she's just saying...

On the brink of the next number

Hmm. I'm writing this on the eve of my fif-somethingthorother birthday, and I can't say I'm feeling that happy about things. It isn't about the aging part, though certainly that isn't tons of fun. I'm finding the wisdom and self-acceptance is worth the wrinkles and bumps. You just have to laugh at it all, really. The cosmic joke.

But anyway, as I've mentioned, I tend to use these (arbitrary) milestones as markers in my life to stop and look back, assess and reflect. This one finds me in a not-so-great mindset tonight.

I'm employed at a job I excel at and love, but my salary has plunged to a 20-year low and I'm not sure I can swing it.
I'm (barely) out of a hurtful dead-end relationship, but I miss his spirit and passion and love terribly.
I'm surrounded by happy busy friends, yet feel more isolated and alone than ever.
My dog is lame and in pain and can't understand why I won't play frisbee.
My pond leaks, my brakes squeal and my son still wets the bed.

(Should I go on?)

But yet. 

Every day I'm thankful for the experiences and luck I've had. Every day I'm grateful for my son, my home, my friends, my family. I take responsibility for the choices I've made and where they've led me.

Non, je ne regrette rien. Me and Edith Piaf.

Wed. cop-out

How's this for a lazy post? Just re-read this one - it says it all for me today.

Almost Blue

Do you ever get in one of those moods?  Sad, nostalgic, moody, adrift?  Anomie, malaise; I could go on...

This post title refers to a great version of a song by Elvis Costello (no, not the album Almost Blue), but nobody says it better (or more) than Van Morrison:

In the afternoon, baby in my room
When the lights are dim way beyond the hill
In the afternoon, baby in my room
When I'm really down get me off the ground
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia

In the morning time when I go outside
In the morning time it's like that all the while
In the afternoon when I'm in my room
Every single day, it won't go away
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia

And it's in my heart, when we're apart
And it stops and starts, and it's in my heart
Every single day it's always in my way
When I'm making hay, all I've got to say
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia

Well it's in my blood and it's in my veins
Here it comes again, when I'm in the rain
In the wind and rain, well the sun don't shine
Well it's always mine, all of the time
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia

And it's in my life and it's all the time
It doesn't go away when the church bells chime
In the evening time when I drink my wine
In the evening time when it's on my mind
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia

It's only melancholia
Oh melancholia, oh melancholia, oh melancholia, oh melancholia
Melancholia, melancholia
They call it, call it melancholia, call it melancholia, call it melancholia, call it melancholia
Call it melancholia, melancholia, melancholia, melancholia

OK, we get it, Van! You're seriously bumming!

I'm feeling the same way today.

Working from home

Photo from an old Bulletin article: see the busy ad exec!

I love working from home. I have an efficient, comfortable office, a big-screen monitor and all the latest equipment, a nice view out the window, and my kitchen nearby. I'm pretty disciplined at settling down and working steadily, though with a few little forays on the web now and then. And very so often I get up and put in a load of laundry or sit in the sun for a break. It's cozy and quiet and very pleasant.

Unfortunately, most of my current work is managing others, which you can't really do remotely. Or at least I can't. Henry describes my work as sitting in front of a computer and talking all day, which is pretty accurate. I spend my time meeting with folks, brainstorming ideas, solving problems, answering questions and providing "constructive" advice.  I shuffle a lot of papers too. All of which works best when I'm physically, not just virtually, on site.

So mostly my days of working from home are over, except when Henry is sick or school is closed (like today). Then I can happily settle in and blog be a SOHO* again.

*biz jargon for small office/home office

Putting the beds to bed

Fall arrangement, originally uploaded by Meltrier.

Spent the weekend doing yardwork, chopping down irises, raking the garden and feeling virtuous. Most years I look out in December at the soggy plants and messy beds and wish I'd gotten to it all. So this year I did. Amazing what you can accomplish when you're not in a time-consuming relationship.

This arrangement is completely from the garden. Yet to be added are two Casablanca lilies who inexplicably decided to bloom in mid-November. Flower arranging is a fleeting art form, kind of like ice sculpture. Since I don't yet have a chainsaw (unlike my friend Suzanne who bought herself one when her husband was out of town), I arrange flowers.

A frenzied fit of finishing

At last!! They're off the needles!
Damn, these took forever. I kind of felt nostalgic finishing them - I've been working on them ALL YEAR. They've been with me through a lot. Well, good riddance. Affectionately of course.

Also, this:

This was started years ago as a pullover for toddler Henry. It was a knitted albatross around my neck, always a little niggling guilt in the back of my head when I started a new project. I'm satisfied with it in its final metamorphosis and it will be a fine Christmas present. I just need to get rid of the rest of the hateful yarn and it will all be behind me.

Those of you who don't knit probably don't understand the intensity of emotion I'm dealing with here, but believe me, the relief at finishing these is exquisite.

Time to cast on something new!  Maybe some more socks...

But first:

Christmas project list. I've decided I will give only knitted objects to my family, though Susan gets extra, of course, because she demands it. Just kidding. Maybe. I can't divulge everything, but here's the tally so far.

Funky niece: Noro mitts - done.

Sibling: Mystery Noro project - 35% there. Kind of boring knitting. Good for TV time.

Mom: Bag above: DONE!  Ditto those socks for another sibling.

Henry's Big Brother: Whippet sweater. Started. 2x2 ribbing forever. Boring.

Hip niece: Fetching mitts: don't like the last two tries. Need to do over.

Dad: he has plenty of hats and vests, courtesy of Mom. Hmmm. He may get nut brittle, if I can get it done before my sister does. (I call it, Susan!!)

Henry: expensive plastic electronic junk. What every boy craves.

Nephews get gift cards; a polite way to give cash, which is what they really want.

I'm exceedingly proud that I actually started all this in October. Just possibly I won't be sewing up the last seam Christmas Eve, which I've done too many times to be funny anymore. Really, if I don't do laundry, cooking, cleaning or work out, I have plenty of time. I'm not worried.

Race, curtain fabric and the Campbell's Kids

Since Tuesday night, many people have been asking me what Henry thinks of it all; i.e. a black man winning the presidency. The answer is "not much."

We watched the returns together -- I figured it was more important than his grammar homework that night. They declared Obama the winner and started panning the faces of the huge crowd gathered at the park in Chicago. Just like Kathi D and so many others, I just burst into sobs and couldn't stop. Henry mistook my tears for sadness and sat patting my back, saying "It's OK, mom." I told him that I was crying with joy, and tried to explain the significance of the event. While I talked, Henry's eyes welled up and tears started rolling down his face. I asked him why he was crying, and he answered through his sobs, "I don't know!" When mom cries, kids cry.

The fact that Obama's win holds little meaning for Henry is understandable and certainly positive in many ways. He's only nine, and has no reason to believe it's out of the ordinary. In our little city, we have less than 1% black residents, many of which are, like Henry, adopted kids of white parents. He's had no significant exposure to black cultural or racial issues. But is that good? Or should I make him aware of the racial context he's certain to face?

I think it's naive to say his color doesn't matter and won't affect him throughout his life, and wonder how to best prepare him. Many experts say to wait until he asks about it, but so far he's never brought it up; it's always been me. From when he was a baby, I made a point of having black and African music, art and books in our home. I colored in the all-white faces in his books with a brown pencil, and scrutinized birthday cards, posters, curtain fabric, cartoons and decorations for multi-culti scenes. I wonder if I'm over-emphasizing the issue, and certainly it seems he couldn't care less. But you never know what messages are sent and received.

What are your thoughts? I'd love to hear.

Where's my brown pencil?

A new day

For the first time in a long long time, I'm proud to be an American.

I might even buy a flag!

Or you could stick pins in them

From Lion Brand Yarns:

Hold Your Own Debate With Presidential Finger Puppets

"These are serious times and we have a serious choice to make, but that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun! Who do yarn lovers choose for president? Tell us who your presidential pick is and we'll publish the results! Click here to vote!

Free Pattern: Crochet Barack Obama Free Pattern: Crochet John McCain

Make one or both of the candidates and make someone smile!"

A Poly Sci perspective

I normally stay away from politics in this blog to avoid flaming spammers, and anyway, it's probably pretty obvious where my political philosophy lies, but I did want to share this editorial from the Harvard Crimson. (Note the author's name, hint, hint.)

Looking Backward and Forward from Election Day, 2008

by PROF. JENNIFER HOCHSCHILD

PUBLISHED ON 10/31/2008 3:09:03 AM

Most American voters appear to support Barack Obama for the presidency. The fact that the presumed winner is a young man with little national governing experience, a middle name shared with a notorious villain, and a last name only one letter away from that of the United States’ public enemy number one is extraordinary. Add to that, of course, that his mother is white and his father African, so our presumed next president will be nonwhite, or even “black.”

Unsurprising as these observations are, it still seems worthwhile to underscore just how astonishing this outcome will be if it occurs. Here are a few facts that might help those under age 25 understand better why those of us over age 50 are walking around with dropped jaws.

In my lifetime, blacks in some southern communities were in grave physical danger if they did not step off the sidewalk when a white person approached them. During my childhood, Virginia’s governor and many educators closed entire public school systems for years so that schools could not be desegregated. When I was in my teens, black and white activists were murdered for trying to ensure the franchise for black citizens. As recently as my young adulthood, three-fourths of whites agreed in a national survey that “blacks shouldn’t push themselves where they’re not wanted.”

The idea that a black man would within a few decades be elected president with strong white support would have seemed ludicrous to the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. just as much as to Malcolm X or George Wallace.

Almost as astonishing to people of a certain age is the fact that Obama’s main rival in the Democratic primaries was a woman. Here too it is worth recalling a few facts to remind those under 25 how much the world has changed since their faculty were young.

In my teens, a best-selling book, “The Feminine Mystique,” amazed and shocked readers by asserting that women were not fully satisfied by submerging their identities completely in the wishes and actions of their husbands and children. When I entered college, women’s dormitories had housemothers, midnight curfews, open-door requirements for dorm rooms, and sign-in sheets for male guests. When I entered graduate school, the female students held their annual meeting to inform newcomers which male faculty could be trusted always, sometimes, or never (we took careful notes). Just a few years later, a prominent professor wondered in a faculty meeting if female graduate students were like the wolf children of Avignon, and never would overcome their unsatisfactory childhood socialization. Over a third of both men and women agreed in the General Social Survey as late as 1974 that “women should take care of running their homes and leave running the country up to men”

No wonder that we cannot stop reading political blogs, obsessing about the newest poll, and struggling to find something in the political science literature to explain this election.

Questions remain, of course, about the long-term impact of Obama’s presumed election. Here are a few that will keep me busy in research and teaching:

How much of Obama’s ability to obtain whites’ support was due to his unusual racial heritage—the grandparents from Kansas, the father in the United States on a student visa, the visible and unembarrassed biraciality? Is it now possible that white voters will be equally enthusiastic about an African American candidate descended from slaves?

Will Obama be constrained to maintain a race-neutral political and policy persona in order to keep other minorities’ and whites’ support? After being elected, if he is, can he discuss illegal immigration, the achievement gap, black male incarceration, or affirmative action without alienating too many voters? More generally, can he talk openly about racism, nativism, and structural impediments to nonwhites’ success, along with talking about parental responsibility and personal excellence?

Might an Obama presidency “push the prospect of a Latino Democrat getting elected further into the future than it would have been otherwise,” as one scholar has observed in an e-mail listserv? More generally, how will political coalitions or, conversely, electoral competition among people of color be affected by an Obama presidency?

How will daily interactions between whites and nonwhites change? Will there be less discriminatory treatment in jobs, health care, education, or the criminal justice system? Conversely, will people of color see racial consciousness as more optional and less necessary, so that their identity as an economic conservative or stamp collector can come to the fore?

Might the worst-off blacks (say, young men in inner cities) be just as badly off, or even worse off in relative terms, under a Democratic administration that “spreads the wealth around?” That is, even if the top four economic quintiles, say, are made better off over the next few years, can those gains reach down into the few American communities that are deeply poor, dangerous, ill-educated, jobless, and isolated?

Even Barack Obama will not solve all of America’s problems of race, class, and gender in the United States over the next few years. Nevertheless, we can pause to savor how far our nation has come in recent decades, before tackling the huge and fascinating questions that lie before us as students, scholars, and citizens.

Jennifer Hochschild is the Henry LaBarre Jayne Professor of Government , Professor of African and African American Studies, and Harvard College Professor.

Pumpkin/Muffin

© 2004 Melissa Hochschild

Old Dog Blues

Sounds like a song title, and it probably is.

Flash dog turned twelve this summer. He's still crazy and obsessed, just not as long. Still loves to charge around for the frisbee and ball and do his tricks like a frisky young pup, but come nighttime, he's a stiff old boy. He's had an intermittent limp for the last six months or so, and it's getting worse. So I hauled him into the vet's again this morning to examine his leg further.

So today he's consulting with an orthopedic specialist and getting x-rays. Of course, $400 just for that - no diagnosis or treatment yet. Ah well. What can you do?

He's been my faithful companion since he was seven weeks old. There was a time when he understood more words than Henry, then it was like having two toddlers, one of whom barked. There were some very trying days during that period and I went so far as to investigate another family for him (Flash, not Henry), but we learned to get along as a pack. My dream was to one day sit on the front porch and watch them play together, and that's now a reality. Flash is happy and snappy and wimpy and limpy and lovey and shovy all at the same time, to which I definitely relate. He's a good dog.

classic Flash shot

Leaving the vet's, I had to tear myself away from a flyer that read: "Want to raise and show a pig?"  I would dearly love to raise a pig -- thank god for suburban CC&R's.

A pensee about birthdays

Today is Neighbor X's 36th birthday. We've been hanging out since just before his 32nd. (Yes, he's very young. And your point is?)

I realized tonight, while missing his party, that we never actually spent his birthday together. Hmmm. Tells you something, I guess, especially in hindsight.

His 32nd happened when we were in the flirting stage. I bought him a latte and muffin and left it by his front door in the morning. The next year when we were finally a couple, he was in Spain for six months. His birthday consisted of an elaborately bungled mail-order sweater and a loving phone call on my part, some sort of debauchery in Barcelona on his. Two years ago, we broke up a week or two before the date. I remember throwing him his present, a racquetball bag, during the scene. He still uses the bag.

Last year, we were once again on the outs, and he had a party at his place without me. That day I left him a bag of homemade marinara sauce, pasta, Italian wine and Parmesan. We got back together two weeks later on my birthday and made it through Christmas, not quite making it to the New Year's finish line.

This year, we talked about being together and an invitation was floated, but I couldn't ignore the reality that nothing had changed and that it was an empty offer.

I like key recurring dates and holidays. I use them to look back, to try to make some sense of my chaotic life. What was I doing and feeling two years ago, ten years ago, twenty? I like to identify some ways I've changed, and use that to affirm that I'm learning and growing. I hate to think that I'm knowingly repeating the same mistakes.

So tonight, I can say that I've broken out of the pain cycle of the last four years, and, sadder but wiser, am moving on. I trust that that knowledge will be enough to keep me moving forward to a better, healthier place. I may never experience those highs again, but I now understand that they're truly not worth the lows that came with.

Get pumped up!

Lots of sports action tonight! The Phillies and Rays resume their battle to the death, and even more exciting, Henry has a flag football game under the lights! Go Rams!

(What were they thinking, scheduling a mid-week end-of-October game at 6:30 at night for third and fourth graders? Just don't be sniffing my travel mug beverage . . . )

Worthless post alert

Top 10 reasons I have nothing to blog about today:

1. I'm too busy doing 4th grade homework.
2. My life is boring.
3. Everybody's hungry: cats, dog, Henry, me.
4. I have just enough time tonight to knit, not blog.
5. I'm kind of down today.
6. No baseball.
7. My knitting projects are a secret til Dec. 26.
8. Dishes and laundry, both dirty.
9. You deserve better.
10. I've run out of things to list.

"Legs" Hochschild

Check out those bones -

Here's the close-up:

I don't even like football much. But watching him is fun.

Never mind

Thank god for being over 50. You come to your senses fast. A moment of weakness, that's all.

So, what about those Phillies? Quite the soggy mess. Makes me glad I don't live back east any more. Sunny and brisk here today - it's a beautiful autumn.

I really appreciate you guys. Just saying...

Let's get back to our knitting.

The Definition of Insanity

Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results - Albert Einstein

I can honestly say that I've only made one mistake in the last four years. However, I just keep making it over and over.

Maybe this time, it will be different.

Knitaholics Anon: meeting transcript*

Shot glasses from ravelry

"Hello, my name is Melissa and I'm a knitaholic." (pause for greetings)

"I learned to knit while watching my mother, aunts and grandmother. It was a family habit - I never questioned it. I knit in moderation throughout my teens and 20's, then was dry for a number of years. Watching my sister knit a scarf with the new eyelash yarn in 2004 was what got me started again. That yarn was so different, so enticing - I thought I'd just make a few scarves for fun. I had no idea where that would eventually lead.

"I was managing a scarf now and then, but slowly, inevitably, other projects started creeping in. My first bender was with a poncho out of turquoise cotton chenille. Just a gift for a niece - I could handle it. Then I found this lovely coral cotton - it had such a silky sheen, I was hooked. Another poncho followed. Gradually my stash grew - skein by skein. Just one here and there, no major single purchase. Still, I was balancing my knitting with the rest of my life, and never touched the needles all summer (I'll talk about my gardening addiction at another meeting). Then, I took a sock class. Socks! Completely innocent and practical! I felt virtuous working on them, then giving them away. I learned a few more techniques, including using two circular needles at once. That led to regular needle buying and hoarding Addi Turbos by the pair.

"I started a knitting group to enable my habit. It's a loose-knit gang, and together we share binge after binge. I even found myself going to a weekend knitting seminar, surrounded by knitters, talking about knitting and indulging in the practice day and night, even during meals. I reveled in it all. Then I found the secret internet knitting sites. Knitting blogs, knitting webrings, free patterns, all the enticements of yarn right there in my home office. You all know what came next: Ravelry.com. I surf for patterns late at night when everyone is asleep. Downloading instructions, joining kinky yarn groups, chatting on forums, sharing tips. I'm close to hitting bottom.

"Now, I live the unraveled life of a knitting addict. I crave the needles night and day. I sneak my habit at work, at football practice, even in darkened movie theaters. And what do I have to show for it? Fingerless mitts! Boleros! Felted entrelac! Nothing I can actually use!! What's it all been for?

"I keep telling myself I can get over it, once I finish this last 'work in progress.' But of course, now Christmas knitting has taken ahold, so the next two months are already down the tubes. And I catch myself already planning my January binge: a Shetland tweed cabled jacket just for myself. With a zipper. My garden is dead, my child has nappy hair, my dog needs a bath. Still I keep knitting.

"OK, thanks for listening. I feel better now. There's just this little ball of Noro I need to take care of ..."

*With apologies to those struggling with more destructive habits. A suggestion: take up knitting - it keeps your hands busy, takes all your money and leaves you no time for anything else.

Nothing, zero, zip, zilch

Well, that's it, dear readers; it's happened. I have nothing to say this morning. I'm a blank. So, apparently I'm blogging about having nothing to blog about, which is very "meta" I guess, or else really boring and pointless. So therefore, I invite you to blog for me today. What do you want to talk about?

Wait, I can make a reader meme out of this: pretend you have a blog and write today's post. Go!

We got press!

We're getting famous!

The Oregonian has a great knitting blog full of knitterly happenings in the state, and today they featured the Bend Knit-Up. Click to see:

I'm so proud I'm getting teary.

Though she got it mixed up about my Red Sox. No biggie. Just don't tell Jacoby or Dustin.