pleasures of Fall...

Xander came over this week, took a look around, and said, "Judi, it's beginning to look a lot like Fall in your house!"

:) He is so right. This is my favorite time of year, and my house looks and (thanks to Pottery Barn's Autumn Spice candles) smells a lot like fall. Except for a leather chair in my gameroom, all of my furniture has slipcovers. I'm a big believer in slipcovers. The fire was an excellent reminder (whether I needed one or not) that stuff is just stuff, and as much as I enjoy my stuff (and I do), it must always come second to people. A well-lived life is messy, in many, many ways...thus, slipcovers...because when a glass of wine is spilled, a slipcover can just be peeled off and tossed into the washing machine, no big deal.

Xander and Katharine changed out the off-white denim slipcovers of summer for the brown velour of fall and winter for me this past week, with this result:

I love this time of year. The front yard is filled with leaves, and yesterday afternoon we tossed a frisbee around out there for a while. Xander will have the pleasure, as all of my kids did, of building leaf houses before those leaves are cleared away. It's 80 degrees today, but if the weather cooperates and turns cool (as I think it eventually must), soon it will be time for chili, served with crisp crackers, grated onion, shaved sharp cheddar, and dollops of sour cream; for steaming bowls of homemade onion soup with cheese and croutons; for James Beard's fragrant and delicious chicken with 40 cloves of garlic, served with slices of a crusty french baguette to soak up the the liquid...and this is the time of year for oysters on the half shell (I had some last week, and they were soooooooooooooooo good!) to say nothing of Thanksgiving...in just a couple of weeks, we'll have the pleasure of Mike's company again...life is good...

taking back my life...

So I’m steeped in corporate life these days...well, steeped in corporate life at work...at home, for better or for worse, I’m my usual free spirited self, doing what I want to do, e.g., more Beethoven last Thursday night (6 & 5); reading a lot of fiction lately, then up on the roof Sunday afternoon repairing the siding and touching up some trim. In spite of sustaining a life-threatening fall as a kid I never developed a fear of heights, and I’ve spent my fair share of time up on the roof of my house in the 23 years I’ve lived here. However, the highest point is 37' above the ground, and last Sunday, walking around up there, I found Indigo Girl lyrics running through my head, specifically:

Up in an airplane
Nearer my God to thee
I start making a deal
Inspired by gravity

If I did wrong I won't do it again
'cause I can be sweet and good and nice
And if I have enemies they're friends
I hold on to my life
With the grip of a vice...

Yeah, I realized that at 58, my roof walking days should probably be a thing of the past. No mishaps, but I admit I was happy to climb back down the ladder and feel the ground beneath my feet...

A couple of weeks ago, at work, I attended a full day of mandatory corporate training on how to better organize Outlook, with the idea that having done that, everything else in our lives that requires organization would fall into place. The workshop was run by a guy who was a total dweeb, and it was about as exciting as watching paint dry, to listen to him. I realized that most of what he was saying didn't apply to several of us when, early in the morning, he urged all of us to turn off our e-mail notifications, "and just check your e-mail once a day..." Uh-huh. In an ideal world, that might work, but I spend a great deal of time at work in a computer program that has some...problems...with the result that some days, several times a day, all of us who are working in that program suddenly receive e-mails from one of the programmers saying, "WARNING! The system has to be rebooted! Log out NOW!!!" Dunno what would happen if I ignored those, and don't wanna find out. While the dweeb waxed eloquent about the wonders of Outlook, my mind wandered, and I realized there are some areas in which I could stand to be more organized, although none of them were at work, where I'm nothing if not compulsively organized.

So I made a list of things I need to work on in the rest of my life, with the result that, yesterday afternoon, I left work early and went and signed papers to refinance my house. I switched to a fixed 15-year mortgage a full 2 points lower than the loan I had, and I borrowed some additional money to finish up repairs needed to sell the place (e.g., remove the pool and replace the fence), plus I’m paying off the credit card debt that I incurred after the fire.

All of which feels...strange...I admit it feels good to be exchanging the outrageous interest rates on the credit cards for one low fixed rate, but...I always feel so out of my element when dealing with money, and I know I’m not the only woman who feels that way. Put me in a small room with an adult or child having a full blown discussion with voices no one else can hear, coming from people no one else can see, and I'm fascinated, and in my element, but to have to deal with bankers or time management experts or car repair guys...those are the rooms, and people, I always want to go running from...

Hmmmmmmmmmmm....

Happy Halloween!

I love Halloween. These two pics are of a neighbor's house, just a few doors down from me. Their daughter is in college, and their son is 14, but they still knock themselves out putting up a wonderful Halloween display each year, and this display, of 2 giant spiders, complete with web, is over the top! Xander took one look, last week, and decided he wanted to trick or treat on my street.

When my kids were young, we always had a Halloween party. I enjoyed it at least as much as the kids did, and we'd start planning it about a month ahead of time; what games we'd play, what our costumes would be, what the theme would be. Some years we spent crisp, sunny afternoons in pumpkin patches, looking for the perfect pumpkin to carve into the scariest/funniest/strangest Jack-O-Lanterns, and some years we made do with what we found at the grocery store, but always we washed and roasted and salted the pumpkin seeds and ate them afterward.

I have a costume closet in my house, and it contains many of the costumes that I made for my kids over the years. Hanging in that closet, even as I write, are the following costumes: ET...sewn by me for Alex when she was 6. I spent an entire week feverishly sewing that costume, using a Vogue pattern. It has not only a lining, but an interlining...what was I thinking? Then there's the genie costume that Katharine fancied when she was 7...the grey poodle skirt from when Kath was 10...Alex's blue crayon costume from when she was 11...Mike and Chris' pumpkin costumes from when they were 2...I'm sure you get the idea.

And then there was the year that Mike and Chris were 7. They were cubscouts, and I was in graduate school, but I was also their scout leader, and we'd invited all the boys in the den to our house for a Halloween party. The boys were serious fans of Captain Hook, so we'd decided to have a pirate theme for the party. In keeping with this plan, I'd sewn black velvet eyepatches for all the boys, and Mike, Chris and I had spent some happy time one evening placing those patches and many other little treasures inside the brown paper goody bags, in anticipation of that party.

A couple of nights before the party, I made a late night run to the grocery store. I'm not sure why, but I've noticed there are always a number of seemingly random items stocked at odd places in grocery stores. For example, there might be a cluster of cellophane bags filled with those little green plastic toy soldiers hanging right above the Tide laundry detergent...and I've never known if this is because some childless store manager thinks a kid having a meltdown in the laundry aisle might be placated by those things or if it's simply because some stock clerk got distracted...
Anyway, as I perused the aisles late that night, enjoying a little well earned time to myself, I spotted one of those stock juxtapositions...a vertical display of beautiful little red velour pouches filled with fake gold coins, in the feminine hygiene aisle (of all places!). I couldn't believe my luck! I remember thinking to myself as I pushed my cart, at high speed, toward the display, "Wow, the only time I've ever seen these foil covered chocolate coins in the grocery store is close to Christmas! How cool is this?" I quickly pulled a dozen bags, each holding 5 coins, off the rack and tossed them into my cart, thinking, "I can't believe my luck! These'll be perfect for the boys' goody bags..." Feeling proud of myself, I pushed my cart toward the front of the store, ready to check out. Ha! Was it my imagination, or did those two women I'd just passed, fellow late night shoppers, give me a look? The neighborhood elementary school was filled with competitive Moms, and just as it occurred to me that I probably wasn't the only Mom hosting a pirate-theme Halloween party that year, I began to feel a little smug, because it appeared that I may have been the only Mom who'd had the good fortune to stumble on this cache of foil covered chocolate coins which, coincidentally, I'd depleted...yes, that's right, the entire display was in my cart...which got me to thinking, I hadn't checked the price, and as money was a consideration...I turned my cart around, wheeling it back down the aisle, past the 2 women who were definitely scrutinizing me as I walked past, sheesh!

I felt incredulous and my heart sank when I saw the price: $5 for each bag of 5 coins! Shoot, the red velour bags were pretty, and the coins were big and GORGEOUS, but $5 a bag? What kind of exotic chocolate was this? I picked up one of the pretty bags and examined it carefully, straining to read the fine print on the small tag, because I wanted to see why these chocolates were so prohibitively expensive. I felt my face growing warm, and suddenly knew with awful certainty that my face had just turned the same bright red as the velour pouches as the following words, in small print on the tags, came into focus: "features silicone lubricant, reservoir tip, golden color and a ribbed texture for your pleasure..."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrggghhhh! I dropped the pouch as if it were on fire, and immediately shot a quick look around me, fervently hoping that no one who knew me, even slightly, was in the store. No wonder those women had scrutinized me! I'd been about to purchase 5 dozen "Extra Large! Extra Strength!" gold condoms, and had I purchased them, I would have dispensed them as goody bag party favors to a bunch of 7-year-old cubscouts...

What a party that would have been! My guess is, just about the time the parents were showing up to pick up their sons, all the little boys would have been happily blowing up condoms on my front lawn...although I have a feeling, had that happened, I might have gotten out of being the den mother right then and there...

Beethoven's hair

Tonight I looked at a lock of Beethoven's hair.

I'm not kidding; I went to the symphony to hear the first concert of the Beethoven festival: Beethoven symphonies 1 and 2, plus Stravinsky, Concerto for Piano and Wind Instruments played incredibly by talented young pianist Kirill Gerstein, with Gilbert Varga conducting.

We sat in A's new seats: Section C, Row DD, Seats 1 & 2.
That's Center orchestra, row 4, just a little to the left of the conductor's podium. I'm mentioning this because those seats enabled us to watch the pianist's hands as he played, and that was pretty amazing, although as A said, it was actually a little distracting. But there was another wonderful, and for me, totally unexpected, bonus to sitting in those seats: I was able to see Maestro Varga's face as he conducted.

For starters, he so clearly loves the music. I guess all conductors must love the music, but I'm used to seeing their backs...in these seats, approximately half the time he was conducting, I could see the expressions on his face. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he has a wonderful face (see pic).












Yeah, I admit it, I have a huge crush on this guy. He looked so bright, intense, good natured and energetic...

*sigh*

:)

OK, back to Beethoven's hair. Inside a locket, under glass, the lock of hair was cut from Beethoven's head on March 27, 1827, the day after he died, by a 12-year-old boy, a fan who had come to visit him. It was eventually (in December 1994) sold at auction at Sotheby's, London, for £3,600 ($7,300 including commission). Recently, this lock of hair has been in the news again, because the results of extensive medical testing of several strands of the hair have revealed that Beethoven died from lead poisoning, and in all probability was accidentally poisoned by his doctor. A movie has been made about his hair, and of course there's a book...

But those things aside, I stood awhile and looked at the lock of hair. I was expecting it to be grey...after all, the man was 57 years old and had been very sick for years when he died, but to my surprise, the lock of hair was a rich, chestnut brown. Color aside, it is absolutely amazing to me to have seen a lock of hair that actually came from Beethoven's head. As I stood gazing at it, I tried to imagine what it would have been like to actually see Beethoven...but although I have an excellent imagination, I couldn't do it. I learned tonight, before the concert began, that it was in 1802, while Beethoven was composing the 2nd symphony, that, at 32 years old, he began to realize that he was going deaf, and yet the 2nd symphony is not somber, it's playful and joyous music.

The lock of his hair is a palpable reminder that the man was, like all of us, flesh and blood and yet, musical genius aside, he must have been an amazing human being...because rather than wallow in the monumental unfairness of his loss, in the next 25 years he went on to write 7 more glorious symphonies, to say nothing of all his other music...

Which is part of the reason why, 180 years after his death, Beethoven still ROCKS...

lunch at Mia's, naps, & Hot Springs...

So, as expected, I did not get picked for jury duty. My number was 431, and it’s been my experience in Dallas that if your number is above 350, you’ll be dismissed. Yesterday the highest number was 331, so I was out of there by 10:30. It was a glorious, sunny, day, so I called Chris to see if he could meet me for lunch at Mia’s, a favorite Tex Mex place with incredible brisket tacos. Christo was working in Highland Park, close to Mia’s, and we agreed to meet at 1:00.

I got there early, and sat down with a book at a table outside. It was wonderful, except for the bad, loud music blasting out of the ubiquitous speakers that seem to be everywhere in America today, but that’s another rant...

As I waited for Chris, I read the book I’d brought, Deep Survival, by Laurence Gonzales, a terrific book about the psychological and physiological mechanisms that occur and ultimately determine who lives and who dies in life-threatening situations. It’s a fascinating book, well written, and I recommend it highly.

Chris and I had a great lunch, then he went back to work and I came home and read and took a nap. I know, I know, my life IS incredibly exciting.

This weekend I’m off to Hot Springs to visit my sibs. My brothers and I will again be partaking of the baths at the Buckstaff Bath House...

More later.

I am hereby summoned...

So I have jury duty tomorrow morning (hmmmmm, make that THIS morning), and what with not having to drive to Fort Worth plus having already logged 23½ hours at work on Monday and Tuesday of this week, I feel as if I’m going on vacation. I doubt whether I’ll be picked, although I’ve served on the occasional jury here and there, including a stint on a Dallas County Grand Jury a few years ago: 3 half days each week for 3 months. That was an interesting experience, and I like to think we did some good. I absolutely believe in jury duty, and the moreso when it’s likely to mean I’ll be home before 5:00 without having driven a little over a hundred miles (yep, that’s me, whining about my commute).

aboard the Koo Koo train...

For the past couple of weeks, a representative from our main European office has been visiting at work, and this weekend, our department head is flying to Europe, all as part of an ongoing effort to make our day to day operations more global in nature. (Yeah, it sounds like so much hooey to me, too, but I’m wording it like that because I’ve been steeped in corporate jargon at the endless series of mandatory meetings that I’ve attended on this very topic in the past couple of weeks).

So yesterday there was a farewell department lunch at a Mexican restaurant, sometime after which, back at the office (“back on campus” in corporate jargon), we were ordered to assemble for a group photo. Shortly before the appointed time, I ambled downstairs with two colleagues, M and S, only to discover The Liar busily walking about with a tripod and an expensive SLR digital camera, because, Master Photographer that she is (this in addition to all her other achievements), she had volunteered to take the pic, which she didn’t actually do...but more on that in a minute.

While we were waiting, S commented wryly (and quietly) to M and me that she was missing her badge and hoped she hadn’t lost it. The Liar overheard this comment and immediately interjected herself into our conversation. “$35 to replace it!” she announced, briskly and loudly, as if we’d asked, “AND they’re going to fix it so we can’t use each other’s badges anymore”. The three of us looked at The Liar, which of course is what she wanted. “$35 to replace a lost badge? Are you kidding?” M asked. “No, no, I’m not kidding! $35!” The Liar said happily, enjoying the schadenfreude aspect of the moment even though I’d be willing to bet she doesn’t know the term. “AND they’re going to fix it so we can’t use each other’s badges anymore,” she repeated, like a parrot, in case we hadn’t heard her the first time. The Liar inhabits a dramatic and strange universe that is apparently parallel to the one inhabited by the rest of us, in which things like fines, retribution and punishment loom large and appear frequently.

I rolled my eyes but took the bait: “So how would anyone know whether I’m using my badge or someone else’s?” I asked The Liar. “I mean, what are they going to do, scan our eyeballs? Or maybe take a thumbprint?” “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” M exclaimed, seeing where this was going. “That doesn’t make any sense. If they scanned a thumprint, for a machine to tell whether it’s mine or not, they’d have to have my prints on file, and no one has my prints on file!” The Liar began to beam, warming to her topic. “The government has MY prints on file,” she said, “and I bet they have Judi’s prints on file too, because I know Judi is a bad, bad girl...”

I smiled benignly at The Liar. “In fact, my prints are on file,” I said, “because as you know, I spent 5 years of my misspent youth working for the Feds...”

The Liar moved close to M. I used to think she had no sense of interpersonal space, but in fact this is not so. The Liar knows exactly what she is doing, and she enjoys doing it. “Wanna know why MY prints are on file?” she asked M, in her hoarsest, breathiest, most conspiratorial voice. “It’s because,” she continued without waiting for M to assent, “like Judi, I worked for the Feds, too. For several years, I was a photographer for the Feds...they sent me everywhere. I had Top Secret clearance...no, wait, I take that back, I had TOP TOP Secret Clearance...” and with that she was off on another of her confabulations. S had slipped away to look for her badge, and I walked away in disgust, leaving M to deal with The Liar by herself.

In addition to being a Master Photographer with Top Top Secret Clearance for The Feds, The Liar is, by her own account: a certified clinical research study coordinator; a certified clinical research monitor; an accomplished jazz saxophonist who is regularly invited to jam with professional musicians; an ordained minister; a licensed helicopter pilot...to name a few of the things for which she regularly takes credit...and then there are the things she could have been but chose not to pursue: professional stand up comic (this in spite of the fact that she’s not remotely funny); a Van Cliburn finalist (dunno whether she actually even plays piano...and in spite of dropping this tidbit at every opportunity, she’s never expressed an interest in, nor any knowledge of, classical music in my presence); a clinical psychologist (she’s told me she’s completed all of the necessary coursework on a PhD at an unnamed institution, but decided not to finish when a client committed suicide)...I could go on and on, but you get the idea.

The Liar also happens to be gay, and although she claims to be in a long-term, committed relationship, she never misses an opportunity to hit on K while at work. K, a friend with whom I previously worked in child and adult psychiatry, straight, married, and 25 years younger than The Liar, has made it abundantly clear to The Liar that she does not welcome her advances. Nevertheless, The Liar, apparently believing herself to be, in addition to everything else, irresistible, continues to hit on K with amazing regularity and a complete lack of discretion. To paraphrase Leonard Cohen, her lust is a secret all over the block...

Yesterday, after leaving M to deal with The Liar on her own, I spotted K, and walked over to join her in walking to the appointed place for the photograph. “What’s the story today?” K asked, looking at The Liar, who was still talking animatedly to M, clearly a reluctant audience. “She’s telling her all about how she had top top secret clearance working as a professional photographer for the Feds,” I said. K snorted. “There is something SERIOUSLY wrong with her,” she said. I nodded my head in agreement.

When we were assembled outside on the steps for the group photograph, The Liar produced a minion, someone who doesn’t work in our department, to take the actual pic. I would have thought, being a Master Photographer and all and having set up the shot with the camera on a tripod, The Liar would have simply used the timer or a remote to snap a series of pics. But what do I know? No, instead, after spending some time looking through the lens and making much of her ability to focus, like that was some amazing talent, etc., etc., she turned the camera over to her “assistant” and ran to join us on the steps. A total of 3 pics were taken with The Liar in the photograph with the rest of us, then she dismissed her minion, removed the camera from the tripod, and proceeded to snap some more shots of the group.

At least, that’s what she said she was doing. I looked over at K. Smiling into the lens, she said quietly through gritted teeth, “This damn well better not be a series of close ups of my face!” while two coworkers, aware of The Liar's passion for K, chanted softly, “K’s gonna end up on the ‘net tonight” ...

Oh yeah. Another day at the office...or, as K so aptly put it...aaaaaaaaallllllllllllll aaaaaaaabbbbbbbbbooooooarrrdddddddddd the Koo Koo train...