Tales from the Shark Tank

I believe I shall begin with an “odd”. A blimp just floated past my window. It reads “Aquafina: Get Spotted”. It’s been floating around for a couple of days now. It flies fairly low; it’s not that far above my 4th floor office.

I haven’t vanished from human ken, just my own. There’s been a distinct lack of energy available this past week or so, owing primarily to the invasion of the Voice Snatchers…also known as bacterial laryngitis. I’d never heard of it until it caught me. Now, some would say a lawyer is a mostly useless creature. I am here to tell you that a voiceless lawyer is beyond useless. And I do not recommend a diet that operates by making your throat too sore to swallow. Yup, much much better now. I still sound like some of Kermit’s cousins have set up housekeeping in my throat, but at least I have an energy level noticeably above that of cold mashed turnips.

Work is in a total state of upheaval, although there is light at the end of the tunnel that does not, as yet, appear to bear the aspect of an oncoming train. The legal department currently consists of: two attorneys, two hearing officers, and two clerks – one a secretary/ receptionist and the other a scheduler. We have known for a while that we were to add another attorney and a paralegal, but getting the positions approved and actually posted on the state job board has been an adventure in and of itself.

So. Our secretary suddenly announced that she was moving to Florida; last Friday was her last day. Then our scheduler announced on Monday that she is taking a position with another agency (we had encouraged this) and that her last day would be Friday the 8th. Two clerks down. Not that the departing employees are much lamented: they were of the 45 minute break and never-at-her-desk sort. I can live with that if the work gets done (I do blog at work, but my work also gets done), but the work wasn’t getting done, and no amount of supervision or admonition seemed to help. You know it’s bad when you check on an employee 5 times a day, just to see if she’s actually working. It is an enormous relief to know that that woman in particular is now Someone Else’s Problem!

Anyway, we got firm information that the new positions will at last post on Monday the 4th, and that we can fill the two existing jobs immediately via lateral transfers. So now we have 4 new people coming in. Chaos reigns. And out of it comes something new…a legal division that has specific assignments and job descriptions, instead of scrambling up a la Topsy. Chief counsel and I have spent 7 hours over 2 days closeted, and come up with an entire list of duties, who will do them, and who will support whom in what fashion. We will be able to tell all our new people what their jobs are in writing. We might even operate efficiently. Mind you, we know that no plan ever survives first contact with reality, and that we will be adjusting and revisiting our plans. But at least we have a starting place, instead of saying “well, you do this. And oh, yeah, I almost forgot, that too.” I’ve had jobs like that. It’s uncomfortable.

And our son is going to kindergarten. His preschool did a little ceremony, complete with construction paper “caps”. They sang three songs, and then every child who was going on to school marched up and got acknowledged by name. I was so proud of my wee guy. He was so earnest, and so proud of himself, and so utterly adorable! He’s come such a long way from the kidling that couldn’t stand between two children in line, or understand the command to put something under his chair (prepositions were a very difficult concept for him as recently as 3 months ago), or sit still (mostly) in his chair. He just looked like a normal little boy, including high-jinks, and sang so clearly I could pick his voice out of the mass. The only indication that he is a year and a half older than any of the other kids is his height. Can you tell I’m happy about it?

That blimp just circled by again. It’s disquieting. I think I’ll go home now. That serves nicely for an “end”, don’t you think?

My bedroom is currently littered with tiny pieces of bright green cotton interspersed with other colors, evidence of the enthusiasm with which my son decided to help Mommy with her sewing project.

Curly-top came in while I was clipping a seam to make it lie smoothly. “I want to help!” he said. I asked him to hold the end up while I trimmed the seam, so it wouldn’t slip away. No, he said, he wanted to cut with scissors, that being what I was doing. All right. I went and got some good-sized scraps (big enough for quilt blocks) and my spare sewing scissors, explained to him that these scissors were very, very sharp and only for fabric, unfolded my cutting board on the floor, and set him loose where I could see him.

He cut them up for me, with great delight. He asked to cut up scraps of other colors. There is not a piece bigger than ? an inch anywhere. His preschool teacher asked me, very pleased, what had happened to improve his skill with scissors so suddenly, as he’s had such a hard time with the fine motor control needed for cutting. This is also a good thing. But he’s so proud of the heap of bits he created I can’t vacuum them up yet. It’s his monument to his newfound scissors skill.

Anyone need some cotton confetti?

Last night we had an adventure I understand no parent escapes entirely: the off-hours medical crisis. We have not had a serious crisis in the 5+ years of our son’s life. I assure you, it is a pleasure the greater for being deferred.

Between 6:00 and 7:00 pm last night, our son blew up a severe ear infection. Wick picked him up from his babysitter and he was fine, if a little subdued. When I got home 30 minutes later, he was curled in my easy chair, whimpering in pain because his ear hurt. I scooped him into my lap and put a hand on his forehead, and five minutes later we were out the door and on our way to the nearest MedCheck, which fortunately is all of 5 minutes away.

They were wonderful. They told me what the minimum paperwork was, and I filled it out while holding the crying child. They copied the insurance card, and told me to have a seat. We did. It was less than five minutes before they called us back, skipping us past at least three adults who were ahead of us, and who (thankfully) seemed not at all put out. The doctor was in within about another minute, looked in his ear, and gave orders for topical anasthetic ear drops, pediatric codeine/ tylenol, and something else. The doctor and three nurses were all doing something at once. Once he was comfortable and no longer in such pain, then they went on to do a thorough examination, get me to finish the paperwork, etc.

I couldn’t thank them enough. I still can’t. To have your child in such pain, and not be able to do anything about it…. I know there are worse things, but that is quite bad enough.

I did a bit of sewing on commission here lately. Well, a rather complicated bit, but that’s neither here nor there. I knew my coworker wanted to wear the outfit I was making for a Sunday evening event, so when I finished on Saturday morning, I started trying to call her. And trying. And trying. Turned out she’d gone out of town instead. So ok, I got her voice mail several times. She finishes her message with “have a blessed day.”

That closing really bugged me. I will accept a blessing with genuine thanks, if it is directed and personal, on the theory that the prayers of all good people are good. But this seemed more like ostentatious piety, in-your-face Christianity. I don’t think she means it that way; I think in fact she’d be completely mystified by my reaction. And I guess that’s the root of the problem right there. It presumes everyone believes as she does and wants that sort of wish.

Yes, America is a Christian country. And sometimes, that’s uncomfortable for those of us who are not Christian.

A couple of days ago, I read a blog entry that disturbed me enough that I find I have to write about it. Before anyone asks, no, I will not identify the blog or blogger, not even by gender. It is not relevant.

The blogger in question was toweringly angry at their Significant Other. They wrote their anger down in scathing language, not only telling in detail the reasons for the anger, but belittling the SO. The tone was strident, condescending, utterly unforgiving, utterly self-righteous. It hurt me to read it. Whether the anger was justified or not is irrelevant. What so distressed me was that it was made so public. It’s like screaming at your spouse in the middle of a mall. It’s not only embarrassing, it is horribly disrespectful, to the spouse, to the unwilling bystanders, and to yourself.

That is what I will never, ever do. I will never, ever rage at at my husband (or son) or about him in a public forum, nor will I ever belittle him. Yes, I get frustrated and angry at my husband. I sometimes hand him his head, and sometimes vent about the things that frustrate me to one or two deeply trusted friends. But I wait to express my anger until there is no one else around at all –not even our son. No matter how angry I am, I owe both him and myself that much respect. He gives me the same courtesy. And calling him stupid or clueless or lazy won’t help resolve anything either. If done too often, such names become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and where’s the good in that? We have enough detractors out in the world; family should be a support. (I heard my father-in-law say that once, when one of his kids twitted another about a hairstyle. It struck me as very true. I have never forgotten it, and I have tried to live that way.)

I guess I’m hypersensitive on this issue. If I am, it is the result of years of practicing family law. I’ve seen with a lot of people who got angry as this blogger did, or whose spouse did. The name I had for them was “client”.

Postscript: I just went and looked. The entry that so disturbed me has been deleted. I’m glad.

Well, it’s official. Shirley’s secret is out; he’s a woman living as a man. Writing a character opposite that has just been marvelous fun. Dorothea has talked about concluding that Shirley could, indeed, fall in love with a woman. Well, there was Margaret, exactly the sort of woman Shirley admired most, and there was Shirley, treating Margaret with utter respect and courtesy untinged by any condescension. That had been Margaret’s problem with Victorian society; any man who showed an interest in her seemed to take for granted that he would have to be dominant.

So then I had to decide: how would Margaret respond to Shirley’s evidently growing interest? She knew his true gender; she insisted on joining him in part to make sure his secret was safe. Would she let the fact of physical gender interfere? No, I decided, she would not. She is utterly unconventional, making her own decisions about what is right for herself. This seemed right, and she fell just as hard as Shirley in as short a period of time. I wrote quite responsive melodrama sufficiently florid to satisfy even the Victorians, whom if they did not invent it gave it its ultimate refinement.

What was interesting was writing the evolution of her attitude toward him. When they first joined forces in Alexandria, she was concerned about him; he seemed to be not only facing danger, but actively courting it. She was also a trifle (sometimes more than a trifle) impatient with his determination to be responsible for everything that happened or might happen, at one point going off on him quite thoroughly.

By the time they took ship for Osaka she had no more harsh words for him, and infinite patience. He was as he was; she accepted him entirely. No one had done so for ten years; no one had been accorded the opportunity. She let him know the extent to which she accepted him by calling him “Elizabeth” to release him from the emotional constraints he had put upon the “Shirley” persona, then let him cry out ten years of stress and more recent grief on her shoulder. Talk about melodrama! That took the cake and the frosting with it. I’m surprised we didn’t make Li sick with all the cute sweetness imbuing our corner of the game.

I thought about Dorothea’s question of sexuality, and concluded that Margaret had the worst of both worlds: she would have absorbed the Victorian notions that sex was a distasteful duty for a woman, and as a physician, she was familiar with the gross mechanics and found them just that — gross. She had no desire whatsoever for that sort of personal experience. Marrying Shirley was the perfect solution to the dilemma.

One of the funniest scenes Li wrote involved a rather staid, middle aged lady (NPC). Upon being told by Margaret that she and Shirley would be married that afternoon, she realized at once that Margaret’s mother was unavailable for the occasion and proceeded to tell Margaret in detail “what a lady should expect on her wedding night” It didn’t sound nearly as alarming as Mrs. Martingale told it as it had in medical college lecture.

All in all, the Grand Ellipse has been a great lark. Now I suppose I had really better get on the ball in putting my Lunar Ellipse character together. Li won’t let Dorothea and me be on the same team; I think she’s afraid we’ll take over the game again. So we’ll have to compete this time — and that will be interesting too!

I have once again been struck by the difference between the view out my window and the comments of the meteorologist. Outside my window it is so dark, at 10:00 a.m., that the street lights have come on. It looks very much like late dusk, or pre-dawn. The gloom is broken only by the flashes of lightening that make the entire sky flicker at fairly frequent intervals.

By contrast, the meteorologist just reported that we have “mostly cloudly skies, with a slight chance of thunderstorms.” I must say, this is some definition of “slight” with which I was not previously familiar.

I have known since a friend introduced me to Trader Joe’s that they had some seriously dangerous, decadent and delectable goodies on their shelves. My mom swears by their lemon snap cookies and tapioca; a friend by their cocoa almonds and peanut butter cups. I won’t buy yogurt anywhere else. All those things are wonderful, but I have discovered the most marvelous thing they carry.

It is their english toffee with milk chocolate. Most toffee is too sweet, or gooey instead of crisp, or lacks real flavour. None of those criticisms apply to this stuff. It is mildly sweet but not cloying, with a very definite flavour other than the sugar. The chocolate is lovely and smooth. And last of all, it’s rolled in almonds rather than peanuts.

I don’t believe I shall ever eat a Heath Bar or a Skors again. I have been spoiled forever.

Last night I made chicken spaghetti for dinner, and it brought something to my attention. It was the first meat dish I had made or eaten in over a week. I was throwing together a lunch for today at the same time. It too is vegetarian. Not that this is a problem, but it was not the result of any conscious decision either.

The friends I visited last weekend are vegetarian, so I did shift mental gears for the weekend. The thing that has taken me by surprise is that for the most part, they have not shifted back again. My family ate a huge amount of meat, mostly beef, as I was growing up; my parents (at my dad’s insistence) still do. I had mostly shifted to chicken and fish, but there was still some animal protein at dinner nearly every night, and frequently at lunch.

And yet when I went to the store last night after my yoga class, I looked at things I’ve gotten before and walked on by. I simply was not interested in the chicken or the turkey – apple sausage or the lamb shanks. I seem to be going vegetarian rather abruptly, but not because it’s healthier, or more ethical, or any other discernable reason. For someone as conscious of their own internal motivations as I usually am, that’s just odd.

I have just received a missive from one of the citizens of the State for which I work. It is entitled Notice of Contract Recission, and its purpose is to serve notice on all sorts of governmental agencies that the writer and his partner/ spouse (no idea which) “have voluntarily made the political choice to cancel, sever, forfeit, waive and reject all benefits from the corporate democracy known as the United States” as “inconsistent with the concept of individual Liberty.” It then demands the agency’s approval of their secession from the U.S. of A. and the State of Indiana (which we don’t have the authority to give), and claims copyright protection for the document presented.

Does anyone else see a certain logical inconsistency in this? It seems to be asking the blessings of the government from which they are formally disassociating themselves, and claiming the benefit of its legal protection for a document rejecting those protections in the name of some bizarre notion of liberty.

I’m tempted to write back and say “Fine. You don’t have to accept social security or police protection if you don’t want to. But that doesn’t relieve you of the responsibility, as residents of this country and this state, to abide by their laws. That means you have to pay your taxes and make sure your children get educated. It means that if you want to use the roads (gee, another benefit of government) you have to get a driver’s license, plate your car, and maintain insurance on it. ” I won’t, as it would simply be opening Pandora’s Box. But it surely is tempting.