It’s snowing. It seems like it may never stop snowing. The calendar says it will be spring in three weeks but I am skeptical. I could go outside and blow the snow off the driveway one more time but my husband brought me some Kahlua and Vodka before he left to stay in the City and having a cocktail seems like such a better idea than manual labor that I will let the snow accrue until the morning and will deal with it then. They say it may snow all day tomorrow too. My in-laws are upstate NY and they had four feet of snow as of 8:30 a.m. with no sign of it stopping over the next 24 hours and they were laughing. I suppose that is what people do when there is nothing else to be done; they laugh.
We were laughing last night as we drove through the end of the world. In a moment of what can only be described as insane, some friends and I drove into NYC last night for dinner and a show. My guardian angel, JK, treated me to this wonderful, death defying evening. Dinner on Restaurant Row with gourmet prices and Weight Watchers sized meals prevented it from being a total assault on my diet but, oh boy, was it good! I am grateful! I am grateful! The play, Mamet’s “Race” was great. I love James Spader. David Allen Grier:really good. Richard Thomas: excellent. Kerry Washington: could have been anyone. Overall evening: a ten. Driving home? White knuckle time. This blizzard, this amazing blizzard, had eyes. Looking at the weather channel, it was as though someone had arbitrarily decided to paint New York State white and Connecticut green. The road was horrible; didn’t see a plow or salt-truck, and cars, or their drivers, were freaking out. I’d left my Prius in JK’s driveway and was grateful for her SUV as we worked our way out of Manhattan as I’d never seen it, up the West Side Highway, on to the Henry Hudson and up to the Hutch with drivers literally freaking out on the unplowed road. Snow was driving at the headlights at such a rate I would have sworn we’d entered hyper-space like in Star Wars. Then, in Norwalk, it just stopped! No snow, no ice, no slush; just rain. The thermostat jumped to 39 degrees and last week’s accumulation was gone. We were safe. Snow didn’t hit us until the wee hours of the morning but it’s as if it has been making up for lost time. I have no idea what time it is. I have been watching reruns all day and changed out of my pajamas only long enough to clear the driveway.
So I’m home; I’m safe; I have cabin fever that is only dulled by this incredible White Russian I have concocted from my husband’s parting gifts and a dollop of International Coffee’s White Chocolate Macadamia Nut non-dairy creamer. I am as sloshed as my driveway is slushed. Spring? Right.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Demographic
Oh my God, I’m a demographic!
I signed up for the New York Times online that delivers carefully selected articles in areas of personal interest directly to your computer. I don’t buy the paper anymore (one of our many cutbacks) and this seemed like a good way to keep in touch with the newspaper and the City I loved so much. I was understandably intrigued when the email arrived with the following banner: “Millions of Unemployed Face Years Without Jobs” by Peter S. Goodman. (Not plagiarizing!) So I clicked on the link and was greeted by the subtitle, “The New Poor”. The lump in my throat threatened to cut off my air supply.
I read that “roughly 2.7 million people will lose their unemployment check before the end of April” unless Congress approves President Obama’s plan to extend benefits one more time. That’s me! I read that 6.3 million Americans have been unemployed for six months or more. That’s me!! I read that the percentage of women from 45-64 years of age who have been unemployed for six months or more has doubled compared to the “deep recession” of 1983, when it was 7%, to 14%. THAT’S ME! I read, “Every downturn pushes some people out of the middle class before the economy resumes expanding. Most recover. Many prosper. But some economists worry that this time could be different”. I fought the temptation to head for the liquor cabinet. It was, after all, 10 a.m.
I brushed my teeth, threw on my gym clothes and prepared to greet the acting student who has been a lifeline during these difficult times. It was a private today; part acting class, part therapy session…for both of us. All I can do is keep putting myself out there and doing what I love. Perhaps I will be one of those who recovers. Perhaps the loss of a steady paycheck has forced me to become more self-motivated. Perhaps everyone else will get jobs and they will once again donate money to theatres and I will get jobs, and the parents of my students will once again be able to afford classes and camps, and I will not just be one of those who recovers. Perhaps I will be one of those who prosper.
I signed up for the New York Times online that delivers carefully selected articles in areas of personal interest directly to your computer. I don’t buy the paper anymore (one of our many cutbacks) and this seemed like a good way to keep in touch with the newspaper and the City I loved so much. I was understandably intrigued when the email arrived with the following banner: “Millions of Unemployed Face Years Without Jobs” by Peter S. Goodman. (Not plagiarizing!) So I clicked on the link and was greeted by the subtitle, “The New Poor”. The lump in my throat threatened to cut off my air supply.
I read that “roughly 2.7 million people will lose their unemployment check before the end of April” unless Congress approves President Obama’s plan to extend benefits one more time. That’s me! I read that 6.3 million Americans have been unemployed for six months or more. That’s me!! I read that the percentage of women from 45-64 years of age who have been unemployed for six months or more has doubled compared to the “deep recession” of 1983, when it was 7%, to 14%. THAT’S ME! I read, “Every downturn pushes some people out of the middle class before the economy resumes expanding. Most recover. Many prosper. But some economists worry that this time could be different”. I fought the temptation to head for the liquor cabinet. It was, after all, 10 a.m.
I brushed my teeth, threw on my gym clothes and prepared to greet the acting student who has been a lifeline during these difficult times. It was a private today; part acting class, part therapy session…for both of us. All I can do is keep putting myself out there and doing what I love. Perhaps I will be one of those who recovers. Perhaps the loss of a steady paycheck has forced me to become more self-motivated. Perhaps everyone else will get jobs and they will once again donate money to theatres and I will get jobs, and the parents of my students will once again be able to afford classes and camps, and I will not just be one of those who recovers. Perhaps I will be one of those who prosper.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Advice; or how to keep busy when you're not.
I get most of my ideas in the car and then I have to figure out a way to remember them until I get home. I’ve tried a tape recorder but everything sounds so lame when I play it back. The voice in my head is so much more intelligent than the one that hits the air. I’ve tried calling myself and leaving a message; same problem. I’ve tried writing while I drive but the result is illegible. So I simply make a mental note to remember. Sometimes it works.
The ideas come to me because I listen to the news on CBS radio and sometimes what I hear is so provocative I need to respond. For example, this morning, the commentator introduced a doctor who was going to tell us how to avoid salt to lower blood pressure. His brilliant interview consisted of telling us not to eat it. How many people do you know who have gotten high blood pressure from bathing in it?
Another expert told us how to avoid conflict with your “ex” by cutting him or her out of your life. In the case of shared children, she advised “not to beg”. Huh? Okay, she acknowledged that, when you have children, it is impossible to completely cut your former spouse out of your life. Arguing is pointless and counter-productive. But begging? She admitted she was calling on personal experience when it came to the begging. Apparently, her ex-husband became her ex because he’d found someone else and she compounded the problem by begging him to stay. I think much better advice would be to get rid of the bastard. Don’t fight; don’t argue, don’t beg. Just consider yourself lucky that the bastard is now somebody else’s problem and pity the poor woman who poached your man; he belongs to her now. As a veteran of parental divorce and spousal divorce, I believe the best way to deal with an ex-spouse is to try to remember, as quickly as you can, something… anything… you once liked about this person to entertain the notion that you might want to spend the rest of your life with him or her. I’m not saying ‘forget the negative’; just put it on the back burner. You’re divorced so you don’t have to live with the shtick anymore. Close your heart from hurt. Don’t let it fester. Get out. Get busy. Value yourself. The sooner you can do that, the sooner you can normalize relations for the sake of your children and the sooner the stress leaves your life. This is not to say that there aren’t a bunch of ignorant assholes out there that make reconciliation next to impossible. But the sooner you can find a way to cut your dependency on this person, the sooner you will be on the track toward a happy life.
So, it seems I have discovered something else to “do when you’re dead”: give advice. Hope it helps.
The ideas come to me because I listen to the news on CBS radio and sometimes what I hear is so provocative I need to respond. For example, this morning, the commentator introduced a doctor who was going to tell us how to avoid salt to lower blood pressure. His brilliant interview consisted of telling us not to eat it. How many people do you know who have gotten high blood pressure from bathing in it?
Another expert told us how to avoid conflict with your “ex” by cutting him or her out of your life. In the case of shared children, she advised “not to beg”. Huh? Okay, she acknowledged that, when you have children, it is impossible to completely cut your former spouse out of your life. Arguing is pointless and counter-productive. But begging? She admitted she was calling on personal experience when it came to the begging. Apparently, her ex-husband became her ex because he’d found someone else and she compounded the problem by begging him to stay. I think much better advice would be to get rid of the bastard. Don’t fight; don’t argue, don’t beg. Just consider yourself lucky that the bastard is now somebody else’s problem and pity the poor woman who poached your man; he belongs to her now. As a veteran of parental divorce and spousal divorce, I believe the best way to deal with an ex-spouse is to try to remember, as quickly as you can, something… anything… you once liked about this person to entertain the notion that you might want to spend the rest of your life with him or her. I’m not saying ‘forget the negative’; just put it on the back burner. You’re divorced so you don’t have to live with the shtick anymore. Close your heart from hurt. Don’t let it fester. Get out. Get busy. Value yourself. The sooner you can do that, the sooner you can normalize relations for the sake of your children and the sooner the stress leaves your life. This is not to say that there aren’t a bunch of ignorant assholes out there that make reconciliation next to impossible. But the sooner you can find a way to cut your dependency on this person, the sooner you will be on the track toward a happy life.
So, it seems I have discovered something else to “do when you’re dead”: give advice. Hope it helps.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Black and White
I’m so bored! It’s snowing again… still… The view outside my window might as well be in black and white because that is all there is: white sky, white snow and trees in varying shades of grey. An occasional squirrel, also grey, frolics through the trees making it seem like it is snowing harder but it is just the branch he has used for a springboard that has sent its load down to the ground where I will have to shovel it away. Thanks Rocky. I wanted to look up the name of the person who dreamed up Rocky, the Flying Squirrel, but my internet connection seems to be having difficulty. It is just that kind of day: no instant gratification. Even eating doesn't help. Once upon a time I would have looked up the answer in my Compton’s Encyclopedia. Why we got Compton’s I don’t know. The gold-standard of encyclopedias was Britannica. My Aunt and Uncle had Britannica. Maybe it was the cover. Britannica was brown and Compton’s was white and grey… like today!
And speaking of the days when TV was black and white, whatever happened to all those door-to-door salesmen? Could you imagine hauling an encyclopedia around in a suitcase all day? And The Fuller Brush Man? The Hoover Vacuum Cleaner Man? The Avon Lady? Okay, Avon is still around but it’s not the same. We had cake delivered by the Duggan’s Bakery and our sodas by the Seltzer Man; Good Health Seltzer. He was the strongest person I knew. Have you ever lifted a seltzer bottle? It’s heavy! Put six of them in a wooden crate that’s heavy even when it is empty, add a bottle of Fox’s Ubet and pile on another crate of Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda, Black Cherry, Celery Tonic and Root Beer and you have a cargo worthy of Hercules. I think of him when I have to carry a single 2 liter plastic bottle. Of course there was the milk man, and the metal box outside our door from Cloverdale Farm. The milk would have a paper cap and under the cap would be a half-inch layer of cream. To open my plastic half-gallon of 1% I had to go through TWO security measures!
Just the fact that all these people came to your door… that they would be let inside… UPS delivered a package the other day; when I heard the knock at the door I jumped three feet. Nobody comes to my door! And if they do, they’re certainly not getting in! But still it’s nice to remember a time when everything didn’t have to be hermetically sealed and a stranger in your living room only wanted a commission.
This snow is relentless. But I’m going out before I eat myself into a stupor and before it’s too heavy to push. I’ll wear my black jacket, black snow pants, black boots and will use the grey shovel. Ah, the good old days.
And speaking of the days when TV was black and white, whatever happened to all those door-to-door salesmen? Could you imagine hauling an encyclopedia around in a suitcase all day? And The Fuller Brush Man? The Hoover Vacuum Cleaner Man? The Avon Lady? Okay, Avon is still around but it’s not the same. We had cake delivered by the Duggan’s Bakery and our sodas by the Seltzer Man; Good Health Seltzer. He was the strongest person I knew. Have you ever lifted a seltzer bottle? It’s heavy! Put six of them in a wooden crate that’s heavy even when it is empty, add a bottle of Fox’s Ubet and pile on another crate of Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda, Black Cherry, Celery Tonic and Root Beer and you have a cargo worthy of Hercules. I think of him when I have to carry a single 2 liter plastic bottle. Of course there was the milk man, and the metal box outside our door from Cloverdale Farm. The milk would have a paper cap and under the cap would be a half-inch layer of cream. To open my plastic half-gallon of 1% I had to go through TWO security measures!
Just the fact that all these people came to your door… that they would be let inside… UPS delivered a package the other day; when I heard the knock at the door I jumped three feet. Nobody comes to my door! And if they do, they’re certainly not getting in! But still it’s nice to remember a time when everything didn’t have to be hermetically sealed and a stranger in your living room only wanted a commission.
This snow is relentless. But I’m going out before I eat myself into a stupor and before it’s too heavy to push. I’ll wear my black jacket, black snow pants, black boots and will use the grey shovel. Ah, the good old days.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Avoiding the crash
So maybe I’m not dead. Of course I’m not dead. If I were dead, wouldn’t this struggle be over? But here’s the thing that makes me believe I will survive: I’m beginning to enjoy the struggle. I’m starting to take the curves life throws at me and, well, slow down to avoid the crash. For example, tonight I will take the stage at the Flagpole Radio Café. I’ll appear in two skits written by a very funny man who lives here in town. It’s a fun, low-pressure gig with a handful of terrific radio-style actors, great musicians, before a completely supportive audience of 300-400 people. I’m looking forward to it. So it was with equanimity that I greeted the infection that crept into my body starting on Wednesday at 5 a.m. After months of managing to dodge the various viral and bacterial infections brought into my presence by family members and students, I succumbed to the contagion brought home by my son last weekend. It amazes me how sharing a house with my husband as he labored through five weeks of an infection that would not quit did not affect me but the moment I plan to perform, bingo, I get sick. But I didn’t panic. After a brief flirtation with the idea that I would sleep, drink plenty of liquids and head to the gym to sweat it out, I speed dialed the doctor. Just 24 hours earlier I had escorted my ailing son to her and within 30 minutes of my call I was on her table being prescribed a Z-pac. If you have never experienced a Z-pac, it is a super antibiotic not for the faint of constitution. But I had learned my lesson a long time ago and stocked up on yogurt and acidophilus. By sinuses immediately started draining like someone pulled a plug in my head; I can’t imagine where all this stuff had been stored! Sore throat and more followed but I had avoided getting anywhere near as sick as my son had been. And I’m ready to perform! See? I didn’t panic! I didn’t deny! I met the obstacle with calm and good sense and averted disaster. I short-circuited the drama. I am learning. Perhaps life is like a video game. You start down the course and obstacles appear at random intervals. If you try to speed past them, you crash. But if you can slow down enough to see them coming, take the necessary precautions, and avoid the collision, you can continue on the journey fairly unscathed. I just wish I had figured this out sooner… and can figure out how to apply it in the broader sense. Perhaps then I will arrive at the finish line with something more than empty pockets and a lot of accumulated “shoulda, coulda, woulda” knowledge.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Virus
I found myself leaning over the Geek Bar at Best Buy yesterday and saying nice things to my computer and the universe. Banging my head against the table and tying my stomach up in knots hadn’t worked so, as the Geek tried to find my missing system32/connect file, I did my best to send out positive vibes to whatever entity might be listening, not that I truly believe anyone or anything is actually listening but it had been one of those days… or weeks.
As the weekend started, I noticed I wasn’t getting all my emails. Some got through but the daily influx of store coupons, sale notices and other junk wasn’t showing up. I didn’t really miss them but, when two different people tried to send me scripts, I got concerned. By Monday I wasn’t getting anything and my own emails were going anywhere. I called my anti-virus-software customer service number. From 9 a.m. until after 2 p.m. I either sat on hold or worked with an agent. Then we made an appointment for a malware specialist for tomorrow; two whole days without email. I felt so violated! My little laptop that bothers no one and is an endless source of comfort, company and information has been attacked by no less than seven viruses!!! I left the house and decided this was a good day to return the Hefty bag filled with plastic since CT decided to levy water bottles. I got to the store looking like the Bad Santa and watched helplessly as the woman before me broke the machine. Okay, it wasn’t her fault. The machine’s internal sensors sensed the machine was full when it was empty. Another virus? I did some more errands, returned a bunch of other stuff on my way home: more bottles, the sneakers my husband thought looked good but really looked like aluminum foil. Exhausted, I collapsed on the couch and slept through ‘24’ and ‘Men of a Certain Age’. It’s good I slept. The day ended with a call from my son whose fever had spiked to 103. I was worried but it felt good to be needed. I drove to New Haven.
I’m not complaining, honestly. There are people in this world who are having a lot worse time of it than I am; people I know and people I don’t know. People with big problems like Haiti, homelessness, cancer. Smaller problems like acid reflux, kidney stones, post-surgical complications. One thing really concerns me: Newborn babies with acid reflux. I’d never heard of this. Now it seems to be commonplace. My acid reflux, developed only in the last few years, is brought on by stress and dietary issues like citrus, tomatoes, coffee and the like. Assuming those foods were not consumed by these newborns while still in the uterus I ask you, why are so many babies being born with acid reflux? Is it ‘Early Onset Aggravation”? Do they listen to the news while nestled in their mother’s womb and realize what they’re getting into? Did they hear the report last week that the debt per household is $100,000? (Or was that per person?) Even I had an acid attack when I heard that!
So I can’t get or send email; that shouldn’t be such a big deal. And yet I feel cut off from the universe and very helpless. Even now, as I type this in safe mode, I don’t know if I’ll be able to publish it. I may be talking to myself! Perhaps I’m always talking to myself…and my Mom. She’s my most loyal fan, even if she is disappointed in my grim outlook on life. But still, when your main source of communication to the outside world is cut off, you start to realize how you dependent you are on it, and how alone.
As the weekend started, I noticed I wasn’t getting all my emails. Some got through but the daily influx of store coupons, sale notices and other junk wasn’t showing up. I didn’t really miss them but, when two different people tried to send me scripts, I got concerned. By Monday I wasn’t getting anything and my own emails were going anywhere. I called my anti-virus-software customer service number. From 9 a.m. until after 2 p.m. I either sat on hold or worked with an agent. Then we made an appointment for a malware specialist for tomorrow; two whole days without email. I felt so violated! My little laptop that bothers no one and is an endless source of comfort, company and information has been attacked by no less than seven viruses!!! I left the house and decided this was a good day to return the Hefty bag filled with plastic since CT decided to levy water bottles. I got to the store looking like the Bad Santa and watched helplessly as the woman before me broke the machine. Okay, it wasn’t her fault. The machine’s internal sensors sensed the machine was full when it was empty. Another virus? I did some more errands, returned a bunch of other stuff on my way home: more bottles, the sneakers my husband thought looked good but really looked like aluminum foil. Exhausted, I collapsed on the couch and slept through ‘24’ and ‘Men of a Certain Age’. It’s good I slept. The day ended with a call from my son whose fever had spiked to 103. I was worried but it felt good to be needed. I drove to New Haven.
I’m not complaining, honestly. There are people in this world who are having a lot worse time of it than I am; people I know and people I don’t know. People with big problems like Haiti, homelessness, cancer. Smaller problems like acid reflux, kidney stones, post-surgical complications. One thing really concerns me: Newborn babies with acid reflux. I’d never heard of this. Now it seems to be commonplace. My acid reflux, developed only in the last few years, is brought on by stress and dietary issues like citrus, tomatoes, coffee and the like. Assuming those foods were not consumed by these newborns while still in the uterus I ask you, why are so many babies being born with acid reflux? Is it ‘Early Onset Aggravation”? Do they listen to the news while nestled in their mother’s womb and realize what they’re getting into? Did they hear the report last week that the debt per household is $100,000? (Or was that per person?) Even I had an acid attack when I heard that!
So I can’t get or send email; that shouldn’t be such a big deal. And yet I feel cut off from the universe and very helpless. Even now, as I type this in safe mode, I don’t know if I’ll be able to publish it. I may be talking to myself! Perhaps I’m always talking to myself…and my Mom. She’s my most loyal fan, even if she is disappointed in my grim outlook on life. But still, when your main source of communication to the outside world is cut off, you start to realize how you dependent you are on it, and how alone.
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