just very bad timing for a simple thing to need checking out. This left us one day to recover, and tomorrow: back to school.
I will be busy with a ton of stuff. There are piles of laundry to do, books to shelve, wrapping paper to put away, boxes to flatten, outgrown clothes and toys to donate, papers to file. There are thank-yous to be written and phone calls to be made. There is the 2011 dump (does anyone call it the "transfer station," really?) sticker to be bought and the recycling to be brought there. The calendar is beginning to fill with appointments and meetings and the running "TO DO" list needs updating. I do love an updated TO DO list.
At some point I plan to make a big cup of tea, head down to Sandy Neck, breathe deeply, and watch the waves roll in. Have I mentioned it is good to be home?
Happy New Year, all.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
re-entry
We've been back about a week, and it is great. We arrived in the height of last week's snowstorm (which nobody remembers, after this week's). You know how houses have smells, and you don't notice the smell of your own house unless you've been away? I was relieved to notice that ours smells mostly like... wood. In a nice way, I think. I guess. Anyway the girls went beserk, running around remembering stuff and hollering their discoveries at each other: "LOOK! The play house! The piano! The PINK TOILETS!" (Yes, we have pink toilets... the house was built in the 80s, and we've had more important improvements to make since we bought it in '00, but the pink toilets are SO on our list.) They were especially happy to get in their own little beds. They liked sharing a room out west, but neither of them says they will miss sharing a bed. Evidently the Bean steals the covers.
In the morning we went right to the service station to address the tire pressure warning light that, along with the icy roads, had me stressed out all the way home the day before. I'd put air in the tires, but it kept coming back on. I've been assured that the tires weren't dangerously low and that those warning lights are more trouble than help. It hasn't come on since, so I'm happy to forget all about it.
We next hit the post office to pick up our mail and notify them to resume delivery (incidentally, if you've got an ongoing home improvement project - and who doesn't? - ask the post office for a change of address packet. Inside is a coupon for 10% off at Lowe's, which can be a fair bit if the project is enormous, as ours tend to be. There, don't say Noted & Blogged never gave you anything), and -- what was this sentence about? Oh yes -- then stopped for lunch at The Bee-Hive Tavern. I can't make up my mind about that place. The food is always good, but sometimes I don't get a particularly friendly vibe there, especially if I have the girls along, which I both understand (lots of kids behave badly in restaurants) and resent (mine don't, and I'd appreciate the benefit of the doubt, at least at the front door).
On to the grocery store, which, of course, has been significantly reconfigured in our absence, and will take longer to get through till I've got the new pattern down. We were almost done when the Bean just completely crashed. Out of the blue she said "Mommy I feel terrible," and had a distinct fever. We left right away to get her to bed.
Rest and ibuprofen had her on the mend, but not well enough to go to school on the 23rd. The Peanut was raring to go, though. The last thing she'd done at her west coast school, on the day before winter break there, was wear pajamas to school and watch The Polar Express. She was ecstatic to learn that on the last day before winter break here, her class would be doing the same. Must be a nationwide 1st grade tradition. So she put on her PJs with cupcakes on them, and off we went.
After school she said she was glad to be with her old friends again, but that "it felt like I was famous, and I didn't really like that." I guess they made a huge fuss of her, because the Peanut seems like someone who would dig fame. Anyway that's much better than having her feel lost in the shuffle. She also reported, in detail, what everyone else had on their pajamas. Kids are really interested in other kids' pajamas. I'm sure her classmates went home and told their parents the Peanut has cupcake pajamas.
All in all, getting settled in has not gone as smoothly as I'd hoped. The snow, the girls being sick (the Peanut has since come down with what ailed the Bean), a couple days in a row of constant sibling bickering that had me fit to lose my ever-lovin' mind, unpacking, laundry, a newly broken dishwasher door, and trouble getting to sleep before 2:00 AM... I'm tired. Really tired. And there is still our postponed Christmas -- not my favorite holiday even under normal circumstances -- to prepare for.
The big picture, though, is all good. We are safe, sound, and content -- and tomorrow, we are leaving the house No Matter What. (Please melt, please melt, please melt.)
Oh! Before you go, because you were doubtless wondering, here is the cheesiness that was in my head yesterday:
Today's earworm is a distinct, a-u-t-omatic improvement I think. I love me some artist-formerly-known-as, and boy, did I play this album a lot in its day. This "video" is just the song playing to a still of the album cover, but you get the song anyhow.
In the morning we went right to the service station to address the tire pressure warning light that, along with the icy roads, had me stressed out all the way home the day before. I'd put air in the tires, but it kept coming back on. I've been assured that the tires weren't dangerously low and that those warning lights are more trouble than help. It hasn't come on since, so I'm happy to forget all about it.
We next hit the post office to pick up our mail and notify them to resume delivery (incidentally, if you've got an ongoing home improvement project - and who doesn't? - ask the post office for a change of address packet. Inside is a coupon for 10% off at Lowe's, which can be a fair bit if the project is enormous, as ours tend to be. There, don't say Noted & Blogged never gave you anything), and -- what was this sentence about? Oh yes -- then stopped for lunch at The Bee-Hive Tavern. I can't make up my mind about that place. The food is always good, but sometimes I don't get a particularly friendly vibe there, especially if I have the girls along, which I both understand (lots of kids behave badly in restaurants) and resent (mine don't, and I'd appreciate the benefit of the doubt, at least at the front door).
On to the grocery store, which, of course, has been significantly reconfigured in our absence, and will take longer to get through till I've got the new pattern down. We were almost done when the Bean just completely crashed. Out of the blue she said "Mommy I feel terrible," and had a distinct fever. We left right away to get her to bed.
Rest and ibuprofen had her on the mend, but not well enough to go to school on the 23rd. The Peanut was raring to go, though. The last thing she'd done at her west coast school, on the day before winter break there, was wear pajamas to school and watch The Polar Express. She was ecstatic to learn that on the last day before winter break here, her class would be doing the same. Must be a nationwide 1st grade tradition. So she put on her PJs with cupcakes on them, and off we went.
After school she said she was glad to be with her old friends again, but that "it felt like I was famous, and I didn't really like that." I guess they made a huge fuss of her, because the Peanut seems like someone who would dig fame. Anyway that's much better than having her feel lost in the shuffle. She also reported, in detail, what everyone else had on their pajamas. Kids are really interested in other kids' pajamas. I'm sure her classmates went home and told their parents the Peanut has cupcake pajamas.
All in all, getting settled in has not gone as smoothly as I'd hoped. The snow, the girls being sick (the Peanut has since come down with what ailed the Bean), a couple days in a row of constant sibling bickering that had me fit to lose my ever-lovin' mind, unpacking, laundry, a newly broken dishwasher door, and trouble getting to sleep before 2:00 AM... I'm tired. Really tired. And there is still our postponed Christmas -- not my favorite holiday even under normal circumstances -- to prepare for.
The big picture, though, is all good. We are safe, sound, and content -- and tomorrow, we are leaving the house No Matter What. (Please melt, please melt, please melt.)
Oh! Before you go, because you were doubtless wondering, here is the cheesiness that was in my head yesterday:
Today's earworm is a distinct, a-u-t-omatic improvement I think. I love me some artist-formerly-known-as, and boy, did I play this album a lot in its day. This "video" is just the song playing to a still of the album cover, but you get the song anyhow.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
A great time-lapse video of the lunar eclipse I didn't see first hand
It was cloudy here last night so I only heard the music. (Wait, what?)
Winter Solstice Lunar Eclipse from William Castleman on Vimeo.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Welcome back to New England!
Do risk your lives driving the icy highway home from Boston! At home, your consolation prizes await: 12" of wet heavy snow in the driveway and a large bottle of maximum strength Advil!
Still, it is so good to be back.
More anon.
Still, it is so good to be back.
More anon.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Other Kids Suck, part the Nth
Some little shit of a kid ("Torrey") punched my very own Bean in the stomach today. I think it was more game-gone-too-far than intent to really hurt, but still. He PUNCHED her. In the STOMACH. And it did hurt her, so much that she felt it in her throat. (I swear, give me one minute in a room alone with either or both of his parents, and I'll show them a punch they'll never forget. Oh wait... lead by example... damn. This parenting thing? Hard.)
We will be addressing it with her teacher tomorrow morning. A kid throwing unprovoked punches around in class is worth letting someone know about, I think. I will stand with her, but I want the words to come from her, so she'll be standing up for herself. I see the tears, after school, about a hurtful thing that happened... but I don't see enough indignation, enough HEY! I DIDN'T DESERVE THAT!. She doesn't like to make that kind of noise, but the little rotters of the school world are going to smell out that she won't say anything. I tell her she may never hit first, but she may always hit back, and if she gets in trouble for that it will not be with me. She'll never do it. But I want her to know she has my absolute support to be fierce in protecting herself.
After that happened, she went right to math class, where she is minding her own business, working on her line plot exercise, and a different little shit of a kid ("Grayson"... where do people come up with these names?) bends back a plastic ruler to use it to fling something at her, and of course it snaps into pieces. The Bean doesn't want to tattle so she lets him say they were both goofing around when it broke. Because they were sharing the ruler, they have to replace it. Naturally little Grayson says he won't. So the Bean's very upset because she doesn't want to give up her own ruler (which she wasn't using because she has math with the fourth graders and leaves her own class to go to theirs). Absolutely she will not give up her own ruler. I do wish she had spoken up at the time, but she's writing the teacher a note explaining what happened. Darling Grayson can figure out how to make up for his own behavior. The lesson for the Bean is that if you let yourself be talked into sharing the blame for something you didn't do, you will also be expected to share the consequences.
Third grade: not as easy as it looks.
We will be addressing it with her teacher tomorrow morning. A kid throwing unprovoked punches around in class is worth letting someone know about, I think. I will stand with her, but I want the words to come from her, so she'll be standing up for herself. I see the tears, after school, about a hurtful thing that happened... but I don't see enough indignation, enough HEY! I DIDN'T DESERVE THAT!. She doesn't like to make that kind of noise, but the little rotters of the school world are going to smell out that she won't say anything. I tell her she may never hit first, but she may always hit back, and if she gets in trouble for that it will not be with me. She'll never do it. But I want her to know she has my absolute support to be fierce in protecting herself.
After that happened, she went right to math class, where she is minding her own business, working on her line plot exercise, and a different little shit of a kid ("Grayson"... where do people come up with these names?) bends back a plastic ruler to use it to fling something at her, and of course it snaps into pieces. The Bean doesn't want to tattle so she lets him say they were both goofing around when it broke. Because they were sharing the ruler, they have to replace it. Naturally little Grayson says he won't. So the Bean's very upset because she doesn't want to give up her own ruler (which she wasn't using because she has math with the fourth graders and leaves her own class to go to theirs). Absolutely she will not give up her own ruler. I do wish she had spoken up at the time, but she's writing the teacher a note explaining what happened. Darling Grayson can figure out how to make up for his own behavior. The lesson for the Bean is that if you let yourself be talked into sharing the blame for something you didn't do, you will also be expected to share the consequences.
Third grade: not as easy as it looks.
Thursday, December 09, 2010
SOTD
This video doesn't say "oooh, fun" to me, but hey. It's still the song of the day even though these kids should get off my lawn.
Also: you may have noticed word verification is back, for commenting. I'm sorry to have reinstated it but I was getting an awful lot of spam.
Also: you may have noticed word verification is back, for commenting. I'm sorry to have reinstated it but I was getting an awful lot of spam.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Road trip reflections
So our west coast adventure is about done and we're winding down, making preparations for the trip home. Back in August, I drove out here and Mr. Sandy flew with the girls. In two weeks I'll fly home with them and a friend will join him to drive the car back.
Though I'm eager to be home sweet home as soon as possible, I'd happily do the drive again. I had such a great time on the way out here. People kept asking if it wouldn't seem less daunting to have a companion along, but I was frankly craving the time alone.
I get so excited for a long road trip! I love to drive, which helps, but beyond that, I often get itchy to see... well, anything different. Where does that road go? What's around that bend? on the other side of those hills? down that valley? What would happen if I turned? kept going? pointed the car west and just didn't stop? Nothing scratches that itch like a drive across a continent. Wheee!
I figured on day 1 I'd get as far into Pennsylvania as I could manage, with a midday stop to see friends in New Jersey.
Now, it doesn't matter if New Jersey is the end of the line, or just the first of many stops in a heady adventure leading all the way to the glorious Oregon coast -- there's no getting around that unlovely bit of I-95 S through Connecticut (the unlovely bits of I-84 through Connecticut are arguably not progress). So I was about 40 minutes into my journey before I was tempted to flip off another driver. This was a BMW driver from New York. I had been driving almost 55 minutes before I was tempted to flip off another other driver. This was also a BMW driver from New York.
Ah, the lure of the open road.
But really... really. There is nothing like crossing the great, gorgeous, rolling American prairie for hours upon hours, and seeing a towering, snow-capped mountain range come into focus out of the far horizon's gray haze. My first strained view of the Beartooth escarpment from the ranch lands of eastern Wyoming brought tears to my eyes. (See, I can't have anyone along for something like that. I have my curmudgeonly reputation to uphold.) What must that sight have felt like from horseback or covered wagon? I just can't get my mind around it. I'm sure many a pioneer diary just left off at the 19th century equivalent of "ho-ly shit."
For the return trip though, it's my turn to fly. That'll be OK. I'll get back sooner, I won't have to cross the Rockies in winter weather, and it will be really fun to see the girls rediscover their own home, which they've missed so much. Maybe they'll be so delighted to see what toys they've forgotten that I can avoid Christmas shopping altogether. Now that would suit my curmudgeonly reputation just fine.
(Oh don't worry, I'll get them Christmas presents. I'm not that big of a Grinch. Yet.)
Though I'm eager to be home sweet home as soon as possible, I'd happily do the drive again. I had such a great time on the way out here. People kept asking if it wouldn't seem less daunting to have a companion along, but I was frankly craving the time alone.
I get so excited for a long road trip! I love to drive, which helps, but beyond that, I often get itchy to see... well, anything different. Where does that road go? What's around that bend? on the other side of those hills? down that valley? What would happen if I turned? kept going? pointed the car west and just didn't stop? Nothing scratches that itch like a drive across a continent. Wheee!
I figured on day 1 I'd get as far into Pennsylvania as I could manage, with a midday stop to see friends in New Jersey.
Now, it doesn't matter if New Jersey is the end of the line, or just the first of many stops in a heady adventure leading all the way to the glorious Oregon coast -- there's no getting around that unlovely bit of I-95 S through Connecticut (the unlovely bits of I-84 through Connecticut are arguably not progress). So I was about 40 minutes into my journey before I was tempted to flip off another driver. This was a BMW driver from New York. I had been driving almost 55 minutes before I was tempted to flip off another other driver. This was also a BMW driver from New York.
Ah, the lure of the open road.
But really... really. There is nothing like crossing the great, gorgeous, rolling American prairie for hours upon hours, and seeing a towering, snow-capped mountain range come into focus out of the far horizon's gray haze. My first strained view of the Beartooth escarpment from the ranch lands of eastern Wyoming brought tears to my eyes. (See, I can't have anyone along for something like that. I have my curmudgeonly reputation to uphold.) What must that sight have felt like from horseback or covered wagon? I just can't get my mind around it. I'm sure many a pioneer diary just left off at the 19th century equivalent of "ho-ly shit."
For the return trip though, it's my turn to fly. That'll be OK. I'll get back sooner, I won't have to cross the Rockies in winter weather, and it will be really fun to see the girls rediscover their own home, which they've missed so much. Maybe they'll be so delighted to see what toys they've forgotten that I can avoid Christmas shopping altogether. Now that would suit my curmudgeonly reputation just fine.
(Oh don't worry, I'll get them Christmas presents. I'm not that big of a Grinch. Yet.)
Monday, December 06, 2010
SOTD
I don't know why. If I knew why, it wouldn't be the song of the day.
But I found a really cheesy video for it. Behold:
But I found a really cheesy video for it. Behold:
Saturday, December 04, 2010
The Peanut's Wish List
I am working on translating this into an Amazon.com wish list, but interested parties may preview here. Some of this stuff she already has, but has forgotten because she's been away from them (marker set? bead set? Is she kidding me? Our house is full to overflowing with markers and beads). Some things I'm not sure she'd be interested in for long (stick horse? isn't that a toddler thing?), but here it is, typed as received for better or worse. I'm told I shouldn't worry about her spelling, but to be delighted that she loves writing so much...
My Wish list
jump rope (shorte)
any barby
tigre stuft anamle (orang)
loinge juprope
chowe Topazz Fary (ranbow magic)
Prinsses char
Toy car
stick hors
miny computer
toy sord (with case)
toy leesh
D.S.
Diary (kitin)
stuft anaml duck (and duckling)
Webcin (yoonacorn)
miny staplr
math book
toy bote
pinsas ozma dresup
dogy dresup costoom
kitin stuft anamle
markr set
memary mach card game
beed set
dressup hiy heels
batan
Ice age moovy
miny bulatin bord
marbl set
sily bands
toy teliscop
My Wish list
jump rope (shorte)
any barby
tigre stuft anamle (orang)
loinge juprope
chowe Topazz Fary (ranbow magic)
Prinsses char
Toy car
stick hors
miny computer
toy sord (with case)
toy leesh
D.S.
Diary (kitin)
stuft anaml duck (and duckling)
Webcin (yoonacorn)
miny staplr
math book
toy bote
pinsas ozma dresup
dogy dresup costoom
kitin stuft anamle
markr set
memary mach card game
beed set
dressup hiy heels
batan
Ice age moovy
miny bulatin bord
marbl set
sily bands
toy teliscop
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Things I will miss when it's time to head home, part the first
I love my home. I say that a lot, and I mean it. A lot.
Happily, I love it here, too; I'm going to miss several things about living here. Rather than wait for a comprehensive list to spring from my mind to the keyboard and emerge from these hallowed intertubes crafted, complete and suitably comical for your brief amusement, I figure I'll just post stuff as it occurs to me.
Pause, sip, savor... mmm. Here's what occurs to me first:
I will miss being able to buy wine in grocery stores. They even sell it at Rite Aid here, fer cryin' out loud. Not just the cheap stuff, either, although particularly for wine, even very good ones are much less expensive than at home... by half, in some cases. And cases are what I should be buying, because I'll be back in the land of overpriced "package stores" (= liquor stores. It's a New England thing) before Paul Giamatti can holler "we are NOT drinking Merlot!" (What did he mean by that? I love Merlot.)
A while back there was a ballot question in Massachusetts about allowing supermarkets to sell beer and wine. I honestly can't remember how I voted on it; I do like the idea for its convenience, but I think in the end I was concerned that losing grocery store shelf space to beer and wine would make for fewer choices in the food aisles, which are largely full of mainstream junk as it is. The bigger worry for most people (well, maybe for less selfish people) was what effect (not "impact," goddammit) it would have on the folks who own package stores, who wouldn't be able to compete with prices the big grocery store companies could set.
I don't know how that plays out in places like this. There are wine shops here practically adjacent to supermarkets that sell wine, and neither seems to be suffering for it, but I really don't know. I think that at home, unless being able to sell beer and wine would result in the food stores immediately adding square footage, my concern about allocation of shelf space is valid. Grocery stores here are freakin' huge (about which more later). Wine shops are nice for getting advice and discovering new things, but to stock up on familiar wines, I want to go where they're least expensive. Here in my home-away-from-home, that means one-stop shopping. Bread, milk, eggs, peanut butter, bananas, Pinot Noir, IPA. Cool.
The Massachusetts ballot question failed, so for better or worse, package stores will remain for the foreseeable future. In my home town of some 23,000 people, I can think of at least ten stores that sell wine; probably there are more. My favorite (I would link to it, but its home page appears to have been designed by used car salesmen) has a good sale on the first and third Thursday of the month. Even so, I'm in for some sticker shock on my return.
Do you think it's a good idea for supermarkets to be able to sell beer and wine? How does it work in your neck of the woods?
Happily, I love it here, too; I'm going to miss several things about living here. Rather than wait for a comprehensive list to spring from my mind to the keyboard and emerge from these hallowed intertubes crafted, complete and suitably comical for your brief amusement, I figure I'll just post stuff as it occurs to me.
Pause, sip, savor... mmm. Here's what occurs to me first:
I will miss being able to buy wine in grocery stores. They even sell it at Rite Aid here, fer cryin' out loud. Not just the cheap stuff, either, although particularly for wine, even very good ones are much less expensive than at home... by half, in some cases. And cases are what I should be buying, because I'll be back in the land of overpriced "package stores" (= liquor stores. It's a New England thing) before Paul Giamatti can holler "we are NOT drinking Merlot!" (What did he mean by that? I love Merlot.)
A while back there was a ballot question in Massachusetts about allowing supermarkets to sell beer and wine. I honestly can't remember how I voted on it; I do like the idea for its convenience, but I think in the end I was concerned that losing grocery store shelf space to beer and wine would make for fewer choices in the food aisles, which are largely full of mainstream junk as it is. The bigger worry for most people (well, maybe for less selfish people) was what effect (not "impact," goddammit) it would have on the folks who own package stores, who wouldn't be able to compete with prices the big grocery store companies could set.
I don't know how that plays out in places like this. There are wine shops here practically adjacent to supermarkets that sell wine, and neither seems to be suffering for it, but I really don't know. I think that at home, unless being able to sell beer and wine would result in the food stores immediately adding square footage, my concern about allocation of shelf space is valid. Grocery stores here are freakin' huge (about which more later). Wine shops are nice for getting advice and discovering new things, but to stock up on familiar wines, I want to go where they're least expensive. Here in my home-away-from-home, that means one-stop shopping. Bread, milk, eggs, peanut butter, bananas, Pinot Noir, IPA. Cool.
The Massachusetts ballot question failed, so for better or worse, package stores will remain for the foreseeable future. In my home town of some 23,000 people, I can think of at least ten stores that sell wine; probably there are more. My favorite (I would link to it, but its home page appears to have been designed by used car salesmen) has a good sale on the first and third Thursday of the month. Even so, I'm in for some sticker shock on my return.
Do you think it's a good idea for supermarkets to be able to sell beer and wine? How does it work in your neck of the woods?
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