rantum scoot

Idea for You

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 01:05:00 +0000

Please take this idea and make a lot of money: Aesthetically pleasing portapotties. Sometimes people hold nice events outdoors and have to rent portapotties. If you have the business with the ones that actually look nice or are interesting design, they'll pick you.

Asheville

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Sun, 17 May 2009 16:30:00 +0000

We spent a little over a week in Asheville, p'raps I'll get around to posting photos soon. One of the highlights was that there was music Everywhere, and Lyra loves to dance. In a highchair to rock on restaurant speakers, to muzac while in a shopping cart, to buskers, to dance floors and live music, at festivals, Everywhere. Here she is at the Fiddlin' Pig, a famous BBQ and live bluegrass joint in Asheville. After much stomping, clapping, and arm flapping, she bust out her Moonwalk:

Idea for You

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 01:21:00 +0000

Please take this idea and make lots of money. Someone needs to design a hot tub with neck massagers along the edges that you can lean your head back into. Thank you.

I Wouldn’t Miss a Minute of This

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 00:38:00 +0000

It was a rainy Sunday morning. Our nearly two-year-old daughter, Lyra, woke up singing, which always makes Glenn and I laugh no matter how groggy we are. We got her up, and I made oatmeal. After breakfast I gave my extremely silly kid a long bath while Glenn vacuumed the house. We decided Glenn would take Lyra to the Museum of Science while I had a little alone time. He went upstairs and took a shower.

We have an open format house, but the rooms are on different levels so I could hear that he’d been out of the shower for awhile but I hadn't heard him making any noises like he was coming down and I was itching for as much free time as our pre-lunch time hours would allow, so I shouted up "You coming down?"

“Can you come up here?” he said kind of weakly.
“Are you okay?” I shouted up, not particularly concerned.
“I need your presence,” he said awkwardly. I safety-gated Lyra into the living room and jogged upstairs, imagining he was examining a weird mole or something of that nature.

I went up and he was rocking on the bed, naked. He seemed extremely agitated and mournfully kept saying he was really disoriented. I kept trying to get him to tell me what he meant by disoriented. I assumed he was having a panic attack. I’ve had a few of these and realize how huge of an event they are. I asked if he had fallen in the shower, and he didn’t think so. He kept saying he didn't know what day it was or the date. I told him it was Sunday and that it was okay to not know the date. I got him to deep breath with me slowly to calm down. I made him laugh. I asked him questions he answered rationally, including his name and mine. I made him track my fingers with his eyes. I made sure his whole body was functional. Then he just kept repeating the questions about the day and date.

I still thought maybe he was just panicky. Nothing really seemed wrong except his reaction. I asked him a couple of more questions and he did not know what year it was or who the president was. I still felt disbelief, since he could talk so normally about other things. Was he trying to make sure I understood how seriously he was freaking out? No, he really didn’t seem to know. I handed him each item of clothing as he put it on, occasionally prodding him to do it. He was steady on his feet and able to come downstairs. He definitely needed me along, and I hoped this wasn’t an ambulance situation and I was making the right choice driving – it was just so confusing. I got Lyra into her coat and shoes. I asked Glenn if he was able to bring the stroller outside to the car.

“Yeah,” he said sounding relieved, “I can do that.” I threw some snacks and milk and children’s books in a shopping bag and realized he was still just standing in front of the stroller. I watched him carefully and asked again. He brought it outside and opened the trunk of the car and found that our jogging stroller was already there taking up the space.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m honestly completely confused by this.” I marshaled him into the passenger seat, shoved the stroller in back, strapped in Lyra, and drove us just a mile over the Charles River to Mass General.

The car was completely out of gas. The light had come on while we were on the highway returning from a dinner with friends the night before. I crossed my fingers and pulled up in the passenger drop-off zone and left the car there along with everything I’d brought along. There are normally orange-vested people there to help with parking and emergencies, but there was no one around. Sundays are more difficult. I had no idea how much I should be hurrying, so I hurried. I was hauling Lyra in one arm and propelling Glenn along with the other arm into the ER.

“My husband is disoriented, and is repeating questions about the date, doesn’t know what year it is,” I blurted. They whisked him into acute care immediately. They took blood, hooked him to monitors and asked him a lot of questions. They made him track a finger, use his whole body, show his coordination, and got him in line for a CAT scan pronto. I was getting scared and trying to act cheerful with Lyra and Glenn but started fixating on the iodine? blood? stains on the floor.

A registration administrator came back to finish his intake. She asked if he still worked at his old job that was listed with his information. “Yes,” he said. “No,” I corrected. I married the smartest person I knew, and I considered what marriage with someone with brain damage might be like. He kept repeating his whole name, my whole name, and Lyra’s, proving to himself he wasn’t forgetting everything. He told me a number of times “I know that I love you.” He moved around and some gauze fell out of the bed and I suddenly totally snapped at the registration woman who’d come back to fill in his information. “Are those from HIM?” She said I could ask a nurse.

I started making phone calls.

The second they had him occupied with things I hauled Lyra back out of the ER, worried about the car. I desperately needed the stroller for my squirmy, heavy kid, and didn’t need the car towed. I asked the information desk if someone could help me park it. They said someone was outside, but no one was. I didn’t want to be gone from Glenn for long.

I strapped Lyra back in and realized how scared I was while I circled around and around the parking garage. I was completely freaking out that I couldn’t find a space. The gas alarm beeped at me and there were still no spaces. At last we were in the very last space on the roof and the car hadn’t died. I ran with Lyra in the stroller in the rain to the elevator, and back into the hospital and ER.

Lyra was struggling being in the stroller. Glenn got into this endless loop of asking me the exact same questions over and over about how he got there and what was going on and had he had a stroke. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I don’t know.” “Jesus,” he said every time, “This is pretty freaky. Okay, I think this is the most scared I’ve ever been.” I gave Lyra snacks, and made her laugh, and just kept answering him.

Finally I got through to my friend Jade, who was able to come right over and she played with Lyra out in the waiting room and hallway. She also called her father who heads up a child psych research department at MGH for help understanding what was happening. Stroke didn’t seem likely – he’s not much of a candidate for one and was speaking normally and using both sides of his body fine, virus I thought would probably have had a temperature with it, and brain tumor was the other obvious candidate. I disassociated a little then.

They took Glenn for a CAT scan, and Jade and Lyra and I went to the cafeteria where Lyra explored all the benches and chairs while we picked at fruit and grilled cheese. Then I got through to Christie, a mom friend of mine I met in a new parent group when our kids were born. Lyra, like me, adores Christie and her daughter, and we take in each other’s kids frequently, and frankly, look forward to it.

I explained to Lyra that Daddy was going to talk to the doctor for a while and they were going to take some pictures of his insides to make sure he didn’t eat a puzzle piece (there were definitely some missing from this situation, but this is a reference to Curious George Goes to the Hospital). She nodded and was fine with that explanation. Christie came and picked up Lyra. Lyra was completely delighted with this and Christie took her to my house and fed her and put her down for a nap. Jade stayed with me.

They brought Glenn back, and he had no idea he'd just had a CAT scan. He didn’t remember it at all. He could talk about all kinds of other things normally here and there but then would ask the same set of about seven questions about how he got there, why was he there, what happened, were there any theories. "I had a CAT scan and I don't remember it? Jesus. That’s freaky. Okay, I think this is the most scared I’ve ever been." Each round he realized completely anew that he was scared. Each round he reacted the same way.

Eventually after maybe twenty rounds of Jade and I taking turns answering, I wrote him answers on an index card, which helped everyone and greatly calmed him down. He clutched it for hours and hours. Whenever we had any results of things that had been ruled out, I added it to the card for him. Jade's father spoke to me on the phone about the possibilities of a tiny reversible stroke caused by a brief lack of oxygen flow.

Glenn read his card, and then said “Have I asked you these questions a lot,” for the fourth time. I took the card and added “And yes, you’ve asked these questions a lot.” The next time he read the card he asked me, “Have I asked you if I asked these questions a lot, a lot?”

Glenn was occasionally totally normal seeming. He’d go to talk and I’d chant to myself “Be Here Now” like it would help him not slip away like his memory. I thanked my stars that Jade was with me and Lyra was better than safe, she was excited to be with Christie.

The CAT scan was normal. No tumors, stroke signs, infection signs. A psych consult was called and Jade and I stood outside the curtain while the man talked to him and asked questions with puzzles and memory tests. Glenn could subtract series of numbers faster than I probably would with a calculator but did not know I'd been standing there five minutes before. He couldn't keep three words in his head when asked again after a couple of minutes.

The neurologist talked to him and did similar tests. Glenn was aware he wasn’t thinking right and was fighting it. He kept trying to deduce whatever he could – found a cleaning schedule on the wall with most days checked off and guessed what day it was based on that. Sometimes it wasn’t so hard: the doctor asked him where he was and he said “MGH.” When asked what that stood for, Glenn said “Well, Massachusetts General Hospital is written on your shirt, you should probably give me a harder one.” He was given drinks for having low potassium. He didn't remember drinking it later but guessed he must have since he saw the cup. A neurologist came in and asked him similar questions. Glenn saw a jug of urine and told the doctor -- "I don't remember peeing but I'm guessing you didn't bring that with you…." He was himself, but not. Then the doctors left and he was back to asking his questions and reading the card.

Lately I’ve been eating lunch at an Asian food court with my daughter after her gym class on Fridays. We often see Chick Graning there, who is in a band I love called Scarce. I met him in passing years ago in the early nineties when I was going to clubs a lot, as well as his ex-fiance, Tanya Donnelly. Scarce was getting huge but then Chick had a brain aneuyrism and had to even relearn his own songs. I’ve often wondered if he feels like the person he was before; if he IS the person he was before. I stared at Glenn, who felt like Glenn to me and then like some stranger in his body. How much does a person’s memories make them who they are?

They sent Glenn to the ER Neurology Observation unit up on the Neurology floor, past a calm looking sleep lab. He started making a joke in the elevator “What…do I have BRAIN FEVER?!” he said it was a joke from a movie with Kevin Kline and Sally Field. It was me who didn’t remember the movie. “Soap Dish,” he said, as they wheeled him into his room. He did not explain the movie reference to the doctors or nurses he repeatedly made this joke to later, he just said “What? Do I have BRAIN FEVER?!” Sometimes he asked me if he’d made that joke before.

He had more vocal and coordination testing. The doctor stood at the end of his bed while a muted TV overhead showed a nude woman airbrushed for television. “Is this part of the test,” Glenn asked, “trying not to be distracted by that?”

I remember studying the sense of self and our concept of personhood. I don’t think John Locke, who believed selfhood depended on continuity of memory had ever seen how a person can keep their cognitive skills and most of their factual knowledge while interrupting their self narrative, their story for a day. This was Glenn, but not Glenn. I don’t remember reading anything about how a person keeps their personhood in another person’s perception, only their own. This was all too much to process -- the medical and the philosophical were seeming a bit hard to separate.

Jade made sure I had snacks, drinks, and a notebook to write in, and helped me jot down some of the doctor’s names. She got a sudoku and puzzle book for Glenn. A neurologist spoke in hushed tones to us in the lounge about the possibility of Transient Global Amnesia, a medical mystery they sometimes see where a person loses mostly their short term memory for less than 24 hours. She left and we tried to think about this concept.

Glenn was going for another MRI, so we decided to go home and eat. We asked Glenn if he’d like his computer or iPod but he didn’t want them. They took him for an MRI, and Jade and I headed to my house where Christie was just getting Lyra up from her nap.

Christie decided to bring Lyra to her house and have the kids play together and feed them dinner there, then put her kid to sleep, then bring Lyra home to put her to sleep and stay with her here. (Her husband was at home with her kid.) Jade’s husband Frank offered to bring us dinner. Jade asked me what I’d like, and I heard myself say I really couldn’t answer questions; please don’t ask me any questions. Frank brought burritos and then we headed back to the hospital, bringing along Glenn’s ipod anyway, as music is very calming and centering to him. We also brought my computer and some DVDs, but couldn’t find Soap Dish in his movie collection.

I asked the nurse if there was news and they said they were going to do some more scans and he obviously wasn’t “right in his head.” I was nervous but wondered if he'd been making the Brain Fever joke again. I talked to him and he seemed a bit improved to me. Then went out and asked if it was still necessary that he not eat. I didn’t see why it mattered for scans of his head. The nurse said of course he could eat. This angered me as we’d been told earlier he could not, and nothing since then. I made them get me some food for him immediately as he hadn’t eaten since the oatmeal.

Glenn was starting to remember things he had not remembered before, and he was not stuck in a question asking cycle, though was still clutching his card and still couldn’t remember the morning or the afternoon. He ate a turkey sandwich and remembered details from the previous night that he had not known before. His memory seemed like it was rolling back in like a slow tide. We sat and told stories in the fluorescent gloom, floating in slow hospital time. A new neurologist came in who was his assigned doctor. Both Jade and I immediately liked him.

The new doctor treated the condition and the patient alike with interest. Glenn responded well to him too. He was asked the same puzzles and memory tests and did much better. Earlier they’d asked him to list as many animals as he could in two minutes early and he’d gotten a handful of them. This time Glenn sounded like himself – he rattled over the most extensive and exotic list of animals you could imagine. The doctor was beside himself cracking up and said he’d never heard such a list. (Glenn’s list began with an animal we learned from Lyra’s alphabet book: a zorilla.)

I was feeling great about his doctor and his improvement and after Glenn had another MRI, they said they were admitting him (I was prepared to make them if they didn't), and Jade and I decided it was time to go home. Jade and Christie had both been helping me since before lunch and it was nearing 11:30pm. I came home and sent emails and looked up information online. Glenn meanwhile listened to some music, had his heart looked at, and had a third MRI. I was extremely relieved to be in my calm house away from crisis. Glenn was enjoying the MRIs -- he said the noise they make was like some experimental heavy metal he enjoyed.

In the morning my inlaws came and took care of Lyra while I went back to MGH. I was afraid to go. I found him in a shared room with a nice view of the river in Neurology. I’ve examined this view multiple times when I gave birth, as well as visiting my father recently after knee surgery. I'm starting to feel some ownership of the view. Glenn seemed entirely Glenn to me, though he was really tired. I felt reunited and relieved.

He was sharing his room with Bill, from York Beach, who had had a stroke the night before while playing cribbage with his brother. They were going to fly him there but the weather didn’t cooperate. His wife arrived while I was there, and seemed used to the drill. Bill had, after all, had five bypass surgeries already in his life.

While Glenn was wheeled off for an EEG, the head neurologist and the whole team came in and asked me a lot of questions about what happened. They all discussed this classic presentation of Transient Global Amnesia. It came on suddenly, was witnessed (we’re fascinated by what might have happened if he were alone), he did not particularly lose long-term memory or cognitive memory and was aware of who he was and his loved ones.

They left and I plugged in my computer and read everything I could about TGA. I’d lost my phone between the car and Glenn’s room, so I emailed updates and later had Glenn make calls from his phone. He got no answer from his parents, who eventually showed up at the hospital, and his sister had come over and was watching Lyra. They were in time for his discharge.

No tests showed anything, except an incidental finding of something benign on one MRI of cholesterol blob or something on an ear bone he’ll have scanned eventually. His EEG (brain waves) showed very slightly slower action on his left side, but he showed no typical seizure symptoms. He'll have another EEG in a couple weeks. They ruled out most everything. His arteries are pristine. (I was jealous he’d had so many scans. I’d like to know everything was well in my head and arteries!)

And I can heartily say with both meanings: I wouldn’t miss a minute of this. Glenn, however, is missing most of Sunday. And it will likely never happen again.

This is a Mayo Clinic description of Transient Global Amnesia.

What Have You Been Doing Lately?

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 00:31:00 +0000

Lately when asked what I've been doing lately, I just feel brain dead. Well, I've been hanging with Lyra and making jewelry, I say. Sometimes I just point to Lyra. Seriously, do you want details? Is it interesting to you that Lyra said a sentence the other day, or that she used the potty today? Do you care that I prefer the caster I'm using in New York to the one that I could go visit in person in Boston? That I am not satisfied with the quality of the briolettes I've been seeing while shopping in the jewelers building? That I discovered mouse poop in my box of stuff for coloring resin inlay, and the culprit turned out to be a plastic bag of beet powder? That I lost so much weight the GI doctor did a colonoscopy just to tell me I'm just skinnier? Oh, and can we just get the answer out of the way: No, I still have not made a website for my jewelry.

It seems like what separates my days lately is a series of indignities. I think it must be a sign of some line I've crossed while aging. I mean, of course the parenting days are often about that, but so are my working days. And these are the stories people want to hear. See, you were more interested when I talked about mice in my studio and that I'm the only woman you know who loses weight by accident. Not stories about how cute my kid is, or details about the necklace I made today, despite the fact that that is what I do most of the time. So let's see. What is today's indignity anecdote? Ahh, I know.

This morning I went to the gym to my early morning "boot camp" class, and then went to the Sherman Cafe in Union Square where I read a book and had breakfast. I had a bagel with Nutella and pear slices and some really good tea, and I was so pleased. I was particularly happy because I've been craving Nutella and some conspiracy has kept it from the shelves of Shaws and Whole Foods of late.

Then I went to Central Square as I had an appt. nearby with a relaxation specialist I've been training with. I had some time to kill so I went to Pearl Paint and patiently had a conversation with this messy guy who seemed a little crazy but nice and got some supplies I needed and some more extra fat crayons for Lyra. Then, since I was walking through the food coop to get back to my car anyway, I stopped to see if they had Nutella. They did! I cradled it happily in my arms while walking all around browsing the aisles. A number of people smiled at me oddly. I figured it must have shown how happy I was to have some Nutella. I paid and went to my appointment.

On the way in, I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I had been walking around with the "crazy messy" guy and later with Nutella in my arms while I had an impressively giant smear of Nutella down the side of my face. If I had not spied it then, I would have followed this up with having a conversation about how my colonoscopy went with a big brown smear on my face. (Mmmm, you want some Nutella now, right?)

But of course, I couldn't really answer "What have you been doing lately?" with that, either, could I? Today I went to the gym, did some errands, and worked. Okay?

Oh yeah, and because I don't have coworkers or anything, can I just add: DID YOU SEE THE SIZE OF THAT FOSSILIZED SNAKE THEY FOUND???? I've been wanting to say that all day. But that's really all I have to say about it. (DID YOU?!)

Like Hiking

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 02:36:00 +0000

Lyra has a fine imagination so far as pretending things goes, and it's combined with an impish sense of humor for someone who is only 1.5. Today while we were stomping along a path in the snow she fell behind and yelled "NAP!" and lay down in the path.

After several rounds when I realized this was going to be what we did rather than hiking, I realized the best solution.

Frugal Failure

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 19:27:00 +0000

Last week I was doing errands in the afternoon and I wanted to stop by this used clothing store by my house. My inlaws were watching Lyra and I'd had them park in our spot since the snow makes parking extremely challenging here. So I parked at a meter and went into the store. I proudly scored a pair of jeans for $12 and left to find I'd missed the meter by several minutes and got a $25 parking ticket.

Saturday I found two used pairs of pants for Lyra for $4.50, then walked by a futon store where all the people who work there had pooled all their kids stuff into a big room. I bought her a big bag full of toys and a pair of overalls and more for $5. Later I was an usher at a benefit concert at the Somerville Theater. This allowed me to meet new people as well as to see Faces on Film, The Neighborhoods, and Mission of Burma all for free. Until I got back to the car. The meters in that lot apparently go until 8pm, not 6pm. $20.

Yesterday I drove my used car that has served me well for many miles and years now, and the key just wouldn't come out of the car at all. We tried every kind of wiggling and jiggling, silicone spray, etc. New ignition: $300.

Sigh.

Lyra's Word World

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 18:32:00 +0000

Lyra has been in her nap talking on her way to sleep. She started yelling her own name, which I've never heard her do there, so I started trying to type what she was saying. She has the book Goodnight Moon in the crib with her. "Emmy, Caru, Mama, Leeli" are friends of hers. "boocoo!" is what peekaboo sounds like to her. I think Nicky is the name of a boy in another book near her crib. This is what I got:

mommy fish mommy boy? no boy? Lee-RAH Lee-RAH! ducks? veemaga wa. Lee-RAH way-bye. Warooah. Mommy? phone? mommy? Nap. Weeohrah. No boy. Mommy? Bo? oh ow oh. Emmy! Caru! Mama! Leeli! Moon! Moon! Down. (laughing) boop boop boo. Moon? Ay moon. Bah? ba ba. baby? ring. rah. Nah. no. Num Nap! nap! nap? no. nap. wee whoa ah, wee wewe wee oh wee! wee! wee! om WEE! WEE! bash, bash. Voooo, Gooo, voooo, mommy. Oh mommy okay. No? okay. Moon? veee? moon. moon? Moo moo moon. No. Nicky. Ball. Ball? Ball. Wash? whoa, going? weep weep, ducks. wwwww-why. ducks? www-why doi doi whooo- ly, LEERAH, mommy, LEERAH LEERAH! Ah ah moo moo. Meee, up! Mee up! Buk. Bux. Caru? Mama? shu shu mee ma. lada. Whoo woo! Open! Shut! Mowey? No go. Off. Biff? no. wok wok wok. wok wok. WOK! Beep beep. Moon. Boocoo! Knock knock.

(some of the repetitions must be imagined in various pitches.)

We had lunch together after music class and she said "baby!?" when a baby meeped somewhere in the restaurant. I said "oh, did you hear a baby?" She nodded emphatically. "Mommy! baby look?" she asked, and so we went and looked at the baby. She's getting pretty close to sentences.

Spooky

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 20:33:00 +0000

Gorgeous Hike, But in The End a Sad Tail

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 01:40:00 +0000

I've been sick on and off for far too long, and was totally having stomach ailments all weekend. However, I got some time to tromp around totally alone in big stretches of forest on the Maine coast and during those walks I didn't think about how I felt sick, I just examined old stone walls and poked a milk snake with a stick and photographed mushrooms.

I bushwhacked through brush and saw a squirrel fall down from a tree on a broken branch. I kept to the gorgeous shoreline on one side and never worried about being lost.

There was much evidence of deer and rabbits and that odd, wonderful presence of the woods. There were tons of birds singing everywhere and it seemed like every tree next to me had several chickadee, at least one busy little nuthatch and a junco or else a solo Downey woodpecker hopping about. I flushed what I expected to be a grouse but had a big beak like a rail? (in the woods by the ocean?) and crows croaked to each other above me.

Things seemed magical and suspended.

I saw this perfect hiding tree -- it was hollow like a dug out canoe. And it had a long slit you could watch the water from.

While examining it, I saw I was not alone. A sleeping raccoon!

But alas, as I took a good look through the camera at the angle of that paw, and after the fifth acorn I threw actually hit her and she didn't move, I realized this sleeping beauty was never going to find her masked prince. And when I couldn't think of any other likely way for a raccoon to have died in a spot like that besides being shot by a hunter and then not falling down as expected, well I noticed how sick I was feeling again, and very tiredly slogged my way back.

Worth the Wait

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 02:31:00 +0000

What a nice night to hang around by myself on a deserted street with an expensive camera.

Holy cow, what's that I see?

Heffalumps! On Memorial Drive

On their way from the circus train in Cambridge to the Fleet Center for the circus.

Poor elephants.

Idea for You

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 19:26:00 +0000

Take this idea and make some money: Dance Dance Revolution for toddlers. Does this exist? I've never seen it. I mean they have Dance with Elmo type videos, but where's the interactive part?

PS: Even if you get rich with this idea, my kid will waste yours at "If You're Happy and You Know It."

Babes in the Woods

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 00:41:00 +0000

There is nothing cuter than watching wee people in the forest.

The VP Debate

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 14:28:00 +0000

So I drew during the debate again. Palin was so distracting with her dopey way of speaking that I ended up scribbling quotes all over the page next to her and writing a lot less next to Biden. In the end I wrote SUBSTANCE under Biden and FIGHT under Palin.
I was angry that I'd left my smaller sketchpad at my studio so I had to start my really nice large new one with a picture of Palin.

The only positive thing I have to say about Sarah Palin is I hope a lot of smart young women and girls are watching her and are just incredulous, their mouths open, eyes narrowed, faces slightly turned as though waiting to hear it's all a joke, thinking "Holy Crap, if that ludicrous woman can be in the White House, certainly I can."

Meanwhile remember they're just the leader. Yeah, I said "just" the leader. Of a whole LOT of people who do much of the actual work. Change can be brought about by you and me. Did you even go to vote for your local politicians? You know those "little elections" that get these people on their way to govern our lives? Have you made your life greener lately? If you're fed up watching the black hole of our economy, the barely hanging on planet, and more, what can you do today? Be the answer.

My friend Tamar explained to one of her sons that the fact that Sarah Palin thinks we can fix global warming without knowing (i.e. admitting) what causes it was like if she kept hitting him in the head with a hammer saying, "I don't know what's causing your headache, but I'll try to fix it." This made a difference. My friend Pete who runs www.ifkidscouldvote.com upped the percentage of his profits going to the Obama campaign. Me, for now, I'm taking my 1.5 year old into the woods to play and explore and get in touch with the earth more than she can in my concrete neighborhood, and I'm making plans for how to more efficiently heat my home this winter.

Foreign Policy Debate

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 03:11:00 +0000

It will likely be called a draw, this presidential debate we witnessed this evening. And draw is what I do while digesting debates. I study their faces and draw until I get one good likeness of each (admittedly McCain's ears are a bit large but I drew them while he kept saying the word "earmark"). My drawings made Obama the winner.

My sketchbook ended up with two baseball cards. I began adding words as I sketched. For instance, McCain said "I know" defiantly numerous times while Obama tends to mumble the conversational "y'know" before saying anti-McCain things, and these ended up on their cards.

However, as they kept talking I found myself writing above McCain "I'm your dad. I supported you. And now I will act like I can tell you what to do forever." (For the record, my dad does not have that attitude...that is another sort of dad McCain sounded like.) I wrote the word "pork barrel" on his chest, I couldn't help it after he said it so many times. Across the top of his card I wrote what seemed to be his saying for the evening "You just don't understand." Or more accurately, "Senator Obama" (as though he wasn't standing right there) "just doesn't understand."

I wrote "I am earnest and responsible" across Obama's chest. I wrote "I am your professor, and I will work very, very hard," above his head. I wrote "I just want to make this point" across the top of his card.

I listened as McCain said his personal anecdotes and squinted at his notes. I saw him nearly derail talking about veterans. I heard Obama say sharp things like "take them out" and "kill him." I noted that McCain made anti-other country remarks numerous times and that Obama was polite to the moderator and his opponent. I thought McCain is better at speaking to Joe Citizen in less contrived way than George W but that he wasn't winning in Normal vs. Smart Guy mode the way Bush could bumble around and still come out ahead against earnest smart guy Gore in a debate. I think it's because McCain is too enmeshed in his world and when he referenced obscure things or people or deals, Obama then explained them.

In summary, looking at the top of each card I wrote my analysis. Above "You just don't understand" I wrote "REACT." Above "I just want to make this point," I wrote ACT. I believe in choosing a president, ACT would win over REACT. So I felt Obama did a bit better in the debate.

However, I was startled by the ineffective discussions about energy. I have been able to list the names of various kinds of alternative energy since I was about 12. I'm glad they can to. Could we be more useful in our discussions? And truly: I don't understand how in this day and perilous position we are in as a planet a discussion of foreign policy did not include how we will work with the global community to work on global warming. (And I was confused by how someone could be for nuclear power with safe disposal of the waste. We don't have safe disposal of nuclear waste.) And what the hell was McCain thinking referencing Reagan's ludicrous Star Wars plan in the talks about missiles. That didn't seem very wise.

Oh I drew a third, worse picture. It's is of our dear moderator. It simply says, "I look pained by my position." They should use him on Excedrin commercials.

Judging a Neighborhood by its Playground

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 00:47:00 +0000

I have spent a lot of time exploring the playgrounds in my city with my daughter this year. Some rules seem to apply to all of these: nannies talk to other nannies more than to parents, ethnic subgroups of nannies talk to each other before other nannies, babysitters are more likely to talk to parents than nannies, men are often looked at with suspicion by everyone (even other men), and based on things I see you should Always wash your kids hands before they eat or leave any of these parks.

However, the cultural differences at the parks seem to really well illustrate the nature of the neighborhood the park is in. While many of these you might guess by the cost of houses in the neighborhood, some are surprising. In one direction from me people almost never speak to each other at the park. In another they even apologize if their kid touches yours. In another the sandbox is like a giant ashtray full of cigarette butts. In another the donated toys are all broken beyond use and there are never other kids there. In another, the toys are so nice that its hard to believe they don't get stolen, and it's clear they get used regularly. In another it is always so busy that Lyra is just too little to hold her own. In another the young kids are there without their parents and yet give me (often sound) parenting advice and want to hold Lyra (I try to avoid this...she's 20 lbs of quicksilver).

Anyway, it occurred to me that today that whether you have kids or not you should consider spending some time closely observing the environment at the closest playground to any house you're considering buying to get some idea of some of the nuances of the neighborhood culture.

Op-Trav-Po

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 00:17:00 +0000

This is a funny, and yet scary article. I love the combination of column, travel and political writing. It's Steve Lopez from the LA Times. He visited Wasilla, to get a better sense of Sarah Palin's background.

Lyra, Dancing Queen

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 23:40:00 +0000

Easily one of my favorite moments from our vacation to Copenhagen and Tallinn was at an art museum in Copenhagen on our last day. Lyra had been spazzing around the museum looking at sculptures and keeping a running commentary. She was a bit over-tired and extra silly. We passed by a cordoned-off area where a curtain separated us from a classical music concert and tried to hurry Lyra along so she didn't choose that location to start shrieking. Instead, she stopped, tipped her head and listened to the music for a moment and then started doing a wild interpretive dance that drew several appreciative onlookers. It's hard to happen to have a video camera in your hand the moments she dances, so here's just a little example. It does capture one of her habits of noticing some part of her is dancing (her hand at one point) and then going with it.

Danish Heritage

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 13:18:00 +0000

Lyra has a bit of Danish heritage. Her late grandmother was a Nye, and she is an Ericson as well, and fit in rather well in Scandinavia, to the point that tourists took her pictures about six times while we were in Copenhagen, sometimes holding their cameras at arm's length to take themselves in the picture with her. I think all of these times were while I had her on the bike. (I did own up to not being native when the tourists spoke English, but they still seemed equally charmed by her. As well they should.)

hi from denmark

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 14:59:00 +0000

hi from copenhagen. having a little trouble with the keyboard differences, so lets just ignore the typos, shall we? i can easily type æøå however...can you?

we're all well. lyra is not eating much - refusing much besides cheerios i brought and bananas. she finally ate a bunch of felafel last night and yogurt this morning but then no lunch. i think she's on a different time schedule still for eating. she did great on the flight. stayed awake longer than expected since Air France served dinner at midnight just after we got into the air, but she gets punchy and silly mostly so did okay. the kids meal she got was about twice the food of the adult dinners. i might order myself one next time, lol.

we have had a major hindrance care of air france. they lost our stroller. they got it here but then their courier service keeps screwing up getting it to us. glenn has made 8 phone calls and we've been promised our stroller 4 times. last time it was to be an urgent delivery at 10am. now it's promised between 5 and 9pm. if we call them again they are not hearing from my very nice husband. they are getting the full wrath of an angry mother. we luckily also brought our ergo carrier so we can get around, but it means we're always either carrying a backpack full of our gear or a 20lb baby. it gets a bit heavy after awhile.

we spent today eating open faced sandwiches, the danish specialty. gorgeous selections of various types of herring and salmon, and caviar and cured meats and raw meats and pates and smoked potato. delicious, though lyra was not happy to be sitting there. tomorrow or the next day we'll rent bikes and visit Christiania since I imagine it will be disbanded before long. I also want to go see some of the ancient viking stuff at the national museum. we're having an nice time exploring. i love the bike culture. And i have never seen so many blonde people at once. the crowds of kids coming into the youth hostel from denmark and sweden (i think) with all the sleek long haired girls and spikey gelled blonde boys are so fun to watch. the fashions are looking very eighties with pants tucked into high top sneakers, laced halfway. i appear naked here without a scarf. they are worn by both genders all the time. and danish people have such way better rain coats with wonderful patterns. maybe i should be out shopping now. :)

if we manage to be online again, we'll check in.

Hear Me on NPR- This weekend

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 13:36:00 +0000

My NPR piece was rescheduled to this weekend:

Listen to me tell the tale of my brother exploring his emotional topography through mud balls this weekend on National Public Radio's show "Living on Earth." You can find when the show is on in your area, or listen to/read it online here.

Do Your Part

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 02:48:00 +0000

I hope everyone read or heard Gore's speech today. We're running out of time.

If Kids Could Vote

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 02:54:00 +0000

I was thinking a lot the other day about the big bold organizing I did while in high school, the effective protesting, the change I could make happen, the things I thought might be possible. I shook things up in my tiny world. I made waves. And so do so many young people. And then so much gets beaten out of you by life. I'm really trying to fight that lately. I dislike adult inertia and lazy role playing. So I am very pleased to recommend to you some T-shirts my dear friend Pete is bringing to the world. They're for kids. They say things like "I Can't Vote, Don't Blow It." Take a look: www.ifkidscouldvote.com.

The Camp

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 02:00:00 +0000

The most constant place in my life is about to go away and I have some questions.

It’s camp. Like many New Englanders I grew up “going up to the camp” – a cabin my grandfather built on a lake in New Hampshire in the 40s when all around were woods and the lake was full of fish and loons. My grandmother washed out her pots on the edge of the lake. My uncle, a little kid at the time, signed the cement cornerstone with a stick.

My dad grew up going there and playing with the people next door. I grew up going there and playing with the next generation next door. I just had a kid and she will do many wonderful things in her life, but probably won’t know the camp or the wonderfully creative and smart kids of the next generation swimming next door.

Our camp is a two bedroom camping cabin with a gas tank and electricity. It pumps water in from the lake and has a dubious septic system now, though I grew up trekking to an outhouse there. It has very little land. From the lake it looks a bit shabby next to many of the updated homes. But you can see it so well because it is right on the lake. And as a result of this fact alone it has been assessed at a price similar to say, an entire real house in a fairly wealthy suburb of Boston. I own in Cambridge and my house is worth less. My taxes are also a third of the ones on the camp. In the CITY. In Taxachusetts.

None of us can really afford or even justify this. I could take my kid swimming around the world yearly for the taxes on the camp alone. Basically, because not all the owners are involved financially or otherwise (I am not one), it just can’t easily be kept. It’s looking like someone who wants to build their McMansion on the lake will end up with our camp.

And maybe that’s better than someone just moving into our camp in some ways. I mean how could there be a stranger in OUR CAMP? Would they know my Grammie’s ghost is still there drinking tea out of a stained blue tea cup, chuckling and doing crossword puzzles? Will they know all the places to row a boat and swim or to find bird’s nests or blueberries? Would they know every rock between there and the next door camp and have names for them? Would they know how to time it right to get stuck next door playing cards during a big storm? Would their kids learn to swim, to spit watermelon seeds, canoe, kayak, sail, windsurf, chase beavers, imitate loons, rescue baby birds, find pet rocks, bike into town there?

Will they have any nostalgia for the stationery and gift store that once sold penny candy? Will they know that the restaurant on the way into town or on the dock is NOT Bailey's? Will their kid have a favorite flavor of ice cream from Not Bailey’s? Will they remember when the old town railroad station was a movie theater? Will they know what it meant to take Grammie there to see On Golden Pond? Will they have to get drinking water in town and will their dad know every single free spigot in ten miles because he refuses to pay for water?

Will their dog fall in the water barking at ducks or off the prow of the canoe? Will they have a “you catch it, you clean it” rule for fish? Will they know the legend of Sandy Claws? Will Sharky read them stories in the cove? Will they always swamp the canoe on purpose and paddle it around partially submerged or underneath it bellowing “Yellow Submarine”? Will they get to know their cousin by meeting up there for silliness and snacks? Will they have huge treasure hunts or water fights with the family next door? Do they know the secrets to seeing the fireworks on the 4th without being stuck in crowds? Will their dad present firework shows on the dock?

Will they come back as a young adult with boyfriends? Will they climb the tiny mountain at the top of the road? Will they bike all around the woods and hills and keep a map charting the trails biked and where they go on a topo map on the wall? Will they come up alone and write poetry and sing and put a gas lantern on the dock while they canoe out to the middle of the lake and watch the tree shadows rush toward them as the moon is eclipsed? Will they come as an adult and stay by the lake and write a sample chapter of a book about cabins that causes it to get published?

Sort of. I guess, like Lyra they’ll have their own version of all of this, even if it involves ATVs, JetSkis, and some place where they can’t really afford to park their Romney-stickered SUVs. But no matter what…they’d better be pretty incredibly cool to the neighbors. They’ve been my friends since before I could talk. The heads of that family sat with me at my wedding. This is going to alter their camp too.

Live Free or Die is the NH motto. I guess that covers taxing your house to death since it sure ain't free. I used to dream about moving to the Yukon, having a kid who played in the elements. Meanwhile most of my fun adventure friends moved away, my hiking friends died and moved away or got busy, my kayaking has been curtailed by having a kid, the camp is going away.

Even though I didn't make it up there much in recent years I wish it wouldn't have to go. It's just pointing out even more to me that it isn't the place it was when I was a kid. People have built houses along the dirt road and discovered the public access at the cove. The road actually has a street sign now. It's been Google-mapped. People have too many boats on the lake. And it's also somehow pointing out that here at home there are no woods within 20 minutes of my house, no clean beaches for more, and though I tricked out my mt. bike as a city street, baby-carrying machine I keep being afraid to take her on the crazy streets here.

Sometimes this all just hits me and I feel like I just woke up blinking to find I’m standing around with my kid on a cement slab while my husband works in a cubicle a few blocks away and my mom and a number of my friends are dead or gone. This isn’t how I pictured things, and so it is such extra work to make things change.

POSTPONED Hear Me on NPR

noreply@blogger.com (bethany) — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 00:18:00 +0000

update 6/19: This week's broadcast was reorganized and my piece will be on in the near future instead. Stay tuned. :)

Listen to me tell the tale of my brother exploring his emotional topography through mud balls this weekend on National Public Radio's show "Living on Earth." You can find when the show is on in your area, or listen to me online (it will be posted later this week I think) at www.loe.org