You know that list of stressors that someone made up so you can tell if you had a bad year and exactly how bad it was? (Like you don't know if you had a bad year!)
Well, here's a stressor that was left off: Eight-year-old daughter's Halloween party.
After going through the agony of planning, worrying that I wasn't doing enough planning, yelling at my daughter and husband to help with planning, trying to not spend too much money on things like eyeball bouncy balls and witches-on-a-stick and pumpkin peeps, PLUS concocting a costume to said daughter's unrealistic specifications, PLUS discovering I'd been scheduled to work the night of the party and having nightmares about my eccentric, clueless husband supervising 12 children all by himself -- well, after all that, I think I'd rank Kid's Halloween Party right up there with Parent's Death and Reuniting With Longlost Sibling Who Turns Out to be a Cannibal. It is WAY higher than Loss of Job, New Baby and Divorce. In fact, Divorce may be considered a counter-stressor if it follows a Kids Halloween Party.
But even a Kids Halloween Party pales as a stressor (and you thought this blog entry was just some housewifely rant) beside New Hampshire Public Radio's own very special form of torture: Pledge Week.
OK, I know everyone complains about Pledge Week. It's old hat. Even Garrison Keillor makes fun of it. I used to hate Maine Public Broadcasting Network's Pledge Week until MPBN got smart and did what I'd been requesting for years: Set a goal and quit begging once they reach it.
NHPR has made no such adjustment. Their pledge breaks are almost constant, and they didn't seem limited to one week, either. They went on, and on, and on. And it's hard to believe, but their pledge breaks were even more boring than MPBN's. If there were a prize for most irritating pledge drive, NHPR would win it without even breathing hard.
It's too bad, too, because in all other respects, NHPR far outshines MPBN. Like any good Mainer, I scorn most things New Hampshire, but even I can recognize quality, and I switched all my loyalty to NHPR. Now all the mailed appeals from MPBN to renew my membership go in the dumper. If they want to play classical music 22 hours a day, it's OK with me, but I'm not going to pay for it. Ditto that Saturday afternoon opera. Man, I hate opera. What a waste of afternoon airwaves.
I know this was just a coincidence, but NHPR's most recent pledge drive just happened to coincide with Kids Halloween Party.
It would have been the straw that broke the camel's back had the camel not already been down in the dirt with spine already broken into 72 pieces. Basically, it just added more rocks to the several tons already pressing the life out of yours truly.
Is there an upside to all this? Well, yes. The party was only 2.5 hours long, everyone lived through it, all the kids had a good time, and I got to return some items that we ended up not using. And Pledge Week finally ended.
The downside, of course, is the heart attack that will probably occur sometime in January, if my calculations are correct.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Kid Logic
My daughter needed instruction recently on how to clean off her horribly cluttered play table.
I advised her to just put away 17 items every now and then, when she had a moment. Then it wouldn't seem like such a big, impossible job.
"But Mom," she said, "what if at the end, there aren't 17 items left to put away?"
Isn't that a perfectly gorgeous example of how kids think? I caught myself almost getting exasperated, but then I smiled and thought how cool it is to be sharing space with a youngster to keep me guessing with her fabulous kid logic.
I advised her to just put away 17 items every now and then, when she had a moment. Then it wouldn't seem like such a big, impossible job.
"But Mom," she said, "what if at the end, there aren't 17 items left to put away?"
Isn't that a perfectly gorgeous example of how kids think? I caught myself almost getting exasperated, but then I smiled and thought how cool it is to be sharing space with a youngster to keep me guessing with her fabulous kid logic.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
I am We, and We are Us
Yes, I confess, I use the word "I" a lot.
Criticism has flowed and ebbed over the years around my use of the first person singular, but who among us is innocent? Let she or he who is without "I" cast the first stone.
One of my ex-fiances was especially hateful. He claimed, based on my use of the word "I," that I was self-absorbed and self-righteous and self-(fill in mean word here), and then he had the nerve to proclaim that he loved me! I was supposed to be grateful that he would overlook my self-indulgence, that he could see past my self-aggrandizement to the shining beauty within.
His objections might not have irritated me so much had I not spent several thousand dollars and countless therapy sessions learning how to say "I." My counselor taught me that since I am the only person whose feelings I can truly express, I would do best to communicate in sentences beginning with "I," to wit, "I am uncomfortable with your objections to my use of the word 'I,' " rather than: "You are unbelievably stupid." Do you see where using an "I" statement could be way less inflammatory?
But to my ex-fiance, starting a sentence with "I" was the equivalent of dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighted match his way.
Naturally, I bought everything he said about me and it took about 10 years to feel good about myself again, I'm sure he'd be happy to know.
Recently, I discovered that in his retirement, he is hosting a Web site on which he blogs about blogs. He cruises the Internet, looking for blogs that he likes; or he visits a blog on someone's recommendation. Then he, in essence, reviews them.
The amazing thing is: He never uses the word "I."
Hats off to the man. I knew he was clever, but this is way beyond clever. I wish I'd thought of this technique, which allows him to be totally self-absorbed and self-righteous without ever appearing to be so. In addition -- and this is the really awe-inspiring part -- his technique actually makes it seem as though there are other people who agree with every word he writes, people with whom he has conferred and with whom he has achieved a consensus, which gives the opinions expressed in his reviews a much greater weight. Wow. (A moment of reverent silence.)
You may have guessed that he has simply replaced the word "I" with the editorial "we." Maybe the "we" isn't editorial, you argue. Maybe he really does have a board meeting to discuss every blog reviewed on his site. Maybe he hands out surveys to complete strangers and compiles the results -- and of course, the complete strangers, being thoughtful, sensitive folk like him, always concur with his thoughtful, sensitive opinions.
Ha! I can guarantee that he is typing merrily away all alone in his den or study, passing judgment on all these blogs and expecting the rest of the world to accept his assessment as universal truth, all because of the almighty "We" that appears in just about every sentence.
Let's try it. Here's part of this blog post converted to We-speak:
Yes, we confess, we use the word "we" a lot.
Criticism has flowed and ebbed over the years around our use of the first person plural, but who among us is innocent? Let they who are without "we" cast the first stone.
One of our ex-fiances was especially hateful. He claimed, based on our use of the word "we," that we were self-absorbed and self-righteous and self-(fill in mean word here), and then he had the nerve to proclaim that he loved us! We were supposed to be grateful that he would overlook our self-indulgence, that he could see past our self-aggrandizement to the shining beauty within.
His objections might not have irritated us so much had we not spent several thousand dollars and countless therapy sessions learning how to say "we." Our counselor taught us that since we are the only person whose feelings we can truly express, we would do best to communicate in sentences beginning with "we," to wit, "We are uncomfortable with your objections to our use of the word 'we,' " rather than: "You are unbelievably stupid." Do you see where using a "we" statement could be way less inflammatory?
But to our ex-fiance, starting a sentence with "we" was the equivalent of dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighted match his way.
Etc., etc., etc.
Isn't it incredible? Somehow we now come across as thoughtful and sensitive and believable, instead of resentful and vindictive and brimming with sour grapes. Now we are simply wryly rueful, poking fun at ourselves, dryly observant but humbly so. Don't you find yourself more sympathetic to the "we" than to the "I"?
We imagine our life today would be vastly different had we simply switched to We-speak back in our Savannah days.
But that was then, and we were I, and ours were my, and our "ares" were "ams," and our "weres" were "wases." And we must say, if something as innocent as our use of the word "I" threatened the relationship, it's a good thing we got out while we could.
Criticism has flowed and ebbed over the years around my use of the first person singular, but who among us is innocent? Let she or he who is without "I" cast the first stone.
One of my ex-fiances was especially hateful. He claimed, based on my use of the word "I," that I was self-absorbed and self-righteous and self-(fill in mean word here), and then he had the nerve to proclaim that he loved me! I was supposed to be grateful that he would overlook my self-indulgence, that he could see past my self-aggrandizement to the shining beauty within.
His objections might not have irritated me so much had I not spent several thousand dollars and countless therapy sessions learning how to say "I." My counselor taught me that since I am the only person whose feelings I can truly express, I would do best to communicate in sentences beginning with "I," to wit, "I am uncomfortable with your objections to my use of the word 'I,' " rather than: "You are unbelievably stupid." Do you see where using an "I" statement could be way less inflammatory?
But to my ex-fiance, starting a sentence with "I" was the equivalent of dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighted match his way.
Naturally, I bought everything he said about me and it took about 10 years to feel good about myself again, I'm sure he'd be happy to know.
Recently, I discovered that in his retirement, he is hosting a Web site on which he blogs about blogs. He cruises the Internet, looking for blogs that he likes; or he visits a blog on someone's recommendation. Then he, in essence, reviews them.
The amazing thing is: He never uses the word "I."
Hats off to the man. I knew he was clever, but this is way beyond clever. I wish I'd thought of this technique, which allows him to be totally self-absorbed and self-righteous without ever appearing to be so. In addition -- and this is the really awe-inspiring part -- his technique actually makes it seem as though there are other people who agree with every word he writes, people with whom he has conferred and with whom he has achieved a consensus, which gives the opinions expressed in his reviews a much greater weight. Wow. (A moment of reverent silence.)
You may have guessed that he has simply replaced the word "I" with the editorial "we." Maybe the "we" isn't editorial, you argue. Maybe he really does have a board meeting to discuss every blog reviewed on his site. Maybe he hands out surveys to complete strangers and compiles the results -- and of course, the complete strangers, being thoughtful, sensitive folk like him, always concur with his thoughtful, sensitive opinions.
Ha! I can guarantee that he is typing merrily away all alone in his den or study, passing judgment on all these blogs and expecting the rest of the world to accept his assessment as universal truth, all because of the almighty "We" that appears in just about every sentence.
Let's try it. Here's part of this blog post converted to We-speak:
Yes, we confess, we use the word "we" a lot.
Criticism has flowed and ebbed over the years around our use of the first person plural, but who among us is innocent? Let they who are without "we" cast the first stone.
One of our ex-fiances was especially hateful. He claimed, based on our use of the word "we," that we were self-absorbed and self-righteous and self-(fill in mean word here), and then he had the nerve to proclaim that he loved us! We were supposed to be grateful that he would overlook our self-indulgence, that he could see past our self-aggrandizement to the shining beauty within.
His objections might not have irritated us so much had we not spent several thousand dollars and countless therapy sessions learning how to say "we." Our counselor taught us that since we are the only person whose feelings we can truly express, we would do best to communicate in sentences beginning with "we," to wit, "We are uncomfortable with your objections to our use of the word 'we,' " rather than: "You are unbelievably stupid." Do you see where using a "we" statement could be way less inflammatory?
But to our ex-fiance, starting a sentence with "we" was the equivalent of dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighted match his way.
Etc., etc., etc.
Isn't it incredible? Somehow we now come across as thoughtful and sensitive and believable, instead of resentful and vindictive and brimming with sour grapes. Now we are simply wryly rueful, poking fun at ourselves, dryly observant but humbly so. Don't you find yourself more sympathetic to the "we" than to the "I"?
We imagine our life today would be vastly different had we simply switched to We-speak back in our Savannah days.
But that was then, and we were I, and ours were my, and our "ares" were "ams," and our "weres" were "wases." And we must say, if something as innocent as our use of the word "I" threatened the relationship, it's a good thing we got out while we could.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Stricken!
BAD NEWS on the Alzheimer's front.
I was horrified to read in today's paper that elderly people who feel they are organized, disciplined and lead a purposeful life are less likely to be stricken with the dread disease, which sucks the good stuff like memory and intellect out of one's brain and replaces it with lesions.
It's not that I wish ill on people with purpose. It's that I think of myself as completely disorganized, undisciplined and leading about as aimless a life as a human being can. So even though no one who shares my DNA (i.e., close family) has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's -- which is good news, because there's a strong genetic component -- I still seemed headed into a train wreck.
As usual, my reaction, well-developed by years in therapy, is to conduct a reality check. Am I really disorganized, undisciplined and aimless? Should I readjust my self-assessment? Can I somehow manipulate semantics and come out smelling less like horse manure and more like a contributing, useful member of society?
Let's start with the Myers-Briggs test. According to this test, which I took about 15 years ago, OK, 20 years ago, showed me to possess a remarkably well-balanced personality. That's the way I like to interpret it, anyway.
My results fell right smack in the middle on almost every continuum. For example, I'm not an extrovert or an introvert. Apparently, I'm equal amounts of each. Ditto on the sensing/intuition scale. Ditto on the thinking/feeling scale. AND on the judging/perceiving scale.
For years I didn't quite know how to take this. I thought it meant I had no personality.
But then the light bulb went on.
This test explains exactly why I have SUCH a hard time living my life.
Picture the extremes (introversion/extroversion, for example) as being points at the base of a mountain at the same elevation but on opposite sides of the summit. Picture the summit as being equidistant from each extreme. Now, if I'm at the summit, gravity is trying to pull me to either side.
When I'm in a given situation, do I behave as an extrovert or an introvert? I experience conflict. It's not that I'm consciously asking myself the question. It's just that I'm inherently torn.
And, because of my centralized position, I'm torn, or face the potential for being torn, ALL THE TIME! So much of my energy is taken up with these constant choices, there's very little left for making decisions in my outward life.
How am I doing? Am I progressing logically to the point where I can totally justify lying in bed reading books, doing crossword puzzles and unsuccessfully trying to resist bon-bons all day? Can I say that I really am organized, just organized in an extremely undisciplined and purposeless way?
Actually, when I think about it, maybe being highly susceptible to Alzheimer's isn't such a bad thing for someone like me. Maybe it would even be a blessing. It would be a great excuse to just sit in the warm fall sunshine and be. It would let me live the way I want to live, but without the guilt!
I was horrified to read in today's paper that elderly people who feel they are organized, disciplined and lead a purposeful life are less likely to be stricken with the dread disease, which sucks the good stuff like memory and intellect out of one's brain and replaces it with lesions.
It's not that I wish ill on people with purpose. It's that I think of myself as completely disorganized, undisciplined and leading about as aimless a life as a human being can. So even though no one who shares my DNA (i.e., close family) has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's -- which is good news, because there's a strong genetic component -- I still seemed headed into a train wreck.
As usual, my reaction, well-developed by years in therapy, is to conduct a reality check. Am I really disorganized, undisciplined and aimless? Should I readjust my self-assessment? Can I somehow manipulate semantics and come out smelling less like horse manure and more like a contributing, useful member of society?
Let's start with the Myers-Briggs test. According to this test, which I took about 15 years ago, OK, 20 years ago, showed me to possess a remarkably well-balanced personality. That's the way I like to interpret it, anyway.
My results fell right smack in the middle on almost every continuum. For example, I'm not an extrovert or an introvert. Apparently, I'm equal amounts of each. Ditto on the sensing/intuition scale. Ditto on the thinking/feeling scale. AND on the judging/perceiving scale.
For years I didn't quite know how to take this. I thought it meant I had no personality.
But then the light bulb went on.
This test explains exactly why I have SUCH a hard time living my life.
Picture the extremes (introversion/extroversion, for example) as being points at the base of a mountain at the same elevation but on opposite sides of the summit. Picture the summit as being equidistant from each extreme. Now, if I'm at the summit, gravity is trying to pull me to either side.
When I'm in a given situation, do I behave as an extrovert or an introvert? I experience conflict. It's not that I'm consciously asking myself the question. It's just that I'm inherently torn.
And, because of my centralized position, I'm torn, or face the potential for being torn, ALL THE TIME! So much of my energy is taken up with these constant choices, there's very little left for making decisions in my outward life.
How am I doing? Am I progressing logically to the point where I can totally justify lying in bed reading books, doing crossword puzzles and unsuccessfully trying to resist bon-bons all day? Can I say that I really am organized, just organized in an extremely undisciplined and purposeless way?
Actually, when I think about it, maybe being highly susceptible to Alzheimer's isn't such a bad thing for someone like me. Maybe it would even be a blessing. It would be a great excuse to just sit in the warm fall sunshine and be. It would let me live the way I want to live, but without the guilt!
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