So, the other night I was making dinner. This activity is sometimes an efficient affair, and sometimes a metaphoric dash through a minefield, depending on how prepared/organized/PMS-y I am. On this night, I was stirring and simmering and sauteeing like a pro, almost completely able to ignore the children popping in and out of the kitchen at various intervals. Maggie had her head in the pantry cabinet, calling out "Cake? Cake?" apparently in hopes that a large, frosted yummy would materialize in there. When that didn't happen, she consoled herself by taking out all the boxes of granola bars and standing on them. Twice.
The older children wandered in periodically to say things like "What are we having for dinner? Not that, right? I hate that." and "Can I have a snack?" (No.) "Well, when can I have a snack?" because evidently the act of making dinner does not, in fact, guarantee that food will be coming your way any time soon.
Lucky for them, Aunt Flo had arrived earlier in the day and I was feeling verrry calm, almost Zen-like. Don't like my sweet and sour chicken? Wisdom is not yours today, little grasshopper. Smashed granola bars? Tonight you will not learn the sound of one hand clapping, little monster pants, because I am inhabiting a higher plane.
It's nice, being above it all. And the nicest part about it was that it could so easily have gone the other way, and so often has.
It is no small thing to feel supremely sane.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Don't Stop Now...
or people will think I've jumped off a bridge as a result of all the moving angst. I didn't, and although the move itself was very hairy (ice storm) and the kids had a little (not unexpected) trouble settling in, we all survived and I am feeling calmer than I have in months.
Then again, almost as soon as we moved in, things began breaking: door handles, cabinet pulls, shower doors, etc. It's like the house was just holding its breath until we got in and then on the exhale started popping its metaphoric buttons. Ah well, such is the life of the home owner.
But I am done writing about the move, the house and all that rit rot, at least for today. Today I want to rant about something totally different.
Politics.
When you live in a "politically relevant" state, as I do, you find that the days prior to the politically significant events in question are filled with phone calls from volunteers trying to ascertain your position or solicit your support. Yesterday I had a record 8 phone calls with either live or recorded people urging me to support 1) Ron Paul 2)Mike Huckabee 3) Mitt Romney 4)Barack Obama 5) Ron Paul (again) 6) John McCain 7) Ron Paul (yet again) and 8)Hillary Clinton.
One nice man called for Mitt Romney and wanted to know my opinion of him. I told him I wouldn't vote for him, and of course, he wanted to know why. I explained that his position on illegal immigration was reactionary and draconian , but what I wanted to say was that I don't like him because he keeps calling my house.
In the most bizarre twist of all, I got a hand-addressed Christmas card from the Millers in Puyallup, WA -- a place I have never been. As I opened it, I was trying to remember if my friend from College had moved from Chicago to Puyallup in the past year. Then the full weirdness of the card burst upon me. Inside was a Christmas letter, just like the ones you get with all the family updates, only this one was a letter from a total stranger urging me to consider Ron Paul for President, so he could single-handedly restore America's greatness.
That's just about as wacky a ploy as I've ever seen.
Of course, anyone that knew anything about me at all would know that I would never endorse someone like Ron Paul, but it's rare that a candidate should have the ability to alienate me so early in the race. Normally I don't feel alienated and disaffected until October of the election year. On actual election day, I ususally feel like I'm performing a very distasteful duty, like excising warts or assisting in a hemmorroid surgery. By then I pretty much hate everybody and am certain that no matter who I vote for, we're all going straight to hell in a handbasket.
Just a few more days and the phone calls should stop.
Then again, almost as soon as we moved in, things began breaking: door handles, cabinet pulls, shower doors, etc. It's like the house was just holding its breath until we got in and then on the exhale started popping its metaphoric buttons. Ah well, such is the life of the home owner.
But I am done writing about the move, the house and all that rit rot, at least for today. Today I want to rant about something totally different.
Politics.
When you live in a "politically relevant" state, as I do, you find that the days prior to the politically significant events in question are filled with phone calls from volunteers trying to ascertain your position or solicit your support. Yesterday I had a record 8 phone calls with either live or recorded people urging me to support 1) Ron Paul 2)Mike Huckabee 3) Mitt Romney 4)Barack Obama 5) Ron Paul (again) 6) John McCain 7) Ron Paul (yet again) and 8)Hillary Clinton.
One nice man called for Mitt Romney and wanted to know my opinion of him. I told him I wouldn't vote for him, and of course, he wanted to know why. I explained that his position on illegal immigration was reactionary and draconian , but what I wanted to say was that I don't like him because he keeps calling my house.
In the most bizarre twist of all, I got a hand-addressed Christmas card from the Millers in Puyallup, WA -- a place I have never been. As I opened it, I was trying to remember if my friend from College had moved from Chicago to Puyallup in the past year. Then the full weirdness of the card burst upon me. Inside was a Christmas letter, just like the ones you get with all the family updates, only this one was a letter from a total stranger urging me to consider Ron Paul for President, so he could single-handedly restore America's greatness.
That's just about as wacky a ploy as I've ever seen.
Of course, anyone that knew anything about me at all would know that I would never endorse someone like Ron Paul, but it's rare that a candidate should have the ability to alienate me so early in the race. Normally I don't feel alienated and disaffected until October of the election year. On actual election day, I ususally feel like I'm performing a very distasteful duty, like excising warts or assisting in a hemmorroid surgery. By then I pretty much hate everybody and am certain that no matter who I vote for, we're all going straight to hell in a handbasket.
Just a few more days and the phone calls should stop.
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