thoughts on siblings

My little brother called me night before last. I have two, an older and a younger, although most of the time I only claim the younger one. 

It's amazed me since I was 14 or so, old enough to understand, that my brothers and I, despite being so closely related and it being so possible for us to have turned out the same, we all ended up in our own little Punnett square,  each one with some characteristics opposite to the other, some personality traits completely foreign to the other, some ideas and thoughts and ways of being unknown to those so close. 

I am: the kind one, the crybaby, the thinker, the smart one, the peacemaker, the tattletale, the goody-two-shoes, the advice-giver, the rager, and the truth-teller.

Little brother is: the wild one, the outgoing one, the easily-befriended one, the carer, the feeler, the talker, the goofball, the jack of all trades, and the one-of-a-kind.

Older brother is: the black sheep, the screw-up, the disappointment, the shy one, the panicker, the lost soul, the manipulative, put-upon, misunderstood one, and the... 

I never realized how much I dislike my older brother until I made that list. I couldn't think of anything positive to say. And I love him-- how can I not think of something positive about someone I love? I dislike him because I miss him. He never became what he was supposed to become for me-- he was my big brother, he was supposed to take care of me and protect me. Instead he made my life hell. What is it, what makes people the way they are? Genetics? Can't be, look at us, all from the same mom and dad. Experience? Can't be, we were all raised the same. Has to be a combination of those two, somehow that combination soured in my older brother. 

Not that I'm perfect. I am a tattletale and a goody-goody, I know. But I don't trick my dad into giving me money for a car or school that I then spend on a trip to Vegas and a flat-screen tv. And I didn't get so involved with drugs as a teen that I forgot what it was like to be human, and still can't remember.

Little brother is definitely his own person. He'll never be normal, he'll never have an office job, and he'll never "settle down." Always on the go, go, go, but he takes care of himself. He has friends everywhere, real friends who care about him because he cares so much for them. He told me his purpose in life is to spread the love that he feels from Dad, Mom, and me, the love that he's always had, around to those who need it. Dad said his purpose is to watch his children soar, which is sad since only two of us are. I feel that love from them too, I know how much they appreciate and respect me, and it's a big part of who I am. Why does older brother not feel it? What is it in him that makes him impervious and oblivious to the good life he could have? 

I feel like I've answered my own question here, that maybe he is what he is because we all think of him now in terms of the list I made. There's no other way now, though-- he has become that list, whether it was self-assigned or prescribed for him by us, it doesn't matter. I could still change my mind though. If he went to school, if he got a job and kept it, if he called once and a while for something other than to complain to me about how hard life is, I'd feel differently. I know I would, because I'm also a forgiver. 

I am so sleepy this morning. It must have snowed overnight so quietly that none of us noticed. The roofs are white in their valleys this morning, and my deck was iced over. The sky is bright white and grey and so low, like a thickly quilted blanket laying over the town, keeping us all snuggled up in bed, at least in our minds. It's not raining anymore, but if you close your eyes and listen, the ice and snow melting and running off the roofs sounds like rain, and rain always puts me to sleep.

My office is empty today, other than me and my space heater. Everyone's out of town. I've got my xm radio playing on my computer. I really like the Sinatra channel. Growing up I spent a lot of time at my maternal grandparents house, and they both loved old movies. My grandmother would put on a Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin flick and we'd laugh and sing along. Or we'd marvel at Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers floating across the dance floor. As I got older, she'd let me watch Audrey Hepburn movies, like Funny Face, and my absolute favorite, My Fair Lady. I married a man who loves old movies too, especially Cary Grant movies, so on lazy Sundays we end up watching AMC and Turner Classic more often than not. 

We got into a discussion one day about our five dessert island movies, i.e. you're stranded (ala Lost, which comes on tonight, yay) but for some reason there's a tv and you get to take five movies with you. This is not a favorite movie list, although it's close. But these movies have to be something you could watch over and over, and you want to pick from different genres so you don't get bored. This was a Very Serious Discussion we had. Mine were, in no particular order:

1) Amelie

2) My Fair Lady

3) The Princess Bride

4) Love Actually

5) all seasons of Lost... which promptly started an argument over whether that counted as just one, and if tv shows counted anyway. We settled that it was ok, as my husband likes Lost too, plus I gave in and let him count The Lord of the Rings trilogy as one movie, even though I can't stand the idea of watching that the rest of my life. His others included North by Northwest, Fight Club, Boondock Saints, and the Godfather I believe. 

Music would be easier to pick. I love Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Otherwise, just a subscription to xm radio and the Sinatra channel would suit me quite well. We could pretend to be Fred and Ginger and go gliding across the sand. That sounds like a really nice way to spend forever.

new day

I'm feeling inspired today. I have several things conspiring against me-- I didn't sleep well last night for one. My husband drank too much wine at dinner (we went out with friends to a fairly fancy place), and he snored in my ear. I tried several times to wake him up and turn him over. I'd get a "yes, babe, I'll turn over, I'm sorry" followed by him not turning over and in two seconds snoring again. I physically pushed him onto his back and he stopped. And in two seconds I was finally, gratefully, asleep. He says I snore but I don't believe him, I've never heard myself. Besides, if I DO snore, it's just because of my allergies. Therefore, it's not my fault.

And the weather is terrible and going to get worse. Gray, gray, gray today, tomorrow rain, rain, rain. Cold rain.

And my grandfather's birthday would have been this week. Happy Birthday Granddad. I should have had seven more years with you, but those damn cigarettes took that away. You didn't know. If you had you would have stopped, I know.

But life is good. I have a wonderful husband who even when's asleep loves me enough to dream he's turning over and making me happy. My dog makes funny grunting noises when he kisses me good morning, and my cat is so much like me that she covers her face from the sun in the morning too, before trying to jump in the shower with me. Work is going good, this company is really going places and I got in on the ground floor.

And I've got a diet Dr. Pepper. I swear that will fix any problem.

humanity showing humanity

I get so angry sometimes. 

Driving to lunch, there were two little birds in the road, so I slowed down to give them time to fly away. They flitted to the other side of the road, where the guy coming in that direction, who definitely had enough time to see them, promptly ran over one of them.

Granted, birds aren't the smartest, but then again, I have no idea what it's like to be that small. I mean to them, they may never see the car, like we never feel the earth moving beneath us. It's so big and they're so small. I'm not perfect. I hit a baby rabbit one time. It came out of no where, and I wasn't going that fast, but lord how I cried. There's really no helping it sometimes. 

But it makes me so angry to see something like that, to know what we do to this earth and its inhabitants as humans, that if we weren't here everything would have just carried on naturally and peacefully (don't think that I think animals are all cute and fuzzy, I mean peacefully as in only kill to eat). I want to explain this to people, to make them see the world as I do, that all these concrete slabs and technologies and clear-cut suburbs don't do this earth any good, and it's the only one we have. I try to explain to people why I don't eat meat, that we're killing this earth with all our factory farms and that it's just not natural what we do to them. But people DON'T CARE. All they want is to continue doing what they've been doing because it's comfortable and they feel like they deserve it. I hear all the time "I couldn't live without meat." Yes you COULD, you just don't want to TRY because you're LAZY and WILLFULLY IGNORANT. Meanwhile farmers are tearing down the rainforest to make room for more cows, and we eat billions of cheeseburgers every day while children all over the world are starving and can't even get their hands on a little bit of grain because all the grain is being fed to these beef cows.

I'd like to say I don't have that ability-- that I can't be willfully ignorant, ignoring what I know about the way this world treats animals and going about my carnivorous business, la de da. But I eat fish, all the while knowing that we're over-fishing the oceans, and species like the dolphins are suffering and dying at the hands of these fishers. But I eat it anyway because I don't want to piss off my friends anymore than I already have by refusing certain restaurants or making them make special arrangements for me when we cook. I have no easy answer there, and honestly sometimes I feel like I've given up enough and deserve at least a little bit of comfort.

Some days I just feel like I'm at my wits end, that if I see one more cruel act, human to human or human to animal, I may just lose it altogether. I can't watch the news, for sure. It's always in my brain, even when I'm buying shampoo. It's too much but it's in there now and I can't be any more willfully ignorant than I already am without losing my sense of peace and wholeness with this world. I just wish more people knew what that felt like and strove for it the way I have.

Today is one of those days. So I had another cupcake. It was vegetarian, but I still feel sick to my stomach.

If you want more info on where your food comes from (no terrible pictures on these pages, I promise, unless you click on a link within the website-- then, no promises, but you should know):

http://www.idausa.org/facts/factoryfarmfacts.html

http://www.farmsanctuary.org/issues/factoryfarming/

I'm a bird.

This is what I have eaten/am going to eat today:

Breakfast:

Lunch:

Dinner:

Is that really enough? It equals... about... (doing math here)... 1500-1600 calories. This is about what I usually eat. I don't go hungry. I LOVE food, good food. But my hands get shaky if I don't eat on time. I definitely can't miss a meal, unless you want me to be a Bitch. Other than my lunch smoothie all I drink is water, or occasionally cranberry juice. Hmm, I never realized how little I ate until someone mentioned it today, when I actually took a cupcake for a change.

Can you tell that I'm a bit of a minimalist?

answered prayers

Today is such a surreal day. I wish you could see outside my window. It's a blizzard. Do you know how long it's been since I've seen those white flakes, as big as soap bubbles, tumble from my little bit of southern sky? On his way to work, my husband texted me that it was snowing. Obviously not believing, or rather thinking, "sure, three little flakes equals snow around here," I ran, a little childishly, to the front window and gasped at the amount of white falling from above. Three hours later and it's still falling, starting to really stick in the grass and around the bushes and on roofs now. It's beautiful to watch. I feel light and quiet and peaceful, like somehow this snow and the events of the day could wash away all the sins of our region. Such a perfect notion on such a surreal day.

Barack Obama is now our President. I've been exploring my emotions about this historic moment lately. I voted for him, and I'm so proud of that, that I was able to vote for the first black president and watch him take the oath of office today. Watching him speak today, I remembered the passion I felt back in 2004 at the DNC when he first spoke, how I knew that if some day he could lead us, we would become a peaceful and inclusive society, one like I'd always hoped for. I thought then that was a distant possibility, not likely, not worth further thought. I drank the Obama kool-aid again sometime last year. I have been less enthused lately, but now I understand that that was simply nerves-- nervous that he'll be assassinated, nervous that he won't live up to the country's expectations, the world's expectations, my expectations. But he will. I hate faith and hope in him and in the way he inspires people. I haven't seen so many American flags in one place since 9/11 as there were in DC today, and I have never seen so many Americans inspired to act and volunteer like they did yesterday. That's what's so special about him-- the way he inspires people to be better, to want more, and to act on those feelings. 

Today I feel at peace. I want that feeling to last longer than I know the snow will. It will have melted away by this time tomorrow. Will this peaceful, hopeful, determined feeling endure in our country? I hope so.

political

I'm not really awake yet this morning. I am at work, however, despite it being a holiday. I'm not bitter though because my boss is working a lot harder than me today. He always does. 

Someone asked me the other day, "What's so great about Obama?" I couldn't really answer. I voted for him, and I'm currently reading The Audacity of Hope, slowly but surely. But what's so great about him?

I don't think it's actually just him everyone is so excited about. Sure, he's a big part of it, and it's important that we're now going to have our first non-white president. But it's more that we're not going to have Bush anymore, that we're moving on with our lives and can finally put these horrible past 8 years behind us. Obama is young, like me. I think it's time that the younger generations take charge of our country-- I'm so tired of old, white men telling us what's best for us.

All that said, I can't get excited. I'm worried he'll get assassinated. You think things are bad now-- that would cut this whole country off at the knees and I'm afraid we'd never find our way back up. I'm worried that he can't live up to the high expectations everyone has placed on him. Who could? He will fail at some things, and it will get blown out of proportion. It's absolutely critical that he not Fail like Bush Failed. If he does, it will be another 200 years before we see another non-white president.

Although I'm happy for the fact that he is a minority, I wish he was a woman. There, I said it. I never liked Hilary Clinton all that much. To me, if she had been elected, I feel like our first female president would have only ridden her husband's coattails into office, at least a little bit. But I want a female president, I want to be led by a woman for a change. 

I'm a political person, in the sense that I care deeply about controlling my own body and my own choices, and I care about the direction this country takes in terms of foreign relations and the environment. I used to pay a lot more attention than I do now, but as I've gotten older I've realized that acting close to home creates a lot more results than grand theatrical actions. Like protesting at Supreme Court Justice Scalia's speech on campus with pro-choice signs. Nothing good came of that. The self-defense classes we held though, who knows, maybe we helped someone save themselves. And now, giving time and donations to those who need it most in my area-- the abandoned animals at the shelter-- I know that makes a difference. Both of my pets were abandoned before we took them in, and they bless my life every day. 

In that sense I agree that the personal is political. The smallest choice can have political and social ramifications, like whether to buy or adopt a dog. (Hey, there's a reason Obama is "so great"-- he's adopting from a shelter.) It just gets tiring to think about all those ramifications all the time. I guess you have to pick and choose.

cold toes

My extremities are always cold. My husband sits there on his couch at night under a blanket-- we do keep the heater set quite low, 71-- snug as a bug in a t-shirt and jeans. I put on a wool sweater and undershirt, sweatpants, socks, and wrap myself up in one of the beautiful and warm quilts my great-grandmother handmade years ago, and I'm still freezing. My toes are always like ice, my nose gets so cold it runs, my fingernails are slightly purple, and if you grabbed my hand you'd think I was a corpse. I don't know if this is something I should worry about or not.

I wore what my husband calls "real shoes" to work today, meaning they cover my whole foot and either lace or buckle up, thinking that on this bitterly cold day in my multi-window office they and my purple polka-dot socks would keep my toes toasty. But nonetheless, I'm sitting here with my feet underneath me, "Indian-style" in this leather office chair, trying to tuck my real-shoed feet into the crook of my knees to infuse some body heat back into my frozen toes, with my wool coat wrapped around my shoulders and my cashmere turtleneck pulled up high around my chin.

My husband thinks I'm crazy. But he thinks I'm crazy for a lot of things other than this. It's a good thing he loves crazy.

It's been a pretty boring day at work. The cat is away but the mice are not playing. I sat in on a software training this morning-- I may eventually become a trainer. But it wasn't very interesting and I'm not sure that's the direction I want to take. The good thing is that because this is an up and coming company I can decide my own role in it as we grow. The bad thing is that I'm not very good at making decisions. But I'm happy that they think me worthy to be a part of it as everyone else that works here is very smart and talented.

Too bad they aren't all cold-natured too, then I could turn up the heat past 73. I'm thinking 76 or so. Global warming be damned. I'm cold.

Cold toes mean a warm heart right? Sometimes.

grieving

I grieve more than most people, I think. I'm still grieving my grandfather who passed two and a half years ago. There are days it catches me so off guard-- I'll be doing something as simple as washing my face, and a random thought or memory sweeps over the top of my brain and I feel this ache, a deep, gnawing ache, trapped behind my rib cage above my stomach, like a scream I swallowed a long time ago that's now begging to be released. It hurts so completely I double over and being to sob. I miss him so much sometimes. I'd give anything just to hear his voice again. 

Does everyone do this? Two and a half years later? It doesn't happen often, maybe once every couple of months. Right after his death it was once every couple hours, then every couple days, so I guess it is fading.

Part of me doesn't want it to fade. Maybe that's what's wrong-- I think if I stop grieving, all that I have remaining of him will be gone. 

I wasn't done with him yet, I wasn't done learning from him and loving him and being in his presence. When my great-grandmother died at 98, it was hard. She was a very important person in my life and influenced who I am greatly. But she was so old and I felt so blessed to have had her that long. She was ready to go. Maybe that makes the difference. Granddad fought the dying of the light to his last breath, fought the cancer with everything he had. I don't have anyone else in my life that was like him-- so strong and masculine and yet caring and joyful and loving. 

I just realized that describes my husband perfectly as well. Huh. And I've taken parts of my grandfather and internalized them; I do things that he would appreciate, like digging in the dirt with my bare hands, using a hammer and screwdriver with confidence, telling people the whole honest truth. So obviously if I stopped grieving him I wouldn't lose him completely. It just feels that way.

I guess this is just a part of my personality. I grieve dead animals on the side of the road, I grieve days lost to migraines, I grieve every soldier and civilian killed in the mid-east, I grieve every argument and harsh word I've had and spoken. I'm not a sad person. I'm actually very happy in my life. Content. I just feel things so deeply, and I don't think other people understand this. I know they don't. Because I don't either, at least not completely.

weekend musings

A collection of my thoughts from this weekend here for you.

Saturday I had to go to the bank to deposit a check. Sitting in the drive through, thinking about how the otherwise pretty girl behind the glass had to get up early enough on a Saturday morning to not only get to work on time but also to apply the masses of eyeliner and shadow she was wearing, I caught a glimpse of my make-up-less reflection on the glass, and I thought for a second my mother was in the car with me.

My mother is a pretty woman, especially for 56-- you'd probably guess upper 40s, low 50s if you had just met her, and she has good bone structure. So this isn't a disappointing realization in that sense. But I myself am aging, quicker than I had realized. I have "wrinkles," really more faint lines, if I'm being nice to myself, forming around the corners of my mouth. I tell myself this is good-- it just means that I smile and laugh a lot, that I live a good life and am blessed. But there's that nagging thought in the back of my mind that I'm not as fresh-faced as I was, that when we go out now people look at me as aged, not young and cute like the little college girls running around town. I'm jumping the gun on this, I know. Good grief, I want to be seen as an intelligent woman, not as some inexperienced little girl, so what's my problem anyway? 

On Sunday the most intellectually stimulating activity I did was order pizza and play the Wii, so we'll count that as one of my rare thoughtless days.

This morning on the way to work I was considering the idea that life is really just a series of small tragedies and small victories. The rivet front button above the zipper on my new jeans popped off this morning (and despite it simply being poor construction, led me to feel fat and disappointed that I am now out a new pair of jeans), but my boss said of me that I am overqualified for my position and is considering a new and better one for me. The printer refused to cooperate with me this morning, but someone left me a caramel chocolate covered apple on my desk as a present. Up and down, up and down. Caramel chocolate apples are a pretty big up though.