December 2003
comment 8:26 AM December 1 2003 I think I should clarify something about my Sunday post. I was in a weird state of mind when I wrote it. I'm always frustrated by having physical pain. I never know what to do. I know there are resources but I become paralyzed by the idea of what should be true. I shouldn't have to use resources that are there for the poor. I should have it together. And the shoulds are loud and wrong headed. I spin for a while and then I go on. I was tired and achy from a night of restlessness and pain. I read something that bugged me and it reminded me of some other things that have been bugging me and I tried to write about it without taking it on directly. And, honestly, I still don't want to take it on directly. It was something that was written in a manner that I knew was intended as parody, or hyperbole. But I had to stretch to hold it. And it reminded me of all the times I've stretched to hold something that is intended to be one thing but hits me as sexism. I have a friend who sends me lists of jokes about men and women. I just don't get the joke. Or. I do get the joke. But I don't like it. Writing about something without writing about it makes for bad writing. And I'm still doing it. Oh well. So, for the record, I get linked plenty. I have found some wonderful friends on line. It's not just about links. I'm grateful for anyone who spends the time it takes to read anything I write, ever. I haven't watched Oprah for a while. She pisses me off too much. But when she's good, she's good. And I knew she had Cry The Beloved Country as her book group book because there are stacks of it in every book store with the sticker on the cover. I do hate those stickers. As always you gotta give her propers for getting people to read. It's a beautiful book. She sent three women from the book club to South Africa. As the show began we see the women in an expensive hotel and shopping in a mall. And then they take a trip to Soweto. The obvious portrait of the extremes. Which isn't to say that the extremes don't exist. But there was something about Soweto as a stop on a grande tour that felt unreal. It was in the Apartheid Museum that things got a little bit real. The women of color went in one side and the white woman went in the other. They were separated by bars. The African American woman wept. If you go to the site for the museum you are given the choice to enter through the white only or black only door. I stared at the screen for a few minutes in shock, unsure about what to do. The women on Oprah continued on their tour. Villages. Schools. Mountain tops. And Robben Island. They sat in the cell in which Mandela began so many years of imprisonment and the talked. I don't think I would be able to talk. At that point the show turned to some talk about AIDS in Africa and other parts of the world, ending with Oprah and her book group at the big concert. It was moving. And interesting. Star studded. Oprah will be sending a gazzillion books to South African libraries. Which is a good thing. It also felt slick and glamorized. An on the one hand/on the other hand kinda thing. So much beauty in the world. So much horror. So much. comment 10:37 PM December 2 2003 Happy Birthday Elayne! Happy birthday Monk! I may be falling into a brain blur. Everything I see seems to splay into a spectrum of meaning. I am given to seeing both sides of things. I'm actually given to seeing more sides of things than may actually exist. Heh. Cleis picked up on my sexism post. I got the thrill/paranoia rush that I often do when I see my own words on someone else's page. Cleis looked at how many blogs on her blog roll were by men and by women and notes that "My blog roll is just a list of what I read." Which is absolutely true. And there are people with no blog roll. Dorothea moved her blog roll off her main page. My own blog roll has become completely unwieldy. I do not get through it every day. So what is the meaning of a blog roll? When I come upon a new blog I look at the blog roll. If I see people I know and read I feel connected. It's a superficial connection. It's the beginning of relationship. I have also had the experience of seeing a blog roll full of unfamiliar names and, a few clicks later, I find myself in a whole new world of interesting writing. I often read through other people's blog rolls. There's only been a few times that I took someone off my blog roll. I do think about how people feel when they are delinked. Recently, I was delinked. It happened when the person was reorganizing. I think it was unconscious. But it's been a while and I'm still not on the roll. And it does make me feel erased. But should it? There are people on my blog roll who don't have me on their's and people have me on their blog roll who aren't on mine. What does it mean? Some times it's just about the amount of time that any of us can spend reading. Sometimes it's about naming our tribe. Amp has a completely overwhelming blogroll. But he does this very cool thing. He regularly posts a list of things he's been reading. Of course, I might use Amp as an example of all things good about blogging. Susan does something similar. Elayne does. George does. (Although why I'm not on George's blog roll I can't figure.) I don't. If I'm liking someone in my post I'm usually calling out something they said, or did, or linked to. In part that's about the constantly shifting purpose of my blog. Cleis goes on to talk about unwitting marginalization. And that was what I was trying to talk about. I think there's a fair amount of who gets linked that is just about interest. People find something that you are saying interesting. They link it. There is a big conversation happening on the web. When it comes to things I'm not all that interested in, I don't link. But there are things to be contemplated. I don't participate in things like Technorati, or the Ecosystem, or Blogshares, when it was happening, because I can't handle the emotions. I can't handle the competition, the feeling of not being good enough. Maybe that's about maturity. And maybe that's about resisting the way hierarchy overlays so much of what we see and read and think about. My post suffered from oblique reference. I was talking about two things at once. Sexism in the blog world is often subtle. And the blog world is big. There are many different reasons for writing on line. When I get too whacked out trying to parse the meaning I try to remember my blog parents. Both are still writing on line. Neither seems to pay much attention to metablogging. I followed their lead when I started. I wasn't sure what I was doing. I'm still not. comment 12:54 PM December 3 2003 Matt kicked rhetorical butt last night in the debate. Of course it wasn't hard. I'm still feeling bad. Still not sure what to do. comment 9:48 AM December 3 2003 As it turns out I have pleurisy. Isn't that the weirdest thing? My doctor is as sweet as I remember her to be. It cost so much money. Makes me want to cry. But I have pills. Big pills. I should be feeling better soon but it might take a month before it goes away. A month. So strange. And it hurts. But not that bad. Doesn't it seem like I should be laying on a fainting couch reading Mary Shelly? comment 9:59 PM December 4 2003 DOH! I never get the lay/lie thing right. Cheryl (best editor in the world) tries and tries to explain it to me and it's in one ear and out the other. And my copy of Strunk & White just sits on the shelf. But really. Doesn't pleurisy seem like something people got at the turn of the century? The truth is I can't lie anywhere for long. That's the big problem. In the day I feel OK. Some movement hurts. Sometimes taking a breath hurts. But I'm OK. It's when I lie down in bed that things get bad. I can lie on my stomach for a while but not too long. I cannot lie on my side. I can lie on my back if I'm propped up on pillows. But for the last three nights I've had to get out of bed because it hurt too bad and sleep in my chair. I love my chair. But it isn't a good sleeping chair. I tried to use enough pillows to sit up straight in bed. It just didn't work. Being in my chair wasn't even working last night. At one point I was staring at the ceiling in my living room trying to decide if it was a perfect square. So I'm dingy from lack of sleep and pain. But it really isn't that bad. I'm taking my pills. I'm taking it easy. I read a few blogs today. It turns out my metablogging was a few days early. There is some discussion on the web about the Wizbang weblog awards. I nominate Lauren for the coolest response to her nomination. I haven't read them all. There were so many blogs I didn't know and the ones I did know seemed to be on the conservative side. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Heh. I want to go off on a nice long rant about hierarchy and marginalization and what does it mean to be a feminine writer but I fear my lungs aren't up it. And when I say that I really want you to picture me with one hand to my forehead and the other clutching my chest. Maybe I should be more worried about having pleurisy. But it just seems too kooky. I need to not make jokes because it hurts when I laugh. comment 12:24 PM December 5 2003 It's raining and cold in SF. The perfect weather for pleurisy. I've entered into some Dickinsonian dream state. I've been planning to bake some cookies. I haven't done anything for the holidays for years. School sucked everything out of me. But Mom & Ken will be here. The guy who cuts my hair, having received some cookies from me once, always asks if I'm going to bake. So... Yesterday I made dough for some cookies and baked oatmeal, date, walnut cookies. It's hard for me to move around for too long because my chest starts to hurt. But my chest hurts when I stay still as well. April posted a question at WHB about holidays and politics. She also had interesting things to say about Buy Nothing Day and diet mentality. There was a commercial for Walmart in which a man and a woman were shopping, buying plastic storage tubs and new pillow cases and whatever. At the end of the commercial they look at each other fondly and one says something about having a productive day. Every time I saw it I shouted, "NO! YOU'VE HAD A CONSUMPTIVE DAY!" It doesn't really bother me that people buy stuff for their home and feel happy. I do that. What I like about Buy Nothing Day is that it calls out the frantic cha-ching of the holiday season. But I take April's point. There is a way in which this time of year is about bacchanalia and should be. It should be about pleasure and bounty and all that. There's a great convergence of more than one holiday and it's a big party before the long dark winter night. But if you can't keep up, financially, emotionally, it can just suck. So my politics are a comfort to me. My politics, my general world view, makes it possible for me to opt out. The neighbors down the hall moved out a while ago and the apartment is being painted and fixed up. The handy man asked me to check on something the other day so I got to walk around in it. It's great. Beautiful view. All new and shiny. I've been imagining my furniture in every room. It's way too expensive and my life is way too uncertain to move. But I have been entertaining myself with thoughts about how I'd arrange every room. And I would feel happy for a while, having more space and new stuff. And I need some fun. Some sense of things beginning. So I day dream. And then I wake up and I'm in my already pretty cool apartment. It is raining and my lungs hurt and I'm worried about the parent visit. I still need a job and an agent and ... Sigh. I've been operating outside of the holly-daze for a few years now. It just wasn't what my life was about. If I had money I'd buy stuff for people. But I don't. And in a way my politics are a comfort to me. Because I do think Americans have consumption and production mixed up. And I think we take both too far. And I think this time of year becomes a hetero nuclear family Judeo Christian Hallmark frenzy. It's too hopped up. Diet mentality is about fear of pleasure. It's the thought that pleasure will have a negative impact on who we are. And maybe sometimes pleasure does have a negative impact on who we are. So? We can recover from most excess. I think moderation and balance is a good daily practice and excess is a release. My politics are (hopefully) about inclusion and understanding that life is full of surprises and possibilities. This year I'm baking some cookies. I have the time. I almost have the energy. I'm pretty good at it. Honestly. I don't know if any of these last week of posts makes any sense. My thoughts are just all over the place. I did get some sleep last night. When I first got into bed it felt like there was a ton of bricks on my chest. I put my pillows in a pile and managed to sit almost straight up and the pain dialed down. I woke up a few times because I was uncomfortable and I was still having jabs of pain but I got more sleep than I've had in a few days. There's something about the dreariness of the weather and the ache in my chest and the pondering of the meaning of the season. I'm woozy. And loopy. Someone pass me my laudanum and guide me back to the pillow pile. Pat me on the head and say, "There there dear, do try and sleep some more." comment 9:22 AM December 6 2003 Sometimes you think a thing is gonna be OK and then you get into it and you know it's not but you're already committed. Like, I had an appointment to get my hair cut yesterday. My hair guy is only a block away so I figured I could go. The minute I walked out the door I felt like I had a fever. I didn't have a fever at the docs office the other day. I guess it might have been a hot flash. Getting the hair cut was OK but by the time I got home I felt pretty bad. I guess I need to take pleurisy more seriously. I've just been having too much fun making jokes and thinking that because I'd seen a doctor I was all better. She did say it was going to take a while. I tried to take a nap but I couldn't get to sleep so I watched The Four Feathers. I couldn't stand sitting in the chair any more so I moved to the computer and started fooling around with the site design. As you can see. I don't know when I stopped feeling flushed and achy. I was in a daze. Have I been saying I'm in daze for awhile now? Well. I think I was afraid to go to bed. Despite the fact that I felt so tired. It's just so weird because I don't feel that bad as long as I'm sitting up and not moving around too much. So I convince myself that it's not that bad. When I finally went to bed I didn't even try to lie down. I sat, propped against the pillows. At about five I woke up and decided to roll onto my stomach. Which turned out to be the second bad idea. After about twenty minutes of misery I ended up in my chair. When it hurts, it really, really hurts. My hair looks good. comment 10:58 AM December 7 2003 I'm changing the name of the blog to the woe is me blog. Or is that woe is I? Night time is a trial. The day is really not terrible. I'm tired. I get pains. But no big deal. It's the night. I can't lie down. I can't get comfortable. And the more I try the more pain I feel. Last night, at three-thirty eight, I was standing at the side of my bed. I'd already been in the bed and then to the chair and now I was back at the bed. And I just didn't want to get into it. But I did. At eight I moved back to the chair. I am not getting deep rest. And it is making me cranky. In the middle of the night I was reading an old McSweeney's because it was on the shelf next to me. I finished The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night. I'm gonna write about it. I never do that in my All Consuming lists. I keep thinking I need to that. Maybe later. After I take a shower. It's the middle of the day and I'm still in my pjs. Mom said something interesting about pleurisy. I was commenting on how odd it seemed and that I'd never known anyone who'd had it. And she talked about being from Pittsburgh. She said people from Pittsburgh often had problems. Things in the city were being cleaned up when I was young. It is true that my grandmother had emphysema and my uncle had lung problems. Mom spent more time in Pittsburgh than I did and she has a funny little cough. But she's never had big lung problems. I dunno. It's also been interesting because now I seem to know so many people who either had, or have, or know someone who had it. It's always like that, isn't it? The Internet is just too much fun. Cleis Linked Mr. Picasso Head. AKMA linked this Snow globe. Leslie Harpold has her advent calendar up. Dru and Aaron blogged this cool tarot site. Countless hours of fun. Rene is blogging up a storm about Matt. I'm missing the action. But I wont miss my time in the polling booth. I had another dream about Matt. He walked into a bar and ordered a beer and then poured some darker beer into it. I can imagine him doing that. I want him to be the mayor. So much. Sigh. So. Yeah. Sleep. Woe
is comment 12:45 PM December 7 2003 David Weir wrote an article about slumlord support for Kamala Harris. I haven't mentioned my support for Terrance Hallinan. I've been focused on Matt. But I will be voting for Terrance. If you live in SF please read this and link to it. comment 7:52 PM December 8 2003 I did watch a bit of Average Joe after Paul blogged it. My antipathy for reality shows (except the ones in which cooking is involved) remains in tact. I knew there was going to be a fat suit on the show and frankly, I wasn't in the mood. Of all the reality shows the ones in which a group of folks vie for the (cough) love of a man or a woman are the most offensive to me. Maybe it isn't about offensive. Maybe it's about fear. I can't really bear the idea that love is about beauty and money and a few dates on national television. And there's always a deceit involved, isn't there? All the people think their love interest is a millionaire and they aren't. The girl pretends to be her fat cousin. Is love about surviving deceit? Frankly if someone wore a fat suit to find out how I felt about fat people I wouldn't be feeling love. Why is it that these shows can't use real fat people? Would it have been too real if they watched the men react to me? I guess the idea was that this was the same woman - inside. Thin. And fat. Why should her appearance change their feelings for her? Well. Because their feelings for her are developing in about six weeks. They don't have time to know her in any deep way. And there's a camera. The whole thing is about appearance. There was a section of the show in which she is walking along in her fat suit and she asks a few men where the nearest movie theater is and is shocked when she is ignored. Apparently when she is thin she has no problem getting directions. So we learn that fat people aren't even afforded courtesy on the streets. Gee. Who woulda thought? I didn't watch the whole show. Really. I do not have the strength to fend off the horror I feel knowing that this is called reality. I see the guy that they are saying is average and I just don't get it. I don't really know what average means. But I thought I might want to write about it. So I kept the sound off and watched for the parts in which she wore the suit. I may have missed a few of them. I resent the use of fat suits. People in fat suits aren't fat people. They don't live in those bodies. I bet I could get directions to a movie theater. I would know who to ask. There certainly are people who have been rude to me on the streets. But I also know how to navigate all that silliness. One of the things you learn when you aren't someone who people react to because you look beautiful by some social construct is that people actually enjoy being treated as if they matter. Approaching people to ask for information with an open heart sometimes works. The idea that being fat isn't part of who I am is what bugs me. Fat suits are a lie. Love isn't served by a lie. Love isn't served by competition and rose ceremonies. And we aren't served by these ideas. But it isn't as simple as if you love what's inside a person you don't care what's outside. the inside and outside are connected. Love is a process. The inside and the outside both change with time. Love is the thread that holds it all together. Or. Maybe that's just what I hope is true. I don't know why I didn't write about the show the next day. Maybe I was on my way to becoming pleurisy girl and I just didn't have the energy. I don't know why I'm feeling the energy now. Maybe it's because I'm spending so much time staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night. There's a place in town where homeless men are given chairs in which to sleep. Suzanne told me that they all end up with problems in their legs. I'm getting about half of the sleep I do get in a chair. This morning when I woke up I noticed that my calves were really swollen. I did manage to sleep on my stomach and on my side for a little while last night, which I thought was a good sign. I started off sitting up in bed and then rolled over, sat back up for a while and then rolled to my side. By six I was in enough pain that went to the chair. I guess a pain killer might not be a bad idea. I'm trying to wait a week to see if the meds she gave me work. But I'm staggering. And I'm awake in the middle of the night thinking about love and fat suits and bad TV. comment 9:07 AM December 9 2003 Vote early and often. I wish I could vote more than once. It's gonna feel so good to vote today. Matt for Mayor. I felt pretty good voting for Clinton. Completely betrayed by the time he left office. More so yesterday. I'm holding onto my membership in the Democratic party long enough to vote for Dennis and then I'm going Green. I've voted Green in the last two elections. I'm voting Green today. But the truth is today has never been about party politics, for me. It's about the issues and the men. And Matt is the one. My polling place is right across the street. So I should be able to get there. And I actually got a fairly good night of sleep. Maybe I'm healing. Why does my computer sound like it's working so hard? It's making very weird noises. That cannot be good. comment 8:55 AM December 9 2003 The Guardian article is interesting. I didn't know Matt had been called the Socialist stud. The "scruffy, combative" Socialist stud. That kind of stuff drive me crazy. But the mayoral election has been shadowed by notions of virility from the beginning. Now we have the battle of the cute boys. What ever. I'm trying to ignore all that. I love that Matt's supporters are always characterized as young. Heh. Somebody check my ID. I guess from the outside this looks like the left eating the left. But I think it reflects exactly how much the Democratic party has drifted from some core values. We really need a third party. Listening to Gore say that Dean is the only candidate who has been able to inspire a grass roots movement pissed me off. Almost as much as listening to him (and Clinton) endorse Newsom. If either of them had looked at the sloppy, inhumane care not cash bullshit and the redundant panhandling measure that Newsome sold with money and hype, if they had checked out Matt's work with LAFCO, just so many things... Well. Actually. As I write this I'm thinking about NAFTA and GATT and all the other lovely ways Clinton betrayed us and I realize there's no where to go with my point. Gore can ignore Dennis. The Dems can continue to walk in the middle of the road. But what's happening in SF is happening all over the country. I want to get Bush out of office. I would not vote Green just for the sake of voting Green. But I don't like Dean. My thoughts are all over the place. My lungs hurt. Earlier I was listening to Matt preside over a meeting of the board. Marveling that he could sit there and do that on a day when so much is about to change. One way. Or the other. comment 4:45 PM December 9 2003 Eight oclock and it does not look good. Early absentees put Newson and Harris ahead. I've been clicking back and forth on channels and reloading the SF Gate page. Every time I reload the margin narrows. And narrows. Finally the television starts some reporting. I'm trying to be calm. But I can't be. It's so close. It's clear early on that Terrance won't win. Which makes me very sad. At 9:15 KPIX calls it for Gavin. This sucks. comment 9:17 PM But what is this urge not only to write, but to publish one's work? Besides the pleasure of being praised, there is the thought of communicating with other souls capable of understanding one's own, and thus of one's work becoming a meeting place for the souls of men. - Eugene Delacroix Via Whiskey River
December 10 2003 Right after Arnold was elected a friend of mine said he wondered when he had become the kind of person who cared about who was in the state house. And it made me laugh. For the entire time Reagan was in office I ignored constitutional politics. I went to India to sit at the feet of my guru. I came back and put together a rock-n-roll band, did cocaine and believed in the night. I just didn't pay attention to politics. It had nothing to do with my life. It's hard to pay attention when things are so weird. This was a close election. Matt is still the president of the board. He has great support. Newsom out spent him 10 to 1 to get the narrow win that he got. It's not all bad news. But it feels bad. Matt gave a very dignified concession speech. I'm not sure how to do political work. My heart is too easily fractured. I can hardly bear the way language is used to twist perception. And when did I become the kind of person who cares? I don't know when. But I do. So. My lungs are achy and raw but I think I am getting better. I slept again last night. Not entirely pain free but I did sleep. I have baked three kinds of biscotti and three kinds of cookies. I have two more doughs in the fridge. I'm trying to get all the baking done before Mom gets here. Life. Goes on. comment 8:55 AM December 11 2003 For a few days in a row I was eating scrambled eggs in the morning and chicken noodle soup in the afternoon. I'd eat a tangerine at some point in the day. I just didn't have an appetite. Until yesterday. Yesterday I ate a farmer breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, tangerine, tea, and a biscotti. When I was done eating I wanted to make the whole meal and eat it all over again. I think that's a good sign. But this morning I don't feel like eating again. Normally I go to bed around midnight and wake up around seven. Now that I can sleep I've been having trouble waking up before 9:00. Last night I was so deeply asleep that when I woke up because my chest was hurting I couldn't remember why. I turned over, went back to sleep and woke up at 8:00. I'm not worried about these things but I do feel out of sync. And not too interesting. I spent most of yesterday on the phone. Days and weeks will go be and I don't hear from anyone and then everyone calls on the same day. It was fun actually. And I still got two batches of cookies made. There are tins full of cookies piled in the kitchen. AND I'M STILL BAKING!! Really I don't feel very interesting. I moved the Bloggers for Matt button down to the left and the vote for Matt button to the refrigerator door. I have to turn the news off when they start talking about Newsom. Not a very Democratic thing to do but hey...I'm sad. Still haven't written that book review. Oh well. Maybe I'll do laundry. Sigh. comment 8:32 AM December 12 2003 Today is stay at home Friday. The Mexican American Political Association is calling for a general strike to express outrage over SB60. I am so excited about this. If they were really able to get even half of the people from Mexico, Central and South America working in the state of California to stay home the state would shut down. At the very least there would be a bad Friday night for restaurants. It will be hard for them to get folks to stay home. They won't want to risk their jobs, they need every penny they make and, if they are undocumented, they will fear exposure. It would have been great if they had been able to build coalitions with other immigrant populations. If I had a job I would stay home in solidarity. I won't go out to eat but I probably wouldn't have anyway. I hope it is HUGE !!! I think they should do it every Friday. Deb took me to Hell Foods because I wanted to get some already-made-for-me food. Mom will be here on Monday and we'll eat out while she's here. They can't stay with me because Ken can't get up the stairs. Actually up might not be as much of a problem as down. He has no balance. I doubt they'll come over. Mom might come. I'm not sure yet. Anyway I wanted to get enough food to get me to Monday and I'm trying to do lots of baking and then I'm not in the mood for cooking. My appetite is still whacky. I knew it would be best if I just had a few things that were not a hassle. So I got risotto cakes and roast beef and Mediterranean tuna. I have arugula and some beets and green beans,which I will roast (the beets) and blanch (the beans) today. I got some red beans so that I can make soup with some kale that has gone rather limp in my vegetable bin. And I also got some scallops and shrimp because Marilyn is coming over for dinner on Sunday. I guess I will be doing some cooking. So I'm hooked up. But the shopping trip wore me out. I had to head back to my fainting couch and call for tea. Which is hard since I have no fainting couch and no matter how loudly I call for tea no one responds. Heh. It's weird because I don't have trouble getting a breath but I can tell that my lungs are working harder. It's not as painful as it's been. It's just a drag. I am better every day. I just hope I can keep up with my 77 year old mother. Deb brought me a copy of The Greens cookbook in which there are recipes for her desserts. I don't think she gets near enough credit in it. She did a taste test on my cookies. She says they're good. I did not get the laundry done. comment 9:05 AM December 13 2003 Last night I curled up on my side. Seems like a small thing but I haven't been able to do it with pleurisy. After awhile I became uncomfortable and had to turn over but it really felt so good for the time I was able to be curled up in an embryonic ball. This morning my chest is really sore so I may have pushed it. And yesterday I did laundry, which meant going up and down the steps and I did more baking. So I may have pushed it all day. But I was so happy when I was curled up. I guess I mostly sleep on my stomach. It's one of those things you don't think much about until you can't do it. The boycott was small but it did get some press. It's one thing to talk about what should be true about labor laws and practices. The drivers license may have been a non issue and maybe it should be again. It certainly isn't the biggest issue. It is about dignity. And the truth is that the whole country is driven by a lot of undocumented labor. And that's about greed because businesses don't want to pay well. It's also about how economic policies and realities aren't well met. One time I was standing in a restaurant listening to a guy who was putting stainless steel up on the walls. White guy. Working class. Hard working. It was his own very tiny stainless steel business. I liked the guy. But that day he was ranting about people who came to this country and took all the jobs. He was ranting to the handy man and I. The handy man was from Nicaragua. He was married to an American woman so he was here legally. The ranting guy looked at us and realized we weren't sharing his outrage. He tried to make a distinction between the hard working people and the lazy people but we were already backing away from the conversation. That restaurant was filled with people from Mexico and Central and South America. Hierarchy was established by who had legal papers and who had fake ones, who spoke the best English and who had the most skills. I worked with one man who had dubious papers and not a lot of English but was smart, hard working and factitious. Eventually he became a manager in the kitchen. I had so much respect for this guy. And he wasn't the only one. There was one guy who had no English, washed dishes for 5.50 an hour, always smiled and did anything he was asked to do, was never late, never called in sick. No hope of advancement. Just day after day of brutal dirty work and money orders sent back to Mexico. Not many of the people I worked with were so in love with this country that they left their homes to be here. Many of them longed to go home. They spent heartbreaking amounts of money on phone bills. Combine that with the money they were sending home. They lived six or seven people in studios apartments. They often worked more than one job. They worked so hard. Every time I hear a story about immigration issues I imagine all the people who are here stopping their work and walking South. Every one of them. It would be so dramatic. And the Latino population is only one part of the story. But my friend from Australia with the blond hair and the blue eyes and lapsed work permit never seemed as worried about things and my friends with black hair and brown eyes and brown skins were. Most of California used to be Mexico. And my attitude is that, unless you have some American Indian blood you're an immigrant. I am. These are really complicated issues. But I was thrilled to see the photos of lines of people marching yesterday. Someone in the news characterized them as the sleeping giant and that's what they are. But they were awake yesterday. On the news there was a bit of film of the manager of Gordon Biersch saying that he had waiters chopping vegetables and he was cooking. A woman on the patio said she thought that people should be able to get their license but she didn't like the boycott. She said life shouldn't stop. Life. That would be the life where she sits on a patio drinking beer and eating garlic fries, waiters take home a living wage in tips, management takes home big checks and over arching corporate guys take home the biggest checks of all while some guy makes 5.50 an hour, half of which he sends back to a home he longs to see again. comment 9:53 AM December 14 2003 So Mom and I are on the phone. Because we talk on Saturday night. And because she's going to be here tomorrow. She's talking about how all her friends are so happy she's coming out to visit and how they all say hi and how impressed with me they were last year. And she says that she tells them about how I'm having a hard time finding a job and I have two strikes against me because I'm 50 and because I'm ...big. One of her friends tells her that when she first saw me she was shocked by how ... big ... I was but that within a few minutes of talking with me it was clear that there was "something there." Mom goes on. She says something like when a person first sees me they're like ... and she made some noise of disgust ... but then they talk to me and people usually like me. Yeah. That's me. Likeable. And it's a good thing. Since I'm ... big. I just ... sigh. I have a little place in which I store that kind of stuff. It's this place that looks like a post office. I sit there busily sorting through all the emotions and thoughts and compartmentalizing like crazy. She's 77. She loves me. She thinks I'd be happier if I was thin. She's been on a diet most of her life. I'm not around her that often. She's only gonna be here two weeks. People who don't know me think I'm disgusting. No they don't. Yes they do. No they don't. I don't care. Yes I do. No I don't. Sigh. The thing is, she's right. People who don't know you (me) make assumptions based on appearance. And age and weight are things for which I will be (am) judged. I just wish she had some outrage about it. For me. comment 8:41 AM December 15 2003 Wow. I really really really appreciate all the support. There's a lot to parse in all the comments. But really. So much great stuff. I realize that I have some new readers and it's been a while since I wrote thoughts about being fat. So. To be clear. I think there is more than one fat gene. I think there is more than one kind of fat body. I think there are people who can stop eating desert and take walks and they will begin to lose weight. There are people who will need to work-out with a degree of athleticism and become hyper-vigilant about food and still struggle to maintain what would be considered average weight. And there are degrees in between. I think it's possible to be fit and fat and healthy at any size. I think some fat people have issues with compulsive overeating (and they have my concern) but I don't think all fat people eat so much. I think the eat less/exercise more equation is simplistic and misunderstood. Food issues and the need for movement are things to talk about. Being fat begins with genetics and there are many things, like stress, that cause how fat any one person becomes. I don't think fat people are ugly and I do think there is weight based discrimination. If someone thinks I'm ugly that may be about preference and it may be about not looking at me with an open heart. But that's not a hill I'm going to die on. If someone doesn't hire me for a job I am able to do because of my weight, we're gonna rumble. I'm pretty anchored in my feelings about being fat. I'm not at all anchored when it comes to my mother. I want people to think about why they think the way they do about fatness. And I do want to allow for process. But ... I'm also tired of the ramp up of fat hatred. So I wrote a book and I write on line and I talk to people and then my mother talks about how people, and how she, thinks about my weight in such a mean spirited manner. I'm not anchored at all when it comes to my mother. Lynn came over and gave me some needles and cups to speed up the pleurisy healing. I'm pretty much better. The only time I feel it is when I first wake up or if I go out and am really active. Lynn's care always cures. I'll be all better soon. Marilyn came over for dinner. I made scallops with lemon buerre blanc, green beans and roasted fingerlings. We drank wine. The big cookie bake is pretty much done. Lynn, Leslie, K2 and Marilyn all got their boxes. Suzanne is coming today for hers. I have one for Alexandra and one for Mom and Ken. I'm not sure how I'm going to get the rest distributed. I want to get some dough made before I leave for the airport because Renee will be home in a week and I want her to have fresh baked ones. It'll be easier to do if the dough is already made. But once Mom and Ken get here it'll be their world. Graduation is Friday. Christmas is ten days away. It will all go by in a blur. And I will still blog. I've done a ton of work on my relationship with my Mom. I expect to do more. I've never known a time when she wasn't dieting or bingeing. She eats healthy food. She doesn't like fast food or junk very much. She swims and goes for walks. She's on no meds, unlike many of the people in her retirement village. But at 77 she is still occasionally does Weight Watchers. Her mother was fat. And her mother was active and fierce and never on a diet. Once in a conversation about my weight Mom said two things that made my brain hurt. She said don't blame your genetics. And. I've been fighting this all my life. Uh huh. I don't blame my genetics. I just know that my genetics mean I will always be some what fat. My body changes all the time. It has changed with age. The way I eat changes. How much I move changes. And that will always be true. But I'm not interested in making changes for a goal of weight loss. But I'm always trying to be more conscious in my body. Mom won't talk about my weight every day. Believe me. I won't allow that. I love her and I want to spend time with her but I don't really allow people to say mean things to me on a regular basis. She knows that. And we will have some nice times. But it has never been a peaceful relationship. Love is never the issue. It's all the loopy ways we express love. It was deeply encouraging to read comments yesterday. It gave me strength. I appreciate all the shared ire. I appreciate all the kind words. I appreciate the candor. Thank you. Very much. comment 7:58 AM December 17 2003 On Monday we gathered Mom and Ken from the airport and got them to the hotel. It was all pretty frenetic and convivial because we do love each other and we are glad to see each other. Mom has this joke that she is making to pretty much everyone she meets about how all her friends told her that she would gain weight in SF but she can't. But things are convivial. And frenetic. So I make a ... joke ... about maybe we can have one day where we don't use the words weight, loss or calorie. And we laugh. Since it was late we decided to eat in the hotel. She begins to tell Ken the story about the friend who had a negative response to my size but ... you know. And something in me pops. I say if I have to listen to this story again you'll be spending two weeks in SF without me. She doesn't get my upset because she thinks it's such a great story about how someone liked me the minute they heard me speak despite the negative first impression engendered by my weight. And I try to tell her why it's so mean and we snap at each other a bit and Ken, who really can't hear very well, is looking at us like he can tell something is going wrong but he can't tell exactly what. We cool it. I come home and feel like I'm on some very bad LSD. Every negative thought I've ever had, or am likely to have, pounding against my nerve endings. I'm compartmentalizing like crazy. I can't get to sleep for hours. I can't stay asleep. Tuesday was better. Pretty much. I bring them cookies and a tiny Christmas tree with a special little frog ornament for my frog collecting mother. We take a walk, her on two canes, him on a walker, me wondering which one of them is gonna fall first, trying to hold them both up with hyper-vigilance. When I was walking home from the hotel I thought about how much of myself I feel like I need to suppress around them. But I think they suppress some of themselves as well. Mom really couldn't understand why that story upset me and she files it under things about me that she doesn't understand. It's a big file. Since we had a bit of a row on the first day we are all being sweet. It's OK. I think part of what I've learned (am learning) from having the parents I have is about being with people who you love, holding the difficult feelings, maintaining your truth and allowing for contradictory truths. Sounds pretty profound. I am failing at most of that. Failing isn't the right word. I'm just trying to stay awake and enjoy the time I have with them and also maintain some kind of dignity. I think my relationship with them shadows all my relationships, in a way. I don't really like the term boundaries. We are all semi permeable at best. I don't expect to not get hurt or be angry in relationships. But how do you ... be ... in relationships in which there are big files full of things we can't talk about? I'm not sure. The comments on the last two posts have been so helpful and reassuring. You give me hope. comment 8:22 AM December 18 2003 And then there are moments when it all just becomes loopy. Mom & Ken & I are walking to get a coffee. Mom is out in front on her canes. Ken is pushing the wheel chair like he would a walker. He likes to get some exercise but I like to have the chair for when he gets too tired. A huge flock of green parrots fly by. Ken and I are looking at them and a woman walks up to us to ask if they are, in fact, parrots. Yes. They are. We turn onto the walk in front of the coffee place and the woman comes back to ask where else to look for parrots and we chat about how they are so beautiful isn't it cool that they're in the city and suddenly, out of the clear blue sky, she says she goes to over eaters anonymous and would I like to know where the meetings are. Ohmygawd. Mom & Ken are getting away from me so I turn to the woman and say something about a radical notion of a size positive world and race after them. It's not like stuff like that doesn't happen to me when M & K aren't around and they didn't know it happened because they were too far away and I think even my mom might have thought it a rude thing for a total stranger to say. (Although I wasn't going to test that idea by telling her about it.) Normally I would be pissed and maybe write a little rant about how people feel free to assume so much about a fat person. They assume they know how we eat and they assume we hate our bodies and they assume we will be willing to try anything to lose weight. It's just so totally rude and presumptuous and ... oh ... I am ranting. But really. Just then. It made me laugh. I mean ... whatthefuck! Is the camera on? I'm about to graduate. I'm going to get an MFA for which I wrote a book on my life as a fat woman. A book that I hope gives people a different view on life in a fat body. And suddenly I'm in the land of the well intended bully. We had our coffee and walked to the wharf for people watching and bad food. Mom is really happy because she's out and about. Ken is keeping up and I think he's having an OK time. We were all tired by 6:00. I went home. In front of my door was a really yellow big orchid from Craig and Adrienne. So beautiful! Earlier in the day I had been feeling so alone. I'm having a hard time finding people to give us rides to things, like the graduation. My friends are either busy, or out of town, or they drive cars that are too high and M & K won't be able to get in them. I get around on a bus. I guess they could take the bus but it seems too tenuous. But I'm not alone. There are many wonderful people sending me vibes. I took the orchid into the apartment and stared at it for awhile. I think someone told me that being around orchids makes people happy. It made me happy. comment 8:31 AM December 19 2003 I decided to spend a few minutes reading blogs and that's all the time I have. Things are OK. comment 7:51 AM December 20 2003 Mom was so excited about the graduation she didn't sleep well. My mother never has trouble sleeping. It was kinda cute. In part she was worried that she wouldn't be able to get a good seat. Seating was on a first come, first serve basis. They were letting people with special needs (walkers and canes) in through a side door. We got there way early and they were kind enough to let us in. It was raining pretty hard. I got them settled in and went to the place I needed to be. I sat for about forty minutes in the room with the caps and gowns listening to graduates from the business school talk about how the capture of Saddam was impacting the stock market. Finally I wandered out into the hall and found the poets. They were the first members of my program to gather. We marched across the yard, in our caps and gowns, in the rain, into the church. It was all very grand. Flags and music and people taking pictures. My program went early so I got my diploma case (the real thing comes later) from the president of the college and sat in the pew with my friends while a bunch of people got theirs. Families whooped and hollered. Some people puffed with pride, some waved at the crowd. It was sweet. I do think ceremony and ritual are good things. And I certainly feel like all those people should feel proud of going to school and getting their degrees and I clapped for them. I felt like I walking through someone else's movie. And I kept asking myself why. I guess I'm proud of the last six years. It seems like I should be. I'm one of those stories of people who go to school when they're older. Those stories always make me cry. I definitely feel lucky. Maybe proud comes later. After some existential delay that seems to be an elemental part of my character. The rain was making things crazy but we managed to get a cab to the restaurant. We had a very nice dinner and then got another cab back to the hotel. I tucked them in and walked home. The rain had calmed to drizzle. I owe a few thank you notes for cards I got yesterday. And thank you for the comments. There's that saying, after enlightenment - the laundry. Mom needs to do some laundry. So that's the big excitement for the day. I'm not quite in my own experience right now. I'm just trying to keep up. comment 7:56 AM December 22 2003 On Saturday evening we were sitting in a little restaurant where they serve individual pizzas made in a wood fired oven. For some reason that really captured Mom's interest. They also had a nice antipasti with bowls of marinating vegetables. We had just ordered when the lights went out. The restaurant couldn't serve us so we headed back to the hotel where, as it turned out, there were no lights. And no elevators. We sat in the lobby for a while. Finally I asked for help getting them up the three flights of steps to their room. Mom does better than Ken. His left foot turns out so far that he looks like a ballet dancer who is stuck in fifth position. And he is hunched over. Extremely unstable. We got up the steps and into the dark room. I left them with a flash light and came home to my own dark apartment. Today the power was still out but Mom was set on getting down the steps. I couldn't really blame her but I wasn't looking forward to watching them go down the steps. I got her down. We went backwards and very slowly, stopping at each landing to let others pass. And then I got help getting Ken down in the same manner. The guy carried the wheel chair down and stayed with us. We walked to a restaurant, where there were lights, for breakfast and then back to sit in the dark lobby for the day. The lights came back on at 5:00. It was better that we went down the stairs. I think a whole day in the room might have been bad for moral. But I am beat. Wiped. Frazzed. Whipped. The laundry didn't get done the other day. It's in the drier now. When it's done I'll take it to them and we'll see what adventures await. comment 8:07 AM December 23 2003 And then there was the earthquake. I swear. I am NOT making this stuff up. I was sitting on the edge of the bed in the hotel room. Mom was putting away the laundry that I had brought down. Ken was reading. I felt the bed move in that familiar way and I said, " Guys. I think we're havin an earthquake." They ignored me. I decided to drop it because if I was wrong I didn't want anyone to be freaked. But in a few minutes the news people on the TV began to talk about it. We are pretty far from the epicenter but I did feel it. Whenever I feel a quake I always want someone to confirm it for me. There I was with two people, one a trained geologist, and they didn't feel it. We spent the day walking around the wharf, looking at tourists and sea lions and boats. I left them in their hotel room with a football game to keep them happy. I came home and ... I don't exactly remember what I did. I have a vague memory of knowing that I needed to turn off the TV and go to bed. It seems like it might have taken a while to actually do that. It's an interesting time of year. I have a stack of bills and a stack of cards. Other than the cookies I haven't done a thing for Christmas. I'm just trying to keep up with the folks. My lungs are OK. I think. But I am tired. Brain tired. Soul tired. It's raining. It's going to be raining for the next few days. I'm a little bit worried about too much time in the hotel. Mom is happiest when she's out walking. I think we can get out today. We'll see. comment 8:54 AM December 24 2003 Mom walks with two canes. Ken uses a walker. Being with them, watching them walk, is like watching a baby who is just learning to walk. I keep thinking they're going to fall over at any moment. I walk with my arms extended as if to hold them up. I only relax when they sit down. And sometimes not then. People zoom around us. Everyone is trying to get it all done as fast as possible. We're just trying to get to the coffee shop. Mom walks as if every step is an affirmation to ward off immobility. Ken and I keep up with her trajectory. Yesterday, because it was raining, I pushed Ken in the wheel chair. He doesn't like that. He feels like it's too much work for me. But we were all getting wet and that little bit of speed kept us dry. When you care for kids you look for development. You pull your hands away as you see them getting stronger and more able. I feel like I need to find a balance between helping and disabling. And then there are things, like rain, that make the choice for me. My own mobility isn't what it used to be. My knees have been aching from the rain. I come home at night and slather myself with herbs. And the world is rushing around me. Whatever holiday you may be celebrating, I hope it is a good one. If you don't have one to celebrate, I hope it's a really great Wednesday. And if Santa stops by your house, I hope he brings good news. comment 8:39 AM
comment 7:55 AM December 27 2003 I don't really hang out with people who talk about diets or weight loss. Most of my friends have strong opinions about food and ideas about what makes food good. But the conversation doesn't really go to weight loss. We do talk about things like how much sugar we're eating. Like this time of year, or around my birthday, there's sugar everywhere. I get to the point where I really can't bear the sight of it. When I was in school there were times when it seemed like everything I ate came out of a to-go container. Not only was it dubious nutrition but I began to think they might name a land fill after me. Sometimes I ate dinner out of the vending machines. Chips. Candy. Stomach ache. My ideas about food are pretty clear. I like it to be beautiful, seasonal and regional. I like warm, hearty food when it's cold and light cold food when it's hot. I like lots of little meals and I don't like to eat after six in the evening. But I do like multi course meals with lots of wine and good conversation. Because I live in California fresh food is abundant. Locally produced everything. But sometimes cheese has to come from France. Or Italy. And sometimes soup tastes good in the sun. I make a point to eat protein, green leafy some things and fresh fruit every day. I don't really get frozen veggies, or canned fruit. Peas are OK frozen. Tomatoes are OK canned. If there are words with more than five syllables in the ingredients, I don't really want to eat it. I loathe fast food. For so many reasons. But when I was in school I ate fast food a few times. One summer I ate so many peaches and nectarines and berries that I stopped eating sugar. I was getting so much sugar in the fruit I never wanted it any other way. And then I bought a chocolate chip cookie and it tasted SO good. I've been thinking about all this lately because Mom is one of those people who eats desert and says she shouldn't. It just doesn't make sense to me. If you're putting it in your mouth, you may as well be happy about it. She and Ken can both pack in the sugar. I took them a box of cookies and I've been refilling it every other day. We often have desert with dinner and we got candy at Ghiradelli. I don't really think this is a big deal. It's a vacation and a holiday and a time of celebration. But Mom keeps talking about how she shouldn't be eating what she is eating. I dunno. Maybe she thinks that if she says negative things about the candy and cookies as she eats it she won't be punished with the dreaded weight gain. I talk about having a fat mom and a fat grandmom but looking at her these days she doesn't really seem fat. She's round. But in some ways, she's tiny. On Christmas, I called my aunt. She always asks if I'm still ... (uncomfortable pause)...big. It's such a loopy question. I've always been fat. I've been less fat and more fat but always fat. Once when she asked I said yes and my eyes are still brown. She didn't get it. Things haven't been too weird between Mom and I in terms of food and diet talk. Things come up and then they pass. But the constant reference to what she shouldn't be eating, coupled with our earlier conversation, and my aunt, it's all having an impact on me. I notice that when I look in the mirror I have a bad attitude about how I look. Mom is actually pretty happy and proud of my MFA. But I am tense and tired. I can't tell if I still have pleurisy. I have had a few pains but I think I'm better. I think I'll spend Monday trying to ground myself. comment 8:41 AM December 30 2003 Adrienne came to take Mom and Ken to the airport. This after days of travel to visit her own family, in the middle of a huge rainstorm and she came bearing muffins and OJ. Just amazing. We went very early and sat to talk for awhile. Mom had ordered wheel chairs for she and Ken. Adrienne went to the desk to ask for them about twenty minutes before we needed them. The woman she spoke with never ordered them. We talked one guy with a chair into taking Ken to security and he and Mom went in. At this point I think I just went into a shut down. I watched as they were told to walk around to another area. He with her canes. Him with his walker. Because they had no chairs, Adrienne went back to see if she could get us passes so that we could go with them. It never occurred to me that I could go with them. She got a pass because she had her ID but I needed to get one. I just wanted her to go and make sure they were all right, which she did. I thought she'd come right back. But Ken had fallen. When he was waiting for the guy to search him they took his walker away. He can't stand with out it. Once he had fallen wheel chairs seemed to appear from no where. Adrienne went with them to the gate. The security people were telling me someone from Delta was coming to talk to me. I felt like I was frozen to the spot. tears were running down my face. I could see my Mom in the distance. After two weeks of walking behind them, trying to hold them up with my will, I had nothing left. They got on the plane. It was raining and raining. Adrienne and I saw three or four accidents on the way home form the airport. The day felt full of vulnerability and risk. We went out to lunch. I came home and slept and read. At nine o'clock Mom called to say they had arrived in North Carolina. In the past two weeks I've seen people go out of their way to help Mom and Ken. I've seen people bump and shove and ignore them. There is no one conclusion about how it is to be vulnerable in the world. But standing on one side of the security line watching my wobbly parents move through a group of sullen stressed out workers I couldn't help but think that they weren't safe. In American airports security will take your walker. People told me to enjoy the time with Mom and Ken. It's not that simple. I love my mom. But it's not that simple. I have good friends who come through the storm with muffins and OJ and energy when I am losing mine. I feel like I've been gone for a long time. comment 8:29 AM December 31 2003 I've been thinking about self improvement. Or inner work. Or something. The image of a table came to me. A table with layers of paint. Maybe even a layer of contact paper. And when you want to return the table to its original condition you take off layer after layer. Maybe you work slow because you don't want to hurt the table. Maybe at some point you can see a bit of all the layers. Identities. Phases of life. A palimpsest. Maybe I still have a bit of pleurisy. Maybe it's because of the intensity of the last two weeks. Or turning 50. Or getting the MFA. Maybe I'm just a drama queen. But I feel stripped. I kept thinking about the table but I couldn't find anywhere to go with the metaphor. It's a problem I have lately. Drawing conclusions. I seem to have forgotten how. Mom called. Medicare doesn't want to pay for Ken to have an x-ray because someone is "at fault". Delta says they aren't "at fault" because they lease the wheel chairs from someone in the airport. The someone in the airport says Delta didn't call them. This isn't a big problem because my parents can afford an x-ray. Ken seems to be OK. My mom is fierce and is making calls and will be writing letters. I wrote to Delta and SFO. I talked to someone with the airport yesterday. When I talk to these people I feel like I'm being handled. The worst has happened. Nothing can be done. They're just letting me blow off steam. other than paying for the x-ray and reprimanding everyone involved, I'm not sure what they can do. Yesterday I cleaned a little bit. Renee came over and ordered a pizza. She did school stuff and I read. I can feel my brain starting to clear. My body isn't as tight. But I do feel stripped. Maybe that's a good way to feel on the last day of the year. Next year has to be a year of taking form. I'm just not sure what I mean by that. Here's to you my blog reading comrades. A mighty and luscious lot you are. 2004 is a blank page waiting for the touch of ink and intention. Let's fill it up. comment 8:18 AM
|
