tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73198642011-04-21T20:38:36.163-07:00The view from a different orbitPhoesablenoreply@blogger.comBlogger611100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1104192493077801692004-12-27T15:56:00.000-08:002004-12-27T16:08:13.076-08:00

Hi. Hope you all had a good weekend, however you celebrated it (or didn't). And I hope your New Year is as full of wonderful things as it's looking like mine will be. Ducky's fine. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I'm starting to feel Ducky move. It's wild and wonderful. Exhausting and exhiliarating. I am just not able to blog. Not at work, not at home. I want to write. I want to write to

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1101326985878076752004-11-24T11:50:00.000-08:002004-11-24T12:09:45.876-08:00

Not that you haven't noticed, but I have completely lost the habit of blogging lately. It sort of disturbs me. I'm not sure if it's coming back. At least not right away. I've been occasionally making the rounds to see how you all are doing, but rarely leaving a note of proof. It isn't because I don't love you. It has more to do with a deeply pervading exhaustion right now. It's been about

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1100124597155653232004-11-10T14:05:00.000-08:002004-11-10T14:22:28.113-08:00

Democratic members of Congress have requested that the GAO undertake an immediate investigation of "the efficacy of voting machines and new technologies used in the 2004 election, how election officials responded to difficulties they encountered and what we can do in the future to improve our election systems and administration." They aren't saying the election was stolen --- but that the

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1100042150717202312004-11-09T15:15:00.000-08:002004-11-09T17:59:24.286-08:00

Another view of things, which somehow makes me feel a lot less alienated, if not a lot less sad. (Click to enlarge.) *Update: This map was sent to me by way of Wonkette.com. To see how it compares to the actual state by state returns, click here. Could almost make you believe Thomas Jefferson's optimism is warranted (see below).

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1099943746172385272004-11-08T11:55:00.000-08:002004-11-08T12:02:06.403-08:00

Principles are at stake A little patience, and we shall see the reign of witches pass over, their spells dissolve, and the people, recovering their true sight, restore their government to its true principles. It is true that in the meantime we are suffering deeply in spirit, and incurring the horrors of a war and long oppressions of enormous public debt. If the game runs sometimes against us at

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1099941231344852962004-11-08T11:13:00.000-08:002004-11-08T11:23:34.306-08:00

November 6th, 2004 6:53 pm Evidence Mounts That The Vote May Have Been Hacked by Thom Hartmann / Common Dreams When I spoke with Jeff Fisher this morning (Saturday, November 06, 2004), the Democratic candidate for the U.S. House of Representatives from Florida's 16th District said he was waiting for the FBI to show up. Fisher has evidence, he says, not only that the Florida election was hacked,

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1099691874645154112004-11-05T13:55:00.000-08:002004-11-05T14:03:30.846-08:00

Check this out. I don't know what it means, but it bears an uncanny resemblence to the red-blue electoral outcomes map. In other news, Ducky, D. and I are mourning the presidential election outcome, but we are simultaneously looking out at the world with a cockeyed-faith that even at the darkest hours, good things still happen. Like some strange magical formula that requires both darkness

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1099077432359206302004-10-29T13:15:00.000-07:002004-10-29T12:18:26.590-07:00

And D. and I got to see it this morning! It was awesome! I am literally filled with awe. It is still totally surreal to me that this little one is growing inside me, RIGHT NOW. Right now, Ducky is growing like mad, heart beatin' away in MY abdomen, as I sit here typing these letters... [giddiness rush!!!] :-)))))

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1098833387092335722004-10-26T16:20:00.000-07:002004-10-26T16:29:47.093-07:00

I'm well. Queasy when I get hungry, but not throwing up. I have an ultrasound appointment on Friday --- and I'm trying not to make myself crazy with worry or impatience in the meantime. I want to see this little one growing like mad inside my abdomen! I'm a hormonal stew of emotions, irritable, weepy, or giddy within seconds of each other, and exhausted a lot of the time. Plus, OW... Sore

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1098150125053733372004-10-18T18:34:00.000-07:002004-10-18T18:42:05.053-07:00

And this time... I'm one hundred percent happy about it! Happy Monday everyone! I probably won't be posting again for a bit. But in the meantime, have a wonderful, wonderful week! The answer to your question is: Yes!

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1097686643323817652004-10-13T09:20:00.000-07:002004-10-13T10:17:14.090-07:00

This time it's someone I work with and sometimes for. Happy for her, jealous for me --- but at only 20 percent of the intensity as I felt it when I first learned about BF. You know, honestly, I'm also just feeling more welcoming of whatever comes. How'd that go and happen? I don't know, but I'll take it. I'll grab it with both hands and, now, hunker down to work.

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1097619250499533022004-10-12T14:43:00.000-07:002004-10-12T15:42:51.646-07:00

Someone found their way to my blog today while searching for "Esther and Snick!" It never even occurred to me until right now that it is possible that there is some other "Esther and Snick" who don't circulate in same corners of blogland. I just thought it was kind of a funny pairing... I mean, unless I'm missing something (and lord knows I could be) it just didn't strike me as a more obvious

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1097616925258818832004-10-12T14:17:00.000-07:002004-10-12T14:35:25.256-07:00

Okay, I'm burying my political post. As Thomas Jefferson said, "Politics are such a torment that I would advise every one I love not to mix with them." (Advice he plainly took to heart.) I almost went with a Gracie Allen quotation instead ("The President of today is just the postage stamp of tomorrow."), but I was afraid it might not convey the same spirit of "not mixing with" politics that I

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1097520237872652262004-10-11T09:30:00.000-07:002004-10-11T11:48:52.673-07:00

This weekend, D. and I drove to Reno to campaign in a swing state -- a place where people's votes are seriously going to matter -- for John Kerry. I thought we'd be going riding high on the heels of his decisive victory at the debate on Friday night -- seriously, I was cheering him on everytime he opened his mouth and outright laughing at the president's fumbles and defensive posturing

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1097258784016638462004-10-08T11:05:00.000-07:002004-10-08T11:06:24.016-07:00

Who's here? Me!

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1097167132446607482004-10-07T09:35:00.001-07:002004-10-07T12:15:53.190-07:00

we will be young when we are old we will be dancing, dancing the song still playing, caught in the wind we will be wild once and once again a riot of color and limbs words and ideas kindness and claim we will be broken open our shells abandoned to time our small hermit selves wholly reliant upon a gentle welcome in this world we will be laughing weaving technicolor fantasies drawing them in

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1097169108638198812004-10-07T09:30:00.000-07:002004-10-08T13:26:53.806-07:00

Photos at the least. But only one on purpose. I had a knee-jerk reaction to discovering that someone in Sacramento looked up "varinbird" on yahoo and found me. Seems likely to be someone I know and, gosh, I guess I do really rely on my anonymity to feel comfortable here. Ironically, to feel less anonymous to online friends, I posted my picture, but suddenly, the idea that someone who knows me

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1096905199495075732004-10-04T08:39:00.000-07:002004-10-04T08:53:19.496-07:00

Hi. I'm here. Sort of. October's going to be another very very busy month for me at work -- starting as of last week, when I was traveling for several days. When I'm not traveling, I spend most of my workday in front of a computer and blogging (which I consider to be nearly equal parts posting to my own and reading yours) has become part of my daily survival ritual, but I need to cut back again

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1096314919278418002004-09-27T13:55:00.000-07:002004-09-27T12:56:40.630-07:00

I have not forgotten that I just left the "Dreaming" story hanging. It is, in fact, torturing me because I seriously have no idea what happens next and unlike the first three segments, it is not writing itself. I've tried many times to try finishing it, but no dice. It just comes out lame and forced. So, just in case anyone out there was wondering -- that's what's up with that. I ask myself

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1096304485088995702004-09-27T09:58:00.000-07:002004-09-27T10:12:45.953-07:00

There's another reason why it took us so long to discover the world was not flat. The dragons. I have heard (though have not confirmed) that when early mapmakers drew out the edges of the world as they knew it, they would write "Yonder there be dragons," for anything beyond their own scope of knowledge. Did they mean real dragons? People weren't sure, but regardless it was enough of a warning

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1095706023331322262004-09-20T11:47:00.000-07:002004-09-20T12:29:13.753-07:00

This weekend, I was out running errands when I passed an elderly African American man slumped awkwardly in a wheelchair by the side of the road. I passed slowly, trying to determine whether he was okay. He was wearing more layers of clothing than it seemed to me the day called for, and stuffed plastic bags hung off the handles at the back of his wheelchair. He had a white stubble coming in as

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1095444029706880152004-09-17T11:00:00.000-07:002004-09-17T13:05:38.806-07:00

I'm sorry to those of you who are checking in to catch the next installment of the Dreaming story. This isn't it. It's coming --- probably this weekend --- but right now I have something else pressing for expression and since I seem to have abandoned my journal for blogging, I turn here. I don't need an audience. But I do need the possibility of one. Somehow, even the possibility of an

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1095301154365395942004-09-15T19:19:00.000-07:002004-09-15T19:31:36.960-07:00

Part 1 ~ Part 2 She did nothing the next day. Or the next few days after that. Jason didn't ask any questions and she didn't bring it up. There was plenty to talk about, plenty of work, plenty to do. Jason, Tallie, and Striker spent the following evenings with friends and for long stretches of her days she even forgot to think about it. Occasionally the reply crossed her mind, but while she

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1095275784185219192004-09-15T13:16:00.000-07:002004-09-15T12:34:14.386-07:00

To read Part 1, click here. It was over a week before Tallie thought of either the dream or the email again. Not until the reply came, which, inexplicably, she knew was a reply even as the envelope icon appeared in the corner of her screen at the end of her workday, before she had opened the message. "I do not know you," was all the sender pwils@goodson.co.uk had written. A strange choking

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1095204291736051152004-09-14T16:20:00.000-07:002004-09-14T16:24:51.736-07:00

If you are an American Democrat --- or an interested observer of American politics -- who is trying to understand this strange time when the nation is so deeply divided, and if you are willing to ask and think about how to bridge the divide, to rebuild a national unity that propels us to make some good decisions about who we are in the world and at home, I recommend listening to the "Big Tent"

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1095083962322794592004-09-13T06:59:00.000-07:002004-09-13T07:05:28.683-07:00

She woke from yet another dream about Peter having sex with someone from their past in front her. Again, by firelight, though this time a campfire. As her first memories of the dream passed across her conscious mind she sat straight up and grabbed the thermometer from the bedside drawer, and considered the dream while the digital meter rose. Peter. She hadn't seen him in over 15 years now.

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1094841373598890042004-09-10T11:36:00.000-07:002004-09-10T12:29:01.620-07:00

Note: This story inspired by a painful true-life incident that I witnessed as a stranger while I was walking my dog this morning. It sent me straight back into the skin and mind of my own 12 year old self the first day of middle school. Oh, thank goodness that's over. While Julie's mom was still pulling to a stop, Julie was already opening the car door. As she ran up the steps to Desiree's door

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1094747492342172282004-09-09T09:31:00.000-07:002004-09-09T11:14:38.760-07:00

A couple of months ago, I had to take a two-hour blood glucose test. I was having a certain type of chronic infection and the doctor wanted to rule out diabetes as the cause. So, I came into the lab and drank a disgustingly sweet vial of glucose and documented the activites of the waiting room for the two hours that I had to stick around to have my blood drawn periodically. (You can read about

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1094690440059268592004-09-08T17:31:00.000-07:002004-09-08T17:40:40.060-07:00

In long draping lines, It hangs like silk. Drifting through the leaves Lighting them up, Casting a glow below. It touches lightly the Soft belly of my Aching Which is heavy, Leaden And my Longing Which is empty, A deep, pulling emptiness And they dissipate Slowly, slowly They are thinning -- ebbing And spreading out into The everything around me. Leaving snail’s treads In every

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1094589493889025172004-09-07T13:38:00.000-07:002004-09-07T13:40:28.240-07:00

It's kind of painful to sit at my desk today for a bunch of reasons. Perhaps foremost, this weekend I threw my back out playing tag football on Alki beach and boxing with my surrogate 6 y.o. and 9 y.o. nephews. But I had a good time. Turns out we only made one day of Bumbershoot -- Sunday. The highlight was The Bad Plus, which I understand is pooh-poohed among those who really know their jazz,

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1094227961468155752004-09-03T08:53:00.000-07:002004-09-03T09:12:41.470-07:00

Unfortunately, we can only make the Saturday and/or Sunday shows, but THIS sounds like FUN. Thank you all for your warmth and understanding this week. Have a great weekend! I certainly expect to...

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1094163551437425182004-09-02T15:09:00.000-07:002004-09-02T15:19:11.436-07:00

What I would have said to my analyst today (if I had one): BF and I met while juniors in college. One of her oldest friends was my college housemate (VDF) and when BF would visit, she and I had an instant affinity but it didn't develop a life of its own until VDF got married. As I've found to be true at most of the weddings of my closest friends, there's usually someone (if not someones) who

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1094087160722264072004-09-01T18:06:00.000-07:002004-09-01T18:55:53.293-07:00

B.F. is pregnant. Six weeks. Just learned today. She's terribly sick -- she sounds truly horrible. She hasn't been able to keep anything down for 48 hours. She's going to make a terrific mom. And B.F.'s husband is going to make a terrific dad. And right now, I am a mess of emotion. Some genuine happiness for them, concern for the intensity of her morning sickness, but mostly --- as

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1093973362763610882004-08-31T10:29:00.000-07:002004-08-31T10:54:12.410-07:00

From today's NYTimes: "In the interview with Matt Lauer of the NBC News program 'Today,' conducted on Saturday but shown on the opening day of the Republican National Convention, Mr. Bush was asked if the United States could win the war against terrorism, which he has made the focus of his administration and the central thrust of his re-election campaign. 'I don't think you can win it,' Mr. Bush

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1093892534440594032004-08-30T12:02:00.000-07:002004-08-30T12:08:23.956-07:00

Well, I'm back. Great vacation -- lots of beach reading, great wine, and good food. I feel good. It surprises me how happy I am to be back even at work... but then, look at what I'm doing! I missed you guys. I feel like I should be brimming over with things to write about, but -- I'm not. I wasn't while I was gone either. Normally, I write epic journal entries daily on vacation, but this time

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1092422713747588072004-08-13T11:45:00.000-07:002004-08-13T12:42:19.673-07:00

A curious thing has come to pass... I have been working so diligently for the last couple of weeks that I have worked myself right into nothing to do on my last day in the office before vacation. I would go home, except that I need to wait until noon for a phone call. Until then I am shiftless, rootless, and otherwise adrift. This, clearly, indicates the need for blogging. The trick is that

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1091473998442676022004-08-02T12:13:00.000-07:002004-08-02T12:16:52.036-07:00

Friends, I work for a small consultancy firm and I just turned in my July timesheet. Talking about facing the music. My billables for last month were painfully low during a crunch month. Another month like that and I will not just be facing my own music, but whatever tune my bosses "sing" in as well. A greater dilemma for me, however, is that by disguising how little work I actually have at a

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1091126080432332092004-07-29T11:34:00.000-07:002004-07-29T12:03:51.940-07:00

My husband, D. is an audiophile. This is a small but mighty part of what I love about him --- and my great luck is that in marrying him my own music collection grew probably 20 times what it had been without him. There are walls in our home lined with CDs and albums. (Yes, the old black and colored vinyl albums that spin on a turntable. For my money, they still produce the best sounding recorded

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-109106248761808022004-07-28T17:51:00.000-07:002004-07-28T18:00:46.563-07:00

My apologies to anyone who finds this alienating. This is offered as an invitation into my private dance with something I cannot name but think is what I mean when I use the word "god." It is directed only to those who are interested, no sell intended, and no offense taken if you aren't interested. I had to go to a particularly stressful meeting today and I arrived very early. As I sat at a

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1090863703859756582004-07-26T10:41:00.000-07:002004-07-26T14:50:12.010-07:00

An Open Letter to J.K., an Obsession both Despised and Beloved to Which I Finally Say Goodbye: Dear J: Actually, it was brilliant, what you did. It was a startlingly insightful thing -- but I don't know why it surprises me to realize that your self-preservation instinct was that honed. I even loved that about you. It was the force in the grip of your charisma. I craved it, in craving you,

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1090621107017476992004-07-23T15:18:00.000-07:002004-07-23T15:22:38.636-07:00

I've been trying to think of something to end the week with.  But I rummage through my head, turning over this rock, or that one, rifling through boxes of accumulating ideas and memories, which I refuse to sort (despite the wisdom I recognize in Inanna's post about the limited RAM and limited time dilemma), and, sigh: nothing. So, I'll tell a dog story. This morning -- as I do every morning --

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1090519398577491652004-07-22T11:03:00.000-07:002004-07-22T13:11:08.143-07:00

I love the way blogging has re-fired my engine for writing. But I'm still working out the kinks of it -- it's been idle for a bit. I've been writing -- in a lot of ways, I've never really "stopped" writing since I started nearly thirty years ago -- but I haven't been trying to "really write" for quite a while. Until lately. Of course, trying to "really write" is a fool's ego-trip and, while I

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1090298896400970232004-07-19T21:44:00.000-07:002004-07-20T11:46:43.653-07:00

Note: this story makes more sense if you read parts One and Two first. They're all nearly unforgiveably long. If you choose to read anyway, I ask your indulgence, and both apologize and thank you in advance.  ------------------------- Among his Grandma’s things he found letters she had kept -- from him, from his Grandfather, from his own father. He delayed his return in order to sell the house

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1090287601340795312004-07-19T18:40:00.000-07:002004-07-20T11:30:27.896-07:00

Note: This story makes more sense if you start with Part One. p.s. It's nearly unforgiveably long. ----------------- They saw each other twice more before he left for boot camp. Two days before, he'd been packing up his stuff at his Grandma's, and his Grandma had asked, "Josh, why didn't you bring Thea back around? I like her.  I'd like to keep in touch with her."   "I don't know, Grandma."

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1090284310425266202004-07-19T17:45:00.000-07:002004-07-20T11:19:06.880-07:00

Note from the author: Telling this story is an act of exorcism. While it is based on something true, it is fiction. But it's the worst kind of story. It's the kind that visits at four o'clock in the morning when you'd rather be sleeping and insists that it really happened, the kind you almost believe is true, the kind that won't let you go back to sleep even once you're finally awake enough to

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1090006417718196942004-07-16T12:33:00.000-07:002004-07-17T15:33:53.466-07:00

The Preacher put up a post today that has my heart on fire with gratitude.  AJ concluded a 10-part post today that has me wanting to touch life lightly and lovingly, with exquisite sensitivity, as though with my fingertips. Inanna's had a couple of posts lately so powerful that they're breaking chains on the ankles of women who can't say it yet themselves. Morgan's quiet, perhaps out on his own

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1089853914750865362004-07-14T18:11:00.000-07:002004-07-15T07:57:27.676-07:00

As she sat down on her bags on the train platform, having been careful to find a place without a blood-red pool of beetel-"juice," she pulled out a journal and uncapped a pen. From yards away, she saw the boy approaching. Earlier in her travels, after a conversation over a long dinner with a journalist friend, she'd agreed that giving money to India's begging children was not a moral good, but

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1089828304567564302004-07-14T10:58:00.000-07:002004-07-14T16:18:50.293-07:00

There were moments when it came back to her in a short, stabbing, keen memory: the smell of incense and ash on the muddy river breeze; the sound of great flocks of doves flying in graceful arcs overhead; pushing through dense and fragrant hot bustling crowds at market; the still and sacred courtyards of mosques and temples; the cacaphony of colors on women, on children, in store windows; the

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1089730886408434362004-07-13T08:01:00.000-07:002004-07-13T11:33:01.783-07:00

I woke up from a long dream this morning about a weekend getaway with an old friend of mine named Erik. Erik and I go as far back as I go. We moved so much when I was a kid that it wasn't until I was a teenager that I felt I could exert enough control over my life to maintain friendships past the next move. I met Erik the last month that I was in high school in Indiana. We went out with my

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1089656173396675202004-07-12T11:16:00.000-07:002004-07-12T13:14:35.080-07:00

I've been thinking about blogging a lot lately. Mostly about "the why" of blogging. Why I blog, why others blog. I've been so deeply affected by other people's blogs. I spend so much time thinking about things they write, the power of this way of meeting another person, and specifically the power of the interaction... I think part of it is the fulfillment of a long-time fantasy of mine: being

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1088787430314670852004-07-02T09:57:00.000-07:002004-07-02T11:18:52.376-07:00

I seem to have lost steam for recounting my weekend trip to Indiana. The upshot was that it was great and yet full of the kinds of moments that drove me crazy, and still drive me crazy. For example, my step-siblings decided a gift from the kids would be nice. Couldn't agree more. And their gift selection was perfect: nice new stereo, which my dad and step-mom have needed for probably the

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1088616475577491982004-06-30T10:27:00.000-07:002004-06-30T10:34:26.033-07:00

BF and VDF were visiting the night before I left for Indiana (D., my husband, and BF's husband had left us after dinner to meet up with other guys for Vinyl Night, which involves a turntable, records from the 60s-90s, lots of beer, and no women, and, as I was telling them as I packed ), I felt a little humiliated to finally be feeling so angry at my father, just before leaving to visit.  

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1088536865368405162004-06-29T12:21:00.000-07:002004-06-29T12:56:46.620-07:00

I hail from Indiana.  I was born there and lived there until I was six and then every summer of my childhood and two high school years.  The rest of the time I was in California.  (So I also feel that I hail from California, but that's a different part of the same story.) My parents divorced when I was three.  My mom moved out West and my dad stayed behind.  I split in two.  I became

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-10881857811290422004-06-25T08:41:00.000-07:002004-06-25T11:44:14.590-07:00

Last night, for example, he told me he hadn't left my shirt at the laundry/drycleaner because the launderer guy had insisted that he had to dry-clean my machine washable shirt -- at three times the price of washing it, of course. My husband insisted that he would not pay for the shirt to be dry-cleaned, but the guy then said they couldn't just wash it because it was a "different size" than the

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1088116076567812562004-06-24T12:27:00.000-07:002004-06-25T11:30:43.353-07:00

One of my very dearest friends (VDF) is coming to town tomorrow night.  She'll have dinner with my husband and me at our house, and my "best friend" (BF) and her husband (arguably my husband's "best friend" though that's a whole thing of its own), will join us.  BF and VDF are also "best friends" --- they went to junior high and high school together.  I met BF when VDF and I were housemates

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1087845601312975632004-06-21T12:10:00.000-07:002004-06-21T12:30:41.983-07:00

I am about to begin the all-time most major sugar high. Already, my hands are shaking and I feel a little short of breath somehow. Over ten years ago, shortly after my first wedding, while my now ex-husband and I were living with my mom, unemployed, I was sitting on my hands in front of a mid-afternoon Oprah Winfrey show whispering to myself, "I will not eat, I will not eat, I will not eat,"

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1087576180490947332004-06-18T09:29:00.000-07:002004-06-18T09:33:24.640-07:00

See: "Personality, Not Policy," by Anna Quindlen (posted at MSNBC) One of the things about Reagan's death that continues to intrigue me is how effectively it has opened up people's mouths. Suddenly, the letters to the editors pages are full of what we knew was true, but that was somehow hiding from view: we are a periously polarized nation. I don't know that this column by Anna Quindlen helps

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1087489932003647632004-06-17T09:32:00.000-07:002004-06-17T09:42:44.370-07:00

I haven't told anyone close to me about this blog yet.  There are a couple of reasons for that.  The first and probably most compelling is that a lot of what I've put up, I've put up during business hours at a time when my work life is insanely busy.  I've had to work late several evenings -- last night until 8:30 p.m. and there was one evening last week when I worked until after 1 a.m. 

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1087429681273846292004-06-16T16:48:00.000-07:002004-06-16T16:57:41.613-07:00

We Are The Ones We've Been Waiting For, an address to the baccalaureate graduates of Stanford University by Jim Wallis This is the kind of thing I simply have to read occasionally in order to keep my head on straight. Here are some of my favorite excerpts: "When I was growing up, it was continually repeated in my evangelical Christian world that the greatest battle and biggest choice of our

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1087405145946594012004-06-16T09:59:00.000-07:002004-06-16T11:29:58.526-07:00

I really am not sure how to pray. Lately, at breakfast, I bow my head for a minute before I eat and think, "Thanks, God, for Phoebe-ness and (my husband)-ness, (my dog)-ness, family-ness, and friends-ness." And mostly my purpose is to acknowledge that I'm grateful for my own life, for my family's and friends' lives, and for the blessings derived from the ways all of our lives intersect. I'm

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319864.post-1087319643127096702004-06-15T10:06:00.000-07:002004-06-16T11:24:35.836-07:00

This past Saturday I was at a party, when a friend asked me about a recent news article she'd read. "So, have you heard about Phoebe, one of Saturn's moons, the one that goes in the wrong direction? Has a totally different orbit than all of the others?" she asked. "Yes, I've heard of it." I said. She smiled. "Have you heard of it?" she asked a friend who approached on my right. She told him

Phoesablenoreply@blogger.com