Thursday, November 27, 2008

Things I Am Thankful for Today

I am thankful that I live in what is still the free world.

I am thankful my material needs are met.

I am thankful that my kids are healthy and (when not having tantrums) happy.

I am thankful for my membership at the JCC, and the positivity of the trainers at the gym there.

I am thankful for chocolate, fresh cranberry sauce, and the occassional good night's sleep!

I am thankful that my husband and I are employed in the public sector, and seem (seem!) to have secure jobs.

I am thankful for the solar system, and that I can see stars at night and learn about constellations.

I am thankful for seasons and weather, so every day does not look the same. Sweaters. Wool hats.

I am thankful for birds, since they can fly and sing--

oh no, now I will feel guilty for also EATING a bird today!

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Dreams from MY Father

I just finished reading Barack Obama's first memoir, Dreams from My Father. As you may know, Obama saw his Kenyan father when he was a baby, then his father (who already had a wife and two children abroad) abandoned him to pursue an advanced degree at Harvard. The next, and last, time Obama saw his father, a decade later, he came for a month-long, awkward visit. Nevertheless Barack's father wrote occasional warm, welcoming letters, urging Barack to come to Africa to be with his other (half-) brothers and sisters whom he had never met. Barack's young mother, Ann, maintained a legend of her ex-husband as a brilliant, inspired leader, downplaying his obvious absence in his son's life.

Barack believes in the myth, looks up to his dad, and then finally goes to Africa for the first time when he is in his mid-twenties. Amazingly, most of the many half-siblings and their mothers COMPLETELY embrace Barack as a wayward son who has come home. And Barack graciously accepts the hospitality and outpourings of love.

Since I was raised for the most part by a single mother also, I could not help comparing Barack's attitude toward his father with my own. During the first ten years of my life, my father was tenuously connected to the rest of our distressed household. I rarely saw him; he was at work seven days a week until late at night. The times I did spend with him I remember his pointed wit which seemed cruel. When my parents officially separated, my father moved several hundred miles away, and I saw him only a handful of times after that. We spoke on the phone and exchanged letters occasionally. At these times, he would often offer paternal advice, and provide verbal or written outpourings of support.

The letters were sincere and I appreciated the sentiment they held. Yet I wish I had the goodwill of the president-elect to put aside the resentment I felt at being abandoned. It occurred to me that if I were more charitable at heart, I would have a more positive take on my early years. We are what we are, however. My father passed away four years ago. Years before he died, I had let go and stopped feeling resentful, but then I never have been able to laud the heritage from my father.

In short, this is a good book which reveals exceptional (and enviable) character.

Monday, November 17, 2008

How I Spent Our Economic Stimulus Payment

The payment arrived surreptitiously in the middle of October, deposited automatically in our checking account. Usually we get several notices that a tax payment has been sent, but this time, there was no notice. We had, since May, been getting promises of the check, several notices that it was on the way, that the amount had been adjusted, but no money. I finally called the toll free number and found out the check was deposted, along with our 2007 tax refund, in October.

The timing made me uncomfortable; it seemed like a loan that is paid back the night before the depressed relative commits suicide, settling debts before the ship sinks. So while we are bailing out Wall Street with money that could be spent on public issues like affordable education, or decent health care--don't get us started here, right?-- taxpayers are getting their tiny refund, without interest for the delay. Hey, is it just me?

Well, to get back to accounting:

$759.00 to NM Propane for 250 gallons of propane (for heat)
$500.00 2 years' neighborhood association dues
$250.00 10 days' worth of groceries
$149.00 to PNM for electricity (2 months)
$139.00 blue jeans, socks, underwear, gloves, hats in little boy sizes
$3.00 at Bargain Square for a Captain Underpants book, a stuffed Cheetah, and a real redneck baseball cap that says "I'm So Broke I Can't Even Pay Attention"; these were all Dylan's choices and the cap largely suits him. Bargain Square, a thrift store, supports people who have disabilities, so some of that money will be contributed to a good cause. The other $1797, I cannot say as much; have I stimulated the economy?

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Pine Cone Craft

When I am stressed out, or feel the hours slipping away unproductively, I feel driven to make something. Crafty, eh? I guess the mindless repetition of making a knicknack helps people unwind. Last night I came across a flyer for a craft show at Dylan's school, and I decided we would gather pine cones and greenery from our yard and make crafts out of them to sell at the elementary school. My kids were excited as we got out wire, ribbon, scissors, and dove in. So we wound some of the greenery around a pine cone or two. And this is? A bumpy monk with a green Afro? Dylan bent coat hangers into circles and we wound juniper branches into wreath shapes. I felt more focused and productive once I got into bending the twigs and tying them with ribbons. The result was anything but professional looking, nor was it something anyone would buy. But it was suitable for hanging on the front door, even if the mail carrier ends up chuckling at our efforts. With Sunday ahead, I am looking for advice on making raccoons (or porcupines) out of the pine cones.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Upward Mobility at Kindergarten

A lot of times I get choked up when I take Birdie to his Kindergarten. The teachers seem so patient and good, tirelessly tying shoelaces and wiping chins. The ABC's and colorful pictures of seasons taped on the walls look vivid and cheerful. It is early in the morning, and I am still sleepy and feeling sensitive as the five year old students start bustling to attention, sorting out puzzles, marking their own attendance, ordering their lunches with color-coded popsicle sticks. From my perspective this looks like an orderly, sweet, productive and tolerant world.

What gets to me is the memory of when I was five. Since I was left alone so much, I already had a sharp survival instinct. My brother and I would wake ourselves in the cold house, make our breakfasts, and walk separately the mile to our school. I was so shy and uncomfortable with the other kindergarteners. I would have rather been at home by myself, although I did not feel safe at home either. My kindergarten teacher offered to drive me to school in the mornings so I would not be late all the time, and I guess my mother agreed, since there was a period of time when the teacher would stop by the house to pick me up, and drive me from one confusing, lonely spot to the other.

Birdie is also shy at school. Although I struggle with the effort of raising my kids in a loving environment, at least I am there for them and at least I know I am doing better than my parents did with me.