Memorial Day

I have returned to work on this, like most national holidays, not because I don't think it's worthwhile to remember our fallen heroes but because I like working in the lab by myself sometimes. Anyway, I was at my dad's this weekend because it's one year after the death of my mother so we did some memorializing of our own to those who have died in the fight against cancer. That's probably enough sentiment and emotion for one weekend.

Memorial Day does take on an interesting cast in light of what many believe to be an unjust war. What is heroism in this context? I fully agree with those who suggest that troops should be supported and those who say that, to die in battle is heroic but, why? I mean, dying is sad but why is it inherently heroic to fight for one's country, right or wrong? To me it's kind of like that father-to-be who died climbing Everest. If I were pregnant and my husband threatened to scale Mt. Everest, I would strap him to a chair. I once heard a story, on npr, about a woman who had lost her father in Vietnam and she felt very angry when anyone implied that he had died in vain. Why, then, I wondered? What was her rationale for his death? She says something along the lines of, "A soldier's death is never a waste. It's a sacrifice. One for which free people should always be grateful." So, I'm free because of the Vietnam War? I mean, obviously it's unkind of people to be so unfeeling toward this girl but I really am not sure that that war made my life, or anyone else's, better. So, I guess it's more abstract than that. Because soldiers are willing to give their lives, abstractly and overall, I am free. When I feel the need to support troops, I'm more inclined to wind up just feeling angry that the men in power are so flip with human life and take so lightly their power to manipulate peoples' commitments, knowing that so many people have taken oaths to do whatever is the order of their commander in chief. I'm looking to the more "liberal" press today to see if I can find something that rings true. I find very little to think about. The more liberal the news source, the more likely they seem to be to just avoid the topic. I enjoyed this piece in the nytimes. I can see how it's awesome for people to be able to improve their lives via military service, provided they stay alive. The sucky downsided to this is that it tends to be the poor and minority people who die for all these ill-conceived engagements. Maybe what I'd like to do is just remember that it sucks that people have died in wars for generations and generations and are dying today. Maybe I'll spend the day hoping that wars won't have to continue. Is that what the pacifists are doing? Do we have space in our imaginations for another way of doing things? Is war inevitable, as long as a single person is willing to start a war? Is it my citizenship in a prosperous country that gives me the luxury of imagining that we're anywhere near calling the whole thing off? What needs to be done to stop all of this ridiculous killing?

I guess the bottom line is that I hesitate to show support for troops out of the fear that we use the label of heroism to keep the populace from being angry that the government is killing their families. I'm concerned that the daughter who lost her father in Vietnam hates to hear people say that he died in vain because the anger would be too much for her and her powerlessness would overwhelm her so she continues to perpetuate the cycle. I hate that these people have died more than anything and the more sentimental the appeal, the more firmly I'm convinced. I saw Saving Private Ryan and suffered from a very mild and brief, but real, case of post traumatic stress disorder and yet veterans say that I can't possibly imagine. My imagination tells me that war is a horribly bloody, gory, and inhumane travesty of gigantic proportions and yet veterans remind me that my imagination is insufficient. Yet, often it's veterans who continue to support the system. It boggles my mind unless I realize that, if it's really for nothing, life would become very difficult to justify. On the other hand, dying of cancer is an ugly and painful thing and there's no reason for that. But people who lose loved-ones to cancer don't go around trying to give it to other people...

Chlorine, drippy hair, and nostalgia

In the gardening post, I pointed out that, rather than focusing, I'm choosing to introduce hobbies and activities while I work on my thesis. The theory is that, if I'm distracted, I won't lose my mind and commit a homocide. So, I went swimming with a friend yesterday afternoon. In the competition pool, with 50 meter lanes. It was cold, refreshing, exhausting, and perfect. I showered afterwards and immediately ponytailed my hair such that it smelled like shampoo when I went to sleep. I guess it's nostalgia that makes swimming so relaxing. The smell of chlorine, the drippy hair, that starving feeling afterward. When I woke up this morning, having showered the night before, I just re-ponytailed my hair, made soft but crazy by sleeping on it while wet, put on my clothes and came to work. I still feel relaxed, though my neck hurts, from breathing, I guess, weird.

B-Mac

I blame my husband for the fact that I, not only have a favorite baseball player, but have developed a reasonably-sized crush on one. This is fair because my husband is the one who pouts the most about my crush. It's his own fault. I otherwise would watch almost no baseball at all. Baseball is a funny sport. I've decided that those who love it are the people who can store large amounts of information in their heads (aside from the tradition, smell of the grass people, who will be discussed at another time). It's a game of statistics and expectation. Each "at-bat" is thrilling primarily for the likelihood that it will fall into line with the player's previous appearances at the plate. Each pitch is enjoyed for its willingness to conform to expectation. The baseball fan learns players' names, batting averages, RBIs, ERAs, SLGs, OBPs, and HRs. It is because of this vast knowledge that the fan then has the ability to chat with is fellows about whether or not things are going as planned. I believe that these things drive baseball fans because I'm becoming a baseball fan, or a Braves fan anyway. I'll love each of the '96 Braves for as long as they stick around, just like the next Atlantan but I also love each new Brave. I believe that Junel Escobar's spotty performance will improve and that trading Renteria was the right decision because we got a pitcher (I don't remember who but our bullpen was having problems). But I liked Renteria. We had a song for him, to the tune of Sublime's Crystal Ball...you can guess how it went...we're not imaginative people. Even though I'm a yellow jacket myself, I have a hard time accepting our own Mark Teixeira because he replaced Saltalamacchia, Brian McCann's predecessor with a name so long that it almost had to be stitched onto his sleeves. We called him "Salty" and we were happy. But this brings me back to my crush. Brian McCann. I found out only this past weekend that we're supposed to call him "B-Mac." Here's a picture: Now, first of all, is there any position sexier than catcher? I would argue that there is not (bringing us back to my sadness about the loss of Saltalamacchia). There's the crouching, the hopping around, the charming relationship with the pitcher. Also, there's the fact that there's only one of them. Fielders all look the same. Pitchers get shuffled around and have girly, weak-sounding injuries like jammed thumbs. Catchers, on the other hand are hot hot hot. The get bombarded with crazy pitches and bouncing ricochets and they come back for more. They're in the whole game and they touch the ball as frequently as the pitcher. As if that weren't enough reason to love them, pitchers are also, as in the case of our own Mr. McCann, excellent batters. Now, John Smoltz does some terrific dancing around at the plate but how can a person really have a serious crush on someone who bunts exclusively? Now, back to B-Mac, I'm not a numbers person but, if I'm going to be serious about this thing, I should tell you that his BA is .331. It doesn't compare to Chipper (.410), of course, or to the aforementioned yellow jacket...274? hey, wait a minute...it's better than that guy who, by the way also plays a very sexy position but replaced a catcher and will not be forgiven...anyway, B-Mac is a terrific batter AND he has that beta-male quality that draws me in every time. Look how much he loves the high-fives. None of this "take-'em-or-leave-'em" attitude. Brian McCann will chase a man down to get a high five. Add to that the fact that he has the best music for his at-bats and we have bona fide crushable material. Also, he's often seen with puppies and I'm told that he loves his wife. At the game I attended last week, a lady was pulled from the crowd and asked, "Who's the hottest brave?" We all knew what she was going to say because these ladies all say the same thing, "Jeff Francoeur is the hottest Brave right now." Are these ladies crazy? Let's not even go to the fact that the question had to do with actual baseball and she is totally wrong. He plays right field, which is not a sexy position at all, and his batting average is not so great (.269, okay, respectable, I guess) AND, he's NOT HOT. Why do all these ladies love this guy so much? It makes me crazy. The answer was, is, and should be Brian McCann. Brian freaking McCann. Yeah.

Square foot gardening

The garden that I planted, about 3/4 from seed, is flourishing in the late spring heat. It's a very satisfying feeling. We've had plenty of rain and things are growing incredibly fast now. The cucumbers are cute little tiny guys with flower crowns. I'll take a picture tonight for next time. We have eaten nothing yet but it's time to harvest the leaf lettuces, I think. We pulled up two radishes because the foliage was gigantic but, it turned out that the radish was not big yet. They're crowded so I'm sure it was fine. I'm looking forward to getting some carrots. If we get too many cucumbers, we're going to make pickles and that will be fun also. We check things every day. I think it's time to harvest onions but I don't see any tops on any of them. Also, I think you're supposed to wait for the greens to tip over or something. I'll have to check the book again to see. The root vegetables actually confuse me frequently, which is too bad because there are lots of them. Here's a picture of the beets. Also, some onion greens, which were blocking my view. I don't actually like beets, as far as I know, but the square foot gardening book told me to plant them, so I did. Here, I'll put a link to my book. It's been really a terrific idea and I'm having a great time. Look, you can see carrot fronds in this picture. They're so pretty! I don't know how the eating will work out but I'm really having a lot of fun. I could write something poetic about the seasons and so on. Mostly, the advantage here is that I go into my backyard a lot more often. It's a nice yard and it was feeling neglected, I suspect. Also, there's a deck back there that we should really use more often. I'm considering letting the cat out into the yard to walk around. I think he might like it. Here's a picture of him looking out the door. Sad, right? He should be allowed out. He probably won't leave. I have friends who let their cats wander around in the yard while they're in the yard and the cats go back in the house when they go back in the house. So, that should work out okay. Well, so, I'm totally excited about the garden and how it makes me feel rooted to the new house. We actually exited the house via the back door this morning so that we could poke the various plants and see how they're doing. This also makes the day more pleasant. I like to have things happening in my life other than the dissertation so that I keep in mind that, in the grand scheme, and as far as the rest of the world is concerned, this really is a very minor thing. OK, well, enjoy, whoever you are reading my blog. I will be writing more later.

Diarrhea of the mouth

I'm a talker. It's my own personal Mt. Everest. To hold my tongue. I think over my list of friends and find that all of them have a reputation for talking and I know that I do also. Occasionally this happens. I'm up in the middle of the night, mostly because of the coffee I drank this afternoon but also because of what I said while I was drinking it. Thank God it wasn't booze. Who knows what I would have said? I leave no stone unturned in these times of evacuation. Nothing is sacred. I only hope, each time, that the listener can be trusted. I'm afraid, based on what I know about myself, that if they're willing to hear me betray and abuse everyone I know and love, they're unlikely to keep faith. Do I? Have I? Will I? When people evacuate their hearts to me, do I keep quiet what they've said? My own husband knows I don't. Here's the sad truth: If there's a secret at his office that he's not allowed to tell, he may tell someone but it's not me. Maybe it's good that i know this about myself. I pray that it will never ruin any valuable relationship in my life. That is, perhaps, why I'm up at 2am writing about what I've done. I certainly can't confess to the victims. What would I say? "I told Bill that I think you're insecure and angry and I guess I do think that but I had no right to say it because you're my friend and I'm sorry." More than that, "I told Bill that you told me that someone told you that Mary..." I'm not trying to be vindictive when I do this. I really am not. But when the wrong ear is involved, it certainly has the potential to hurt everyone. Suppose I'm in a crowded theatre during these rounds of abuse and someone indirectly involved is around. Suppose the friend I'm trusting is unaware of the importance of the secret (taking her cue from my indelicate handling of the precious commodity). I don't want to be someone who can't be trusted, even by my husband. Do I do it for approval? Sometimes. Also, it makes me feel better when someone is bothering me. Sadly, someone is always bothering me. I'm very intolerant of all kinds of weakness and painfully proficient at calling it out. It's like the freaking devil. If I believed in the devil, this would be his manifestation. Biblically, I think I'm obligated to rip out my own tongue and I honestly think I would be a better person for it. It's something I give up at Lent, renounce every new year, write on scraps of paper and burn. And yet, thirty years into the journey, I still do it as badly as ever, with reckless abandon. No more restraint than when I was 14 on some days. Today I feel dirty. I feel angry at the listener, fearing that she'll tell, knowing that I'm only angry at myself. I want to pick up and move. To leave behind anyone who knows my secrets, and those of the people I care about, because of me. I want to start over and try again with a perfect life and nothing on my conscience but, of course, I can't.
I mean, of course I could but it would be ten minutes and a cup of coffee or, worse, beer, before I would need to leave again. I wait a little while when someone tells me something is a secret. Long enough that I think it doesn't matter...or until I forget they said it was a secret. Here's when you know you have a problem: Someone is a little cold toward me (maybe they've had a bad day, maybe they don't feel well, maybe the pitch of my voice is getting on their nerves) and I immediately try to remember if there's something I said about them to someone who might have told them. Ugh. Stop the ride, I want to get off. It's the worst punishment, perhaps, to be trapped in the life you've created for yourself. Actually, my life is pretty good. I'm not sure I deserve it. There's this book I'm reading, Jonathan Safran Foer...he writes about a book of truth or something from the Slacker side of a Jewish town before the war...I think that's the context, anyway. The entry regarding "Why unconditionally bad things happen to unconditionally good people" says, "They don't." Please may I keep my undeserved friends. I love them all so much for all my evil tongue betrays me. Please may today's indiscretions be lost in a karmic black hole and not come back to bite me. Can I earn the words back into my mouth with enough love and sacrifice? Would I be willing to do it if I could? Please.

A funny thing happened on the way to coffee...

As I so often do, when the day is growing tiresome, I went with my friends today to get a little coffee at the kiosk. So, out I went with K, K, and D. D is a man. Walk walk walk POPHISSSSSSSSSSSSSS. D pointed out that someone had flattened a tire. Ah, geez, poor whoever it is. I started walking toward the afflicted car. K, K, and D scattered. Fine. They're busy people. I walked up to the car but the skinny blonde young girl with a nosering driving the car kept driving. Slowly. She was on her cell phone. I started poking my head down into view from her passenger window, "Um, your tire is flat, I can help you." People out smoking at the nearby building entrance stared at me. Blinking. The girl was still kind of driving. I looked, shrugged, smiled, the cell phone flat tire girl ignored me, as did the smokers. So, the girl finally got out and I said, "You're tire is flat." and she said, "I'm aware of that. I need to turn this in " I said, "I can help." she said, "Can you just stand right here while I turn this in?" I did. I stood there. The smokers went inside. Meanwhile, an old friend of mine approached. "Hey!" I said. "Hey!" he said. "This young lady has a flat tire." I said. "Do you have time?" "Too change a tire? Sure!" my friend said. He proceeded to change the tire expertly. I stood in the street to avoid his being killed. It was hot, almost August. He was all sweating and dirty in his worky worky polo shirt and khakis, being a big champion. The girl, all this time, just sort of looked confused and said things like, "It's not even my car, I don't know where the spare is, Is there a hazard light? etc." When the tire was changed, I put the old tire in the trunk and we both told the girl where to get the old tire fixed/replaced. She drove away without much said. Here are my questions:
(1) Don't we help people with flat tires? Why did everyone seem to think I was so strange? K,K, and D? The smokers? She was even a girl. She had something to turn in.
(2) Why was my later friend so helpful and willing? Is it just because he thought I knew the girl? (He did.) Is it just that he and I agree about the whole tire changing helping thing? Or maybe we're both just eager to show off our skills. One of the other times I helped a stranger was a girl having trouble starting a mower. I like to show off my skills.
(3) Do I still get credit on my soul score card now that I've told everyone this story? The friend gets a ton of credit, having done the work. Does the girl's indifference/rudeness help or hurt us?
I have a strange feeling and an obsession with the event. I feel inexplicably bound to my helpful friend. The whole thing reminds me of my recent tennis experience. I asked around and all these people wanted to play tennis so I set a time and we all played. I don't play tennis. They all do. They weren't playing but they wanted to play. They needed someone to make the plan. Is helping people the same way? Am I in the role of instigator in my life? Maybe so. It sounds good to me. Jumping in when someone, say, sets up a kickball league and picking colors and cheering and helping people make things happen when I stink at kickball. Making connections between a flat tire and someone who's expert at changing tires...I could have done it but it would have taken a lot longer.

Milwaukee, WI

I've been thinking a lot about Milwaukee, WI and Laverne and Shirley and medium sized cities and the midwest and regions I've never visited and snow and moderately priced houses and leaving behind the life that I have and doing something new. I'm not sure why Milwaukee except that I have no idea what's there. I hear really good things about the twin cities and Minnesota. It's strange because you know what you know and you know what's on TV and the rest is just fog. Like Philadelphia. My 15-year-old cousin, when asked where she might like to live upon graduating from high school and moving on, would like to move to Philadelphia. To be fair, she had just come from visiting that fair city. She sang the Fresh Prince song. I joined her...I said to the cabby, 'Yo, Holmes, smell ya later.' I had just asked about New York. No, she said, she wasn't interested in living in New York. She likes Florida, Atlanta, and Philadelphia. Maybe I would like Philadelphia, I thought. How could I know? Nashville has been in Jane Magazine a lot recently. I lived there in high school and thought it was kind of a drag but every place is a drag when you're under 18. And people love Memphis. What about Little Rock, Arkansas? There's a lot of talk about Austin, Asheville, Boulder, Berkeley, Charleston, Raleigh, Portland (did you know that Portland specializes in gourmet doughnuts?). What about Phoenix? People like Birmingham. Birmingham. I think I would hate it but people like it. The housing is moderately priced. The traffic is easy. I could live near my job and have a garden and a walk-in closet. Maybe somewhere on the coast but without a beach or maybe the coast of Delaware. I liked the coast of Delaware when I was there. Maybe I should move to Rehobeth, Delaware. Maybe I would like Florida (shutter). I really don't think I would. But St. Augustine is really nice. I could move into a retirement center and drive a golf cart. I watch househunters a lot and the houses aren't like the houses where I live. It's not a shock, right? I mean different regions have different houses but it's funny. My choices are ranch and bungalow. What's 'traditional'? I don't know but it's three stories, four bedrooms, and one bathroom that's off the dining room. This particular traditional home also had a stunning view of Mt. Ranier. I can't even see stupid Stone Mountain from my house. On the other hand, I can eat Vietnamese food any day of the week and not just Indian but Southern, Northern, Eastern, Western Indian, or Udipi cuisine, which is an island off the coast of India. Or Kudrathi, which I think is actually Western India. I can have Ethiopian or Sudanese or Egyptian. I work with people from Puerto Rico and Germany and Korea and China and get practice at pronouncing names in all those languages. If I need yarn for knitting that's made of bamboo, I can find it. If I want to try any beer in the world on tap, I can. I can even get single malt scotch by the glass in one restaurant I know. I can see ET on the big screen or Harry Potter at the drive-in. My friends are here and I know how to get around and when my husband finished law school, he could come to me and still get a really good job. The following quote is on my coffee cup: "I used to think that going to the jungle made my life an adventure. However, after years of unusual work in exotic places, I realize that it is not how far off I go or how deep into the forest I walk that gives my life meaning. I see that living life fully is what makes life--anyone's life, no matter where they do or do not go--an adventure." It's Maria Fadiman who is, apparently, a Geographer, ethnobotanist and National Geographic Emerging Explorer. I'd like to be able to say the same thing...