intimate friends

In New Orleans, I once duct-taped my breasts together.

Rather, a very close girlfriend did the taping. I merely stood there with my arms up. And duct tape can do anything, right?

This has nothing to do with the coincidence that I happened to live in N'awlins at the time of this formal military dinner dance I was attending. It had everything to do with the fact that, in the spaghetti-strapped sparkly gray dress I had donned for the evening, I wanted to have cleavage. Or something that could possibly resemble more endowment than that I had been naturally or genetically given.

I have had two children and, both times had close friends in attendance. Girl friends. The kind who you can trust at the time you are in the most pain your have ever experienced in your life and denying yourself pain medication to give you all the support that only a Community of Women can provide its members. The ones who can see you naked and giving birth and be a part of and appreciate that miracle. But that is different.

Yesterday my new piko ring arrived...finally. It had been over two months since getting my piko pierced, something I find incredibly sexy, and I ordered myself something very nice and classy. After all, if I have a hole through my abdomen, I want something nice going through it.

Getting it in, however, was no small task. She-ra, in compliance of her position as Enabler Extraordinnaire, not only stood with me as I got the nail pushed through my belly button in April, she was here in the morning to await the arrival of The Piko Ring.

With her camera.

As it is a top-down design, I was hoping to thread it through by attaching the piercing to the top of the bar with which I was initially pierced. That did not work. She-ra then suggested following the tecnique demonstrated during the piercing, when my skin was pinched tight so that there would be lesser distance for the piercing to travel to get through the other side. So here is She-ra, trying to pinch-grasp my belly skin and hold the ring steady so I could try to connect the new one to the old one and "pull" it through the track.

Yeah. Great theory, did not work.

So, with She-ra watching I somehow just took a deep breath and pushed the silver bar out with my new golden diamonds. She-ra stood facing me and exclaimed, "I see it!" as the gold pushed through to the other side.

My hands were shaking so hard that I could hardly get the ball screwed on the bottom, but I did and my new piko ring is now in place!



Sure could have used a shot of something after that.

Meanwhile, She-ra has now been elevated in stature as One with Intimate Knowledge of My Body. No, true, she did not duct-tape any of my body parts together. But she not only was my accomplice in getting the nail through my gut, she was my cheerleader in the daunting task of changing the piercing for the first time.

No more piercings for me. Ears thrice, piko. That's it. I think I'm getting too old for this.

(shudder)

Tequila, anyone?

a tough call

In starting my own business I never dreamed of facing this situation.

It might seem like a no-brainer to anyone else, but as I have no paycheck coming in the summertime due to vacation and book-writing, course-planning investment time, a little tutoring here and there for summer school students helps out quite a bit, especially at $50/hour.

*-----*

Permit me to digress for contextuality's sake:

My decisions for leaving the Uni teaching staff were varied.

-I was unable to commit to a full-time position toward which faculty was pushing me due to the young ages of my children. In fact, I had to take a term off when The Young Prince was born.

-With childcare considerations, I could only teach evening courses, which usually had me returning home anywhere, depending on the hours of the courses I taught. Sometimes I taught the 5-8 block, others the 7-10 block. This, while having to arrive early to fulfill my required office hour presence--during which I, of course, ended up helping everyone else's students whose profs did not show for their posted office hours. Lovely.

-It was believed that natives, no matter how badly they teach, still teach better than non-native speakers and thus certain classes were withheld from non-native speaker reach. That was just discriminatory.

-I was wanted in a full-time position as I was known for creativity and hard work. I am good at test-writing and I would fulfill a complementary position, making the Department look good by offering conferences and workshops. But I was one of very few--and all of us non-natives, surprisingly--who actually did work to complete what our contracts required of us. So much time at home in front of the computer test-writing and planning and printing, since we were not permitted to make photocopies of anything other than exams due to budget cuts, took very valuable time away from my children. They couldn't comprehend that I was doing this for work, because they couldn't see what "work" was for me.

-I was feeling burned out due to all the effort and little professional gratification, although I loved the majority of the students I taught, and I really enjoyed the traditional/non-traditional student mix that the evening courses brought me.

-I was being threatened by a student that last term. I had been threatened before by a guy in summer school who never showed up for class and, when his final grade was a D, he sent me "or else..." emails that I just sent right up my chain of command and never had to deal with him. But this was a young lady who had transferred into this Uni from out-of-state, was on some sort of medication (I'm not sure what but at one point she referred to her psychiatrist and her medications in a conversation with me). It started with emails intended to intimidate, but "anonymously" sent (obviously not too saavy as very little is truly anonymous on email) so I had my techie-dude friends at the Department help me out a bit and track the IP of the system from which the emails were sent. They were astounded at the language used--although not profane, it was extremely intimidating. I'll refrain from going into all details but, after the same student I strongly suspected of threats insinuated that I was a b*tch in class one night, there wasn't much more I could do but report her behavior and communications to her dean, who then asked me if I was getting police escorts back to my car at night after teaching.

*-----*

When doing my normal insomniac middle-of-the-night email check last night, I about fell out of bed when I found an email from that same student in my junk folder. She needs a Spanish tutor for the summer, from after July 4 through the beginning of August. Granted, there will be one weekend in there that will be impossible for me as I will be out of town. I know she is not going to get a grade from me so that gives her no reason to be threatening toward me--but what if she does not put forth the effort on her own to achieve the grade she wants? A tutor can only do so much. I know she is contacting me because I was the best Spanish teacher she had at that Uni and I left--because I was one of the best there, even in my worst semester while dealing with her.

What frightens me is knowing what she has done, without her knowing I know, and my worries that, if things don't go her way she will know where I live. True, I could be creating a mountain out of a mere molehill but, then again she might be a crazy case.

I could opt to meet her at a coffee shop and tutor there. Disadvantages are that I would need to arrange childcare and the concentration levels would be difficult to achieve; I have my own little classroom in my home, whiteboard and comfy chairs and all, and there is a lot to say for ambiance.

So there we are. I think I already know what my decision is on whether to take her or not--any other opinions out there?

piropos from the optometrist

A couple of months ago my pair of "attitude glasses" died.

My prescription-filled sunglasses also are feeling a bit wobbly in the joints. 'Wobbly' meaning, of course, beyond repair.

I am down to my last pair of glasses, rimless, so I decided last week to bite the proverbial bullet and make an optometrist appointment. It has, after all, been three years since my last prescription.

Knowing I am not there to discover that I need glasses but to instead order new corrective lenses, and in my extreme-time-management mode, I took advantage of the looooong wait to try on various frames and write down what "finalists" made the cut. As soon as I had finished surveying my ocular appearance from behind fashion frames, Young Dr. Hottie-Pants called my name...actually pronouncing my name correctly!...and ushered me back onto the Throne.

We chatted a bit, I had attended undergrad at a school rather well-known for its graduate program in optometry and thus had served as "guinea pig" throughout my four years for my oppy boyfriend and his buddies. We whipped through my exam, very little change in my correction needed, and then he launched into a little statement about how, once we start moving toward 40, we notice the differences in how we read, but how my eyes, as I am ever-so-slightly near-sighted, will perhaps stave the process off a few more years than average. That was sweet music to my ears, although Kat Wilder's post from yesterday on signs--or not--that we are aging flashed through my mind as I said, "Yes, and once we hit that downhill slope, we really do start sliding!"

To which Young Mr. Dr Hottie Pants replied, "Not to say that you look at all like you are sliding."

I smiled. Was that a piropo?

(piropo: a flattering compliment or what could even be construed as a pick-up line)

Whether or not it was meant as such, I accepted, we ended our appointment and I went and spent (gasp) $873.75 on new glasses for what will hopefully be the next three years.

Walking home (yes, of course I walked!) I noticed five different trucks drive by, and each of them turned their heads to look at me as I walked up the street. One even turned a second time as he rounded the corner. Wow! There was a time that I resented the attention, be it in the form of a look or a whistle, or a "tsss tsss". It was later eloquently explained to me that, culturally, latino men are not meaning to degrade the female but rather to express deep appreciation for the beauty they behold.

Ah. Got it.

Just nice to know that I still haven't lost it!

stormy surrealism

A thunderstorm rolled over me at 2:30 in the morning.

True, it rolled over the entire area, but I am usually the only one I know who is awakened by the thunder, the flashes, the energy, the rain, the gloriously wet smell that fills and freshens the air.

I find thunderstorms, especially those that surprise me in the middle of the night, to be extremely exciting and invigorating. The energy is undeniable; I feel connected to so much around me with senses heightened during such storms.

Last night I allowed myself to remain in a semi-dream state during the storm. I felt a deep longing pulling at my soul, an almost primal need for connection that has not been fulfilled in so long. I have never made love during any storm, which surprises me because, although I feel so alive I never could awaken my partner or the opportunity was simply unavailable to me for whatever reason. My passionate soul has found great disappointment, sadness and loneliness in a marriage lacking in desire to share any form of spontaneous, stormy pleasure; indeed, "give-give-give" does breed resentment among the giver when there is no reciprocity involved nor any desire demonstrated in learning how to reciprocate.

As my muscles reacted in the anticipation of each thunder clap that would follow each brilliant flash I tried to remain floating above the pleasant sensations, the draw back to Earth attempting to awaken me further but I resisted the gravitational seduction...

...and then came the rain.

In squalls, the sky would open for about thirty seconds, then cease suddenly to a trickle with a very zen-esque quality to the drip-drops from the leaves of the dogwood outside my bedroom window to the wet mulch below. This cycle repeated about three times until the rain continued steady, lulling me back into my dreams. I could taste the water in the air, I could smell the delicious humidity and, in closing my eyes, I could sense the water bringing calm to all fires caused by the lightning.

Is this my oft-joked druid side? Or is this me being Woman?

Gravity then won its seduction when the pitter-patter of almost-four year-old feet came from his room into mine, and a little cuddle ball climbed up to put his cold feet against his mother's warm thighs.

Back to my sweet reality.

saving the world, one baby birdie at a time

Today I gave Mother Nature a little hand.

As it is late Spring here in the Northern Hemisphere, there are many baby birds hatching from their nests in the various trees, filling the air with the joyful and sometimes frantic chirping of newly hatched chicks and first-time parents. New birds are learning to spread their wings and fly from their comfortable nests. However, this first flight can actually end up being much more of a stumble into a situation out of which Baby Birdie cannot quite find a way!

I heard a very insistent chirping coming from the garage early this afternoon, so I sent the little monkeys to investigate. The chirping ceased and no bird flew out of the garage, so I decided to take a look around. I could see nothing and, as there was no more chirping had no sound assistance to go on. Coming out of the garage, I noticed gray fuzz in my big rosemary bush, behind my lavender and oregano in my herb garden. It was a baby mockingbird! Still with some newborn down on its head and little feet that are way too big for its body, but just looking at me and staying calm in the rosemary. I called the children over and we all quietly admired this being that had no choice but to be our captive entertainment.

I thought that I was perhaps mistaken, that Rosemary Birdie was the one that I had heard and that it had gotten lost from its Mama Birdie. But then the panicked chirping ensued. We returned to the garage but found nothing. La Princesita's ride then arrived to wisk her off to play for the afternoon, so the Young Prince and Mama Llama were left alone to solve this mystery.

The chirping began again. Silently I entered the garage, deducing from the sound that it was on the right-hand side. Following the chirps, I found Baby Birdie #2 on top of one of the front wheels of the lawn mower! Remembering that baby bunnies, if carrying the scent of humans on their fur when newborn are eaten by their families, I quickly found a sweatshirt and inserted my arms and hands into the arms of the pullover so that I could catch the bird without tarnishing it in any way with my scent. I had to "calmly chase" the creature around a bit but, after a bit of coaxing was able to gently grab Baby Birdie #2 and ever so lightly carry it out to be with its sibling out on the rosemary.

There they sat for a good while, siblings, the one from the garage squawking quite a bit in protest of their mother having pushed them out the nest. "How dare you! You see what happened? We weren't ready and had to deal with those HUMANS you warned us about! And you pushed us into their world!" The eternal child-to-parent guilt trip--I could hear it in the chirp.

Later this afternoon, upon The Young Prince and my return, we noticed that one of the babies was gone. Still remaining was the vociferous one, but even it had gone from the rosemary to the stones just below the lavender. I mentioned to my son that it might be a good idea to watch from the large window overlooking our driveway and see what happens.

Sure enough, in flies Mama (or Papa, who knows) Birdie and gives Baby Birdie something to eat. Then Mama flies to the fence, looking back as if trying to coax Baby to follow. Baby stands its ground.

Later, I see Mama making another approach, hopping over the driveway and back to the fence. I never did see Baby Birdie follow as I was also sauteeing my first garden squash of the season, but when I went out to check on Baby's progress, I was surprised to see that Baby Birdie was gone!

I doubt Baby Birdie would have found its way out of the garage, or if Mama Birdie would have gone in after it to coax it out of hiding. So I feel that my intervention was warranted and gave Mother Nature a bit of a helping hand this afternoon.

After all--we are all in this together, are we not?

postscript

However, it only works when the bike shop actually has 12" tire tubes in stock.

Every single size you can imagine BUT the 12". Can't quite believe it.

This is when I start wondering if the Forces are working against me!

swearing at bicycles and life lessons

The Young Prince has a little 12-inch bicycle awarded to us through Freecycle.org. Not mentioned in the advertisement, however, was the fact that this little bike would need new tires--meaning new tubes.

Having no experience changing tire tubes and no special tools for the job, I took to the task yesterday in my ongoing efforts to reinforce self-sufficiency in my young children's minds.

In the process, I ripped up my hands, almost stuck a screwdriver through my stomach--twice--when it slipped, and ended up punching a hole in the front tube when trying to put it into the tire but not realizing it until trying in vain to pump air into it. All that hard work for ???

My bike guru, by the way, mentioned this could all be done with my two hands. He must have very, very strong and callused hands...or I am doing something terribly wrong and can't figure it out.

Why not just take it to the bike shop? Because I don't want to spend more than the price of the bike's worth to get this fixed. And I am on a limited budget. All I want is something small for The Young Prince to be able to touch the ground while riding so as to achieve his sense of balance and learn to ride without trianing wheels. He would like to as well, to keep up with Big Sister and her newly-removed training wheels.

So I bandage my hands and head back to the bike store for another tube today, to try to get that in. I did succeed in getting the back tube in and inflated, so I know it is possible--it just took hours to complete one tire.

And I get good quality time with the children, teaching them about the different kinds of wrenches, screwdrivers, and pliers necessary out of my miniscule tool supply, and trying to show them that, yes, they can do whatever they want to do.

I will NOT raise two Earth Citizens who do not know how to do things by themselves. So this is just part of my eternal quest to teach as much self-sufficiency as possible. True, I wish I were more self-sufficient. I do as well as I can.

Maybe they can do better.

in a manu chao mood

Today is a Manu Chao mood day. I love him.

I use this song to teach and practice that "gustar" grammar formation in my class. It is how you express what you like in Spanish, but is literally translated as:
"(object) is pleasing to (indirect object)".

So "Me gusta el chocolate" would be "Chocolate is pleasing to me" or, in real English, "I like chocolate."



So...your 'sleepless night' homework: how many things can you hear Manu Chao say that he likes? What would you add to that list...just to be random? It does not have to be in Spanish (a-hem). And if you have any questions, feel free! We'll just call this lesson "Spanish 1".

my father

He was the eternal do-it-yourselfer, my father!

I have one delightful memory of this self-sufficient way of his. This occured when I was about 9 years old. My sister, two and a half years my younger, and I were playing in the front yard of our home on a beautiful Saturday summer morning, as most summer mornings in Southern Oregon are. My mother, wisely, was at a meeting. Whether this was planned (which I now, in 20/20 hindsight, am certain it was) or coincidence I did not at the time know.

What I did know was that Dad was working on the Upstairs Toilet and he was Not To Be Interrupted.

Along the front of the house, separating the front walk to the front door from the lawn where we were playing, was a hedge of about three and a half to four feet high. My sister and I were playing peacefully and enjoying the morning when our young, virgin ears heard a few loud obscenities being yelled from inside the house.

The next thing we knew, the front door swung open and Dad takes a flying leap over the hedge, running into the yard to the fence along the street to turn off the water main.

My sister and I watched, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, my father demonstrate track and field skills we never knew he had (doubtful he knew until that moment as well) and then, with only a single glance in our direction as if to say, "Don't you DARE mention any of this to your mother..." walk back into the house, this time around the hedge and up the walk to the front door.

Dear Dad--you filled my life with so much laughter, with so much understanding, comprehension and love. You were my teammate, you were my number one supporter. My mind remembers the fun-filled moments like this we shared--and then I flash back to my head laying on your chest after you were disconnected from life support, waiting for your heart to cease its beating, holding your hand, crying over your chest. What laughter we knew--and what pain I felt as my heart shattered when you died.

I love you and miss you so much, Daddy.

Happy Father's Day.

political condoms

Why haven't I heard about this in English language newspapers?

Or have I just been reading the wrong pages?

RPP.com, the Public Radio Service of Perú, says today that McCain and Obama condoms are for sale at 9.95/two.

For those who can't decide on who they are supporting (I think the entire world pretty much knows who they are voting for now, but hey...) they can try both and see which is the best, um...fit.

The Obama condoms cannot assure 100% protection in a night of complete illicit abandon with someone from the opposite party. They carry the theme, "Who said experience is necessary?"

The McCain condoms have gone with "Old but Not Expired."

Both say they offer better protection than the Secret Service.

vaginas on PBS?

You know it has been a long time when...

You are watching PBS KIDS programming and you hear, "What if a giant asparagus..." does something (yeah, it's a cartoon. I have no clue as to the context). Honest to God I didn't hear what it was the CyberChase crew was worried about the giant asparagus doing because I was trying to hard to process what I heard,

"What a vagina..."

I had to check my programming there for a minute.

Duuuuuude....time for a vacation.

last day of preschool

Mama Llama did not make it through the Last Day of Preschool very well today.

Although the Young Prince has not completely finished his Preschool Career (he will go two more years--next year at three mornings a week, and the year after a full five as a pre-K), we did have to graduate from his current teacher's class.

He adores Mrs. F and had an absolutely wonderful first year of school.

Mrs. F was La Princesita's first teacher as well, and met The Young Prince when he was just less than a week old. She, as most first teachers are in the lives of young children, was the first outside of the family circle to give instruction, criticism and discipline to both of my children, and their extremely positive first experience with school created in them a love of school and a respect for their teachers.

As giving away the crib and the baby items when The Young Prince grew out of them, today was just another step toward showing me that I have now entered a new stage of Life. I jokingly told Mrs. F, smiling through my tears, that I will not have any more children just so that they can have her for their first teacher. She laughed...and then told me that I am one of those good parents.

After yesterday's events, it was really nice to hear that.

I will miss Mrs. F, although will return to visit on occasion. The preschool is made up of three separate houses, and she is in the first on the block with the youngest children, where the main office is also housed.

I dread thinking of what it will be like for his final graduation from preschool. I'll be an absolute mess. Why do I have to be so damn emotional?

psycho mother from hell

Okay, granted I live in "Alpha Mom" land.

This is the term I have given to the tendency, that I am certain exists everywhere but here, in Ivy League Corridor, is especially prevalent among mothers to push their children to be involved in everything, to have every last minute of their waking hours scheduled with activity after activity, and doing their homework for them and ensuring that their good name as parents is maintained through the overachievement of their youngsters.

But today's events blindsided me.

I had my strong feelings about this particular mother the first time we met, in the produce section of Whole Paycheck. It was Valentine's Day, a day I do not observe except to make valentines with my children, and she was in a panic regarding what kind of chocolate she ought to purchase for the special "dessert" of the night.

With my (nasty) mind, of course, I was thinking, 'Why, the most spreadable possible...'

But we had just met and I did not want her getting the wrong idea about me (a-hem).

So then she asked what I would do and, as I opened my mouth to answer, another flood of other worries came rushing out at me and I had to grasp my shopping cart so as to not be knocked over with the flood.

Okay, so I exaggerate just a bit. Point is, every time I opened my mouth to answer a question she posed to me, she herself went on as if it were hypothetical. No problem, I thought...we just met, sometimes we all get a little nervous when we first meet someone but...ay ay ay. I don't know if I can take this woman.

Over margaritas at Artie's a couple nights later I mentioned this to my girlfriends. One had been an expressive therapist with a local hospital, and she said that this lady sounds like many of her patients. "Just be nice but stay at a distance," I was advised.

P.M. (Psycho Mom) telephoned to inquire if La Princesita would be interested in a playdate. I explained that, during the days I (at that time) was with various students and I really didn't feel comfortable having other children at my home when I could not be 100% available for supervision...nor did I want to take unfair advantage of an offer that would turn into "childcare" since I would be working. She countered that she could also be at my house but then quickly added, "And don't worry, I wouldn't go through your purse or be getting into your personal belongings or anything."

I honestly did not know what to think about that remark, and could not figure out how on Earth such a thought could occur to somebody.

Over the course of the past couple of months, her daughter and mine happened to be on the same T-ball team, and her husband was the coach. I can take him with a grain of salt, and as she and I got to know each other a bit more, I felt that she relaxed more and we watched many games together and actually enjoyed our time together with the other parents watching the games. A little intense at times, but we all have our quirks, right? She's human, and I am all about giving new acquaintances the benefit of the doubt--especially if we are going to be potentially "connected" for the next 12 years through the schooling of our daughters.

So...

Today she called me, extremely upset by the fact that the kindergarten class, as well as the 1st and 2nd grade classes in the same corridor of the elementary school, was in their second day without air conditioning. She was disturbed by the fact that the children had to go to another classroom and sit on the floor for part of their classtime today. They were slated to take a standardized test today which was postponed until tomorrow due to the uncomfortable classroom conditions. Curriculum teaching is essentially over; the school year ends on Friday.

She had been on the telephone to various "powers that be" yesterday to complain. From the response, I am judging that this is not the first that They have heard from Her this school year.

So what happened today?

She "made" me telephone on her behalf 1) the County Board of Supervisors to find out to whom to complain, and then 2) the School System Main Offices to report and to find out what is wrong.

"Made" me...allow me to explain. She insisted on making a three-way conference call ("HA! My first threesome," I joked. She actually got it.) and then on remaining silent on the other line in order to "listen in" on what was said...as if to verify that I would actually make the call? The nerve. But what unfortunately got me involved was the indirect definition with which she assessed others' parenting, by stating that full-time working mothers, of course, cannot be on the phone all the time about these matters but those of us who are not working full-time should be on the phone for the good of our children and the benefit of their education, standing up for them and not letting things slide...in other words, imposing that BAD mommies don't call, GOOD mommies do call.

That, of course, in my present mental and emotional state, is a raw spot with me and I won't have anyone questioning my parenting. I tried to rationalize everything with her calmly, explaining that they were trying to not have to extend the school year another day into next week and making everything work, that the children were not upset and, instead had a great time. If it had been for a week at the beginning of, say, May when curriculum was still being taught and there was no evidence of anything being done to remedy the situation--well, then things would have been different.

But this is one of the best school districts in the country. That does not happen here, and apparently there are some parents who still look for any problem spots, no matter how microscopic in nature, and make the mountain out of the proverbial molehill. I spoke to another mother who knows P.M. and she told me horror story after horror story of what she has had to deal with being co-room parents with her...and what the kindergarten teachers think of her, let alone the PTA President and the principal.

Yikes. Unfortunately, the one who will end up suffering will inevitably be her daughter. This other mother with whom I spoke has a child diagnosed this year with ADHD, and she said that this woman demonstrates how ADHD, when not worked with, manifests in adults. Incapability of reading social cues. Mind whirring at 100 mph without realizing that things are not operating in a linear fashion. Intense in her dealings with people. She needs understanding--but at the same time, she needs to not corner people in the way she cornered me today, or she will only succeed in isolating herself.

Fortunately I am extremely diplomatic, I can make inquiries and find out information without anyone feeling threatened--and basically, as the adage goes, tell someone I don't know to go to hell and make them look forward to the trip.

But not to her. We must peacefully coexist for a long time to come, and that will not solve anything.

Time to put this caller ID to good use.

Fujimori

I am not a political pundit, but someone I find an interesting figure in world politics is Alberto Fujimori. He is currently on trial in Perú for violation of human rights during his presidency, which is argued to have been more of a dictatorship than a presidency.

When trekking around the mountainous and altiplano region from Cusco south to Titicaca back in 2000 with a girlfriend, we noticed there was a great deal of local support for Fujimori in the upcoming elections against Alejandro Toledo, a man with indigenous roots who did, in the end, win the election. When inquiring to people about what made them favor Fujimori over Toledo, I was overwhelmingly responded to by one word: El sendero.

The Shining Path is a Maoist--and extremist--rebel organization that, in short, believes the path to true communism to be through a cultural revolution that would extend world-wide. There is a very sendero-esque group that has recently taken political control of Nepal.

The Sendero Luminoso began to show its public face in 1980 when, for the first time in years, the military force governing Perú permitted open elections. Ballot boxes were burned and, soon thereafter, dead dogs were found hanging from streetlights and the terror-filled battle for power began. The popularly-elected president at the time, who happened to be the great-uncle of a personal friend of mine, was wary of giving the military too much control to nip this in the bud as it was a dominant military that had ended Belaúnde's presidency in a coup before. So the Sendero gained strength, mainly in the Andean highlands, marking its force with brutal massacres that did not exclude women and children.

A Peruvian who has studied the actions of the Sendero in great detail for intelligence training in the 1990s taught me a lot about the Sendero. It was the children of the Sendero that would first lead the group into a community. The children would draw the attention of the citizens, who would come out and be met by the men, and then the women. The women are colder and more calculating, it was explained to me, than the men so they were often the masked killers as they were least likely to exercise mercy and would carry out much of the actual brutality.

The violence was not limited to the Andes. Over time it filtered into what had been popularly been considered the "untouchable" cities, with deadly car bombs in the districts I now visit regularly when I visit Perú. It is hard to imagine the terror that kept limeños off what are now such busily bustling streets.

How does Fujimori enter this picture? Upon election to the presidency, he established a forceful military power with right to fight the Sendero. The military, upon (apparent) orders from above, carried out various human rights violations, killed many more civilians than necessary and made themselves, in essence, look worse than the Sendero.

My informant was also behind the design and planning of the liberation of the Japanese Prime Minister's residence in Lima of 1997. Interestingly, I was in Japan at the time, watching everything unfold surrounded by a completely different cultural context--that of a horrified Japanese public who suddenly felt themselves almost as under attack as they had in the bombings of WWII, but this time without reason. The MRTA behind this seizure, a militant group similiar in ideology to the Sendero. The tunnels...the signals...everything in that liberation was so carefully timed, tunnels so painstakingly dug, the details of how they managed to drill without the rebels hearing the noise...amazing details...only (if I remember correctly) three deaths in the rescue.

Fujimori had the support of many because it was realized a very firm, dictatorial hand was required to put this group down. It is not like Colombia's FARC. The FARC are kidnappers with motives to raise funds for its survival, thus its involvment not only in the cocaine trade but also in the secuestros of high-profile individuals. The Sendero are killers. The only way to revolutionize is to annihilate and start clean with new ideology in place. There was no way to reason with them. Was Fujimori acting within his bounds in his military orders? Was he too firm of a hand? That will be for the judges hearing his case to find. I think that, when all is said and done, history will see Fujimori as the one who brought peace back to Perú. At a price, mind you, but there is a freedom and a peace that did not exist for over 15 years there. Can Alan García keep this up? We shall see. His economic policies are sure to reestablish a passionate fire amongst the Maoist groups.

What happened? When top Sendero officials were captured, the group went in different directions as "peace talks" were requested. Some wanted to go that route, others did not. The central driving force was gone. However, militant factions continue to exist. There is the Proseguir movement which sounds driven by many similar motivations as the FARC. Plus, there are a generation of children who have been raised with this Maoist mentality who are now coming of age and power. Captured senderistas are ending their terms and are being released. There is a degree of reorganization, with spotty activity in the highlands mainly north and east of Lima.

So where will I go in 16 days? Not into Huánuco or Ayacucho. This time I will stay closer to Lima but still head out to the highlands to explore. I had wanted to go to Trujillo but have been warned against that; even Peruvians consider Trujillo extremely dangerous right now for various reasons. The province also borders Huánuco region. Much in how I would love to explore Colombia or Venezuela, now is just not the time to go to certain places, and the State Department can only tell you so much with their list.

40th.

Today would have been my parents' 40th wedding anniversary.

We all miss you so much, Dad.

stung!

The Young Prince had his first bee sting this morning while at preschool.

And with a bang!

Details are sketchy as nobody saw the culprit, but he was stung twice, probably by a wasp or a yellowjacket. I can still see the sting marks on his arm.

When I got to his classroom to pick him up at noon and the teachers told me, I asked him to show me. He looked at me and said, "Yes, Mommy, but it's all over now, ok?"

Well, okay then!

There was also no air conditioning in La Princesita's classroom today...nor in any of the classrooms of the same corridor of her elementary school. So they had their little Parents' Program today in the music room instead (giving each of us a carnation at the end of the show!) and then were excused for the day.

No A/C is a big deal today as we are under a Heat Advisory until Tuesday night, with heat indices to reach up to 110ºF (that is over 43ºC). Code Red air quality, so busses are free to ride. It's nasty...and it's not even August.

The other big news...my telenovela, Yo amo a Juan Querendón, is about to end (sob). I have drooled over Eduardo Santamarina now for a year and I will be in mourning come Monday June 23.

So the good:

1. Learning the Young Prince does not appear to be allergic to bees. Good to know.

2. Getting an impromptu "Girl's Date" with La Princesita thanks to no air conditioning.

3. I'd like to design an advanced/conversation course around this telenovela, however, so I guess I'm ready for it to end so that I'll just have to buy the disc set when it comes out!

another sleepless night

I know, it's too early to tell as it is only 9:30. This has, however, been the holding pattern now for quite a while, for various reasons. Some of which stem from stress, others from big question marks, and the past nights from the temperature and heat advisory we are under; indeed, tomorrow and Tuesday have already been named "Code Red" days for air quality.

Of *course* I broke down and turned on the A/C.

I am not *that* stubborn.

(a-hem)

I have the temperature set at one reasonable for the budget and so that you can walk in from The Great Outdoor Sauna and tell that, in fact, A/C is on and operating In This House. 81/82 degrees is low enough during the day, and with my ceiling fans on to assist in circulating the air, I still have to wear a long-sleeved shirt over my t-shirt so I don't get too cold.

I let it go down to 79 degrees at night. This is because I cannot stand the feeling of breathing stagnant air while I am sleeping; even if the ceiling fans are on, I need more than that. So when, last night the air was kicking on all throughout the night without fail and I still could not sleep, I had to re-rationalize my theory.

In all complete honesty, I think I am claustrophobic.

I do not like the feeling of having my windows closed tight. Even in the winter, except on the most coldest of winter nights, I keep the window over my bed ever so slightly cracked to act as that all-night humidifier (green note: without the waste and expense of running an electric humidifier or the mold build-up that can result, or the incessant filter changes. Okay--hopping off soapbox)

Although I have snorkled quite a bit, I don't enjoy the breathing aspect of it nor having the mask over my eyes. I get panicky easily. I could never bring myself to take a scuba class while in Thailand (and I was there long enough to actually take one). This was an accentuated trait during my first pregnancy when, having entered the Sistene Chapel after hours of waiting, I could not appreciate the beauty once inside due to the stale air, the hundreds of people and the horrible, nagging feeling that I could never find my way back out. In month 4.5 of pregnancy I climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower. In mid-June. It was hot. But I was NOT going to take an elevator...

Whenever possible I avoid elevators. I thought it was because I once was stuck in a really old one back when I was about La Princesita's age. Now I think it is because I really feel uncomfortable in closed-in places.

I do not like my head covered nor my neck touched.

Come to think of it, the list does go on.

This is a brand-new revelation to me as of this evening. I had often joked about "being claustrophobic" in a pop-culture sense of the term--like everyone has some fear, be it of spiders, heights...almost a 'conversation topic' in a way. However, thinking back on certain very strong reactions I have without even consciously realizing this--for example, my extreme sleeplessness being due to the fact that my windows all shut tight as opposed to the lack of fresh (?!) outside air circulating in my room that I had always said was my reason why... hmmm... --makes me question this as a veritable hang-up I have.

So what to do with all this time on my hands? I suppose I could make a midnight run to the gym and have a great work-out all by myself--but I already did that this morning in an effort to thoroughly tire myself out for sleep tonight. Not happening. Sudoku? Crosswords? Bore myself to sleep? Always an option, I suppose. Nothing good on TV on a Sunday night anymore..although I see that NEXT Sunday at 9 there is a Best of Mike Myers special--ah, my SNL generation.

I *could* actually work... nah, too easy.

(sigh) Sweet dreams, y'all.

totally against my better judgment...

Yeah, I did it again.

We all went to the pool.

Against Better Judgment Ruling #1: Out of kindness of my heart and unwillingness to be just plain cruel, I invited Him with.

Against Better Judgment Ruling #2: When La Princesita had to go potty after about an hour and a half, I did not insist that we all leave then and there. On an "excessive heat advisory" day, an hour and a half, biking to and from the pool, is more than enought.

Against Better Judgment Ruling #3: I left The Young Prince with his father at the pool. We arrived at the pool at 2:30. They LEFT the pool at 6 p.m.

He is almost 4. Not an adult, almost 4.

"But he was cool; he was swimming at the pool."

"That's not the point. The point is that you, as the adult, need to exercise the common sense to figure out when enough is enough and say when it is time to go."

"But he was cool. And then he didn't want to ride his bike home."

(stifling a big DUH here) "Um, yeah. You, as the adult, need to factor into the equation that he'll still need to get himself home on his bike. You need to factor in exhaustion."

"But..."

"But nothing."

We got inside and He said to The Young Prince, "Now go to your room."

"What???!!! Whatever he did, you as the adult need to realize that he is four years old, hot, exhausted and probably really, really hungry. Whatever he did was probably a result of your not taking all this into consideration when you decided to stay at the pool for four hours with him, so he should not go to his room for your transgression."

Silence.

I was calm. I didn't fly off the handle. He apologized to His son and they are now eating their dinners. I will shower The Young Prince tonight, brush and floss his teeth, and hold him until he falls asleep.

...which is NEVER against my better judgment.

I'll play!

Only because 1. it's a Friday night, 2. it's getting hotter than h*ll, 3. I'm watching telenovelas on Univisión...great way to spend my Friday night, 4. I'm alone, 5. I'm without children climbing on me for the first time in...oh, let's see...weeks?..., 6. I've had two glasses of wine, and 7. I have eaten my chocolate quota for the day so I need to do something else with my hands.

And 8. I thought it might be fun. So here we go:

Questions:

1. What was I doing ten years ago?
10 years ago was 1998. June. I had just met who is now my husband, thinking I was secure and set for life. Had just finished my first term of grad school. Was working the Language Lab full time for the summer...one damn hot summer. Was feeling culturally stuck and confused, having been back in the States less than one year after three in Japan and spending much more time speaking Japanese and hanging with Japanese than speaking English or Spanish and hanging with Americans. But still having fun.

2. What are five things on my list to do today?
A) Coffee date with She-Ra.
B) Get frames for a couple calligraphy projects I need to finish by next week.
C) Check the bank accounts.
D) Don't forget to pick up the kids from school (!).
E) Drink some wine. It is Friday.

3. Snacks I enjoy?
A) chocolate-Dagoba 73% "Conocado", soy-free of course.
B) Kettle Chips-Lightly Salted
C) nuts: walnuts, almonds, pecans, cashews, pistachios--good protein and good for me.
D) Strawberries, cherries, raspberries, blackberries
E) a ton of stuff I can no longer eat since I'm allergic to it.

4. Things I Would Do If I Were A Billionaire?
Take my children and move to South America. Or Greece. Or Capri.
Anonymously donate to a variety of causes, domestic and international, in favor of improving education, alleviating poverty, supporting human rights and fighting injustice on all levels.

5. Three of my bad habits? (dude, only three????)
A) Interrupting.
B) Vanity.
C) Procrastination.

6. Five places I have lived?
A) Oregon.
B) Japan.
C) Sweden.
D) Ecuador.
E) New Orleans.

7. Five jobs I've had?
A) Popcorn Popper/Snack Bar Attendant at a local movie theater.
B) Telemarketer selling fruit for a local fruit company.
C) Teeny-bopper clothing store floor person/cashier/dressing rooms, etc.
D) Violin teacher for private students, conductor of a small orchestra.
E) Language teacher/translator/professor extraordinnaire.

8. How did you name your blog?
I'm kind of going about things in a way that I feel I am all thumbs right now...professionally things are going well, but personally I feel like every single step is guesswork, clumsy and questionable. And I stuck (green) in because I like double meanings, and I am a green thumb--I love my garden, working in Mother Nature gives my soul so much solace and my garden is the one place I really do not feel "all thumbs."

wicked wedgie woman

We just Freecycled out twelve pair of girls' underwear. (Yes, there are some Freecyclers who will take just about anything.)

Why? La Princesita was complaining about how much they give her wedgies.

Or rather, that should be wedgies ...!

I didn't even know what a wedgie was when I was 6. This is an education stemming, no doubt, from the Great Literary Tradition of Captain Underpants.

This turn of events caused me to remember a conversation had with girlfriends over wine one afternoon, back when we used to go winery touring and tasting once or twice a year. The dialogue somehow led to underwear (of course, over a bottle of wine, great cheese, amazing chocolate--well, anything can come out!) and what unmentionables we would wear or not.

Obviously we arrived at thongs. The majority vote was, "Hell No, Won't Go."

However I opened my big mouth and piped up, "My rule: Always wear a thong with khakis."

??? I was met with a table of quizzical looks.

"What? No pantylines that way." (At the time I was actively teaching at the local university) "When my backside is turned away from the students or I have to bend over for some reason, I don't want the first thing for them to see to be pantylines. And pantylines are a bane with khakis."

My companions were not convinced.

"It's not like I pull my bikinis up. That would just be painfully uncomfortable. The lovely thing about g-strings is that they are MADE to go where they go. It is natural thus not as uncomfortable. I can handle it for a day."

This conversation has not been forgotten by any involved.

Last night La Princesita and I were playing around before bed. She had her non-wedgie panties on and had "wedgied" them. I asked her, "Isn't that uncomfortable? I thought that's why you wanted me to get rid of your other panties."

Her reply?

"(giggle) It feels good, Mommy!"

Ay ay ay.

Is this an omen, that I have a bona fide thong-wearer, thus defined by the tender young age of 6 1/2 years?

Happy Friday, all!

I am an exclamation point!

I was chatting with She-Ra this afternoon at pre-school pick-up. The little monitos were wondering when the next playdate will be. I was unable to answer that due to a lack of certainty...and then proceeded to list the different variables that are governing today alone:

Tornado watch on until 8 tonight. Flash flood watch, too.

So is La Princesita's game on tonight or not? Probably won't know until about 15 minutes before game time.

And if the game is called for weather, is the party afterwards still on?

And if the weather is so bad, will my students be able to get here due to really bad Beltway traffic from the other side of Creation?

Or will they just want to cancel tonight?

"Too many question marks," She-Ra remarked. "And for you, who just Does Not Like Question Marks. We must embrace the question marks!"

"HA! Question marks are definitely NOT my punctuation mark. I embrace exlamation points and commas. Commas let me ramble on and on."

*?!?!?!?!*

Reflecting on that idea while making lunches for the little monkeys, I thought about what it means to "be an exclamation point."

• I am full of surprises!
  
• What you see is not always what you get!
  
• I love to have fun!
  
• I love to show off!
  
• I can handle being the center of attention (that is why I am an educator...)!
  
• Get reactions!
  
• Create reactions!
  
• Exclamation points even kind of look like me...long and tall and skinny!
  

That is me. !

What is your punctuation mark? What statement does your punctuation mark say about you?

painted nails and I

I did my nails today. Fingernails and toenails.

I never do my fingernails. With dishwashing, gardening, cooking and being as hard on my hands as I am, I hardly find it worthwhile as I will inevitably ruin them within 24 hours.

I always do my toenails. I once told somebody that I had to have my toenails painted at all times. If not, I feel naked. Even in winter while wearing only boots.

I would go to have a manicure/pedicure if I didn't think I would cry again, like I did in January, from physical contact. I really don't want to cry over a pedicure, no matter how goooooood it feels.

I am feeling self-centered today and am enjoying it. Although I did a lot of work for my students today, including some email correspondence regarding homework questions. I also did the nails of my monitos. The Young Prince, not wanting to be left out of the fun, requested clear glitter for his fingers and only clear on his tootsies. At least their nails got trimmed and groomed today...much needed attention.

I find it takes so little to raise my spirits, but wonder often why I don't do more, if it takes so little, more often. Guilt, probably--knowing I ought to be doing something else, something more productive, completing goals, cleaning the house, planning a class, being with my children, working on my book...you name it, the list is always there, isn't it?

I wonder what little spirit-raising traditions you might have. A movie? A good book? Great sex? Exercise? Fresh air?

Do you seek these little "uppers" frequently or do you find yourself denying yourself for various reasons? If you deny yourself, why?