And they all had lung cancer in the end...

Wednesday, R's math tutor and R. and I solved Einstein's Riddle. There are links to it online, and some claim that Einstein said that only 2% of the population could solve the riddle, but I think that's hogwash. There may be a small percentage of the population that would have the persistence to bother, I suppose, but it's certainly do-able. It's also known as the Zebra Puzzle, and this wikipedia entry gives more history and tips for solving it.

Here's the riddle as we saw it, if you feel inspired. It's a logic problem, and I could work on these all day compulsively like I do a jigsaw puzzle (and I don't look at the picture for one of those, btw, because I consider that cheating).

There are no tricks to this riddle. It might help to have a pencil and paper handy. We used a big white board and dry-erase markers and worked out it together.

1. In a street there are five houses, painted five different colours.
2. In each house lives a person of different nationality
3. These five homeowners each drink a different kind of beverage, smoke different brand of cigar and keep a different pet.

THE QUESTION: WHO OWNS THE FISH?

HINTS

1. The Brit lives in a red house.
2. The Swede keeps dogs as pets.
3. The Dane drinks tea.
4. The Green house is next to, and on the left of the White house.
5. The owner of the Green house drinks coffee.
6. The person who smokes Pall Mall rears birds.
7. The owner of the Yellow house smokes Dunhill.
8. The man living in the centre house drinks milk.
9. The Norwegian lives in the first house.
10. The man who smokes Blends lives next to the one who keeps cats.
11. The man who keeps horses lives next to the man who smokes Dunhill.
12. The man who smokes Blue Master drinks beer.
13. The German smokes Prince.
14. The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
15. The man who smokes Blends has a neighbour who drinks water.


We solved it in about 15 minutes, and it was more fun for me than eating a box of truffles.
(I also didn't have to jog it off afterwards as I would have the chocolate...)

Creativity deferred

It's the working mother/wife/artist's dilemma: which to put first?
the family, with it's legitimate needs and requirements for being healthy, happy & cohesive?
or the work, that pays for some of that health and happiness?
or the creative acts and time alone that feed the soul of the person who helps feed the family?

There are days when these demands truly conflict, and even the most creative juggling won't include everything.

My priorities are nearly always:
1) kids and husband
2) work
3) self

Not that 1 & 2 don't contribute to 3 - I get a great deal of satisfaction out of my work, and my children and husband do so much good for me in so many ways (both intentionally and in spite of what feels like their best efforts to the contrary). But I know that if I put off that third priority for any length of time, I'm a bitter, cranky woman and about as much fun to be around as Dick Cheney on a hunting trip.

So to put this in practical terms, here's a what I mean. D is still in (undiagnosed) excruciating pain in his upper spine. The lab results are apparently in but his doctor hasn't called him, and meanwhile he's taking pain medication - a necessary evil for him to function at all - and will be seeing a friend who is an acupuncturist tomorrow. He's maintained amazingly good spirits in spite of the agony, and I know it's not because of the drugs, because they've had limited effects in general. (Except that his reading tonight of Heckedy Peg was inspired.) The girls' schedules are as full as they can be without it tipping over into "too much" (okay, maybe they're tottering on that edge in the overbooked direction), so most days this week I spent no more than 30 minutes at home between the hours of 4:30am and 6:00pm. The rest of the time I'm a Soccer Mom for kids that don't play soccer. And I can't exactly complain (note: iamnotcomplaining) because I'm the ambitious idiot who signed them up for ballet, math, riding, French, and violin. And they truly love these things and benefit from them, and their school work doesn't suffer from them. In fact, the activities support their academics as well as their creative lives. I make it to the gym for my 20-30 minutes of work out 4 days a week. Between that and the personal training I get at work 2 days a week, I'm physically in about the best shape I've ever been in, and am more than 20 lbs lighter and a dress size smaller than I was before I had kids. But what has been getting short shrift, still, in spite of those road-to-hell pavers, is my writing. My poetry. My, if you will, craft.

We'll see how that changes now that I've committed myself to writing and submitting a poem a week to an online workshop with a small but elite group of poets. Yes, something one loves should not require dares or pride (aka the fear of shame) to come into being. But if it works as a jump start - I have written an entry per day this month, after all - then perhaps the ends justify the (temporary) means.

Opportunity

You have to be careful what you put out there in the Universe. You just might get it all coming back at you.

I've got an embarrassment of riches right now when it comes to writing opportunities: writer's groups soliciting me to join (one in particular for poetry, started by an editor who has published my poems in the past), contests that different writer friends have suddenly told me about, local workshops, requests for poems from new acquaintances...even the dare to blog daily in November - it all leads to a heightened focus and more output.

Maybe you can't force creativity or mug the Muse, but you certainly have a better chance of writing something good if you're actually, say, writing, than if you're only thinking of writing....

Onward!

Tuesday

I guess there's no real advantage to blogging late at night when I literally can't see straight and can't summon the energy to write anything profound or creative. I'll stick to describing one thing from the long day.


Tonight S's 2nd grade class had its Lantern Walk. After dark, we formed a parade on campus. We wove along a path lit by about a hundred luminaries. Sophia held a stick in front of her as we walked; from the stick dangled a tin can poked through with holes (she'd poked the pattern into the can with a nail & hammer). Inside the can, a lit candle flickered as we paraded, with all the other parents and students and their flickering candles, singing songs to ward off the dark. S's voice was high and clear, her own light shining brighter than that of the candle. A sickle moon hung low in the sky as we headed back to the car afterwards. She sang Au Clair de la Lune (as much as she knows from French class, anyway), which was the perfect end to the night.

Nothing [significant] to report, sir

The day off was filled primarily by Cleaning S's Room - a significant undertaking. When we were finished, she said, "Mommy, what's that big brown thing?" Sarcastic kid. She was pointing to the floor. It had been a long time since we'd seen it.

The girls and I had friends over briefly in the late afternoon, which was really nice. Although I could never get 45 people to come to my wedding right now (my sister is really so much better at friendship than I), I cherish the few close friends I have.

On another note, D went to the Dr. for the horrific back pain he's had for the last 5 days. Because the pain is in an unusual spot, mid-back & higher than one might usually see for pulled muscles, etc., the Dr. wants to "get pictures." D. was given a shot & some pills that made him only a little loopy. I'm also trying to get him to see a friend of ours who is an acupuncturist.

Tomorrow it's back to getting up at 4am for work, etc. The usual routine. I went to bed around 9:30 and only got up for this brief tea-with-the-Smiths post. Not too creative, I realize. But what I have to say at the moment nevertheless.

Terra firma

After a long day of travel and many more adventures, the girls and I made it home not long ago: safe and sound, but weary. Poor R. has school tomorrow too (which was the cause of much bitter teen mutterings and gnashing of teeth, especially because her sister's school is closed for the holiday). The girls fell asleep the minute their heads hit their pillows.

I'm so grateful to be back. And so grateful for the experiences we've just had. The travel alone (5 plane flights in 4 days with two kids in two) was a character-building experience.

It's truly only minutes before midnight (as opposed to the fudged times on my last 2 posts), and the day started a million years and many custom lines ago. So I'm signing out for now.

Hasta mañana...

El Dia de la Boda

I'm sorry to say that limited internet access time means that this is just a place-holder post.
The full details of the wedding day will have to follow. These things (and so many other things) happen.

Hola de Mexico

We have arrived in Cabo. I have only a minute of internet access to say we're here, all is well (after only a few adventures), and I hope to blog more later....

Hasta Luego

I'm not sure what kind of internet access I'll have when in Mexico, so I thought I'd blog while I can. We're about to go beg like idiots (or at least, I will - D's rightly too proud) for the bank people to let us in early to the safe deposit box....

Ouch

You know, I spend my workdays trying to be compassionate when telling people how their mistakes (like not backing up, or assuming a backup is good) are going to cost them. A lot.

And now I have an even deeper, more profound, understanding of how wretched they feel when they realize the price-tag carried by stupidity, assumption, laziness, disorganization, or procrastination.

So.

Um.

Some advice for those of you who are traveling outside of the U.S. and who think it's a good idea to keep your passports in a safe deposit box at the bank: it's only a good idea if you realize that they're not in the house firesafe, but really, actually are at the bank, where you dutifully took them - if you realize all this BEFORE the bank closes for the day. Especially if your flight leaves only minutes after said bank opens.

I'll just minimize the last few hours of drama and intense ticket searching frenzy and the way my credit card is on fire right now, and say that oh well! oopsie! We'll be arriving in Cabo about 6.5 hours later than planned, and will be leaving a few hours earlier than we'd expected. (And that we really hope there are no accidents between home and SFO during the precious little time we'll have to make the newly booked flight to Cabo by way of Constantinople.) The girls will get to see all sorts of parts of Mexico on the way home that they may not have expected to see. And I have a nice credit (less the fee) from the original airline for future tickets. Ha ha! Isn't life just crazy sometimes? Ha ha ha ha.

And now, I think I'll pack.

Remind me to laugh ruefully about all this.

In about five years.

Sleepy Post

Went to bed around 9pm when the girls did, in spite of all my intentions to stay up late and Get Stuff Done. D. is fighting a horrible cold and has no voice or energy left, so he also was asleep.

I'm feeling especially ill-prepared for the trip, but that's only because I always want to Get Everything Done before I go somewhere, as I'm sure I've mentioned in previous blog entries.

Set an alarm only for getting up to satisfy the quotidian requirement.
Work went well enough today, and tomorrow I work a shortened day, having planned for a few hours to run errands, wash clothes, pack.
J's surgery is over, and she's recovering, thank God.
I got some shopping for the trip done while I had the car serviced (small tube of toothpaste, suntan lotion, etc.), then picked up my new glasses on the way home. The last pair are from 3 prescriptions and 4 years ago!

This post was started at 11:53pm, and if the time shown is anything other than that, all I can say is grrrr.

Anxiety

Had about 40 minutes of strong anxiety this evening, but couldn't pinpoint why. It might be that work was especially difficult today, and I left with more hairy issues unresolved than usual. Or it could be because of the surgery that my half-sister J. is having tomorrow in Denver. Or how ill-prepared I am to leave the country with the girls for 4 days Thursday.

At any rate, it was the kind of anxiety that made me call home on my way to a night out - just to tell D. that I love him, and love the girls. Stress makes me paranoid. I think this anxiety is just a manifestation of that same kind of thing. (Um. Not to say that it take stress, paranoia, or anxiety for me to express my love for my family...)

I suspect that resolving things at work, checking in on J. after surgery, and making a To Do list for the packing & preparation will make all the difference in the world. So will sleep.

What I Won't Be Doing This Month

It's November, which means it's also nanowrimo (national novel writing month), when thousands of people set themselves the goal of creating 50,000 or more words toward a novel. I managed (by the skin of my teeth) to do this a couple of years ago.

This year, my November goal is to finish the first fat rough draft of that book - emphasis on the word "rough" - and to write and compile 100 poems towards a book-length manuscript. I already have 100 or so poems kicking around, but they need to be good poems that would work together in a single collection. So I have my work cut out for me, still.

S. finished her performances of the ballet version of Alice in Wonderland put on by her ballet company and school. This time, she played the roles of a lobster (from the Mock Turtle's story about the Lobster Quadrille) and a card (the 8 of Hearts, which she said was perfect since 8 is also her age). But while we set the dinner table, R. and I joked that she should be cast as The Queen the next time the show comes around, since she often, Leo that she is, acts the part of She Who Must Be Obeyed. S. would be the first to agree.

R. made dinner - the last of the angel hair (I've gone to rice pasta), and wonderful stir-fried green beans, red pepper and garlic. She added lemon juice and a little squeezed mandarin orange juice to the pan, and it gave the veggies a great flavor. She'd like to cook dinner more often, she says. I told her this was a great idea, since I have tons of recipes that I've never tried. "I don't need your recipes. I'm going to make my own recipes," she said. So it might get fairly interesting!

Permission

Another note to self, while I bang my head against the wall that is entitled What Can I Possibly Blog About Today? (with the subtitle: And It's Only Day Three Of the Month. Lord!)

You have permission to love. Yourself, and other people. All of them. As much as you can. But yourself first, since that seems to be the tricky one. (When I feel love for myself, it stinks like a pity date.)

You have permission to try and fail. But not to not try. There's a difference between surrendering to the Now and passively expressing Denial of What Is through immobility. Move!

You have permission to try and succeed. Really. It's okay. Those painful years of being resented for being "daddy's girl," "teacher's pet," "favorite employee" can fall away. The resentment of others is not who you are. Do good things, and do them well for the joy of it and, let the accomplishment be its own reward. There's no shame in shining, in spite of what some might say. That's their own stuff clouding the skies. [The weight loss thing is a classic example. Reaching a target should be celebrated, not torn down by the insecurity of others. It's not you they're angry at, after all.]

You have permission to leave some things undone in the interest of getting a full night's sleep. Although you can get by on 5 hours a night, it doesn't do your body, mind or soul any good. Getting a full night's sleep -now, that's the way to healing and wholeness.

Write.
It will encourage the writing.

Friday. Amen.

By the end of most weeks, I feel wrung out but victorious, with the gratitude of someone who has just received a miracle diagnosis: the dreaded symptoms actually only pointed to something benign. I've swum safely to the rock of another weekend.

I love weekends, when I can sleep past 4am, be home in the daylight longer than ten minutes, and chauffeur only here and there instead of everywhere. I get caught up a little in the housework, I see my husband before noon. I have breakfast with my daughters: crepes with chocolate and strawberries and powdered sugar, bacon for them, turkey sausage, eggs, melon, and coffee out of a mug that doesn't have a lid or a company logo.

The leaves are starting to drop in the courtyard, we've lit the furnace, Thanksgiving is fast approaching - and I haven't even sat down to say yet what the light in October means to me.

First retro-post of November: day 1

Apparently, I'm still a sucker for a dare. So.

To the motivating individual who has dared me to blog daily this month, I hope you will accept this after-the-fact post (written November 2nd, early a.m.), since I only got the message about the challenge you issued just now. And we'll just have to see how this works when I'm in Mexico next week.

November 1, Day of the Dead.
I'd wanted to build an alter for Mom. I bought flowers. I knew which picture to add. I had a few other odds and ends to put in place. I had the morning off work because S didn't have school, so I thought I had time in which to do it.

Instead, I spent the day playing taxi driver/personal assistant for children. They were my children, so I didn't begrudge them their dependency on me, or resent their bake sale, Ortho appointment, Math Club, horse riding, and ballet rehearsal. I'm increasingly aware of how quickly they will be grown and (we hope) out of the house. But I have to admit that a little frustration was creeping through the cracks that for the second day in a row (after a 4 day streak) I wasn't able to sit down for an uninterrupted 30 minutes and write yesterday, let alone build that alter.

Then, while herding kids at the school bake sale (which R & I really did BAKE for, as opposed to just "distressing" the crust on a store-bought pie) - and these were kids who had barely come down from their Halloween sugar highs and were chomping at the bit to have MORE quick-and-dirty carbs - I noticed that the school had set up a table with a number of Día de los Muertos alters, and among them was one R had made for her grandmother

It was simple: a photo of Mom with the girls, all three smiling real smiles, as opposed to the "just take the damn picture" grimace you sometimes see in posed photos; a couple of little rubber ducks (which Mom always got for the girls to have in baths when they visited her), some glitter and sequins to represent a sandy beach and her southern California home, and a very touching poem in Spanish that served as a tribute. R had known they were making alters for her Spanish class. She'd gathered the pieces. and brought them to school, and crafted the alter - all without saying a word to me. I told her how much it meant to me that she'd done it, but she'd done it for herself and for Mom, and that was what really mattered.

Renewed commitment

Like Suzanne, I want to say thanks to Julia for the encouragement (read: push) to re-commit to writing. And doing so daily.

I've spent the last several weeks extremely focused on improving my body; daily short but intense workouts, smaller portions, healthier food, decaf coffee - and all of it has paid off in terms of both my waistline and my self-esteem. High time to move toward the same sort of dedication to my spirit. (Yes, cart before the horse would have been better, I know, but as long as both arrive at the same destination, that works for me.)

'Nuff said. For now.

I'm Here. Really.

How I can let so very long go by without posting is neither here nor there.

Life continues to be good. I could be very specific and long-winded, but in the words of Inigo Montoya, "No, there is too much. Let me sum up.”

We've had birthday parties and the hosting of Japanese businessmen, celebrations and stresses and much shuttling of children from place to place to place. I have written both poetry and prose, attended workshops and readings (my own and others). I have climbed miles of stairs at the gym which lead nowhere but, theoretically, a smaller waistline.

D. continues to all but break himself working on The Remodel. The drywall is up in about half of the rooms. Taping and mudding and texturing has started. There is tongue and groove pine on the ceilings. The horrible huge white POD that had squatted like a Giant Storage Box from Hell is gone (and there was much rejoicing).

The tomatoes in the garden are doing well. We have one string bean and what may eventually be 3-4 zucchinis.

When R. plays the violin, it sounds like music.

We've lost one rat to old age and have acquired two young bunnies (both female, thanks for asking) who live in a hutch outside which D. and S. designed and built together.

And that, sadly, is all I have time for. I just figured better something than nothing, after all this time.

Extraordinary

Birthday today. And an amazing day it was. I am content.

Three friends or relatives are on the better side of cancer or cancer scares.

I finally found the lost library book (on the library's own shelf, in fact - good thing my shelf-check skills are still intact).

I met and chatted with the man who does the voices of Gonzo and Dr. Bunsen Honeydew at work today.

My children like their schools, their teachers and their classmates (it was R's first day in 7th grade).

Nutrition & fitness plans proceed, and all is well on that front.

I'm registered for an all-day poetry workshop coming up with some very good, very solid poets from whom I hope to learn a lot.

My birth father (Hello T!) has just helped open the door of communication between my family and his. That's the vague way of saying that I had no fewer than 4 envelopes (with eloquent letters, cards, and pictures) arrive from him, his sister and his brother - all on the same day (yesterday). I opened them today to see and read for the first time about these close blood relatives. What bounty!

This along with the well-wishes of other friends and co-workers, and being spoiled rotten by my immediate family here at home, I feel. Truly. Truly. Blessed. And loved, the way a newborn baby is unconditionally loved, stinky diapers and screaming night-times and all.

I am well. And content. And so very grateful for this day, this feeling, this life.

And all this giddy mush without benefit of chocolate, alcohol or caffeine! Amazing.

Narcissism, Disguised as Reflection and Confession

I'm leaving this evening for a business trip on the other side of the country for a few days.

Confession: every time I travel away from home, for business or pleasure, I'm afraid that I'll die while I'm gone and not make it back.

And it's not so much that I'm afraid of dying as I am afraid of not having lived well. This is pretty ironic, if you think about it. Because where one normally has little control over how and when one dies, one has a great deal of say in how well one lives. I have such a nagging feeling of having squandered my time so far. The emotion may be something genetic, or a past life, or determinism pressing down on me. Or maybe it's the symptoms of the disease of the over-achiever who is trying to compensate for deep-seated feelings of inadequacy as the child of a sociopathic parent. Take your pick. The end result is the same.

By by living "well," too, I just don't mean ethically - although that's of course important to me. I mean also usefully, productively, helpfully, honestly, and generously. Note that I did not say, as so many people I know would, "passionately," or "lovingly." Both important, yes, but I have to be frank and admit that those things are less likely to come to my mind as top priorities. Passion scares me, for the most part, and love is something I'm still working on. (I hear some of you: "That's so sad." Yeah. It is.) This isn't to say I don't adore my family and friends. I do. But it's taken time for love to win out over detachment, even in that arena. Christ and Buddha are probably both disappointed in me. Haven't you been paying attention at all? they probably want to know.

But besides fear (and ignorance of the benefits) keeping me from a Wild-Life-Lived-to-the-Brim, and besides my slow grasp of the importance of love, I think I am just pretty complacent in a lot of ways. Or maybe the better word is dull. I'd have been fine as a medieval nun, with my only purpose in life praying or doing my chores. I don't want to hang glide. I don't need to swim with sharks. I want to balance my checkbook, send out birthday cards on time, file the piles of paperwork in the office. Write new and better poems. I want to continue to learn to love family and friends and self. And all of those things are challenge enough, thank you very much, and don't leave time for me to find the cure for cancer.

Have to go now. Have to get my affairs in order before leaving for the airport. Because if I have to travel without having lived as well as I could have so far, I think my only option is making myself as right with God as I can, even if it's while doing the laundry and paying the bills, while packing my carry-on bag.