“Any World (That I’m Welcome To)”

— Steely Dan (from “Katy Lied”)

My son is worried I’ll die during surgery. Because he knows that when they give dogs a shot and “make them go to sleep” they stay asleep. They die. I won’t die, I’ll be okay, baby. There’s no other option here. My daughter is worried about garbage. Too much garbage, all piling up.

“What do you think it will be like when we’re grown up, the whole world, piled up with all the garbage? Cars and garbage?”

her: “No, just thinking.”

I wish that Steve, the kids and I were going on a big road trip over the holidays. We like to go to L.A. for Christmas, and San Diego. We have friends and family there — all we have to spring for is gas and admission to Disneyland. Sometimes they’re running a “locals only” deal at Disneyland and our family gets us in for cheap.

Ah, que sera, sera, huh?

Need to work out now, then locate Steve and the kids. They’re in nests upstairs, hibernating. Did I tell you that my sister is getting married in December? (surgery is a few days after. yes, my mom did ask me to resked the surgery until “later.” I wish. it’s not me going on the honeymoon, the calendar is just fine, thanks. wish I could resked but… you know.)

i’m just going to try to think about how nice it is that she’s getting married not only to one of the coolest guys in the world, but one of steve’s best friends, to boot. The Red-Headed Guy. She’s a great girl, he’s a great guy. Mazel tov to them. let’s just think about that and daydream for awhile.

OK, some of you have been reading my blog for a long time. Remember this little post, from four years ago? Yeah. I’m having surgery for Christmas. Because a girl should treat herself once in awhile, don’t you think?

send. good. thoughts.

stupid uterus. it’s just like with my thyroid — broken. had to go. all broken parts must go, especially once they start torturing me. am being tortured by my own damn body. everyone i’ve talked with keeps saying “night and day.” “Afterward, it’s just like night and day, the difference. You will not regret it.”

but still, i feel like a dog who is about to be spayed. that is just a horrible thought, I need to get that thought out of my head. This has nothing to do with my female-ness. My qi. It will be okay. Giving up white sugar, white flour, stress, you know what? It wouldn’t change things. My body just grows strange growths, that’s all. It’s a little trick it likes to play. I have de-stressed a lot, but life just includes some stress. even a hermit in a cave somewhere has stress. (“Cold in here. Out of food. Damn. And I have cramps again. Damn.”) The cramps go with you wherever you go is the thing.

okay i have to go to work now. and my son is playing Wii-Fit Plus (which rocks, by the way — lots of new games, and you can customize the work-outs so you don’t have to start and stop all the time). It’s the woot-doot-doot-do-do-doot music that is making me a little distracted here. that, and surgery. at least we have insurance. stupid America.

love,

wm

the holiday baking has begun over here. it started innocently enough, with some pumpkin bread, and oatmeal cookies. now we’re planning out our strategies for the next couple of months. requests have been made:

1) please don’t bake so much
2) maybe fewer Christmas cookies this year?

requests have been considered.

now along comes Zootie, who has taken up cooking and baking with a vengeance. I’ve read the Pioneer Woman Cooks from time to time, always entertaining over there. But I had never read Bakerella until Zoot mentioned her mini-pumpkin pie bites.

Oh, yumskamie. Here’s what I say to baking!

Sorry, Steve. If we just work out more, I’m sure it will even out???

i was liking facebook. kind of had become a facebook addict, actually. now? love affair over. moving on, facebook. (i left twitter in the dust a long time ago. my blog updates over there, but that’s about it.)

they’re tinkering with the site (as those of you who are FB addicts out there have no doubt noticed) and now up pops everything. Ev-er-y-th-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-ng in painstaking little details. So and so and so and so are friends with so and so. So and so joined another group/cause/fan club and wants YOU to join, too. Do it! Just do it! Join the Nike/Adidas/Converse/your local credit union/Arbor Day Awareness Club, too! Do it!

The pressure… it is stupid. (“Stupid is a strong word!” says my daughter.) (Mis-quoting me, cuz I am fond of telling the kids, “Hate is a strong word!”) Stupid is not a strong enuf word, cutie.

I have enough real pressures in my life without the “kooky” pressures of Facebook (Twitter, MySpace, etc.). also there are other issues which i don’t really feel like going into.

social networking is re-wiring my brain and i do not like it. Seriously. I have no access to Facebook at work and for that, I thank my employer because it has made me realize how many times a day

zip

zip

woot

i go and check out Facebook.

this weekend, I’m going cold-turkey.

xo

wm

“Many people think that to be patient is a sign of weakness. I think that is a mistake. It is anger that is a sign of weakness.”

— HH The Dalai Lama

Our political associate and friend Terry Olson passed away on Oct. 15th. His notice ran today. I am so sad over this. That should read, I am so sad inside of this. Terry was the coolest dude — great husband, father, grandfather, teacher, activist, dog-dad and friend. He fought cancer for so long, so hard. I have never seen anyone fight a disease the way Terry fought his.

Here is my first “real” post that I ever wrote about school politics — the inequities, the unfairness of it all, the effects of poverty as they relate to education. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was doing, I just knew I wasn’t happy with the status quo.

Terry was always quietly supportive of Steve and me. He would also bang on the table with his fists, as necessary. He loved that post, and sent me a note that said, in effect, forget about the recipes and all that, just focus on being renegade. So I did. (OK, I only wrote about food half as much after that.)

He also loved this post, and that thrilled me, that he stamped my work with a big gold star. (For the longest time, when you did a search on “wacky mommy,” Terry’s post popped up at the top of the list: “What Set Wacky Off?” haha.)

Terry was, first and foremost, an excellent teacher. I learned so much from him. (I learned to forgive people, for one thing.)

Love and peace to you, Terry. Love you. I am sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to you, but I didn’t want to say goodbye. Peace to your family, besos y abrazos. You lost a great guy. I am so sorry.

ps — Terry, thanks for outing me, all those years ago, on your blog. Someone needed to do it. (hugs.)

Kudos to my old colleague from Thee O, Randy Gragg, on doing a stellar job in his new gig as editor of Portland Monthly magazine. They’re on Facebook, too. (Isn’t everyone? Dang.)

Last month’s cover story was “Explore Hidden Oregon”; this month’s is “Best Restaurants 2009.” The magazine has a stable of good writers and photographers, and Randy does a nice job with his editor’s notes. (His fondness for architecture, photography and food shines through.) Good profiles, too, including last month’s story on John Haines, executive director of Mercy Corps Northwest, who is getting loans to people who need it most. Also thought the graphic novel-style article on the Trail Blazers, “Game On!” in this month’s issue was funny.

Not crazy about the teeny-tiny print in the listings sections. My eyes! Dammit, I hate needing progressive lenses, alright? But honestly — I just want everyone, newspapers and magazines alike, to stick with the same point size so my brain doesn’t have TO switch BACK AND FORTH everyotherpage.

Other than that teeny little gripe, nice job, y’all. Keep up the good work.

…just showed up in my in-box:

“in mood for flirting?”

i’m all, no, i’m in mood for smacking ya upside the head though. come a little closer, spammers…

xo

wm

(thanks, Rob I., for the link.)

“The first symptom of love in a young man is shyness; the first symptom in a woman, it’s boldness.” — Victor Hugo, poet, novelist and dramatist (1802-1885)