she's just saying...

I'm so cool

My soccer-mom cream Subaru Outback station wagon's headlight was out. (This, and the second favorite forest green color, is the official car of the Bend School District. Or should be.) Neighbor X pointed this out and offered to help me change it. Since I am Independent Woman, I decided I would tackle it myself.

Remembering my mantra (one of them): "Girls can do anything," I drove to the auto parts store, had that momentary gut-flutter walking in the door (male-domination shopping anxiety), and strode purposefully over to the "Headlights" section. I had run through the lights in the parking lot to make sure I knew which one was out and had studied the manual, memorizing the part number before entering the testosterone zone. My goal was not to go up to the counter first and play the part of the helpless female asking for guidance from a patronizing clerk who gets to flex his superiority muscles. If you're a do-it-yourself female, you know what I'm talking about.

I found the part number easily, briefly negotiated the various brands and qualities of headlight, and grabbed the most techno-contempo package. Took it up to the counter where a very nice gentle biker-type helped me. I asked casually if this was something I could fix myself and added: "I'm pretty handy." He replied, "Well, if you're handy, it should be easy." We decided I should change out both at the same time as the brand I chose was "better than your stock bulb." (I need all the light I can get these days.) I paid and left, wondering if I actually was pretty handy, and sort of surprised I described myself that way.

Got home, mixed up a Bloody Mary for support (it's Sunday afternoon!) and studied the manual. Incomprehensible diagrams as usual. I popped the hood, fumbled around and figured it all out eventually. Changed out the bulbs and added anti-freeze for good measure. Checked that they worked, closed the hood and basked in that rush of pride, strength and satisfaction that comes whenever I accomplish a "guy's job."

Whoo hoo! I came back inside, turned on the Seahawks game and picked up my knitting, repeating under my breath: "I'm pretty handy," and feeling it.

From my big sis

A very welcome guest post:

"To Melissa's loyal readers, thank you for your warm thoughts and hooray for the wonders of modern medicine. Three of my neck vertebrae are now bonded by "bone morphogenic protein" instead of real discs. To come through risky surgery and arrive home to see the last roses in my garden (ha, ha, no snow here) is one of life's gifts."

Susan

Papelbon's lucky puppy

Sorry, J.J. I still love you and your bobblehead, but Jonathan Papelbon is my new main man.
He's kind of a pasty white frat boy, but he's got the best stare in the sport.

And he loves his dog.

From MLB.com:

ST. PETERSBURG -- Jonathan Papelbon has a talent for making history when he takes the ball. It's what he does with the baseball afterward that isn't so predictable.

His final-out ball from last year's World Series ended up as an accidental chewtoy for his dog during the offseason. His out that set a new postseason scoreless-innings record on Friday after the Red Sox beat the Rays, 2-0, in Game 1 of the American League Championship Series briefly ended up in the trash before Papelbon realized what he had done.

 

"I usually just throw them away or throw them in the corner or something," Papelbon said. "I threw this one away, and I wasn't even thinking that it was a Major League record. I had to scurry back in here and grab it out of the trash."...

Papelbon's record ball is likely heading home with him when this postseason is over for the Red Sox, whenever that happens. What happens to the ball from there is anyone's guess.

"I don't know," Papelbon said. "It depends on how much the ball's worth. My dog might get it."

Short fall

What was it I was saying about getting the gardens and deck ready before snow fell? Oops, too late.

I left work tonight after an exhibit opening in a snow flurry, and it was accumulating on the ground. This was 5 miles south of town; it was dry at my house. But it was real, legitimate, heavy falling snow. This may be the earliest I've seen it here. Wow. Button up and hunker down: winter is inevitable.

I really don't like being cold.

The birthday present quandary

We (me, actually) have always specified "No Gifts" for Henry's birthday parties. He's used to it so doesn't protest (much). He has enough plastic crap in his room and hundreds of books from the used book store already. The established custom is that you allow gifts, you then have to give back "goodie bags" which are usually small cellophane bags filled with candy and little toys, another task most parents confess they dread. The whole thing is much too involved IMHO, and Henry would rather do something with his friends than open gifts. We've gone bowling, to the High Desert Museum (funner than it sounds), to the local video game "lounge" and had sleepovers. He never misses the gift ritual.

When I tell people, most parents express relief at the rule and say they wish they followed it as well.  I'm hoping to start a movement here and a few friends have actually started doing it too.

The flip side is that I don't buy presents for his friends' birthdays. I don't have the time or money and just don't believe in it. Last week he went to three birthday parties, all of which had gifts involved. I felt like a Scrooge, and am not sure how to handle the whole thing. When Henry is invited, should I say "he'd love to come, but I should tell you we have a no-present policy?" What are they going to say - no, he can't come? I don't know if parents and kids even notice in the hubbub of the party, and frankly if we had to buy gifts for all the parties he attends, he probably wouldn't go to as many. It's all pretty awkward, though, and I'm feeling residual guilt.

What do you think about the whole birthday gift ritual? I'd love to hear your thoughts, and any suggestions on how to handle.

Signed, Ms. Scrooge McDuck

Sisters (not the town)

My sister Susan (the older one on the right) is undergoing long, complicated spinal surgery today in New Haven. Keep her in your thoughts - I appreciate it.

Top 10: manly qualities edition

I recently read an article about how you can manifest your ideal man by identifying and writing down the 100 desired traits you're looking for. (This was not in a trashy magazine. Really.) 

Sounds like casting a spell with eye of newt and hair of dog, but less messy. So, here are:

Top 10 qualities I look for in a partner.

(If I list only 10, does that mean I'll get only 1/10th of a man?)

1. Intelligence. This is the deal-breaker. I've met a lot of nice friendly guys, but they just don't have it upstairs. I'm not talking about academic intelligence, but the ability to understand, challenge, and stimulate.
2. Sense of humor, of course. I remember saying: "Everything he says makes me laugh, even when it's stupid." My friend Hans replied that's what every guy hopes to hear. Maybe I'm just simple-minded.
3. Compassion. Kindness, caring, warmth, tolerance; however you put it, it's another deal-breaker, really. I could never date a man who's rude to a waiter, as a minor but telling example.
4. Chemistry. Since my mom occasionally reads my blog, I'll leave it at that. Crucial, but is occasionally misleading. I'm just saying.
5. The ability to dredge up a positive attitude, even in the face of discouraging situations.
6. Energy. Vim, vigor, drive, what have you. Not a slug.
7.  Self confidence. Not the in-your-face kind, but the ability to trust and like oneself.
8. Able to give and receive support -- it's the basis of a partnership.
9.Open to commitment. To me. (Well, that rules out the last eight guys I've been involved with. Hmmm, could that possibly be a pattern of some kind?)
10. Passion. Of all kinds, for all kinds of things.

Reading this over, I realize this quite accurately describes Neighbor X. With the notable exception of #9, of course. Am I asking too much?

Bosox!

Yeah! On to Tampa Bay!

" 'Neath the cover of October skies..."

Perfect weather for the hot tub last night. Fall has definitely fallen on us here in the high desert. Not easy to tell sometimes, as we're known for erratic weather throughout the summer. (Typical: 85 degree days and 25 degree nights. Perfect!)  But the leaves are changing, the geese are leaving and the flannel sheet sets have arrived at Costco.

At work, the badgers are packing on their winter weight as they head into torpor (semi-hibernation). I'm right there with them. (By the way, you've got to check out our badger-cam here.)

As a mountain town, there's a feeling of anticipation and excitement around here waiting for the snow to start. I hardly ski anymore and I still feel it. It's not far off - I recall a few Halloweens of zero degrees and snowy sidewalks. Pretty soon we'll put on the snow tires and start our seasonal ritual of tracking down lost snowboard gloves. Last year I gave in and bought a bunch of pairs at Costco. All that remain are two left hands.

Eventually I need to prepare the gardens and deck for winter.  My sister once remarked that she enjoyed hacking the perennial beds down in the fall - it was sort of a relief after a summer of continuous gardening. Not yet though, as the asters, autumn joy, and hollyhocks are in their glory right now. It's about time for my annual bulb-buying spree. I've planted hundreds of bulbs in my garden for the last eleven years -- where the hell are they all?

Ode to Kathi D

She of the cute little puppies, misted chickens and tired roosters,
the negrospeak and the goldschlager,
the gratuitous celebrity photos
and the hilarious poop-filled blog.

Why are you here reading me when she's so much more entertaining?

I even wrote her a limerick:

Ahem.

"There once was a blogger in Cal,
who I call my special pal;
she gives us the scoop
on chickens and poop,
That Kathi is my kind of gal."

Thank you. Tip your waiter on the way out.

I'm insulted

Leeches (the non-human kind)

"What I did at work today" is turning into an interesting post topic, one that deserves its own blog, possibly.

Yesterday, we set up a photo shoot for a newspaper ad to announce the opening of a new exhibit. The focus of the show is frontier medicine. We've got all kinds of gruesome tools like amputation saws, tooth extractors and so forth, as well as a kids interactive area, etc. One of the show's curators got ahold of "medical" leeches, who swim around in a large jar undulating like little eels. What a great idea for an ad!

Our programs VP, Greta, volunteered as latchee, as she is insane has lovely pale victorian hands. One of our museum volunteers acted as the doctor hand model and another volunteer shot it. The leech played himself.

Here's the "Making Of" photo:

The curator was concerned that Greta might contaminate the leech, but the leech didn't seem to mind.

Just another day in the life of a marketing gal.

A lowercase buddhist

When asked my religious beliefs, I kind of think it sounds pretentious to say "I'm a Buddhist." So I babble a little about following Buddhist beliefs and that I was raised a Unitarian and attend the Central Oregon Unitarian Fellowship. (Yes, Universalist is in there too - it's just such a long name).

My spiritual practice these days consists of (inconsistent) sitting meditation and reading Buddhist writings. I try to live the Middle Way and follow the Eightfold Path of right thought, right speech, right action and so forth. I attend Buddhist services and retreats, been blessed in a Buddhist Refuge Ceremony by a real lama, and even have a Tibetan mantra tattooed on my ankle, for goodness sakes. So why don't I claim to be A Buddhist with a capital B?

Maybe because, with all that, I still don't feel I've earned the right. Clearly, it's not how you define yourself, it's how you live your life. As the Buddha said, the jewel is in the lotus, which is the meaning of the plaque above and my tattoo.

What do you say when people ask you?