Hear What They See

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

deer in the headlights

Driving home last night, late as usual, I had just gone through the stoplight at Medocino Avenue and was heading up into Fountaingrove, when I came to a dead stop. There, in the middle of the road, was a young stag staring straight back at me. I didn't want to go around him into the other lane for fear that he would head that way as well. And I didn't want to keep going because then I would definitely hit him. I honked and he just looked at me, whitewashed in the headlights. Ears forward, nose twitching, as though trying to identify the strange hulk before him. I inched closer, somewhat nonplussed. Traffic was coming up behind me and I didn't want to be rearended nor did I want to witness the stag getting cremated. Finally, with a twitch of his flanks he shot off to my right and disappeared up the hill onto the manicured grass of the office complex along the road.

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There are always so many dead animals along my commute route. I hate it. I've written about it before, but I really hate it. I always feel a quiver of arrows in my belly, shaking and pricking. Two weeks ago there was a stag laying half on, half off the sidewalk higher up in the hilles in Fountaingrove. It's horns were the same size as the stag I saw last night, I imagine they were the same age. There was a pink froth around its mouth, open eyes. The stag lay there for almost a week. One day I drove by and it was gone. Whose job is it to go along roadsides and pick up dead animal bodies? Sunday night I was driving back from San Francisco and a racoon was in the middle of the road, one of its front legs raised, looking into the road toward me as I came around the bend, like he was listening to try to figure out what that sound was heading towards him. I did exactly what you're not supposed to do - I swerved to miss him. There was no on-coming traffic, which I looked for, and I didn't hit him, but I still know you're not supposed to swerve. The thump of an animal beneath the wheels of my car is a feeling that makes me sick to my stomach. I've only ever done it once. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 6:58 PM

Monday, October 20, 2003

I love this line:

"The other day (a week ago or more) I got on the bus, hating everyone as usual."

I think I'm going to steal it from the blog where I found it and make up a story.

| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 7:22 PM

mutually exclusive

I've been a loony bin since I started this job. I knew as soon as I got a computer I was doomed. Oh, seer that I am, I was right....

This is how my schedule looks for next week:

Sunday nite - drive to Eureka
Monday - drive to Crescent City (that's the last city in CA before you hit Oregon)
Tuesday - back to Eureka for a 2004 Business Planning meeting
Wednesday - continue Business Planning meeting as well as film footage for this brilliant idea I came up with to create a movie for our end of the year planning conferences for our 38 agents; I have always been convinced that people learn and/or remember particularly boring information if it is presented to them in a manner that is memorable. My attempt at memorable is to do a spin-off of Charlie's Angels. How insurance & Charlie's Angels coincide, God only knows, but it has potential if I can pull it off, ambitious fool that I am...)
Thursday - agent staff training then drive down to Ft. Bragg.
Friday - visit agents in Ft. Bragg, drive to Willits, then to Lakeport & Clearlake

Good Lord.
I guess a computer doesn't really have anything to do with driving all over God's green earth, but it has a whole lot to do with all of inquiries I've been getting on how to do this and that. I have been in front of the computer all day looking things up on-line for agents and their staff and emailing people like crazy. My eyes feel like they're morphing into squares. Pretty soon I'll begin beeping every time I blink.

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I got an email from Michael. He wrote I must say I admire your strength. Working strength. Marriage dedication strength. Life-living strength. These past few days in the deep blues I keep wondering "What's the meaning? Does it have meaning? Why does it matter?" I was touched that he would take the time to say something so nice; most of the time my strength feels sapped, like I can never put enough of myself into anything I do to have it actually make a difference. It is only over time, I suppose, that anything we do ever bears any fruit. But the second part of what he wrote above, about meaning and if it matters, that has been a foremost thought in my head lately.
MEANING
MEANING
MEANING
MEANING
This struggle we have, this looking into our depths then back into our shallowness.

I was reading a blog today that I haven't kept up with over the past couple of months. But I stopped in and was reading. Someone had made a comment to Marybeth (the writer of the blog): You measure your self-worth by what you see in others' eyes, Marybeth. Until you learn to value something other than the external - in yourself and in others - you'll never drag your self-esteem out of the mud. I had to stop and think for a minute about that. Because, I mean, how many people out there can honestly say, "I am so well-adjusted that I will never measure my self-worth by what other's think or have to say about me." First of all, I can't think of a single person who doesn't care what ANYONE thinks/says about them. Secondly, that line of thinking seems to have an inherent fallacy in it. How else can self-worth be defined if we don't use information that is attained from ouside of the self? How can we come up with a definition of worth that is self-inclusive but exclusive of the world outside of us, of "what you see in others' eyes"? We are a part of the world - by necessity, humans are social creatures; even extreme introverts have to socialize with another person every now and then! Look at the studies of feral children. It would appear that it is mandatory for us to socialize with other humans in order to function in a human world. And since the human world is the one in which the majority of us function, trying to define ourselves outside of those terms seems ludicrous. Now the person who made the comment refers to valuing something that is not external (in this instance the reference is to one's looks), but again, I have a problem with this. In a social structure, no matter how superior we may believe ourselves to be above that structure, society (in my opinion) is based on a set of relatively self-evident principles that are determined by the whole of society which in turn is made up of many individuals. No 1 individual makes up the principles. In fact, here's the definition of society from The American Heritage Dictionary: 1. The totality of social relationships among humans 2. A group of humans broadly distinguished from other groups by mutual interests, participation in characteristic relationships, shared institutions, and a common culture. Reading those definitions alone, how is it possible to make up a definition of self worth that is mutually exclusive?

Anyway, Michael's email and the comments on Marybeth's blog are just more churn for my brain on the notion of meaning. How much does it matter? I don't know. I just don't know.

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I made up a package for Lindsea and Dave mailed it to her today. No new news. Just that she's stable. Her folks have a website for both she and her sister called one white rose. There's a guestbook for Lindsea there.

On the heels of Lindsea, our office got news today that one of our agents, Joe, just found out that his 2-year old son, Alex, has been diagnosed with cancer. They found out Friday, the docs pushed surgery for him up to tomorrow.

I look at families with these small children, these kids who mean the world to them, probably asking themselves, What is the meaning of all this? and probably feeling very hard-pressed to come up with an answer that doesn't seem trite.

| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 7:13 PM

Monday, October 13, 2003

put it in perspective

Stories about kids who are sick or have died always make me feel horrid. I met the mother of Lindsea Friesen last year when she came to Sonoma. She was telling me about the website she'd created to update folks about her OTHER daughter, Shivan, who'd undergone heart surgery 2 years before. Now they have a 2nd daughter who's waiting on a heart donor for the same exact thing her sister went through 3 years ago. The heart condition they have is extremely rare. The fact that 2 kids in the same family have gotten it is even rarer. Lindsea's mom wrote in a couple of recent emails:

She is resting comfortably in the pediatric ICU. She still has the large blood clot on the left ventricle. Doctors are concerned, as it would be catastrophic if that clot dislodged. It would cause an embolism, most likely. We are happy that drugs are slowly dissolving the clot--not much, but some progress. One of the side-effects of this drug, however, is abdominal bleeding. She did get sick, saw blood, panicked, and her picc line came mostly out. The concern was that both arms are raw from other pokes, so the picc line was going to be placed in the groin, which is more uncomfortable. The med team was able to place the line in her right arm, PTL. Now the needed drugs are reaching her heart again.

Keep her in prayer, as she is scared, wondering why she's there. Two other children, both teenagers, have died of cancer while Lindsea has been there. It is very hard to see so many ill, even dying, children all around. She is so innocent, allowing whatever happens to her, but she is now wondering when she'll get out, wondering if she did something "wrong" to be there, as if she's being punished for something.

Lindsea was placed on the heart transplant list yesterday, earlier than expected. Three doctors gave the go-ahead and didn't wait for the larger transplant team to consider her case. She is that much in need of a heart now.

Please pray for Lindsea, our family, the medical staff at UCLA, and the many from around the world who study her case.

...just got home.... harrowing time....here only for a short time to get another car so we have two vehicles down in L.A.
It's like lightning hit twice. Again, like Shivan, she was a healthy, strong girl who suddenly became lethargic, apparent flu symptoms, then a diagnosis of idiopathic (unknown cause) dilated cardiomyopathy. It is extremely rare and doctors are stumped. Genetic studies are starting, but even so, doctors can't say that's the answer for this situation, as a genetic marker would need to be located. She is in the pediatric ICU at UCLA Med. Center, expected to stay there until a heart is available, as her heart is so weak and it may take quite awhile until she can tolerate oral medications that allow her to leave the hospital to await a transplant. Prayer is needed that Lindsea remains strong, that her heart doesn't deteriorate further before a transplant can be done. We are seriously considering renting out our home and relocating to the L.A. area. This is the temporary plan for now and we'll need to see how Lindsea progresses and what we can do.
I won't be able to get to a computer for who-knows-how long, only home for this short time.

Please send cheer mail to:
Lindsea Friesen
423 N. Lucas Drive
Santa Maria, CA 93454

If anyone should read this and feel the urge to write to a 6-year old kid you don't know, please do. I read Susan's email and just felt awful. I only met Susan briefly. I've never met Shivan or Lindsea. But I can't imagine what this family is going through. I can't fathom it.

| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 11:36 AM

Sunday, October 12, 2003

exhaling the inhale

We got back from Humboldt last night. I had to go up there for work. Boss said I could take Dave, so we spent 3 nights in this hotel. The place is not probably what most would consider upscale, but I'm a kooky gal - I have this penchant for personality versus hi-gloss floss. The Carter House is pretty snazzy, but something tells me I couldn't have expensed that stay (Restaurant 301 there is spectacular and definitely worth the trip if anyone goes to Eureka). Anyway, the Eagle House beats the Holiday Inn Express and the Red Lion any old day. OK, so what if the elevator is lined with green embossed velvet and smells like mildew. That's part of the whole charm, for cryin' out loud. We drove in on Wednesday night and walk in to this guy at the front desk is in a very strange gitup: a pair of brown woolen trousers with suspenders tucked into a pair of knee-length leather boots, with a blue chambray shirt and a big felted-wool Stetson. Thought to self: Hmm. I know there are folks with a different sense of style up here, but even this is a tad strange for Eureka. Come to find out, the owner of the hotel, a Korean fellow who I've met before but have forgotten his name, he's gone down to San Francisco and left the Cowboy in charge. Now the Cowboy doesn't know how to use the credit card machine or fill out the paperwork. So he just has us fill it out and says we can pay when the owner gets back. Come to find out, the Cowboy's part of a community group that's putting on a play about Dead-Eye Dick in the hotel that weekend, which is why he was dressed so weirdly since they were doing dress rehearsal Wednesday night. Just speaks for how things are in Eureka still...owner goes to San Francisco to pick his wife up from the airport, leaving the Cowboy in charge of the front desk while he's gone. I think that's classic.

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I guess the meth problem in Eureka is getting worse. Apparently a tourist from Oregan was attacked by a transient dude with an ax as he was loading his luggage in the trunk of his car. The tourist lived, but he's in critical condition. They are saying they don't know if drugs played a part in the attack. Umm, hmm. ~scratches head~ Give me a break. The guy had just broken into a van and cut his wrists and stabbed himself in the stomach with a knife he found in the vehicle. THEN decides to attack the tourist. And he STILL wasn't subdued after a witness bapped him over the head with a chair to stop the attack. Police had to use (and I quote) "a tazer, a baton and pepper spray to subdue him. And they're not sure if drugs were involved? Jesus.

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Dave & I went and had mornin' sips at Ramones in Old Town. I'm holding my chai soy latte and this bearded fellow at a table against the far wall is reading a newspaper. I don't pay him any mind because he's just sitting there reading. There was artwork on the walls, a really cool oil called Ascension that I would have loved to have bought, but I am no financial position to being buying artwork at this point in my life. Anyway, I was looking at the artwork around the cafe, and Bearded Fellow starts muttering. At first it's pretty low key. Then he starts in about how the sonumabitch better just stay put, better just stay right where the sonumabitch is because otherwise there'll be trouble. That's right, better just stay right there and whatintheehell are you looking at anyway, that's right you heard me, not going to put up with any of that bullshit, motherfucking heard me right. I'm attempting nonchalance, but as I listen to what he's saying, I couldn't help wondering what on earth happened to him? What burden got placed on his shoulders at what young age to turn him into such a befuddled, bitter man? It's astounding to me. I remember when Edi, my 1st husband, lost his marbles. Everything that came out of his mouth was so foul and bitter. It was skewed and weird, too, but the thing that struck me the most was the bitterness. Knowing what little I know about his childhood, there's no doubt in my mind that all of that bitterness is a product of something much greater than any one person can ever change.

Edi had no faith in anything. No faith in his weird government in Albania where the officials skimmed off of the top, middle, and even down into the dregs before the people ever saw anything and thus never had anything, but at least no one had anything together, right? He had no faith in family because every single male had been mentally & economically castrated by a system that had failed them and thus couldn't even provide for their family so what was the point of having family? He said he had faith in himself, but even that wavered, faltered, and fell because he couldn't sustain it alone. Oddly enough, religion or at least religiousness was the one place Edi tried to go when he fell apart. This from a man raised without the influence of a God or gods, because his was from a country where religious freedom had been eradicated decades before by Enver Hosha's brand of communism and God didn't exist.

This always stymied me about Edi's breakdown. I was raised Catholic and I've generally always just sort of taken the notion of God for granted - Dominus Ominus Yaysuess Chreestuess. But Edi never had any of that. He never "worshipped" in a religious setting, God wasn't talked about. Why, then, is that the path he chose to stumble down? Is faith in something bigger than the SELF necessary in order to "save" the self?

I'm not just going down the road where we all have to believe in God or Allah or Shiva. I'm just wondering if the concept of FAITH is necessary for one to avoid the chasm of bitterness and self-hate? I've wondered about this before. I look at my friends, at my husband, who's image of family is so different than my own. I have friends who I sense an immense feeling almost of shame for having been somewhat privileged in their lives. For coming from families who had so much. It's as though they cannot forgive their families for that trespass, as if having equates badness in some sense, as though they need to be punished. There is little faith in their family. And for Dave, it's similar, though from a different perspective. I harp on him constantly that he needs to learn to forgive his family, his mother and father, for what he imagines/believes to be their trespasses, their shortfalls and weaknesses. I say this to him because if he cannot forgive them, how, then, can a person ever hope to be forgiven for their own trepasses, shortfalls and weaknesses? Which, in a roundabout way, brings me back to my whole question of faith. Because in my mind, forgiving people seems to be a leap of faith. Trust that your selfless act of forgiveness will somehow paradoxically enrich your life (selflessness is not often thought of in the same synapse as enrichment). How necessary is it? I don't know.

Cripes, you know what? It sucks because I'm pretty sure that my writing about all this will have people convinced that I'm going all JC on them. Which isn't my intent at all. I'm concerned, more and more, with this overwhelming initiative people have for entitlement. The more we feel we deserve because we've got lungs and can breathe air, the more disappointed we are. Everyone (self included) spends - WASTES- so much time concentrating on what we don't have that we're never in any way satisfied with what we already have. Why is that so hard? Why do can we never just sit down without the Ya, but!s that always come and just breathe without thinking we need anything beyond that?

| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 1:38 PM

Sunday, October 05, 2003

teaspoon, soup spoon, dessert spoon

I have had absolutely no motivation to blog.

Why not?

Dunno.

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My first day at the job was Friday. They didn't have a computer for me yet, which suited me fine because it meant I could ignore people. Nice, huh? I get so much flippin' email at work, I just never want to deal with it. Now I will getting twice as much email and I will have to read most of it because I will be expected to know what to pass on to agents and their staff. This week I will be driving up and down the northern part of the state like a crazy woman. But they've given me a company car, so apparantly I'm not supposed to complain about driving. Which I guess I won't for now. I also have to get my Series 6 license. That's going to suck. Barf.

But I think now, rather than complaining about this new job that I was waiting forever to get, I'm going to just be grateful and see what comes my way. I am moody-ass today anyway, which I suppose can be attributed to female issues. That's what I'm going to call it anyway.

I went to a quilt show this weekend. Dragged Dave there yesterday. They had a door prize, a basket of quilting fabric and a quilt pattern, some dried fruits, pistacchios & some kind of gourmet pretzels. I made sure to put our names in the pot. I always put my name in the pot regardless of what it is you can win. It's just an automatic sort of reaction, I guess. Quilts are quite impressive. I suppose I would like to quilt if I had a sewing machine and if I was a retired old lady who had a house with a sewing room. As it stands now, I don't have a sewing machine, I'm not retired and we don't have our own house let alone a sewing room, so quilting isn't really in my too-immediate future. But quilts are still pretty impressive. We went to the quilt show then we walked into town and shopped for nonesense and ate lunch at Rin's, the Thai place on Napa Street. I kept muttering at Dave under my breath, Hold your knife like this. Don't hold your fork like that. Cut your meat smaller. Don't shove the whole thing in your mouth! I sounded like a schoolmarm cum mother cum Miss Manners. It is strange to me that to him food, really good food, is a foreign language. We had foie gras on Friday night (Daddy took us out to dinner at a new spot in town) that was excellent, served with a plum reduction and a braised pear. The foie gras itself was so rich, it was unbelievable. When Dave asked me what it was, I waited til he'd eaten his portion before replying, "Goose liver." That's about as unreal to him as monkey brains, I guess. But I shall have him trained at some point during this lifetime. 'Tis a necessity.

Did I mention when we got home from Thai lunch yesterday and walked in the house there was a message blinking on the phone? Do you know what that message said? It said I was the proud new owner of a basket of quilting fabric and a quilt pattern, some dried fruits, pistacchios & some kind of gourmet pretzels. I guess now I have to buy a sewing machine, retire, get a house with a sewing room, and take up quilting.

| Mrs. Botton was at it again @ 8:56 PM