With Mr. C and his dad safe in London, wandering from Madame Tussaud's to Ripley's Believe it or Not, I'm taking the DQ up to New Hope for a few days of shopping,canoeing, eating, and complaining about how her feet hurt on the trail by the Delaware.
I've been realizing what a dour, self-martyred complainer I'm in danger of turning into -- so easy to condemn in others, so difficult to recognize in myself. Overwork has made me vigilant about my perpetual fault, oversensitivity. It's a gift when it helps me to read a room or empathize with someone else, and a real bane when I start feeling sorry for myself. Having run out of a very tough board meeting last week, close to tears, I said to my colleague apologetically, "I'm not having a lot of fun right now." Yes, she'd noticed, she said to me, accepting of my frailty.
But exhaustion is only a partal excuse.
I have friends, of many income brackets, who know how to have a good time. A walk with a friend. A nice dinner out. A few mildly risque photos (not sure about these)? But I need to push myself to be a little more daring -- and willing to quell the moralizing voice (ancestral) that says it's not OK to laugh and love and even spend while others are suffering.
I think that it probably is Ok for us to enjoy life -- as long as we do something constructive about the suffering, too. There's a real difference between morality and moralizing, and too often I pair the two. A common fault.
How do you work this tension out in your life?
jeudi, juin 25, 2009
lundi, juin 22, 2009
Skies over the Atlantic
Somewhere, over the Atlantic, they are now, many miles from one country, heading for another. Is he sleeping? Tuned into his Ipod? Watching a movie? Asleep next to his father, who must be really tired from his long day?
I didn't know how badly I was going to miss Mr. C -- had urged my ex to take him, hand't known that it would feel like this.
The DQ and I drove them to Exton station. This morning Mr. C graduated from fifth grade, dressed in his Scout uniform in a sea of white shirts. Favorite teacher Mr. Wood, giving out awards to the chess team, complimented Mr. C on a quality I value above almost all others -- his compassion.
Watching those young faces in the video made for to commemorate the fifth grade (second to graduate from the school), with their joyful smiles and unmarked faces, I was too embarrassed to ask my ex for a handkerchief again. Then brunch at a local diner, back to his dad's to pack, and the afternoon was almost gone.
Yet one more emotion to overlay what was already there, so full already -- I asked my ex to give my love to his friend Ian. A big part of the reason for going was for him to see Ian, whose wife had died last winter. "I hope he lasts till I get there" blurted out my ex. "He's very bad."
My ex isn't prone to being overly emotional, but he seemed to be struggling to stay in control of his feelings. Ian and Jeanette his wife had housed us and the children whilst in London 11 years ago. Scholarly and humble, they were delightful hosts, making us feel totally at home.
Please, God, I know it's selfish, but let him get there in time to say goodbye, to share a few memories, to let him know how much those days in Cambridge together meant. I had so many grand wishes for Mr C and my ex -- trips to the zoo, to the Science Museum, to that London Eye he keeps chatting about.
Now I just want them safe.
When I expressed my emotions to the DQ tonight, she came and hugged me. "I bet your mom felt the same way about you," said my poised and increasingly canny daughter. "You'll feel the same way when you have kids" I said. She smiled, and went back to the laptop.
I didn't know how badly I was going to miss Mr. C -- had urged my ex to take him, hand't known that it would feel like this.
The DQ and I drove them to Exton station. This morning Mr. C graduated from fifth grade, dressed in his Scout uniform in a sea of white shirts. Favorite teacher Mr. Wood, giving out awards to the chess team, complimented Mr. C on a quality I value above almost all others -- his compassion.
Watching those young faces in the video made for to commemorate the fifth grade (second to graduate from the school), with their joyful smiles and unmarked faces, I was too embarrassed to ask my ex for a handkerchief again. Then brunch at a local diner, back to his dad's to pack, and the afternoon was almost gone.
Yet one more emotion to overlay what was already there, so full already -- I asked my ex to give my love to his friend Ian. A big part of the reason for going was for him to see Ian, whose wife had died last winter. "I hope he lasts till I get there" blurted out my ex. "He's very bad."
My ex isn't prone to being overly emotional, but he seemed to be struggling to stay in control of his feelings. Ian and Jeanette his wife had housed us and the children whilst in London 11 years ago. Scholarly and humble, they were delightful hosts, making us feel totally at home.
Please, God, I know it's selfish, but let him get there in time to say goodbye, to share a few memories, to let him know how much those days in Cambridge together meant. I had so many grand wishes for Mr C and my ex -- trips to the zoo, to the Science Museum, to that London Eye he keeps chatting about.
Now I just want them safe.
When I expressed my emotions to the DQ tonight, she came and hugged me. "I bet your mom felt the same way about you," said my poised and increasingly canny daughter. "You'll feel the same way when you have kids" I said. She smiled, and went back to the laptop.
samedi, juin 20, 2009
As you can tell, I was definitely down in the dumps last night.
I did need a change of perspective, and the Exton Mall wasn't cutting it.Riviera, anybody?
A friend's email seemed so full of the voice of my much loved grandmother that I went back to Aunt Jennie's family history to find the chapter she had written about her life.
As I've written in previous posts, Grandma was an amazing human being. She helped equip ships for Spanish Loyalists, chaired a Citizen's Committee for the National Maritime Union, obtained affadavits for refugees from Austria and Germany before World War II and, at the same time, just loved life. It's odd to look back and realize how much this practical but idealistic woman did to take a stance against the world's Darth Vaders. The only thing that surprises me is how many committtes she chaired or did administrative work for, for Grandma never seemed like the secretarial type. Her Mrs Malapropisms were bywords in our household.
But what sent me back to the autobiography this morning was the shipwreck of the SS Mohawk...(tbc).
I did need a change of perspective, and the Exton Mall wasn't cutting it.Riviera, anybody?
A friend's email seemed so full of the voice of my much loved grandmother that I went back to Aunt Jennie's family history to find the chapter she had written about her life.
As I've written in previous posts, Grandma was an amazing human being. She helped equip ships for Spanish Loyalists, chaired a Citizen's Committee for the National Maritime Union, obtained affadavits for refugees from Austria and Germany before World War II and, at the same time, just loved life. It's odd to look back and realize how much this practical but idealistic woman did to take a stance against the world's Darth Vaders. The only thing that surprises me is how many committtes she chaired or did administrative work for, for Grandma never seemed like the secretarial type. Her Mrs Malapropisms were bywords in our household.
But what sent me back to the autobiography this morning was the shipwreck of the SS Mohawk...(tbc).
jeudi, juin 18, 2009
Fangs
I've got a feeling things are changing around here.
Last year I rented "Pride and Prejudice" for my daughter and a friend -- where are the vampires, they wanted to know. Well, now, of course, you can get zombies with British accents and pretty gowns.
Last night, the DQ and I watched the Jane Austen adaptation with Kiera Knightley, given the full costume drama presentation. Frankly, I am not a Jane Austen fan. Too much talking, not enough action. But my child waded patiently through more than 2 hours of ballroom scenes, walks, dinners, and naked statues, and a few minutes in which something actually occurs.
OK, so late in the movie she asked me if the movie took place in England. Nah, that's Chicago, I told her.
The fact is that she liked it. She's not quite ready for a "Room with a View" one of my favorite novels/movies. But romance is insinuating itself into her soul -- with or without fangs.
Last year I rented "Pride and Prejudice" for my daughter and a friend -- where are the vampires, they wanted to know. Well, now, of course, you can get zombies with British accents and pretty gowns.
Last night, the DQ and I watched the Jane Austen adaptation with Kiera Knightley, given the full costume drama presentation. Frankly, I am not a Jane Austen fan. Too much talking, not enough action. But my child waded patiently through more than 2 hours of ballroom scenes, walks, dinners, and naked statues, and a few minutes in which something actually occurs.
OK, so late in the movie she asked me if the movie took place in England. Nah, that's Chicago, I told her.
The fact is that she liked it. She's not quite ready for a "Room with a View" one of my favorite novels/movies. But romance is insinuating itself into her soul -- with or without fangs.
mercredi, juin 17, 2009
Shameless plug for GEYA
No, I'm not talking about GAIA, ladies.
As baseball seasons ends, I wanted to personally thank our local sports volunteer organization. That's the Glenmoore Eagle Youth Association. The men who coach these teams are such a blessing in the lives of our sons and daughters. I haven't run into a bad guy yet -- well, I had one stomach churning experience with a soccer coach who was a bit of a cad, but that was over lunch, not on the field. He's probably a paragon of virtue when he coaches -- such men usually present one face to the world and are something else in private.
Thankfully, Mr. C shows no talent for soccer.
Generally, the dads I've met have been wonderful in showing young boys how to be good sports, how to be gracious losers, and how to compete with flair. And yanno, even the parents have been very cool. I haven't seen more than one or two prima donnas -- most of them are fabulous.
I dunno about Mr. C, but Little League baseball is one of the highlights the year -- I can't wait for Fall Ball!!!
As baseball seasons ends, I wanted to personally thank our local sports volunteer organization. That's the Glenmoore Eagle Youth Association. The men who coach these teams are such a blessing in the lives of our sons and daughters. I haven't run into a bad guy yet -- well, I had one stomach churning experience with a soccer coach who was a bit of a cad, but that was over lunch, not on the field. He's probably a paragon of virtue when he coaches -- such men usually present one face to the world and are something else in private.
Thankfully, Mr. C shows no talent for soccer.
Generally, the dads I've met have been wonderful in showing young boys how to be good sports, how to be gracious losers, and how to compete with flair. And yanno, even the parents have been very cool. I haven't seen more than one or two prima donnas -- most of them are fabulous.
I dunno about Mr. C, but Little League baseball is one of the highlights the year -- I can't wait for Fall Ball!!!
mardi, juin 16, 2009
A long shadow
Last night my friend Skip emailed me and told me he and his wife were leaving our township. I had taken my kids for a walk down to the local pizza shop for an ice cream cone, the DQ protesting all the way (except for a few interludes in which she took her brother's bicycle).
More than three years in Glenmoore and I still didn't know Bryan's was closed on Monday.
Why Skip and his wife are leaving is their own business. But the time and love and devotion they have invested in our beautiful community makes this more than a private loss.
I first got to know Skip last year when I was writing a story about local development and looking for someone who could step back and view the local scene with candor and integrity. Like many towns ruled by tiny boards of supervisors, ours is a hotbed on intrigue, class warfare and gossip. Relative objectivity is hard to come by.
He doesn't take sides, said a friend. He's someone you can trust. Truly, Skip is one of those rare people who put the public good above his own, working long hours on our Planning Commission to help each side, or all sides, see the other person's perspective.
Sadly, that is almost a thankless job, in my opinion. But as far as I know, Skip never asked for thanks.
When finally he and his wife came for dinner last fall with some older friends, I was privileged to hear about our township from the perspective of four people who saw the warts and still loved it. I wonder if the generations following have the same passion.
Standing by the tennis courts near the cemetery, I felt bereft. The Saturday before I'd attended the last lunch of a group called the Interlocutors. Founded back in the 1950's or 60's, this group began with one man (then added women) from each profession -- distinguished doctors, lawyers, professors, scientists. By the time I joined, at the invitation of Dr. Digby Baltzell, they were less elite.
Now most of the members wrestle with the ills that befall you in your seventies and eighties. The lunch was both a eulogy and a litany of missing and, sadly, dead members-- as well as some great stories about visitors like Cardinal Bevilacqua. Shocked to hear an old friend with whom we'd lost contact was dying, I sat out in the Wyndham parking lot and called his wife, mourning the passing of an age, of a generation, who seems to me at least, just a little bigger than my own...
Maybe some of us still have room to grow.
More than three years in Glenmoore and I still didn't know Bryan's was closed on Monday.
Why Skip and his wife are leaving is their own business. But the time and love and devotion they have invested in our beautiful community makes this more than a private loss.
I first got to know Skip last year when I was writing a story about local development and looking for someone who could step back and view the local scene with candor and integrity. Like many towns ruled by tiny boards of supervisors, ours is a hotbed on intrigue, class warfare and gossip. Relative objectivity is hard to come by.
He doesn't take sides, said a friend. He's someone you can trust. Truly, Skip is one of those rare people who put the public good above his own, working long hours on our Planning Commission to help each side, or all sides, see the other person's perspective.
Sadly, that is almost a thankless job, in my opinion. But as far as I know, Skip never asked for thanks.
When finally he and his wife came for dinner last fall with some older friends, I was privileged to hear about our township from the perspective of four people who saw the warts and still loved it. I wonder if the generations following have the same passion.
Standing by the tennis courts near the cemetery, I felt bereft. The Saturday before I'd attended the last lunch of a group called the Interlocutors. Founded back in the 1950's or 60's, this group began with one man (then added women) from each profession -- distinguished doctors, lawyers, professors, scientists. By the time I joined, at the invitation of Dr. Digby Baltzell, they were less elite.
Now most of the members wrestle with the ills that befall you in your seventies and eighties. The lunch was both a eulogy and a litany of missing and, sadly, dead members-- as well as some great stories about visitors like Cardinal Bevilacqua. Shocked to hear an old friend with whom we'd lost contact was dying, I sat out in the Wyndham parking lot and called his wife, mourning the passing of an age, of a generation, who seems to me at least, just a little bigger than my own...
Maybe some of us still have room to grow.
dimanche, juin 14, 2009
Haters
Sometimes Frank Rich goes over the top. This time, sadly, I fear that he is correct.
One reason I have to admit Rich is right is that a few months ago a libertarian businessman I respect said his colleagues were talking about how they hate Obama. He hangs out in very wealthy, one would think well-educated circles, which is part of what made the conversation so frightening. He said, chillingly, that he'd even heard one of them mention assassination.
Let's not go there. You have to believe that President Obama's security detail is as aware of the danger, and the hate out there, as is Frank Rich. Though I don't think decrying it would make a difference to a "nutjob" I do feel it would make a difference to the souls of those who, by remaining silent, make it seem as though they agree.
One reason I have to admit Rich is right is that a few months ago a libertarian businessman I respect said his colleagues were talking about how they hate Obama. He hangs out in very wealthy, one would think well-educated circles, which is part of what made the conversation so frightening. He said, chillingly, that he'd even heard one of them mention assassination.
Let's not go there. You have to believe that President Obama's security detail is as aware of the danger, and the hate out there, as is Frank Rich. Though I don't think decrying it would make a difference to a "nutjob" I do feel it would make a difference to the souls of those who, by remaining silent, make it seem as though they agree.
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