Church Stuff, Revisited

Early last week, I was compelled to write a letter to the vestry of the church stating my concerns. I was careful not to be confrontational, though I did clearly state what I think has been missing in the church directly corresponds to the arrival of new leadership. I wrote about the sense of love and acceptance and finding our way in a wider world missing now.

I had a some email responses from vestry members. A couple thanked me for voicing what they had been feeling for a long time, while others called it “vague.” I guess I can see both sides.

That afternoon, the junior warden called me. I spoke with him for a bit, again while trying not to be confrontational or pointing fingers. He kept reiterating that he thought this was about “style” differences. I insisted it was more than that. I told him – and it’s very true – I would NOT go to the rector if I was having a problem. My gut is telling me the whole situation is not right.

I learned to listen to my gut feelings when C was getting sick. Although C had already been to the doctor and was on antibiotics and I had been told it would be a couple days until he felt better, had I not listened to my gut instinct and taken him in that Tuesday morning in 2003, he probably would not be here today. There’s a reason it’s called instinct.

Anyway, the next day, R, the rector called, as I expected. He asked to meet with me. I figured since I had written the letter, I needed to be available and open to meeting him. We agreed to 11:30AM this past Wednesday, ample time after his 10:00AM service and after my usual Wednesday morning errands. I chose a public, neutral place – the bakery near the harbor.

It’s interesting that after suppressing feelings about the situation at the church for so many months, when I finally opened the door just a crack to admit some of it, more came rushing out. I could not close that door again. Among other things, I realized I do not feel physically comfortable around the guy. I didn’t realized it, but even my husband noticed that I would physically avoid the guy at church. I would go around him when he was at the back of the church greeting those arriving or departing, and I would move when he came near at coffee hour. Since my husband has been to church four times in the last year, that he noted this in those brief observations is interesting.

In the days that followed setting up that meeting, I felt extremely anxious and even nauseous when I thought about it. After speaking with one of the vestry members (E) at baseball on Friday evening, I decided I needed someone else with me.

I emailed another woman I know, H, who is on the vestry and asked her if she could be there. Not for any conversational input, but just to physically be there and hear what happens. She agreed. I emailed R and said I wanted H to be there for my physical comfort and would that be okay with him. I wanted to be upfront and fair about this; I did not want to blindside him.

Then I emailed the rector of a church a few towns north whom I know from years past (he led our premarriage counseling in another state in the early 90s) and asked for advice. He was helpful in suggestions for considering what I want to happen and approaches.

In the meantime, I saw people around town. People who have drifted away, or plain left. The sentiment is the same - things aren't right, the love is gone, we need help. We need a change. I encouraged each of them to write letters to the vestry. I told them I had. We'll see if that happens.

As the meeting approached, I felt more nervous. H and I agreed to meet at 11:00 to settle for a bit before R arrived.

On Wednesday, I walked up to the bakery at 10:55AM. R was already there, waiting for me. I was surprised and I stammered as I said I just needed to get a coffee. He didn’t even acknowledge S. H, unfortunately, was late. I tried to take my time in the bakery, getting a treat for S and a coffee for me, gathering my thoughts. He came in, and hovered while I did this, kept asking where we should sit, and I kept saying please give me a few minutes. I felt totally ambushed.

We sat down, and I was still discombobulated. A few minutes later H walked up, and, bless her, forcefully said, “What happened to 11:30?” R hesitated and replied, “I put it down as 11:00.” Now he may or may not have – but the spidey sense tingled again. The 10:00AM Wednesday service usually lasts about 50 minutes, so the 11:30 time was designed by me to give ample time to clean up and wind down from that. Of course, there may have been no one there for the 10:00 service.

The conversation began, and it went all over the place. It's still gelling. Among other things....I laid into him on that awful sermon. He said, "I'm sorry it didn't work for you," emphasizing the "for you" part (I confirmed with H that she heard that, too). He thinks the people who are unhappy right now are just a few, a handful - that the variations in numbers and money is "normal" (We’ve gone from a surplus a year ago to almost 100K deficit). I reiterated that it is not - I've watched normal and this is not normal.

I said that although he has the authority to make any change he wants, making changes in a vacuum is going to alienate people. I told him he needed to back off all changes, call and get to know everyone in the congregation, starting with the people who have drifted away (which I will admit will be hard since he has no idea who they are), ask himself for every change he wants to make whether it is something that will enhance what we have or fix something that is not broken.

I also asked him if he thought he had made any mistakes in the last year. He seemed rather surprised by the question, and didn't answer. I don't think he's ever considered that.

I said I thought he had bishop aspirations, but that we deserved to be more than a stepping stone to that goal. He claimed he does not, that he loves parish work but he spends enough time at the diocesan level that I wonder. He's clearly very good at "managing up."

There's other stuff, but it's still swirling. Oh, ZERO interaction with S. Not even a smile. And lots of openings to ask questions to get to know me, and none were taken. After that, I was even more sure that he is not in the right place. He doesn't get it.

There were points I wanted to make that I didn't get a chance to - like this is OUR church not his church or my church or H's church and he needs to make decisions based on what is good for the church, not what is good for him.

After he left, H and I sat for a while. She told me that after I emailed both of them about her being there R called her and asked her why I wanted her there. She said, no, he should ask me. R then says he's going to reply to me that it's fine, blind copying H - even though H was already on the emails, etc. Weird.

H told me about a few other things. A, the office administrator, was fired this week. She's been in and out on medical leave for about a month - the stress of working with him has been manifesting itself physically with her. After S, the Christian Ed director leaves on Sunday, R will be the ONLY person in the office. And also R’s wife and son are very unhappy here. I’m sorry for that, but I think it’s symptomatic of these bigger problems. No one is happy, really.

M, the rector who retired three years ago, has been asked to perform services. He still does supply work. Very few want R to perform the transitional rites. It puts M is a tough spot. He doesn’t want to interfere, but it must be horrible to watch what he built over 18 years fall apart. He’s being judicious in accepting what rites to perform and where.

I told H that if a change was made, I would recommit fully to the rebuilding process (which, at this point could take years), but otherwise I really didn't think I could teach Sunday School in the fall. I don't know what to do about pledges. I may specify a fund (buildings and grounds) instead of just sending it in generally.

Then S drove by, saw us and stopped. Apparently the diocese is coming for a walk-through today. C, the sexton, let it drop that it's to evaluate R’s claimed need for additional clergy and/or a seminarian to support the parish. We’re so in the red we can't afford anyone! We can't pay our diocesan assessment this year! There was an "all-parish" meeting on Tuesday about the direction of Christian Ed – seven (7!) people showed up (our official census is over 1000, 700 active a year ago). R apparently started talking about how far to extend the search for a Christian Ed person (and he's pushing for an ordained person). We suspect he has a specific person in mind. In Seattle.

S told us about several others who have come to her. She’s encouraged them all to write to the vestry and diocese. The dissatisfaction is multi-generational.

Then I left, and called J, the woman whose departure pushed me to act. She and a couple others have called and emailed the bishop in the last 24 hours - they want to make sure the bishop is aware of the issues. We also keep hearing about more people who are planning to write letters. Just hope they follow through.

I ended up emailing the bishop myself, but it wasn’t to detail anything, just to say please hear what has already been said, and please investigate what is happening here. Neither he nor his staff has responded.

Anyway, I don't think R is a bad person. I just don't think this is a fit! We've spent a year supporting him, giving him space in the transition, but the transition should be winding down and everyone should be settled by now. My mission in all this is not to bring him down, it's to bring our church back. There was a parish picnic on Sunday to say goodbye to S (we were at our walk), and it was well-attended - but he doesn't understand that people came for S. This coming Sunday is likely to be sparse. I don’t know a single person who intends to go to church this summer. We’re all “taking a break,” even vestry members like H and E.

I'm fairly surprised about how compelled I feel to act in this way. I don't have any regrets so far, and I am glad I have spoken up. Something may happen sooner, or it may happen later. I don't know. It's emotionally exhausting, but I feel like I am speaking up for many people. Our church was not perfect, but it was good. And I want to get back to that.

The Classifieds

My new company has this habit of providing just a little too much personal information about new hires. Today an email like this one went out:

From: Manager
To: Company
Sent: Thu Jun 12 18:34:25 2008
Subject: Please welcome Elmer Smith to Company Family

Please join me in welcoming Elmer Smith to the team. As of last week he is officially part of the Support team as an Associate.

Elmer graduated this May 2008 from University with a undergraduate degree in Business with a concentration in Marketing. He is a die hard University Football Fan.

When asked where he is from he replies "all over the place"..but he has some roots here in (lived here for 4 yrs in high school and his sibling lives here now).

Elmer loves football and baseball (played in high school). Enjoys spending time with family and friends. He visits Miami where he has family and also enjoys the sun. He likes Greek mythology - they learned about it in 8th grade and ever since has been interested.

Please stop by and say hello or send an email introducing yourself if you are not located in the main office. He is eager to learn about what we do so please keep him in mind as you set up meetings, presentations, etc... and let him know if he can attend to learn.

Welcome Elmer! We're excited to have you join us.

-Manager

A few minutes later, the following went out to the company in reply:

From: Manager
To: Manager, Company
Sent: Thu Jun 12 18:39:38 2008
Subject: Re: Please welcome Elmer Smith to Company Family

Elmer also enjoys walking in the park, horseback riding and sunsets at the beach.

I came so close to responding with the following:

From: Me
To: Manager, Company
Sent: Thu Jun 12 18:39:38 2008
Subject: Re: Please welcome Elmer Smith to Company Family

In addition, Elmer likes pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

Thing is, most of the company is so young, I wonder if they would have gotten the joke.

Stop the Rollercoaster!

I want to get off.

(Please?)

Nicknaming

My husband is an expert nicknamer. Seriously. He gives great nicknames - probably because he had a great one himself, given by his mother (but that is a story for another day).

Anyway, Laka already has an appropriate nickname courtesy of my husband:

Boomchakalaka.

The kittens are heartbreakingly adorable. We are slowly acclimating them. Percy purrs up a storm (perhaps he should be "Purrcy"? Stop groaning. OK, no, we won't do that). Laka is the more skittish of the two.

They are already doing an excellent job of distracting me from other stresses.

New Friends

Laka



Percy

Juggling

Okay, Remy just said that with the way the lineup is being juggled tonight, one of these two relievers is currently listed as the DH. Wha'?

Of course there was the time in early 2006, I think, that weird wind-up guy (former teammate, playing for the Reds, and whom I really liked) had more homers than S's hero. You never can tell.

I just checked the calendar to be sure it really was June, not April (1st).

Gak!

I called it, I did. Early in the game on Tuesday I said to a coworker, "Punches will be thrown this series." Of course, then I had explain what I meant by "series." And tell him a little about the long-standing history of altercations between the two teams.

So, tonight. There was the brawl. Then my beloved rolled his wrist on an amazing diving catch. I still can't watch the replay. Then Youk and S's hero have words in the dugout, almost starting another brawl. And Papi already is in a cast. The 103.1 million dollar man is on the DL, as is M's favorite.

But, hey, that rookie just brought up is having a nice night. Two runs in so far and his first major league hit.

Given the inside pitch on this guy just now (who just struck out), I would not be surprised if there are more punches thrown this game. At the very least, when these teams meet again, watch out.

For now, I want to say to the boys on both sides, let's just get through this game. Then everyone go have a few beers and CHILL OUT!

That's an order.

(But, um, boys? Kick their asses next time for me, 'k? The DEVIL! Rays at the top of - or even near the top of - the AL East is WRONG!)

How Not to Watch Baseball

Last night I took M to the game. It was a work event. The company acquired 40 tickets. Only 31 signed up, so names for an extra ticket were drawn out of a hat, and we got lucky.

C was quite jealous, but he got to go the the playoff game last October, so it was only fair that M go.

While it was a good game, it was hard to watch. My work colleagues were far more interested in socializing (and drinking company purchased beer) than watching the game, so they were up and down and all around and most of the time the view was blocked. Very disappointing for an 8 year old. Plus, I had to explain baseball to a couple of people. Although no one asked me the question a nephew asked last summer when we saw a game out west ("When's halftime?" Seriously.), one guy thought the main area of play was in front of the bullpen and was quite surprised when action started happening elsewhere.

I was glad to be there, and glad to have a night out with M, but we both would have enjoyed really being able to pay attention to the game more. Oh well. M insisted he wanted to stay until the very end, and we did. Then we got him a shirt of his favorite player. He fell asleep in the car on the way home, and was extra tired this morning, but he gave me lots of hugs during the game last night, and I'll hold on to those.

PM, nice homer by your boyfriend in the 2nd.

The Tally

This would be amusing if it weren't so sad. It is just amazing to watch how people can read the same words and come away with such different opinions of what is being said.

After emailing my letter to the vestry early this morning (12 persons), I have received four emails back.

Number of those emails thanking me for writing? 3

Number of those emails thanking someone else for responding to me? 1

Number of those emails expressing support for the letter and declaring it succinct and clear? 2

Number of emails suggesting I'm being vague? 2

This is going to be very interesting.

Levity

The OctoDog.

I wonder if it works as well on Tofupups.

I Did It

I wrote a letter to the vestry of the church. There is a meeting tonight. I have no idea if any of it will be heard, but I feel comfortable with the content of it. I slept on it to be sure.

Not Good

Yesterday morning, in a half-full church service, I noticed that one of the parish stalwarts was not there. Then I realized I hadn't seen her in almost a month. She's not a big vacation taker, so I wondered if she was ill and I just hadn't heard. So I asked someone after church.

Me: "Is J okay? I haven't seen her in a good long while."

Other: "She's fine. She left."

Me: "Left? Left what?"

Other: "She left the church."

This is enormous.

J grew up in the church. Her great-grandmother helped found the church. She was baptized there, was married there, had her children baptized there. She's been a faithful attendee and financial supporter for decades. She's been on every committee and in every vestry role. And she did it all with a level of innate warmth and love that I can only aspire to. For her to leave? Well, there are two words cycling and recycling through my brain: holy shit.

I spoke with J this morning. She's sad but believes she made the right decision based on many factors. She did not go into details. She hopes one day to return. She was her ever-loving, hopeful self. She talked and I listened, then I talked and she listened. She did not trash anyone, but explained rationally her thought process. For now, she feels a bit of burden has been lifted from her.

I've written about this issue recently here and here. While it's reassuring to know I'm not the only one struggling, I'm also finding it very sad and I don't know how to start forward-moving dialogue or with whom to address any of it. Would it make any difference?

What to do, what to do....

Rubber Duckies in the Bird Bath

Just that kind of day (and a pleasant contrast to yesterday morning).

And It's Not Even 7:00AM

Every few months, my husband goes on a pretty nasty schedule at work. It means I am functionally a single parent for that time, taking care of all the pick up, drop off, cooking, house stuff, school stuff, games, other needs, and so on. He's on that schedule now. None of us likes it, and the kids are adept at choosing these times (intentionally or not) to push my buttons.

When my husband left the house about 6:00 this morning, S-having crawled in with us about 4:00AM- roused enough to give him a kiss and hug. Just after he left, S declared that she wanted her daddy to get her some juice (in a sippy cup, a morning ritual). I explained that Daddy had left for work and she needed to sleep some more anyway. Total four year old meltdown ensued. I was mostly able to calm her down but then needed to come downstairs to get C on the bus. Further sleep did not happen.

The meltdown has continued, however. A few minutes ago, I took her juice up. She became quite angry and made clear she wanted Daddy, not me, to bring her juice. She even came downstairs with the juice, put it in the fridge, declared again that she wanted Daddy, not me to bring her juice, and she would not drink my juice. Then continued the meltdown. Well, now.

She is currently up in her room cooling off.

Meanwhile, C is trying to get out the door. For some reason, he decided today was the day to ask for his allowance (they have to ask for it to get it), and I asked if he had any change for a $20. C goes up stairs and then comes back down in a huff declaring "someone" has "stolen" some money from him in a very accusatory tone. He's sure it's M who has done this, and he wants me to do something about it now. Thing is, M is alseep. But not for long.

I had a brief discussion with C about being careful about throwing around accusations, taking the opportunity to look for the money later and - couldn't help myself - noted that if he kept his things picked up and organized in his room, "losing" money might be less likely to happen.

C went upstairs with a flashlight to look for his money, taking his nasty attitude with him and waking up his brother along the way. Nasty words between the two of them echo down the stairs, and I have to ask each of them to back off and chill out. By this time, of course, C is almost late for the bus and we need to rush him out the door.

As I watch for C to get on the bus from the window, cut back to S. M can't resist teasing her, and does. M tries to play innocent, but there's S's awful 'leave me alone!' voice emanating from her room, not helping the intended cool-off time. Here's where I just about lose my shit. I have had enough.

Somehow I managed to pull back, get back to my cup of coffee and land here. Blogging as therapy, indeed.

It's going to be a long day.

Surprise!

My oldest nephew (21) is spending the summer in our area. He has a well-regarded internship with an organization in the immediate suburbs of our city (as opposed to my outer suburb). When the boys learned that he was coming, they were thrilled. They wanted to know how much he'd be around, and so on. As the internship is fairly intense, I tried to temper their expectations.

M has an event at school today. It's the 2nd grade special friend luncheon. As soon as the information went out, he asked if his beloved cousin could be his special friend. I wasn't sure when Big C would actually arrive, and given the demands of the internship was pretty sure it wouldn't work out, so I tried to lower M's expectations. He did make me promise that I would at least ask. Then we filled out the lunch form with me as the special friend (he wasn't pleased about that - to him I'm Mom, which is nothing special at all).

But I asked, and last week Big C said that yes, his schedule would work out so that he could be at the luncheon. Awesome kid, that Big C.

I decided not to tell M (or C or S) and make it a surprise.

Big C arrived in on our coast late Monday (my sister/his mom pulling some stunts at the last minute, sadly). I picked him up late yesterday afternoon on my way home from work (amid serious thunderstorms) and we drove down to our town. Great to see him.

The looks on the kids' faces when they realized Big C was here - and especially M's when I told him that Big C would attend his luncheon - was priceless. Truly. Big, big grins.

Since then, it's been a Big C love-fest. The kids spent the rest of yesterday competing with each other for Big C's attention. It was really sweet to watch. The dog loves him, too. I'm really glad to have him around.

Big C goes back up to the other suburb later today and we'll see him again next week. But if last night is any indication, it's going to be a good summer, for all of us.

50%

Thanks to eba, I witnessed this guy's fourth career grand slam this afternoon. Put that together with the playoff game I saw last October, and I've witnessed two of his four career grand slams.

Just as exciting was witnessing Pantheist Mom's boyfriend's grand slam.

Thanks, eba. That was fun. And I even made it to pick up C, M and S on time!

No Matching Mailboxes!

In early 2001, when my husband was being heavily courted by an organization in Nashville, Tennessee, the very nice people at this place flew the family to Nashville for a long weekend to wine and dine us in an effort to convince us – well, me – that we really, really wanted to move to Nashville. They put us up in a nice hotel, arranged guides and babysitters so we could see the area, look at real estate, go to dinner, and so on. It was a very nice weekend even if I was not convinced in the end.

On one of the days out with the real estate agent, she was driving us through neighborhoods that were perfectly nice, but something about them just felt off to me, something beyond it being Nashville (no offense to Nashville, really, I’m just not a Southerner, and it’s better for all of us that I realized that). About the fifteenth subdivision of the tour, I realized that in every neighborhood/subdivision, the homes all had matching mailboxes. I also realized that I felt that if I moved into one of these neighborhoods – perfectly nice, I’m sure – that I might as well move to Stepford. Matching and being alike according to regulations did not appeal to me at all. Too much matching with the neighbors makes me twitch.

I verbalized this to the agent, and thankfully she had a good sense of humor. She promptly drove us to some neighborhoods without matching mailboxes and I felt much better. For the rest of the day, it was a running joke, and a joke that continued into our house search where we live now.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that I was averse to matching mailboxes. Over the years I’ve painted custom mailboxes for housewarming gifts. When one we know earned master’s degree in architecture, I created a mailbox based on a Frank Lloyd Wright design. Another had the resident’s monogram in a clean, distinctive font. I don’t make them kitschy, but I try to make them fun. Just one of my things. I like designs that are graphic and contemporary. I can’t find any online links to painted mailboxes I like, but it’s NOT anything this.

When we moved into our current house, our mailbox on the rickety post of four mailboxes that serves our little neighborhood needed to be replaced. All the other mailboxes were black, so of course that would not do for me (I can be so annoying like that, I know). I bought a white mailbox and stenciled our name and house number on it in purple and blue. Just enough to stand out and be a little different without being gaudy.

Over the years we neighbors would say we should do something about the mailbox post, but never did. It was still perfectly functional, so until it fell over from a snowplow we’d just leave it. We said nothing about the mailboxes themselves. We were all individuals and could do what we wanted with the actual mailboxes. Then one set of neighbors moved across town to a larger house.

Enter the new neighbors.

Two summers ago we went camping in Quebec for vacation in late August. When we arrived home on the middle of a Thursday afternoon, the first thing we noticed as we pulled into our little road was a new mailbox post with four matching black mailboxes.

The twitching started.

Once we unloaded, I called one neighbor and asked what had happened to our mailboxes to have them replaced? Did a car hit them?

No, she replied, the new neighbor just did it one day, without mentioning it to anyone.

The twitching got worse.

To be fair, the mailboxes – and the new decorative road sign – look nice. They do. It’s just the matchy-matchy nature and the presumptiveness of it all that is irking me. It’s what they want, ergo they will do it without a thought to others. I’m sure they think they are doing us some great favor, but they aren’t. The most established neighbors, the ones who have been here 34 years now, are put off by it and think it’s just a little too much.

And yes, I know this is just so small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I know.

Anyway, after the new mailboxes went in, we joked for several weeks wondering how long until I could replace the boring black matching mailbox with something with color. Could I create a stencil and go out some evening and spray paint a design?

I knew, though, that I could do nothing without creating a major neighborhood issue, and I didn’t want to do that. A few weeks later, the boys retrieved my old white mailbox from that neighbor’s garage and now it sits in my garage, lonely.

I never did even mention the new mailboxes to those neighbors. I did make a point of asking them and the other neighbors if it would be okay with them if I put in some plantings at the entrance of the road, consciously treating them like I would want to be treated, hoping they would get the clue (of course not).

Meanwhile, every time I retrieve my mail from that matching mailbox, I twitch a little.

Required (Baseball) Reading

The Twins had Batgirl, we have Basegirl. Go visit and read what she has to say. She's fun and snarky and appropriately adoring toward the right players. Go ahead. I'll wait for you to come back.

So, I was saying...the no-hitter last night. Wow.

We saw this lefty one-hit the Royals a couple of summers ago. Before the diagnosis.

Very cool.

Who's Bringing the Milk?

From the new wire:

14 tons of spilled Oreo cookies snarl Ill. traffic

May 19, 2008

MORRIS, Ill. --Police say a trailer loaded with 14 tons of double-stuffed Oreos has overturned, spilling the cookies still in their plastic sleeves into the median and roadway.

Illinois State Police Sgt. Brian Mahoney says the truck's driver was traveling from Chicago to Morris on Interstate 80 around 4 a.m. Monday when he fell asleep at the wheel and slammed into the median.

"The boxes came out of the trailer and boxes were ripped open," he said.

The crash about 50 miles southwest of Chicago remains under investigation.

Mahoney says no charges have been filed but both lanes of traffic remain closed while authorities remove the cookies.

Not Going There

I think every town has one: someone for whom complaining and making conflict is a way of life. Not quite a curmudgeon, but someone more toxic than that. Rarely are that person’s issues about that which they attack.

We have one, of course. Probably several really, but one in particular picks a “cause” or a focus and spends years and legal dollars (her own and the town’s) trying to go for the jugular. It’s like a train wreck in slow motion, but the wrecking never seems to stop.

Previously this woman was out to get the chief of police. While I wouldn’t say our chief is exactly a prize, I wouldn’t say he deserved the level of attack. But then she moved on.

Right now this woman’s target is the schools. Her initial target was a very specific issue, but she’s expanded her ire and accusations to claim a conspiracy by teachers, individual school administration, the district and even the school committee. She may have some valid points in there somewhere, but the level of her dialogue and demands has degenerated so much that it’s hard to want to cede even those points. Basically, if it doesn’t happen exactly the way she wants it to happen (and without the input of experts in the field), it’s a conspiracy worthy of legal tirades.

Several months ago, the town newspaper launched a new Web site. The new site included user forums. The person jumped on the opportunity to continue her tirades in real time.

The tone of these posts were nasty to say the least. Any one who didn’t agree with her was “obviously” in cahoots with the schools. She had a few supporters who helped her along in her attacks of any one who dared disagree. There was name calling and there were threats. The forum moderator let most of it happen, lest he be included in the name calling and threats. She also revealed enough information that one could do a Google search on certain terms and learn the complete story. (The schools, of course, have remained quiet on all the issues during all the attacks because they are bound by confidentiality laws.)

A bit over a month ago, a dissenter to her views noted that forum had been relatively quiet for a few days. This toxic person responded (within minutes – she must have a crackberry so she can launch her tirades anytime, anywhere) with an ominous, “Just you wait till you see what I have coming next; it’s the calm before the storm.” The next day she posted a tirade with some legal information, details of how much the schools have been force to spend in legal fees to deal with her (a very large number - six figures - she appears to be proud of, while there are cutbacks in services for the kids to cover these fees), and nasty comments about the school committee.

Then a beautiful thing happened: nobody responded. Not one.

A week later she tried again with another tirade. Once again, no one has responded.

In fact, the particular forum has been silent. It may be some kind of stand-off, but I prefer to think of it as the rational majority in town taking the high road and not stooping to her level. I can envision her stewing.

This person’s son has just a year left in the schools. Perhaps then she’ll lay off her destructive attacks and move on to something else. But then again, we must be careful what we wish for – you never know what or who that something else might be.

----------------------------------------------------

In other news, the neighbors have shown once again that they have no idea how to live in a neighborhood. The husband has decided unilaterally to replace our decorative road sign. Not a word to the other neighbors. It’s not on his property. Killing a lovely clematis vine along the way. Sure the sign will look nice (though I lament the loss of the clematis), but just checking in with the neighbors would have been appropriate. It think the word is courtesy. Perhaps that page is missing in their dictionary. Ugh.

Pests, Swans, Mother’s Day

The after a little Web research, examination of the sick birch tree in the yard, and watching one of the remaining live branches start to wither almost before our eyes (truly – fine Friday, not so fine on Saturday), we have recognized that we have a bad infestation of bronze birch borer.

Yuck.

The tree has to come down. We need to burn the wood, and soon. Guess we’ll be having some late spring fires in the next bit of time.

While yes, this does mean, I have a place for one of the lovely coral bark Japanese maples I’ve fallen in love with, I’d rather it not be for this reason.

When we cleared the front yard three years ago, I saved this and the other two recently downed birch trees from the bulldozer. I thought the trio at the end of the house was a nice visual framing element. Unfortunately, our clear cutting of the surrounding trees contributed to the circumstance that let the borers to infest so badly. Dang it.

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We have many ponds, from small to large, in town. Some are supply ponds for the cranberry bogs while some just are.

In one pond near the highway, a pair of swans has set up housekeeping. Their large nest, fairly near the road (kind of them) is well cared for. Seven baby swans hatched last week – Wednesday, I think. The cygnets are fluffy and light gray and cute as a button.

Last week, while they were just emerging from their shells, they had quite an audience and the police station kept an officer on guard near the nest so be sure they wouldn’t be harassed. (Hey, it’s a small town. At least the officers were doing something!)

After getting S to school this morning, I stopped off and took a couple of pictures. I’ll upload them later. The parents were doing a wonderful job of guarding the babes from curious humans. I didn’t dare get too close. It was an adorable scene.

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Mother’s Day was lovely for me. I hope yours was, too. Per my request, the boys cleaned out and vacuumed my car and my husband took it to be washed. We had a nice brunch and spent the afternoon working in the yard. I also asked for a bicker-free day from the boys, and almost got it.

The vegetable garden is mostly in place. We built a trellis for peas and plants probably hundreds of seeds, both in the vegetable garden and around. I planted probably a hundred sunflower seeds of various types in various places. They are always good for a late summer smile. I have much to do in terms of gardening and yard work, but overall things look good. The creeping phlox looks especially nice now that it’s in full bloom.

While putting in one of the tree that we picked up on Friday, we noticed a hairy woodpecker up in the tree. As long as we didn’t make too much noise, it kept pecking away. The tree it was on needs to come down at some point – it’s one of two old dead oak trees along that edge of the property, and the bark is peeling off is sheets (but plenty of bugs underneath). Unfortunately, it’s also one of the few remaining trees serving as any kind of a screen to the neighbor on that side (the wife over there doesn’t like the clearing we did in the first place – too much light, she says…one of the local real estate agents says we upped the value of their house, however, because there is more light on their property now.). If we could be sure the tree wouldn’t move in a big wind, we’d leave it. But of course we can’t be sure, and were it to fall, it would fall on said neighbor’s house, and since the tree is on our property line, we’d be liable for any damage. Great. Time for some neighborly diplomacy, I suppose.

It's Love

We made a road trip today to the southeastern part of the state to a well-regarded plant nursery. We were looking for some specific items for the yard, at a better price than what we've seen in the local nurseries. Plus, it's in a part of the state we just adore. Long winding roads lined with ancient rock walls amid rolling farmland sloping down to a river. It's gorgeous, even on a rainy day like today

Anyway, in an effort not to go overboard, we agreed in advance on what we were looking for and agreed that it all must fit in my car. No deliveries. (Even with that, we did have one fairly humorous miscommunication, but whatever.)

We picked out some red-twig dogwood of a variety called "Ivory Halo." The unique part is the variegated leaves. Then we went over to the trees where we picked out Japanese flowering dogwood, "Milky Way." Lovely.

While I was waiting for the cart to pick up the tree, I looked across the way and saw an interesting and very beautiful specimen. It was a coral bark Japanese maple, and it was so, so, so beautiful. I was instantly smitten, even at it's high price (out of our budget).

I spent fair chunk of time this afternoon, looking out at the yard, wondering where a good spot might be for such a tree. Where it could stand out, but not be in the way of other things we've already put in, things like that. I think I have the place for it, but sadly, it's because our last remaining birch tree seems to be dying, and quickly (the whole tree bloomed this spring, but only the two lowest branches leaved), leaving us with hole.

Now to justify the cost.

At any rate, it was a beautiful tree, and I'm in love with it.

Something for a Smile

S has a new name for this guy.

Magglio Donut.

Even More Lost

Last week I wrote about feeling lost regarding the church we attend.

Today I opened a letter from the church announcing the Director of Christian Education is leaving, effective in about a month.

This is not good.

S grew up in this church. She has been in this role at the church for 10 years and put in place some phenomenal programs, helping build the Sunday School to the second largest in the diocese.

For her to go, like this, is a sign of much deeper turmoil.

It Runs in the Family

Dear Neighbor's Mother,

When I saw you at the bus stop this morning ready to put your young grandson on the bus, I was fairly surprised to see you parked on the phlox and juniper at the side of the road. I assumed you didn't realize that you had parked on intentionally installed plant life, your tires crushing about to bloom white blossoms, and wouldn't have if you had realized.

I considered that if I had accidentally parked on plantings, I would want to know. Then I mentioned it.

I do not believe mentioned it in a way that was anything other than an observation of fact. I was careful about making sure my voice had a light tone.

Your response, however, makes me wonder. You looked straight at me and said in a very even tone, "Oh well." And that was it.

Did you park on the plants on purpose? I don't know. I guess it doesn't really matter now, as what is done is done, and they are only plants. But it was a curious exchange.

You know, even though I was the one to purchase and plant all those plants last spring, our entire neighborhood benefits from an attractive bit of landscaping at the entrance to our little road, your daughter and grandchildren included. I'm willing to wager you even enjoy an nice looking entrance to your daughter's neighborhood.

Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. But, truly, if I had accidentally parked on plants, I would want to know. It was a far different situation from the fall when I watched your grandson pick the buds off the hydrangeas right in front of his mother, thus ensuring no hydrangeas this summer. That was more a parenting issue I didn't want to get into. Perhaps I should have said something then but not today? I don't know.

At least now I know where your daughter and grandchildren get their lovely manners.

Sincerely,

J

An Email from Mom

My relationship with my mother is nothing if not complicated. I love her, but we don't often mesh. She's been highly critical over the years, often about really insignificant things. Some All Most of those criticisms have stuck with me.

In 1993, I think, she visited my husband and me when we lived in a small town in Connecticut. At the time we lived on the second floor of an old farm house with a crazy landlady and her Great Dane below (I should write about them sometime). I cleaned like crazy before she came, but there was only so much I could do to make the place look good. It was an old house, in the country, there was my landlady's impact on the building and honestly, it needed some serious upgrades - which is part of why it was remotely affordable for us (my husband was still in school and to say that things were tight financially is an understatement). At any rate, I did the best I could, and it looked pretty decent I thought.

It was September when she visited, and we had been harvesting the last of our garden crops. I planned some yummy meals with our fresh tomatoes and herbs - or so I thought. One evening, after setting out a bowl of pasta with sauteed fresh vegetables, grated parmesan and toasted pine nuts, she looked closely at the bowl, turned to me and said, "Are we only having noodles?" I was kind of surprised, but responded, "There's salad, too." She waited a beat, the I heard her groan audibly.

Oh dear.

The next morning, my mother went out for an early walk around the conservation land across the road from us. When she came back in, she was holding something between her finger and her thumb. She said to me, "Look what I found on the landing just now," and set this thing down on my kitchen counter.

She continued, "It's roach egg sac." Another beat goes by as I look at her, then, "It must be really hard to keep this place clean," and she turned and walked away to the small guest room to get ready for the rest of the day.

I looked closely at this little object, feeling horrified and mortified, and not a small bit belittled.

It was a black bean from the garden.

I did not then and have never pointed that out to my mom. There was no point - she had some other agenda, and it was not my cleaning skills. But the moment has stayed with me. How could it not?

I instantly thought back to that moment this morning. I emailed my mother yesterday and asked if there is anything in particular she would like for Mother's Day and her birthday, which is few days later. She replied this morning, making a suggestion for a gift certificate to the ballet.

Her email continued, telling me about some painting she is having done at her house. As part of that topic, she wrote, "Some furniture has not been moved since moving in here nearly 25 years ago--finding lots of dust! "

Euw.

The temptation to say something snarky in reply is strong, but I won't. Though she doesn't know it, keeping my mouth shut, not the gift certificate, is her real Mother's Day gift.

Mittens in May

Last night was C's first baseball game of the season (Monday's game was rained out). This morning was our first coffee selling.

It's not SO cold out, but it is overcast, threatening rain, and generally raw. Mittens, hats, and yes, winter coats were all out in force last night and this morning. They were not unneeded.

After being out all morning, I'm still chilled and am now under covers up stairs. I was thinking it was time to swap seasonal clothing and take the down comforter off the bed, but perhaps not quite yet.

I'll Take Compliments Anywhere I Can

The new office is nice. It's a small company, and everyone is very hard working. With my part-time schedule and so much to do, I've been pretty well hunkered down.

Today I met another recently hired employee who went to the same small college that I did. Our introducer said to me while making the introduction, "I don't know when you were there, but L also worked at the college for a few years after graduating, so perhaps you overlapped."

Acutally, I was several years out and married when this young woman was entering high school. C was born while she was still in high school. So, um, no.

But it was an awfully nice thought.

A Pathetic Attempt at a Little Pity

After being swept by these guys, of all teams, our home town boys have played a couple of very exciting nights of baseball. Against these guys. One more game in the series is scheduled for tonight.

Two nights in a row of excellent pitching and low-scoring games that came down to two outs and men on base in the bottom of the ninth.

Two nights in a row of the right hits at the right time for walk-off wins. Hero #1 this week was Youk (and the look on his face priceless - good thing they didn't have audio on him at the time), and hero #2 was The Captain. Will there be a hero #3?

An hour ago, my husband called me with news that a colleague had offered two tickets to tonight's game, and decent seats at that, at face value. Did we want them?

Did we want them? Did we? Did we?

OF COURSE WE WANT THEM!!

But can we make it work? That's quite another question.

For almost ten minutes on the phone we schemed and brainstormed. How could we make this happen? Which parent would go? Which child? Can we realistically get them from their things 35 miles from here and make it back into town in time for a kid swap? What about school tomorrow? Who has tests? What will the tiredness fallout be on previously scheduled activities for tomorrow afternoon and evening? Are we crazy? (Wait. Don't answer that last question.)

In the end, we realized that we could not make it happen in a reasonable manner. With great sadness and heaviness of heart, we released the tickets so that they could be offered to another colleague.

Sigh.

A Milestone

Today I will write the very last check ever for C for an after school-care/day care-like program.

Oh, he'll still be covered by a summer sitter and attend summer programs and the like, but in terms of formal care programs, this is it.

Preschool Picture Day

Today is picture day at S's school. It is also a day that Daddy gets the kids up, dressed, and out the door. I left plenty of instructions. Still, I suggested to S's teachers that S might need a little hair assistance this morning.

I'm really interested to see the resulting photos in a few weeks.

Feeling Lost

About a year or so ago, I wrote (as part of a longer post) about how our church was to be welcoming a new rector in the near term.

In the first weeks of the new rector’s leadership, I thought he was nice enough though a little stiff and felt confident that we’d all get more comfortable over time. That hasn’t happened.

Now, I’m not in church as much as I used to be because I teach Sunday School a couple of weekends a month. I’ve noticed that when I am not scheduled to teach, my desire to go to church at all is just not there – and times I am in church I am not particularly engaged in the sermon and the rite seems to plod along. I realized during the period of unemployment this winter I felt particularly disconnected from church, like I couldn’t seek support there. I thought it was just me, and certainly, a good portion of it is. But.

Yesterday I was in church, not teaching – and I walked out after the sermon.

The rector – R – related a vignette that took place in the Charleston, SC airport on Thursday at 4:45AM. Yes, morning. R was trying to come back early from the annual youth group Missions trip to the South Carolina low country (where the kids help build houses), and witnessed a mother (travelling without another parent) lose her cool with one of her four children. Apparently she yelled, and harshly.

I don’t doubt that it was a strong, disturbing scene. I don’t know the words that came out of the mother’s mouth, I don’t know the entire circumstance. Nor did R.

Yet R proceeded to spend seven minutes on this vignette discussing how the child was going to grow up to be angry and a danger, and what a bad parent this mother was, and how there is so much bad parenting in the world and let me give you more examples, and kids just need love, not more rules, and aren’t our kids great, they go build houses for disadvantaged families in South Carolina, and let me reiterate about how much bad parenting I see.

Then R went on to something else but I couldn’t even hear him at that point. I waited until the sermon was officially over, and left.

There was so much judgment in his words. I was horrified. That mother may well have been a mother for whom verbal abuse is par for the course, but she also might have been having a really, really bad morning. There was absolutely no compassion for the entirety of the situation – which, silly me, I thought we as Christians could bring to the scene. God knows I’ve had times that I have lost my cool with the kids. I’m not proud of those moments. I work hard not to, but they do happen. Here was a moment when he could have tied a difficult situation in everyday life back to Christianity: how can we use what we learn in church to help head off such angry moments in every day life? How can we be witnesses to love in these moments? How can we return to God when we lose our way? And, if the mother was an abusive mother, how can we know to do the right thing and help break the cycle?

As I thought about this sermon that so disturbed me, I also thought about the disconnect I feel between myself and church leadership – namely, R. I figured out that R has never really let down his guard. He talks AT us in his sermons, not WITH us. He is putting on a show, like it’s a marketing presentation, not really communicating. Even his “personal asides” feel scripted and showy. For the most part, I think those of us who go to church are looking for connections between Sunday and everyday, between religion and the secular world. We aren’t looking to be pitched like it’s a sales presentation.

I know I am not alone. As I waited for C and S to be done with classes, a couple people asked me why I left the service and when I told them, they nodded knowingly and verbally agreed with me.

R’s background looked great in part because of his business background (before he went to seminary). Two years ago, we were faced at a booming church needing some business leadership to go along with the religious and pastoral leadership. But he needs to leave the business approach in the business offices, and take things back to the heart, without pretense, in the sanctuary.

The church is not quite as full on Sundays as it was a year ago (and most of the moms with younger children are teaching Sunday School, so don’t hear his sermons such as this….the sermon seemed to play well to the older generation, though – those much further removed from the reality of parenting). Pledges for the current fiscal year are down, and we who are still there have been asked to make additional donations to cover expenses.

There are parts of the church I do still enjoy. The Director of Christian Education is a blast, C is having lots of fun in choir, and the other families are wonderful. But is it enough if I don’t want to actually go to church?

I don’t know how to begin to say anything – or whether I should. I certainly don’t feel comfortable approaching R directly. The son of one of the vestry members is on C’s baseball team this season. Maybe I can get a conversation going with her on the bleachers some evening.

In the meantime, I’m feeling pretty bleh! about this church that I’ve so loved, and that’s making me feel sad and lost.

Last Push

April break for the kids is over. Today we begin the last push of the school year.

It's also the beginning of little league baseball season, fundraising season, and totally antsy for the beach season.

At baseball practice the other night, one of the coaches (who was C's coach two years ago), noted that C is "significantly improved" over that time. "More coordinated" was one of the terms he used. He asked if C had been practicing. "Not really," I said. Despite intentions to do so, there never seems to be the time, I thought to myself. A little while later, I wondered: five years later, could we still be dealing with recovery issues from his illness? Some bit that is finally, naturally coming back together? I'll have to think on that.

My broken toe is still sore and swollen. I haven't had it looked at or anything, knowing the advice will be, "Stay off of it!" With my life?Unrealistic. I realized that of the injuries and health issues I've had in the last few years, they've mostly been in April. I read somewhere, sometime, about the tendency for injury when one is otherwise stressed. April is a challenging time of year for me. I'm glad it's almost over.

Life continues apace, and lately it feels like we're hanging on for the ride...

Feelin' Sassy

This evening on the phone, I admitted to my mother that I am, in fact a Democrat:

Mom: I've been down at Republican headquarters volunteering in advance of the state convention. Doing everything I can to get McCain elected.

Me: And I'm doing everything I can to cancel out your vote.

Mom: (silence)

Mom: Oh dear.

That only took 22 years.

PAYT

In honor of Earth Day, I thought I would tell you about the efforts in my town to increase recycling and reduce waste.

We have in our town a “transfer station.” It’s the town dump. As we have no trash pickup in town, the transfer station doubles as a weekend social hub since everyone has to go. I kid you not. One purchases a sticker on a yearly basis to gain entrance to the transfer station and throw out bagged trash in the big compactor thingy in the middle, throw out recycling in the appropriate bins, and for the privilege of perusing the “mall,” an area in which to swap usable good (we’ve brought home a working rototiller and a kiln – yes, a kiln – from the mall, dropped off a couch and kitchen good and many, many books). There’s a bottle area to dump returnable bottles and various charitable organizations in town get turns at taking the returns for refunds to benefit their group. It’s an interesting place.

Until recently, although recycling was mandatory, plenty of people just bagged up the recyclable materials and put them in the compactor. The recycling area was confusing, and everything had to be sorted just right else the self-proclaimed “dump Nazis” would lay into you like you would not believe.

There definitely was a system to the transfer station, and one learned it fast or else.

But with the rising costs of hauling away our compacted garbage and issues with the recycling system, our town selectmen, er, selectpersons began investigating other methods. Over the course of a year of research and proposals and visiting other towns, they came up with a two pronged approach: signing a contract with a new recycling organization that would allow single-stream recycling and use of pay-as-you-throw bags for all garbage (with a lowered yearly sticker fee). According to the studies, this would could costs at the transfer station significantly, increase recycling and increase awareness of individual impact on our world. And it was working in towns around us.

No longer would we need to sort our recycling. Just bring it in in one large bin. And the new contract allows recycling of a greater variety of items. We used to have to check plastics numbers, but no more.

The yearly sticker fee dropped by 70%. We would buy blue garbage bags at the local market in one of two sizes ($1 per kitchen bag size, $1.50 per 33-gallon bag size), put all our garbage in there and that was it.

The town also put together some promotions with local garden centers for great composters at lower prices to encourage composting of food and yard waste.

With a fair bit of fuss, the plan was voted into action in December for implementation on April 1.

As is the case in many small towns, there are plenty of people here who don’t like change. Not. At. All. Given some of the uproar and nastiness, you’d think we were asking people to sacrifice their pets or their first born on the altar of Al Gore!

The letters to the editor of the town paper and conversation in the shops were vitriolic to say the least. People declared it a new higher tax, a tax on large families, unresearched, unproven, promoting liberal lies, even un-American. We should be able to use and toss whatever we damn well please, thankyouverymuch. It is our right to consume! Global warming? What global warming? Residents called for the selectmen, er, selectpersons to be recalled

The one point by the dissenters that I’ll even validate here is the tax on large families issue. Yes, it will cost large families more to throw out their garbage. You didn’t think it should cost you the same as the retirees and single grandmothers in town, did you? Should the retired couple be subsidizing your trash habit? You are the ones who chose to have nine kids. It's going to cost more in every way. It just is! So yes, if you look at it from the large family perspective, it can seem “unfair” – or entirely fair and appropriate if you look at it from the little old lady perspective.

Of course, things couldn’t go smoothly to start. In the first couple of weeks, there was revealed to be a manufacturing issue with the first round of bags. They tended to tear if overfilled. The incensed residents declared we should dump the trash from the torn bags on the lawns of the selectmen, er, selectpersons. And in case you didn’t know, here are their addresses.

At any rate, three weeks into pay-as-you-throw, and the furor has mostly died down. There was an interesting race to clean out garages in March before the new stickers and bags went into effect, but for the most part residents are figuring out this whole reduce, reuse, recycle thing – as well as the compost thing. Things seem to be (GASP!) working.

As for my family of five, we were already pretty good at recycling and had been doing some composting, but now we are even better. It is going to cost us less this year to deal with our garbage than it did last year with the full-priced transfer station sticker. It looks like we fill one (ONE!) 33-gallon bag with garbage every two weeks. Everything else is recycled or composted.

Some towns, like mine, seem to need to be dragged into good environment-conscious practices kicking and screaming. Thank goodness there are involved people insistent and persistent enough to do it. I’m sure this isn’t the last such battle in town, but it’s a start. And one has to start somewhere.

We're Getting the Band Back Together

S has been in the same center/preschool since she was five months old. To say that she has known some of the kids in her school her whole life isn't much of an exaggeration. Almost as long as she has been aware of the the world around her, she has also been aware of T and D and J and a few others. A few other kids have joined their little gaggle of giggling along the way. It's a functional and happy group.

Twice the directors of the center have split up this little peer group rather arbitrarily. It's been an annoyance to the kids, an annoyance to the parents, and an annoyance to the teachers. When split up, the kids continue to ask for each other. They gravitate toward each other in the halls and on the playground - just to be separated when going back to classrooms. In which they ask for one another. Repeat this every day of the school year.

For the last year (starting in the fall) in preschool, the directors have conceded to the kids and the teachers and the parents and put them all together again in one class. We are so, so excited.

For some weird reason, whenever I think about this, I want to remake this tshirt with all the kids faces (sunglasses, hats, the whole bit), with it captioned, "We're getting the band back together."

Interesting Side Effect

There was an article in the paper recently that the increase in fuel prices has spurred increased use of public transportation, and no, you commuters are not hallucinating, the traffic on our notoriously busy roads really is a bit lighter.

More use of public transportation – a very good thing.

But there are still those of us who have to drive for various reasons, such as timing of commutes, relative locations of home and workplace, and so on. I am one of those people.

I have noticed that with the lighter traffic my commutes are shorter and I am able to drive more consistent speeds for longer stretches on the commute. This, in turn, means higher gas mileage for my car.

Bonus all around!

Perusing the Police Log

The police log is printed in our local (weekly) newspaper. It is almost always the source of some amusement.

Among other things, this week someone reported a "suspicious scarecrow" on the driveway.

Every week there are at least four "suspicious vehicle" reports. Most read like this:

"Friday, April 4, 4:04PM: Caller reports suspicious vehicle on Elm Street. Officer reported all okay."

I wonder how many of those really end with the officer speaking to the caller at the front door saying, "Mrs. Smith, your neighbor has purchased a new car."

Growing Up is Hard to Do

Yesterday afternoon was S's very first birthday party. She's been out of her mind with excitement for days.

Yesterday morning, however, S crawled up in my lap and said she didn't want a party, she didn't want to turn four. The excitement, it seems, was a little too much.

I held her for a few minutes then wondered if she thought "turning" four meant she was going to be turning into something different. I told her that four was just a number and she was still going to be my little girl, and she could still climb into my lap for snuggles. Not much would change.

She was much relieved to hear that, and a few minutes later, was ready for her party day again.

It was a busy and exciting and sugar-filled day - and she loved every minute of it.

There will be a little bit of a repeat today as today is her actual birthday, so the family cake and gifts come tonight (and she's going to another boy's birthday party this afternoon). The grin on her face is priceless.

Happy birthday, my sweet S. I love you.

Remnants

After C was sick five years ago, we worried about his immune system in general. At some point in the subsequent months, his pediatrician drew some blood to look at the level of specific antibodies in his system. The antibody levels were low, so Dr. H recommended he get a pneumococcal vaccine (PPS-23) to be sure he was fully covered. The assumption (hope) was that C would need this one to supplement and boost his immune system and he'd be fine and maintain his immunity as the effectiveness of the vaccine wore off over five years.

At C's annual physical last week, I talked with his doctor about checking to be sure the antibody levels were at an appropriate level. Dr. H said, "Presumable his spleen is working as it should and the titers are just a formality." He took some blood and we waited.

On Thursday we learned that he antibodies levels we were looking for were very low again and C needed another shot. After talking with C about it on Thursday night (at which point he claimed "fine, no problem"), I took him in yesterday.

As well as C does around issues relating to his illness, he still has issues. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, his mood and his attitude changed for the worse. He was snapping at his siblings and generally really unpleasant.

I stopped him and said I understood why he was anxious, but snapping at his brother and sister was not okay. He mostly stopped. I reassured him that this was a necessary vaccine, it wasn't arbitrary and if he didn't really need it, we wouldn't be here.

In the exam room, as I talked with Dr. H about C's spleen (he swears it's something we shouldn't get too worked up about), C became a bit goofy.

When it came time for the actual shot, he tried to maintain that silly, somewhat tough, I can handle this demeanor but one little thing gave him away: he held my hand.

After it was all over and we were out of the offices, C was back to business as usual.

Today of all days

I just flipped to the health section on nytimes.com and saw this article. ("My Daughters are Fine, but I'll Never Be the Same," by Harriet Brown. Also, here.)

That it appears now, today, feels a little eerie and creepy to me. Today is C's "bad day" and tomorrow is mine.

But it's also comforting, knowing I am not alone in these feelings. I wonder if I should print out several copies and keep them handy for the people who harp, "What have you got to worry about now? Just be thankful!" Well, yeah, I am, but there's more to all of it than that. Much more.

I think the correct term is “bleary”

For some reason, I was anxious overnight about not waking to the alarm this morning and therefore did not sleep well. At all.

I get up at 5:30AM on Tuesday mornings to try to get out the door and to work early so I can leave at the right time to pick up the kids. At 4:41AM, I roused, looked at the clock and panicked. In my un-eyeglassed state, I could only make out the “:41” part and thought I was already late.

I jumped out of bed, went into the bathroom and turned on the light and the fan, then started the water in the shower. Only then did I think to myself, “Wait, what did the clock say?” I went back into the bedroom to look and sure enough, almost an hour left to sleep. I turned off the water, the fan and the light and crawled back into bed. I dozed but didn’t really sleep. Too anxious about the alarm.

There must be a Starbucks around here somewhere.

Distressing News

We have this friend who is a former colleague of my husband's from when we lived in the south. Really lovely, smart woman. We have not been super close over the years but maintained an easy relationship. My husband often sees her at conferences, they email on professional issues frequently and I look forward to spending time with her, too, when the opportunity arises.

We were so happy for N when she met her husband J, and later had a baby boy D. The last time we saw her was at our house in June. She was giving a talk in town and stayed with us. We had a lovely dinner on the porch after she kindly endured one of C's 5th grade band concerts. She was also very newly pregnant after several losses. We talked about (among other things) how being a carrier of the cystic fibrosis gene probably means more than just carrying a gene - and how life takes you unexpected places. She told us about converting to Judaism upon marrying her husband and how it was quite a surprise to her Catholic family, but that she continues to feel absolutely right about the decision. It was hard to end our conversations and go to sleep.

After N left the next day, we didn't hear from her. Summer passed and there wasn't much urgency, but into September there were no return emails and we worried. Did she lose the baby? Was her mother's health failing? We didn't want to push in, however.

The conference at which my husband usually saw her came and went. She wasn't there. Nothing at the holidays.

Last night my husband finally heard from her. The good news is that the pregnancy did hold and she gave birth to a healthy baby girl in January. The harder news is that D, her little boy, was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia in September. He continues to go through chemotherapy. He is three.

Her email, my husband said, sounded as positive as it could. He replied and tried to offer words of the resiliency of children (the possibility of a cure is pretty good), and support as a parent who has been through a child's illness. We can't know exactly how she feels, of course, but we do know something of being a parent with a very, very sick child.

We were subdued last night (obviously) after hearing from N. The time of year plays into it for us, too.

Please, keep N and her son D, husband J, and daughter J in your thoughts.

Dang, This is a Small Town

Every six months or so I am reminded in some way of how small a town this is. Not only that, but I am often amazed by the number of people that grew up here who come back. The small town nature and the return of people to the town makes for an interesting combination. I've been learning over the years (and sometimes the hard way) that I must be VERY VERY careful about what I say in town, and that to many, I will always be in interloper.

That neighbor who drives me nuts and whose children do interesting things? She grew up here. Her mother and father still live in the house in which she grew up, and her brother recently moved back.

Yesterday I took S to a birthday party. All the kids in her class were invited. In talking to the other mothers, one of whom is the mother of one of S's close pals (also an S), I learned that other S's mom and J's mom both grew up in town. In fact, other S's mom knows the neighbor from grade school and their mothers are friends. J's mom knows the neighbor's brother from high school. These returnees, these "true" locals, they are everywhere. Everywhere.

What does this mean? My neighbor's crap is going to be my own private agony. I cannot breathe a word of it around town - because I am the newcomer (well, there are a couple of people I can say something to, but we are still very careful). My neighbor, however, because she's a native, and her roots go deeper, has much wider swath that she can cut, if she so chooses. It's like a game, but one for which you are never quite let in on all the rules.

Granted, discretion is warranted no matter where you live and with whom, but it would be nice not to have worry about the town grapevine quite so much.

Isn't it a Pretty Color?

It's called "An Affair in Red Square" by OPI. Just love that color.

The bruising? Oh, yeah.

It's broken.

Bookmark It

SwissMiss.

Confluence

With C's birthday today and the anniversary of his illness imminent, I am thinking about him and his health a great deal, about the time he was sick, and about how strong and healthy he is now. That may or may not explain why we suddenly see other people associated with that time more often at this time of the year. They are like loving spirits surrounding us, continuing to carry us through.

Some of it is by design, like when we drop the mobile off at the PICU each April. Some of it isn't.

I've run into Ms. A, his 1st grade teacher, three times in the last week. I hadn't seen her since about October.

Someone called out of the blue last week and asked about C, how he is.

This afternoon, Dr. G called my husband. Dr. G is on the admissions board at the medical school and came across an applicant who made reference to my husband, so he called to ask more questions about the applicant. After the discussion about the applicant, Dr. G asked about C, and ended the conversation by saying, "You know, if any of your kids decide to go into medicine, especially C, I'll walk them right in the door."

And April is only getting started.

An hour and a half later: Again, Ms. A! This time C was with me. Funny that he'll let Ms. A give him a birthday hug, but won't let me do the same.

No Foolin'

Happy Birthday, C.

This Year's Mobile

This year's mobile for the PICU.



Meanwhile, I have first day jitters.

Deep breaths.

Sugar Overload

The mother of one of M's friends opened a bakery a few months ago. S and I went over there this morning to order cupcakes for her birthday party.

While making our decisions (which were decidedly indecisive - mini and regular cupcakes in red velvet, vanilla and chocolate cake and regular and cream cheese frosting dyed pink and purple), I spied some filled cupcakes.

One was a cannoli cupcake. It was yellow cake with the top scooped out , filled with marscapone cannoli filling, top put back on, frosted and mini chocolate chips sprinkled on top. Oh my.

Yes, one came home with me.

It was really, really tasty.

It Shouldn't Suprise Me At This Point

So, while I was out picking up my kids from their various things, the neighbor kids (including the one who peed on the other neighbor's house) decided to create a scene in the wooded area between their house and the fourth neighbor's house. The little scene was lined with rocks and moss and was really quite quaint.

The thing is, the rocks they used were from my rock walls that line the driveway and the steps to the front of the house. Yup, that's right. Took them right out of our rock walls.

When asked where the found the rocks, the girl (9) lied to my face about this (she pointed to the back of her house and said, "Woods!"), but the evidence was quite clear. Prior to my arrival home, the girl told the neighbor of the peed-upon house that they had taken the rocks from my yard. That neighbor called as soon as she saw me arrive home; she was rather stunned.

I went to the mother, explained the situation, and said that her kids could not take things from my yard without asking first. I really didn't know what else to say. She did not apologize in any way for her children's actions. Neither have the children apologized. In fact, when C went over to start retrieving rocks and try to return them to their right places in and on the walls, the girl came out, upset that C was taking apart her little scene. Then the mother came out and called the girl in to do homework.

What. The. Fuck.

Been Meaning to Say

The boys rock. So what if they split the Tokyo series. Just happy to have them back in action.

New Adventures and Anniversaries

I start my new job on Monday. I am looking forward to it in so many ways.

I am looking forward to being back in our regular weekday routine, to an office, to using that part of my brain. I am looking forward to learning about a new technology, to creating something new. I'm looking forward to a paycheck and no more weekly calls to the department of unemployment assistance.

I am nervous, too. I am nervous about meeting the people with whom I will be working, making a good impression, making the right choices for tools and approaches, and so on.

I'm making a lot of lists!

I am also nervous about the timing of this new adventure. The anniversary of C's illness is upon us and although I thought I was doing mostly fine about it, I'm not 100% sure about that anymore.

The writing I did last year was incredibly helpful for processing some of the more difficult emotions around that time, but I'm by no means "over" that event. I don't think I ever will be. It shook me to the core, and I think there will always be little cracks and fissures deep inside. I'm trying to learn to live with them, to make peace.

C is doing great, for the most part. I suspect that some of his recent grumpiness is anniversary-related. And hormones, too.

I noticed recently that I have a hard time disciplining C in the springtime. I feel guilty when I do so, even if the discipline is appropriate and necessary. It's like there's a little voice saying, "Forget it! Just be thankful he's alive!" And yes, I am thankful he's alive, but if I give in to that voice, I'm afraid I will be giving over to the hardest, scariest of the emotions and just collapse into a blubbering, non-functional heap. Not parenting him would be the wrong thing to do, for both of us. I'm not going to "get over" what happened to C, but we both have to go on and continue living our lives.

Between the anniversary and the job stress of the last few months, part of me does feel a bit wobbly. Not dangerously so, but wobbly. No one at this new office knows a thing about that time in my life. It may or may not be appropriate to tell them about it in those first days and weeks, even if those first days and weeks are when it's most likely to manifest itself in some way.

As with everything, I'll have to take it step by step.

Announcing Visitors

On the local news Web site this morning is an article on workplace etiquette titled, "Announcing Visitors." When I read the title, I had an instant flashback to college and our quaint traditions in announcing visitors to dorm residents.

The dorms - single-sex, of course, as it was a single-sex institution - had a desk downstairs, called the "bell desk," at which visitors to the dorm would ask for a specific resident. The student sitting at the desk (on "bell duty") would look up the resident's room number and get a code from the list. She would turn to an antiquated intercom system, find the switch with the corresponding code and flip it. She would then press a "speak" button and announce the resident's name into the microphone in the switch panel.

Up in halls of the dorm, the speaker closest to the resident's room would transmit the call from the front desk. When you heard your name, you would open the door to your room and respond, "Yes, bells."

How the person at the desk spoke next would tell the resident the gender and relative quantity of persons downstairs waiting for the resident.

If the desk monitor said, ""You have a visitor," there was a single female downstairs. If the desk monitor said, "You have visitors," it was more than one female.

If the desk monitor said, "You have a caller," there was a single male downstairs. If the desk monitor said, "You have callers," it was more than one male.

If the desk monitor said, "You have guests," it was a mixed (or sometimes unidentifiable) gender group. "Guest" or "guests" was also sometimes used to identify parental units, though more often the desk monitor would say "parents." Neither was official lingo, however.

On Friday and Saturday nights, a "caller" announced for a resident often elicited whoops and commentary as the announcement was made. The caller at the bell desk could hear this response through the speaker. Persons on bell duty with swift reflexes to turn off the speaker as soon as the announcement was made were appreciated.

As far as I know, the bell desk system is still in place.

Things Can Be Too Digital

In 1982, my father bought a wonderful medium-format camera in Hong Kong. He had long been something of a photography buff and for many years enjoyed the challenge of using this rather advanced camera. As my father’s Parkinson’s disease made it more and more difficult for him to use the camera, I started borrowing it for extended periods. When I managed an image I particularly liked, I’d send Dad a print. It was an interest we shared. He gave me my first “real” camera in elementary school and encouraged me later when I learned to enlarge and develop prints myself.

On that unforgettable Thanksgiving in 1994 when my sister bit me, before all the action started, I took some photos of my nephews. I took them each in turn onto the porch of the cabin and set them up in the autumn sunlight. The plan was to get one pretty good black and white image of each of her boys, enlarge them and put them in a large frame with three mat openings. It was meant to be a Christmas gift. I was using my father’s camera

Even though my sister bit me and we were not on speaking terms after that day, I put together those photographs for her and her husband for Christmas and sent them. They were never acknowledged, although I did see the pictures on the wall at their house after we reconciled.

About a year and a half ago, my sister’s husband called me in the middle of the day. He never calls. He asked if I still had the negatives to those photographs. It seems something had happened to the prints and they were oxidizing. (Perhaps hanging them in a humid bathroom on a wall that received several hours of direct sunlight a day wasn’t the best choice, but I didn’t mention that.) He wanted reprints of the photos. Fine and dandy, but at the time, the box where I suspected they were was under numerous other boxes in the loft as the extended renovations of our study dragged on and on.

My brother-in-law was insistent and persistent – and somewhat arrogant about the relative importance of his request (actually, he was a complete asshole about it). He pretty much asked me to find that box that night, thought it should be a high priority for me. After about a twenty minute conversation, I finally managed to put him off and convinced him that I’d look for the photos when I could.

Since then, I’ve looked for those negatives several times. They weren’t where I thought they were, so I looked in other boxes when I could. Finally, finally, I found them.

Yesterday morning I took the negatives to the local “professional” photo center to have a new contact sheet made to remember which were the images I chose for the enlargements. I was shocked to learn that the photo center no longer handles negatives. They are totally and completely digital. Less than a year ago, they still handled film.

The shop said they could scan the negatives – for $3.00 per image, and there are 15 images per negative set for this medium-format camera – and that they don’t do contacts sheets at all anymore, so I’d just have to get a print of each negative image. So to go through that process – just to figure out which three images I’d need to enlarge – would cost almost $60.00. No, thank you.

I called a bigger lab in the city, and they are all digital, too. No wet lab. Their scan fees were lower, but still expensive and no traditional contact sheets. I don’t quite know what to do, but figure I’ll have to suck it up and have the negative set scanned. I don’t have any choice.

Digital photography has been available to the general population for, what, 10 years? In that relatively short time (compared to the history of film photography prior to its advent) it’s slammed the door on film. Film manufacturers have stopped making certain films (think Polaroid), it’s harder and harder to find film, and even harder to have it processed competently. I keep thinking of the saying, “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

I lament decline, and possibly the loss of traditional film photography.

I love my digital camera, but it is a different experience from my old film cameras. With a film camera, I think you have a deeper connection to the images. You have to think more about the picture you are about to take because you don’t have that instant gratification that you get with digital. While it’s wonderful to be able to shoot 20 or 50 or 100 images with a digital camera and delete 99% of them, the potential unknown of the film experience is exciting and can help you learn more. It’s the thinking before shooting that often is lost in the digital world.

There’s a more tactile connection to film images, too. It’s not just taking pictures that one learned with film, but a whole photographic process. It was the physical connection of loading the film (not the same as inserting a memory card), learning to use the equipment, the enlarger, and watching the image appear in the tray of developer. The red photo safe light in the darkroom. It’s not a connection that can be replicated in pointing and clicking in Photoshop.

The quality of the images is different. I don’t know how to put it in words, but there is just a different feeling about them. Sometimes digital images seem too crisp, too precise.

I’m not saying we should give up digital cameras – not at all. There are things I can do with my digital camera that I can’t do with my film camera. I recognize and respect the differences. They each have their place. We shouldn’t obsolete film cameras so quickly.

I still have my dad’s camera. Most of my favorite photos that I have ever taken were taken with that camera – even though it’s bulky and hard to focus.. I try to bring it out a couple of times a year to shoot a roll. It’s time to do that again, though I have no idea where I will find film or have it developed. I imagine it’s going to be more and more expensive to continue with this “obsolete” technology, but I think it’s worth it.

(Even more than the medium format camera I talk about here, the different qualities evoked by older cameras just cannot be replicated digitally. If anyone has an old medium format twin lens reflex Yashicamat, you know what I mean. I wish we had my dad’s old TLR; we have no idea what happened to it. That was one cool camera...though I’d still have the same finding and processing film issue.)

83

Today would have been my father's 83rd birthday.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Girls in White Dresses with Blue Satin Sashes

Happy Easter.

Houston, We Have Employment

I just signed an offer letter and faxed it in.

Phew, and WHOOOPPPEEEE!

Learning the Hard Way

C is kind of into peppers, the super hot kind of peppers. Recently, when we placed our spring seed order, he begged to order seed for a type of pepper called "de Padrone." Apparently of the pepper fruits produced on this plant, four out of five are low heat peppers. But one out of five are extremely high heat peppers. You never know which one you are going to pick.

A few weeks ago, C asked to come with me to the grocery store. In the produce section he selected one serrano pepper to purchase himself. He's been letting it ripen to fire engine red ever since.

Today was the day he decided to grind it into a powder.

While working with the powder - and in spite of all the admonishments of Alton Brown he did not wear gloves, though it wouldn't have mattered with what comes next - he touched his nose.

The kid is in agony. The heat of that pepper is radiating through his sinuses. He's trying for relief with Q-Tips dipped in milk, but nothing is working. It's just going to take time.

But I do think that this is going to make for a really funny family story in the future. Especially the Q-Tips in milk part.

Forgot to Mention Yesterday

Happy Evacuation Day!

Observations

When a little boy is 2 1/2 to 3 years old and starting down the road of potty training, the occasional dropping of the pants to pee outdoors is understandable, a little funny, and sometimes even cute.

When that same boy is 6 1/2 and drops his pants mid-afternoon in front of a group of kids (mostly girls) and pees on the neighbor's house, it's not funny at all.

When the boy is returned to his mother by the owner of the now christened house and the mother responds to the incident with a grin and, "Oh, that Neville!" it's annoying and somewhat aggravating.

When the boy then returns to the group of kids and proceeds to pull down his pants repeatedly and wave his little member around at everyone, clearly having received no correction or discipline at all, it's angering.

When you know that it is just another in a series of incidents with a similar parental response, it's sad. For those kids, for your kids, for everyone.

When the parents of that kid refuse to return phone calls as other residents of the neighborhood try to resolve issues - and not just this one - you realize the sense of entitlement exhibited by the children (not just this boy) clearly is learned at home.

You like to think that those kids are in for a rude awakening some day. But then again, the parents have gotten this far without having to adjust their views, so all you can hope for is that they move away. Meanwhile, you smile falsely and steer clear.

Buzzword Bingo

I've had a jargon and catch-phrase filled day. Some highlights:

"Synergy"

"How do we evidence that?"

"Healthy conflict"

And between multiple instances of each of those terms, "fantastic!" I stopped counting the number of instances of "fantasic!" at 14.

Then there were the comments about work/life balance, followed immediately by discussion about how "the VPs work just as many 10 hour days and call into just as many Sunday night conference calls as the rest of us."

All righty, then.

Who'da Thunk It?

I watched A Room with a View while I exercised this afternoon.

Who ever would have thought that Lucy Honeychurch would grow up to be Bellatrix Lestrange?

How Not to Start a Saturday

The kids have been bickering since 7:23AM.

C just spilled the container of flour all over the kitchen floor.

(Deep breaths. Deep breaths.)

Amaryllis in Bloom

Thanks, K.