Last year, I followed in RA's footsteps and did this 35 questions thing. Like her, I'm doing it again. Though I doubt I have much new to report. Hmm. Grad school just isn't fodder for much excitement or change.
1. What did you do in 2012 that you’d never done before?
Went to Vegas, met my half-sister, wrote/defended PhD candidacy exams, and did my dissertation research. At least three of those I am not in the least be interested in repeating. Oh! And I volunteered for Obama's campaign for the post-primary election season. That was...interesting.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I didn't really make resolutions for 2012, nor do I plan to for 2013, exactly. I have recently decided to try giving up caffeine--while writing my dissertation, what?--and so far it's helping with my endocrine symptoms. I also got really good about shopping at the farmer's market every Saturday.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Aunt Hilary's brood grew by at least two, Holden G. and Giovanni P. Lots more acquaintances had babies, too. It continues to be an epidemic, I say.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Thankfully, no.
5. What countries did you visit?
In many ways, Vegas seems--or at least likes to think itself--a foreign country. I stayed in the U.S. this year. This has got to stop!
6. What would you like to have in 2013 that you didn’t have in 2012?
A full time, salaried job, perhaps? Though I'm starting to doubt this whole academia business.
7. What dates from 2012 will be etched upon your memory, and why?
No dates, exactly, but exams (late spring), research (fall), and New Year's Eve will be memorable. (At least one of those will be remembered fondly.)
8. What was your biggest achievement of this year?
I sound like a broken record, but getting my exams, proposal, IRB, and dissertation research done in 6 months is pretty key to the whole future Dr. Brewster situation. Having a dozen or so first round interviews was a wee bit of an Academia Ego Boost, too, though nothing has gotten to the next round quite yet.
9. What was your biggest failure?
Hmm. I got a couple of publication rejections, which will surely be a continuing saga of my academic life. Oh, and my car got broken into while I was house sitting, which then in turn resulted in my adviser's garage being robbed. This wasn't my fault, clearly, but it was an epic fail.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Well, not exactly. I was placed on a strict, medically induced diet for the summer in an attempt to resolve my endocrine/thyroid/hormonal issues, but that's not really the same thing. So no, thankfully.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
Oooh, probably a pair of nude, "snakeskin" T-strap peeptoe heels, or maybe the slinky silver dress I wore to a New Year's Eve wedding. My awful, roll-y teacher cart helped Team Dissertation, and to make it less terrible, I've decorated it with bumper stickers. (Politically themed, natch.)
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
The rescue workers during Hurricane Sandy (I stole this answer from RA), and, quite frankly, good ol' POTUS supporting gay marriage is pretty freakin' great.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
How about the Aurora, Colorado shooter, the Newtown shooter, the Sikh temple shooter, the Seattle mall shooter...oh, and probably some dictators and a lot of the GOP, especially all of those white men saying stupid crap about rape, abortion, birth control, and transvaginal ultrasounds. Ugh.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Rent, bills, and I had to drop $1100 on necessary car maintenance over break. Yowza.
15. What did you get really excited about?
Meeting Shawna, the aforementioned PhD stages being completed, the fact that my dissertation "worked," and New Heteronormative Resisting Exclusive Male Partner. (Boy/girlfriend are terms we've decided to reject because we're both academic dorks.)
16. What song will always remind you of 2012?
Oh, good grief, that stupid Carly Rae Jepsen "Call Me, Maybe" summer ear worm. At least some of the videos are pretty entertaining. Wait--was that from this year? Hmmm.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
Assuming I accept these binaries: Happier, neither, and technically poorer, since I accumulated more debt, even though my third year GA monthly paycheck was larger. By, you know, like $5. Woot.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Blogging, academic writing, reading, outdoorsy stuff in Ohio, cooking, traveling.
19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Allowing myself to be stressed out by people whose behavior I can't/couldn't control, going on bad dates, facing big deadlines.
20. How will you spend Christmas?
I went home to see my mom; we did low key gifts, watched Downton Abbey Season 2, did a bunch of snowshoeing/skiing, and just hung out.
21. Did you fall in love in 2012?
You know what? Yes. Yes I did. It snuck up on me right there in November/December. And it is both magical and terrifying. Mostly magical.
22. What was your favorite TV program?
My favorite pundits, Rachel Maddow and Chris Hayes, still have top billing, but I also learned about The League, which is terribly funny, and got on the Downton Abbey bandwagon.
23. What was the best book you read?
I listened to Tina Fey's memoir Bossypants in the car on one of my many trips from PA to OH. Amazing.
24. What was your greatest musical discovery?
I realize I'm way late to the party (per usual), but my friend Jarad told me about Macklemore. "Thrift Shop" is one of my new jams, for sure.
25. What did you want and get?
Hopefully smarter. Oh, and remember that time I blogged about finding a guy who passes the 5-6 dealbreakers? Yeah. He exists.
26. What did you want and not get?
So far, a job.
27. What was your favorite film of 2012?
I see a lot of movies. But. Beasts of the Southern Wild was beyond amazing.
28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
It's my Jesus year--33! My friend Matt and I took a ballroom dancing lesson (my idea--he begrudgingly humored me) and then went out to a yummy dinner.
29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Finding HREMP on Match faster and having a chance to see more of my non-Ohio friends more often.
30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept of 2012?
Lots of jeans/flats/tshirt/cardigan combos in fall and spring, sweaterdresses and boots in winter. Though quite frankly, I spent a bunch of time in my OSU sweatshirt and schlubby pants. It's a bennie of academia, I guess. My fashion concept was also informed/limited by my two favorite second hand stores.
31. What kept you sane?
My Columbus girlfriends, my mom, organic dark chocolate raisins, the staff at Caribou Coffee on Tremont Road, several podcasts, and BodyAttack.
32. What political issue stirred you the most?
Ugh, all of the vitriol regarding gay marriage and the aforementioned batshittery about women's sexual health and choices. Oh, and gun control. GAH. The election in general gave me inRomneya.
33. Who did you miss?
All of my non-Columbus friends that I don't get to see frequently enough.
34. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2012.
One time this summer, I accidentally caught the wrong bus to campus on a morning I had to teach. (I wasn't paying attention--clearly--and didn't even consider the idea that something other than #18 came to my stop.) It was a pain to deal with, cost me $12 in cab fare, and made me feel like an idiot. (Though I did get to work on time.) But. I recognized then that almost every problem has a solution. You might not like the solution (attention, political leaders), but almost every problem can be solved somehow.
35. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
I should be hip enough to include something from Mumford & Sons or some other funky, indie type band. But I'm not. And, quite honestly, music is generally not my thing the way it is for some people. I've got nothin'. If it weren't so late, maybe I could find a quote from politics/movies/books, but you know what? I'm tired and going to bed.
May your 2013 be lucky!
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Harper Collins Review--Halloween Edition (Part 3)
The Whispering House by Rebecca Wade is an eerie, creepy story about a house inhabited by a 14 year old girl, Hannah, her parents, and the ghost of a little girl who died almost 200 years ago. The house seems normal enough, until Hannah starts having dreams and visions that cause her to investigate the off-limits rooms in her new Victorian house. Her best friend, Sam, helps her unlock doors, and inside they discover a (voodoo?) doll. This leads them on an adventure to uncover the truth about this little girl's death and the family member who may have murdered her.
I had moments of spine-tingling, hair-raising terror during parts of this book, as Hannah becomes more and more involved with investigating this ghostly presence. I'm easily scared, and Wade does a good job of drawing out some of the more suspenseful plot points.
That said, I had two concerns with the novel. First, Hannah and Sam are written to be fourteen, and they just didn't ring true to the narrative at all. Though the line is blurry between children's and young adult literature--marketing? audience?--this was certainly children's literature, and Hannah and Sam could have been ten or eleven and the story wouldn't have been much different.
Second, though Hannah is the main focalizing character, when the going gets tough there at the end, with all of the clues sort of falling together and the mystery seems to be coming to a close, it is Sam who does most of the acting and solving. He sort of takes over while Hannah just kinda...fades into the background. There is a somewhat legitimate reason plot-wise for this to be happening, but honestly, I was more just annoyed that the guy took over even though the girl had done most of the work up until that point.
This isn't the greatest horror story ever told, not even for kid, and part of the resolution is a little too simple, but the haunted house piece was interesting enough to keep my attention.
I had moments of spine-tingling, hair-raising terror during parts of this book, as Hannah becomes more and more involved with investigating this ghostly presence. I'm easily scared, and Wade does a good job of drawing out some of the more suspenseful plot points.
That said, I had two concerns with the novel. First, Hannah and Sam are written to be fourteen, and they just didn't ring true to the narrative at all. Though the line is blurry between children's and young adult literature--marketing? audience?--this was certainly children's literature, and Hannah and Sam could have been ten or eleven and the story wouldn't have been much different.
Second, though Hannah is the main focalizing character, when the going gets tough there at the end, with all of the clues sort of falling together and the mystery seems to be coming to a close, it is Sam who does most of the acting and solving. He sort of takes over while Hannah just kinda...fades into the background. There is a somewhat legitimate reason plot-wise for this to be happening, but honestly, I was more just annoyed that the guy took over even though the girl had done most of the work up until that point.
This isn't the greatest horror story ever told, not even for kid, and part of the resolution is a little too simple, but the haunted house piece was interesting enough to keep my attention.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Harper Collins Review--Halloween edition (Part 2)
How exactly did I miss reading and seeing Coraline before now? Seriously. Luckily for me, HarperCollins sent me the 10th anniversary edition to Gaiman's book.
Gaiman's prose is poetic, even while describing some pretty horrific scenes. While not exactly "Halloween" themed, this story is creepy, both physically and psychologically (mostly the latter). Coraline finds herself trapped in an "other" world--other mother, other father, other room, other flat. An adventurer by nature, she sets off on a challenging quest to get herself--and her parents--home. Coraline is a great character--scared but brave, mature but a child, stubborn but willing to accept help. I liked her relationship with the cat. (Of course.) The supporting characters also living in the divided-up house are interesting, and add some British quirk to the novel.
This is short but exciting, written well even if a bit simplistically at times, and a sort of horror version of the home-away-from-home tale. Gaiman taps into one of childhood's most common secret desires: "why can't I just have different parents--then my life would be so much better!" and spins it on its ugly head.
It was also interesting reading the interviews at the end of the book. The original Q&A is included along with one for this edition. It's neat to read Gaiman's response before and after the success of Coraline.
Gaiman's prose is poetic, even while describing some pretty horrific scenes. While not exactly "Halloween" themed, this story is creepy, both physically and psychologically (mostly the latter). Coraline finds herself trapped in an "other" world--other mother, other father, other room, other flat. An adventurer by nature, she sets off on a challenging quest to get herself--and her parents--home. Coraline is a great character--scared but brave, mature but a child, stubborn but willing to accept help. I liked her relationship with the cat. (Of course.) The supporting characters also living in the divided-up house are interesting, and add some British quirk to the novel.
This is short but exciting, written well even if a bit simplistically at times, and a sort of horror version of the home-away-from-home tale. Gaiman taps into one of childhood's most common secret desires: "why can't I just have different parents--then my life would be so much better!" and spins it on its ugly head.
It was also interesting reading the interviews at the end of the book. The original Q&A is included along with one for this edition. It's neat to read Gaiman's response before and after the success of Coraline.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Harper Collins Review--Halloween Edition (Part 1)
Invisible Inkling: Dangerous Pumpkins by Emily Jenkins and Henry Bliss is a cute, fun read about a fourth grade boy with an invisible friend. Unlike the typical invisible friendship, however, Hank's companion is a bandapat, a strange creature that hails from the redwood forests of Cameroon. (No, really, they exist!) Bandapats like Inkling--I have an inkling, get it? This joke is likely lost on the target audience, but no matter--needs a particular food for sustenance. One that is in abundance around Halloween, but that often serves as decoration and artwork. What happens to Hank when his furry friend starts in on all of the gorgeous jack o' laterns in the neighborhood?
Hank's situation is pretty unusual, but Jenkins does a great job of not making the fantastic seem too ridiculous. Amidst all the drama with Inkling, Hank is just a regular fourth grade boy trying to handle life's complications--fights with friends, a bossy older sister, parents who don't seem to understand him, if they pay attention at all. A lot of Hank's narration is quite funny (his teacher has "complicated hair" and is "not [his] favorite person"), but he's also sincere without being too mature. Kids will identify with Hank's reliance on his invisible pal, even when he's stirring up trouble that Hank has to deal with himself.
This is the first book in a series, and so far, Hank has not revealed Inkling's existence to anyone. Fantasy frequently involves a confidant or two that accepts the truth of the situation without question. Stay tuned to find out whether Hank lets people in on his secret.
Hank's situation is pretty unusual, but Jenkins does a great job of not making the fantastic seem too ridiculous. Amidst all the drama with Inkling, Hank is just a regular fourth grade boy trying to handle life's complications--fights with friends, a bossy older sister, parents who don't seem to understand him, if they pay attention at all. A lot of Hank's narration is quite funny (his teacher has "complicated hair" and is "not [his] favorite person"), but he's also sincere without being too mature. Kids will identify with Hank's reliance on his invisible pal, even when he's stirring up trouble that Hank has to deal with himself.
This is the first book in a series, and so far, Hank has not revealed Inkling's existence to anyone. Fantasy frequently involves a confidant or two that accepts the truth of the situation without question. Stay tuned to find out whether Hank lets people in on his secret.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
How I Met My Sister
Most people do it in the hospital. Some have done it on Oprah or Dr. Phil. I did it at Harrah's Casino.
Let me back up.
When people ask the rather common getting-to-know-you question "so, do you have any siblings?" I give them the short answer. "No. I'm an only child." (Statistically, only children are rare--at least in the Western world, though this is changing--and in addition to being the short answer, it also makes me feel a little unique, which is nice.) If the conversation progresses, or if I get to know that person better, I give them the long answer. "Well, I was raised an only child, but I actually have four half siblings...whom I've never met." This generally prompts conversation, as one might expect, so I tend to shy away from going there because it makes my family life sound like a pretty solid episode of Jerry Springer. It doesn't bother me--I'm not embarrassed by any of this; I don't have to defend anyone--but most people, at least in casual conversation, want the short version. I get it. But, to be fair, the long version is pretty interesting. I mean, most people, even with divorced parents, have at least met their siblings--step, half, whatever. Here's the quick version of the long story:
1. Biological Dad marries Wife One, has two kids. They divorce when the kids are small.
2. Biological Dad marries Wife Two, has me. He leaves when I'm an infant, and Mom moves back to her hometown, which is way the hell across the country from where they lived/I was born.
3. Biological Dad marries Wife Three, has two kids. They are together until his untimely death as a result of an accident in April, 2008.
I know that maybe it makes Biological Dad look like a commitment-phobic, serial husband or something equally as awful. (Culturally speaking anyway, since the preference is to Marry Once for Life, even though the statistics indicate this is clearly not The Norm; multiple divorces is still frowned upon, though it does make you perfectly eligible to run for president on the GOP ticket with a strong "family values" ideology.) Regardless of how it makes him look--and without getting into everything, it's all water under the bridge; no one harbors ill will--the result is the same. I have four half siblings.
I always knew about them, so this isn't some big Lifetime Television event. I had seen pictures of the older two as kids--my mom was their step-mom for a while, remember--though we'd never had contact since I lived so far away and had no relationship with Biological Dad. Because of things like child support, Mom knew about Biological Dad's new marriage and family, though again, the details were pretty vague: names, rough ages, etc. In college, I got it in my mind to try to find my older brother--as the only boy, he was the one whose name couldn't have changed--to no avail. I gave up, though Mom always encouraged me to seek them out somehow.
Fast forward to 2009. I join Faceook. Lo and behold, there they are. All four of them.
Through Facebook messaging, the one sister--the youngest of all five of us--and I start to sort of have a relationship. Her husband is a flight attendant for a popular airline (read: they fly a lot because it's free), and his family is from Philly, so we had a couple of chances to meet up that didn't work out for one reason or another. They offered to fly me and ExH to Vegas for their daughter's baby naming ceremony; we had a wedding in Vermont that weekend. They were going to come to Philly for Passover; she got sick. They were going to stop in Columbus on their way home from Philly last year; it fell through. When I found out last December I had gotten accepted to a conference in Vegas, the first (ok, second) thing I did was text her even though we'd been out of touch for quite a while. They graciously gave me a plane ticket, and we chose a time during my stay when we'd both be free to meet.
Needless to say, as the time got closer, I was pretty nervous. Was it going to be awkward? What if we hated each other? Or had nothing to talk about? What if hearing about growing up with Biological Dad made me upset? What if talking about him made her upset, since he has passed away? Was it going to be this big, emotional, tear-inducing moment? (I put on mascara and instantly regretted it, though it ended up not to be a problem.) As she and I were texting back and forth on that day, I had major butterflies and had to call a friend to talk me through it. I normally have no problem meeting people--Dates? Easy. New classmates? Fine.--but this was totally different. I was ready about 20 minutes early, and spent my time pacing back and forth in the lobby of Harrah's.
Finally, Sister arrived with her husband and daughter in tow, and there was hugging all around. (We easily recognized each other from pictures, so we didn't have that awkward Blind Date moment of "is that you?" to deal with. Also, see above: I was the one pacing in the lobby. This probably clued her in.) We quickly decided to go across the street to get lunch in the mall, making some small talk about the wackiness of Vegas and their upcoming move (back) to Santa Fe on the way. Her husband was really good about being the Parent In Charge so that Sister and I could talk without being interrupted by their (super cute) toddler. Once we navigated walking through the casino and crossing the street, we were able to talk about more important things, like, you know, family, genealogy, Biological Dad, the fact that we were each currently meeting a sibling, and how the other siblings might feel about this. (She, obviously, grew up with her full sister, but has also spent significant time with the first two.) We joked that we'd make great fodder for reality television and looked around for a film crew in jest. We sat down at a table after a short wait (perfect for a photo op) and continued to "catch up"--that phrase seems inadequate--in between ordering, eating, and moving everything away from grabby toddler hands.
It was a mix of both of us asking questions and taking turns volunteering information. I learned some fascinating--often scandalous--family history, as well as some of the more mundane aspects of Biological Dad's personality that, obviously, I didn't already know. (Previously, I could name a couple of facts about him and that's it.) We touched on the potentially sensitive topics with grace, both of us likely over-compensating with regard to the other's feelings. We tried to figure out weird things we had in common, having the "nature versus nurture" debate alongside each new revelation. I knew we were related when we were talking political commentary and she said "seriously, if I were a lesbian, my first choice would be Rachel Maddow." (Some idiotic study did find that politics were partially genetic, after all.)
As the afternoon wrapped up, we tried to figure out whether we'd have more time before I went home, talked about how nice it was (though weird) to have finally met, and encouraged the other to keep in (better) touch. Seeing each other a few days later was a possibility, though it never came to fruition. I hugged her and her husband goodbye, gave their daughter (my niece!) a squeeze, and watched as they walked away through the smoke of the casino toward their car. It had finally happened. I had met my sister.
Given the time difference, I was able to call my mom and relay the events of the afternoon almost immediately. I told her all about the rather juicy family goings-on; each juicy tidbit was met with a "no kidding!" on the other end of the phone, especially those concerning my genetic makeup. (These parts are particularly interesting.) Some of the information I passed along were facts that differed from her personal experience having been married to Biological Dad, or things she had forgotten about, or things she probably should have known and didn't. Regardless, she was completely intrigued about the experience and so, so happy for me. You know, how Moms get. Then she probably told me to be safe in Vegas. You know, how Moms get.
I tend to be guilty of Setting My Expectations Too High, so, like many other Big Things I've experienced in life, this felt a little anti-climactic, though I fully understand the significance of the event. As I said above, the mascara didn't turn into a streaky mess on my face because there was no crying. I'm not sure what I was looking for--the skies to open and chorus of angels to sing, perhaps?--because this is something almost no one else I know has gone through. It's one thing to reunite with an old friend or family member, even one you haven't seen in over two decades, but it's quite another to meet a sibling. I mean, by definition, you cannot meet a friend you've never met. When I learned that Biological Dad had passed away, I wept in a brief storm of convulsing sobs--poor ExH had no idea what to do in this moment--but I was mourning the chances that could never be; I was grieving a ghost more than the loss of an human being. Did I think that meeting Sister would be the emotional mirror of that? Were we supposed to run at each other, embrace and cry happy tears at our new found sisterly bond? I'd be lying if I didn't admit to hoping for a little of that despite the unrealistic nature of the scenario. No matter the outcome, however, it was something I had wanted to do for years, and I get to live in a world where a little wish came true.
There is a cloying phrase often found on decorative knickknacks and needlepoint pillows sold in kitschy general stores and catalogs for sorority girls: "Chance made us sisters; hearts made us friends."
I need a bigger pillow.
Let me back up.
When people ask the rather common getting-to-know-you question "so, do you have any siblings?" I give them the short answer. "No. I'm an only child." (Statistically, only children are rare--at least in the Western world, though this is changing--and in addition to being the short answer, it also makes me feel a little unique, which is nice.) If the conversation progresses, or if I get to know that person better, I give them the long answer. "Well, I was raised an only child, but I actually have four half siblings...whom I've never met." This generally prompts conversation, as one might expect, so I tend to shy away from going there because it makes my family life sound like a pretty solid episode of Jerry Springer. It doesn't bother me--I'm not embarrassed by any of this; I don't have to defend anyone--but most people, at least in casual conversation, want the short version. I get it. But, to be fair, the long version is pretty interesting. I mean, most people, even with divorced parents, have at least met their siblings--step, half, whatever. Here's the quick version of the long story:
1. Biological Dad marries Wife One, has two kids. They divorce when the kids are small.
2. Biological Dad marries Wife Two, has me. He leaves when I'm an infant, and Mom moves back to her hometown, which is way the hell across the country from where they lived/I was born.
3. Biological Dad marries Wife Three, has two kids. They are together until his untimely death as a result of an accident in April, 2008.
I know that maybe it makes Biological Dad look like a commitment-phobic, serial husband or something equally as awful. (Culturally speaking anyway, since the preference is to Marry Once for Life, even though the statistics indicate this is clearly not The Norm; multiple divorces is still frowned upon, though it does make you perfectly eligible to run for president on the GOP ticket with a strong "family values" ideology.) Regardless of how it makes him look--and without getting into everything, it's all water under the bridge; no one harbors ill will--the result is the same. I have four half siblings.
I always knew about them, so this isn't some big Lifetime Television event. I had seen pictures of the older two as kids--my mom was their step-mom for a while, remember--though we'd never had contact since I lived so far away and had no relationship with Biological Dad. Because of things like child support, Mom knew about Biological Dad's new marriage and family, though again, the details were pretty vague: names, rough ages, etc. In college, I got it in my mind to try to find my older brother--as the only boy, he was the one whose name couldn't have changed--to no avail. I gave up, though Mom always encouraged me to seek them out somehow.
Fast forward to 2009. I join Faceook. Lo and behold, there they are. All four of them.
Through Facebook messaging, the one sister--the youngest of all five of us--and I start to sort of have a relationship. Her husband is a flight attendant for a popular airline (read: they fly a lot because it's free), and his family is from Philly, so we had a couple of chances to meet up that didn't work out for one reason or another. They offered to fly me and ExH to Vegas for their daughter's baby naming ceremony; we had a wedding in Vermont that weekend. They were going to come to Philly for Passover; she got sick. They were going to stop in Columbus on their way home from Philly last year; it fell through. When I found out last December I had gotten accepted to a conference in Vegas, the first (ok, second) thing I did was text her even though we'd been out of touch for quite a while. They graciously gave me a plane ticket, and we chose a time during my stay when we'd both be free to meet.
Needless to say, as the time got closer, I was pretty nervous. Was it going to be awkward? What if we hated each other? Or had nothing to talk about? What if hearing about growing up with Biological Dad made me upset? What if talking about him made her upset, since he has passed away? Was it going to be this big, emotional, tear-inducing moment? (I put on mascara and instantly regretted it, though it ended up not to be a problem.) As she and I were texting back and forth on that day, I had major butterflies and had to call a friend to talk me through it. I normally have no problem meeting people--Dates? Easy. New classmates? Fine.--but this was totally different. I was ready about 20 minutes early, and spent my time pacing back and forth in the lobby of Harrah's.
Finally, Sister arrived with her husband and daughter in tow, and there was hugging all around. (We easily recognized each other from pictures, so we didn't have that awkward Blind Date moment of "is that you?" to deal with. Also, see above: I was the one pacing in the lobby. This probably clued her in.) We quickly decided to go across the street to get lunch in the mall, making some small talk about the wackiness of Vegas and their upcoming move (back) to Santa Fe on the way. Her husband was really good about being the Parent In Charge so that Sister and I could talk without being interrupted by their (super cute) toddler. Once we navigated walking through the casino and crossing the street, we were able to talk about more important things, like, you know, family, genealogy, Biological Dad, the fact that we were each currently meeting a sibling, and how the other siblings might feel about this. (She, obviously, grew up with her full sister, but has also spent significant time with the first two.) We joked that we'd make great fodder for reality television and looked around for a film crew in jest. We sat down at a table after a short wait (perfect for a photo op) and continued to "catch up"--that phrase seems inadequate--in between ordering, eating, and moving everything away from grabby toddler hands.
It was a mix of both of us asking questions and taking turns volunteering information. I learned some fascinating--often scandalous--family history, as well as some of the more mundane aspects of Biological Dad's personality that, obviously, I didn't already know. (Previously, I could name a couple of facts about him and that's it.) We touched on the potentially sensitive topics with grace, both of us likely over-compensating with regard to the other's feelings. We tried to figure out weird things we had in common, having the "nature versus nurture" debate alongside each new revelation. I knew we were related when we were talking political commentary and she said "seriously, if I were a lesbian, my first choice would be Rachel Maddow." (Some idiotic study did find that politics were partially genetic, after all.)
As the afternoon wrapped up, we tried to figure out whether we'd have more time before I went home, talked about how nice it was (though weird) to have finally met, and encouraged the other to keep in (better) touch. Seeing each other a few days later was a possibility, though it never came to fruition. I hugged her and her husband goodbye, gave their daughter (my niece!) a squeeze, and watched as they walked away through the smoke of the casino toward their car. It had finally happened. I had met my sister.
Given the time difference, I was able to call my mom and relay the events of the afternoon almost immediately. I told her all about the rather juicy family goings-on; each juicy tidbit was met with a "no kidding!" on the other end of the phone, especially those concerning my genetic makeup. (These parts are particularly interesting.) Some of the information I passed along were facts that differed from her personal experience having been married to Biological Dad, or things she had forgotten about, or things she probably should have known and didn't. Regardless, she was completely intrigued about the experience and so, so happy for me. You know, how Moms get. Then she probably told me to be safe in Vegas. You know, how Moms get.
I tend to be guilty of Setting My Expectations Too High, so, like many other Big Things I've experienced in life, this felt a little anti-climactic, though I fully understand the significance of the event. As I said above, the mascara didn't turn into a streaky mess on my face because there was no crying. I'm not sure what I was looking for--the skies to open and chorus of angels to sing, perhaps?--because this is something almost no one else I know has gone through. It's one thing to reunite with an old friend or family member, even one you haven't seen in over two decades, but it's quite another to meet a sibling. I mean, by definition, you cannot meet a friend you've never met. When I learned that Biological Dad had passed away, I wept in a brief storm of convulsing sobs--poor ExH had no idea what to do in this moment--but I was mourning the chances that could never be; I was grieving a ghost more than the loss of an human being. Did I think that meeting Sister would be the emotional mirror of that? Were we supposed to run at each other, embrace and cry happy tears at our new found sisterly bond? I'd be lying if I didn't admit to hoping for a little of that despite the unrealistic nature of the scenario. No matter the outcome, however, it was something I had wanted to do for years, and I get to live in a world where a little wish came true.
There is a cloying phrase often found on decorative knickknacks and needlepoint pillows sold in kitschy general stores and catalogs for sorority girls: "Chance made us sisters; hearts made us friends."
I need a bigger pillow.
Monday, March 5, 2012
If on a winter's night...
Every year, I think it will be different.
No, wait. That's not exactly true. Each year, I forget about it until it's too late. Until it's already here, until I'm already mired in it. I can't explain why or how I forget, but I do.
Or, rather, I suppose it's even more honest to say that I don't forget it will happen; I forget what it's really like.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, be thankful. It means you can spend all year, all four glorious, changing seasons, feeling like your "normal," typical self. The change in weather, the first few months of the calendar year don't affect you. You barely notice them, maybe, save for the extra moments you pad into your morning routine in order to scrape ice off your windshield, or that giddy feeling we've all had waiting to see if school is canceled. Hell, lots of people even enjoy this time of year, smiling as they unearth the gloves and thermal long john underwear in order to head even farther North into the wild, white yonder.
Not me.
This isn't just some sort of "oh, I don't like sweaters and boots and snow" kind of feeling. I actually enjoy sweaters and boots and snow. This isn't just an annoyance with the trivial difficulties that come with living in the relative North or a preference for warmer weather. This is a temporary, annual game changer. For about three months, I'm not me. I am, as they say, a shell of my former self.
I can only assume that many people don't believe that Seasonal Affective Disorder is real, or that it's all in my head. I assure you, it is not. I was actually diagnosed six years ago and participated in a clinical trial for a new treatment method. I'm very, very lucky, I realize: this only invades my world for a few months; it's quite unpleasant, but not crippling (though for some, it is); I live alone, so it doesn't impact anyone else these days. (Morris actually benefits.) But still. Seasonal or not, the symptoms are the same.
I'm not the most eloquent person, but a friend described it as "feeling like you're walking around in a cloud of grey cotton." (Or something similar. I'm sure I've forgotten his words verbatim.) That makes it sound sort of nice: clouds and cotton are both cozy; grey is a classy neutral. Unfortunately, I don't feel like I'm living in a world of over-washed Gap t-shirts, though the general point is well taken. Let me try to explain it, though really, a quick Wiki would do the trick.
I lose interest in everything, including--especially--those things that usually bring me joy, like reading, the gym, going out with my friends, food, sex (when I'm having it, which isn't now), and shopping. I have to drag myself to social events or my beloved gym class. I'm tired all the time. I go to bed early. I sleep late. When I can't sleep late, I'm more exhausted than usual as a result. My first thought every morning is going back to bed. I'm hungry, but I don't want to eat. Or, conversely, I eat without being hungry. I burst into tears for no reason, or in inappropriate places. My mind feels foggy, like my brain exists outside my skull, hovering in some sort of ether. I'm not motivated to do anything. I lose patience (even more) quickly. I'm irritable. I am, generally, just miserable to be around.
Good grief, even I can't stand me.
One of the odd-yet-typical results of all of this is that I tend to fixate on two things: a certain kind of food and a TV show. One year it was rice pudding and That 70's Show. Another was Raisinettes and Everybody Loves Raymond. I'd race home from work, take a two hour nap, wake up, get a tub of rice pudding and a spoon and turn on one of those channels that only shows syndicated sitcoms. I'd sit there in the dark, watching admittedly terrible television with an empty Kozy Shack container/bag of Raisinettes in my hands until my eyelids got heavy and then go to bed. Those things, pudding and Hyde, chocolate raisins and Robert Barone, were all I looked forward to all day. Well, and sleep. (Looking forward to Everybody Loves Raymond? I know, right? I must be sick!) This year, the objects of my pathetic affection are MSNBC and Basic 4 cereal. I'd like to think that this is an improvement in both directions.
I know I'm not alone. Lots of people suffer from seasonal (or clinical) depression. I know I could take medicine, do light therapy, or up my vitamin D intake. (I do that, actually, when I remember. Which isn't often. See above: foggy brain.) And I'll reiterate that I am very, very thankful that while this is annual, it's also temporary. My regularly scheduled self will return after these cold-weather messages. Others aren't as lucky.
But seriously, in our evolution as a species, why did we get rid of hibernation?
No, wait. That's not exactly true. Each year, I forget about it until it's too late. Until it's already here, until I'm already mired in it. I can't explain why or how I forget, but I do.
Or, rather, I suppose it's even more honest to say that I don't forget it will happen; I forget what it's really like.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, be thankful. It means you can spend all year, all four glorious, changing seasons, feeling like your "normal," typical self. The change in weather, the first few months of the calendar year don't affect you. You barely notice them, maybe, save for the extra moments you pad into your morning routine in order to scrape ice off your windshield, or that giddy feeling we've all had waiting to see if school is canceled. Hell, lots of people even enjoy this time of year, smiling as they unearth the gloves and thermal long john underwear in order to head even farther North into the wild, white yonder.
Not me.
This isn't just some sort of "oh, I don't like sweaters and boots and snow" kind of feeling. I actually enjoy sweaters and boots and snow. This isn't just an annoyance with the trivial difficulties that come with living in the relative North or a preference for warmer weather. This is a temporary, annual game changer. For about three months, I'm not me. I am, as they say, a shell of my former self.
I can only assume that many people don't believe that Seasonal Affective Disorder is real, or that it's all in my head. I assure you, it is not. I was actually diagnosed six years ago and participated in a clinical trial for a new treatment method. I'm very, very lucky, I realize: this only invades my world for a few months; it's quite unpleasant, but not crippling (though for some, it is); I live alone, so it doesn't impact anyone else these days. (Morris actually benefits.) But still. Seasonal or not, the symptoms are the same.
I'm not the most eloquent person, but a friend described it as "feeling like you're walking around in a cloud of grey cotton." (Or something similar. I'm sure I've forgotten his words verbatim.) That makes it sound sort of nice: clouds and cotton are both cozy; grey is a classy neutral. Unfortunately, I don't feel like I'm living in a world of over-washed Gap t-shirts, though the general point is well taken. Let me try to explain it, though really, a quick Wiki would do the trick.
I lose interest in everything, including--especially--those things that usually bring me joy, like reading, the gym, going out with my friends, food, sex (when I'm having it, which isn't now), and shopping. I have to drag myself to social events or my beloved gym class. I'm tired all the time. I go to bed early. I sleep late. When I can't sleep late, I'm more exhausted than usual as a result. My first thought every morning is going back to bed. I'm hungry, but I don't want to eat. Or, conversely, I eat without being hungry. I burst into tears for no reason, or in inappropriate places. My mind feels foggy, like my brain exists outside my skull, hovering in some sort of ether. I'm not motivated to do anything. I lose patience (even more) quickly. I'm irritable. I am, generally, just miserable to be around.
Good grief, even I can't stand me.
One of the odd-yet-typical results of all of this is that I tend to fixate on two things: a certain kind of food and a TV show. One year it was rice pudding and That 70's Show. Another was Raisinettes and Everybody Loves Raymond. I'd race home from work, take a two hour nap, wake up, get a tub of rice pudding and a spoon and turn on one of those channels that only shows syndicated sitcoms. I'd sit there in the dark, watching admittedly terrible television with an empty Kozy Shack container/bag of Raisinettes in my hands until my eyelids got heavy and then go to bed. Those things, pudding and Hyde, chocolate raisins and Robert Barone, were all I looked forward to all day. Well, and sleep. (Looking forward to Everybody Loves Raymond? I know, right? I must be sick!) This year, the objects of my pathetic affection are MSNBC and Basic 4 cereal. I'd like to think that this is an improvement in both directions.
I know I'm not alone. Lots of people suffer from seasonal (or clinical) depression. I know I could take medicine, do light therapy, or up my vitamin D intake. (I do that, actually, when I remember. Which isn't often. See above: foggy brain.) And I'll reiterate that I am very, very thankful that while this is annual, it's also temporary. My regularly scheduled self will return after these cold-weather messages. Others aren't as lucky.
But seriously, in our evolution as a species, why did we get rid of hibernation?
Saturday, March 3, 2012
We're Probably Both in Violation of Copyright...
I am part of a closed group on Facebook dedicated to Childfree adults. This should not shock anyone who knows me well: I do not want children and have taken "pretty serious measures" to make sure I don't have any. (The scare quotes are how my mom describes it.) The threads in this group range from political ranting--so easy these days, what with the batshittery going on about access to birth control, transvaginal ultrasounds and the like--to little moments of glee that we "poor" adults have when confronted with friends/coworkers with kids, to just chatty getting to know you type questions. While I can't really call any of these strangers friends, I have told them about things in my life--like the aforementioned "pretty serious" measures--that still some of my "real" friends don't know about.
Someone on the forum posted this link yesterday: http://choosingkidfree.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/i-do-not-like-them-on-a-plane/
For those of you unlikely to click on it, it's a post on a CF blog that rewrites Dr. Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham to be about not having or wanting children.
I'm (mildly) incensed.
I did the exact same thing. Last winter.
Not to be outdone--ok, ok, it's not a competition--mine is below. (Segel and Seuss? Good grief. You're lucky I haven't posted my political limericks--yet. I've only written three, and I'm waiting until I have a few more.) Also, the spacing is a little weird, but I don't have the time, energy or patience to work on it because I have to finish writing a paper. SIGH.
I won't get appointed the Poet Laureate for this (or the Segel, or the limericks...) but I kinda dig it, especially the bits at the end.
Someone on the forum posted this link yesterday: http://choosingkidfree.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/i-do-not-like-them-on-a-plane/
For those of you unlikely to click on it, it's a post on a CF blog that rewrites Dr. Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham to be about not having or wanting children.
I'm (mildly) incensed.
I did the exact same thing. Last winter.
Not to be outdone--ok, ok, it's not a competition--mine is below. (Segel and Seuss? Good grief. You're lucky I haven't posted my political limericks--yet. I've only written three, and I'm waiting until I have a few more.) Also, the spacing is a little weird, but I don't have the time, energy or patience to work on it because I have to finish writing a paper. SIGH.
I won't get appointed the Poet Laureate for this (or the Segel, or the limericks...) but I kinda dig it, especially the bits at the end.
I do not want them,
Not one bit.
I don’t want kids,
I must admit.
You don’t want
A cute round belly?
And to swear off
Booze and meat from a deli?
I do not want
to grow a fetus
I much prefer my
Margaritas.
I do not want them,
Not one bit.
I don’t want kids,
I must admit.
You don’t want
To go through birth?
And add another
to this earth?
Delivering a child
Seems awfully gross
And overpopulation
Makes me quite morose
Would you want one as a baby?
I would not want one as a baby,
The answer’s no,
not even maybe.
I do not want them,
Not one bit.
I don’t want kids,
I must admit.
You wouldn’t like one
when it’s small?
to watch it grow up
big and tall?
I wouldn’t like one
When it’s small,
I wouldn’t care
if he were tall
I do not want them,
Not one bit.
I don’t want kids,
I must admit.
But she’d be cute,
And smart-so bright!
Would that make
Having kids alright?
A brilliant kid
That would be best,
But not enough
To deal with the rest.
But you’d make
Such a lovely parent!
Not having children—
That’s quite aberrant!
I’m never one
To follow crowds;
I make my own choices
(I am allowed!)
But in life,
There’s nothing grander!
Than to raise a family,
This is liberal slander!
I can think of things
Much better,
Kids, to me—
A human fetter.
But the Bible says
To reproduce!
To me that’s a made up,
insane excuse.
But it’s not natural!
Not what nature designed!
And what if it’s too late
And you’ve changed your mind?
Many things aren’t “natural”
That we don’t forbid.
And I’d rather regret that I didn’t
Than regret that I did.
I do not want them,
Not one bit.
I don’t want kids
I must admit.
But won’t you be lonely-
When you’re old and alone?
And shouldn’t your mom
Have grandkids of her own?
Lots of adults
Have kids who ignore them
Is that also behavior
You’d like to condemn?
And yes, my dear mother
Would like being a Gran,
But she’s also aware
It’s not part of my plan.
Listen--I know
That having kids is the norm.
And women, especially,
Are supposed to conform.
But I’m just not interested
In having a child,
And the reasons above
Are just some I’ve compiled
This doesn’t make me selfish,
Unstable or mean
I just know who I am
And there’s no in between
You can’t have a kid
And then change your mind later,
And to me a life without them
Seems exceptionally greater!
I do not want them,
Not one bit.
I don’t want kids,
I must admit.
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