I've said all this before, but I think it was put better this time in this way - from a post today on a writig board, where someone asked what gives with people dismissing others' livings as "only a (fill-in-the-blank: stay at home mom, whatever the peon)":
It has a fair amount to do with culturally ingrained snobbery, and - not to be more strident than I usually am, but frankly - gender.
I myself am a secretary. That's the word I choose to use, though other people find it 'demeaning'. I say that secretary is an office which has been around for over half a millennium, and the word wasn't ruined until the past two generations, when jokes about lecherous bosses and brainless twinkies in heels became synonymous. Me, I find Administrative Assistant a fairly weak substitute, but at the end of the day I really don't care about my title. Give me my projects, I will manage them (that's really what it is, but I don't feel any need to be called a PM either), shut up and pay me.
My new title is Senior Administration Specialist, which simultaneously pleases and cracks me so completely up. I mean, wow, someone felt defensive. Heh.
People almost invariably marvel that I am "okay" with "just" being a secretary. I had to explain to one of my recent-ex coworkers, so horrified when our company laid me off that he was forwarding listings for Other Positions I Could Aspire To, that honey, I'm an admin, that's no accident, I've been at it 25 years, and thank you so much but that's not second best - and IT'S NOT AN ACCIDENT. It's not because I never knew I could "do better" and it's a decision, not incidentally, made by that very same intelligence this person was praising so fulsomely.
Not every company is like my previous employer, entirely unaware that a person can simultaneously be intelligent AND an Admin. Good grief, I'm even ambitious, though where it came from I can hardly tell you.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Promising Sky
An hour of this:
Beautiful, though. That is blessing enough (along with the wind, and the drop to 92 degrees!)
and not a drop of rain to show for it.
Beautiful, though. That is blessing enough (along with the wind, and the drop to 92 degrees!)
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Wave
Vehicle thermometer reading today: 109. I took a one-minute drive to the drugstore (even if I wanted to, it wouldn't have been a walking errand; there was too much to carry to save on gas), and the key, after being in the ignition for that period, was so hot it felt like it had been outside for an hour. The seatbelt tab and steering wheel were terribly hot. The air was so heavy in my throat it tempted my gag reflex.
Black leather seats are quite something, days like this.
Black leather seats are quite something, days like this.
Speaking of Blather
An age and vanity post is hardly overdue, but I did have an amusing moment at the new job day before yesterday.
At almost four days in the new office, I'm hardly a novelty anymore, but there is still a lot of getting-to-know-you stuff lying before us. One of the women in the group reminds me a good deal of a friend I had at my job in the mid-nineties; the requisite funny and brash woman in the office I have occasionally been myself. The one I knew before was right around my age, and filled my head with stock phrases such as "What is the DEAL, Pickle???" and "naked aborigine" (referring, actually only the one time - so not so much a stock phrase, as such - to her husband), and essentially being, you know - brash. And funny. She was D. So for ease of nonidentification, we can call the new girl D2.
D2 and I were talking briefly, when she said something about how young I was. I blinked for a moment and asked her how old she thinks I am, because she was clearly off; her response was somewhere in the twenties. I explained the truth of the matter, and she blew out a "no WAY" and commentary on how certainly *that* was not fair of me. "I never would have guessed!"
D2's buddy walked around the corner, and she paused long enough to get "How old do you think Diane is!?" This answer came in at a believable thirty-five. When corrected, she looked up at me sardonically and laughingly uttered the word for a feminine hound (not offensively).
I realize I've long played this game; since even my actual late twenties, people have found me younger-looking than I am. Because this began somewhat early, I have to say - cultural conditioning to the contrary, and years of unexamined amusement about it aside - I don't, as such, find the supposition of my youth in itself a point of flattery. I know it's meant as such; and the effect has become pronounced enough that I absolutely use it to my advantage (the game above? not my first time at the rodeo, by a long shot). I'm fairly certain that there is at least some cognitive dissonance between the resume I present and the face I have to go with it, at times. I'm also aware of the advantages certain aspects of my appearance confer, and I ruthlessly exploit that. My obsession with costuming and personal-appearance deployment doesn't fall short in the professional department. In periods of unemployment, it goes into overdrive.
In its own terms, though, and in myself, the fact of my pleasure in my own age, and the extent of effort it took me to gain its experience, render "you look young" a compliment only by virtue of the fact that it's meant as such rather than by its actual content. "You are beautiful" is something I take, from E or perhaps from my ex, with the full force and power intended. But not looking forty-two is more an accident than an end. I use it, but I didn't particularly make this happen. Yeah, I haven't been in the sun since 1986, as I joke - but that hasn't been the matter of "oh, I must preserve my youth!" so much as the function of a girl who doesn't like to go outside. Yeah, I'm conceited as can be - and I use the accident of my appearance - but I take little real credit for the causes, nor anything beyond clothing, makeup and hairstyling. Apart from covering my white hair until there comes to be enough of it I'll flaunt it fully, I don't style myself for "youth" so much as what I like - and feel is flattering. Extreme youth isn't a look I strive for, and in fact I stay away from things that might "really" signify me as part of a generation I'm not in. I don't adopt current fads and trends; in fact, I stay well away from anything which might appear as if I were trying to look young.
For that matter, I wasn't all that much into trends when I *was* young(er) - and that is probably some part of the supposed magic. The state of my skin is only one piece of the equation; anothe is the state of my style. Because I never got addicted to clue-catcher bangs and spiral perms, I don't bear some of the badges of my own generation, and THAT is a major factor in not looking my age, too. I'm not branded by the fashions of the eighties, and that is one signifier of age-appearance.
No small aspect of the "compliment" that a woman doesn't look her age (it's always women - isn't it?) lies in a woman's lack of shoulder pads, Swatch watches, pleated jeans, add-a-bead necklaces, and L. A. Gear sneakers with multiple neon shoe laces.
And so we have the secret: because I was un-hip back in the day, I'm not locked in that day. Nerdliness is next to youthfulness, or something of the kind.
Not caring about my apparent youth of course goes hand in hand with the conceit that I am fabulous no matter the number of years I've been so. And I do know I need to not play the silly game; it's insufferable, even to me. But it still does *interest* me - both the importance people ascribe to the disparity, and the virtue even I subscribe to in participating so in these compliments.
At almost four days in the new office, I'm hardly a novelty anymore, but there is still a lot of getting-to-know-you stuff lying before us. One of the women in the group reminds me a good deal of a friend I had at my job in the mid-nineties; the requisite funny and brash woman in the office I have occasionally been myself. The one I knew before was right around my age, and filled my head with stock phrases such as "What is the DEAL, Pickle???" and "naked aborigine" (referring, actually only the one time - so not so much a stock phrase, as such - to her husband), and essentially being, you know - brash. And funny. She was D. So for ease of nonidentification, we can call the new girl D2.
D2 and I were talking briefly, when she said something about how young I was. I blinked for a moment and asked her how old she thinks I am, because she was clearly off; her response was somewhere in the twenties. I explained the truth of the matter, and she blew out a "no WAY" and commentary on how certainly *that* was not fair of me. "I never would have guessed!"
D2's buddy walked around the corner, and she paused long enough to get "How old do you think Diane is!?" This answer came in at a believable thirty-five. When corrected, she looked up at me sardonically and laughingly uttered the word for a feminine hound (not offensively).
I realize I've long played this game; since even my actual late twenties, people have found me younger-looking than I am. Because this began somewhat early, I have to say - cultural conditioning to the contrary, and years of unexamined amusement about it aside - I don't, as such, find the supposition of my youth in itself a point of flattery. I know it's meant as such; and the effect has become pronounced enough that I absolutely use it to my advantage (the game above? not my first time at the rodeo, by a long shot). I'm fairly certain that there is at least some cognitive dissonance between the resume I present and the face I have to go with it, at times. I'm also aware of the advantages certain aspects of my appearance confer, and I ruthlessly exploit that. My obsession with costuming and personal-appearance deployment doesn't fall short in the professional department. In periods of unemployment, it goes into overdrive.
In its own terms, though, and in myself, the fact of my pleasure in my own age, and the extent of effort it took me to gain its experience, render "you look young" a compliment only by virtue of the fact that it's meant as such rather than by its actual content. "You are beautiful" is something I take, from E or perhaps from my ex, with the full force and power intended. But not looking forty-two is more an accident than an end. I use it, but I didn't particularly make this happen. Yeah, I haven't been in the sun since 1986, as I joke - but that hasn't been the matter of "oh, I must preserve my youth!" so much as the function of a girl who doesn't like to go outside. Yeah, I'm conceited as can be - and I use the accident of my appearance - but I take little real credit for the causes, nor anything beyond clothing, makeup and hairstyling. Apart from covering my white hair until there comes to be enough of it I'll flaunt it fully, I don't style myself for "youth" so much as what I like - and feel is flattering. Extreme youth isn't a look I strive for, and in fact I stay away from things that might "really" signify me as part of a generation I'm not in. I don't adopt current fads and trends; in fact, I stay well away from anything which might appear as if I were trying to look young.
For that matter, I wasn't all that much into trends when I *was* young(er) - and that is probably some part of the supposed magic. The state of my skin is only one piece of the equation; anothe is the state of my style. Because I never got addicted to clue-catcher bangs and spiral perms, I don't bear some of the badges of my own generation, and THAT is a major factor in not looking my age, too. I'm not branded by the fashions of the eighties, and that is one signifier of age-appearance.
No small aspect of the "compliment" that a woman doesn't look her age (it's always women - isn't it?) lies in a woman's lack of shoulder pads, Swatch watches, pleated jeans, add-a-bead necklaces, and L. A. Gear sneakers with multiple neon shoe laces.
And so we have the secret: because I was un-hip back in the day, I'm not locked in that day. Nerdliness is next to youthfulness, or something of the kind.
Not caring about my apparent youth of course goes hand in hand with the conceit that I am fabulous no matter the number of years I've been so. And I do know I need to not play the silly game; it's insufferable, even to me. But it still does *interest* me - both the importance people ascribe to the disparity, and the virtue even I subscribe to in participating so in these compliments.
Bro-My
When I was young, and far beyond its bearability for the recipient, I burdened my brother with my idolization.
We were a scrapping pair. He wrangled with me, I whined endlessly at him; by the time I began developing crushes on his friends, it was all too much - though he still took a few years before he told me to take my sibling-idealized worship and stuff it. A healthy thing, all told - and overdue for my naivete', probably. Hagiographizing someone makes for a poor relationship with them, and is not flattering nor a good service to give them.
Unfortunate for him, then, I've experienced a bit of a resurgence of the old "wow my big brother is *amazing*"-ness, reading his blog of late. The guy's a better writer than I am; evocative, intelligent, emotional, and powerful. I can tell a good story, but Bro can create such economical *effect*.
Economy: not my strong suit.
Also - ack, so jealous!
He writes of things that actually matter, too; in contrast to my mindless bibbling. As the fifth grade teacher we each had in succession would joke of her easily-distractable students ("hello, it's me"), I tend toward an awful lot of "LOOK! YON TREE!" I come up with a variety of good scraps, but I waste a lot of verbiage and unnecessary thought-dumping along the way.
Obviously, I'm not changing that tendency. Even here.
But it is such a pleasure to have a really great writer to read.
We were a scrapping pair. He wrangled with me, I whined endlessly at him; by the time I began developing crushes on his friends, it was all too much - though he still took a few years before he told me to take my sibling-idealized worship and stuff it. A healthy thing, all told - and overdue for my naivete', probably. Hagiographizing someone makes for a poor relationship with them, and is not flattering nor a good service to give them.
Unfortunate for him, then, I've experienced a bit of a resurgence of the old "wow my big brother is *amazing*"-ness, reading his blog of late. The guy's a better writer than I am; evocative, intelligent, emotional, and powerful. I can tell a good story, but Bro can create such economical *effect*.
Economy: not my strong suit.
Also - ack, so jealous!
He writes of things that actually matter, too; in contrast to my mindless bibbling. As the fifth grade teacher we each had in succession would joke of her easily-distractable students ("hello, it's me"), I tend toward an awful lot of "LOOK! YON TREE!" I come up with a variety of good scraps, but I waste a lot of verbiage and unnecessary thought-dumping along the way.
Obviously, I'm not changing that tendency. Even here.
But it is such a pleasure to have a really great writer to read.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Sprainiac
Almost two weeks since the injury, and that initial healing still holds, but I do find that elevation and the pressure bandage still provide great benefit.
Last night I had a dream in which I took off the latter, and my mom was with me. My foot was covered in fresh blood. She nodded knowingly, explaining the pressure bandage had caused the swelling to "vomit" a blood aneurysm from my ankle.
Yeah, my dreams are pretty weird stuff.
Foot's okay, though - even if I am perniciously headachey after my first week at the new job. I don't even have the "shin spints" thing going on anymore.
So ... yeah.
Last night I had a dream in which I took off the latter, and my mom was with me. My foot was covered in fresh blood. She nodded knowingly, explaining the pressure bandage had caused the swelling to "vomit" a blood aneurysm from my ankle.
Yeah, my dreams are pretty weird stuff.
Foot's okay, though - even if I am perniciously headachey after my first week at the new job. I don't even have the "shin spints" thing going on anymore.
So ... yeah.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Leg
My ankle, healing so nicely while I was unemployed, has suffered just a little over the course of this week. Though there's no actual pain (I don't qualify anything I have to touch to make it hurt as pain; for that, the hurt has to express itself spontaneously), the tenderness is fairly strong stuff - and, of course, I haven't been able to elevate the thing. Yesterday when I left work, my ankles definitely didn't match, and today though the swelling isn't so bad, the touch is definitely a ginger sort of sore-thing.
Of course, I've been dressing for work, and before anyone goes all "women shouldn't have to wear heels, they are torture devices" and all that jazz, be it understood: I'm not wearing skyscrapers, here, and again the bones are a non-issue. The *soft* tissue would swell just as much in flats, with the lack of elevation and pressure bandaging.
Still, I do have the milder cousin of a sort of shin-splints situation, readjusting to dress shoes after four months in sandals and sneakers. As long as I've been a wearer of pumps, it's interesting to me how quickly my muscles apparently changed their relative length; and now the stretch to the altered posture is funny. Again, not painful, but one notices a sensation.
But at bottom, I'm glad to be back out of the house. Whatever the wardrobe, the job is promising (still not realizing; as I have yet to gain a computer! - but, with luck, tomorrow ...). It will be a pleasure to be able to actually provide the service I've been hired for, and to really begin learning, with the tools of the job in place.
Today began one piece of that process. I ordered computer, cube, and phone for a new employee-to-be. It's not a bad procedure, I understood it (more than many electronic "prossa-seez" have to say for themselves!), and there'll be seven more tomorrow. And so: practice begins.
Off and running.
And now off to go upstairs, and change out of my work clothes into better running shoes. Dogs still need walkin', after all. And the evening lies before me ...
Of course, I've been dressing for work, and before anyone goes all "women shouldn't have to wear heels, they are torture devices" and all that jazz, be it understood: I'm not wearing skyscrapers, here, and again the bones are a non-issue. The *soft* tissue would swell just as much in flats, with the lack of elevation and pressure bandaging.
Still, I do have the milder cousin of a sort of shin-splints situation, readjusting to dress shoes after four months in sandals and sneakers. As long as I've been a wearer of pumps, it's interesting to me how quickly my muscles apparently changed their relative length; and now the stretch to the altered posture is funny. Again, not painful, but one notices a sensation.
But at bottom, I'm glad to be back out of the house. Whatever the wardrobe, the job is promising (still not realizing; as I have yet to gain a computer! - but, with luck, tomorrow ...). It will be a pleasure to be able to actually provide the service I've been hired for, and to really begin learning, with the tools of the job in place.
Today began one piece of that process. I ordered computer, cube, and phone for a new employee-to-be. It's not a bad procedure, I understood it (more than many electronic "prossa-seez" have to say for themselves!), and there'll be seven more tomorrow. And so: practice begins.
Off and running.
And now off to go upstairs, and change out of my work clothes into better running shoes. Dogs still need walkin', after all. And the evening lies before me ...
Passes
Three new rejections this week remind me that I did indeed put querying on hold for a minute while I got ready for a new job, and now I am almost a full week into said job. Today's pass was from the second request for a partial, so one needs must light the fire once again.
Yesterday's was actually quite nice; I queried Sharon Kay Penman's agency, but they haven't picked up historicals for some time now (except for that one ... by the woman who *worked* for them for eight years!). The agent I contacted, though, was personal and generous, and is also going to be at the upcoming Conference I attend every year. She encouraged me to speak with her, which I appreciated - as much as a professional writer as as a person who prefers niceness over snobbitude.
I went to the Con website and asked them to change my ranking of preferences of agents/editors I'd like to try to get five minutes with to the editor instead.
And the editor's first noted area of focus is historical fiction.
As I thought in that time when I was asking for *more* rejections, so it has come to pass - I'm getting them, and finding it not disappointing but reassuring that at least I'm being seen at all. Not everyone likes my singing, but at least it's audible outside my ears.
Time to find the right audience, though. No more kitchen project; time to get seriously querying.
Yesterday's was actually quite nice; I queried Sharon Kay Penman's agency, but they haven't picked up historicals for some time now (except for that one ... by the woman who *worked* for them for eight years!). The agent I contacted, though, was personal and generous, and is also going to be at the upcoming Conference I attend every year. She encouraged me to speak with her, which I appreciated - as much as a professional writer as as a person who prefers niceness over snobbitude.
I went to the Con website and asked them to change my ranking of preferences of agents/editors I'd like to try to get five minutes with to the editor instead.
And the editor's first noted area of focus is historical fiction.
As I thought in that time when I was asking for *more* rejections, so it has come to pass - I'm getting them, and finding it not disappointing but reassuring that at least I'm being seen at all. Not everyone likes my singing, but at least it's audible outside my ears.
Time to find the right audience, though. No more kitchen project; time to get seriously querying.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Poor Edit
Above the floor buttons in the elevators at work is a plaque saying DO NOT PANIC, with some instructions regarding stuck eleveator syndrome. I feel I will spend my tenure in this building *tsk-tsk*'ing every day at this horrendous rewrite to one of Douglas Adams' most famous phrases.
Don't is a perfectly cromulent word. This version is a little authoritarian by comparison.
As would be no surprise: I like Adams so much better.
Good writing in elevators is so hard to find. Le sigh!
Don't is a perfectly cromulent word. This version is a little authoritarian by comparison.
As would be no surprise: I like Adams so much better.
Good writing in elevators is so hard to find. Le sigh!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Reasons to Ignore Silly Internet "Tools"
Apparently, I write like William Shakespeare.
And now the tool I really need is a posterior smoke removal system. Sheesh.
And now the tool I really need is a posterior smoke removal system. Sheesh.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Giggly As A Schoolgirl
I have finally scrubbed my kitchen and put away almost all the project supplies. My goodness, the place really does look pretty great. I still need to clean the stove, and the floors need Swiffing upstairs and down, but the house is shaping up - and that kitchen is looking GREAT!
The new light fixture turns out not to have a switch, and is not (at least currently ... pardon the pun ...) connected to the mystery switch on my wall. In looking at the old fixture, I should be able to install the old chain-pull, I think; but ideally I'd love to find a way to have this light speak with that switch which seems to have nothing to do. That might be a project for another day - and even the chain pull isn't going to pull my attention for a couple days yet. I've just had too much for now, and with work on Monday, I want to focus on something other than the refining details of this already overlong project!
It's lovely to have the house (getting) clean again, and in a couple hours both it and I will be pretty and fresh, and I can't wait. It will be such a lovely day tomorrow, to get up and have a bright, tidy house with a new kitchen to putter around in - and then Monday, I am just so excited to go off for my first day at the new job, then come home to such a wonderful place.
*Sigh*
My nerves have gone haywire, to be sure, over this past couple of days. But I am optimistic the weekend - and the new week - will at least be good times.
Even with the inevitable first-day-on-a-new-job sleep deprivation and migraine headache. I am thinking (especially for this job): worth every bit of the minor/pernicious discomforts.
Squee!
The new light fixture turns out not to have a switch, and is not (at least currently ... pardon the pun ...) connected to the mystery switch on my wall. In looking at the old fixture, I should be able to install the old chain-pull, I think; but ideally I'd love to find a way to have this light speak with that switch which seems to have nothing to do. That might be a project for another day - and even the chain pull isn't going to pull my attention for a couple days yet. I've just had too much for now, and with work on Monday, I want to focus on something other than the refining details of this already overlong project!
It's lovely to have the house (getting) clean again, and in a couple hours both it and I will be pretty and fresh, and I can't wait. It will be such a lovely day tomorrow, to get up and have a bright, tidy house with a new kitchen to putter around in - and then Monday, I am just so excited to go off for my first day at the new job, then come home to such a wonderful place.
*Sigh*
My nerves have gone haywire, to be sure, over this past couple of days. But I am optimistic the weekend - and the new week - will at least be good times.
Even with the inevitable first-day-on-a-new-job sleep deprivation and migraine headache. I am thinking (especially for this job): worth every bit of the minor/pernicious discomforts.
Squee!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Wow
Go me, I've completed the painting on the cabinets. Tomorrow, my next-door neighbor will hold the doors so I can screw them back on, and I will finally be able to CLEAN THIS HOUSE and really see what the new kitchen looks like - and ENJOY it Sunday, before going back to work.
I also got the old shelving brackets re-installed ... buying something new will have to wait, for now. I couldn't stand the bald wall anymore, and in any case I needed the shelf space and organization.
I had little motivation at eight o'clock, but I've gotten most of what I planned *done*, which is such a relief.
And now - Saturday, and massive housecleaning!
Um. Whee.
I also got the old shelving brackets re-installed ... buying something new will have to wait, for now. I couldn't stand the bald wall anymore, and in any case I needed the shelf space and organization.
I had little motivation at eight o'clock, but I've gotten most of what I planned *done*, which is such a relief.
And now - Saturday, and massive housecleaning!
Um. Whee.
Eight Days
G'lawd, I'm still working on this kitchen. The tear-down for priming began last THURSDAY, y'all. Holy smokes.
I put it off as long as I could today, but I am BACK in my painting clothes, and really getting tired of this whole kitchen painting business. Tonight, I have to do the bodies of the upper cabinets, and two of the four doors (first set - last night). Thing is, ultra-white over "dinge" requires multiple coats to cover very well (even still I am seeing brush-stroke-age; gaaaahhh). Golden yellow over dinge was a single-coat miracle; the color value was the same. (At night, it's actually hard to see a color at all between the two shades.) So I'm not ending on as easy a task as I'd have hoped. Figures.
Today was my last weekday of fake-ation before work begins, and I STILL have a rather great deal of work to do.
My bottom-line requirement is that I should be able to clean house tomorrow. In order to do that, the cabinets all need to have their doors, and the shelves need to be re-installed (and re-loaded). Add to this that I want to touch-up my hair, and it's a long evening I have before me.
Bleah.
Also, I hate myself for being one of those total toolboxes coming up with yet another permutation on the word vacation. To quote Daffy Duck:
"I demand that you shoot me now!"
Ack.
I put it off as long as I could today, but I am BACK in my painting clothes, and really getting tired of this whole kitchen painting business. Tonight, I have to do the bodies of the upper cabinets, and two of the four doors (first set - last night). Thing is, ultra-white over "dinge" requires multiple coats to cover very well (even still I am seeing brush-stroke-age; gaaaahhh). Golden yellow over dinge was a single-coat miracle; the color value was the same. (At night, it's actually hard to see a color at all between the two shades.) So I'm not ending on as easy a task as I'd have hoped. Figures.
Today was my last weekday of fake-ation before work begins, and I STILL have a rather great deal of work to do.
My bottom-line requirement is that I should be able to clean house tomorrow. In order to do that, the cabinets all need to have their doors, and the shelves need to be re-installed (and re-loaded). Add to this that I want to touch-up my hair, and it's a long evening I have before me.
Bleah.
Also, I hate myself for being one of those total toolboxes coming up with yet another permutation on the word vacation. To quote Daffy Duck:
"I demand that you shoot me now!"
Ack.
Detailing
Well, I'm finally getting to new switchplates and socket covers. Even with the six for $13 deal on the latter, I spent $70 on those and a pendant light fixture and its shade today. Then groceries. Then gas. Then lunch. Which I'm not even eating, though I have a headache and am exhausted. Sometimes, when you wait too long for a bite, you get to the point you no longer even want one, even when you've taken the trouble to get one. Life's funny.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Fumey
Headache. I didn't know how much the paint was smelling up the joint until I actually left the house today for lunch, and came back home. YEESH.
In other news, I did a reconnaissance run through the office park where my new employer intends to keep me, and found the joint quite easily. Yay! I'll report to their downtown building first thing on Monday, but after HR is done with me, it's out to my new neck of the woods, and - yep - I am pretty excited.
Tomorrow's my last day of "vacation" - and I hope tonight will be my last night painting, apart from the little detail-y stuff my high standards won't allow to stay a dab messy. Laughably, I half wish I could do the job nekkid, rather than putting on those nasty old painting clothes again ... but, of course, exposed windows and bright lights inside would make that a bad idea (and the neighbors and passing traffic have done nothing to deserve such an assault!). Boo, hiss; but at least those clothes are seeing their last days of trudging re-use.
And for now, a short period to relax, a little nosh from the Mediterranean Bakery for dinner, and even some dessert: the macaroons finally called to me loudly enough I answered yes at long last.
Now off to love on my little Lolly and whirl a little in the paint fumes ..
In other news, I did a reconnaissance run through the office park where my new employer intends to keep me, and found the joint quite easily. Yay! I'll report to their downtown building first thing on Monday, but after HR is done with me, it's out to my new neck of the woods, and - yep - I am pretty excited.
Tomorrow's my last day of "vacation" - and I hope tonight will be my last night painting, apart from the little detail-y stuff my high standards won't allow to stay a dab messy. Laughably, I half wish I could do the job nekkid, rather than putting on those nasty old painting clothes again ... but, of course, exposed windows and bright lights inside would make that a bad idea (and the neighbors and passing traffic have done nothing to deserve such an assault!). Boo, hiss; but at least those clothes are seeing their last days of trudging re-use.
And for now, a short period to relax, a little nosh from the Mediterranean Bakery for dinner, and even some dessert: the macaroons finally called to me loudly enough I answered yes at long last.
Now off to love on my little Lolly and whirl a little in the paint fumes ..
Beloved
So I've mentioned my ex many times on here, and make a bit of an overwrought point of not being nasty about him, because indulging in vitriol toward somene once loved seems to me a very strange way to spend one's energy. I do *understand* it, mind you. But it's nothing I really participate in myself.
More to the point, Beloved Ex is a good man. The reasons we're not together are that we had no goals together, and truly, as trite as it is to say, love really isn't enough. I held tight to him because he was a good man, and those were no thicker on the ground in the 80s, when we met, than they are now. But that isn't enough either.
And I wasn't, myself, the most excellent of women when I was twenty-five. So there's that.
BE actually did say of me, once, "Every man should have an amazing car and an amazing woman. I figure the woman's been had" ... so he's for the car, of course. But it was a remarkable thing to say, all things considered.
One of the things I mention about BE from time to time is that he was a rockstar. To put a finer point on that: BE was perhaps the best front man I ever saw.
Yeah, a little bias - sure. But I'd put him up against any other performer and bet on his talents. He was an incredibly dynamic lead singer/guitarist/bass player. His voice was great, of course, but he also really knew how to work his band, his music, and his crowds.
This was a guy who, day-to-day, came off like a bit of a doofus. He was polite to girls, didn't curse much and often apologized if he did, wasn't a heavy drinker, didn't smoke, held doors for people, had a distinctive, wide-eyed "aw shucks" corn-fed midwestern boy way about him. Rudeness astounded him, and crudeness always left him confused. More than once, being the "groupie" for his band, he witnessed the behavior of other guys toward me when he wasn't right with me, and was always dismayed and surprised at people's behavior.
He made very silly jokes, and did horrible cartoon voices and occasional poor impressions of Sean Connery and Cornelius (from Planet of the Apes).
Then he would get on stage.
The commitment he showed on stage was like nothing I have ever seen. Our musician friends called him "The Opie-ola of Rock and Rolla" - and that was accurate. But the moment he was doing his job on stage, he was wildness in black pants. Urgent, super foxy, primal, incredibly passionate.
I remember knowing women who knew nothing of him but what they saw onstage, and assumed I must be, um, worn out twenty-four/seven by such a relentlessly foxy rock god.
I also remember knowing women who knew him through me, and who, when they did come to see him onstage, literally gaped in slack-jawed amazement that THAT GUY was ... this creature! This sweating, writhing, leaping, looming skin full of charisma and power! This guy, who could easily have given Robert Plant a run for his prodigious money.
In this way, BE and I were actually most alike. In BE's case, the transition was distinct and twofold, a brilliantly limned division of labor between "aw shucks" and the pounding force he was on stage. In my case, probably less formed back then, but definitely present, the shifting woman - one moment, a hair-in-the-eyes suburban hausfrau; another moment, a frustrated student; another moment, the girl with the band; and so on, and so on. I think my own permutations are wider ranging now, and perhaps more sophisticated, but it has always been my joy: I contain multitudes.
So did BE.
It wasn't for him, any more than it is for me, a matter of pretense or affectation. It's merely a sublime ability to suit one's context.
My dad raised his children, as his dad had before him, to be able to conduct ourselves with any person, in any situation. It fostered our facility to be engaged by all sorts of different people.
It fostered, for me, an ability to present myself in all sorts of different situations, too. Calibration. Modulation. Consideration. Deployment.
BE did the same, instinctively.
***
As "aw shucks" as he appeared, it must be said of BE that he has always embodied the concept of manliness in my mind. Apart from being a good looking one, he had a mellow disposition I think even my brother wouldn't argue at my comparing a bit to our dad. The essence of a "man", in my mind, is someone who first and foremost has control over himself and can handle what life has to give - or throw at - him. BE had this. He also just phsyically had those things I think of as quintessentially manly, big hands, a physical warmth, a solidity and reliablility. Good voice. Height. And natural generosity.
To this day, I can turn to BE and he not only is willing to "be there" for me no matter what, but his innate sympathy for people always comes through. He wanted to be able to honor my father at his memorial service, and he wanted to be there for me in that time of loss - but after he got on the road, his car handed him other plans. How many men would go to the funeral of their ex father-in-law, or care for their ex in such a loss?
He and I have shared mostly a friendship by phone and email, but the solidity of our relationship makes me forget it's been eight years now since I last saw his face. Distance and time aren't the point; the friendship is a living thing, and always there. We've talked about the people we've dated, we've talked about family and work, we've talked about frustration and fear and the economy, and it is a great honor to me that I seem to have as much to give him as he does me. If a fine man like that respects me, I must be something worthwhile. I feel this of all my friends.
I wish, sometimes, I could properly convey everything I really mean when I talk about my ex husband. So many of the people in my life don't know what he is; I feel just saying "my ex" is almost a disservice to the man.
More to the point, Beloved Ex is a good man. The reasons we're not together are that we had no goals together, and truly, as trite as it is to say, love really isn't enough. I held tight to him because he was a good man, and those were no thicker on the ground in the 80s, when we met, than they are now. But that isn't enough either.
And I wasn't, myself, the most excellent of women when I was twenty-five. So there's that.
BE actually did say of me, once, "Every man should have an amazing car and an amazing woman. I figure the woman's been had" ... so he's for the car, of course. But it was a remarkable thing to say, all things considered.
One of the things I mention about BE from time to time is that he was a rockstar. To put a finer point on that: BE was perhaps the best front man I ever saw.
Yeah, a little bias - sure. But I'd put him up against any other performer and bet on his talents. He was an incredibly dynamic lead singer/guitarist/bass player. His voice was great, of course, but he also really knew how to work his band, his music, and his crowds.
This was a guy who, day-to-day, came off like a bit of a doofus. He was polite to girls, didn't curse much and often apologized if he did, wasn't a heavy drinker, didn't smoke, held doors for people, had a distinctive, wide-eyed "aw shucks" corn-fed midwestern boy way about him. Rudeness astounded him, and crudeness always left him confused. More than once, being the "groupie" for his band, he witnessed the behavior of other guys toward me when he wasn't right with me, and was always dismayed and surprised at people's behavior.
He made very silly jokes, and did horrible cartoon voices and occasional poor impressions of Sean Connery and Cornelius (from Planet of the Apes).
Then he would get on stage.
The commitment he showed on stage was like nothing I have ever seen. Our musician friends called him "The Opie-ola of Rock and Rolla" - and that was accurate. But the moment he was doing his job on stage, he was wildness in black pants. Urgent, super foxy, primal, incredibly passionate.
I remember knowing women who knew nothing of him but what they saw onstage, and assumed I must be, um, worn out twenty-four/seven by such a relentlessly foxy rock god.
I also remember knowing women who knew him through me, and who, when they did come to see him onstage, literally gaped in slack-jawed amazement that THAT GUY was ... this creature! This sweating, writhing, leaping, looming skin full of charisma and power! This guy, who could easily have given Robert Plant a run for his prodigious money.
In this way, BE and I were actually most alike. In BE's case, the transition was distinct and twofold, a brilliantly limned division of labor between "aw shucks" and the pounding force he was on stage. In my case, probably less formed back then, but definitely present, the shifting woman - one moment, a hair-in-the-eyes suburban hausfrau; another moment, a frustrated student; another moment, the girl with the band; and so on, and so on. I think my own permutations are wider ranging now, and perhaps more sophisticated, but it has always been my joy: I contain multitudes.
So did BE.
It wasn't for him, any more than it is for me, a matter of pretense or affectation. It's merely a sublime ability to suit one's context.
My dad raised his children, as his dad had before him, to be able to conduct ourselves with any person, in any situation. It fostered our facility to be engaged by all sorts of different people.
It fostered, for me, an ability to present myself in all sorts of different situations, too. Calibration. Modulation. Consideration. Deployment.
BE did the same, instinctively.
***
As "aw shucks" as he appeared, it must be said of BE that he has always embodied the concept of manliness in my mind. Apart from being a good looking one, he had a mellow disposition I think even my brother wouldn't argue at my comparing a bit to our dad. The essence of a "man", in my mind, is someone who first and foremost has control over himself and can handle what life has to give - or throw at - him. BE had this. He also just phsyically had those things I think of as quintessentially manly, big hands, a physical warmth, a solidity and reliablility. Good voice. Height. And natural generosity.
To this day, I can turn to BE and he not only is willing to "be there" for me no matter what, but his innate sympathy for people always comes through. He wanted to be able to honor my father at his memorial service, and he wanted to be there for me in that time of loss - but after he got on the road, his car handed him other plans. How many men would go to the funeral of their ex father-in-law, or care for their ex in such a loss?
He and I have shared mostly a friendship by phone and email, but the solidity of our relationship makes me forget it's been eight years now since I last saw his face. Distance and time aren't the point; the friendship is a living thing, and always there. We've talked about the people we've dated, we've talked about family and work, we've talked about frustration and fear and the economy, and it is a great honor to me that I seem to have as much to give him as he does me. If a fine man like that respects me, I must be something worthwhile. I feel this of all my friends.
I wish, sometimes, I could properly convey everything I really mean when I talk about my ex husband. So many of the people in my life don't know what he is; I feel just saying "my ex" is almost a disservice to the man.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Yellow Matter
Mom came by today to show my stepfather some of what we'd done, and to see what I'd gone on to do yesterday and this morning. She suggested at one point, I should do the golden color on the upper cabinets as well as the lower.
Having completed the lower cabinets: yeah - nope. I wasn't really considering adding more of it; it was meant as the minor key to the red/white. But having all the area done I'd originally planned, I look at the result, and think - doing the whole cabinet area with the gold would be TOO MUCH of it. I like the color, but it's possible to like within limited proportions of course. I like basil, but have learned that a pasta dish *entirely* based on pesto is far, far too much of an otherwise good thing. Likewise, the third part of my color scheme.
I won't be able to completely finish today, because of the drying time for oil paint alone. Until each door and drawer are dry, I can't put their hardware back on, nor restore them to their places. So there is NO SPACE to work, to do anything more right now!
Fortunately, the remainder consists of the three large upper cabinets. There are some details I want to go back and re-do (edging, and two spots on the wall where color has gotten on the white), but that is small stuff and less a part of the major project than a sideline refinement after the main work is completed.
So once the upper cabinets are painted, I'm treating myself to a trip through my local range of antique stores, and a trip to Lowe's. That pendant light fixture I saw the other day, and three electrical and switch covers in brushed nickel. I may also look at shelving for the stove-side wall, but that will all depend on mood and time.
By tomorrow, anyway, I should be able to clean up the kitchen. And - more importantly - clean up myself ... wear clean CLOTHES ... and enjoy a day not devoted to home improvement labor.
Whee!
Having completed the lower cabinets: yeah - nope. I wasn't really considering adding more of it; it was meant as the minor key to the red/white. But having all the area done I'd originally planned, I look at the result, and think - doing the whole cabinet area with the gold would be TOO MUCH of it. I like the color, but it's possible to like within limited proportions of course. I like basil, but have learned that a pasta dish *entirely* based on pesto is far, far too much of an otherwise good thing. Likewise, the third part of my color scheme.
I won't be able to completely finish today, because of the drying time for oil paint alone. Until each door and drawer are dry, I can't put their hardware back on, nor restore them to their places. So there is NO SPACE to work, to do anything more right now!
Fortunately, the remainder consists of the three large upper cabinets. There are some details I want to go back and re-do (edging, and two spots on the wall where color has gotten on the white), but that is small stuff and less a part of the major project than a sideline refinement after the main work is completed.
So once the upper cabinets are painted, I'm treating myself to a trip through my local range of antique stores, and a trip to Lowe's. That pendant light fixture I saw the other day, and three electrical and switch covers in brushed nickel. I may also look at shelving for the stove-side wall, but that will all depend on mood and time.
By tomorrow, anyway, I should be able to clean up the kitchen. And - more importantly - clean up myself ... wear clean CLOTHES ... and enjoy a day not devoted to home improvement labor.
Whee!
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