Vacation Musings

April is National Poetry month and I needed some vacation time to delve into verse. Thanks to @OxfordJournals for providing access to several articles on esoteric topics. The following is an excerpt from TS Eliot's Four Quartets:

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing façade are all being rolled away —
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing —
I said to my soul, be still. . . (pp. 27–8)

I am again reminded that poetry distills the spiritual and is so necessary.
I also checked out from the library The Complete Works of Emily Dickinson, which is a slog thru- mud. Confound her use of dashes--

Spring is coyly emerging in New England which means the venerable mud run:


April is also a month of birthdays. My sister and I failed to collaborate for my mom's present and each sent her the exact flower arrangement from the same company. I also called to wish her happy birthday on the wrong day. I claim head injury/and or stroke;). I also sent my Republican father a book of collected short stories from NPR's The Moth. Children are always trying to get their parents to join them on ground they feel is sacred. See me, see me,

Finally, my husband and I have acquiesced and are taking badminton lessons. Very nuanced game except when I play it.

Found time. May we all have it.

Micro Aggression

Roving Reporter, who will eventually have her PhD, and thus will need a new title on this blog... Doc-ed? is currently reporting on the latest trends in institutional policy and sociology.

Micro Aggressions are the small, cumulative acts that wear down one's soul.  So for example, it is not being called a slut or a whore that gets to you but rather the assumption that you like being addressed chest level or that you need help carrying a big box to your car.  Or that you enjoy making less than your male colleagues, don't know crap about putting together a basketball bracket (thank you Duke for confirming this one at my place of employment), and love to cook and clean.  Cultural micro aggression adds up over the years and that is why people over 50 are SURLY!

I couldn't write about last week, last week because it took me a week to calm down.  I don't know if the micro aggression I experienced at a Herb Chambers Honda dealership was directed at me because I am a mom or a woman or if they do it so routinely that it just lands on who it lands on but I am still quite angry a week out.

For starters, they said they inspected my car, charged me, and then somehow forgot to inspect my car.  This wasn't a problem until I was stopped by a police officer several weeks later and then proceeded to argue with him:

Officer:  Ma'am do you realize you are driving with an expired inspection sticker?
Me:  I absolutely am not.
Officer:  Yes, you are.
Me:  No, I had it inspected several weeks ago and there were no problems.
Officer:  The sticker is red, expired, and not in our system.
Me:  Those lying sons of bitches
Officer:  Check in with your garage and get that taken care of.

Now here is an interesting philosophical intersection:  did I not get a ticket because I was female?  I really don't think so.  I was argumentative, pissed, loud, and not at all traditionally feminine in my presentation at 6:30am.

I called the dealership, the guy on the phone looked up my record, apologized and told me to come in at my convenience and they would take care of it.  A pain, but stuff happens, right?
I get to the dealership, and instead of putting the new sticker on, they "retest" the car and this time it fails.

Apparently, they charged me for inspecting the car the first time around, but did not inspect it.  A pain, but stuff happens, right?
This is when things got dicey.  The service manager acted entitled, unapologetic for the original screw up and then had the audacity to tell me I could not take my car.
I grabbed my keys, had an unsavory exchange, encouraged them to call the police to stop me and got my car.

The issue according to Honda was that I needed a new airbag for 1, 096 dollars.  The  issue according to my regular mechanic was a sensor light for 271.00.

Again, bs repairs leveled at me because I'm a mom who is uber concerned about safety?  Wrong mom, gentleman.  Told I couldn't take my car off the lot?  Wrong woman, gentleman.


I used to think some old people were pissy.  Now I retroactively applaud their reaction to a lifetime of micro aggression. Stand up to injustice, wherever you experience it.

I hope to be back to a place of equanimity next post::)

Covenant circles

The UU's do a lot of things right. I am pretty fond of our 7 principles, which you can find here: http://www.uua.org/beliefs/principles/.

This winter, I was asked to join a covenant circle which is a cross between a focus group, a salon, and a consciousness raising group. We practice deep listening and honor each other's narratives. You also get to know members of the congregation in a pretty meaningful way. As an extrovert, I'm kinda digging it.

Interestingly, I tried to talk about my grandmother tonight and could not stop crying. I did not kinda dig that. I think I might be a crier. Today, I cried three times: once at work after sitting with a student who is struggling with cancer; once watching the news about Boston's fallen firefighters, and severely while I was trying to describe what my grandmother means to me. I never cry in front of clients. Maybe it bottles up and discharges after the fact. I have never thought of myself as someone who cries easily but rarely a day goes by that I don't cry.....which means I'm a crier which means covenant circle is raising my consciousness....like it or not.

I have the great luck to be in with someone who loves Emily Dickinson, he brings a poem of hers each week. This one is new to me:

I reason, Earth is short--
And Anguish--absolute
And many hurt,
But, what of that?

I reason, we could die--
The best Vitality
Cannot excel Decay,
But, what of that?

I reason, that in Heaven--
Somehow, it will be even--
Some new Equation, given--
But, what of that?

The Tibetans have a word Zifi that means "shine on"

That's all we can do, really;)

Don't make me shoot my horse

As I was sitting in my stalled car (ambient temp outside 17) waiting for the tow truck, I had this song running through my head: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=o7pVjl4Rrtc
I paraphrase but I did find myself sitting in a large automobile, watching the days go by.....and this was not my beautiful life!   But it is, because I can't bring myself to trade in my dying car.  To whit, she recovered after a brief rest in front of the Broadmeadow apartment complex and is scheduled for a checkup tomorrow.  Can she be saved?  It will probably take a new transmission.  Everyone, and I mean everyone is done with her.  Except me.

This could be a Texan thing but she does kinda feel like my horse.  She is steadfast in the snow and does not get pushed around by fuel efficient ponies.  She takes tons of gear and every dent and scratch has a damn good story.  Like the time she was crushed by a tree and we had to wait 3 months for a new top from the Midwest.....only one in the country.

So yeah, it might be time to start thinking about a more reliable car but let me say for the record, my heart is with the old one.

Lake Placid

I'm not sure what to say about the last couple of days that will not smack of hyperbole but I will start with THE BEST TWO DAYS EVER!

Luke was asked to train at Lake Placid in the classic winter sport of Badminton:)

We got to go along for the ride.  Yes, we were the only family who stayed overnight in the OTC (Olympic Training Center).  Yes, I was the only mom who got in the bobsled but his embarrassment was a small price to pay for THE BEST TWO DAYS EVER!

A huge shout out to Coach Chong for making this all happen and for his sang froid in dealing with my absolute giddiness:

Coach:  Was that you in the cardio room at 8:30 last night?
Me:  Yes, is it just for the athletes?
Coach:  No (Bit of a heavy pause), good for you

A certain someone who was indeed in the cardio room teared up looking at a signed picture of a luger from 1982.  You could feel the Olympic energy, I swear it!

Lake Placid is magical, and we went into hyper overdrive and saw the ski jump, ran, skated. bobsledded, and skeletoned.  Scott and Emma also fit in a bit of soccer.

I dropped out of college for a bit to see if I was good enough to make an Olympic cycling team.  Oh, I was not even close but I will never regret that dream.  This week, as we watched all athletes compete in Sochi, and visited the Olympic Museum in Lake Placid, and watched our bobsled driver smoke a butt....Magic, pure magic.

Go to Lake Placid if you get the chance.  It will remind you of your dreams and your age, all in the same second.  BEST TWO DAYS EVER:)

Snapshots from a snowy day

Another glorious snow day. Everyone home safely, three channels of Olympics and all the great poetry here: www.poetryfoundation.org. Maxine Kumin recently died who was best friends with Anne Sexton. She wrote this when Sexton committed suicide:

How it is

Shall I say how it is in your clothes?
A month after your death I wear your blue jacket.
The dog at the center of my life recognizes
you’ve come to visit, he’s ecstatic.
In the left pocket, a hole.
In the right, a parking ticket
delivered up last August on Bay State Road.
In my heart, a scatter like milkweed,
a flinging from the pods of the soul.
My skin presses your old outline.
It is hot and dry inside.

I think of the last day of your life,
old friend, how I would unwind it, paste
it together in a different collage,
back from the death car idling in the garage,
back up the stairs, your praying hands unlaced,
reassembling the bits of bread and tuna fish
into a ceremony of sandwich,
running the home movie backward to a space
we could be easy in, a kitchen place
with vodka and ice, our words like living meat.

Dear friend, you have excited crowds
with your example. They swell
like wine bags, straining at your seams.
I will be years gathering up our words,
fishing out letters, snapshots, stains,
leaning my ribs against this durable cloth
to put on the dumb blue blazer of your death.
--Maxine Kumin

I found in my husbands closet a pair of slippers that my grandmother knit for him. Her way of communicating was to make something for you. These slippers said welcome to the family. My husband has kept them all these years. He has an active way of communicating without words, as well.

My mom sent me beautiful tulips and irises for valentines day. They brighten up this snowy day. Things are good. A glorious,snow day.

Happy birthday love

We headed up to Vermont to celebrate Scott' s 50th.....or 32nd based on the number of things I was actually able to pull together for the birthday bag.


Conditions were a little icy on the mountain but our glasses were so fogged, we couldn't tell. And you know what? We kicked ass. Well, Scott did. I was trying to "be the snow". Turns out it is tricky to ski when you can't see. But 50 teaches you to flourish under less than optimal conditions. Happy birthday love!