On the Receiving End

Holidays are a weird time for me because, even though I love giving gifts, I hate receiving them. I'm just not a good receiver, I don't know—most of my joy is in seeing other people happy. When I get a gift, I worry more about whether I spent a similar amount of time in selecting and purchasing a gift for the giver. I am trying to be more gracious about gift receiving these days because I know it is a problem for me—people have actually pointed out that I don't get very excited. I am excited inside, but I guess I'm uncomfortable that someone has spent so much time and effort on me. Usually that's the part that shows. Argh, it's one of those codependent hangups coming home to roost.

My other neurotic hangup is nervousness. Someone told me once that if you get really nervous about doing something, it's because you care and want to get it right. Well, that's all well and good, but what happens when your nervousness sabotages that which you care about? For instance, sometimes I get so nervous (especially in social situations) that it'd be easier to stay home. I wish I would receive the gift of confidence this year. Or Xanax.

Going Local for the Holidays

I finished up the last of my holiday shopping on Saturday morning going local: Atomic Books in Hampden and Soundgarden in Fells Point. I got my Mom this cool book that I had my eye on last year (but already had enough gifts for her) called The Brick Testament. I got my brother some stuff also, but on the account of him reading this blog, you'll have to wait until after Christmas to find out what. I love buying from local merchants; if I never had to spend another cent in a chain store I'd be overjoyed (with the exception of Whole Foods). The only disappointing thing was that many of the independent merchants on the Avenue in Hampden all had the same stuff from the same suppliers, cutesy crap you order out of the Signals catalog two days before Christmas because you're out of ideas and that pewter paperweight suddenly seems like a great idea for your Aunt Sally. Anyway, today, I am trying to convalescese. We've been a little under the weather the past 24 hours. Hopefully I'll be back up to full speed tomorrow. There are still presents to wrap, vacation details to iron out, and a Christmas dinner to plan!

Need Dreams?

I had a bunch of weird dreams last night centering on the theme of neediness. In the first, I had some people over our house. The living room was set up the old way. My grandparents (both mobile), our kooky next-door neighbor Albert, some ten-year-old boy that was his girlfriend's child or something, another small boy. I read Albert's boy, who was skinny and not wearing a shirt, a book. Everyone left when my mother and aunt (other caretakers) came to take my grandparents. I gave Albert's boy an adolescent book I liked as a child and told him to keep it. He began to cry and said that no one was that nice to him. He told me his mother passed AIDs onto him and that it sucked to be born with the cards stacked against you. It dawned on me that someone needed to give him a chance and that that person was me. I told him I'd see what I could do. I wondered what to tell K--would we adopt him and move to Mt Washington near better schools? How would we afford private schooling? What about his medical coverage? Adoption? I woke up.

The second dream K and I were in a thrift store. We needed to get a list of things for a sick person we knew. I remember looking through the list, which included appliances, and seeing several really old versions of them scattered throughout the store. We paused to look at some t-shirts that K was interested in (retro types with the ringer on the collar and sleeves). I woke up.

The third dream I am vacuuming my mother's bedroom. She has a colorful, swirled carpet of pinks and maroons and lavenders. I was working really hard to get the floor cleaned when I noticed that something squishy and wormlike was on the floor. I realized it was a leech (but looked more like a slug, which frequent my mom's garden) and that the ceiling was covered with them. I ran out of the room, imploring my brother's help in getting rid of them.

The first dream seems to speak to my capacity to help people and a message that perhaps I should be exploring that role rather than being a childless "artiste." However, the presence of other, "needy" people at my party indicates to me that I, on some level, have played a nurturing role in my life. The second dream speaks to my (and K's) reluctance to move on this realization (ie, more interest in K's pet projects--shirts--and also a sign of the immaturity still lingering in us). The third dream speaks to the necessity of my taking on a larger role, for my mother has been overwhelmed by the needs of others, to the point that she's breaking down, and my brother and I need to step up and clean out the leeches.

Something to think about, I guess.

Queen of the Stone Age

Jeff made an interesting comment about my being a Luddite, and it's odd, because I was thinking the same thing this morning. I have great nostalgia for simplier times, when cars were bigger and slower, when shopping was done on main streets, when stores were closed on Sundays and families were forced to interact with each other, when parents "entertained" and had parties (swinging and not-so), when we went on family vacations to the seashore and National monuments and not Disneyworld. As addicted as I am to the Internet, I wonder if I would trade it for a simpler time, when crooks (Nixon) were caught and the press (Bernstein, Woodward) did their job. I don't know. I'm sounding very reactionary and conservative, but there is something to the notion that perhaps that was a "perfect" age for which we now clamor. Unfortunately, it would be a different age for everyone. As for me, it'd waver between the late Victorians and the mid-70s. The progressive notion of "progress," that things continue to get better, used to be my rallying cry, but nothing, in my opinion, has really gotten "better" in the last ten years, or in history. People still ostracize in the name of religion, governments still lie, people still kill for petty reasons. I don't know. I've been turning to spirituality a lot lately to try and fill the void of modern life, but I'm wondering whether becoming Amish will do the trick.

Here Comes Peter Cotton...uh...Claus

It'a a Wonderful Life in 30 seconds and reinacted by bunnies

Cultural Zeitgeist

Another moral values voter who needs to shut her claptrap and watch The Divinity Channel or something. And she didn't even read the book! She read an "outline" of it on the Internet. Why is it that everyone in this country is turning into the mother from Carrie?

Speaking of Moms, mine made it through surgery okay. She's dousing herself with morphine as I write and, other than "the hole in my back," she has no complaints.

Limbo

My Mom went in for surgery at 1:30 this afternoon, but we still haven't heard anything. The veil of numbness that cloaked me much of the afternoon has worn through, and now the pit of my stomach is in total rebellion. What is taking so long? Is no news good news? I scan the possibilities of phone conversations I may have with my grandmother sooner or later tonight: (1) she did well, (2) she's out of surgery, but there were complications, (3) I'm so sorry. Helplessness is the worst feeling on the planet, worse than anger or sadness or depression, all of which can be approached constructively. Helpless is just...helplessness. Vulnerability. It's been raining for hours and hours here. I try not to read too much into things.

Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa

I wanted to apologize for the massive amounts of spelling mistakes I've made during the past week or two of posting. The missus has pointed out that I, as an editor, should know better.

I also wanted to apologize for continuing to call the missus "the missus," even after she has informed me she doesn't like it very much. From now on, the missus will be referred to exclusively as K. Kay?

The United States of Cleetus

More proof that the progeny of Cleetus (the redneck from the Simpsons) are alive and well.

Dawn Culbertson

I had the privilege of knowing Dawn Culbertson for only a short period of time, while writing for the Baltimore Alternative years ago, but she was always someone who struck me as being around forever and would continue to be. Perhaps it was her childlike gentleness, her sense of humor, her youthful appearance (did she ever sprout a grey hair?), or her enthusiasm for the lute, music history, and the Baltimore arts scene. It's strange that's she's already gone, the same age as my mom. By all accounts, she died peacefully, after a night of English folk dancing, and was among friends. It seems to me she needed to stay here longer, for I don't know whether she, of the self-depreciating humor, neediness, and self-imposed isolation, ever really understood how many people cared for her and enjoyed her company, despite her quirks and her running commentary on her lack of love life. She, in a world full of friends, always seemed alone.

But maybe it was we who needed to know how much we needed her. I know I always assumed she would be around, and maybe that's why I never made much of an effort to keep touch with her after the paper—she was everywhere, posting on the artmobile e-mail list, at area coffeehouses and churches, writing for local publications. She never seemed far away, doing the things she loved passionately. And now she is seemingly far away, but I hope she can hear me when I say she was someone I always admired for being throughly herself and living fully for her passions, no apology. Hopefully we can keep her spirit alive by asking the same of ourselves.

Fear and Loneliness in Charm City

My mom is in the hospital again. She can't seem to catch a break. Two summers ago she had a hernia. Last summer she broke her wrist. Last month she had kidney and gallstones detected, as well as colitis. She supposedly passed her kidney stone during Thanksgiving but wound up at the ER last Friday because of a high fever, vomiting, and severe back pain. She's been on intravenous antibiotics for a few days, which haven't completely eradicated the infection. Today she had some more tests (ECG, endoscopy). They also discovered another hernia during a CT over the weekend. Not one that's big enough to cause problems now, mind you, just later down the road, when she'll have to have another surgery to get it rmoved.

Although living with a sick person is nothing new to me (see the missus and her undetermined mystery female disease), nothing breaks my heart more to hear that my mom is sick. She's such a selfless person, and maybe that's the problem. Both of my grandparents (both homebound) live with her, and she must care for their needs as well as working a full-time job. Over the years, she has become the lynchpin in my family hierarchy. If something happens to her, everyone, from my grandparents, to my brother and me to my aunt, are screwed. She carries a tremendous burden on her shoulders. And we watch, from the audience every day, hoping she doesn't misstep. For who wants to take over the massive responsibility of elder care if and when my mom is unable?

The missus and I just bought doggie diapers for our sometimes-incontinent dog, Maggie. We are slowly being eased into the eldercare issues, so perhaps it won't be such a shock. But perhaps that's not even the reason I'm worried. For although my mom is the tactical lynchpin in our family, she is also the emotional centerpoint. It was strange to be in her house this weekend (and during the last time she recovered from a major illness) with her not in it. Sure, it still looks like the warm, cluttered place with too many Maxine, Jackie O, and Disney collectibles, but it doesn't feel the same. Let's face it; if my mom wasn't around, there's no one to take her place, to keep the family together. And off we break, floating silently into the cosmos.

My brother and I are extremely close to my mother, and she to us. Perhaps it is the result of being codependent survivors, sharing the trauma of my father's alcoholism (and then hers). We will never willingly extracate ourselves from our mother's protective aura, and nothing will wretch it from us. She is our identity and our link to humanity, our ability to give love always even when receiving pain in return. If she is taken we will never be whole again. There will be a piece in the sky that's missing, a piece we will try to fill with part of the ground. But then, there will just be a hole in the ground. And so it goes.

Have Yourself a Blue-State Holiday

Some big democratic donors this election cycle.

Price Club/Costco donated $225K, of which 99% went to democrats;
Rite Aid, $517K, 60% to democrats;
Magla Products (Stanley tools, Mr. Clean), $22K, 100% to democrats;
Warnaco (undergarments), $55K, 73% to democrats;
Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia, $153K, 99% to democrats;
Estee Lauder, $448K, 95% to democrats;
Guess ? Inc., $145K, 98% to democrats;
Calvin Klein, $78K, 100% to democrats;
Liz Claiborne, Inc., $34K, 97% to democrats;
Levi Straus, $26K, 97% to democrats;
Olan Mills, $175K, 99% to democrats.

Spirits?

Gallo Winery, $337K, 95% to democrats;
Southern Wine & Spirits, $213K, 73% to democrats;
Joseph E. Seagrams & Sons (includes beverage business, plus considerable media interests), $2M+, 67% democrats.

Hungry?

Sonic Corporation, $83K, 98% democrat;
Triarc Companies (Arby's, T.J. Cinnamon's, Pasta Connections), $112K, 96% democrats;

Traveling?

Hyatt Corporation, $187K, 80% to democrats

Llama Is the New Sheep

I've got too much time on my hands if I want to share these llamas with you. Or maybe K's boss does (the sender of the link).

Llamas with too little time on their hands.