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30 October 2008
Financial Crisis
If you've got one dollar and you spend 79 cents on a loaf of bread, you've got 21 cents left. If you've got seventeen thousand dollars and you spend 79 cents on a loaf of bread, you've still got seventeen grand.
There's a math lesson for you.-- Steve Martin
The Unexamined Life
The unexamined life is not worth living. -- Socrates
Last night I went to see Oliver Stone's movie, "W." It was an odd little ensemble with a huge central fulcrum. It had the feel to it, almost, of improv, or of a small repertory play. Condi Rice, Rumsfeld, Tenet, Wolfowitz were all caricatures (the last, even with fake hair growing out of his ears). Thandie Newton looked just like Condi, but if Condi is really that weird, then I don't know how she attracted that cute Canadian foreign affairs minister Peter MacKay (not featured in the movie). Tony Blair was also hotter in the film than in real life, though, one imagines, the real Tony Blair must have been equally perplexed by the President's rationale for war in Iraq prior to the completion of weapons inspections. Jeffrey Wright as Colin Powell made me fervently wish the General had run for president in 2004, and it's pure fun to watch him tell Cheney to f off. Richard Dreyfuss and Elizabeth Banks were great as Cheney and Laura, as were Cromwell and Burstyn as George Herbert Walker and Barbara. But Josh Brolin was touched by the hand of God. I don't know if I've ever seen such an amazing performance by a person portraying a living, breathing political figure -- it was not comedic, it was not an impression, it was a masterpiece.
The picture itself really made me turn inward for a bit afterwards and examine my feelings. I truly loathed President Bush going in, but I actually came away feeling more sorry for him, not so much viewing him as evil or unbelievably stupid, but just appalled by his immaturity, ignorance and complete lack of self-awareness (and perhaps his failure to grasp multisyllabic English). Rove, Cheney, Rice, Wolfowitz -- these were the people I loathed at the end of things. Manipulative, egomaniacal, self-righteous and power-mad, they really made me glad that Mr McCain is unlikely to get the chance to be encouraged by any of them to bomb Iran (one of the main aims from the beginning of Cheney and Wolfie, if the film is to be believed -- and my understanding is that the script is based entirely on truth). It was fascinating to watch these people recreate speeches that I remember so clearly, or moments like the press conference in which the correspondent asked the president what mistakes he had made over his tenure and he couldn't think of a single thing. The most pressing question might have been why someone as smart as Laura would have fallen for GW, and Oliver Stone has no idea, either.
Aside from the story and the small acting parts lined up on the shelf like tchotchkes, the movie has not much to it. 'Arty,' in the sense that there are dream sequences in the ballpark and the lady sitting behind me didn't understand what she was looking at, the film is really pretty basic, with heavy themes and no subtleties. Then again, that's W, isn't it? If you're a political junkie, the kind who can enjoy The War Room, it's worth watching. If not, or if you're a loyalist, don't spend the money. Next up, Frost/Nixon, about the famous interview of Richard Nixon. Another for us politicos. Can't wait.
Speaking of the Future
I made Abby Jane a little brag book of pictures, each one a snapshot of a family member. Mostly, I wanted to make sure she didn't forget my parents and my brother and his family, because we don't see them often enough, but the book also includes pictures of Dave's folks and indeed our little nuclear family, too.
I read somewhere this was a good idea, but I already had in mind to do it long before I knew I would have children, because I remember so clearly a book my mother made for me back in the early 70's. Remember those photo albums where the pages were sticky (and apparently acidic and devastating to photographs and newspaper clippings alike?), so you stuck your pictures on it and you folded a piece of clear plastic over the page to protect them? Well, Mom made me one of those, only it didn't have photographs, just pictures and words she had cut out of magazines. One page would have a picture of Bambi on it, and below the magazine-headline word would be "Deer". (Did she subscribe to Guns & Ammo?) Anyway, she created an entire little learning book for me. I'm told I loved it as a baby, and I certainly love it now. I feel very loved when I think about it.
Now Abby has her little book. It's only pictures for now, but I do intend to create learning pages, too. She already loves it. She says "Buh" for "book," and routinely brings me 4-6 books an evening to be read, sitting in my lap with a very serious and inquisitive look on her face (yay!!!!). This book is no different. She sits in my lap, and helps me turn the pages to look at herself, R, S, Grammy, Papa, etc. Since I made the book, she has always just sat there looking at it, interested but passive, maybe pointing a little finger at one of the pictures, or, since Disney, saying "Pa-pa" over and over in the cutest little boo-voice possible. But lately, when I turn to the picture of Dave and me, a joint head shot smiling directly into the camera (back when we were dating, careless and thin), she says, "Mehhh." Like Billy Crystal in that scene in When Harry Met Sally when he decides to spend the evening moaning in bed after hanging up the phone with Meg Ryan. "Mehhhh." Every time. She is giving me a complex. She is not saying mama, certainly not dada -- she could be saying, 'I want Daddy,' because he's been in the UK all week, or she could be saying, 'Yuck, parents,' in which case she's a little young for that. Whatever she's saying, it's not a happy noise. I am perplexed.
Speaking of making noises, Abby is a babbler, for sure, but how could she not be, considering who her mother is? At the same time, she is learning sign language. She knows how to say "more," and she understands that she can say "please," but I don't think she's figured out when she's supposed to say that one. It is really amazing to think that her little brain can communicate even though she doesn't have spoken language yet. Still, she must have reached a milestone the other day, because she talked in her sleep. She was snoozing in my arms, and talking away at someone. My guess would be Bailey. Someone said that babies are born speaking all languages -- it just takes them a while to figure out which one their parents speak. Abby is on the cusp of discovery.
S has decided she'd like to be an engineer (and she actually seems to know what one does). She is relatively good at math, and even more confident of her ability in it, so that might be a good choice. At her age, though, I was trying to decide between being an aeronautical engineer and an astronaut. Which is interesting, both because I ended up as a lawyer and a mom, and because R has decided he'd like to be an astronaut. Somewhere there's a lesson. Anyway, if S starts focussing and putting in 100% on her homework, and R decides he can fit his big brain into a normal school situation, we might all actually get there. (Well, not me; I don't think I'm heading for a career in engineering or astro-exploring.)
Future plans are interesting. People seem hardwired either to constantly make plans or studiously avoid them. I recently heard about a study that showed that 70-year-olds with a 4-year plan for the future were much more likely to live to 74 than those with no plan. Now, I didn't hear enough to know whether the particular study made any sense -- is this a chicken-and-egg scenario? But it did make me think about my 5-year plan. I always used to make 5-year plans, and I even accomplished some of the things on them. The last one I crafted, in fact, I completed to a satisfactory level: it included moving, getting married, and having a baby. Voila!
Cross those off the list. So I think it's time for another five year plan . . . . I'll keep you posted.
I read somewhere this was a good idea, but I already had in mind to do it long before I knew I would have children, because I remember so clearly a book my mother made for me back in the early 70's. Remember those photo albums where the pages were sticky (and apparently acidic and devastating to photographs and newspaper clippings alike?), so you stuck your pictures on it and you folded a piece of clear plastic over the page to protect them? Well, Mom made me one of those, only it didn't have photographs, just pictures and words she had cut out of magazines. One page would have a picture of Bambi on it, and below the magazine-headline word would be "Deer". (Did she subscribe to Guns & Ammo?) Anyway, she created an entire little learning book for me. I'm told I loved it as a baby, and I certainly love it now. I feel very loved when I think about it.
Now Abby has her little book. It's only pictures for now, but I do intend to create learning pages, too. She already loves it. She says "Buh" for "book," and routinely brings me 4-6 books an evening to be read, sitting in my lap with a very serious and inquisitive look on her face (yay!!!!). This book is no different. She sits in my lap, and helps me turn the pages to look at herself, R, S, Grammy, Papa, etc. Since I made the book, she has always just sat there looking at it, interested but passive, maybe pointing a little finger at one of the pictures, or, since Disney, saying "Pa-pa" over and over in the cutest little boo-voice possible. But lately, when I turn to the picture of Dave and me, a joint head shot smiling directly into the camera (back when we were dating, careless and thin), she says, "Mehhh." Like Billy Crystal in that scene in When Harry Met Sally when he decides to spend the evening moaning in bed after hanging up the phone with Meg Ryan. "Mehhhh." Every time. She is giving me a complex. She is not saying mama, certainly not dada -- she could be saying, 'I want Daddy,' because he's been in the UK all week, or she could be saying, 'Yuck, parents,' in which case she's a little young for that. Whatever she's saying, it's not a happy noise. I am perplexed.
Speaking of making noises, Abby is a babbler, for sure, but how could she not be, considering who her mother is? At the same time, she is learning sign language. She knows how to say "more," and she understands that she can say "please," but I don't think she's figured out when she's supposed to say that one. It is really amazing to think that her little brain can communicate even though she doesn't have spoken language yet. Still, she must have reached a milestone the other day, because she talked in her sleep. She was snoozing in my arms, and talking away at someone. My guess would be Bailey. Someone said that babies are born speaking all languages -- it just takes them a while to figure out which one their parents speak. Abby is on the cusp of discovery.
S has decided she'd like to be an engineer (and she actually seems to know what one does). She is relatively good at math, and even more confident of her ability in it, so that might be a good choice. At her age, though, I was trying to decide between being an aeronautical engineer and an astronaut. Which is interesting, both because I ended up as a lawyer and a mom, and because R has decided he'd like to be an astronaut. Somewhere there's a lesson. Anyway, if S starts focussing and putting in 100% on her homework, and R decides he can fit his big brain into a normal school situation, we might all actually get there. (Well, not me; I don't think I'm heading for a career in engineering or astro-exploring.)
Future plans are interesting. People seem hardwired either to constantly make plans or studiously avoid them. I recently heard about a study that showed that 70-year-olds with a 4-year plan for the future were much more likely to live to 74 than those with no plan. Now, I didn't hear enough to know whether the particular study made any sense -- is this a chicken-and-egg scenario? But it did make me think about my 5-year plan. I always used to make 5-year plans, and I even accomplished some of the things on them. The last one I crafted, in fact, I completed to a satisfactory level: it included moving, getting married, and having a baby. Voila!
Cross those off the list. So I think it's time for another five year plan . . . . I'll keep you posted.
28 October 2008
The Bearded Lady
My daughter eats hair. Not just chews on it, she actually eats it, if you let her. As my 5-year-old would say, "What the--?!?" [Hey -- at least he doesn't finish the sentence any more.]
This morning as I was buckling her into her car seat for the trip to day care, Abby actually coughed up a furball. In this case, cat hair. She most often gets dog hair, though, because Bailey's (our Golden Retriever's) hair collects in great tumbleweeds and she crawls around stuffing them in her mouth faster than you (or I, at least) can move. I have taken to sweeping the floor twice a day, but it's going to have to be more -- or, we can shave the dog. That's okay with me, too.
In fact, I was beginning to think I'd actually become a "cat person," as my husband and some others have been accusing for 3 years now. I was walking the dog yesterday because D is out of town, and I was just grousing and grumbling and complaining under my breath -- something I'd never done through years of walking beloved dogs. I asked myself, "When did you become a cat person?" And I answered myself: "When I began to have responsibilities more important than a dog." (I know; witchy, right?) I harrumphed all the way home and refused to make eye contact with my hopeful, happy, bouncing dog when we got there. Then, late last night, when Abby threw up all over the room for no apparent reason, the dog managed to eat it off the floor before I could get the whole situation under control again. [Sorry, gross.]
But the real problem is not that I don't love the dog; it's that I do. I feel guilty about not spending enough time with her, about not giving her what she needs -- which is a lot; she is a Golden, after all. In fact, I never thought I'd meet a creature more needy than I, but she is it. I loved throwing the ball for her out back, until she scared the daylights out of our neighbor. I loved letting her sleep in our room when Dave was out of town, until I became so sleep-deprived that I was only disturbed, not comforted, by the sounds of her twitchy, snorey sleep. I didn't mind opening the door and letting her go outside to do her business a few times a day, until she ruined the grass and upset D. So now I love her, but I don't love anything about her. Still, she is us. She is part of our family, and you can't just rid yourself of that. As with so many things, I need to change the way I think about my relationship with the dog. I will think on it. I have so much trouble with people or creatures who can't talk!!!
As for how to get the kid to stop eating hair? I mean, when possible, she grabs big handsful of my long, brown hair, stuffs it in her mouth, and chews. I am full of questions. How? Why? To give her something to chew? Maybe she likes "product". Does the dog hair taste as bad as the dog smells? Is there some bizarre nutrient she is lacking, or some hormonal disorder, as with those pregnant women who start eating dirt? I have no idea. Of course, D and I have been unable to ignore the fact that when Abby comes crawling or toddling around the corner with a gob of blonde dog fur sticking part way out of her mouth, she looks like a little old lady with a grey beard. That's pretty funny.
One more thing, off topic. I saw a sign at a Palin rally in the paper: "Dudes Love Gals Who Love Guns". I can't deny that's often true. My husband is not one of those dudes, however. Which is ironic, because I am an expert shot and could out-shoot Palin any day of the week. Well, with an actual weapon that shoots bullets. I have never shot a pink-camouflage crossbow.
This morning as I was buckling her into her car seat for the trip to day care, Abby actually coughed up a furball. In this case, cat hair. She most often gets dog hair, though, because Bailey's (our Golden Retriever's) hair collects in great tumbleweeds and she crawls around stuffing them in her mouth faster than you (or I, at least) can move. I have taken to sweeping the floor twice a day, but it's going to have to be more -- or, we can shave the dog. That's okay with me, too.
In fact, I was beginning to think I'd actually become a "cat person," as my husband and some others have been accusing for 3 years now. I was walking the dog yesterday because D is out of town, and I was just grousing and grumbling and complaining under my breath -- something I'd never done through years of walking beloved dogs. I asked myself, "When did you become a cat person?" And I answered myself: "When I began to have responsibilities more important than a dog." (I know; witchy, right?) I harrumphed all the way home and refused to make eye contact with my hopeful, happy, bouncing dog when we got there. Then, late last night, when Abby threw up all over the room for no apparent reason, the dog managed to eat it off the floor before I could get the whole situation under control again. [Sorry, gross.]
But the real problem is not that I don't love the dog; it's that I do. I feel guilty about not spending enough time with her, about not giving her what she needs -- which is a lot; she is a Golden, after all. In fact, I never thought I'd meet a creature more needy than I, but she is it. I loved throwing the ball for her out back, until she scared the daylights out of our neighbor. I loved letting her sleep in our room when Dave was out of town, until I became so sleep-deprived that I was only disturbed, not comforted, by the sounds of her twitchy, snorey sleep. I didn't mind opening the door and letting her go outside to do her business a few times a day, until she ruined the grass and upset D. So now I love her, but I don't love anything about her. Still, she is us. She is part of our family, and you can't just rid yourself of that. As with so many things, I need to change the way I think about my relationship with the dog. I will think on it. I have so much trouble with people or creatures who can't talk!!!
As for how to get the kid to stop eating hair? I mean, when possible, she grabs big handsful of my long, brown hair, stuffs it in her mouth, and chews. I am full of questions. How? Why? To give her something to chew? Maybe she likes "product". Does the dog hair taste as bad as the dog smells? Is there some bizarre nutrient she is lacking, or some hormonal disorder, as with those pregnant women who start eating dirt? I have no idea. Of course, D and I have been unable to ignore the fact that when Abby comes crawling or toddling around the corner with a gob of blonde dog fur sticking part way out of her mouth, she looks like a little old lady with a grey beard. That's pretty funny.
One more thing, off topic. I saw a sign at a Palin rally in the paper: "Dudes Love Gals Who Love Guns". I can't deny that's often true. My husband is not one of those dudes, however. Which is ironic, because I am an expert shot and could out-shoot Palin any day of the week. Well, with an actual weapon that shoots bullets. I have never shot a pink-camouflage crossbow.
21 October 2008
I Think I'm Amazed
Still no time to write. I will just jot a few things:
- The au pair will arrive November 14. She is called Silvia, she is from Austria, and I am thrilled she's coming. Dave is a little worried about the estrogen level in the house, and about the amount we just spent at IKEA to furnish her room.
- Two lowlights of our trip were (1) I got a stomach flu at Disney (or food poisoning) and (2) I kid you not -- someone rammed my electric wheelchair with her electric wheelchair, out of sheer crowd rage, I guess. "I'm coming through," she said, matter of factly. I could have taken her. I simply chose not to engage in public fisticuffs.
- These hiccups aside, seeing Abby clapping, dancing and singing along to It's a Small World, her little face lit up, was the best thing I believe I'll ever see in this life. In general, Abs did incredibly well on the trip -- she was easygoing, travelled well, slept well, ate well, enjoyed what she saw, didn't mind what she didn't. She was by far the best wayfarer out of the 16 of us.
- S became a little girl again this weekend, including having a princess makeover. She still has her Cinderella hairdo in, three days later, including the sparkly tiara. On a tired ride on the monorail late one evening, she said that little babies like Abby are happy most of the time because they remember their friends from heaven. I thought that was incredibly sweet.
- R has this wonderful little smile he gives when you say something that really makes him happy. We were riding the interminable bus to the Orlando airport from the resort, and he was sitting next to me, prattling on about the various features of a toy "adventure tool" his dad bought him at the Mt. Everest roller coaster. I was struggling to pay attention because I thought I was about to continue the previous night's hurl-fest. I smiled at him and said, "You figure out how things work because you are very smart. I am proud of you." He gave me that little, shy smile -- don't let her see you're happy she said it -- and I smiled even bigger.
- Dave is a most amazing husband.
- The electric wheelchair was absolutely necessary. There is no way I could have made it through one day at that park walking around. My mother in law, who schlepped for four days, amazes me. My children amaze me. My husband amazes me. They all (except Dave, I must admit) whined at the end of each day, but their stamina was awe-inspiring.
- Work is intensely busy. Sometimes I barely think I'm doing it right.
- I went to a meeting of MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) today for the first time. It was wonderful. I was giddy most of the rest of the day, much to Dave's feigned (I hope) chagrin.
- Now I am exhausted. I think I'll go eat a Mickey Mouse cookie and go to sleep.
15 October 2008
Four Days in the World
Wow, it's been too long since I've written. Too many things to write about at the moment, including (a) the au pair we're expecting in November, (b) work, (c) the campaign, (d) the economy, (e) Abby's broken toe, ear infection and deep and abiding glee at being able to walk. These can't be written about at the moment because any minute, my house will be descended upon. D is going to pull in the driveway with both big kids and the baby; then Grandbob is going to join us, and we will all drive to the airport in Baltimore to join Grammy and Papa. Everyone will get on the big plane and fly high in the sky to Orlando, where Mickey Mouse lives, and join Aunt Suzie and Uncle Lee, Uncle Moose, Mimi, Aunt Aly and Uncle Greg, and Cousins D and G. Sixteen of us for a long weekend in "the World," as the lingo goes (yes, there's lingo). R is excited to meet the Little Einsteins, but mostly he wants the bag of snacks he saw being packed for his carryon. S doesn't seem too concerned about character sightings -- not nearly so much as her Aunt Suzie is, for example -- but she is pretty geeked about spending the Disney Dollars she has earned in recent weeks, and riding Space Mountain. Honestly, I am finally looking forward to it, too, now that everything is packed and sitting by the door. I haven't been to Epcot in at least 7 years or so; I haven't been to the Magic Kingdom since 1985 or so, and I have never been to the other parks. Based on my recollections, I am looking forward to Peter Pan's ride, the "night" sky over the bazaar inside the Aztec temple in the Mexico part of Epcot, and the futuristic rides where one imagines how we'll all live in 100 (or 10) years. I just want the kids to have a great time, and I want Dave to have a great time, and I want memories that last. Bless us and you. See you on Monday.
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