Comforts

I always feel like I need a palate cleanser after writing a super depressing post. So here comes the grapefruit sorbet of blog posts.
Things I Find Utterly Comforting

• BBC World Service. When I hear them say "It is 3 a.m. GMT," the idea that there are nice British news announcers with posh accents awake in some little studio at 3 a.m., just so I can hear about things like EU politics - well, that is strangely comforting to me. They are THERE for me. They are my people.


• Speaking of radio, Daniel Zwerdling friended me back on Facebook. Not just comforting, but thrilling in a totally NPR-geek kind of way.



• And speaking of truly great voices, Barack Obama comforts me in a deep and satisfying way. I could listen to him talk about, say, agricultural trade policy with Central America for hours and not get sick of him.


• My Superhero "Earth" necklace. I always thought these colors would be too wimpy for me. They're not - they are perfect. I feel like a pretty, pretty princess when I am wearing this necklace.


• Goldie. Well, of course, Goldie.


• Banana trees growing in my yard. Even after 4 years, I still think my banana trees are the niftiest thing ever, and sitting under them in the soft shade listening to the leaves brush together lets me pretend I am on vacation in the tropics.


• The prayer for protection that we say at Unity. Like to hear it? Here it goes:

  The light of God surrounds me.
  The love of God enfolds me.
  The power of God protects me.
  The presence of God watches over me.
  Wherever we are, God is,
  And all is well.



• Those Gap body pants they sent me randomly and for free for visiting the Shutter Sisters suite at BlogHer 2009. I am not getting paid for this review and I did not ask for the pants, but I must say they are the softest, comfiest thing on earth, and any time they want to send me more, I will say so again (hint, hint) and if they send me more than $40 worth, I will yank down my BlogHer ad so quick you won't remember it was ever there. Just saying.


• Listing all the countries of the world in alphabetic order. Not strict order - I just start with all countries beginning with the letter A (of which there are a surprising number. Don't forget Angola!) and moving on to B when I can't remember any more A's. I do this to fall asleep. I rarely get to the letter E.

Ok, what comforts YOU?

Damocles's Bitch

I am still standing, with the layoff sword swinging above my head. I can feel it whoosh by and chop a few hairs each time.

Today hundreds were lost. Like baby birds with new wings, they got sent into the unknown. But I'm sure it felt like plummeting, not flying.

They were people who have rent to pay, mortgages, kids to feed, too much debt. Maybe they cried, maybe they swore. Maybe they just sighed and put their stuff in their cardboard box, resigned.

I hate this waiting, the way it makes me feel. Hopeless and helpless with a stomach full of butterflies and a head buzzing with bad thoughts. Can't sleep. I try to meditate and my mind slips away in the space of two breaths.

And yet I love this waiting because it is one more day of doing this job, getting paid, not having to scramble with all of the desperate masses out there.

Like any caveman who doesn't understand the forces that befall him, I look to signs and omens: if we don't hear anything by noon, that means we will make it through the day. I check his eyes to see if the security guard looks nervous, like he knows something. I read and re-read the announcement emails, examining individual words, phrases, for hidden meanings and connections.

I hope it's not me, then I feel bad, for if it isn't me, it will be someone else. Do I deserve to stay? Am I better than my co-workers? Do I work hard enough? Am I smart enough, capable enough, do I care enough?

Or do I not care at all anymore? Maybe that's what this dead, flat feeling is, dull like a smashed penny from the railroad tracks.

I am at a loss. I wear the same clothes day after day. I don't fix my hair. Sometimes I don't comb my hair. I don't know what to eat. I don't want to get up in the morning or to go to bed at night.



Maybe it is time to move on. But please don't let me have to.

I wish things were happy. I wish they were simple. I wish people treated each other better.

In Spanish, to hope and to wait are the same word, esperar. Espero por la futura.

At long last, an Amtrak update

A nice lady from Amtrak called me to talk to me about this post. I wish they had a bigger staff so I didn't have to wait weeks for a resolution, but that's Congress's problem, I suppose.

Eddie Valentine said she is route manager for the train I was on, and that I am completely off my tree with charges of racism. She didn't say it that way. She was very polite.

"Don't see something that isn't there," she said.

She explained that on long-distange trains, passengers are sorted by destination to minimize the amount of foot traffic and luggage moving and whatnot that might disturb others as they prepare to exit the train.

Makes sense. I cannot remember anyone asking me my destination but I am willing to admit that my memory may be faulty. I was dealing with bags and traveling companions and tickets and ID and perhaps the lady did ask me. I don't remember it - but I could be wrong on that count.

Ms. Valentine also explained in no uncertain terms that she is Black and that there is no way she would stand for that kind of activity on her train.

So there we have it. An explanation at last. What do you think? Make sense?

Good God I'm Glad I'm Not a Kid Today

Me enjoying a lovely case of chicken pox. Ah, those were the days.

Like childhood wasn't hard ENOUGH when I was growing up, parents keep doing awful stuff to mess up childhood. If I were a child today, I would walk around with dried peas in my shoes like a pilgrim to distract myself from the horror of modern childhood. The evidence?

Edited to add: Ok, I had to go back and edit because Mir thought I was being mean and judgy. She may be right. But I aim to please. Especially to please Mir, because she has nice hair.

1. Child-sized crocs. Step away from the Crocs display. Ugly shoes can wait for adulthood.

2. Daycare. Look, I don't like people now. When I was 3, I liked them even less because they seemed larger and scarier. I only attribute the slim grasp I hold on sanity now to the fact that, due to our tiny school size, there was no kindergarten. I got to spend one more blessed year at home in peace with my mom, instead of suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous schooling.

(I understand that you may HAVE to put your kids in daycare. I'm just forever thankful that my parents didn't because I know it would have been awful for me as a hyper-sensitive, quiet, misanthropic loner child. On the other hand, it might have made me a nicer and more patient person... Naaaaah.

And this point is actually meant to compliment my mom. She made being home so cozy and fun that I'm forever thankful that I got six years of it before I went off to school. Thanks, Mom. You're the best.)


3. Ruining Halloween. When I was a child, October meant two things: fun costumes and LOTS OF CANDY. Now people are insisting that Halloween be scaled back to an emasculated "Harvest Festivals" because of the witchy/pagan connection. Gah. Halloween is thrilling and a little scary and fun and involves LOTS OF CANDY. Candy is the true currency of childhood, and you people who want a healthy, sane Halloween are ROBBING children. Not having Halloween is like purse-snatching. Do you want to be a common street criminal? Hm? Then hand over the mini-Snickers.

4. Activities. Soccer. T-ball. Dance lessons. More soccer. Music lessons. Swim team. Holy cats. Can't a kid get some time to watch cartoons and pick his nose? How are children these days supposed to indulge their natural tendencies toward sloth and time-wasting?

Activities remind me too much of work. You have to show up, be on time, be dressed appropriately, pay attention. What ever happened to sitting on the couch in PJs before your parents got up, eating raw pop-tarts and drinking chocolate milk, watching "I Love Lucy reruns" and trimming your doll's hair with nail scissors? True, nobody ever gave me a trophy for that, but it made me who I am today. Ok, forget that last bit.

5. Miley Cyrus.

6. Birthday party gift bags. When I was a child and you had a birthday party, YOU got the presents. What kid wants to see other people happy on their birthday when by all rights it should be a Roman carnival of indudgence dedicated solely to THEM? Nobody, that's who. Guests BRING presents. Guests don't GET presents.

7. Food allergies. You aren't a kid today unless your parents are freaking out about something you can't eat. The days of Tang and Twinkies for lunch are gone forever, I suppose.

(Some kids have truly serious allergies disclaimer blah blah blah. I was actually thinking of a specifically nutty woman I know who thinks her kid is allergic to practically everything including wheat, rice, chicken, tofu and apples...when I am pretty sure that the kid is just sick of mom's long-simmering rage against practically everything in life. And I miss Twinkies and Tang.)

8. Drugs. OK, Mir. I took this one off because, you're right it was kind of judgy and mean and the whole subject is just a minefield of touchy emotions and despair.

9. AP classes. I went to high school back in the 1970s. Teachers were happy if you just showed up and weren't zorked out of your mind on drugs. If you turned in work, any kind of work, that was good for at least a B.

Now high schoolers are expected to know stuff and to achieve and to strive for things. All this actual learning and doing most certainly cuts into their time that would be better spent hanging out by the lockers and making fun of other people's outfits, as we so enjoyed doing. Kids today just don't know what they are missing.

10. Ok, Mir, forgive me. I was trying to be funny and I was a little mean. I just want the kids to be happy, really. Start by sparing them from ugly footwear and Miley Cyrus, and we can work from there.

Senas, bet dar gyvas

(The title is Lithuanian, from a t-shirt Mr. Mojo used to wear. It means "Old, but still alive.")

The free Picnik online photo editing software I got at BlogHer has led to the recent spate of rotating blog headers.

I started playing with the program and just could not stop. FUN!

This week's header is in homage to Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player ever.

(I KNOW Magic and Kareem and LeBron are great. But nobody, nobody, will ever top Jordan).

When I went to name my blog, http://redstapler.blogspot.com was taken by someone who put up one lousy post and never came back, so I needed to add a lucky number to my URL.

I chose 23, Jordan's jersey number, because Michael could fly and because he was magic.

If you can watch old video of Michael playing for the Bulls and NOT get a thrill, I think there is something sad and cold and dead inside you.

If I ever stop enjoying watching those games, you can whack me in the back of the head with a blunt object and leave me in a ditch, because life won't be worth living anymore.