Rocket Boy and I have had a Netflix movie sitting around for several weeks now, so last night we decided to watch it. We are on the 2 movies a month for $5 plan and I feel as though we ought to watch at least ONE movie a month. So we watched the movie. It was a documentary from a year or two ago called Food, Inc., all about how our food supply has been ruined by Corporate America. I chose it because I thought Rocket Boy would enjoy it.
OH MY GOD.
Now, there's almost nothing in the movie that I hadn't heard about/read about already. I haven't actually read any of the many depressing books out there about what's happened to our food, but I've read reviews of them. I've read reviews of this movie. I've read articles about problems with various bits of this and that part of the food industry. I know all about how you're supposed to eat food grown locally, unprocessed food, food without high fructose corn syrup. I know that all our food is basically just corn, in various disguises. I KNOW ALL THAT!
But it's one thing to know all that, and it's quite another to see the poor chickens with huge inflated breasts, barely able to walk, falling all over each other in their horrible henhouse. I cannot get those chickens' faces out of my mind. They didn't know what was wrong because they'd never known anything different. But they were all miserable and dying.
I started crying toward the end of the movie and cried all through the credits.
Then I went out into the kitchen and looked at some labels. It was worse than I thought. It's not impossible to buy organic, healthy foods in Ridgecrest, but it sure isn't easy -- especially with regard to meat. I do buy eggs produced by free-range chickens. Albertson's used to carry organic chicken but they don't anymore. I suppose I could ask to have it brought back. The movie noted that stores respond to requests from the shopping public.
I concluded that I would have to stop buying all processed foods and cook everything from scratch.
This is not a great thing to conclude at a time when I am hanging on by my fingertips.
So then today I was just a basket case. I went to Weight Watchers (which is no longer my happy place) and people kept talking about fake food. All I could think about was those chickens' faces. I came home, snapped at Rocket Boy, and burst into tears. Later, in the babies' room, I fell apart again. It wasn't just the chickens. I'm overwrought right now. Too much has been going wrong. Plus, I still live in Ridgecrest.
When I feel like this, I remind myself of how things could be worse. The list currently looks like this: (1) could have lost our jobs, had house foreclosed on; (2) could have cancer; (3) could live in Kyrgyzstan.
Oh, except that as my sister reminded me, if we lived in Kyrgyzstan, we would be surrounded by relatives, who would help take care of the twins. And, it occurs to me, if I had cancer, I would get to go to the doctor and they would take care of me. Even if I died, at least someone would take care of me first, instead of me having to always be the one to change the diapers. And, now, make all food from scratch.
So, here is the revised list of things that could be worse than my current situation: (1) lost jobs, house foreclosed on; (2) cancer, but with no health insurance due to lost jobs, so no doctors to take care of me; (3) be FROM Kyrgyzstan, but living in Ridgecrest now, so ALL THE RELATIVES are still in Kyrgyzstan, thus no one here to help change diapers, cook food from scratch, etc.
Despite this revised list, I just couldn't pull myself together today. I wanted so badly to be able to call my mother and tell her about the chickens. She would have understood.
The thing is, if I had called her, I might not even have told her about the chickens. I might just have said a few vague things about what's happened to our food, and she could have told me about what food was like in the 1920s, and then the conversation would have moved on to other things and soon we would have been laughing hysterically.
My mother had a good sense of humor; I have a good sense of humor; but what really made it special for us was that we had almost identical senses of humor. I couldn't talk to her for more than a few minutes without both of us going off into gales of laughter. I miss that so much.
Rocket Boy and the twins and I ended up going to Palmdale this afternoon so that I would stop crying. I cried part of the way there and part of the way back, but it wasn't too bad. We did some shopping (at Target, which I'm supposed to be boycotting, more tears). We went to Trader Joe's and I looked at labels. Before we left to come back here we ate an early dinner at Red Lobster. Both Rocket Boy and I ordered Pacific Snapper, which I THINK is wild caught, not farmed (and fed corn). The babies mostly ate ketchup, which is undoubtedly made with corn, but at least (I think) not chicken.
I've just got to get a handle on myself. Maybe tomorrow. At least it's a little cooler this weekend.
Believe it or not (and I barely believe it), I miss Whiskers too.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Remembering Whiskers
This is what she looked like on the Longmont Humane Society webpage, when I spotted her in December 2007. We had just lost all 3 of our pets -- my old cat Edward died in May, Kitty expired just before we went away for Thanksgiving, and our dear old dog Molly had to be put to sleep right after we got back. Pregnant with twins, you'd think I could have taken a break from animals for a while, but no, I immediately started yearning for more. So we went to the humane society to meet Whiskers.
When we met her she had been at the humane society for a long time, maybe close to a year. She'd been adopted at least once already, and then returned, for "being too needy." That should have warned us. It DID warn us. We should have paid attention to the warning. We didn't. We adopted not only Whiskers but also an enormous black cat called Pie, to be her friend. That didn't work out. Nor did anything else about Whiskers.
A little girl at the humane society, one of the volunteers, told me that Whiskers was her favorite cat. One of the paid workers got tearful when he packed her up (and not because she scratched him, which she did). At the time I thought that was a good sign. Later I thought those people probably loved her because they got to go home at night and leave Whiskers in a cage.
We took Whiskers and Pie home to our little house. We had been told that they were both indoor cats. After a few nights, Whiskers started demanding to go out. At night, always at night. We would say no, Whiskers, it isn't safe. Whiskers would scratch and whine. For hours. She was a very persistent cat. Finally we gave up and opened the dog doors so both cats could come and go.
They told us she was 6 years old. She was probably older. But at first she was a lively cat. Whiskers liked to play with toys, so we gave her all the toys that had belonged to my old cat Edward. Big mistake. Whiskers enjoyed bringing us these toys in the middle of the night, say 3 am. "Mrow," she would say, coming down the hallway. "Mrow. Mrow. MROW. MROWWWWWWW." Finally one of us would have to get up and take the toy away from her. Then she would go and get another.
After the babies were born in March 2008, both cats were a little put out, but they coped. Whiskers always liked to be near the twins. On one of her visits my sister devised a little song, to the tune of "Sisters": "Whiskers, Whiskers, was there ever such a beautiful kitty as Whiskers." (Sarcasm was involved.)
In November 2008 we went away for a day, just 8 hours or so, and when we got back something had happened to Whiskers. Maybe Pie had terrorized her. Maybe she'd had a stroke. She hid from us and wouldn't eat for days. She lost a lot of weight very quickly. We eventually took her to the vet and started her on a round of tests and hospitalizations. (Fortunately I had just received my end-of-year bonus.) We thought she was about to die.
Meanwhile, in February 2009 we moved to Ridgecrest. My sisters and I flew with the twins to Las Vegas and then rented a car, while a friend of ours drove my car (and Pie Bear), and Rocket Boy drove his car (and Whiskers) the thousand miles. On the way, Whiskers perked up a bit. Once she got to Ridgecrest, she perked up a lot. Of all of us, Whiskers liked Ridgecrest the most. She gained some weight and started being really irritating again.
In November 2009 Whiskers hit another low point and had to be hospitalized again. (Conveniently, I had just gotten my end-of-year bonus.) We brought her back to life and started giving her subcutaneous fluids every couple of days. Fortunately we knew how to do that, since our old cat Kitty had also needed them. I started getting really fed up with everything to do with Whiskers. "Stupid cat, stupid cat," I would say, and the babies would imitate me.
But I must say they were also quite fond of her. She spent most of her time in their room, slept there most nights. They called her "kiki" (their basic word for a kitty or cat) rather than trying to say Whiskers. Baby A liked to pick her up and carry her around. Of course Whiskers didn't enjoy that, but as she got weaker, there wasn't much she could do about it. "Put Whiskers down!" I would say, to no avail.
This spring Whiskers was hospitalized once again and once again brought back to life. Our new vet murmured something about "quality of life" and "needlessly prolonging the inevitable." But Rocket Boy wasn't ready to say goodbye, so we went on prolonging the inevitable. She liked to sit on his lap in the evenings as he worked at the computer. She still took an interest in things, including the new tortoises.
Whiskers' weight dropped below 4 pounds. We still, after all the tests, didn't really have a diagnosis. Maybe it was her kidneys, and maybe it wasn't. Her numbers weren't that bad. We took her off the special kidney food and started feeding her Stage 1 Gerber baby food chicken. On the nights she felt a little better she came padding down the hallway at 4 am with Green Knitted Mouse: "Mrow. Mrow. MROW. MROWWWWWWW."
When Rocket Boy got sick he stopped "watering" her and I neglected to pick up the slack until it was too late. Now Whiskers is no more.
When I took her body to the vet to have her cremated, the girl at the desk expressed her sympathy. She said, "Whiskers was famous around here." I didn't ask for what, there were so many possibilities -- for weighing 3 and a half pounds, for mrowing all the time, for repeatedly coming back to life. Whiskers lived with us for just a little over two and a half years, but we will not soon forget her.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Vacations
As we come to the end of summer, I have to say, we really bombed out on vacations this year. To put it mildly.
Now, as I write this, I am thinking about all the thousands, maybe millions, of people in this country who did not even get to PLAN a vacation this year, because they've lost their jobs, their houses have gone into foreclosure, etc. I should be grateful that I had the chance to PLAN my three vacations, even though they did not quite work out as planned.
Vacation 1: a week in Los Altos after 4th of July, visiting family. This was the best of the three, marred only by the virus that I developed right after we got there. I felt crummy most of the time we were there, but otherwise we had fun.
Vacation 2: the long weekend in Silver City (see earlier post), marred by various problems with our rental cabin and brought to an unceremonious end by Baby B's head injury.
Vacation 3: the long weekend at a luxury hotel in Mammoth Lakes with family. What long weekend was that, you may ask, not remembering reading about it. Sigh. That was last weekend. At first the boos and I were going to go, leaving Rocket Boy at home to recover from his pneumonia. But then he went into the hospital and that was the end of that idea. Instead, both Saturday and Sunday (after visiting Rocket Boy in the hospital each morning) I drove them to Mammoth Lakes for a couple of hours and then drove them back (in time to visit Rocket Boy again in the evening). It passed the time, quite a bit of time actually, since it is 3 hours there and 3 hours back. We ate lunch with family members and on Sunday rode a gondola up to the top of Mammoth Mountain. We never did see our hotel room (which my sister was unable to cancel the reservation for). Nancy didn't want me to see it, with its two cribs arranged so nicely.
Labor Day weekend is coming up soon, and it's a 4-day weekend for Rocket Boy because it includes a flex Friday. My sister and I agree that if anything is planned for that weekend, I will develop tuberculosis; Baby B, leprosy.
If I were superstitious (which I am), I would say that someone is trying to tell me something. Now if I could only figure out what.
Now, as I write this, I am thinking about all the thousands, maybe millions, of people in this country who did not even get to PLAN a vacation this year, because they've lost their jobs, their houses have gone into foreclosure, etc. I should be grateful that I had the chance to PLAN my three vacations, even though they did not quite work out as planned.
Vacation 1: a week in Los Altos after 4th of July, visiting family. This was the best of the three, marred only by the virus that I developed right after we got there. I felt crummy most of the time we were there, but otherwise we had fun.
Vacation 2: the long weekend in Silver City (see earlier post), marred by various problems with our rental cabin and brought to an unceremonious end by Baby B's head injury.
Vacation 3: the long weekend at a luxury hotel in Mammoth Lakes with family. What long weekend was that, you may ask, not remembering reading about it. Sigh. That was last weekend. At first the boos and I were going to go, leaving Rocket Boy at home to recover from his pneumonia. But then he went into the hospital and that was the end of that idea. Instead, both Saturday and Sunday (after visiting Rocket Boy in the hospital each morning) I drove them to Mammoth Lakes for a couple of hours and then drove them back (in time to visit Rocket Boy again in the evening). It passed the time, quite a bit of time actually, since it is 3 hours there and 3 hours back. We ate lunch with family members and on Sunday rode a gondola up to the top of Mammoth Mountain. We never did see our hotel room (which my sister was unable to cancel the reservation for). Nancy didn't want me to see it, with its two cribs arranged so nicely.
Labor Day weekend is coming up soon, and it's a 4-day weekend for Rocket Boy because it includes a flex Friday. My sister and I agree that if anything is planned for that weekend, I will develop tuberculosis; Baby B, leprosy.
If I were superstitious (which I am), I would say that someone is trying to tell me something. Now if I could only figure out what.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Valley fever
I don't really know where to begin, but I guess I'll just start typing. Every time we think things can't get worse, guess what?
Well, but no. Things can always get worse. We are all still alive... except Whiskers, who was barely alive anyway. She died Sunday night. Here is a picture of her:
When she died she weighed about three and a half pounds. She was just a skeleton. It's for the best.
Meanwhile, to backtrack, on Monday of last week, right after our trip to Redlands for the tortoise show, Rocket Boy went to the doctor and was diagnosed with pneumonia. He stayed home from work, took antibiotics, and slept as much as the twins would allow. But he kept getting worse. So on Friday he went back to the doctor and they plunked him right into the hospital, where he's been ever since. They cultured his spit and discovered, much to everyone's surprise, that he has valley fever.
I've been trying to read up on valley fever, but the many discussions of it on various medical websites are confusing. Valley fever is a fungal infection, nearly epidemic in Kern County. You get it from breathing the spores, for instance during those wonderful dust storms that we had all winter and spring. Most people who get it don't even know they have it, very mild symptoms or none at all, and after that they are immune to its ravages. But the lucky ones, like Rocket Boy, get terribly ill with a lung disease that mimics pneumonia. If untreated it can spread to other organs and kill you.
Anyway, in the time I've been working on this post (it's now Thursday), he's gotten better and come home from the hospital, so onward we go. I probably have it too, the twins probably have it too, but with any luck we won't get really sick.
One more thing to love about Ridgecrest.
Well, but no. Things can always get worse. We are all still alive... except Whiskers, who was barely alive anyway. She died Sunday night. Here is a picture of her:
When she died she weighed about three and a half pounds. She was just a skeleton. It's for the best.
Meanwhile, to backtrack, on Monday of last week, right after our trip to Redlands for the tortoise show, Rocket Boy went to the doctor and was diagnosed with pneumonia. He stayed home from work, took antibiotics, and slept as much as the twins would allow. But he kept getting worse. So on Friday he went back to the doctor and they plunked him right into the hospital, where he's been ever since. They cultured his spit and discovered, much to everyone's surprise, that he has valley fever.
I've been trying to read up on valley fever, but the many discussions of it on various medical websites are confusing. Valley fever is a fungal infection, nearly epidemic in Kern County. You get it from breathing the spores, for instance during those wonderful dust storms that we had all winter and spring. Most people who get it don't even know they have it, very mild symptoms or none at all, and after that they are immune to its ravages. But the lucky ones, like Rocket Boy, get terribly ill with a lung disease that mimics pneumonia. If untreated it can spread to other organs and kill you.
Anyway, in the time I've been working on this post (it's now Thursday), he's gotten better and come home from the hospital, so onward we go. I probably have it too, the twins probably have it too, but with any luck we won't get really sick.
One more thing to love about Ridgecrest.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Redlands
Even though Rocket Boy is still really sick, today we drove south 125 miles to the city of Redlands to attend a turtle show. (He said he'd rather doze in the front seat of the car with the boos restrained in the back than chase them around the house all day, and I had to agree.) (But no, I didn't doze, I drove. With my eyes open.) I had read about the show in a tortoise club newsletter a few months ago and put it on the calendar. Periodically I would mention it to Rocket Boy, saying "Oh maybe, if we have nothing else to do, we could go to this show."
Privately, I was absolutely determined to go. I don't know why, just one of those things. I tried to get the Ridgecrest tortoise club to go, as a field trip, but they decided to go look at a tortoise installation in Bakersfield next week instead. No matter. Our family would go.
Part of my interest in the show had to do with the fact that it was in Redlands. I had visited Redlands once before, a year ago, for a reunion with two old friends from grad school, one of whom lives in Redlands. It is truly a charming town, full of gorgeous old mansions and many other attractive old buildings. I had been looking for an excuse to return ever since.
We took 395 to I-15 to 215 to I-10 -- a little over 2 hours driving. When we reached Redlands, we headed downtown and parked in a (free!) parking garage across the street from a delightful restaurant called The Eating Room, where I had eaten with my friends last year. I wasn't sure how the twins would do, but it worked out fine. Rocket Boy and I both had utterly delicious salads (mine had butter lettuce, chicken, apples, pears, onion, currants, feta cheese, and walnuts) and I ordered blueberry pancakes for the boos. They didn't pay much attention to their pancakes -- Baby B stole handfuls of my salad and Baby A mostly ate butter -- but that was OK. After our lunch we visited the adjoining bakery and picked out some cookies and challah.
Then we walked around the corner to a nice children's bookstore called the Frugal Frigate and picked out some books. I was a little disappointed, though -- I'm quite sure that last year when I went to the store, it had a lot more books. The "toddler room," where they keep the board books, didn't have nearly the selection that it did last year. I have a feeling that the terrible economy has taken its toll on the Frugal Frigate.
Finally it was time to go to the turtle show. We drove about a mile north to a senior center where it was being held. There was a big banner outside: "Turtle Show Today!" and crowds of people going in. Seriously! It was a popular event! I was so glad. I had been afraid they would have no attendees. That's part of the reason I drove 125 miles to attend it.
We pushed the boos in their stroller and that was a mistake. The room was way too crowded for the stroller, plus many of the turtles and tortoises were too high off the ground for them to see. If we'd had them wear their backpack leashes instead, we could have held them up to look in the various boxes and cages. But Rocket Boy might not have felt up to that, so maybe the stroller was best. Here we are at the show:
I'm not sure what kind of turtles or tortoises we're looking at here. There were many varieties represented at the show. We saw a pig-nosed turtle and a turtle with a long neck like a snake. There was also a giant 90-lb sulcata tortoise in a box along with a little one -- the size you'd buy in a pet store, not knowing it was going to get really really big.
I've been having some moments of thinking I might like to have a sulcata. Then I remind myself that a 90-lb tortoise that doesn't hibernate and needs to be kept inside in the winter and smells bad is in fact the LAST thing I need.
There were desert tortoises of all ages and sizes, including an enormous male that kept trying to climb out of its box. I asked the club member sitting near him why he was so big, and the club member told me it was because the tortoise had been fed so much protein, including tuna. This went against every single thing I have been taught about how to feed tortoises, but I just didn't feel I could argue the point.
I had a flash of insight that people don't really have any idea how to take care of desert tortoises. That includes me. Somehow the tortoises just keep cruising along, outliving their adoptive parents.
We drove home in time to feed our own desert tortoises their dinner. Turnip greens were on the menu tonight. The tortoises ate them greedily, plotting all the while how to get me to serve them tuna tomorrow.
Privately, I was absolutely determined to go. I don't know why, just one of those things. I tried to get the Ridgecrest tortoise club to go, as a field trip, but they decided to go look at a tortoise installation in Bakersfield next week instead. No matter. Our family would go.
Part of my interest in the show had to do with the fact that it was in Redlands. I had visited Redlands once before, a year ago, for a reunion with two old friends from grad school, one of whom lives in Redlands. It is truly a charming town, full of gorgeous old mansions and many other attractive old buildings. I had been looking for an excuse to return ever since.
We took 395 to I-15 to 215 to I-10 -- a little over 2 hours driving. When we reached Redlands, we headed downtown and parked in a (free!) parking garage across the street from a delightful restaurant called The Eating Room, where I had eaten with my friends last year. I wasn't sure how the twins would do, but it worked out fine. Rocket Boy and I both had utterly delicious salads (mine had butter lettuce, chicken, apples, pears, onion, currants, feta cheese, and walnuts) and I ordered blueberry pancakes for the boos. They didn't pay much attention to their pancakes -- Baby B stole handfuls of my salad and Baby A mostly ate butter -- but that was OK. After our lunch we visited the adjoining bakery and picked out some cookies and challah.
Then we walked around the corner to a nice children's bookstore called the Frugal Frigate and picked out some books. I was a little disappointed, though -- I'm quite sure that last year when I went to the store, it had a lot more books. The "toddler room," where they keep the board books, didn't have nearly the selection that it did last year. I have a feeling that the terrible economy has taken its toll on the Frugal Frigate.
Finally it was time to go to the turtle show. We drove about a mile north to a senior center where it was being held. There was a big banner outside: "Turtle Show Today!" and crowds of people going in. Seriously! It was a popular event! I was so glad. I had been afraid they would have no attendees. That's part of the reason I drove 125 miles to attend it.
We pushed the boos in their stroller and that was a mistake. The room was way too crowded for the stroller, plus many of the turtles and tortoises were too high off the ground for them to see. If we'd had them wear their backpack leashes instead, we could have held them up to look in the various boxes and cages. But Rocket Boy might not have felt up to that, so maybe the stroller was best. Here we are at the show:
I'm not sure what kind of turtles or tortoises we're looking at here. There were many varieties represented at the show. We saw a pig-nosed turtle and a turtle with a long neck like a snake. There was also a giant 90-lb sulcata tortoise in a box along with a little one -- the size you'd buy in a pet store, not knowing it was going to get really really big.
I've been having some moments of thinking I might like to have a sulcata. Then I remind myself that a 90-lb tortoise that doesn't hibernate and needs to be kept inside in the winter and smells bad is in fact the LAST thing I need.
There were desert tortoises of all ages and sizes, including an enormous male that kept trying to climb out of its box. I asked the club member sitting near him why he was so big, and the club member told me it was because the tortoise had been fed so much protein, including tuna. This went against every single thing I have been taught about how to feed tortoises, but I just didn't feel I could argue the point.
I had a flash of insight that people don't really have any idea how to take care of desert tortoises. That includes me. Somehow the tortoises just keep cruising along, outliving their adoptive parents.
We drove home in time to feed our own desert tortoises their dinner. Turnip greens were on the menu tonight. The tortoises ate them greedily, plotting all the while how to get me to serve them tuna tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Unbundling
I guess today wouldn't qualify as the greatest day ever. Not the worst, no, no, not at all. The weather was pleasant -- barely 100 degrees -- the boos went to daycare in the afternoon, I got to spend some time sitting in a chair reading a novel, I made a nice easy dinner that turned out well. Lots of good things about today.
So what wasn't so great?
Well, Rocket Boy is sick, for one thing. He stayed home from work and spent most of the day in bed, asleep. That always worries me -- what could be wrong, is he going to get better, what do I do if he doesn't? Our serious lack of healthcare in Ridgecrest comes into play here. I wouldn't know where to take him if he got really sick. Urgent Care, I suppose, or the hospital. We don't have doctors.
Anyway, around 3pm RB finally got out of bed and sat in front of his computer, so I relaxed a little. But in the meantime I had finally called to cancel DirecTV, something I'd been meaning to do for ages, ever since we decided to go back to the Stone Age and make do with over-the-air TV. But before we could do that we had to buy an antenna, and a converter box, since we still have an analog TV, and then we had to take back the converter box, because it was defective, and order another one, and then RB had to put the antenna on the roof and hook up the converter box, and all this took time. Finally last weekend he got it all done and we tried it out -- and what do you know? We get great reception! For free! So that was nice.
But I still had to call DirecTV and cancel, and I was nervous about that. I knew they would try to screw me over and they did. First they offered me various discounts -- $5 off per month, $20 off per quarter. I said no, no, we're done. So then they told me that we had a 2-year contract with 6 months left to run, so they would charge me $100 for breaking the contract. I argued, sputtering, saying there is NO WAY I would have signed up for a 2-year contract, but the man held his ground, yes I had done so. And then I remembered that I had signed up for DirecTV on the phone, my first full day in Ridgecrest, back in February 2009, when I was calling Verizon from my hotel room, 11-month-old twins screaming in the background, to sign up for local phone and internet. The Verizon salesperson told me they could bundle in DirecTV for some low price and I said OK, sure, whatever. Did the perky young woman on the phone mention a 2-year contract? I don't THINK so, but I can't prove it.
I hate Verizon. I hate DirecTV too, but I *REALLY* hate Verizon.
So after I lost my temper with the DirecTV guy, and probably hurt his feelings and made him want to slide down an emergency chute while drinking a beer, I called Verizon to find out what's going to happen to my phone and internet rates, now that I've unbundled DirecTV. As I feared, they are going to skyrocket. Phone is going to go up $19/month and internet is going to go up $9/month. So even though we're losing the $68.99/month DirecTV charge, we're gaining $28 in phone/internet charges. It's still a savings of $40/month, but then there's that $100 cancellation fine. The Verizon lady said I could bundle my phone and internet together for $19 less per month than the unbundled price, but I would have to make a 1-year commitment and if I broke THAT contract early they would charge me $165.
I said NO. NO more contracts, NO more bundling. NO NO NO.
Now I'm going to wait and see what the next few bills look like. Maybe something else needs to be changed, but I'm not going to make every decision today.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, and then it was time to pick up the boos from daycare. We brought them home and I made dinner, while Rocket Boy theoretically watched over them. Suddenly I heard Baby B screaming. A moment later, Baby A appeared in the kitchen, rubbing his hands together and saying "Owie! Owie!" I took his hands and realized they were covered with a sticky substance. "Eww, what is this?" I said, taking him to the sink, and washing his hands with soap. I noticed a smell, a minty smell. Oh no.
"Did they get into my toothpaste?" I shouted down the hall. Baby B was still screaming, but I could also hear water running.
"Yes!" Rocket Boy shouted back, sounding tired. I went to see what was going on and found him scrubbing both Baby B and the master bathroom ("my" bathroom), which was covered with toothpaste. He handed me the tube, formerly almost full, now almost empty. Oh dear.
Dinner was ready, so we all went out to the kitchen. As I was filling the plates, Baby A said, again, "Owie!" and then threw up all over the kitchen floor. So we cleaned that up and then Baby B and I ate dinner, while Rocket Boy comforted Baby A, and then Rocket Boy ate dinner while I comforted Baby A, and then Baby A decided he wanted to eat some dinner after all.
After dinner I studied the small print on the back of the tube of toothpaste. It said that if you swallow more than you would normally use for brushing your teeth, call the Poison Center. So I called the Poison Center and told them what had happened, including the fact that Baby A had thrown up. The nice Poison Center lady, whose name was Lisa, told me that vomiting was to be expected, but it should not continue, and that they would also poop a lot, but then they would be fine.
I hung up in relief, but then the phone rang again. It was DirecTV, calling me with their best offer yet. I could have the next 4 months of DirecTV for FREE, and then I could cancel in December and the cancellation fee would only be $40.
I admit it, I thought about it. Four more months for free, who would turn that down? But I'd have to remember to cancel it again in December. December, the month when nothing gets done except Christmas, the month when everyone starts getting sick, the month when all else is forgotten. "No thanks," I said to the man. "We're really done."
So what wasn't so great?
Well, Rocket Boy is sick, for one thing. He stayed home from work and spent most of the day in bed, asleep. That always worries me -- what could be wrong, is he going to get better, what do I do if he doesn't? Our serious lack of healthcare in Ridgecrest comes into play here. I wouldn't know where to take him if he got really sick. Urgent Care, I suppose, or the hospital. We don't have doctors.
Anyway, around 3pm RB finally got out of bed and sat in front of his computer, so I relaxed a little. But in the meantime I had finally called to cancel DirecTV, something I'd been meaning to do for ages, ever since we decided to go back to the Stone Age and make do with over-the-air TV. But before we could do that we had to buy an antenna, and a converter box, since we still have an analog TV, and then we had to take back the converter box, because it was defective, and order another one, and then RB had to put the antenna on the roof and hook up the converter box, and all this took time. Finally last weekend he got it all done and we tried it out -- and what do you know? We get great reception! For free! So that was nice.
But I still had to call DirecTV and cancel, and I was nervous about that. I knew they would try to screw me over and they did. First they offered me various discounts -- $5 off per month, $20 off per quarter. I said no, no, we're done. So then they told me that we had a 2-year contract with 6 months left to run, so they would charge me $100 for breaking the contract. I argued, sputtering, saying there is NO WAY I would have signed up for a 2-year contract, but the man held his ground, yes I had done so. And then I remembered that I had signed up for DirecTV on the phone, my first full day in Ridgecrest, back in February 2009, when I was calling Verizon from my hotel room, 11-month-old twins screaming in the background, to sign up for local phone and internet. The Verizon salesperson told me they could bundle in DirecTV for some low price and I said OK, sure, whatever. Did the perky young woman on the phone mention a 2-year contract? I don't THINK so, but I can't prove it.
I hate Verizon. I hate DirecTV too, but I *REALLY* hate Verizon.
So after I lost my temper with the DirecTV guy, and probably hurt his feelings and made him want to slide down an emergency chute while drinking a beer, I called Verizon to find out what's going to happen to my phone and internet rates, now that I've unbundled DirecTV. As I feared, they are going to skyrocket. Phone is going to go up $19/month and internet is going to go up $9/month. So even though we're losing the $68.99/month DirecTV charge, we're gaining $28 in phone/internet charges. It's still a savings of $40/month, but then there's that $100 cancellation fine. The Verizon lady said I could bundle my phone and internet together for $19 less per month than the unbundled price, but I would have to make a 1-year commitment and if I broke THAT contract early they would charge me $165.
I said NO. NO more contracts, NO more bundling. NO NO NO.
Now I'm going to wait and see what the next few bills look like. Maybe something else needs to be changed, but I'm not going to make every decision today.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, and then it was time to pick up the boos from daycare. We brought them home and I made dinner, while Rocket Boy theoretically watched over them. Suddenly I heard Baby B screaming. A moment later, Baby A appeared in the kitchen, rubbing his hands together and saying "Owie! Owie!" I took his hands and realized they were covered with a sticky substance. "Eww, what is this?" I said, taking him to the sink, and washing his hands with soap. I noticed a smell, a minty smell. Oh no.
"Did they get into my toothpaste?" I shouted down the hall. Baby B was still screaming, but I could also hear water running.
"Yes!" Rocket Boy shouted back, sounding tired. I went to see what was going on and found him scrubbing both Baby B and the master bathroom ("my" bathroom), which was covered with toothpaste. He handed me the tube, formerly almost full, now almost empty. Oh dear.
Dinner was ready, so we all went out to the kitchen. As I was filling the plates, Baby A said, again, "Owie!" and then threw up all over the kitchen floor. So we cleaned that up and then Baby B and I ate dinner, while Rocket Boy comforted Baby A, and then Rocket Boy ate dinner while I comforted Baby A, and then Baby A decided he wanted to eat some dinner after all.
After dinner I studied the small print on the back of the tube of toothpaste. It said that if you swallow more than you would normally use for brushing your teeth, call the Poison Center. So I called the Poison Center and told them what had happened, including the fact that Baby A had thrown up. The nice Poison Center lady, whose name was Lisa, told me that vomiting was to be expected, but it should not continue, and that they would also poop a lot, but then they would be fine.
I hung up in relief, but then the phone rang again. It was DirecTV, calling me with their best offer yet. I could have the next 4 months of DirecTV for FREE, and then I could cancel in December and the cancellation fee would only be $40.
I admit it, I thought about it. Four more months for free, who would turn that down? But I'd have to remember to cancel it again in December. December, the month when nothing gets done except Christmas, the month when everyone starts getting sick, the month when all else is forgotten. "No thanks," I said to the man. "We're really done."
Saturday, August 7, 2010
A day at the beach
We've been talking about visiting the ocean for quite a while now, but it never seems to happen -- probably because we're nowhere near the ocean and it would be a really really really long drive. Also, the beaches in Los Angeles are so crowded. I could just picture us driving all that way and then not being able to find a place to park.
But then I remembered about Ventura, which is just north of LA. When Rocket Boy and I were "dating," i.e., spending all our time together before we decided to get married, we took a short trip to Los Angeles with Rocket Boy's father, who had grown up there. (Actually he grew up in Germany until he was about 10, then he emigrated to the U.S., and then he finished growing up in Los Angeles.) RB's dad had just turned 80, was diabetic and deaf and quite feeble (and had less than a year to live), but he wanted to go to the beach. So we drove to Ventura and went to a beach there. RB's dad took his shoes off, sat in the sand, and wiggled his toes. It's a nice memory.
With that in mind, we studied maps and devised a route to Ventura that Mapquest thought would take us 3 hours. I figured Mapquest was being conservative and it would take 2 and a half.
Mapquest was not being conservative and it took 3 hours. And Baby B screamed the whole way. But other than that it was a nice 178-mile drive. We took Highway 14 to Santa Clarita, where we picked up Highway 126, and that took us past various farming communities (Fillmore, Santa Paula) all the way to Ventura (which is also a farming community, except that it is right next to the ocean and has very nice beaches).
I should note that it was predicted to be cold and drizzly today. I grew up in northern California where it's always cold and drizzly at the beach, so I didn't think that would be a problem. We hoped it would mean that some of the other million people thinking about going to the beach this weekend would stay home.
We drove to Ventura Harbor Village, which is an attractive group of shops right on the Ventura harbor, and had lunch at a pleasant little restaurant called Christy's. Then we drove just down the road to a very nice beach called Harbor Cove Beach. There was plenty of parking and plenty of room on the beach.
First, Rocket Boy showed the boys what an ocean is.
They were nervous about the waves, but liked many other things about the beach and ocean: the boats, the ah-ahs (in this case, gulls), the sand. We went over to the cove area of the beach, where the waves were much gentler, and set up shop right in front of the lifeguards. Then Dada actually went swimming!
But the boo bears were having none of that. I put them into their swim diapers and they enjoyed running around on the beach, but they wanted nothing to do with the water. Instead, as usual, they ate snacks.
Eventually I sat down in the sand with them and we made sand castles with the nice wet sand. Every sand castle, big and small, was pronounced a birthday cake for their cousin Matt (whose birthday is tomorrow), and we sang Happy To-Day YOU! over and over again -- before smashing each "cake" with glee.
A confession: I am not really a huge beach fan. I like sitting on a rock and looking at the ocean, but I don't like getting sand in my shoes and my hair and my bag and all my stuff. But this afternoon, sitting in the sand, wiggling my toes, I was so happy. It just felt great. It had been much too long.
Oh, and the weather? It was gorgeous! It was cloudy when we drove into town, around 1 pm, but by the time we finished lunch the sun was out. It wasn't hot, it wasn't cold, it was just perfect. Just ravishingly delightfully perfect.
After a couple of hours we packed up and went to a Peet's coffee shop that we had spotted on our drive through Ventura, where we had a nice snack, and then we headed for home. It was a long drive home, too, and Baby B screamed the entire time.
So we might not go back to the beach right away. But it was still a lovely day.
But then I remembered about Ventura, which is just north of LA. When Rocket Boy and I were "dating," i.e., spending all our time together before we decided to get married, we took a short trip to Los Angeles with Rocket Boy's father, who had grown up there. (Actually he grew up in Germany until he was about 10, then he emigrated to the U.S., and then he finished growing up in Los Angeles.) RB's dad had just turned 80, was diabetic and deaf and quite feeble (and had less than a year to live), but he wanted to go to the beach. So we drove to Ventura and went to a beach there. RB's dad took his shoes off, sat in the sand, and wiggled his toes. It's a nice memory.
With that in mind, we studied maps and devised a route to Ventura that Mapquest thought would take us 3 hours. I figured Mapquest was being conservative and it would take 2 and a half.
Mapquest was not being conservative and it took 3 hours. And Baby B screamed the whole way. But other than that it was a nice 178-mile drive. We took Highway 14 to Santa Clarita, where we picked up Highway 126, and that took us past various farming communities (Fillmore, Santa Paula) all the way to Ventura (which is also a farming community, except that it is right next to the ocean and has very nice beaches).
I should note that it was predicted to be cold and drizzly today. I grew up in northern California where it's always cold and drizzly at the beach, so I didn't think that would be a problem. We hoped it would mean that some of the other million people thinking about going to the beach this weekend would stay home.
We drove to Ventura Harbor Village, which is an attractive group of shops right on the Ventura harbor, and had lunch at a pleasant little restaurant called Christy's. Then we drove just down the road to a very nice beach called Harbor Cove Beach. There was plenty of parking and plenty of room on the beach.
First, Rocket Boy showed the boys what an ocean is.
They were nervous about the waves, but liked many other things about the beach and ocean: the boats, the ah-ahs (in this case, gulls), the sand. We went over to the cove area of the beach, where the waves were much gentler, and set up shop right in front of the lifeguards. Then Dada actually went swimming!
But the boo bears were having none of that. I put them into their swim diapers and they enjoyed running around on the beach, but they wanted nothing to do with the water. Instead, as usual, they ate snacks.
Eventually I sat down in the sand with them and we made sand castles with the nice wet sand. Every sand castle, big and small, was pronounced a birthday cake for their cousin Matt (whose birthday is tomorrow), and we sang Happy To-Day YOU! over and over again -- before smashing each "cake" with glee.
A confession: I am not really a huge beach fan. I like sitting on a rock and looking at the ocean, but I don't like getting sand in my shoes and my hair and my bag and all my stuff. But this afternoon, sitting in the sand, wiggling my toes, I was so happy. It just felt great. It had been much too long.
Oh, and the weather? It was gorgeous! It was cloudy when we drove into town, around 1 pm, but by the time we finished lunch the sun was out. It wasn't hot, it wasn't cold, it was just perfect. Just ravishingly delightfully perfect.
After a couple of hours we packed up and went to a Peet's coffee shop that we had spotted on our drive through Ventura, where we had a nice snack, and then we headed for home. It was a long drive home, too, and Baby B screamed the entire time.
So we might not go back to the beach right away. But it was still a lovely day.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The visitor we didn't have
Rocket Boy and I found out today that we are NOT going to have a visitor from Germany come and stay with us for 3 weeks later this month. This visitor, Sebastian, who isn't coming after all is the boo bears' 3rd cousin. He is 20 years old and would not have rented a car. He would have sat around the house with me and the boo bears (while Rocket Boy was at work) all day long with nothing to do. The thought was just terrifying to me. Fortunately, Sebi realized that his passport had expired and there was no time to get it renewed, so he's going to come next year. HUGE ENORMOUS sigh of relief.
The relief is enormous because the anxiety that hit me when I first heard that he was planning to visit us was truly extreme. For example:
1. I needed to lose 30 pounds immediately because I would have been in a lot of photographs (which would then be sent to the German relatives who would see how fat I've gotten in the 7 years since we last saw them).
2. I needed to get out all my German books and start frantically re-learning German, because even though our would-be visitor has theoretically studied English, from his emails it would seem he has not learned much.
3. I needed to learn how to cook beef and pork, because Sebi and his family do not eat seafood or vegetarian meals. When Rocket Boy and I visited them 7 years ago, our visitor's mother cooked elaborate, delicious, meat-filled meals for us every night. I would have to do that too, even when it was 105 degrees every day. I mentioned this to Rocket Boy and he agreed, worriedly. We could barbecue, he suggested. I pointed out that we do not have a barbecue here, it is back in Boulder.
4. I needed to de-clutter the house, organize everything, clean it from stem to stern, and KEEP it that way for the duration of the visit, because our would-be visitor's home is spotless, as are most German homes. OUR home, on the other hand, is not.
5. I needed to plan interesting outings and activities for every single day of his 3-week visit, despite the fact that there is nothing to do in Ridgecrest, because when we visited Sebi's family in Germany, THEY planned interesting outings and activities for every single day of OUR 3-week visit. For example, every few days we went to a castle. A DIFFERENT castle. In fact, they wouldn't let us do anything on our own. We had to beg for a day on our own in the city, and even then, they escorted us to the city and only let us spend a few hours alone. (Note: we were in our 40s at the time, both with doctorates.)
6. I needed to potty-train my twins instantly, because undoubtedly all German children are potty-trained by age two and a half, and also make them behave better in general, eat with a fork not their fingers, not scream, and also learn to speak German at least as well as they speak English.
There were other anxieties, but those are the big ones.
So you see, it wasn't all about Ridgecrest. Ridgecrest increased my anxieties about the visit, by being small and dull and hot. But my anxieties would have been running wild in Boulder too.
I wonder if it's because I don't have a job right now. I have started to judge myself by housewife standards. This is very bad, considering my utter lack of housewifely knowledge, skills, and abilities.
I want to help maintain ties with the German relatives because Rocket Boy doesn't have much in the way of family, and thus boo bears too have almost no relatives on that side. Someday I want them to be able to visit Sebastian and his family in Germany, and keep the connection going.
Apparently I have decided that the only way I can do this is to transform myself into a German housewife.
I have a whole year now to work on this. That is, work on not feeling this way, work on accepting myself as I am -- fat, messy, fish-cooking...
Well, maybe I could be a little thinner by then. And I probably should start reviewing my German.
The relief is enormous because the anxiety that hit me when I first heard that he was planning to visit us was truly extreme. For example:
1. I needed to lose 30 pounds immediately because I would have been in a lot of photographs (which would then be sent to the German relatives who would see how fat I've gotten in the 7 years since we last saw them).
2. I needed to get out all my German books and start frantically re-learning German, because even though our would-be visitor has theoretically studied English, from his emails it would seem he has not learned much.
3. I needed to learn how to cook beef and pork, because Sebi and his family do not eat seafood or vegetarian meals. When Rocket Boy and I visited them 7 years ago, our visitor's mother cooked elaborate, delicious, meat-filled meals for us every night. I would have to do that too, even when it was 105 degrees every day. I mentioned this to Rocket Boy and he agreed, worriedly. We could barbecue, he suggested. I pointed out that we do not have a barbecue here, it is back in Boulder.
4. I needed to de-clutter the house, organize everything, clean it from stem to stern, and KEEP it that way for the duration of the visit, because our would-be visitor's home is spotless, as are most German homes. OUR home, on the other hand, is not.
5. I needed to plan interesting outings and activities for every single day of his 3-week visit, despite the fact that there is nothing to do in Ridgecrest, because when we visited Sebi's family in Germany, THEY planned interesting outings and activities for every single day of OUR 3-week visit. For example, every few days we went to a castle. A DIFFERENT castle. In fact, they wouldn't let us do anything on our own. We had to beg for a day on our own in the city, and even then, they escorted us to the city and only let us spend a few hours alone. (Note: we were in our 40s at the time, both with doctorates.)
6. I needed to potty-train my twins instantly, because undoubtedly all German children are potty-trained by age two and a half, and also make them behave better in general, eat with a fork not their fingers, not scream, and also learn to speak German at least as well as they speak English.
There were other anxieties, but those are the big ones.
So you see, it wasn't all about Ridgecrest. Ridgecrest increased my anxieties about the visit, by being small and dull and hot. But my anxieties would have been running wild in Boulder too.
I wonder if it's because I don't have a job right now. I have started to judge myself by housewife standards. This is very bad, considering my utter lack of housewifely knowledge, skills, and abilities.
I want to help maintain ties with the German relatives because Rocket Boy doesn't have much in the way of family, and thus boo bears too have almost no relatives on that side. Someday I want them to be able to visit Sebastian and his family in Germany, and keep the connection going.
Apparently I have decided that the only way I can do this is to transform myself into a German housewife.
I have a whole year now to work on this. That is, work on not feeling this way, work on accepting myself as I am -- fat, messy, fish-cooking...
Well, maybe I could be a little thinner by then. And I probably should start reviewing my German.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
End of July reading roundup
Wow, we are just cruising along here. I read 9 books in July, including 3 audio books, bringing us to 60 for the year. And that means that I only have 40 books left to read this year to make it to 100. Only 40 books! The more I look at that number, the larger it seems. But I have 5 months left, so I just have to read 8 books each month and I'm there. We'll see.
I was thinking it might be fun some year to read 100 mysteries. I'll bet I could do that in 6 months if I worked at it. But it might get dull, too. No, that will not be my goal for next year -- maybe I'll do it when I'm in my 90s.
Here is the list:
52. The Commitment by Dan Savage. I found this in the bookcase at the apartment we stayed in when we spent 10 days in Los Altos. It's a kind of a memoir about a long-term gay couple deciding to get married. Or maybe I should say it's a book about the politics of gay marriage disguised as a memoir? Amusing but of course very thought-provoking.
53. Dry Ice by Stephen White (audio book). I like Stephen White's mysteries set in Boulder -- this was an especially good one, but really over the top. Great to listen to on nap-drives.
54. A Question of Upbringing by Anthony Powell. I decided this was the right year to read Powell's 12-novel cycle, "A Dance to the Music of Time." Barbara Pym, my favorite writer, liked Powell's books, so I thought I'd make the effort. This is the first book in the cycle and it was very hard to get through, but eventually I caught the rhythm and began to like it.
55. Monkeewrench by PJ Tracy. A pleasant, rather cozy mystery. I can't figure out how it's the beginning of a series, though. Will have to read more.
56. Dead Time by Stephen White (audio book). Not as good as Dry Ice, but still quite good for nap-drives. To my surprise, the climax took place in the Mojave Desert and a police officer from Randsburg helped catch the bad guy. I sincerely doubt whether Randsburg has police officers, I'm sure they just get visits from the sheriff. Also, the hero went to the emergency room in Tehachapi. Hello? I'm sure he should have gone to the ER in Ridgecrest!
57. All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. I started listening to this on CD and gave up in despair, just couldn't stay awake (kind of a problem on nap-drives). But then I wanted to know what happened next, so I got the hardback book from the library. I really enjoyed and admired it, so I've decided to read more of McCarthy. I've got four more of his books on my mental to-read list, including the other two in the Border Trilogy of which this is the first.
58. A Buyer's Market by Anthony Powell. The second in the 12-book cycle.
59. The Acceptance World by Anthony Powell. The third in the 12-book cycle. I've got the fourth one on hold for me at the library.
60. S is for Silence by Sue Grafton (audio book). Terrible! I didn't like the woman who read it aloud, but I'm sure I wouldn't have liked reading the book by myself either. I haven't read a Sue Grafton mystery in years, but now I understand why people say her later books aren't very good.
Those who attended my birthday party may be questioning why none of my July reads came from the huge stack of books I received as gifts! Don't worry, I'm going to start in on that pile very soon -- I think I have one more library book to get through first. On we go to August, lots more hot weather, lots more to read.
I was thinking it might be fun some year to read 100 mysteries. I'll bet I could do that in 6 months if I worked at it. But it might get dull, too. No, that will not be my goal for next year -- maybe I'll do it when I'm in my 90s.
Here is the list:
52. The Commitment by Dan Savage. I found this in the bookcase at the apartment we stayed in when we spent 10 days in Los Altos. It's a kind of a memoir about a long-term gay couple deciding to get married. Or maybe I should say it's a book about the politics of gay marriage disguised as a memoir? Amusing but of course very thought-provoking.
53. Dry Ice by Stephen White (audio book). I like Stephen White's mysteries set in Boulder -- this was an especially good one, but really over the top. Great to listen to on nap-drives.
54. A Question of Upbringing by Anthony Powell. I decided this was the right year to read Powell's 12-novel cycle, "A Dance to the Music of Time." Barbara Pym, my favorite writer, liked Powell's books, so I thought I'd make the effort. This is the first book in the cycle and it was very hard to get through, but eventually I caught the rhythm and began to like it.
55. Monkeewrench by PJ Tracy. A pleasant, rather cozy mystery. I can't figure out how it's the beginning of a series, though. Will have to read more.
56. Dead Time by Stephen White (audio book). Not as good as Dry Ice, but still quite good for nap-drives. To my surprise, the climax took place in the Mojave Desert and a police officer from Randsburg helped catch the bad guy. I sincerely doubt whether Randsburg has police officers, I'm sure they just get visits from the sheriff. Also, the hero went to the emergency room in Tehachapi. Hello? I'm sure he should have gone to the ER in Ridgecrest!
57. All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. I started listening to this on CD and gave up in despair, just couldn't stay awake (kind of a problem on nap-drives). But then I wanted to know what happened next, so I got the hardback book from the library. I really enjoyed and admired it, so I've decided to read more of McCarthy. I've got four more of his books on my mental to-read list, including the other two in the Border Trilogy of which this is the first.
58. A Buyer's Market by Anthony Powell. The second in the 12-book cycle.
59. The Acceptance World by Anthony Powell. The third in the 12-book cycle. I've got the fourth one on hold for me at the library.
60. S is for Silence by Sue Grafton (audio book). Terrible! I didn't like the woman who read it aloud, but I'm sure I wouldn't have liked reading the book by myself either. I haven't read a Sue Grafton mystery in years, but now I understand why people say her later books aren't very good.
Those who attended my birthday party may be questioning why none of my July reads came from the huge stack of books I received as gifts! Don't worry, I'm going to start in on that pile very soon -- I think I have one more library book to get through first. On we go to August, lots more hot weather, lots more to read.
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