Money

It's been a little while since I was here. Probably has something to do with loving my job so much and no longer needing something with which to distract myself during the day.

I've been getting curious about something of late - how and why people awaken to their own philanthropic spirit. Being a fundraiser and all, I get an inside view of the various attitudes and approaches out there. Philanthropy is a real window into how someone feels about money, God, family, responsibility. Actually, it's often a window into how an individual values herself.

A personal for instance - I like to be thanked and acknowledged when I make a gift. As much as I hate to admit it, part of my motivation in being philanthropic is looking good. I want the people around me to know that I do my part. This is not all there is to it, but that desire to have outside validation is definitely present when I make a gift.

I'm taking a seminar about money right now. One of the first homework assignments asks participants to give away some amount of money that feels like a little too much. And part of the instruction includes not sharing that it is part of homework assignment with the person who receives the money.

My first and most immediate thought: I don't know how much to give away. I once gave someone $50 because there was something she really wanted to do, and I wanted her to have the opportunity to do it. That, at the time, felt like a little too much, but I continue to be glad I did it. Funny - everything I said earlier about how I am with organizations and gifts doesn't seem to apply when it comes to personal gifts. I didn't have any desire to hold my friend accountable to the $50 I gave her. Once the money left my hands, I was done.

Back to "I don't know how much to give away." I don't. Often, I cannot decide how much I can/should give to charity or political candidates. I give more generously than others I know in similar and better financial situations, and feel committed to it, but also second guess myself along the way - maybe this is too much, maybe I'm being irresponsible to myself and my husband. On the other hand, I know I could actually afford to give more away. How do I quantify my commitment to something through money?

I sometimes feel the same way shopping. Like the decision of affordability is somewhat arbitrary. There are so many choices when it comes to spending my money. I ignore the big things I really want - a house, interesting travel - because it is easier to spend small amounts of money very regularly on expensive groceries and eating out in restaurants.

Oh God, They've Reproduced!

As my co-worker Mari Anne said.

Blessings of our new apartment

My new found love for an insect chorus. Clicking and crickets herald evenings here. Bob was shocked when I told him that until now, I'd never lived in a house that had crickets at night.

This room. Forest green walls, open windows, a desk, a cozy daybed, books and more books.

Privacy. Rooms whose walls go all the way around their occupants.

A porch light within my control.

Tomatoes in the garden.

Light.

Comment spam...

Who knew? I sure didn't. Sadly, I've gone ahead and turned on the word confirmation feature for comments...because we all get enough e-mail about penis enlargement, we don't have to read about it on our friends' blogs as well...

My morning...

This morning:

Bob and I got into a silly argument before I dropped him at the T.

I went to vote and was criticized very vocally by the poll workers for using the wrong entrance. Then they couldn't find me on the books despite the fact that I have voted in every municipal and other election of the past several years. Then they found me and again very loudly reprimanded me for failing to send in my city census. Then they announced loudly to the room that I was a registered Democrat.

Stopped into the Danish Pastry House to buy a cup of the chili powder hot cocoa listed on their board, only to be told that they had no cocoa.

Got to my office, sat down, and began to do some work. My co-worker Paula walked into my office, not realizing that anyone was in here, and let out a blood-curdling, ten-or-so-second scream when she saw me seated at my computer.

And it's not even 9am yet.

Six Feet Under comes to a close...

Warning: spoilers...

The last episode of Six Feet Under begins beautifully and unusually with a birth. And ends with the deaths of each central character. Nate's death earlier in the season brings his remaining family the gift of living. I sobbed for the final fifteen minutes, stunned, and thinking about the value of hardship in my own life, and the pleasures I forget to enjoy when I refuse to let go of them. Lessons only, and then we move on...

After a weekend of moving, my thoughts come out a bit jumbled. Need to sleep soon. But will head to this evening's rest aware of the wonder that Bob brings into my life....

Tom Cruise is Nuts!

A new favorite link, courtesy of down-the-hall-Rich...

John Roberts on Abortion

From the AP Wires...

"We continue to believe that Roe was wrongly decided and should be overruled." — Roberts, in a 1991 Supreme Court brief he co-wrote for the first Bush administration, while he was principal deputy solicitor general.

"The statement in the brief was my position as an advocate for a client." — Roberts, explaining the brief during his 2003 Senate Judiciary Committee hearing on his nomination to a federal appeals court.

"Roe v. Wade is the settled law of the land. It's a little more than settled. It was reaffirmed in the face of a challenge that it should be overruled in the Casey decision. Accordingly, it's the settled law of the land. There's nothing in my personal views that would prevent me from fully and
faithfully applying that precedent, as well as Casey." — Roberts, during the confirmation hearing, when asked for his own views on Roe v. Wade.

That's all great. But here's the tricky part: unlike lower level judges, Supreme Court justices don't just accept that the law of the land is settled. Sometimes they do the settling. And the resettling. And then make some more tweaks. The media's persistent refrain seems to be that Roe and abortion rights are not truly at risk in the context of our next Supreme Court justice. Just this morning on WBUR/NPR someone said so. Wake up!! These rights are exactly what is at stake. What's left of Roe that hasn't been eroded by Casey and Webster may not be here long. I imagine that in just a few short years time, we'll have to rally our slumbering sisters and resurrect the Jane Collective, to connect folks with legitimate providers. I think we're in for a bumpy ride.

Last comment: I'd like us all to remember back to the Gore-Bush election. Ralph Nader's refrain was that the two candidates were no different. Here's the difference, Ralph. And even though most days, I'm pretty rational about Ralph, and don't blame him...Today, I'm blaming Ralph. Thanks a lot.

And we all fall down...or at least I do...

So...something's got my right ear confused. Little tiny particles of calcium are rubbing up against the little tiny hairs in the canal, telling my brain that I'm in motion. But then, my brain looks around, realizing that no other motion sensors are telling it the same thing. The result: my eyes go a little possessed and I get really, really dizzy. And this, folks, is called benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. BPPV, or benign vertigo, for short. Could last a day or two or twenty. Could come and go through the years. And that folks, is what I know. I can also report increased instances of the hiccups and a strange twitching sensation on my nose. I think these are unrelated, though.

More Walden rumors...

Setting the Record Straight about Carp:

so, here's the official story: 10 years ago, someone let some japanese koi fish go in the pond. 10 years later, there's 4 of them: 2 orange, 1 white, 1 black. the black one is the biggest, but the hardest to see. and at this, the lifeguards held out their hands about three feet wide. great.

A New Rumor from Joellen:

two very small alligators have been spotted in Walden Pond, the result again, of dumb people introducing them.

From Multiple Sources:

snapping turtles abound. i myself have yet to see them. but if they differ from joellen's mimed version (picture a silly girl, wrapping her lips around her teeth, muttering, "myar-myar-myarym" while chomping air and spitting a bit), i might not recognize them.

What Have You Heard?

Dreams...and games.

So...my new therapist is kinda into Jungian analysis as a supplement to her overall approach. I'm intrigued...

The only recent dream I recall at the moment was from this past weekend. I purchased two games I've been wanting - Bohnanza and Frank's Zoo. I didn't remember the dream until I was in the store The Games People Play, purchasing the games the day after I had the dream. Couldn't recall this during my lunchtime session, but I'm not sure it was the type of thing she was looking for. Gonna have to start writing them down. Which would be interesting on its own.

By the way - I'm a big fan of both games, as well as the store from which I bought them. I encourage you to check 'em out. Don't know yet whether I recommend Jungian analysis. I'll keep you posted...

Attack of the Giant Carp

Walden Pond...a lovely place for early morning swimming in the summer. A few weeks back, my friend Marissa and I had exactly this in mind. Little did we know...

Still yawning from our too early rise-and-shine to avoid the summer crowds, we wade into the still kinda chilly pond water. We swim slowly, chatting about kids' names and marriage and pregnancy cravings.

Marissa's never swum across and back, but we're halfway across and decide to go for it. We've stayed close to the side shore, in case one of us gets tired. We pass a family, sitting and fishing, and say hello.

Just beyond the family, the far shore is in sight. I'm excited, accompanying Marissa on her longest swim and making my season's first trip across and back. When suddenly...

"What the hell is that?" I shout, seeing a moving orange figure twenty yards ahead. Marissa stops. We tread water. It's a fish, we decide. "It's gigantic," Marissa hollers. We're laughing, and whooping. We're also nervous and feeling mighty silly, so scared of a fish. I mention that it looks like something out of a Japanese fairy tale. He stays directly in our path for several minutes, then starts to swim toward the middle of the pond. We go forward.

Then stop. Abruptly. Our forward motion has brought the fish back. Now we begin debating in earnest...do we go forward, or do we go back? It's just a fish, we say. True. But the fish doesn't seem to want us to go near it. The shore is in sight. But, that fish is gi-normous.

Marissa screams. "It's coming toward us, it's coming at us!" I scream, too. We're both doing a lot of screaming and flailing and laughing and more screaming. I begin furiously swimming the crawl back toward our home shore. After creating comfortable distance, I stop and turn, seeing that Marissa is still back there, screaming and shouting, the carp circling her.

"Swim," I yell.

"I'm trying, I can only dog paddle," she hollers back.

We're still laughing and whooping and generally nutty. She catches up to me, narrowly escaping the carp's pursuit. We can't stop laughing and talking about the fish attack. Marissa notes that up close, the fish was the size of her leg. It seemed that way from a distance as well. She says at least it wasn't a snapping turtle. She's really afraid of those.

We pass the fishing family on our way back. We tell them our tale. Marissa notes that "we screamed like little girls." And I have to admit that she is right. We ask if they've ever known fish to attack. The dad tells us it sounds like a carp. And the mom says that we don't need to worry about the carp, but notes that there are snapping turtles in the pond, and suggests that we watch out if we see one of those.

More on Katie...

Today marks a first - I agree with FoxNews:

The real loser in all of this? Why, Katie Holmes.

In the last few weeks, her agent and manager have been dismissed, and a really great, much-coveted film role — that of Edie Sedgwick — has been taken from her. The producers of "Batman Begins" already have said she won't be back for the sequel.

Katie Holmes and her latest fiasco

I only just found out that Katie Holmes actually dated Joshua Jackson for two years while Dawson's was still on the air. Tom Cruise: major step down. A brief investigation determined that he who shall forever be referred to as Pacey is refusing to comment on little Joey Potter's latest goings-on. David Spade, however, felt free to do so, noting that "it feels like we're being 'punk'd."

I know, I know. There is something seriously wrong with me, given that I'm quoting USA Today and writing about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes on my blog. If anyone can help me, please, tell me how to recover.

Dear Muscles,

I appreciate how much you do. I did something crazy last week. In one day, I agreed to complete a sprint triathlon in August, a half-marathon in October, and the Boston Marathon again next April.

I promise to show up if you do...

Cautiously optimistic,
Lauren

Dear Spring,

Thank you for arriving so soon. Did you receive my letters? I've missed you.

Laughingly,
Summer's Sun

President's Fitness Challenge

I came very close to letting the entire month of March pass without so much as a bleep posted on my blog.

Bleep.

I am running anew. Training for, gasp, a timed mile. No race. No competition. No daunting goal.

Picture this. I'm 8. Ronald Reagan is president, and I'm politically engaged enough already to know that he's bad news. My least favorite of his policies: forcing children, such as myself, to run a timed mile once every year as part of the "President's Fitness Challenge." Pull-ups, a weigh-in, and other tests are part of this as well, but I dread nothing more than the timed mile.

This year, I think maybe I've underestimated myself. So...My mom wakes me up that morning, smelling somewhat of the cigarettes she still smokes in the house, despite the frequent requests from me and my dad to take it outside. I eat breakfast and make my way to school, dressed in gym clothes for Tuesday and the Fitness Challenge. Classes are fun, I love playing with batteries and light bulbs in science.

I look up and realize it's almost time. Mary complains that she's not sure she can finish the mile. Even though Mary never really talks to me, I make secret plans in my head to be her friend, figuring that she'll want to talk to me once she realizes that I'm just as slow as she is.

We get to gym class and head outside. We'll have to run around the school eight times. Our gym teacher, Mr. Neil, has measured the distance with a round spinny thing attached to a stick. Right now I hate the round spinny thing attached to a stick, because eight times around the school seems like a lot, and Galen keeps saying that a mile is no big deal, but this seems like a big deal.

We line up, and Mr. Neil yells "Go!" The boys take off very fast, and a few of the girls do as well. I start running, and try going as fast as I can. Almost immediately, everyone has left a handful of us in the dust. I resolve to stick by Mary, and Samantha, and Katie, not to fall behind them. Because if I do, I realize, I'm going to be last. Mr. Neil tells us our time each time we pass him. I've run around the school four times, and some kids have already passed me twice. Mary, Samantha and Katie seem to be holding up okay, but my side stings like nothing I've ever felt. I can't get enough air into my lungs - I keep trying to get taller, to make more room, but it feels like I'm drowning.

Two words run through my mind: This hurts. Again and again. This hurts. This hurts. This hurts.

I give up. I start walking. As I round about my fifth, sixth, and seventh laps around the school, the group of finished kids grows. They are resting on the grass, in the sun. I keep walking, except during the times when I pass them. I've heard that finishing in eight minutes is really good. Ten minutes is fine. Twelve minutes, well, that's slow. Except the thing is, it's already been more than twelve minutes.

I finally finish. Somewhere around fifteen minutes. I'm last. Mary finished long before me, and later that afternoon she makes fun of me for being so slow. So much for our new bond.

Fast forward. I'm nine, then ten. Both years, Mom and Dad, knowing how miserable this experience has been for me, generously write me a note, trying to get me out of the timed mile. It works when I'm nine, much to my great relief. But when I'm ten, no go. I'll save the full story of that year's mile for another time, but needless to say, I finished feeling just as humiliated, and was teased even more than I had been before.

So. Now I'm twenty-six. Married. Trained for a marathon last year - finished all of my long runs beautifully, running the whole way. After months of winter training, finished the marathon itself on an 85 degree day - that took some walking. From time to time, still find myself replaying elementary school and the Fitness Challenge in my head.

Except recently, I had a revelation. I was lying in bed, remembering the humiliation, and wishing that President Reagan hadn't been such a cruel man. Then I gratefully remembered that I am an adult now. An adult who learned how to train. And well, if I'm feeling embarassed that I can't run faster now, I don't need, or want, a get-out-of-gym note. In fact, that's the last thing my parents should have been giving me back then.

What I needed then, and have now, was a training schedule and some encouragement. So. Bob made me a schedule, and now it's my job to stick to it. I started two weeks ago. In eight more weeks, the kid in me is hoping to run the fastest timed mile of my life. With the adult in me there to cheer her on.

Wish me luck.

(BTW, the Fitness Challenge is still around, but a little different these days...http://www.presidentschallenge.org/index.aspx if you're interested...)

In my imagination, I'm very suave. Well-dressed, 'put together' as my grandmother would say. My hair is free from split ends, I'm svelte, and have well-defined, attractive upper arms. My conversation skills are impeccable. The names and work of contemporary poets are always on the tip of my tongue, but I'm equally well-versed in the classics. My sense of history is specific - names and dates easily lend support to my general understanding. When I write, it is always with insight. People read it and feel compelled to comment, to say, I've been there, it felt like this, or wow, that was lovely to read.

My imagined version of me is much easier to ascertain than the real one. I never know whether I see clearly when I look in the mirror. During meditation, I return again and again to the me sitting on the cushion, breathing, experiencing physical sensations. Sometimes sitting, I feel trapped. Like a metal cage has sprung up inside my skin, my veins filled with wires. Then I remember, I've chosen to sit here for this period of time. Whatever itchy sensation on my nose or back, whatever tightness in my throat or abdomen, whatever heat and burning in my eyes, so what? Just sensations. Innocuous until I react to them like a caged beast thrashing and foaming at the mouth to escape my own body.

Swedish Chef Translator

Trunslete-a unytheeng intu Svedeesh Cheff. Oor Jeefe-a, Felley Gurl, oor Peeg Leteen. Cumpleements ooff Rena... Bork Bork Bork!

Translate anydin' into Swedish Chef. What it is, Mama! Or Jive, Valley Girl, o' Pig Latin. 'S coo', bro. Compliments uh Rena. Sheeeiit...

Translate anythin' into Swedish Chef. Or Jive, fer shure, Valley Girl, fer shure, or Pig Latin. Compliments of Rena...

anslateTray anythingway intoway edishSway efChay. Orway iveJay, alleyVay irlGay, orway igPay atinLay. omplimentsCay ofway enaRay...

Davis Square

Goldenrod fingers of hay on brick,
windy pigeons ascend moving small mountains,
iron masked statues watch and I catch closely

their shifting limbs, slipping eyes.
Sun and shade cast definitions –
your hands half-covered in uneasy sunshine,
calm inside the shade,

its restless inhabitants scuffing, shuffling, limping and dressed in green
wool or workpants, footsteps track through the haystacks,
our voices looking like that man in the leather jacket,

tired, a little overworked
and sitting to breathe
a moment or two
before vanishing.