Dear All,
About eleven years ago, I was in a drug study for Remeron. At that point they didn't know that the drug must be taken at night, so I took it whenever I remembered. Taking that drug marked the beginning of the end of my old life in Boston.
On Remeron, I remember not caring about anything because I felt good, oh so good. I remember that one day I was working in the box office at a theater in Cambridge. I had been the fastest and most accurate cashier that they had, so they put me on one really busy night with another very fast cashier. They actually had to open another box, an unusual event, because I was moving so slowly. One of the managers came in to tell us to move a little faster (she did it in a nice way) but I was incapable of moving any faster. This also happened another night at the concession stand. I had always been the number one concessionist because my sales were consistently better than anyone else's. I lost my number one spot. As a result, I started making less money, and was in some real trouble. I was never number one after that. It never occurred to me to tell anyone what the problem had been, and that it was just temporary.
I left the survey after those incidents. I wrote "I know that this drug is not right for me. It is very effective as an anti-anxiety, but I am moving like m0lasses, and I can't both do that and survive. I know that it is your job to get this drug tested, and that you would try to convince me to stay in the survey, but I just can't. One valuable thing that it has taught me, however is that there is more than one reaction to my life." And it was true; it was the same life, I just didn't feel the same way about it. I realized what it meant to "let it roll off". I had, theretofore, been unable to brush off nastiness by others. To me, their action equalled my reaction.
I find myself on Remeron again, but I am having a different experience now. Every drug that is added to my cocktail brings out new facets of my personality. Still- if I were under the same pressure that I had been under while living in Boston, the constant provocations and slurs, I don't know if I could actually deal with it. People there are so hard on one another. Yet, instead of having the rough edges knocked off, becoming smooth, they became rougher, nastier, harder. Meanwhile, I was becoming bruised, mashed between others into a pulpy acquiescence, and thus the small daily snobberies, and unkindnesses took their toll.
People there told me that I was too sensitive to others, too nice, too accommodating. I thought that being upset by a customer who had just called me a "sloth" was not a matter of being too sensitive. I felt I needed to say something back; my friends told me not to, despite the fact that it was just wrong for the customer to say something like that. They told me to "suck it up" because this was the hard reality of my situation: I had to be nice and the customers didn't. So- I learned not to be quite so sensitive and accommodating. I tried to be even tougher than that, but I felt I was losing my empathy, my humanity- that just to survive, I was suppressing my real self and becoming somehow indecent. In short, I expected the worst from myself and others and was never disappointed.
Now that I am back in the city in which I reached adulthood- I am a changed person. While I don't automatically expect the worst of people, the fear of being emotionally needled, poked, prodded and jostled once again is always there. The will to help is still there, but it is tempered by not wanting to do too much for others, lest they take advantage of me, or take me for granted.
Whereas the last time I took Remeron I was in a haze, I am now able to think rationally. Whereas the last time I was on Remeron, I moved too slowly, now I move at an acceptable pace because I take better care of myself. I take my meds at the appropriate times, and have taken steps not to be in chaos all of the time. Where as I was unsettled, single and my mother was still alive the last time that I took Remeron, I have now lived in the same place since 2001, and am married. What appropriately or inappropriately my mother one did, she can no longer do because she is no longer alive. Whereas I was once an angry, over-medicated little girl playing house, I am now of the alpha generation, and the important decisions, for better and worse, are mine.
I think that I am now in a place where Remeron can do more than teach me about my life, it can help me live it.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Breastfeeding Manners Vs. Realities
Dear All,
Sometimes your friends make you think. Well- at least mine often do. I think that is why they are my friends. So, getting into a rip-roaring disagreement with a friend yesterday has provoked me to reconsider my point of view about public breastfeeding.
Classically, I have been extremely offended by public breastfeeding. While I agree that there is no spoken rule about it, I believe that there is very much an unspoken rule against it. Feminists I know think that it is basic misogyny in our culture that makes us uncomfortable with public breastfeeding; this may be true. Many feminists think that there should be laws protecting public breastfeeding. Let me say that while I am definitely in favor of breastfeeding, I still wouldn't go that far. I am a woman; I am a feminist in the classic sense, and I am offended by public breastfeeding. There is nothing bad, or unnatural about it; as it is immodest, it is private.
My friend pointed out that there are certain practicalities involved in lactating, over which mothers have little or no control, requiring periodic evacuation of the mammary glands one way or another. Whether by the mothers' choice or by responding to inner pressure this process occurs, and can be conspicuously messy if not properly cared for. Thus, she said it actually is less conspicuous to breastfeed with a blanket over the shoulder and the baby under the blanket than not to breastfeed under such circumstances.
I found this timing-related argument persuasive because this was something that I hadn't known, but mentioned that there were other options. I pointed out that going to the restroom is a good one. She said that it wasn't practical because of the necessary frequency of feedings. "Hell- I go to the bathroom every couple of hours; what's the problem?" I thought, but I didn't say this. In fact, I didn't know what to say because I have never lactated. I was very frustrated because I was brought up to believe that this sort of thing was just not done, but I couldn't give her any reasons that were more persuasive to her than the argument she had already given to me.
After a night's sleep, I have come to several conclusions. While it is true that I myself have never run into this problem, women have been dealing with it since the dawn of time. Before the 1960s, it was thoroughly unacceptable to breastfeed in public, and yet breastfeeding doubtless occurred. Mothers somehow found a way to deliver the proper nutrition to their infants without breastfeeding in public. So, why the sudden inability to deal with the practicalities of breastfeeding without being able to do so precisely whenever and wherever the infant wants it?
My friend says because her infant will be fed every two hours (or as needed) for the first couple of months, and because she doesn't want to say home for that whole time, that I either better get used to it, or not hang out with her then. I tried the following argument, but was disorganized in my thought, and couldn't get it out before she'd already jumped to a conclusion and started arguing about it. The following is not a perfect analogy because children don't have biological imperatives to have temper-tantrums, but I liken this to situations where children need to be removed from public places so as not to disturb other people. Parents who refuse on the grounds that they won't be kept from their favorite activities just because their kids are being naughty are subjecting innocent bystanders to unwanted stress. It is very stressful to be witness to anything embarrassing or offensive over which we have no control.
I would further point out that it is a biological imperative to excrete waste and clean our bodies. We do these things in private because the processes may be found embarrassing or offensive to others thereby making them uncomfortable. It is a question of intimacy and of not setting personal comfortable personal boundaries.
While an infant's imperative for nourishment is not faulty, the need is a reasonably predictable one. If an hour and three quarters has passed since the last feeding, it's time to look for a private place to do it again. The argument "the kid's gotta eat" is, for the above reasons unpersuasive. Also, regardless of why it makes people uncomfortable, my observation is that it often does. I can't personally justify making others uncomfortable when alternative solutions can be found.
I further pointed out that no one, unless he is a complete jerk, would actually say to a publicly-breastfeeding stranger that what she is doing is making him uncomfortable. This is because not only is she is already coping with a difficult situation, but the infant has a very real need. So, a mother breastfeeding in public potentially puts others around her in an uncomfortable situation about which they are unable to do anything socially acceptable but leave. Others may find this uncomfortable because it makes them feel controlled. I said I thought that public breastfeeding, because of how uncomfortable it might make others, was extremely offensive.
It seems clear to me that there is a wide-spread rebellion against classic etiquette and manners (version 1.0) because they are outdated. That's as may be, but the fact remains: the purpose of manners is not to be snobby or to inhibit others' freedom, but to put others around us at ease. Manners exist to make as many people as comfortable as possible for as long as possible. Manners are other-centered, rather than self-centered. In our customs, we find guidelines about what good manners entail, and we follow our customs to enable as many people to be as comfortable as possible, not push our will onto others.
Customs differ, though. Before we brought "culture" to North America, Native Americans felt no shame performing any biological function in front of others. Today, we bathe, brush our teeth, defecate, urinate and blow our noses- in private. Why do we do these things in private? We do them in private because we have been taught that they are private, i.e., necessary facts of life that don't need to be shared with others. It makes us uncomfortable to walk in on someone defecating; the person himself might be uncomfortable as well. Just because some women have become comfortable showing their breasts in public while breast feeding does not mean that everyone else can, or wants to be comfortable with this. Nor does it mean that we should. As long as we do our daily ablutions in private, why is it a misogynistic act to be uncomfortable with public breast feeding? Why does this make our society misogynistic?
Further, the argument, "don't like it don't look" deflects others' opposition by ignoring it, thus not putting others at ease, and in doing so showing passive hostility toward others. To reframe this: we consider it a crime to urinate or defecate, even in a contained manner, in public. It is called indecent exposure. I wonder, just out of curiosity, how many people would continue to stare if a person were to void his bowels in public. I wonder how many of the starers might be offended. Of those people who were offended, I wonder how many of those people might be mothers who regard defecation as equally natural as public breastfeeding, but who might regard defecation as something to be done in private?
For the above reasons, arguments in favor of public breastfeeding such as "my mother did it", or "people should loosen up" are rendered moot.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Sometimes your friends make you think. Well- at least mine often do. I think that is why they are my friends. So, getting into a rip-roaring disagreement with a friend yesterday has provoked me to reconsider my point of view about public breastfeeding.
Classically, I have been extremely offended by public breastfeeding. While I agree that there is no spoken rule about it, I believe that there is very much an unspoken rule against it. Feminists I know think that it is basic misogyny in our culture that makes us uncomfortable with public breastfeeding; this may be true. Many feminists think that there should be laws protecting public breastfeeding. Let me say that while I am definitely in favor of breastfeeding, I still wouldn't go that far. I am a woman; I am a feminist in the classic sense, and I am offended by public breastfeeding. There is nothing bad, or unnatural about it; as it is immodest, it is private.
My friend pointed out that there are certain practicalities involved in lactating, over which mothers have little or no control, requiring periodic evacuation of the mammary glands one way or another. Whether by the mothers' choice or by responding to inner pressure this process occurs, and can be conspicuously messy if not properly cared for. Thus, she said it actually is less conspicuous to breastfeed with a blanket over the shoulder and the baby under the blanket than not to breastfeed under such circumstances.
I found this timing-related argument persuasive because this was something that I hadn't known, but mentioned that there were other options. I pointed out that going to the restroom is a good one. She said that it wasn't practical because of the necessary frequency of feedings. "Hell- I go to the bathroom every couple of hours; what's the problem?" I thought, but I didn't say this. In fact, I didn't know what to say because I have never lactated. I was very frustrated because I was brought up to believe that this sort of thing was just not done, but I couldn't give her any reasons that were more persuasive to her than the argument she had already given to me.
After a night's sleep, I have come to several conclusions. While it is true that I myself have never run into this problem, women have been dealing with it since the dawn of time. Before the 1960s, it was thoroughly unacceptable to breastfeed in public, and yet breastfeeding doubtless occurred. Mothers somehow found a way to deliver the proper nutrition to their infants without breastfeeding in public. So, why the sudden inability to deal with the practicalities of breastfeeding without being able to do so precisely whenever and wherever the infant wants it?
My friend says because her infant will be fed every two hours (or as needed) for the first couple of months, and because she doesn't want to say home for that whole time, that I either better get used to it, or not hang out with her then. I tried the following argument, but was disorganized in my thought, and couldn't get it out before she'd already jumped to a conclusion and started arguing about it. The following is not a perfect analogy because children don't have biological imperatives to have temper-tantrums, but I liken this to situations where children need to be removed from public places so as not to disturb other people. Parents who refuse on the grounds that they won't be kept from their favorite activities just because their kids are being naughty are subjecting innocent bystanders to unwanted stress. It is very stressful to be witness to anything embarrassing or offensive over which we have no control.
I would further point out that it is a biological imperative to excrete waste and clean our bodies. We do these things in private because the processes may be found embarrassing or offensive to others thereby making them uncomfortable. It is a question of intimacy and of not setting personal comfortable personal boundaries.
While an infant's imperative for nourishment is not faulty, the need is a reasonably predictable one. If an hour and three quarters has passed since the last feeding, it's time to look for a private place to do it again. The argument "the kid's gotta eat" is, for the above reasons unpersuasive. Also, regardless of why it makes people uncomfortable, my observation is that it often does. I can't personally justify making others uncomfortable when alternative solutions can be found.
I further pointed out that no one, unless he is a complete jerk, would actually say to a publicly-breastfeeding stranger that what she is doing is making him uncomfortable. This is because not only is she is already coping with a difficult situation, but the infant has a very real need. So, a mother breastfeeding in public potentially puts others around her in an uncomfortable situation about which they are unable to do anything socially acceptable but leave. Others may find this uncomfortable because it makes them feel controlled. I said I thought that public breastfeeding, because of how uncomfortable it might make others, was extremely offensive.
It seems clear to me that there is a wide-spread rebellion against classic etiquette and manners (version 1.0) because they are outdated. That's as may be, but the fact remains: the purpose of manners is not to be snobby or to inhibit others' freedom, but to put others around us at ease. Manners exist to make as many people as comfortable as possible for as long as possible. Manners are other-centered, rather than self-centered. In our customs, we find guidelines about what good manners entail, and we follow our customs to enable as many people to be as comfortable as possible, not push our will onto others.
Customs differ, though. Before we brought "culture" to North America, Native Americans felt no shame performing any biological function in front of others. Today, we bathe, brush our teeth, defecate, urinate and blow our noses- in private. Why do we do these things in private? We do them in private because we have been taught that they are private, i.e., necessary facts of life that don't need to be shared with others. It makes us uncomfortable to walk in on someone defecating; the person himself might be uncomfortable as well. Just because some women have become comfortable showing their breasts in public while breast feeding does not mean that everyone else can, or wants to be comfortable with this. Nor does it mean that we should. As long as we do our daily ablutions in private, why is it a misogynistic act to be uncomfortable with public breast feeding? Why does this make our society misogynistic?
Further, the argument, "don't like it don't look" deflects others' opposition by ignoring it, thus not putting others at ease, and in doing so showing passive hostility toward others. To reframe this: we consider it a crime to urinate or defecate, even in a contained manner, in public. It is called indecent exposure. I wonder, just out of curiosity, how many people would continue to stare if a person were to void his bowels in public. I wonder how many of the starers might be offended. Of those people who were offended, I wonder how many of those people might be mothers who regard defecation as equally natural as public breastfeeding, but who might regard defecation as something to be done in private?
For the above reasons, arguments in favor of public breastfeeding such as "my mother did it", or "people should loosen up" are rendered moot.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Happy Birthday to Me
Dear All,
Well- it has finally happened. I have turned another year older. Today I am thirty-nine. How did I celebrate today? I went to my psyche's office.
First, I was a half hour late. Apparently on the machine, there had been left a message that said I should be there at 10 a.m., but the correct time was 9:30. So, already, right off the bat I have inconvenienced someone.
We are playing with my cocktail of drugs right now because I am too anxious and don't seem to be able to get out of bed unless it is absolutely necessary (i.e., it would be more trouble not to get out of bed than to get out of bed). Now I have four psychiatric prescriptions: Citalopram (for Depression), Bupropion (for Depression), Adderall (for ADD), and now a new one: Remeron (for Anxiety).
Let it be said that I am extremely grateful for these visits. They get me out of bed, and I always feel better with the adjustments to my meds. Still- my next appointment is scheduled for two weeks. Usually I can go six weeks between appointments.
As I told them in the nice lady behind the desk at my psych office, "Today is my birthday, and I have a psych appointment. December 24th is my wedding anniversary, and I have a psych appointment. Every special occasion needs to be marked by a trip to the psych!" I was not being sarcastic; I genuinely enjoy my trips to the psych, so we all had a good laugh. It was good to laugh, even on my thirty-ninth birthday.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Well- it has finally happened. I have turned another year older. Today I am thirty-nine. How did I celebrate today? I went to my psyche's office.
First, I was a half hour late. Apparently on the machine, there had been left a message that said I should be there at 10 a.m., but the correct time was 9:30. So, already, right off the bat I have inconvenienced someone.
We are playing with my cocktail of drugs right now because I am too anxious and don't seem to be able to get out of bed unless it is absolutely necessary (i.e., it would be more trouble not to get out of bed than to get out of bed). Now I have four psychiatric prescriptions: Citalopram (for Depression), Bupropion (for Depression), Adderall (for ADD), and now a new one: Remeron (for Anxiety).
Let it be said that I am extremely grateful for these visits. They get me out of bed, and I always feel better with the adjustments to my meds. Still- my next appointment is scheduled for two weeks. Usually I can go six weeks between appointments.
As I told them in the nice lady behind the desk at my psych office, "Today is my birthday, and I have a psych appointment. December 24th is my wedding anniversary, and I have a psych appointment. Every special occasion needs to be marked by a trip to the psych!" I was not being sarcastic; I genuinely enjoy my trips to the psych, so we all had a good laugh. It was good to laugh, even on my thirty-ninth birthday.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Having to Lower My Rates
Dear All,
The exchange rate in the country of origin of most of my students is very bad against the dollar. That country had many interests in Ice Land and in the U.S. My goose is severely singed at this point. In the past ten days, I have lost two clients.
The ostensible reason for one was that the mother had to go back to the country of origin for medical treatment. She pointed to her belly; I don't think that she'd having a baby. Many people from her country eat a lot of fish which can cause stomach cancer. Stomach cancer is as common there as heart disease is here. From the gravity of their expressions, whatever it is is very serious. I am sad for her because she was trying to put on a brave face.
The other I lost "...because the uncertainty of the economy". I am worried that there might be more. So today, I texted the father and lowered my rates. I can only charge what the market will bear, and obviously the market will not bear what I was charging. I have not yet heard back from him. If he refuses, at least I will know that it was not actually because of the economy, but rather from some other reason, which is actually what I suspect.
The other possibility is that I am not doing as well tutoring teenage boys as I used to. We could have arranged sessions for the student with the sick mother if the family had really wanted them. This young person is very nice. I thought that we had a good working arrangement. The boy of the family where I lowered the rates for the father is a silent, unresponsive, often surly young man who smiles rarely. The two young men are friends. I have had a lot of trouble finding the surly one's level because I can't get him to talk to me.
I had suggested that perhaps they have sessions together. This met with no response what-so-ever from the father, who is dismissive and disrespectful toward me, and lectures me about English of which he is not a native speaker. Further, I am concerned for the children in the surly boy's family. I suspect that there may be some other things happening; apparently the father has quite a temper. From their journals, I know that this scares and bewilders the children. The family has now retained my services for the little girl only. I was hoping to provide them both with some support in this time of transition and of financial uncertainty, but I can't do this if I am not working with both of them.
I just wish that my clients weren't so ashamed of their circumstances. If they could tell me more about what's going on, I could help them better. Instead, as a result of these mysterious circumstances, they cut me off. Thus, for me times are tough and promise to get tougher before they get easier.
Sincerely,
Betsy
The exchange rate in the country of origin of most of my students is very bad against the dollar. That country had many interests in Ice Land and in the U.S. My goose is severely singed at this point. In the past ten days, I have lost two clients.
The ostensible reason for one was that the mother had to go back to the country of origin for medical treatment. She pointed to her belly; I don't think that she'd having a baby. Many people from her country eat a lot of fish which can cause stomach cancer. Stomach cancer is as common there as heart disease is here. From the gravity of their expressions, whatever it is is very serious. I am sad for her because she was trying to put on a brave face.
The other I lost "...because the uncertainty of the economy". I am worried that there might be more. So today, I texted the father and lowered my rates. I can only charge what the market will bear, and obviously the market will not bear what I was charging. I have not yet heard back from him. If he refuses, at least I will know that it was not actually because of the economy, but rather from some other reason, which is actually what I suspect.
The other possibility is that I am not doing as well tutoring teenage boys as I used to. We could have arranged sessions for the student with the sick mother if the family had really wanted them. This young person is very nice. I thought that we had a good working arrangement. The boy of the family where I lowered the rates for the father is a silent, unresponsive, often surly young man who smiles rarely. The two young men are friends. I have had a lot of trouble finding the surly one's level because I can't get him to talk to me.
I had suggested that perhaps they have sessions together. This met with no response what-so-ever from the father, who is dismissive and disrespectful toward me, and lectures me about English of which he is not a native speaker. Further, I am concerned for the children in the surly boy's family. I suspect that there may be some other things happening; apparently the father has quite a temper. From their journals, I know that this scares and bewilders the children. The family has now retained my services for the little girl only. I was hoping to provide them both with some support in this time of transition and of financial uncertainty, but I can't do this if I am not working with both of them.
I just wish that my clients weren't so ashamed of their circumstances. If they could tell me more about what's going on, I could help them better. Instead, as a result of these mysterious circumstances, they cut me off. Thus, for me times are tough and promise to get tougher before they get easier.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Wrapper's Dream
Dear All,
I love to wrap things. I don't know why. I have always liked to wrap things. So, I am the family wrapper. I prefer to wrap things with right angles, but, if I do say so myself, I am an elegant and accomplished wrapper. Here are some of my more interesting wrapping problems and solutions.
Last year I wanted to give my husband something that was very large (3x2x2 ft.). While it was a neat shape, it would have taken quite a lot of paper and a lot of time, which I didn't have. My solution: a huge plastic bag (reusable, I might add) with penguins all over it. My husband like penguins and so he enjoyed the wrapping job and the gift as well. Oddly enough, I don't remember what the gift was, but I remember being proud of the wrapping job.
One of my least favorite things to wrap are things shaped like cylinders. So, I have several solutions. For small things, painting an oatmeal container and putting wrapping paper inside the lid works pretty well, as long as you like oatmeal. Another one is folding the paper in at 60 degree angles instead of 90 degree angles on the ends. The paper lies flat and looks cool. The last is a larger version of some gift card holders; they store flat, but become fairly round. The ends fold in so the from the front, the top and bottom are straight, but the sides curve inward. It makes a neat package, requires no tape, is reusable, and is easy to ribbon.
Last, my personal hell is filled with small items that come on cards, the ones that hang from the walls of stores. Blank newspaper inside wrapped around the item like a submarine sandwich makes the package smooth. The tissue paper wrapped in the same manner around the outside makes it look nice.
It is always nicer getting a gift wrapped by the giver instead of some professional wrapper. Using these techniques, I have enjoyed many fruitful hours of wrapping over the years.
Sincerely,
Betsy
I love to wrap things. I don't know why. I have always liked to wrap things. So, I am the family wrapper. I prefer to wrap things with right angles, but, if I do say so myself, I am an elegant and accomplished wrapper. Here are some of my more interesting wrapping problems and solutions.
Last year I wanted to give my husband something that was very large (3x2x2 ft.). While it was a neat shape, it would have taken quite a lot of paper and a lot of time, which I didn't have. My solution: a huge plastic bag (reusable, I might add) with penguins all over it. My husband like penguins and so he enjoyed the wrapping job and the gift as well. Oddly enough, I don't remember what the gift was, but I remember being proud of the wrapping job.
One of my least favorite things to wrap are things shaped like cylinders. So, I have several solutions. For small things, painting an oatmeal container and putting wrapping paper inside the lid works pretty well, as long as you like oatmeal. Another one is folding the paper in at 60 degree angles instead of 90 degree angles on the ends. The paper lies flat and looks cool. The last is a larger version of some gift card holders; they store flat, but become fairly round. The ends fold in so the from the front, the top and bottom are straight, but the sides curve inward. It makes a neat package, requires no tape, is reusable, and is easy to ribbon.
Last, my personal hell is filled with small items that come on cards, the ones that hang from the walls of stores. Blank newspaper inside wrapped around the item like a submarine sandwich makes the package smooth. The tissue paper wrapped in the same manner around the outside makes it look nice.
It is always nicer getting a gift wrapped by the giver instead of some professional wrapper. Using these techniques, I have enjoyed many fruitful hours of wrapping over the years.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Friday, December 5, 2008
Welcome to the Three A.M. Club, Population: Me
Dear All,
Once again it has come to my attention that I am wide awake. Honestly, I wish I were this awake in the morning. I have energy despite being tired- not enough to bake a cake, water my plants or clean the toilets, but certainly enough to put hands to keyboard.
For some reason I am often unable to sleep at this hour, where as sometime between ten a.m. and two p.m. I must take a nap. People tell me this has something to do with eating too many carbohydrates at lunch. Even when I was a kid I had a dip in my energy level after lunch. Then, however, didn't have the luxury of indulging it. I probably slept better at night as a result.
My cats Molley and Cici are nice company at night. They are warm, soft and unassuming. Right now, Cici is perched on the back of my chair. This is an arrangement we have come to after many hours of her rubbing her face on my hand and stepping all over the keyboard when I am trying to type. The cats have made an uneasy peace. Cici's territory is more downstairs, and Molley's is upstairs. She can be found at the foot of the bed on most occasions, ready to wake me up and walk on me at a moment's notice. Busy kitty. And yet the companionship is very nice.
Through many three a.m.s I have learned about non-verbal communication. The house is silent. Usually I have my ear plugs in anyway. Communication is achieved through touch. There are rules: syntax, grammar, a lexicon. For example, a sequence might occur this way: [call] scratch the top of the head, the back of the neck, ([response] from the cat: rub, rub with the cheek), [call] scratch under the chin, ([response] an elongated neck is produced for better scratching, then about face), [call] touch a paw, ([response] about face rub, rub with the cheek, mouth open). Sometimes this will repeat several times, the order unchanged, then, the cat, sated will lie down at my feet.
My early morning interactions with my cats are very pleasant, and blissfully silent, except of course if my husband is asleep. Then our silent cat, Molley, will make the loudest sound she makes throughout the course of the day.
It's three a.m. Inexplicably, I know exactly where the cats are.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Once again it has come to my attention that I am wide awake. Honestly, I wish I were this awake in the morning. I have energy despite being tired- not enough to bake a cake, water my plants or clean the toilets, but certainly enough to put hands to keyboard.
For some reason I am often unable to sleep at this hour, where as sometime between ten a.m. and two p.m. I must take a nap. People tell me this has something to do with eating too many carbohydrates at lunch. Even when I was a kid I had a dip in my energy level after lunch. Then, however, didn't have the luxury of indulging it. I probably slept better at night as a result.
My cats Molley and Cici are nice company at night. They are warm, soft and unassuming. Right now, Cici is perched on the back of my chair. This is an arrangement we have come to after many hours of her rubbing her face on my hand and stepping all over the keyboard when I am trying to type. The cats have made an uneasy peace. Cici's territory is more downstairs, and Molley's is upstairs. She can be found at the foot of the bed on most occasions, ready to wake me up and walk on me at a moment's notice. Busy kitty. And yet the companionship is very nice.
Through many three a.m.s I have learned about non-verbal communication. The house is silent. Usually I have my ear plugs in anyway. Communication is achieved through touch. There are rules: syntax, grammar, a lexicon. For example, a sequence might occur this way: [call] scratch the top of the head, the back of the neck, ([response] from the cat: rub, rub with the cheek), [call] scratch under the chin, ([response] an elongated neck is produced for better scratching, then about face), [call] touch a paw, ([response] about face rub, rub with the cheek, mouth open). Sometimes this will repeat several times, the order unchanged, then, the cat, sated will lie down at my feet.
My early morning interactions with my cats are very pleasant, and blissfully silent, except of course if my husband is asleep. Then our silent cat, Molley, will make the loudest sound she makes throughout the course of the day.
It's three a.m. Inexplicably, I know exactly where the cats are.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Why I Hate the Phone
Dear All,
I am not good with my finances. I can't keep my bills straight and I don't have the right amount of money in my account when I need it. The latest fiasco was the cancellation of my homeowners' insurance due to the non-payment of the bill. Understandably, they want to be paid, and I can't do it. It makes me feel like a failure that I never know how much I owe, when I owe, and to whom I owe money.
I have negotiated this obstacle, and we will continue to have this insurance, but I have just been reinstated for the third time this year. I don't know if I can finish my Christmas shopping. I can't even afford to buy groceries tonight. I feel frantic and hungry. My rational mind knows that I am in fact not going to starve. We have ample food in the house. Everything is going to be O.K., however this makes no difference. It is frustrating and frightening.
Did I mention that the phone is ringing? Did I mention that my heart pounds at the sound of the phone? It rings and I want to hide because my family doesn't really call me; we keep in touch through the mail and via e-mail. So, it's never good news when the phone rings. It always means that something is wrong, something I have failed to do is catching up with me, and now I have to fix it; usually, I can't, so why should this case be any different?
I feel alone. I feel unprotected. Worry turns to fright at the sound of the phone.
Sincerely,
Betsy
I am not good with my finances. I can't keep my bills straight and I don't have the right amount of money in my account when I need it. The latest fiasco was the cancellation of my homeowners' insurance due to the non-payment of the bill. Understandably, they want to be paid, and I can't do it. It makes me feel like a failure that I never know how much I owe, when I owe, and to whom I owe money.
I have negotiated this obstacle, and we will continue to have this insurance, but I have just been reinstated for the third time this year. I don't know if I can finish my Christmas shopping. I can't even afford to buy groceries tonight. I feel frantic and hungry. My rational mind knows that I am in fact not going to starve. We have ample food in the house. Everything is going to be O.K., however this makes no difference. It is frustrating and frightening.
Did I mention that the phone is ringing? Did I mention that my heart pounds at the sound of the phone? It rings and I want to hide because my family doesn't really call me; we keep in touch through the mail and via e-mail. So, it's never good news when the phone rings. It always means that something is wrong, something I have failed to do is catching up with me, and now I have to fix it; usually, I can't, so why should this case be any different?
I feel alone. I feel unprotected. Worry turns to fright at the sound of the phone.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Toxic Teachers
Dear All,
There was a teacher that I had in high school; she taught French. Even now if and when I see her she still feels the need to place us in a hierarchy, with her on the top. She was a highly acclaimed teacher, no doubt that she was good. What I remember about her though is her arrogance even twenty years later; it galls me. Sometimes I think about her in the middle of the night when I should be asleep. After I am done writing about this, I will forget her arrogance, petty cruelty, and the fact that she put me down in front of other students because I "...wasn't doing as well as I should have been".
I transferred to her class from another. I actually fell back half a year to get away from this other teacher who was a really bad teacher. He sounded as though he was speaking French with an American accent. Some might say that he sounded Canadian and that the Canadian accent is a perfect legitimate accent. If he had learned French in Canada, he would have sounded Canadian when speaking English as well. He, in fact, did not. Thus, to me he sounded like an American who couldn't speak French very well, yet was teaching it. I was told my new French teacher would be much better because she was award-winning.
From the moment I arrived in her class she hounded me. She made me sit in the front of the classroom. If I didn't have my homework, she would go through my bag in front of the class. If it was only partially done, she would hold it up in front of the class to show them how much better I could have done. I remember one particular time when she did this. I was so humiliated. I noticed however that the class was paralysed with shock. They were all looking at each other, shrugging their shoulders. Some were laughing and shaking their heads. She was oblivious to this because she was a woman on a mission. I saw it and drew strength from it. They were on my side because what she was doing was so outrageous.
Another time, I had to memorize some of the French libretto to Carmen for a competition at a local college. Here is some of it:
L'amore est un oiseau rebel
Love is like a rebellious bird
Que nous ne peus apprivoisee
One which no one can catch
Et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'apelle
One may call the bird in vain
Si lui convient de refusee
If it suits him to refuse
L'un ni fait, manace ou priere
Nothing works, threats or prayers
L'un parle bien, l'autre se tait
One speaks well, the other holds silent
Et c'est l'autre que je prefere
And it is the other that I prefer
Il n'a rien dit, mais il me plait
He says nothing, but he pleases me
I can't, at this point memorize anything, but I still remember that poem. In class, I gave her a word for word translation, and an idiomatic translation as well. She found fault with everything I did. Why? What could it possibly accomplish? No one else in that class could have done nearly as well as I did with that passage, and they said as much to me and to her later. It has taken me many years to try to understand her behavior. The fact that it continues into the present causing fresh wounds leads me to believe that it is a power play, and way of holding control over another so she doesn't have to feel out of control herself. She looks at me and says, "At least I'm not her".
I look back on her with loathing. People who have tried to get me to conform by using humiliation have always had their work cut out for them. She has actually been very helpful to me in my formation of my teaching style. I have never, and will never, ever, ever resort to cruelty or humiliation. She inhibited me from learning better by making an example of me. My students learn better than I did because they are not afraid to make mistakes.
One last thought- I don't have to be like her. This, in so many ways, is its own reward. I can say with some fervor, I don't have to go through my life with other people reacting to me as if I were her. She will neither know honest disagreement, from which she might improve herself, nor will she ever bring out the best in anyone as long as she relies on the whip and not the carrot.
Sincerely,
Betsy
There was a teacher that I had in high school; she taught French. Even now if and when I see her she still feels the need to place us in a hierarchy, with her on the top. She was a highly acclaimed teacher, no doubt that she was good. What I remember about her though is her arrogance even twenty years later; it galls me. Sometimes I think about her in the middle of the night when I should be asleep. After I am done writing about this, I will forget her arrogance, petty cruelty, and the fact that she put me down in front of other students because I "...wasn't doing as well as I should have been".
I transferred to her class from another. I actually fell back half a year to get away from this other teacher who was a really bad teacher. He sounded as though he was speaking French with an American accent. Some might say that he sounded Canadian and that the Canadian accent is a perfect legitimate accent. If he had learned French in Canada, he would have sounded Canadian when speaking English as well. He, in fact, did not. Thus, to me he sounded like an American who couldn't speak French very well, yet was teaching it. I was told my new French teacher would be much better because she was award-winning.
From the moment I arrived in her class she hounded me. She made me sit in the front of the classroom. If I didn't have my homework, she would go through my bag in front of the class. If it was only partially done, she would hold it up in front of the class to show them how much better I could have done. I remember one particular time when she did this. I was so humiliated. I noticed however that the class was paralysed with shock. They were all looking at each other, shrugging their shoulders. Some were laughing and shaking their heads. She was oblivious to this because she was a woman on a mission. I saw it and drew strength from it. They were on my side because what she was doing was so outrageous.
Another time, I had to memorize some of the French libretto to Carmen for a competition at a local college. Here is some of it:
L'amore est un oiseau rebel
Love is like a rebellious bird
Que nous ne peus apprivoisee
One which no one can catch
Et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'apelle
One may call the bird in vain
Si lui convient de refusee
If it suits him to refuse
L'un ni fait, manace ou priere
Nothing works, threats or prayers
L'un parle bien, l'autre se tait
One speaks well, the other holds silent
Et c'est l'autre que je prefere
And it is the other that I prefer
Il n'a rien dit, mais il me plait
He says nothing, but he pleases me
I can't, at this point memorize anything, but I still remember that poem. In class, I gave her a word for word translation, and an idiomatic translation as well. She found fault with everything I did. Why? What could it possibly accomplish? No one else in that class could have done nearly as well as I did with that passage, and they said as much to me and to her later. It has taken me many years to try to understand her behavior. The fact that it continues into the present causing fresh wounds leads me to believe that it is a power play, and way of holding control over another so she doesn't have to feel out of control herself. She looks at me and says, "At least I'm not her".
I look back on her with loathing. People who have tried to get me to conform by using humiliation have always had their work cut out for them. She has actually been very helpful to me in my formation of my teaching style. I have never, and will never, ever, ever resort to cruelty or humiliation. She inhibited me from learning better by making an example of me. My students learn better than I did because they are not afraid to make mistakes.
One last thought- I don't have to be like her. This, in so many ways, is its own reward. I can say with some fervor, I don't have to go through my life with other people reacting to me as if I were her. She will neither know honest disagreement, from which she might improve herself, nor will she ever bring out the best in anyone as long as she relies on the whip and not the carrot.
Sincerely,
Betsy
Turkey Soup
Dear All,
I feel so un-American. I must confess that in my mild desperation to use up our turkey, I have discovered that what I don't like about turkey leftovers is, in fact, the turkey.
Fried chicken can be so tempting and delicious. I thought, "Frying makes everything better, doesn't it?" Just the smell as I was stripping off the meat should have been a red flag. I tried a fried piece; to the extent turkey was like chicken, it was just fine. The ways in which turkey was not like chicken proved that turkey was not meant to be fried; at all; ever; under any circumstances; not even a little.
"Turkey soup", I thought, "What a tempting treat. Add celery, onions, carrots, potatoes, salt and pepper and you'll have a feast fit for a king." I boiled the bones and strained out the pieces that were not broth. I added the beloved vegetables, and tried the soup. The vegetables were wonderful; what I disliked about the concoction was the turkey part; it was really gamy. The thought of it turns my stomach even now.
I consider myself to be a resourceful person, one who is not unduly wasteful. I must, however, admit defeat. I feel as though I have failed this turkey, my family, and this entire nation! No, not really; I do, however, feel the teensiest bit un-American.
Sincerely,
Betsy
I feel so un-American. I must confess that in my mild desperation to use up our turkey, I have discovered that what I don't like about turkey leftovers is, in fact, the turkey.
Fried chicken can be so tempting and delicious. I thought, "Frying makes everything better, doesn't it?" Just the smell as I was stripping off the meat should have been a red flag. I tried a fried piece; to the extent turkey was like chicken, it was just fine. The ways in which turkey was not like chicken proved that turkey was not meant to be fried; at all; ever; under any circumstances; not even a little.
"Turkey soup", I thought, "What a tempting treat. Add celery, onions, carrots, potatoes, salt and pepper and you'll have a feast fit for a king." I boiled the bones and strained out the pieces that were not broth. I added the beloved vegetables, and tried the soup. The vegetables were wonderful; what I disliked about the concoction was the turkey part; it was really gamy. The thought of it turns my stomach even now.
I consider myself to be a resourceful person, one who is not unduly wasteful. I must, however, admit defeat. I feel as though I have failed this turkey, my family, and this entire nation! No, not really; I do, however, feel the teensiest bit un-American.
Sincerely,
Betsy
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