En voor je het weet, is er al weer een jaar voorbij. Terwijl vroeger een jaar wel vijf jaar leek te duren, met een kerstvakantie van minstens drie maanden, een zomer van zeker twee jaar, en waarbij een regenachtige dag op school wel een week leek te duren, lijkt een jaar nu eerder slechts enkele maanden lang.
Hhmm..ik zie het nu al van mijlenver aankomen; ik word zo'n oud vrouwtje dat elk oud-en-nieuw gaat mijmeren over hoe snel de tijd toch wel niet gaat.
Aangezien ik nog geen oud vrouwtje ben, zal ik dat vandaag echter niet doen. In plaats daarvan leek het me wel een productief idee om eens wat goede voornemens op papier te zetten. Normaal doe ik niet aan goede voornemens, en al helemaal niet van die grote levenswijzigingen. Persoonlijk ben ik namelijk zo iemand die vind dat als ik iets moet gaan doen, dat dat net zo goed op 18 Februari, 12 Juni, of 28 December kan. Daarnaast kan ik ook helemaal niet tegen de druk van het met iets beginnen op 1 januari; iedereen weet dat je gaat trainen voor een halve marathon/op Italiaanse les gaat/ gezonder gaat eten, en alleen al de vragen over hoe dat gaat zijn genoeg om mij van het rechte pad af te helpen. En daarom ben ik dit jaar in September begonnen met trainen voor een halve marathon, heb ik ooit eens in Februari besloten op Italiaanse les te gaan, en hebben manlief en ik gisteren besloten om meer salades te gaan eten.
Maar goed, dit jaar dacht ik dat ik eigenlijk best wel aan wat kleine voornemetjes kon doen. Weet je wel, een soort mini-to-do lijstje voor 2011, a la Adrian Mole. Uiteindelijk zijn er best wat dingetjes die anders kunnen. Geen monumentale, fundamentele levensveranderingen, maar gewoon gezellige kleine ditjes en datjes. En omdat ik weet dat u natuurlijk niet kan wachten om mijn goede voornemens te lezen, krijgt u deze nu voor uw kiezen:
1. De panty's en "knee highs" in mijn la eens goed uitzoeken, en alle panty's met ladders en "knee highs" zonder maatjes wegdoen, en een systeem bedenken waardoor ik kan voorkomen dat die dingen door heel de la heen dwalen, en tussen mijn sportsokken belanden.
2. Mijn schoenen vaker poetsen. Of eigenlijk: mijn schoenen poetsen punt. En dan iets vaker dan een keer per jaar.
3. De driehonderd CDs in de kast eindelijk eens logisch organiseren zodat ik als ik om half zes 's ochtends bedenk dat ik die dag graag naar CD zus-of-zo wil luisteren, ik niet door honderdtwintig CDs heen hoef voordat de betreffende CD gevonden wordt (of ik opgeef).
4. Ophouden met het bewaren van nutteloze briefjes, i.e., briefjes met aantekeningen/telefoonnummers/afspraken die allang afgehandeld zijn.
5. En om daar op in te haken: mijn handtas vaker uitmesten, en al die "said" briefjes dus niet langer in mijn handtas laten rondslingeren
6. Mezelf aanleren om "snap" te zeggen in plaats van "crap", aangezien dat laatste tegenwoordig ook al "not done" is.
7. En het allerbelangrijkste (en dus moet ik hier eigenlijk niet op 1 januari mee beginnen): Vaker nee zeggen.
En natuurlijk wil ik hierbij ook al mijn lezers een gezond, gezellig, mooi, adembenemend nieuw jaar toewensen! Tot in 2011!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
An American success story: Naming your church
Americans are good at a lot of things: writing a constitution from scratch, developing one of the most influential economies in the world, producing the vast majority of global popular culture, and, unbeknownst to most: coming up with the most entertaining church names in the world.
Granted, few American churches match the splendor and majesty of major European landmark churches such as the Notre Dame, St. Peter's Cathedral, or Westminster Abbey, but as far as names go, American churches win hands down. I mean, imagine if the Notre Dame had been built in Georgia by a bunch of enthusiastic evangelicals. You know it would have been named something like "The Holy Church of Our Crucified Savior".
Of course, not all the church congregations in the United States are run by evangelicals and/or exhibit the type of creativity in naming their church that I'm talking about. In fact, after some exploratory field research in our little town (with thanks to my trusted roadbike) which is the proud host of over five hundred churches, I've come to the conclusion that there are several categories of church names.
First, there are the Catholics. Here in the south, we like to pretend they don't exist, but they. And our town has at least three Catholic churches that I know of. And like in Europe, there are really only three types of names: The saints, the holy hearts, and the our lady of the whatever. Very straightforward.
Second are the more conservative branches of protestanism. Before we got lost in a discussion about less and more conservative doctrine, please allow me to clarify that in this little study, conservative means "frozen chosen", while non-conservative refers to "the happy clappy". This category thus encompasses the Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans, Calvinists, and their only begrudgingly recognized cousins, the Episcopalians. This category tends to aim for the more conservative, or European, names as well, with an apparent preference for numbers (First Presbyterian, Second Methodist), or references to local landmarks (Lake Hope Methodist, Dawson (road) Lutheran).
Next we get to the baptists. And this is where the creativity starts to show. For although the more conservative baptists will utilize methods equivalent to those of their more frozen brethren (First Baptist, Central Baptist, Northside Baptist), the more modern offshoots like to evoke a whole array of imagery and symbolism when naming their churches. Take churches such as Green Acres Baptist, Hope International Baptist, or Joy Baptist, all names that make innocent bystanders think of beautiful rolling green pastures, happy people, and lots of other good things.
But the baptists have got absolutely nothing on my final category: the evangelicals. Now I'm sure that the churches I am about to name would throw a fit if they knew I am lumping them all together and calling them all evangelical to boot, but using the phrase "churches which believe in the presence of the holy spirit and celebrate this through the use of music and/or speaking in tongues and/or healing sessions" is just too cumbersome. So everyone please bear with me.
Anyway, these churches absolutely win the creativity prize. There are some churches who I think try to tease people into reading the bible by naming themselves after obscure old testament figures such "Rehoboth Church". I mean, when our kids first saw that church, they spent the next five miles trying to figure out how to pronounce it, and then trying to remember who on earth "REE-ho-both" or "ray-ho-BOTH" (opinions diverged on the exact pronounciation) was, and what he (or she, again, no consensus was reached) did to earn a church named after them.
And then there are those churches who try to make sure you know they are the one and only, like for real, such as the "The holy and sanctified church of Christ". This church, you see, isn't just holy. It's sanctified too. And apparently by Christ himself. Now if that isn't top endorsement, I don't know what is.
Another personal favorite are those churches who have really long names, such as "The church of the dove and the olive branch", or "The church of living water and the life", and who then add in, as a sort of subtitle "a church of Jesus Christ". I mean, not to get biblical here, but aren't all Christian churches "of Christ"? Isn't that the whole point of being Christian?
In cotrast to this almost painfully detailed descriptions, there are those churches which I think leave their names intentionally vague, such as "The Refuge Church" (is this a church for refugees? Or people who are seeking refuge? But from what? Their busy lives? The world and all its temptations? Churches with crazy names?), and "The Freedom Church" (freedom from what exactly? Freedom of speech? Press? Religion - although that one doesn't seem right).
Then of course we have churches that refer to important biblical locations, most of which prefer to call themselves "temple" or "chapel" as opposed to the far too plain "church". Take a church such as "The Temple of Zion", "The Mount of Olives" and, "The temple of the star at Bethlehem".
My absolutely favorite church name, however is a local church called "The Greater Word of Deliverance". There is no reference to "church" or "temple", just that. And note that it's not "The Great", no, it's the "Greater". With a capital "G". Greater than..well, we're not sure. But it's greater than something. Personally, I think it the congregation should just go the whole mile, and call their church "The Greatest Word of Deliverance", but I could see how that might be interpreted as boastful or proud.
Now although modern European churches have been trying to jazz up their names, with such inventive creations such as "Cornerstone Church" and "The Vine", you have to admit that these just don't live up to their American counterparts. I believe that based on this brief exploratory study, we can only come to one conclusion: America has done it again.
Granted, few American churches match the splendor and majesty of major European landmark churches such as the Notre Dame, St. Peter's Cathedral, or Westminster Abbey, but as far as names go, American churches win hands down. I mean, imagine if the Notre Dame had been built in Georgia by a bunch of enthusiastic evangelicals. You know it would have been named something like "The Holy Church of Our Crucified Savior".
Of course, not all the church congregations in the United States are run by evangelicals and/or exhibit the type of creativity in naming their church that I'm talking about. In fact, after some exploratory field research in our little town (with thanks to my trusted roadbike) which is the proud host of over five hundred churches, I've come to the conclusion that there are several categories of church names.
First, there are the Catholics. Here in the south, we like to pretend they don't exist, but they. And our town has at least three Catholic churches that I know of. And like in Europe, there are really only three types of names: The saints, the holy hearts, and the our lady of the whatever. Very straightforward.
Second are the more conservative branches of protestanism. Before we got lost in a discussion about less and more conservative doctrine, please allow me to clarify that in this little study, conservative means "frozen chosen", while non-conservative refers to "the happy clappy". This category thus encompasses the Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans, Calvinists, and their only begrudgingly recognized cousins, the Episcopalians. This category tends to aim for the more conservative, or European, names as well, with an apparent preference for numbers (First Presbyterian, Second Methodist), or references to local landmarks (Lake Hope Methodist, Dawson (road) Lutheran).
Next we get to the baptists. And this is where the creativity starts to show. For although the more conservative baptists will utilize methods equivalent to those of their more frozen brethren (First Baptist, Central Baptist, Northside Baptist), the more modern offshoots like to evoke a whole array of imagery and symbolism when naming their churches. Take churches such as Green Acres Baptist, Hope International Baptist, or Joy Baptist, all names that make innocent bystanders think of beautiful rolling green pastures, happy people, and lots of other good things.
But the baptists have got absolutely nothing on my final category: the evangelicals. Now I'm sure that the churches I am about to name would throw a fit if they knew I am lumping them all together and calling them all evangelical to boot, but using the phrase "churches which believe in the presence of the holy spirit and celebrate this through the use of music and/or speaking in tongues and/or healing sessions" is just too cumbersome. So everyone please bear with me.
Anyway, these churches absolutely win the creativity prize. There are some churches who I think try to tease people into reading the bible by naming themselves after obscure old testament figures such "Rehoboth Church". I mean, when our kids first saw that church, they spent the next five miles trying to figure out how to pronounce it, and then trying to remember who on earth "REE-ho-both" or "ray-ho-BOTH" (opinions diverged on the exact pronounciation) was, and what he (or she, again, no consensus was reached) did to earn a church named after them.
And then there are those churches who try to make sure you know they are the one and only, like for real, such as the "The holy and sanctified church of Christ". This church, you see, isn't just holy. It's sanctified too. And apparently by Christ himself. Now if that isn't top endorsement, I don't know what is.
Another personal favorite are those churches who have really long names, such as "The church of the dove and the olive branch", or "The church of living water and the life", and who then add in, as a sort of subtitle "a church of Jesus Christ". I mean, not to get biblical here, but aren't all Christian churches "of Christ"? Isn't that the whole point of being Christian?
In cotrast to this almost painfully detailed descriptions, there are those churches which I think leave their names intentionally vague, such as "The Refuge Church" (is this a church for refugees? Or people who are seeking refuge? But from what? Their busy lives? The world and all its temptations? Churches with crazy names?), and "The Freedom Church" (freedom from what exactly? Freedom of speech? Press? Religion - although that one doesn't seem right).
Then of course we have churches that refer to important biblical locations, most of which prefer to call themselves "temple" or "chapel" as opposed to the far too plain "church". Take a church such as "The Temple of Zion", "The Mount of Olives" and, "The temple of the star at Bethlehem".
My absolutely favorite church name, however is a local church called "The Greater Word of Deliverance". There is no reference to "church" or "temple", just that. And note that it's not "The Great", no, it's the "Greater". With a capital "G". Greater than..well, we're not sure. But it's greater than something. Personally, I think it the congregation should just go the whole mile, and call their church "The Greatest Word of Deliverance", but I could see how that might be interpreted as boastful or proud.
Now although modern European churches have been trying to jazz up their names, with such inventive creations such as "Cornerstone Church" and "The Vine", you have to admit that these just don't live up to their American counterparts. I believe that based on this brief exploratory study, we can only come to one conclusion: America has done it again.
Monday, December 27, 2010
An almost-American
I know that I have alluded to my almost-Americanness several times throughout the history of this blog, and I'm sure that as far as my readers are concerned, this is probably a status that is never going to change. You know, me as an eternal permanent resident who claims they will file their citizenship application soon. Really. Promise. In time for the next election.
But you all will be very surprised/happy/disappointed/apalled/pick an adjective to match your mood/completely uncaring to hear that as of yesterday, my application is completely filled out, sitting in an envelope, ready to be sent off. And since it's only taken about 18 months since I first printed out my application, this can, as far as I'm concerned, really be seen as a Christmas miracle. Especially if you consider it took me less than 18 months to analyze all my data and write my entire 300-page dissertation.
So why did it take me so long in the first place? Well, in all honesty, my laziness (or, as my lovable husband-dear likes to say, "The fact that you have about a million other things going at during any normal year"). You should probably know that I absolutely abhor paperwork. I'm still not sure how husband-dear and I made it through my visa procedure at all, and in what could be considered record-time at that, as I absolutely rock at procrastinating when it comes to bureacracy. A feat which itself is amazing when you realize I can't stand procrastination. At all. I'd rather do something now than tomorrow, including nasty dentist visits, writing a book chapter, and making the grocery list. Except for filling out paperwork apparently. It's a good thing you are required to file taxes by law, otherwise I just know that I would never ever file them. Just because the thought of dealing with all those W2s, 1099s, receipts, property tax forms is enough to have me break out into hives.
And just to clarify; the N400 may not require a lot of paperwork, but the form itself is quite the nightmare. OK, I'll tone it down a little bit; compared to most visa forms you have to fill out, it's really not that bad. It doesn't ask for your mother's aunt's middle name, for one thing. But it does require you to look up lots and lots of pesky details. And that's where the second reason for my procrastination comes in: I am a perfectionist. And so I can't just take a stab at when I was out of the coutnry, and where I want. No, I will make myself go through old scrapbooks to find the -exact- dates. And oh my word, what to do if the date on a boarding pass is not the same as the date stamped into your passport?! That right there is a reason to debate the ethically correct date to fill outfor about three days.
The kicker for me, however, was the question that required you to list all the organizations you have ever been affiliated with. I am flabbergasted when people who have filled out this form tell me they could not think of anything to put there, because I have spent most of my life volunteering, taking classes, joining gyms, riding stables, and choirs. It took me about a year to think of every organization I had ever come into contact with, and the final list was - wait for it- one page long. Being a perfectionist, I couldn't, once again, just take a stab at this, and then tell myself that the USCIS sure wouldn't be interested in the exact name of thoir I sang with in 1995. No, it had to be perfect. Because that's what they asked for. As I told husband-dear whenever he would exclaim at my precision and worrying, "The form doesn't tell you, 'please take a stab at the organizations you were in that you think we want to know about'".
But all those hurdles have been taken. The form is filled out, I have had passport pictures taken, and all I need to do now is write the check. And send the envelope. Hmm...check back with me in another week or so. I should have it mailed by then. I think.
But you all will be very surprised/happy/disappointed/apalled/pick an adjective to match your mood/completely uncaring to hear that as of yesterday, my application is completely filled out, sitting in an envelope, ready to be sent off. And since it's only taken about 18 months since I first printed out my application, this can, as far as I'm concerned, really be seen as a Christmas miracle. Especially if you consider it took me less than 18 months to analyze all my data and write my entire 300-page dissertation.
So why did it take me so long in the first place? Well, in all honesty, my laziness (or, as my lovable husband-dear likes to say, "The fact that you have about a million other things going at during any normal year"). You should probably know that I absolutely abhor paperwork. I'm still not sure how husband-dear and I made it through my visa procedure at all, and in what could be considered record-time at that, as I absolutely rock at procrastinating when it comes to bureacracy. A feat which itself is amazing when you realize I can't stand procrastination. At all. I'd rather do something now than tomorrow, including nasty dentist visits, writing a book chapter, and making the grocery list. Except for filling out paperwork apparently. It's a good thing you are required to file taxes by law, otherwise I just know that I would never ever file them. Just because the thought of dealing with all those W2s, 1099s, receipts, property tax forms is enough to have me break out into hives.
And just to clarify; the N400 may not require a lot of paperwork, but the form itself is quite the nightmare. OK, I'll tone it down a little bit; compared to most visa forms you have to fill out, it's really not that bad. It doesn't ask for your mother's aunt's middle name, for one thing. But it does require you to look up lots and lots of pesky details. And that's where the second reason for my procrastination comes in: I am a perfectionist. And so I can't just take a stab at when I was out of the coutnry, and where I want. No, I will make myself go through old scrapbooks to find the -exact- dates. And oh my word, what to do if the date on a boarding pass is not the same as the date stamped into your passport?! That right there is a reason to debate the ethically correct date to fill outfor about three days.
The kicker for me, however, was the question that required you to list all the organizations you have ever been affiliated with. I am flabbergasted when people who have filled out this form tell me they could not think of anything to put there, because I have spent most of my life volunteering, taking classes, joining gyms, riding stables, and choirs. It took me about a year to think of every organization I had ever come into contact with, and the final list was - wait for it- one page long. Being a perfectionist, I couldn't, once again, just take a stab at this, and then tell myself that the USCIS sure wouldn't be interested in the exact name of thoir I sang with in 1995. No, it had to be perfect. Because that's what they asked for. As I told husband-dear whenever he would exclaim at my precision and worrying, "The form doesn't tell you, 'please take a stab at the organizations you were in that you think we want to know about'".
But all those hurdles have been taken. The form is filled out, I have had passport pictures taken, and all I need to do now is write the check. And send the envelope. Hmm...check back with me in another week or so. I should have it mailed by then. I think.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas jitters
So I'm suffering from a slight case of the Christmas jitters. More specifically, from a case of "performing at the candlelight service" jitters. Yes, I got roped into singing a duet during the Christmas eve service tonight. And while I seemed like so much fun last Sunday, right now I'm wondering once again, why I just can't say no. Seriously. I must have some really poorly resolved childhood issues to explain this complete lack of spine when it comes to bowing out of things.
Anyway, when it comes to childhood issues, this fear of singing during a church service can actually be explained by a minor childhood trauma. You see, the last time I performed during a Christmas eve service was probably around twenty years ago - I was supposed to play something on the piano, and messed up royally. And I do mean royally. As in, even I was cringing in my seat, but nothing I did came out right. And all of that in front of a packed church. Now that may be adorable when you're five, but not when you're a fully grown young adult, and you volunteered to perform yourself. So back then I vowed I would never do anything by myself again during a Christmas eve service. Ever.
Which of course explains why tonight Beth and I will be singing an a-capella version of a Christmas song that has the range of the American national anthem: "O Holy Night". It started off so innocently; last Sunday, our service ended with that same song. And as it truly does have an almost impossible range (it starts on a middle C, and one of the final notes is a high E), most of the twenty seven people who were in attendance, grew very nervous and started to sing lower and lower as the song went higher and higher. Except Beth and me. She was sitting on the right side of church, her alto part carrying clear across the sanctuary, while I was, once again trying to imitate Mariah Carey/Celine Dion/Kiri te Kawana, by belting out the soprano part on the left side of the church. After all, a day not spent singing your lungs out is a day not lived. And that, of course, caught the attention of the chaplain. It also didn't help that after the service, we had an impromptu carolling session in the sanctuary, with Beth and I having more and more fun as we discovered that our the timbre of our voices was almost exactly the same. After completing a very exciting version of "Silent night", the chaplain asked us if we wanted to sing during the candlelight service. All the other congregation members were in favor almost immediately, as it's not often that our small service gets to contribute to a combined parish service, but we were a little more reluctant, finally agreeing providing we could sing the "Silent night" rendition we had just sung. Of course, not a problem, the chaplain promised. He would just check with the other songs on the program, and call us the next day.
The next day, our dear chaplain called with the request that we sing the mother of all Christmas songs, "Oh holy night". And I, as usual, said, "Of course!". Why I said that, I still don't know. Our chaplain is the nicest, most laid-back man you will ever meet in a uniform, and I'm pretty sure if I had asked if we could have sung a less challenging song, he would have been perfectly fine with that. But no. I went all southern, said that "sounded great", and we would be at church at 6pm on Friday.
Now Beth is a lot more confident about this than I am. We spent three hours yesterday practicing with various forms of harmony, and she thinks we're going to do great. Since I'm the one hitting that incredibly obnoxious high E, and don't have half the experience singing that Beth has, I'm a little more worried. Actually, a lot. I dreamed about the performance all night, with each dream ending progressively worse: I lost my voice, we showed up for the Catholic mass by accident, Beth changed the song selection, and I had no clue what I was doing. I woke myself up several times, humming the last part to this monster of a carol. Oh, and once I got over that, I dreamed about work. Night just doesn't get any better than that.
On the upside, husband-dear is very content. You see, at yesterday's rehearsal, Beth and I agreed to not sing until we got to the church today. And that means the poor man gets one entire day without having to listen to showtunes. If that's not an early Christmas present, I don't know what is.
Anyway, when it comes to childhood issues, this fear of singing during a church service can actually be explained by a minor childhood trauma. You see, the last time I performed during a Christmas eve service was probably around twenty years ago - I was supposed to play something on the piano, and messed up royally. And I do mean royally. As in, even I was cringing in my seat, but nothing I did came out right. And all of that in front of a packed church. Now that may be adorable when you're five, but not when you're a fully grown young adult, and you volunteered to perform yourself. So back then I vowed I would never do anything by myself again during a Christmas eve service. Ever.
Which of course explains why tonight Beth and I will be singing an a-capella version of a Christmas song that has the range of the American national anthem: "O Holy Night". It started off so innocently; last Sunday, our service ended with that same song. And as it truly does have an almost impossible range (it starts on a middle C, and one of the final notes is a high E), most of the twenty seven people who were in attendance, grew very nervous and started to sing lower and lower as the song went higher and higher. Except Beth and me. She was sitting on the right side of church, her alto part carrying clear across the sanctuary, while I was, once again trying to imitate Mariah Carey/Celine Dion/Kiri te Kawana, by belting out the soprano part on the left side of the church. After all, a day not spent singing your lungs out is a day not lived. And that, of course, caught the attention of the chaplain. It also didn't help that after the service, we had an impromptu carolling session in the sanctuary, with Beth and I having more and more fun as we discovered that our the timbre of our voices was almost exactly the same. After completing a very exciting version of "Silent night", the chaplain asked us if we wanted to sing during the candlelight service. All the other congregation members were in favor almost immediately, as it's not often that our small service gets to contribute to a combined parish service, but we were a little more reluctant, finally agreeing providing we could sing the "Silent night" rendition we had just sung. Of course, not a problem, the chaplain promised. He would just check with the other songs on the program, and call us the next day.
The next day, our dear chaplain called with the request that we sing the mother of all Christmas songs, "Oh holy night". And I, as usual, said, "Of course!". Why I said that, I still don't know. Our chaplain is the nicest, most laid-back man you will ever meet in a uniform, and I'm pretty sure if I had asked if we could have sung a less challenging song, he would have been perfectly fine with that. But no. I went all southern, said that "sounded great", and we would be at church at 6pm on Friday.
Now Beth is a lot more confident about this than I am. We spent three hours yesterday practicing with various forms of harmony, and she thinks we're going to do great. Since I'm the one hitting that incredibly obnoxious high E, and don't have half the experience singing that Beth has, I'm a little more worried. Actually, a lot. I dreamed about the performance all night, with each dream ending progressively worse: I lost my voice, we showed up for the Catholic mass by accident, Beth changed the song selection, and I had no clue what I was doing. I woke myself up several times, humming the last part to this monster of a carol. Oh, and once I got over that, I dreamed about work. Night just doesn't get any better than that.
On the upside, husband-dear is very content. You see, at yesterday's rehearsal, Beth and I agreed to not sing until we got to the church today. And that means the poor man gets one entire day without having to listen to showtunes. If that's not an early Christmas present, I don't know what is.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Zomaar een dag
Er zijn ontzettend veel dingen die ik leuk vind aaan andere blogs. Sommige zijn ontzettend grappig, anderen zijn heel herkenbaar, en weer anderen geven stof tot nadenken. En dan zijn er de blogs die eigenlijk het leukst zijn: de blogs die gaan over de dagelijkse beslommeringen van de schrijfster. Stiekem voel ik me altijd een beetje een voyeur, maar misschien dat dat het ook zo leuk maakt. Je voelt je echt onderdeel van iemands leven, en leeft helemaal mee met nieuwe banen, kinderen naar college, verhuizingen, en alle andere kleine dingen die een mens meemaakt. En goh, vraagt u dan, waarom doe je dat zelf dan niet? Als het zo ontzettend leuk is? Nou, lieve lezer, voornamelijk omdat mijn dagen allemaal zo ontzettend hetzelfde zijn, en daarover bloggen zou echt verschrikkelijk saai worden. Ik bedoel, wilt u echt weten waarover ik elke dag les geef/vergader/ praat met manlief en kinderen? Nee, dat dacht ik al.
Maar voor een keer dacht ik, kom, doe eens gek. Het is kerstvakantie, mijn dagen zijn allemaal anders, en dus zal ik u voor een keer eens meenemen in mijn enorm saaie bestaan :)
Om te beginnen was vannacht al anders dan anders. Ik werd om kwart over twee wakker, en kon niet meer in slaap komen. Na een half uur woelen, bedacht ik me in een keer dat vannacht de "lunar eclipse" was. En ach, ik was toch wakker, dus waarom niet even naar buiten om de rode maan te bekijken? Zo gezegd, zo gedaan, en zo stond ik om kwart voor drie in de achtertuin al blauwbekkend de oranje maan te bekijken. Het blijft toch een bijzonder verschijnsel, zo'n roodachtige maan. Helaas hielp het niet met het in slaap komen, en viel ik pas twee uur later, met het afgaan van manliefs wekker, in slaap. Pas om kwart voor acht werd ik weer wakker, ingeklemd tussen twee honden, die zich ons bed prinsheerlijk eigen hadden gemaakt nadat manlief vertrokken was.
Als ik vrij heb, dan is de ochtend mijn favoriete gedeelte van de dag. Gezellig de kerstverlichting aan, en dan met een kopje thee op de bank het nieuws kijken. Het klinkt vast uberburgerlijk, maar na maandenlang al staande een gehaast ontbijt naar binnen werken, is zo wakker worden echt een genot. Na een half uurtje Early Show kijken, bedacht ik me dat het eigenlijk wel een mooie tijd was om te gaan hardlopen. Vorige week kreeg ik tijdens het hardlopen in eens weer last van mijn knie, en ik wilde, voordat ik donderdag 13 mijl ga lopen, eerst even uitproberen hoe mijn knie het doet op de korte afstand. Nou, beste lezer (waaronder speciaal mijn fysio-vriendin), u kunt gerust zijn, mijn knie maakte het na 6 kilometer nog prima.
Na een snelle douche was het tijd om het lekkers voor de buren in te pakken. Voor het eerst dit jaar heb ik besloten om deel te nemen aan het Amerikaanse kerst ritueel van koekjes en ander lekkers uitdelen aan je buren. Gisteren heb ik dus niet alleen weer een berg koekjes gebakken, maar ook een of andere ingewikkelde upside-down-oats-raisins-chocolate-snack-cake, welke wonder boven wonder nog gelukt is ook. Vanochtend was het dus tijd om alle lekkernijnen in folie en tissue papier te verpakken, van een strik te voorzien, en in verschillende gift bags te stoppen. Geinspireerd door Zoe en Shelby, die buiten tegen de honden van de buren aan het blaffen zijn, besluit ik ook wat hondensnoepjes in folie en paper te verpakken voor de buren met honden. Ik voelde me een ware Suzy Homemaker toen alle gift bags af waren, en op het aanrecht stonden te pronken. U moet weten, dat ik eigenlijk nooit van dit soort sociale/huishoudelijke neigingen heb, en dat dus eigenlijk een best wel bijzonder moment was.
Na een "lick and a promise" schoonmaak sessie van de vloeren in ons huis, was het tijd om te lunchen. Manlief heeft van het weekend ongeveer vier liter chili gemaakt, en dus bestond mijn lunch uit een bakje chili met frito chips en kaas. Nadat ik jarenlang Chili niet lekker gevonden heb, vind ik dus echt een heerlijke maaltijd.
Na de lunch was het tijd om mijn haren weer eens in model te laten brengen, en daar zit ik dus momenteel te bloggen. Het grote voordeel van een moderne kapper - iedere klant heeft en macbook tot haar beschikking. Als ik hier klaar ben wil ik langs de CVS voor pasfoto's. De aanvraag voor Amerikaans staatsburgerschap is na een jaar op mijn bureau gelegen te hebben eindelijk af, en ik heb alleen nog twee pasfoto's nodig. En wat is nou een beter moment om die te laten nemen dan wanneer je net bij de kapper vandaan komt?
Vanavond gaan we naar vrienden van ons, waar een vervroegd kerstdiner gaan houden. Daarna gaan we met hen en wat kennissen van de kerk carroling (= kerstliedjes zingen) bij hen in de buurt. Ik heb denk ik al tien jaar niet gecarroled, en heb er erg zin in. Zelf ben ik namelijk gek op zingen, maar helaas de rest van de familie niet zo. En door te carrolen heb ik eindelijk een excuus om en plein public te zingen. Al met al krijgt de rest van de dag dus een heerlijk kerstig tintje. Bring it on, zou ik zeggen.
Maar voor een keer dacht ik, kom, doe eens gek. Het is kerstvakantie, mijn dagen zijn allemaal anders, en dus zal ik u voor een keer eens meenemen in mijn enorm saaie bestaan :)
Om te beginnen was vannacht al anders dan anders. Ik werd om kwart over twee wakker, en kon niet meer in slaap komen. Na een half uur woelen, bedacht ik me in een keer dat vannacht de "lunar eclipse" was. En ach, ik was toch wakker, dus waarom niet even naar buiten om de rode maan te bekijken? Zo gezegd, zo gedaan, en zo stond ik om kwart voor drie in de achtertuin al blauwbekkend de oranje maan te bekijken. Het blijft toch een bijzonder verschijnsel, zo'n roodachtige maan. Helaas hielp het niet met het in slaap komen, en viel ik pas twee uur later, met het afgaan van manliefs wekker, in slaap. Pas om kwart voor acht werd ik weer wakker, ingeklemd tussen twee honden, die zich ons bed prinsheerlijk eigen hadden gemaakt nadat manlief vertrokken was.
Als ik vrij heb, dan is de ochtend mijn favoriete gedeelte van de dag. Gezellig de kerstverlichting aan, en dan met een kopje thee op de bank het nieuws kijken. Het klinkt vast uberburgerlijk, maar na maandenlang al staande een gehaast ontbijt naar binnen werken, is zo wakker worden echt een genot. Na een half uurtje Early Show kijken, bedacht ik me dat het eigenlijk wel een mooie tijd was om te gaan hardlopen. Vorige week kreeg ik tijdens het hardlopen in eens weer last van mijn knie, en ik wilde, voordat ik donderdag 13 mijl ga lopen, eerst even uitproberen hoe mijn knie het doet op de korte afstand. Nou, beste lezer (waaronder speciaal mijn fysio-vriendin), u kunt gerust zijn, mijn knie maakte het na 6 kilometer nog prima.
Na een snelle douche was het tijd om het lekkers voor de buren in te pakken. Voor het eerst dit jaar heb ik besloten om deel te nemen aan het Amerikaanse kerst ritueel van koekjes en ander lekkers uitdelen aan je buren. Gisteren heb ik dus niet alleen weer een berg koekjes gebakken, maar ook een of andere ingewikkelde upside-down-oats-raisins-chocolate-snack-cake, welke wonder boven wonder nog gelukt is ook. Vanochtend was het dus tijd om alle lekkernijnen in folie en tissue papier te verpakken, van een strik te voorzien, en in verschillende gift bags te stoppen. Geinspireerd door Zoe en Shelby, die buiten tegen de honden van de buren aan het blaffen zijn, besluit ik ook wat hondensnoepjes in folie en paper te verpakken voor de buren met honden. Ik voelde me een ware Suzy Homemaker toen alle gift bags af waren, en op het aanrecht stonden te pronken. U moet weten, dat ik eigenlijk nooit van dit soort sociale/huishoudelijke neigingen heb, en dat dus eigenlijk een best wel bijzonder moment was.
Na een "lick and a promise" schoonmaak sessie van de vloeren in ons huis, was het tijd om te lunchen. Manlief heeft van het weekend ongeveer vier liter chili gemaakt, en dus bestond mijn lunch uit een bakje chili met frito chips en kaas. Nadat ik jarenlang Chili niet lekker gevonden heb, vind ik dus echt een heerlijke maaltijd.
Na de lunch was het tijd om mijn haren weer eens in model te laten brengen, en daar zit ik dus momenteel te bloggen. Het grote voordeel van een moderne kapper - iedere klant heeft en macbook tot haar beschikking. Als ik hier klaar ben wil ik langs de CVS voor pasfoto's. De aanvraag voor Amerikaans staatsburgerschap is na een jaar op mijn bureau gelegen te hebben eindelijk af, en ik heb alleen nog twee pasfoto's nodig. En wat is nou een beter moment om die te laten nemen dan wanneer je net bij de kapper vandaan komt?
Vanavond gaan we naar vrienden van ons, waar een vervroegd kerstdiner gaan houden. Daarna gaan we met hen en wat kennissen van de kerk carroling (= kerstliedjes zingen) bij hen in de buurt. Ik heb denk ik al tien jaar niet gecarroled, en heb er erg zin in. Zelf ben ik namelijk gek op zingen, maar helaas de rest van de familie niet zo. En door te carrolen heb ik eindelijk een excuus om en plein public te zingen. Al met al krijgt de rest van de dag dus een heerlijk kerstig tintje. Bring it on, zou ik zeggen.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Unwinding...
...is hard to do
Seriously, people. It is. At least it is if you're me.
Commencement ended eight days, two hours, and eleven minutes ago, and as of about ten minutes ago, I feel completely relaxed. I know, it's sad. It took me over a week to shake the feeling that OMG! I have stuff to do! Places to go! People to see! Presents to buy! And oh yeah! I! Must! Blog!
Husband-dear noticed it too, and kept telling me to slow down, take it easy, spend a day laying on the couch, but it just wasn't that easy for me. I mean there was stuff to do, people. Presents for teachers to buy. Christmas cards to send. Coffee to drink. But today, as I was on another grueling, long, and mainly cold ride (as apparently punishment is a part of my daily existence nowadays - do you think there's a problem for people addicted to exercise?), and started thinking about a funny topic for this blog (which you will all get to read about tomorrow, honestly), and then decided to, when I got home, bake cookies and clean the kitchen, I realized my break had just begun. You see, I only bake when I'm totally relaxed, and as cleaning is a sure fire way to get me feeling content with the world, I knew I was on the right track.
And as usual, it worked like charm. I baked enough cookies to feed the entire neighborhood, and know that I'll probably have to run out and buy more supplies tomorrow. Seriously, I love to bake cookies around Christmas time. Seriously love it. Last year, when my in-laws spent Christmas at our house, I must have baked close to a hundred cookies in two days. So yes, anyone in the vicinity is more than welcome to stop by and get some, and there is no way I want to eat all of the (all it would do is have me exercise even more, and really people, the whole exercise thing is getting out hand as it is).
Anyway, I'm sure you're all wondering why it took me a good week to unwind. I mean, most people leave work, and are ready to party the same evening, why am I so different? Well, I pondered that too during my ride (at least all this exercising saves me a lot of money on counseling), and I have an excuse/answer for you. You see, this past year has been absolutely positively insane. It's probably been the most insane year of my life ever. And that's saying something.
For those of you not completely up to date with my life, allow me to summarize:
- I taught fourteen classes (the norm is eight classes over two semesters)
- I wrote two conference papers
- I traveled to two conferences
- I wrote a book chapter
- I completed two triathlons
- I competed in two adventure races
- I ran at least one 5k race (probably more, but I can't remember)
- I read the entire bible (fifteen minutes, every day, for a year)
- I offended large numbers of people, including students and staff
- I traveled to Holland twice
- I dealt with the youngest being hospitalized for a week
- I ran and biked hundreds of miles, and swam enough laps to probably swim from here to Maine
- I wrote a little over a hundred blogposts
- And finally, I spent a lot of time pitying myself and my busy life (and people, let me tell you, that takes up a lot of energy).
Obviously, I have no intention of repeating all of this next year, especially the first and eleventh one. And the last one too I suppose. Because, seriously, at this point I only have two weeks left of my break, and wasted an entire week getting ready to relax, which is really just extremely ridiculous.
Now you'll have to excuse me while I go and lay on the couch some. Or maybe I'll hang out in the kitchen and annoy husband-dear by singing "Santa baby". Or bake some more cookies...
Seriously, people. It is. At least it is if you're me.
Commencement ended eight days, two hours, and eleven minutes ago, and as of about ten minutes ago, I feel completely relaxed. I know, it's sad. It took me over a week to shake the feeling that OMG! I have stuff to do! Places to go! People to see! Presents to buy! And oh yeah! I! Must! Blog!
Husband-dear noticed it too, and kept telling me to slow down, take it easy, spend a day laying on the couch, but it just wasn't that easy for me. I mean there was stuff to do, people. Presents for teachers to buy. Christmas cards to send. Coffee to drink. But today, as I was on another grueling, long, and mainly cold ride (as apparently punishment is a part of my daily existence nowadays - do you think there's a problem for people addicted to exercise?), and started thinking about a funny topic for this blog (which you will all get to read about tomorrow, honestly), and then decided to, when I got home, bake cookies and clean the kitchen, I realized my break had just begun. You see, I only bake when I'm totally relaxed, and as cleaning is a sure fire way to get me feeling content with the world, I knew I was on the right track.
And as usual, it worked like charm. I baked enough cookies to feed the entire neighborhood, and know that I'll probably have to run out and buy more supplies tomorrow. Seriously, I love to bake cookies around Christmas time. Seriously love it. Last year, when my in-laws spent Christmas at our house, I must have baked close to a hundred cookies in two days. So yes, anyone in the vicinity is more than welcome to stop by and get some, and there is no way I want to eat all of the (all it would do is have me exercise even more, and really people, the whole exercise thing is getting out hand as it is).
Anyway, I'm sure you're all wondering why it took me a good week to unwind. I mean, most people leave work, and are ready to party the same evening, why am I so different? Well, I pondered that too during my ride (at least all this exercising saves me a lot of money on counseling), and I have an excuse/answer for you. You see, this past year has been absolutely positively insane. It's probably been the most insane year of my life ever. And that's saying something.
For those of you not completely up to date with my life, allow me to summarize:
- I taught fourteen classes (the norm is eight classes over two semesters)
- I wrote two conference papers
- I traveled to two conferences
- I wrote a book chapter
- I completed two triathlons
- I competed in two adventure races
- I ran at least one 5k race (probably more, but I can't remember)
- I read the entire bible (fifteen minutes, every day, for a year)
- I offended large numbers of people, including students and staff
- I traveled to Holland twice
- I dealt with the youngest being hospitalized for a week
- I ran and biked hundreds of miles, and swam enough laps to probably swim from here to Maine
- I wrote a little over a hundred blogposts
- And finally, I spent a lot of time pitying myself and my busy life (and people, let me tell you, that takes up a lot of energy).
Obviously, I have no intention of repeating all of this next year, especially the first and eleventh one. And the last one too I suppose. Because, seriously, at this point I only have two weeks left of my break, and wasted an entire week getting ready to relax, which is really just extremely ridiculous.
Now you'll have to excuse me while I go and lay on the couch some. Or maybe I'll hang out in the kitchen and annoy husband-dear by singing "Santa baby". Or bake some more cookies...
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Southern sensitivities
So we all know about southern cooking, southern hospitality, and southern baptists. Today I would like to add another southern tradition to this list: southern sensitivity, or the southern definition of rude. If you're ever planning a visit down south, will be moving down here, or live here as a "northern transplant" (and yes, anyone not from the south is in fact northern), you may want to sit up and pay attention, lest you spend your time in the south inadvertently insulting the locals left and right.
I know I've talked about how southerners don't take "no" very well, but lately I've had to come to the conclusion that there more to the southern understanding of rudeness than that. Basically, proper southern behavior calls for a lot more politeness that non-southerners will ever think to use. A lot more. And I'm not just talking about saying "thank you" and "please". I'm talking about keeping one's opinion to oneself, knowing when to be quiet, when to defer to someone else, right down to when to adopt a certain facial expression or even posture, among other things. And just to get things straight - I don't get this. I try, for sure, but fail most of the time. As one of my friends told me the other day, with a sad but encouraging smile on her face, I'm just too much like a New Yorker. I tell it like it is, and that is definitely a no-go area as far as southerners are concerned. For the past three years I've tried to change, to blend in, but with very little success. And then just a few days ago, a "northern" (read: non-southern) friend of mine who lives down here too, told me a story that made me feel a whole lot better about my failed attempts at southern politeness.
This particular friend works at a sporting goods store, and knows just about everything there is to know about running. She can tell all you'll ever want to know about different gaits, foot types, shoes, injuries, remedies, training schedules, and anything else you can think of. So when you show up to her store, and ask for her a pair of shoes, she will take you through a few tests, watch you walk, and then tell you all about the type of shoe that will probably work best for your feet, gait, and mileage. It's fairly straightforward, and Mary, my friend, is very professional when she walks you through it. And by professional, I mean polite but to the point. There's no fluttering eyelashes, "oh my word"s, or silly girlie smiles. As far as I am concerned, that's just fine. You are, after all, asking a running expert for shoe advice, not trying to get a pageant contestant to talk about world peace. Apparently, however, true southerners disagree with me. You see, a few weeks ago, a southern gentleman came into the sister store in a large town to the north, and when told by the salesperson that he could have purchased the same shoes at Mary's store, which was much closer to his home, he shook his formidable head, and proclaimed he was never ever going to that store again. When asked why, the man told him that the skinny blonde at that store had been so horribly rude to him, he refused to set foot in his store.
"You mean Mary?" The sales associate had asked, "Mary? Tall, skinny, blond?"
"Yes, she was just horrible. Telling me what to buy and what to do."
"Really? Most people think she's super nice" the sales associate had said.
Well, apparently Mr. Southern gentleman didn't think so, and had sent several people from his church to Mary's store to check her out, and they all agreed.
Besides the fact that sending people from your church to check something out sounds like the south's answer to the mob to me; if you fail to obtain the southern baptist's social rules committee's standards, they will withdraw their approval of your store, I was just flabbergasted by the fact that acting like an expert, because, hey, that's what you are, can be construed as offensive. It feels almost the same as when my male students get upset when I tell them they're wrong. Or when our male technicians get upset when I, the younger, female professor, direct them to do something. It seems that pulling rank is only acceptable if you're high up in the community's social hierarchy, a position that, guess what, is out of reach for "northern" women. If you're an expert at anything here in the south, and you're a female, you seem to have two choices: 1) keep your mouth shut and look pretty, or 2) open that same mouth and be judged, albeit behind your back.
And as Mary and I debated the intricacies of southern notions of rudeness over lunch, I realized I needed a refill on my water, just when the waitress walked up to our table.
"Oh great, there you are! " I said to the waitress who had been awol for a good fifteen minutes, "I was just thinking I needed a refill."
The waitress gave me a funny look, and walked off to get the water
I turned to Mary, "That was rude, wasn't it?"
"Just southern rude" She said.
So from now on when someone acts as though I'm rude (or God forbid, tells me, although that in itself is considered very impolite), I'm going to not start by doubting myself. I think from now on, I'm going to start by analyzing them. Because southern rudeness? I don't play that game. Southern baptists be...I guess I better not finish that sentence.
I know I've talked about how southerners don't take "no" very well, but lately I've had to come to the conclusion that there more to the southern understanding of rudeness than that. Basically, proper southern behavior calls for a lot more politeness that non-southerners will ever think to use. A lot more. And I'm not just talking about saying "thank you" and "please". I'm talking about keeping one's opinion to oneself, knowing when to be quiet, when to defer to someone else, right down to when to adopt a certain facial expression or even posture, among other things. And just to get things straight - I don't get this. I try, for sure, but fail most of the time. As one of my friends told me the other day, with a sad but encouraging smile on her face, I'm just too much like a New Yorker. I tell it like it is, and that is definitely a no-go area as far as southerners are concerned. For the past three years I've tried to change, to blend in, but with very little success. And then just a few days ago, a "northern" (read: non-southern) friend of mine who lives down here too, told me a story that made me feel a whole lot better about my failed attempts at southern politeness.
This particular friend works at a sporting goods store, and knows just about everything there is to know about running. She can tell all you'll ever want to know about different gaits, foot types, shoes, injuries, remedies, training schedules, and anything else you can think of. So when you show up to her store, and ask for her a pair of shoes, she will take you through a few tests, watch you walk, and then tell you all about the type of shoe that will probably work best for your feet, gait, and mileage. It's fairly straightforward, and Mary, my friend, is very professional when she walks you through it. And by professional, I mean polite but to the point. There's no fluttering eyelashes, "oh my word"s, or silly girlie smiles. As far as I am concerned, that's just fine. You are, after all, asking a running expert for shoe advice, not trying to get a pageant contestant to talk about world peace. Apparently, however, true southerners disagree with me. You see, a few weeks ago, a southern gentleman came into the sister store in a large town to the north, and when told by the salesperson that he could have purchased the same shoes at Mary's store, which was much closer to his home, he shook his formidable head, and proclaimed he was never ever going to that store again. When asked why, the man told him that the skinny blonde at that store had been so horribly rude to him, he refused to set foot in his store.
"You mean Mary?" The sales associate had asked, "Mary? Tall, skinny, blond?"
"Yes, she was just horrible. Telling me what to buy and what to do."
"Really? Most people think she's super nice" the sales associate had said.
Well, apparently Mr. Southern gentleman didn't think so, and had sent several people from his church to Mary's store to check her out, and they all agreed.
Besides the fact that sending people from your church to check something out sounds like the south's answer to the mob to me; if you fail to obtain the southern baptist's social rules committee's standards, they will withdraw their approval of your store, I was just flabbergasted by the fact that acting like an expert, because, hey, that's what you are, can be construed as offensive. It feels almost the same as when my male students get upset when I tell them they're wrong. Or when our male technicians get upset when I, the younger, female professor, direct them to do something. It seems that pulling rank is only acceptable if you're high up in the community's social hierarchy, a position that, guess what, is out of reach for "northern" women. If you're an expert at anything here in the south, and you're a female, you seem to have two choices: 1) keep your mouth shut and look pretty, or 2) open that same mouth and be judged, albeit behind your back.
And as Mary and I debated the intricacies of southern notions of rudeness over lunch, I realized I needed a refill on my water, just when the waitress walked up to our table.
"Oh great, there you are! " I said to the waitress who had been awol for a good fifteen minutes, "I was just thinking I needed a refill."
The waitress gave me a funny look, and walked off to get the water
I turned to Mary, "That was rude, wasn't it?"
"Just southern rude" She said.
So from now on when someone acts as though I'm rude (or God forbid, tells me, although that in itself is considered very impolite), I'm going to not start by doubting myself. I think from now on, I'm going to start by analyzing them. Because southern rudeness? I don't play that game. Southern baptists be...I guess I better not finish that sentence.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Under construction
Once again, we all survived commencement. No one succumbed to boredom, the heat of the insanely warm auditorium, and everyone behaved in a very pompous and circumstantial manner. Personally, I say let's bring on Christmas break.
However, as always, unwinding is not something that comes naturally to me. I know people who will come home the evening of their break, and immediately switch to "chillax"mode, not even bothering to properly hang up their robes until the beginning of the new semester (or next commencement, as proven by the wrinkled robes in the chair next to me). Not me. And not my robes. Especially not after an insane semester such as this past one. I still have so much energy pumping through my veins, I've spent the past two days bouncing around the house. I ran twelve miles yesterday, did all the laundry, including the whites which are usually husband's dear's job, took time out to see a local company perform "The Nutcracker", cleaned out my computer, tidied my purse and work bag, developed a gazillion pictures, started on my scrapbook, managed to catch up with two friends, make two more appointments for the next few days, and decide to pimp up my blog just a little.
Yes, just because apparently my body thinks unwinding is for wimps, I am going to try and snazzy up my blog a little bit in the next few weeks. I have yet no idea what exactly it is I'll be doing it, so please don't expect any dancing poodles/dry ice/warm and fuzzy posts, but you know, I'll see what I can do to keep you all interested.
In the meantime, I am going to see about doing some groceries (and pray that I run out of energy soon..good grief this is getting out hand. Next thing you know I'll be polishing our silver..sheesh...)
However, as always, unwinding is not something that comes naturally to me. I know people who will come home the evening of their break, and immediately switch to "chillax"mode, not even bothering to properly hang up their robes until the beginning of the new semester (or next commencement, as proven by the wrinkled robes in the chair next to me). Not me. And not my robes. Especially not after an insane semester such as this past one. I still have so much energy pumping through my veins, I've spent the past two days bouncing around the house. I ran twelve miles yesterday, did all the laundry, including the whites which are usually husband's dear's job, took time out to see a local company perform "The Nutcracker", cleaned out my computer, tidied my purse and work bag, developed a gazillion pictures, started on my scrapbook, managed to catch up with two friends, make two more appointments for the next few days, and decide to pimp up my blog just a little.
Yes, just because apparently my body thinks unwinding is for wimps, I am going to try and snazzy up my blog a little bit in the next few weeks. I have yet no idea what exactly it is I'll be doing it, so please don't expect any dancing poodles/dry ice/warm and fuzzy posts, but you know, I'll see what I can do to keep you all interested.
In the meantime, I am going to see about doing some groceries (and pray that I run out of energy soon..good grief this is getting out hand. Next thing you know I'll be polishing our silver..sheesh...)
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Here's your sign..
...that commencement really is only three days away:
When you dream (note: dream, i.e., you are asleep) about driving home from work. It's a very vivid dream, and you can see everything you normally see while driving home: the gas stations, the exits, the different color lights as you cross county lines, and even the writing on the back of semis. You're listening to the radio, and are having a hard time staying awake because it's been such a long day. Then you somehow startle yourself semi-awake, and absolutely, positively freak out and try to slam on the brake because you are 100% convinced that you just fell asleep while driving. And it's not until you kick husband-dear in the shins that you realize that you're actually in bed, which means it OK to be asleep.
Only two days, fourteen hours, and thirty minutes left. Can we have an "Amen"?
When you dream (note: dream, i.e., you are asleep) about driving home from work. It's a very vivid dream, and you can see everything you normally see while driving home: the gas stations, the exits, the different color lights as you cross county lines, and even the writing on the back of semis. You're listening to the radio, and are having a hard time staying awake because it's been such a long day. Then you somehow startle yourself semi-awake, and absolutely, positively freak out and try to slam on the brake because you are 100% convinced that you just fell asleep while driving. And it's not until you kick husband-dear in the shins that you realize that you're actually in bed, which means it OK to be asleep.
Only two days, fourteen hours, and thirty minutes left. Can we have an "Amen"?
Monday, December 6, 2010
Christmas etiquette
Yesterday a friend of mine surprised me with a Christmas gift. It was really very nice - a big mason jar filled with all the ingredients to make a "chocolate chip raisin oatmeal cake". And it would have been absolutely guitlessly lovely if she had given this to me, say, in September. But it's Christmas. And that means that whenever someone outside my immediate family, i.e., someone I have not purchased a gift for, buys me a present, guilt sets in. Guilt as well as social agony in the form of a chilling realization that I still don't know anything about proper Christmas etiquette, and really don't know if by not having a gift in return I have now made myself something of a social pariah. In short, receiving an unexpected gift is really on a par with designing one's wedding guest list.
For those of you who are now wondering why, allow me to present you a brief glimpse into my mind. Here are some of the questions racing through my head: If they've thought of me, shouldn't I have thought of them too? So does that make me a bad friend? Should I now reciprocate their gift? Or is it tacky if I do it after they've already given me their gift, and it's obvious that I purchased theirs only after receiving my gift? What should I get her? And then should I get all my friends a gift, as some of them might be around when I give her my gift?
Why can't people here be more Dutch? More frugal, more practical (and feel free to add in less social/giving)? You know, Dutch friends don't give each other Christmas gifts. They might give each other Sinterklaas gifts, but only if they celebrate Sinterklaas together. So if you haven't planned a Sinterklaas celebration with someone, and have thus previously agreed on a budget, style of present, and who will give what to whom, you pretty much don't have to worry about receiving presents from any one other than your immediate family. And if someone does step outside the bell curve of normal social behavior and gives you a present, they are considered such an outlier, you are hence excused from any need for reciprocation.
Unfortunately, or perhaps I should be fair here, and say, fortunately, Americans are more giving than that. During the Christmas season, people do give presents, cookies, baked goods, and ornaments to close friends, as well as family members. The problem with this generous nature is that there really is no rhyme or reason to it. One year friend A might buy you something, and the next year they may not. You would think this lack of organization is liberating, and for the person giving the present it is. One year I gave two friends presents, and the next year, I didn't, and everyone was OK with that. But how you deal with reciprocating this love, I really don't know. Since it's not something you can really ask ("Hey thanks for the gift, that's awesome! What would you like in return?"), I've been stuck figuring this out on my own, and thus feeling guilty. A lot.
Apparently, however, I'm not the only suffering from Christmas guilt. I remember watching Oprah one time many, many years ago, when she had an etiquette expert on her show who recommended buying some neutral gifts and keeping these in a few places such as your car, your office, and your home, just in case someone shows up unexpectedly, bearing unexpected gifts. Leaving the idea aside that you purchase gifts just so you don't have to feel guilty could be considered a little less than sincere, I also obviously haven't thought of or had the time to purchase said gifts, and so my desk drawers, back seat, and kitchen cabinets are devoid of anything I could conjure up at a moment such as yesterday's. Maybe the expert was on to something.
Anyway, how do "regular" Americans deal with this? Are they just much better at receiving gifts than I am? Or do they all stock their home, cars, and offices with wrapped up gifts color-coded for "type of friend", just so you don't give the running cap to your 80-year old neighbor?
All I know is that I'd much rather be the giver. So take heed everyone - if you want to give me a present, you're best off doing outside the December 10-December 26 time frame, and if you must give me something within those time lines, a little caveat along the lines of "don't get me anything in return!" or "I really like Yankee Candle!" would be very helpful.
Thanks.
For those of you who are now wondering why, allow me to present you a brief glimpse into my mind. Here are some of the questions racing through my head: If they've thought of me, shouldn't I have thought of them too? So does that make me a bad friend? Should I now reciprocate their gift? Or is it tacky if I do it after they've already given me their gift, and it's obvious that I purchased theirs only after receiving my gift? What should I get her? And then should I get all my friends a gift, as some of them might be around when I give her my gift?
Why can't people here be more Dutch? More frugal, more practical (and feel free to add in less social/giving)? You know, Dutch friends don't give each other Christmas gifts. They might give each other Sinterklaas gifts, but only if they celebrate Sinterklaas together. So if you haven't planned a Sinterklaas celebration with someone, and have thus previously agreed on a budget, style of present, and who will give what to whom, you pretty much don't have to worry about receiving presents from any one other than your immediate family. And if someone does step outside the bell curve of normal social behavior and gives you a present, they are considered such an outlier, you are hence excused from any need for reciprocation.
Unfortunately, or perhaps I should be fair here, and say, fortunately, Americans are more giving than that. During the Christmas season, people do give presents, cookies, baked goods, and ornaments to close friends, as well as family members. The problem with this generous nature is that there really is no rhyme or reason to it. One year friend A might buy you something, and the next year they may not. You would think this lack of organization is liberating, and for the person giving the present it is. One year I gave two friends presents, and the next year, I didn't, and everyone was OK with that. But how you deal with reciprocating this love, I really don't know. Since it's not something you can really ask ("Hey thanks for the gift, that's awesome! What would you like in return?"), I've been stuck figuring this out on my own, and thus feeling guilty. A lot.
Apparently, however, I'm not the only suffering from Christmas guilt. I remember watching Oprah one time many, many years ago, when she had an etiquette expert on her show who recommended buying some neutral gifts and keeping these in a few places such as your car, your office, and your home, just in case someone shows up unexpectedly, bearing unexpected gifts. Leaving the idea aside that you purchase gifts just so you don't have to feel guilty could be considered a little less than sincere, I also obviously haven't thought of or had the time to purchase said gifts, and so my desk drawers, back seat, and kitchen cabinets are devoid of anything I could conjure up at a moment such as yesterday's. Maybe the expert was on to something.
Anyway, how do "regular" Americans deal with this? Are they just much better at receiving gifts than I am? Or do they all stock their home, cars, and offices with wrapped up gifts color-coded for "type of friend", just so you don't give the running cap to your 80-year old neighbor?
All I know is that I'd much rather be the giver. So take heed everyone - if you want to give me a present, you're best off doing outside the December 10-December 26 time frame, and if you must give me something within those time lines, a little caveat along the lines of "don't get me anything in return!" or "I really like Yankee Candle!" would be very helpful.
Thanks.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Rhyming nuisances
There are several things you can say to me towards the end of the semester that will make steam come out of my ears. Or at least little tiny puffs of smoke. "We're out of coffee" would be one of them, as would, "Oh, yes, the final exam schedule has been changed again", while "I forgot to show up for advisement, could you help me now?" is a definite winner too. But the one statement that truly, honestly, completely sets my teeth on edge?
"I'm too blessed to be stressed."
This statement has to be a truly southern staple, because I hear it everywhere and all the time. At work, at a crowded grocery store, at church, at the gym, and even on the radio. And every time I hear it, I die a little on the inside. Seriously. There are so many things wrong with "too blessed to be stressed", that I frankly don't even know where to start.
First, the implicit, passive-aggressive reference to stress. Look, people, I know we're in the south, but if you're busy and stressed, just come out and say it. Stop beating around the bush. Please. You do realize that there is something between pouring out your gut and soul to someone, and pretending everything is OK, right? I mean, if you're stressed, I for one think it's absolutely acceptable to say, "Yeah, things are OK, but I'm just really busy.", or perhaps, "Well, I'm a little stressed out right now." I will say it once again: it's really fine to be honest. You don't have to be blunt or pour your entire life's sorrows, but telling people how you really feel will not automatically mean they will think you are a freak. Trust me. And if they, well, we're in the south, you will never know. Isn't that awesome?
Second, "too blessed to be stressed" somehow alludes to the firmly held southern belief that although you may be stressed out to the point where you are ready to get a divorce and turn your kids over to DFACS, complaining is just not done. It's the age old adage of you are always fine. Always. And if you're not, you will pretend as though you are. This really makes my skin crawl. Again, although I'm not arguing we all unburden our total selves on vague acquaintances, I see nothing wrong with complaining. Yes, we should be grateful that we have a roof over our head, food on the table, and clothes on our back, but does that mean that we automatically have no right to complain about all the other million and one things in life? Unless you're talking to someone in a homeless shelter, I think we can assume your conversation partner has a house too, so you're even there. No need to pretend everything is OK because you're not in a shelter. We know you're not. Well, except in the south, where Maslov's hierarchy of needs has apparently never quite caught on.
And finally, there is the incredible annoying religious reference. Welcome to the bible belt, where everything is God. And you know what, that's great. I like God, think He's a pretty neat dude myself. But I don't think that just because God (or whoever your deity of choice may or may not be) has blessed me, I am not allowed to be stressed, or better yet, talk about it. In fact, let's remain in the religious discourse for a moment, shall we? If we assume that there is a God, then we may also assume that God has created everyone in His image. And that means that God likes to whine, as far as I'm concerned. So then why should I feel the need to not be stressed because I'm blessed? Again, staying within a religious framework; God gave me a job 90 miles away, an immense overload, two kids, a husband with a crazy military job, two dogs, and a host of other responsibilities, so he knew he was causing stress. Even though all those things are blessings too. So why can't I be stressed and blessed at the same time? And from a thoroughly agnostic/atheist perspective, all there really is to say about "too blessed to be stressed" is that someone is in some serious denial there.
So, please, while I'm trying to stay afloat among six classes worth of papers, finals, portfolios, and prep next semester's classes, can we all please ixnay the "too blessed to be stressed" and make me some coffee instead? Thanks.
"I'm too blessed to be stressed."
This statement has to be a truly southern staple, because I hear it everywhere and all the time. At work, at a crowded grocery store, at church, at the gym, and even on the radio. And every time I hear it, I die a little on the inside. Seriously. There are so many things wrong with "too blessed to be stressed", that I frankly don't even know where to start.
First, the implicit, passive-aggressive reference to stress. Look, people, I know we're in the south, but if you're busy and stressed, just come out and say it. Stop beating around the bush. Please. You do realize that there is something between pouring out your gut and soul to someone, and pretending everything is OK, right? I mean, if you're stressed, I for one think it's absolutely acceptable to say, "Yeah, things are OK, but I'm just really busy.", or perhaps, "Well, I'm a little stressed out right now." I will say it once again: it's really fine to be honest. You don't have to be blunt or pour your entire life's sorrows, but telling people how you really feel will not automatically mean they will think you are a freak. Trust me. And if they, well, we're in the south, you will never know. Isn't that awesome?
Second, "too blessed to be stressed" somehow alludes to the firmly held southern belief that although you may be stressed out to the point where you are ready to get a divorce and turn your kids over to DFACS, complaining is just not done. It's the age old adage of you are always fine. Always. And if you're not, you will pretend as though you are. This really makes my skin crawl. Again, although I'm not arguing we all unburden our total selves on vague acquaintances, I see nothing wrong with complaining. Yes, we should be grateful that we have a roof over our head, food on the table, and clothes on our back, but does that mean that we automatically have no right to complain about all the other million and one things in life? Unless you're talking to someone in a homeless shelter, I think we can assume your conversation partner has a house too, so you're even there. No need to pretend everything is OK because you're not in a shelter. We know you're not. Well, except in the south, where Maslov's hierarchy of needs has apparently never quite caught on.
And finally, there is the incredible annoying religious reference. Welcome to the bible belt, where everything is God. And you know what, that's great. I like God, think He's a pretty neat dude myself. But I don't think that just because God (or whoever your deity of choice may or may not be) has blessed me, I am not allowed to be stressed, or better yet, talk about it. In fact, let's remain in the religious discourse for a moment, shall we? If we assume that there is a God, then we may also assume that God has created everyone in His image. And that means that God likes to whine, as far as I'm concerned. So then why should I feel the need to not be stressed because I'm blessed? Again, staying within a religious framework; God gave me a job 90 miles away, an immense overload, two kids, a husband with a crazy military job, two dogs, and a host of other responsibilities, so he knew he was causing stress. Even though all those things are blessings too. So why can't I be stressed and blessed at the same time? And from a thoroughly agnostic/atheist perspective, all there really is to say about "too blessed to be stressed" is that someone is in some serious denial there.
So, please, while I'm trying to stay afloat among six classes worth of papers, finals, portfolios, and prep next semester's classes, can we all please ixnay the "too blessed to be stressed" and make me some coffee instead? Thanks.
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