Novel thoughts

I started to think about my mother after finishing the book “ The Time Traveler’s Wife”. In it, there were two templates of mothers (other than the maternal episodes experienced by the eponymous main character of the novel.). Both were very artistically gifted: the former, an opera singer was exuberant, generous and tragically short-lived. The latter, a secretive but virtuoso poet was the wife of an indulgent businessman. Petulantly mercurial, I think she reminded me distantly of my mother.

The take home point from that train of thought is that my mother’s story doesn’t start with my own story. It stretches far before and beyond my own. As I daily forgive her for our baggage (you know the imagined or real transgressions that mothers and daughters have between them, not the least of which are expectations), I have to remember that she is her own person first, and (no matter what she tells me) my mother second.

My newest economic reality

How does one reconcile the keenly honed inquisitional instinct with the sour stench of the recession/depression? There have been many articles of late detailing the slaking of the consumerist habit…and perhaps that is the case with the unfortunate masses who have completely lost their jobs. Graciously, I haven’t lost my job and I still want stuff, with a passion.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve lost an enormous amount of buying power…my salary as been cut, my pension system is in peril and the value of my home has been slashed by half. But, as I mentioned in a previous post, I still want a new computer. I still want to learn how to use new, expensive software. I still lust after Paul Green loafers and I still don’t want to buy the cheap olive oil (gourmet extra virgin olive oil only thank you).

Yes, I have cut back on some things…going out to eat almost every night being the principle sacrificial lamb. The cable bill has been restructured and downsized, my clothes shopping has been greatly curtailed and my Amazon addiction has been curbed considerably. I’ve stopped taking expensive classes and going out to movies. I get by on cheaper wine, eschewing expensive jaunts to the wine country; I actually steer clear of most travel beyond that necessary to connect with family. My paid off cars, both of which are older will not be replaced with new versions but will last as long as I can make them continue to run. I’ve stopped thinking about moving up and out of my very affordable but transitional neighborhood to more affluent digs. I’ve also set aside my desire for upgraded furniture and various and sundry optional decorations from the likes of Pottery Barn and Z Gallery.

But I’m still purchasing many things I really want. Books (albeit second hand) and personal services (a house cleaner and a gardener) still populate my debit column. I’ve also upgraded my phone to a blackberry this year. And my home office, which has been a shambles since I first moved to this house over a decade ago will get a frugal but stylish makeover so that I can create an additional revenue stream in form follows functional fashion.

It’s a case of wanting what you have. Of having what you want, just not all at the same time or in the case of moving, sometimes never. I’m working through this new economic reality by simply making some things mutually exclusive, cherry picking and choosing which things will make me still feel like I have some economic choices and which things now deserve the moniker “superfluous”.

The pessimist in me wonders how far I can make this ride last.

Trying to find my Angle of Repose

Just read the latest Outpost from the NY Times on the slighting of writer Wallace Stegner.

I was struck by the comments. Each of the short passages were written in lucid, clear-tempered prose. These folks were all well read enough to know of Stegner and his competitors and literate enough to voice their own fully functional treaties on his lack of recognition.

There is no writer alive or dead to whom I can mount such an impassioned, learned defense, even if I wanted to.

I’ve got some work to do.

Future Twin

So as a woman of a certain age, I’ve started gaining some weight. It’s in that pattern that all the female mags describe…a couple pounds here, a pound or three there. And now, I’m at least 40 lbs over what I should be…maybe more.

No surprise, the weight gain impacts my wardrobe, putting some of my cutest outfits right out of reach. I’ve been tempted to go on a shopping spree but you know…the economy and my pocketbook are pretty battered right now.

As a result, I’ve whittled down my food intake and consciously made better food choices. I stopped having dessert. I’m trying to eat more salads and vegetables. And I’ve stopped getting a chocolate croissant in the morning.

This latest sacrifice has been the hardest to sustain. In fact this morning my resolve failed and I fully intended to buy a sweet treat of some kind, because my work load had been so enormous this week and I’d actually made it to my desk on time. Right before I planned to zip down to the cafeteria, I clicked on a link to read a bio on a writer who sounded a bit like me: zany, a book lover and an aficionado of fantasy and supernatural genres and a Latina. When the web page came up, her picture stopped me dead in my tracks. Not only did she look like me complete with glasses, short hair and a big toothy grin…she looked like me with an additional 40 lbs hoisted onto my extra 40. She was talented, working in a field I wished I were in, a published author and she was my future fat self.

I ran downstairs and bought an apple.

Wish

It’s getting harder to hide my antipathy for this place. This morning someone said...”You know you should promote or go for this or that temporary management position” and I answered I didn't think I would. Then they asked me why since I seemed very capable. I impatiently replied...”because it's so incredibly boring”.

Perhaps I should not have been so candid because they were rather surprised. Then this someone tried to helpfully suggest that I might find another related agency or department more interesting (gag).

“No”, I said. “I think I'm just ready to do something else.”

And I am. And so mote it be...this is my statement to the universe.

Welcome Back to Me

I haven’t placed a thought here in a while mostly because they were too raw and overwhelming. Now that the holidays (and I include Valentine’s Day in the holidays) are finally over, there are considerably fewer emotional landmines ahead masquerading as days for celebration. Here’s to a calmer progression into spring.