it finally snowed! now, keep in mind that i never think it can snow enough, so despite the fact that we have a good solid 6-8 on the ground, i'm up for another foot or two. can't help it. i love snow.
last night we braved the weather and drove over to visit darin and cathy and their new little one, who's almost 3 months old now. devin's got a cold and sneezed a few times--these cute little baby sneezes that expelled more baby crap than i thought possible. the sneeze sounded so...small. and yet...large ew. who knew.
i find it interesting that there are some things that stay the same and some things that change, as you move along. the constant is my love of winter--i have an inane need to be buried under 3 feet of snow. i love the feel of the wind crisping my cheeks and the tiny flakes kissing my eyelids. it's beautiful, it's clean, it's cold.
the thing that has changed, with time, is my gross-out factor. i used to have a problem with people puking--i was a sympathetic puker. over time the reflex has died down some; the odor will still provoke a reaction, but it's manageable. snot has ALWAYS been repulsive to me--mine, anyone's. doesn't matter.
last night while holding small devin she heaved up a good sneeze on my face. i was lucky that there wasn't much in it; but what was in it ended up on my chin. i heard dan say, "kim can't stand mucus; i don't know why she wanted to hold the baby now." but i didn't have that first reaction of: drop baby and leap for shower.
i calmly reached over and selected a tissue, and wiped off my face and hers.
***
when i was a kid i didn't like a lot of things. i was honestly a horrid hypochondriac--i thought i had aids, i thought i had leprosy, i wouldn't drink from a soda can in the family car on road trips unless i drank first. i've always had a horrible fear of bees--that heavy hum--and centipedes.
i know i can handle these things logically--i know that i am thousands of times the size of a bug, i know that i haven't fondled any armadillos lately to infect myself and get shipped to a leper colony. is it maturity that allows you to take a step back and say, this is not a Big Thing.
the Big Things in life come at you like the jack in the box of a child--you open the box hoping for chocolate, and you get the four horsemen: pestilence, war, death and famine.
those are the Big Things. when i was young my mom used to tell me that i was "making mountains out of molehills" -- her way of telling me that i was overreacting. when i was seven or so i had a habit of hyperventilating when i was nervous. mom would hand me a paper bag and say, just breathe.
***
i'm still a bit of a germ fiend--i'm constantly after dan to wash his hands--but it's toned down enough that i'm not a fanatic about it. and i will freely admit that i tense up when i hear a bee--but i no longer run off screaming and waving my arms around wildly.
it is of interest to me that the constants in your life can be good and bad--helpful and detrimental, etc. this morning i'll put on my boots and tromp around outside until my nose is so cold that i cannot feel it. i'll make a snow angel, i'll leave some kim-sized footprints roaming around the townhouse area, i'll probably bring my younger cat, henry, outside and put his small pink toes in the snow, since he seems to want to explore so badly.
how does time soften the fear, but not the eagerness? logically i'm old enough to wonder why i have this obsession with snow and this season in general. logically, it's not one of the Big Things, so i put that fear aside--what will people say, what if they laugh and point at the grown woman grinning at suspended water.
the same way that i set aside my disgust of mucus and hold the baby close, hear her heart beat and smell her soft hair--she herself is one of the Big Things in life; her little sneezes are just that: little.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
tuesday
tuesday night was the memorial service for the mother of one of my coworkers. i felt compelled, for whatever reason, to attend, even though my coworker is very new to the office. it was just niggling at the edge of my mind--go, go, go.
so i went. the church was packed; one other coworker, a supervisor, showed up, and we sat on creaking, cold metal folding chairs at the back. our coworker spoke, her voice cracking a bit--to be expected.
three years ago, my friend cari's mom was killed in a car accident; she was about the same age as my coworker's mom--early 50s--and people said things about this other woman that applied to vickie very, very much.
i teared up during the service, but it was when i got in the car afterwards that it struck me that i felt as if i had finally attended the service for cari's mom. i think it was when they said that she invited strangers home, and made everyone feel comfortable.
i remember when i met vickie the first time--we played taboo late into the night, with her sister and brother in law, then a version of scrabble that i'd never seen. she was so ready to laugh, to hug--to embrace life, in general.
the pastor said, during his sermon, that it was a break from the day, that this woman's death offered us. a chance to review and breathe.
in the dark of the car, i thought of vickie, i thought of cari and her "god-bubble" that protected her that first year. i thought about how much i had wanted to be there--and yet, i had no idea of what to do.
i suppose that is always true, with grief, that it is as different as the weather. sometimes i think that depression, at least in my case, is like grief, unspecified. a general sadness about my life. can you grieve over your own life? is that what this is, this malaise that settles on me now and again?
even with the little pills i swallow each night, i still ride that wave, fluctuating between dark and light, between drenched and drought. perhaps others find the happy medium; they surf along, falling only when specified by some life occurance. for me it is not happenstance, to slide into the darkness, and climb out again.
i could see grief on many faces, on tuesday past, a group of people gathered to show support. i didn't know my coworker's mother. i was not there to grieve over her; i was there to hug her daughter, the living embodiment of how wonderful a being she herself had been.
the pastor was right; i needed that break in the day. i needed to remember vickie, i needed to cry and attend some kind of service.
sometimes the need to weep builds up within, the urge to sob, to hear my voice crack and gasp, to stretch my lips across my teeth as i keen, until they are swollen. it rises the same way that laughter rises.
i've been going through a dim area again. i remind myself that it is my lapse into depression. but really, is it a lapse, or just a change of the clouds that hang above? is it unnatural, to feel grief? who says that i must be joyful at all times?
dan read a book called lincoln's melancholy, a while back. the book talked about how in his day, lincoln's depression was accepted as just another part and parcel of his self. now a days, it is supposed to be quarantined to a tuesday night.
i suppose it is always tuesday night, somewhere within me.
so i went. the church was packed; one other coworker, a supervisor, showed up, and we sat on creaking, cold metal folding chairs at the back. our coworker spoke, her voice cracking a bit--to be expected.
three years ago, my friend cari's mom was killed in a car accident; she was about the same age as my coworker's mom--early 50s--and people said things about this other woman that applied to vickie very, very much.
i teared up during the service, but it was when i got in the car afterwards that it struck me that i felt as if i had finally attended the service for cari's mom. i think it was when they said that she invited strangers home, and made everyone feel comfortable.
i remember when i met vickie the first time--we played taboo late into the night, with her sister and brother in law, then a version of scrabble that i'd never seen. she was so ready to laugh, to hug--to embrace life, in general.
the pastor said, during his sermon, that it was a break from the day, that this woman's death offered us. a chance to review and breathe.
in the dark of the car, i thought of vickie, i thought of cari and her "god-bubble" that protected her that first year. i thought about how much i had wanted to be there--and yet, i had no idea of what to do.
i suppose that is always true, with grief, that it is as different as the weather. sometimes i think that depression, at least in my case, is like grief, unspecified. a general sadness about my life. can you grieve over your own life? is that what this is, this malaise that settles on me now and again?
even with the little pills i swallow each night, i still ride that wave, fluctuating between dark and light, between drenched and drought. perhaps others find the happy medium; they surf along, falling only when specified by some life occurance. for me it is not happenstance, to slide into the darkness, and climb out again.
i could see grief on many faces, on tuesday past, a group of people gathered to show support. i didn't know my coworker's mother. i was not there to grieve over her; i was there to hug her daughter, the living embodiment of how wonderful a being she herself had been.
the pastor was right; i needed that break in the day. i needed to remember vickie, i needed to cry and attend some kind of service.
sometimes the need to weep builds up within, the urge to sob, to hear my voice crack and gasp, to stretch my lips across my teeth as i keen, until they are swollen. it rises the same way that laughter rises.
i've been going through a dim area again. i remind myself that it is my lapse into depression. but really, is it a lapse, or just a change of the clouds that hang above? is it unnatural, to feel grief? who says that i must be joyful at all times?
dan read a book called lincoln's melancholy, a while back. the book talked about how in his day, lincoln's depression was accepted as just another part and parcel of his self. now a days, it is supposed to be quarantined to a tuesday night.
i suppose it is always tuesday night, somewhere within me.
Monday, February 19, 2007
breaking down
as in a car, folks. no worries.
yes, this weekend was The Weekend of the Car. or perhaps, The Weekend of Kim Being Late. Or maybe even The Weekend of Things Breaking. your choice, really.
friday's office party went well--which was good because i was one of the organizers. then saturday i got up, cleaned up after my pukey and poopy cats, and packed. dan and i ran to target for some last minute items, and then had breakfast, and then i was off on the road north for girly weekend in bemidji.
halfway between home and st cloud, i realized that i'd left my shirts--for that night's festivities, and for sunday's drive home--hanging on the back of the door. great.
then in st cloud, at the first stoplight, i glanced at the instrument panel. all good...except for the temperature guage, which was buried in HOT HOT HOT. i thought, oh, that's not good. then i looked up and saw smoke pouring from beneath my hood. even worse. i pulled into the nearest parking lot and called my dad.
dad called my brother, who rolled up a few moments later and looked at the car. his diagnosis was radiator hose leak. dad arrived, with my sister. it was like a family reunion in the grocery store parking lot. then we ran to the store for antifreeze, filled up the car, and drove it to my parents' house. ran it for an hour and nothing overeheated, however dad didn't want me driving so i borrowed my sister's car and drove north.
later than late--dinner was supposed to be at 6, but luckily the girls pushed it back to 730. it was a most excellent evening--all dressed to the nines, dinner at a fantastic italian restaurant, then drinks next door at the pub. my dear friend amanda rented a limo--for 4 girls in a town of 10,000. it was fabulous! we got chauffered to the next bar, had a few drinks and chatted, and then back into the limo for the final bar.
the last bar was a real winner--out in the middle of nowhere, and late enough that all patrons were one of two states: sobie-cab sober, or drunker than a skunk.
one of the skunks cornered me and cari at the bar and made conversation. it was all quite nice and good. then his three friends moseyed over, and the most foxed one, a guy named lee, was at the huggy stage. "jus a hug, plllllllleeease." "can i have anudder hug? just one more?" dear lord preserve me. he went on to tell us that his wife was actually Satan, which i'm sure may come as a shock to her, and that he was "like snowflakes," complete with a fluttery finger motion remniscent of snow falling, if snow could be drunk and clumsy.
sunday i drove back to st cloud. had dinner with the parents, chit chat with my sister. i broke a glass, whoops. dad showed me how to fill up the antifreeze if needed, and i started up the car.
then my sister backed her car up and planted her right front fender underneath my dad's truck's front fender. lovely!
luckily, getting out of the car to assess the damage allowed my mom to point out that my car was once again smoking and smelled like burning antifreeze.
thus, i am ensconced in my parent's den, typing this post as i await the call from the radiator shoppe, who will probably tell me that i need to replace my radiator, and that the bill comes to $8000.00 with tax.
*le sigh*
at any rate, dad's home, so i'm going to hang with my papa and wait for news. hugs all. (;
yes, this weekend was The Weekend of the Car. or perhaps, The Weekend of Kim Being Late. Or maybe even The Weekend of Things Breaking. your choice, really.
friday's office party went well--which was good because i was one of the organizers. then saturday i got up, cleaned up after my pukey and poopy cats, and packed. dan and i ran to target for some last minute items, and then had breakfast, and then i was off on the road north for girly weekend in bemidji.
halfway between home and st cloud, i realized that i'd left my shirts--for that night's festivities, and for sunday's drive home--hanging on the back of the door. great.
then in st cloud, at the first stoplight, i glanced at the instrument panel. all good...except for the temperature guage, which was buried in HOT HOT HOT. i thought, oh, that's not good. then i looked up and saw smoke pouring from beneath my hood. even worse. i pulled into the nearest parking lot and called my dad.
dad called my brother, who rolled up a few moments later and looked at the car. his diagnosis was radiator hose leak. dad arrived, with my sister. it was like a family reunion in the grocery store parking lot. then we ran to the store for antifreeze, filled up the car, and drove it to my parents' house. ran it for an hour and nothing overeheated, however dad didn't want me driving so i borrowed my sister's car and drove north.
later than late--dinner was supposed to be at 6, but luckily the girls pushed it back to 730. it was a most excellent evening--all dressed to the nines, dinner at a fantastic italian restaurant, then drinks next door at the pub. my dear friend amanda rented a limo--for 4 girls in a town of 10,000. it was fabulous! we got chauffered to the next bar, had a few drinks and chatted, and then back into the limo for the final bar.
the last bar was a real winner--out in the middle of nowhere, and late enough that all patrons were one of two states: sobie-cab sober, or drunker than a skunk.
one of the skunks cornered me and cari at the bar and made conversation. it was all quite nice and good. then his three friends moseyed over, and the most foxed one, a guy named lee, was at the huggy stage. "jus a hug, plllllllleeease." "can i have anudder hug? just one more?" dear lord preserve me. he went on to tell us that his wife was actually Satan, which i'm sure may come as a shock to her, and that he was "like snowflakes," complete with a fluttery finger motion remniscent of snow falling, if snow could be drunk and clumsy.
sunday i drove back to st cloud. had dinner with the parents, chit chat with my sister. i broke a glass, whoops. dad showed me how to fill up the antifreeze if needed, and i started up the car.
then my sister backed her car up and planted her right front fender underneath my dad's truck's front fender. lovely!
luckily, getting out of the car to assess the damage allowed my mom to point out that my car was once again smoking and smelled like burning antifreeze.
thus, i am ensconced in my parent's den, typing this post as i await the call from the radiator shoppe, who will probably tell me that i need to replace my radiator, and that the bill comes to $8000.00 with tax.
*le sigh*
at any rate, dad's home, so i'm going to hang with my papa and wait for news. hugs all. (;
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
danger, will robinson! danger!
i want one of those robots. no matter how cheesy, it'd be nice to have. people might point and laugh at my robot. but i'd be warned about things, before harm could befall me.
so here's your warning. you just have to follow these rules:
1. put your arms out at your sides, raise them over your head, jiggling them as if you are swatting at fifteen angry bees.
2. yell, "danger, dear reader! danger!"
3. and if you're feeling lucky, punk, keep reading.
i had a bad day at work. i find it no coincidence that it happens on a day of the year wherein we are celebrating the death of a saint, a guy who went against the grain and lost his head for it.
yes, valentine. he was jailed for being a bad boy, at least in claudius' eyes. during his time in the pokey, it's said that he wrote love letters to the jailor's daughter, with whom he was in love. and that is why kids hand out little cards with cartoon characters on them, and share chocolate, etc.
when i was a kid i hated valentine's day. in school, we always had to exchange cards. i always got the least cards. it's left me somewhat jaded towards the holiday. that and learning about the apparent progenitor of the day himself. who knows. i'm bitter, and it's leftover from 20 years ago.
i'm lucky that dan likes the day. he found the sweetest cards, and got me the special dread pirate roberts version of the princess bride. he makes it less icky, and over the years, it's grown on me, a bit.
today, though, was one of those days where i was glad i got to come home.
i'm a firm believer in the trickle down effect--the one that says that the shit rolls downhill. so those of us at the bottom of the office chain receive the crappy leftover bits of attention, and that only when the people higher up the stairs are prodded to action.
it just seems like the trickle is always dripping on my head; and then there is this sense of wonder from above, that i could possibly be annoyed by said drip. *sigh*
all in all, it's a much easier life i lead than that of some of my primate relatives. i don't have to club my dinner before eating. i don't have to wrap up in fur to keep warm. i don't have to fear lions, tigers or bears. i've got it better than valentine ever did--my head is still square on my shoulders, and that's an upgrade from his standpoint, i'm sure.
i just have this feeling of anger, twitching along my nerves like the shivers when you're chilled. the day started out so nicely--dan's cards, purring cats, a warm car. about an hour into work there was the first email--one accusing me of something that i don't remember doing, and can't imagine that i would have done, anyway.
this afternoon, it was the approach of my manager. "i have a question about the process..."
and then another email: "this is going to be a mess, if this client isn't happy."
first of all, i didn't do what i was accused of doing. second of all, the process is fine--it just needs to be a tad more flexible, because you're working with human beings, and they're not made of obsidian. and third, and probably most important, if it's going to be a mess, perhaps the client could have gotten her butt in gear last week, when the pressure was on, and not this week, when the office is winched tight enough to produce diamonds from pencil lead.
this, right now--this is when i need that robot with the flailing arms. this is when i need the robot with blinking lights and strident voice--"danger, kim, danger!"
or perhaps just some yellow "caution" tape would do. i'm not high maintenance, really.
you can't go through your life with a safety harness attached, or a life raft at the ready. there's just some days when it seems like it would be prudent to have some kind of warning system. brace yourself, bridget--that sort of thing.
today i was caught unawares. i was floating along, content and peaceful. i don't like to make waves--usually i do whatever it is in my power to avoid being at the epicenter, to keep all ships on top of the water and safe.
right now, i feel as if that is the problem--i am so busy trying to keep everyone else's ships secure that mine is suddenly sinking.
so here's your warning. you just have to follow these rules:
1. put your arms out at your sides, raise them over your head, jiggling them as if you are swatting at fifteen angry bees.
2. yell, "danger, dear reader! danger!"
3. and if you're feeling lucky, punk, keep reading.
i had a bad day at work. i find it no coincidence that it happens on a day of the year wherein we are celebrating the death of a saint, a guy who went against the grain and lost his head for it.
yes, valentine. he was jailed for being a bad boy, at least in claudius' eyes. during his time in the pokey, it's said that he wrote love letters to the jailor's daughter, with whom he was in love. and that is why kids hand out little cards with cartoon characters on them, and share chocolate, etc.
when i was a kid i hated valentine's day. in school, we always had to exchange cards. i always got the least cards. it's left me somewhat jaded towards the holiday. that and learning about the apparent progenitor of the day himself. who knows. i'm bitter, and it's leftover from 20 years ago.
i'm lucky that dan likes the day. he found the sweetest cards, and got me the special dread pirate roberts version of the princess bride. he makes it less icky, and over the years, it's grown on me, a bit.
today, though, was one of those days where i was glad i got to come home.
i'm a firm believer in the trickle down effect--the one that says that the shit rolls downhill. so those of us at the bottom of the office chain receive the crappy leftover bits of attention, and that only when the people higher up the stairs are prodded to action.
it just seems like the trickle is always dripping on my head; and then there is this sense of wonder from above, that i could possibly be annoyed by said drip. *sigh*
all in all, it's a much easier life i lead than that of some of my primate relatives. i don't have to club my dinner before eating. i don't have to wrap up in fur to keep warm. i don't have to fear lions, tigers or bears. i've got it better than valentine ever did--my head is still square on my shoulders, and that's an upgrade from his standpoint, i'm sure.
i just have this feeling of anger, twitching along my nerves like the shivers when you're chilled. the day started out so nicely--dan's cards, purring cats, a warm car. about an hour into work there was the first email--one accusing me of something that i don't remember doing, and can't imagine that i would have done, anyway.
this afternoon, it was the approach of my manager. "i have a question about the process..."
and then another email: "this is going to be a mess, if this client isn't happy."
first of all, i didn't do what i was accused of doing. second of all, the process is fine--it just needs to be a tad more flexible, because you're working with human beings, and they're not made of obsidian. and third, and probably most important, if it's going to be a mess, perhaps the client could have gotten her butt in gear last week, when the pressure was on, and not this week, when the office is winched tight enough to produce diamonds from pencil lead.
this, right now--this is when i need that robot with the flailing arms. this is when i need the robot with blinking lights and strident voice--"danger, kim, danger!"
or perhaps just some yellow "caution" tape would do. i'm not high maintenance, really.
you can't go through your life with a safety harness attached, or a life raft at the ready. there's just some days when it seems like it would be prudent to have some kind of warning system. brace yourself, bridget--that sort of thing.
today i was caught unawares. i was floating along, content and peaceful. i don't like to make waves--usually i do whatever it is in my power to avoid being at the epicenter, to keep all ships on top of the water and safe.
right now, i feel as if that is the problem--i am so busy trying to keep everyone else's ships secure that mine is suddenly sinking.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)