cindy's world

Sleep doesn’t come at a time like this if I really do love someone. Twilight used to be reassuring. The mistily veiled rose hues before dawn used to wake a sleepy but excited 6 year old and adhere her to the window, embracing some unidentifiable feeling that I now know is nostalgia.
You’re right next to me
But I need an airplane
I can feel the distance
Getting close
Solid. Beautiful. Detour.
It really was.

I’m sitting at Mr. W’s desk in his bedroom chatting online, and then I overhear from the living room Son’s voice saying something, and then Daughter’s voice, “Yeah, I’m going to Vegas, too.” TOO? Did she say TOO?

I ran out. “[Son]!” I called. “You’re going to Vegas?”
“Yeah, I am,” he said very good-naturedly.
“I am so proud of you!” I burst. “Don’t forget when you get up there to thank your grandparents for all the money they gave you last Christmas cuz you hadn’t seen them,” I couldn’t help rubbing in.
“Yeah, I know,” he laughed.

Whoooo! *running around the cyber blog room high-ten-ing everyone*

I got to play Benevolent Big Sister today. I’d stayed over at Mr. W’s last nite, and he left earlier than usual this morning to work. This is finals week for Mr. W’s sophomore daughter so she didn’t have zero period, or she’d have normally left to school with her carpool before I was out of bed. Her older brother is a senior so school’s over for him. Just awaiting graduation, he was unconscious in his room.

I walked by Daughter’s bedroom as I was getting ready to leave and asked if she needed a ride to school. She said no, she was calling friends to come get her. But as I noticed she was calling and text messaging rather frantically, I said I’d stick around just to make sure she got her ride situation figured out before I left. Turned out that the girl whose turn it is to have her mother drive the carpool had text messaged Daughter in the morning saying something to the effect that she was going to her aunt’s house and that hopefully Mr. W can give Daughter and 3rd Carpool Girl a ride to school this morning. Seeing that none of Daughter’s friends are responding, I asked what her last resort game plan is. She said pensively she’d call her ex-boyfriend Brian to come get her. I wasn’t going to have her ex-boyfriend come by and rub in that he played hero for her today, so I asked her if she’s ready to go to school now (7:25a). She said it was too early; school started at 8a. I said, “It’s better for you to be there early and study for your final than to be there late cuz you can’t get a ride.” “That’s true,” she admitted. She got a final call-back from a friend she’d been counting on. The friend said she was already on her way to school with her mom. Daughter made plans to meet this friend at school early to study together before classes opened. Then we were off.

Driving out of the neighborhood, Daughter exclaimed, “[3rd Carpool Girl]’s standing on the corner!” Turned out 3rd Carpool Girl’s mom freaked out on her and had her phone shut off, so she never got the text message from 1st Carpool Girl, whose mom was supposed to drive, that they weren’t coming. So we picked up 3rd Carpool Girl and I dropped them off at school at 7:40a. They were very grateful. “You totally saved us! Thanks so much!” they said.

I did so little, and ended up feeling like a superhero. Neat!

My reward was that somehow, despite leaving totally late from Mr. W’s house, I magically ended up at work 10 minutes earlier than usual.

So I was listening to the radio this morning and Danny Bonaduce said that statistically, 99.9% of people who get bitten by a rattlesnake survive if the person is over 125 lbs. Well heck, I’M over 125 lbs (just barely), but my goal is to get way under that. And apparently it’s now rattlesnake season, as dogs are being rattlesnake trained so they don’t come yelping home with two puncture wounds on their nose. Maybe I should just maintain the weight I am now, you know, for life and death reasons. Heh.

This coming weekend is Father’s Day weekend. I’d made plans with my parents for all of us to get fitted with and purchase good running shoes at A Snail’s Pace Running Shop. I have a gift certificate from my judge that I hadn’t redeemed from last Christmas, and I wanted to purchase good shoes for my parents (who are walking hills around their neighborhood for exercise) for Father’s Day and for my mother’s birthday the week after that. Turns out, Mr. W’s brother and his family, whom he hadn’t seen in years, are flying from Chicago to Las Vegas to visit their parents that same weekend. It’s going to be a huge family reunion as Mr. W plans to drive out there, and his other two brothers already live there with their families. Mr. W hopes to get his two kids out there with him as well. Even if I didn’t already have plans with my own family I would’ve found it a good time to step back and let Mr. W and his family do their thing as family.

Mr. W’s 17 year old son hadn’t been out to Vegas to see his grandparents and family out there for the entire 2 years I’d been around, so it may have been even longer than that. When Mr. W brought up the trip to him last night, the teenager was less than enthused. “It’s my summer before college, I wanna party,” he protested. After some seemingly ineffective convincing, Mr. W gave up and went into his bedroom. I stayed sitting at the dining room table tapping away at my computer as Son played a baseball video game in the adjoining living room.

And I had a mental war with myself. I wanted so badly to say something to him about his waving his grandparents off, yet again. But he and I aren’t close, and I’ve never talked to him about personal things before. To top it off, all of this is none of my business. I also don’t want him to feel weird around me, especially since I feel he already does as any keep-to-himself teenage boy would feel around his father’s girlfriend. If it had been his daughter, she probably would’ve come to me for a sounding board, but she’s different. Plus, I really do understand, so regretfully, how it is to be a teenager and really, really not want to hang out with your family and relatives when you could be hanging out with your friends.

I shut down my laptop, unplugged the cord, and waited only seconds for an opportune time to pop up in his game (the game was loading the next level), and I walked to him and said as gently as I could, “Not that my opinion should be the end-all to anything, but I really think you should go with your dad to Vegas this weekend.” He looked at me in surprise. I continued, “Your grandparents are getting older, and I don’t know if your dad told you this, but your grandmother had two eye surgeries in the last few months. I go there with him, and I’ve seen them look disappointed when they see that we don’t have you kids there with us. They try to stay in your life, they’re driving out here for your graduation next week, they send you cards… I know you won’t regret going to 9 parties instead of 10 this summer, but if something happens to your grandparents, you might regret not going over to see your family back when you had the chances to.” I paused. He, sensing that I was perhaps waiting for a response from him, said, “Uh-huh” and paused his game. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but just, you know…[he nodded]…I’ve just seen them look sad when you’re not with us, is all. Good night,” I said and turned away. He said after me, “Thanks. Good night to you, too.”

Life is all about choices. Some choices are about weighing what you would and would not regret. As intrusive as I felt that my hands were practically shaking as I walked away from him, I’d made the choice that the possible awkward moment I’d create with him was worth the possibility that he grow up just a little bit and sacrifice 3 days to spend with his family before he goes and plays the rest of the summer away. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but I know I won’t regret putting in my 2 cents.

I’d been recommended to watch Fast Food Nation by a few different people now, and these are people I trust who are close to me. So this weekend, Mr. W and I did just that. I thought it’d be similar to Supersize Me, a documentary about one man’s health deterioration as he put himself through a month-long McDonald’s-only diet experiment. Instead, it’s a mock documentary about a hypothetical fast-food chain called “Mickey’s”, has characters played by real actors like Ethan Hawke and Bruce Willis, and seems more like a socio-political commentary on illegal immigration and big industries. I thought it like a modern-day version of Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle“, down to the details of the ankle-deep blood swept across the floors of the slaughterhouse. The plot opens with a marketing executive of Mickey’s being sent to investigate a Colorado meat processing plant, to figure out why some meat patties of their burgers are contaminated with manure. The movie audience is stripped of their American naivete along with the executive on his eye-opening journey.

At the gym today, I spent a good hour at the end of my weight-lifting training by watching the news as I pedaled away on the elliptical trainer. Coincidentally (or not), there is a current recall on ground beef that was packaged between a certain recent time frame, due to e.coli contamination. My mind went back to the movie, how the big meat-packing industry has untrained illegal immigrants from Mexico working as cheap labor on their meat processing line, and how these workers don’t understand the instructions given to them, and don’t work fast enough to keep up with the conveyor belt of meat, how they sometimes don’t pull out the intestines as completely or cleanly as they should when the meat glides by them, how intestines burst and drop manure all over the meat. How, in the movie, the executive was told that this happens “every day.” I’m glad I haven’t had ground beef for months, and haven’t had fast food in years. It’s enough to turn a girl vegetarian.

It was just after midnight, some eight hours ago, when it occurred to me that I’m “supposed” to give birth to my first child within the next 20 days. I have proven wrong on all those lame little high school essays for which the topic was, “Describe how you see yourself in 10 years.” Could I have completely and irreversably missed the fork in the road of my life where I was supposed to turn onto Matrimony Road, cross the white picket fence to enter Blissful Family Manor, being greeted first by an excited dog bursting through the front doggie door, then cheering children as I open the door, then loving husband, patting Dodo’s meowing head as I cross the foyer? Have I forever missed the boat?

I quelled the bubbling internal panic by thinking of how I got on this alternative path. Times are a’changin’, I tell myself, agreeing with everyone else who have been telling me for the past 5 years that I’m a baby, I have time, no one gets married and has their kids in their late 20s anymore. Anyone whose education and career are worth a hoot do the fiscally responsible thing by setting themselves up first, preparing for their futures, BEFORE “tying down” their lives and finances with creating family, they tell me and I agree, mostly because I have to. Agree, that is. Oh yes, I’m like this by choice. Oh yes, I’m happy. Oh yes, the only guarantee I have is my own actions so it’s much better I rely only on myself and ensure my own future and make my own major purchases and select my own investments and pay my own bills. Yes, yes, there’s no guarantee a marriage would make me happy, that relying on a husband and having kids all with their own minds would provide any form of stability. I’m much better for having avoided major mistakes like marrying the wrong person.

But then I look at my parents, who see themselves as aging, reminding me that time ticks by. I hear my mother’s assumptions uttered so presumptively as I grew up that they had become my own assumptions. “I thought of having another child, but I thought forget it, I’ll just wait to hold my grandchildren.” “I’m saving this for your kids.” “I recorded these stories on cassette tape for you, when you no longer want to listen to them, save them; one day you can have your own children listen to their grandmother tell them stories when I’m too old to read the books these came from.” “Do you want your old storybooks? I have them in a box so you can read them to your kids one day.” “I packed all your childhood hair things. You’ll have it for your own daughter’s use.” “Haha, how’re you going to cook for your kids when you’re so impressed with this dish? Come over earlier so you can learn how to cook your favorite foods for your own family.” It is unnecessary for her to ask questions of my future, hinting that I should be getting my life “started” now; it’s not like I’d been pushing the issue back in my own head because I’m unaware it’s there. But she asks, and I push.

My life has been stagnant for the past 6 years, my last accomplishment being the purchase of this house. I don’t care to celebrate 31.

My cell phone keeps claiming to be low on memory, so it finally occurred to me to clean out my “sent messages” box. All the photos and multimedia I’d sent out are apparently stored in there sucking up space. In going through these things deleting one by one, I found this one sent to my cousin Jennifer on July 7, 2006. I remember I was in a movie theatre watching previews. The message reads:
“DUDE! Steven spielberg is doing a TRANSFORMERS movie, due out 7-4-07! We have got 2 see that. They’re MORE than meets the EYE!!”
I think I’d sent a similar message to Vanessa. But now it’s a nice reminder to myself, a year later. TRANSFORMERS! AUTOBOTS! DECEPTICONS! OPTIMUS PRIME! *in electronic voice* OO-OO-EE-EE-AH! Okay, you have to be a child of the 80s to get that. I’m not even sure I’m spelling the stuff right as I barely understood English when I was 6, 7 watching the cartoon.

My gym trainee and I were emailing about a phone call I had to handle yesterday with an irrate (and apparently deaf) litigant. After I described that I had done all I could reasonably do and the caller was still being, okay, I’ll say it, a bitch, the email thread turned into something like this:

Gym Trainee: That’s when you pull out your magic wand. See if I had a magic wand my arm would be hurting, I would have waved so much already today. Several toads would be sitting at desk and on the counter.
Me: If I had a magic wand, it would have a star on the tip, just because it’s pretty. And you’ll start seeing LOTS and LOTS of people walking around with star-shaped bruises on their foreheads. That’s what I’d use my magic wand for. WAP! Just imagining that makes me feel better already.
Toads, eh? Hmmm. Maybe you can turn them into chocolate. The world could always use more chocolate.
Gym Trainee: ok, they will be chocolate toads with peanut butter filling. most will have marshmallow for brains. the wand can only transform so much, after that is what exists in the real world.
Me: We’re gonna get fat from eating the real-world toads!
Gym Trainee: I’m not crazy about marshmallow so I won’t be eating the brains cause there will be more marshmallow than peanut butter around.
Me: some will have lots of nuts in the peanut butter, too.
Gym Trainee: True, Hummm I didn’t think about that.
Me: you think some would have glass shards in them, too? That may be hard to swallow.
Gym Trainee: Well I can always wave my wand again and smash them. A thick Harry Potter wand so it won’t be too heavy for me to wave.
Me: maybe we can use a thin wand and use it to stab people. or feed the glass to other toads.
Gym Trainee: nope, if you can’t get it together while you’re a toad, you gotta go. I don’t want to overcrowd the toad population. I like rabbits so I thought about turning some into rabbits but, my rabbit is smart so many wouldn’t live up to his standards. So we’re back to toads.
Me: how about just some rocks? like Jordan almonds or something.
Gym Trainee: No, if I turn anybody into a rock it would be like coal, granite, marble, soapstone.
Me: we’ll turn everyone except ONE into coal, and we’ll leave one last person as a person, and we’ll take the coal and shove it up where the sun don’t shine, and get ourselves some diamonds!
Gym Trainee: [much later] I just finished waving my imaginary wand again. Will it ever end?
Me: it’ll end if you wap them on the heads with it. Some people are less annoying when they’re unconscious.
Gym Trainee: [today] that’s what the back of the wand is for. The front is for major change. I was just informed that [another clerk] is out next week. So on top of me waving my wand on her replacement I’ll be wearing a homemade purple heart from all the knife wounds in my back.

I hope I don’t get in trouble for “advocating violence in the workplace”. But I guess I can’t expect everyone to simply know what context to read things, especially things coming from me. My gym trainee apparently read it right, cuz this afternoon during trial, my courtroom door opened, she poked her head in, then silently and quickly shuffled over to my desk and stealthily plopped something down, and just as quickly she raced out again. It was this:

It’s a butterfly top with rotating flashing multi-colored lights, which would leave a prettier bruise than the star I’d originally had in mind. Is my gym trainee not hilarious?

I walked into my court reporter’s office for some coffee and saw her in tears standing in the middle of her office, staring into space. She’d been trying to write a thank-you note, she explained. Her daughter won the scholarship, and they’d attended the award ceremony recently. She said the giver of the scholarship, the mother of the deceased girl, deliberately did not attend that award ceremony because she didn’t feel she could hold up emotionally. The presenter talked about how my reporter’s daughter and the deceased girl had been close friends in parochial school, and my reporter’s heart broke listening to this speech. “I was trying to write the note to her [the mother] describing the look of happiness of my child’s face for the scholarship, but I just felt that she must be in so much pain, and I just couldn’t write, I didn’t know how to write it,” my reporter said, eyes misting up again.

Please drive carefully.