Monthly Archives: June 2015

Mal Mots avec Franny: Franny In Revolt

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On Friday Franny came home and apologized for being late, and said she was exhausted. She had been told that day that she was going to help with the school’s packing efforts in service of their site move into their former building, now refurbished, for next school year. Her advisor told her that she would not be able to register for her classes next year if she didn’t, because the packing counted toward her required community service totals. So she had stayed behind packing for two hours after her classes ended.

My antenna went up. “Didn’t you already take two classes this year that count toward community service?” I asked. She was DJing at a very small local station and helping out with a school for kids with developmental disabilities.

“Yes,” she said.

“Hmm…I’m just going to shoot a little email to the Superintendent’s office clarifying if this is a district policy.”

I didn’t have a problem with her packing. Not at all. I think it would be/is good for her for a few reasons. I didn’t care for the way it was presented as a threat, at the last minute, and I felt uncomfortable with the reliance on student labor. The whole thing just screamed “future unnecessary lawsuit,” which. C’mon school district. You don’t need that. (NOT to be filed by me, I will add.)

I sent the email on a Friday afternoon (CC’ing the ombudsman’s office) explaining the situation. I asked if this was official policy because I was concerned about Franny being barred from registering from classes her sophomore year. I heard nothing back, which was fine. I had made my attempt.

Yesterday Franny’s classes ended and she made ready to start four hours of packing when the principal and her advisor cornered her. She called me afterwards because she was grumpy and this is what she said happened.

“I got an email from your mom. I heard she complained about you having to pack,” the principal said.

“She sent an email asking the Superintendent if I was going to be prevented from registering for classes if I didn’t pack,” she replied. I’m sure the SI’s office forwarded my email to the principal, so he knows exactly what I said. I figured if I sent it right to him it would disappear.

He asked her a few more questions and she told him to talk to me. “She’s the one who sent the email,” she said.

“I will email her, then,” he said. No reply yet. I don’t care either way.

Franny said once she wouldn’t discuss her thoughts with them on the matter, they double teamed her with some jive about building community and being a family.

“That is a thing people say when they want you to do something onerous and be quiet about it.” I told her about one of my first jobs in Seattle where someone tried that on me to build a case against a coworker who was suspected of stealing. “Anyone who is paid to spend time with you is not actually your family,” I said.

“It’s like they try to get close to you and get you to tell them your secrets so they can pull this shit on you,” she said.

“Manipulation?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. She is very sensitive to manipulation.

“Do you want to leave?”

“I should stay.”

A vile person once told me that there is a Buddhist principle (and I am sure this is mangled) about giving of yourself or your time. And about how if you can give it freely, it’s a gift, but if you’re going to resent it terribly, it’s probably not worth it. It has a price. At this point it was obvious that it was volunteerism presented under false pretenses, and I thought it was her choice if she gave of herself or not. I shared this thought with her and she said she would stay. No problem. I told her I was proud of the way she had handled them coming at her.

She came home after six, exhausted, and while we were in the middle of Monday Night Dinner with my sister on the patio. “I feel like my spine is going to crawl out of my back,” Franny said.

I threw Buddhism for Assholes out the window and intervened.

“I forbid you to go tomorrow,” I said. “There. Your mom is being a Crotchasaurus Rex and will not let you stay. Done.”

“Oh good,” she said, relieved.

She left this morning bright and early for her last day of her freshman year. “Are you serious about me not staying?” she asked. Yes! I said. “Okay, I’m off to ‘protest,” she said. “I’ll call you.”

In Other News

I picked up P. from the train station on Sunday after his visit to Portland. He had his father’s bike with him. It had been kind of kicking around at his widow’s house since he died a few years ago. It’s one of those really nice ones that weighs about as much as a paperclip.

We hung around for the afternoon and I made salmon cakes for dinner. We ate on the patio, as we’ve been doing almost every day it hasn’t rained, which has been most days. Strudel had eaten an extremely late lunch (3 p.m.) and was behind on her weekend chores, so she was not sitting with us and would eat a bit later. As we were finishing, I noticed that P. had some salmon bones on his plate. I had worked really carefully to pick all the bones out before seasoning and mixing the salmon with veggies.

“Oh man, I got bones in yours!” I said.

“It’s okay,” he said.

I was being a little silly and overly solicitous, and carried on with things. “Your welcome home dinner should not have bones in it.” Franny picked her up empty plate and rose to walk towards the house.

“It’s okay, guys,” she said, over her shoulder. “You can have bones in your welcome home dinner. Everyone likes a good WELCOME HOME BONING! AM I RIGHT?” She finished by laughing like Gordon Shumway and went into the house.

I laid my head down on the table, next to my empty plate.

“I guess we were not as quiet as we thought earlier,” P. said, softly.

“Am I dead now? I would like to be dead,” I said. I felt my face catch on fire.

In OTHER other news

I applied to a program for women that is a “pre-apprenticeship” for trades and I got in. I’m very excited. It’s a 12-week course and it’s meant to address any gaps women might have that might make them fall short when applying for union apprenticeship in a trade.

They explore several trades and take you to job sites, and can help with things like math. Some women who are underemployed or single moms get grants to cover living expenses. Mostly I am interested in making connections with people in the industry, since I am doing decently in my tech math class. I made it clear I didn’t want to take away financial help from others and she said they don’t bar people based on income. Awesome. So I will pay for my boots, some opportunities, etc.

I had emailed last week to ask about the Tuesday orientation and the program manager said, “Why don’t you just come in for an interview on Monday?” It sounds like they need to fill seats. In the email she said there would be some paperwork and a “physical.” I interpreted this as a blood pressure check and peeing in a cup. Wrong!

I ran flights of stairs (timed), planked for 3 minutes (fell twice), did as many push ups and sit ups as I could, and more. I was not actually expecting a physical test and hadn’t eaten breakfast, only coffee, since I thought I’d be in and out in an hour. WHOOPS.

“Wow, this stairwell is really hot,” my test administrator commented. It was at least 85 F in there. “This weeds some people out right away. They refuse to even try the exercises,” she said. “But you’re doing great.”

Before that I did a math, reading, and tool ID test, which I passed. The math portion was pretty easy. I think the test I will have to sit for to get into the union will be much harder. I believe I am set on a trade, but I’m going to keep an open mind for the next few weeks, in case I see something that turns my head. I’ll let you know if/when I am accepted.

I’m very excited about this change. At the grocery store the other night Franny asked me what I wanted to be when I was her age. I thought about it. “A truck driver or a farmer,” I said.

My interviewer, who I think is going to be my case manager, asked me why I wanted to switch to trades. I told her I like to think and be on my feet, and work with my hands. “Tech was safe when my girls were little,” I explained. I could stay up with them crying or puking all night and come in to work and be a zombie and not worry about putting someone in danger. It was a steady paycheck. She has kids and she nodded along.

“And now you’re free to do what you want to do,” she said. “I get it.”

Intoxicating

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Strudel fell into a hole on my street last week and sprained her ankle. Fortunately it was a very light sprain. I sprained my ankle a couple of years ago and Strudel theorizes it was the same hole. I don’t believe it–my street (and most Seattle streets) has lots of holes! Lucky for her, it was a very light sprain. It poofed up very dramatically on the first day, turned an alarming shade of yellow quickly, and then she was walking on it with no pain by day three. Lucky kid. A couple of years ago I don’t think she’d have healed up quite so quickly.

I don’t feel any of my old aches and pains anymore, which frees me up to make new ones. I am just at the beginning of the 100 Push Ups challenge. It used to hurt to do push ups, but I did them anyway, sometimes. My back, my elbows, my shoulders. Now I only stop when my muscles do. Franny and I watched American Psycho late last night and it was okay. I thought she would like it because she enjoys horror and “mindfuck” movies. What I really enjoyed was Patrick Bateman and his “I can do 1000 sit ups now.” I used to think bodies like his were genetic outliers or Hollywood magic. Now, I think I can get about as fit as time and my motivation will allow.

I used to have a very vivid “life of the mind” to the extent I was able, and even that was fading at the end, as my thought processes became increasingly clouded. I think I’m still mourning my old, more destructive, and just plain different former self. Anyone who has been reading me or knows me knows that I am a doer, and if I see a door I want to do through it. I see a lot of different doors now, and I am not hobbled by confusion or anxiety most of the time anymore. Discovering that I can do math this year (not fantastically, but well enough) and that my body will actually get fitter and do what I want–it’s pretty empowering.

I am left with so many questions. I believe people can change, or at least change their own lives. But now I wonder, who am I? Who was I for 30+ years? Was that really me? Am I a fake me now? How much do I sound like a stoned 15-year-old in someone’s basement, listening to Black Sabbath. (A: A lot.)

There’s a lot of before and after in life. I can think of before children, and after. Before divorce, and after. Hell, even before and after dogs was another big one. I am trying to accept this as another before and after, but it is taking time.

So. Up betimes and alone. P. is out of town (Portland). I wish I could have enjoyed the bed a bit more, but the dogs just smash up against me regardless, so by the time I wake up, I am on my customary 1/4 of the bed.

I watered the yard this morning and everything was looking very pretty.

We used to live a block from the rose garden, and when they switched over to not spraying, we watched our favorite roses very carefully to see which ones would continue to thrive without pesticides. Hot cocoa (above) seems to be one of the winners in our yard, as it was in the rose garden. “Silver” roses are my favorite but I am told they are very tricky here. I tried to plant ones that are made for the PNW.

Everything in the yard is absolutely going gangbusters this year. A hot summer is predicted. I am happy either way, as long as it’s dry. In 2009 my router melted. In 2006 I remember it was a glorious year for tomatoes. These things seem to cycle every few years.

I’m really enjoying doing this lately:

I’m not sure I’ll go back to fillets now. I was always daunted by the cost of a whole fish, and the…wholeness. Now I just walk in and ask them to scale and fin it, take it home, and stuff it with aromatics. This salmon was $40.00 (4 lbs.). We get about 4 dinners out of a fish like this. So it ends up being about $2.50 per serving. That’ll work. I figure if I can make giant roasts and always work with whole birds, then this is doable too. The fennel is from my garden! Since I’m not working right now, I am challenging myself to use every bit of everything. I mentioned I made gravlax recently and I dehydrated the skins and saved them for the dogs as treats. No wonder they like to sleep smashed up next to me.

The bees in the purple hive were also up beetimes. They are lean, mean buzzy machines over there now. It’s impressive. Franny helped me work the bees yesterday and it was really fun. She did great. She did say she was worried about getting stung, of course, but neither of us did. The comb hole that P. and I left last week was almost completely closed up. I’m not worried about them right now because I see a great variety of babies, pollen, and nectar, including some capped honey. You can hear the chickens singing along in the background.

I trimmed the roses out front around tax day, as some people say you should. It’s the first time I’ve touched them since I moved in. There was a lot of cross-caning and dead wood. This year they are looking great and are very pretty next to the raspberries. Year three here is when everything is taking off, plant and manimal.

Franny fetch me my ax

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On Sunday after doing the bees, and after giving the whole house a deep clean over the course of the week in addition to studying math, I decided to have a lazy Sunday. (Okay there was a little laundry.) I set up in the dining room and played games on my laptop, which is something I don’t usually have time to do for hours at a stretch, unless it’s at the expense of sleep.

My sleep has been funny this month. For the first 5 days of the Whole30 I was pretty sleepless, and now I am in Sleepy Valley. Last night my arms felt like lead and I could barely lift the big ceramic bowl of watermelon I served with dinner. I slept for about ten hours. This is pretty normal for day seven.

So I was a captive audience at the table.

“Mooooom can I give you a makeover???”

“Okay, but you have to do the whole thing. Base and all.”

She did it.

Check it out, I’m getting old. I even have some silver hairs sprouting at my part. Remember when I was in my early 20s and had a toddler and no crows’ feet? Ha. WATCH as this blogger ages before your eyes and forgets to move on to a new hobby.

This is one of her homemade crayon lip colors. Her boyfriend came over later and he got to dine with me in my Captain Hammer teeshirt and 27 pounds of makeup. Franny was very proud of her handiwork. The boyfriend and I talked a little about Reddit geekery as usual. Other than the animal heads (vegetarian) I think he likes it at our house.

I urged Franny to call her father on Friday and start figuring out her summer. She’s been having what sounds like typical teenage angsty squabbles over there with him and her stepmother, and is struggling with the food thing over there. She needed a break so hasn’t visited for about a month and a half. I’m delighted to have her, but I don’t want trouble from him. Also, I hate to say this, but I think it’s important that she do things that are not always fun or comfortable. The part of me that is her mommy and wants to pave every road in marshmallows and puppies for her fights with the part that knows she needs to fulfill her obligations and not always take the easiest path.

But I also get the dread of spending time in a place where you’re likely to eat something that can impact your health and mood for weeks, and are called an ingrate for avoiding things that may make you sick. It’s a tough one. I respect her for taking a break and some time to cool off.

So she called her dad to arrange her next visit (Father’s Day weekend). I think since they happened to talk he told her that her grandfather had suffered a minor stroke the night before. I told her to call him and check on him and offer to visit on Sunday (a couple of days ago). Her grandfather declined, saying he wanted to rest. The doctors thought he wouldn’t have any significant effects from it and she said he sounded fine. She was weepy Friday night but felt much better after talking to him on Saturday. She was dismayed her father hadn’t gone to visit him. She wanted to send him flowers so we did.

I’m not sure what’s going to happen after Franny’s grandpa dies. I do worry about him. He has always loved his fine dining and has been feast or famine about exercise. It’s worrying to me when someone is overweight or has high blood pressure and then hits racquetball really, really hard once a week. Perhaps the torch for organizing family vacations and whatnot will go to the Auntie Jaguar. Zod save us all if SeaFed inherits.

The monsters start on the outskirts of town

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I have an association with the word pro–as just a positive thing meaning “for” as in “pros and cons.” Today I learned that propolis literally means “before the city,” or “suburb.” I like this perspective on beehives. In the literature and on websites I can read, people explain propolis as “bee glue,” which it is, but if you look at a hive holistically, it is the coating that is used on the outside of the hive, before you get to the city.

We have to pop propolis seals every time we move the bars. P. and I talk every time we go in about what our goals are for the day. For the past couple of weeks, fortunately, our only goal has been to make sure things are going okay and not to fix the comb structure. Since everything was pretty mellow in the hives this morning, I asked P. if he wanted to try excising one of the hair clips we’d put in to save some comb, when we were removing doubles.

Originally we had clipped the comb and tied it to a bar. The bees fixed what we did and built more comb to attach it to the bar above it. I had heard that sometimes bees will totally submerge a clip, but ours left some bee space, so it was slightly easier to cut out. Unless something weird happens, the bees will now backfill the empty space the comb left.

The capped cells are drones and the empty brown cells are where newbees have already emerged (this empty area was the original size of the comb when we first added the clip). This is from the purple hive and they have put in a baby BOOM. I bet we saw ~500 capped cells. Next week at this time the hive will probably have 500 more bees in it!! This hive seems to have completely recovered from its early steep population drop. To the right you can see empty, new cells. They will probably contain a mix of pollen, honey, and more brood.

When we first attached the clip to the comb, the teeth went right through some brood and honey. Some brood cells were inside the hairclip itself, and it looked like the bees had successfully hatched from inside the clip and had been cared for properly.

I cleaned off the hairclip as best I could and put it back in my bee crate that I keep my supplies in, like the smoker and the bee brush.

This was white kitchen twine like you would tie a roast up in, and was used to hold the clip to the bars. Now it is yellow from propolis and fuzzy from being chewed upon.

When we are finished and put the roofs back on, and empty the remains of the smoker into the firepit, we check each other for stray bees before taking our beecoats off to prevent crushing them, getting stung, or carrying some into the house. I had three bees on the back of my coat. P. gently brushed them off and they all went plop plop down to the patio.

“I’m going to put them in this geranium so they don’t get stepped on,” he said. He lifted each bee up and put it on a leaf. It’s possible they were a little chilly yet, since it was before 9 a.m. Bees do best in some heat and part of the reason they get pissed when we look at them is because they like their brood areas to be around 90 F. We can often feel the heat rolling out of the hive when we move bars.

One of the bees was very soft and fuzzy, with a clearer body and looked perfect. “Uh oh, I think we picked up a new hatcher,” he said. Her first flight might have been to land on my back, and she might not have been completely ready to be that far away from the hive. A second bee on another leaf rushed over to her and began stroking her face.

Then she started feeding her. I could see her tongue going in, but my camera cannot. I am increasingly irritated by my point and shoot. It just doesn’t capture what I see.

Then a second bee came over and started feeding the new bee as well. I don’t know what happened after that, because P. moved the whole plant and put it on top of the hive, to give her a better shot at getting home.

In other news, my period came on little cat feet this month instead of with big cramps that make me want to lay in bed and moan. I am starting to notice a really tragic correlation between the amount of sugar I eat and how bad my period is. WHY GOD WHY :/

Stay Cool Bret

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I had a dog guest over last night.

It is hilarious to have someone else’s dog in your house. I don’t even know why that is! I guess it’s the novelty of it.

You’ll regret you ever messed with Bret from the Tough Brets.

Just kidding, they were all looking for salmon on the floor. I made gravlax, forgot I made gravlax, and so bought a couple of salmons at the store and stuffed them with ginger, limes, cilantro, and lemongrass. My friend was nice enough to say “salmon two ways.” Yes, I meant to do that. I made a rosemary peach white sangria for my guests. There were assorted noodles and salads and strawberry gelatins for dessert.

I skipped the sugary stuff/booze (except for the gravlax and nuoc cham because fuck that nuoc cham is God’s jizz.) I hope I’m over my initial Whole 30 energy slump. I think I’m cycling pretty fast because my biggest “vice” is sugar. This month is a reminder to practice moderation and the benefits of it (for me).

My friend asked me if I was drinking a G&T and I had a twinge because I think it’s weird when hosts drink things in front of you that they have not offered to you.

“It’s sparkling water and lime,” I whispered apologetically, like a weirdo.

“Ah,” she said.

“I’m low-carbing this month,” I said, briefly, trying not to be that crushing bore. (I save being a crushing bore for here.)

I thought I would have a drink with my friends but I didn’t want to totally break my streak and sugar crash. The girls ate lots of noodle and had dessert with my guests.

My sister came over on Monday for dinner as usual and surprised the hell out of me–she is attempting to quit smoking for the first time since she started ten years ago. She is a very determined person about her goals so I think she’ll find success in this in the long run, even if it doesn’t last forever. I know not everyone goes cold turkey once and licks it. I think you can learn a lot of lessons from trying at something, even if you don’t totally nail it the first time.

As I’ve mentioned several times I was an off-and-on smoker for many years, usually when I was out of town and away from the watchful eyes of my children. So I would smoke for three days, not smoke for 6-9 months. Sometimes I would smoke just at work, like when I was in court. It definitely made me feel better while I was doing it–giving me regular injections of serotonin and dopamine. I decided to quit for good before I changed my diet and had my health crash. And it was a struggle leaving it behind until I quit eating wheat.

I had a reminder of this around Mother’s Day, because I accidentally ate wheat at the end of April. It took almost three weeks for my mental state to recover and ate that time smoking sounded AMAZING. I craved cigarettes, which was a little upsetting because I hadn’t in well over a year. I knew it would just prolong the bad feelings–I would have guilt over smoking and then another sad crash when I inevitably stopped again.

Anyway, my sister is going through a lot of physical changes because this is her first time as a grown-ass lady without smoking. I really hope she makes it, not just for her health, but because she still wants a career in radio, and I think her voice is so nice on the air. Plus they are ungodly expensive. The lady side of my family smokes and mainlines black coffee. Most of them were skinny as rails, too. I remember my grandmother making mountains of southern food and then not eating it–it just didn’t look good to her. I was getting there with food myself. It sucks when nothing sounds good except coffee and smokes, but I understand.

Speaking of salmon and pigs, I caught Edith at this as usual this morning. Sometimes she actually gets her head stuck in the fence.

I like how this photo looks like it was taken in 1983. I am a no-filter filter master.

Snooki the chicken looking Edith over. Edith was sniffing at the chopped salmon skin I fed the chickens this morning, leftover from gravlax. Someday Lil Dorty is going to get pecked right in her piggy eye.