tuckova

“I'm quite illiterate, but I read a lot.”

When Squire Tuck was but a wee small thing, I read to him all the time. There were so many books that I had loved as a child and so many books that I had been introduced to as an adult that I wanted him to know, and so little time. And then there were the books that he loved that were new to me; you don't even want to know how many times we read "Dazzling Diggers" ("Diggers are noisy, strong, and big/ Diggers can carry and push and dig"). Striking the balance of getting a book into him at the right age -- not too early, so that it wouldn't be wasted, but not so late that it seemed childishly easy to him, was a frank delight. There were some missteps, of course -- like trying to read "The Once and Future King" to a nine-year-old obsessed with Arthurian legend was not my best choice ("The Sword in the Stone" was not so bad, but "The Queen of Air and Darkness" was... uhm, not age appropriate). But most of the time, reading to him flowed, and we both really liked it.

When he started reading for himself, he stuck mostly to books that were below level, which I know is normal for some kids, and which was fine because dude, nobody hated the Magic Tree House series more than I did, and I'm pretty sure the only reason they exist is so that kids can read below level. And it meant that the reading aloud could continue because even to a kid who can read pretty well, their own ability is usually not up to the speed of their comprehension yet. Plus (sing along with me, I know you know this one): I love the sound of my own voice ever so much. 

And then all of a sudden one day I realized we weren't reading together anymore. To an extent it's because he got old enough for movies and there are not quite as many movies that I love as there are books, but still so many great movies that you should see when you are still young, and we had a lot of watching to do. And to an extent his reading had caught up with his thinking and he didn't need me to read to him to make it fun. I mean, this is sort of a GOAL, right, so I'm not complaining. I tried having him read to me but as soon as I sit still enough to be read to I tend to fall asleep, so that didn't work.

And anyway, he was reading. Not as much as I thought he should, but more than most people, and not the best books but books that he really enjoyed. And since every study I've read says that basically: a) an avid reader has nothing to fear in terms of brain development, learning skills, etc and b) it really doesn't matter what you read, I figured: ehn.

Last week, it occurred to me that part of the purpose of reading was that I wanted him to be grounded in my culture -- the whole delicious American entertainment bundle; that he would know what an American 16-year-old student would know. Now, a lot of stuff that Czech teens and American teens know is the same, especially anything on the internet. But books, the books that you read in high school, are not something that seems to be actively taught here. In my experience, the average Czech high school student can rattle off Shakespeare's oeuvre in the order they were written, tell you what's a comedy or a tragedy or a historical drama, but odds are they haven't read a single one. This Will Not Stand.

So I started trying to find out what the books that are assigned in high schools are... it's interesting how hard it was to find a comprehensive list. I know that some of the books we read were ridiculous to assign to high school students (Gatsby, seriously?! Because as a teen I assure you I had no idea what that drunken mess was about), and some books are fantastic no matter when you read them (I didn't read "To Kill a Mockingbird" until I read it with Squire, and it was perfect for both of us), but there are books that you sort of HAVE TO read as a teen, because that's the ONLY time you're going to really, really get them. "The Catcher in the Rye" or "The Diary of Anne Frank" or anything by Robert Cormier.

Anyway. I'm working on a list, and I've told Squire he's got to read at least one a month off the list, and I have to read it too if I haven't already, so we can play book group about it. Anything you think I might have missed?  

 

epiphany

I'm realizing that although I am by most standards extremely privileged by accident I find myself more and more not consciously but almost instinctively disliking people who are... I guess MORE privileged. It's not ENVY, I don't think, or not exactly -- I don't generally envy people their success or even luck; when a friend wins the lottery my first genuine thought will be: Wait, you play the lottery?! and then I can't imagine anything other than to be happy for them. Same with people buying nice houses, getting raises, meeting someone and falling in love -- I'm seriously genuinely pleased in all these situations. I've read but not really understood books about envy and jealousy (notably Status Anxiety by Alain de Botton -- beautiful book, didn't get it at all), I've talked to extremely articulate friends about these feelings, but I haven't consciously experienced them. Imagine my surprise, then, to have noted in the past year or so some pretty stunning examples of how it must feel, this wave of bile. I'm wondering what's new: the experience itself, or just noticing the experience. I hope it's a new thing altogether and that I can figure out how to make it go away. It's not nice to be in your forties and stamping your feet over how the world is unfair like that's any kind of news. 

The holiday was nice, mostly. Mellow. Lots of reading, lots of sitting around and staring at things, which is one of my favorite things to do with my free time. If I called it meditating it would sound better but it's really just sitting around staring, more marinating than meditating. "You're soaking in it." Hosted two parties, a small dinner party and a larger new year's party. Sometimes I felt deeply sad and lonely, and sometimes I felt overwhelmed by humanity, but most of the time was mainly feeling well rested, so plus good on balance. 

Over the weekend (Twelfth Night! Three Kings! Epiphany!) I transferred all my 2012 calendar into my 2013 calendar. It was tricksy because I was going from a Czech calendar to a US one, and I kept getting my weeks misaligned. This year I also transferred stuff like "it's been 6 months so make a dentist appointment this week."  There is somebody reading this who is nodding approvingly at my sagacity and somebody else who can't believe I don't have this all plugged in to my smart phone like every other extraorganized person on the planet. I know, I know, but calendars and books still need to be held in my sweet hands or they don't seem REAL. 

Today I applied the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair and did the first edit of a 22 page paper. I haven't edited that hard in a while; my standard has been about 10 pages a day or 20 pages if I'm doing stunts like getting up at 4. So look at me: I STILL GOTS IT. We'll see if the second edit is as easy as I think it will be or if I'm going to have my brains in traction tomorrow from the unaccustomed strain, but I feel pretty confident at the moment. 

the peppermint mine

With the recent holiday movie viewing, I've been thinking of children's books and films in terms of two particular themes: the child who escapes familiarity and has strange adventures (The Snowman) and the child who finds familiarity outside of an environment where he never felt he belonged (Elf). 

I tend to find the latter category problematic. I grew up also feeling like I didn't particularly belong - I made friends rarely, and even my best friend and I little in common (her: athletic, brave, lovely; me: well, yeah). I loved my family but I wouldn't have been surprised to hear I was adopted, either. So it's possible that to a certain degree my problem with those books is one of jealousy -- I accepted the life I was dealt, and so should everybody else. Also, especially when the stories concern someone who realizes they "actually" belong somewhere else, and they take off without a backwards glance, I feel like they're sort of rotten. Even in Narnia, they're convinced they don't have to go back to England because they're dead, but what if they aren't? Their poor parents. 

On the other hand, sitting with my friends the other night and realizing that to a certain degree we are all misfit toys -- having never felt particularly like I belonged somewhere, it was not too difficult to pick up and move to another country where I don't belong. In fact, in some ways it's easier since the reason I don't belong here is pretty straightforward. The difference between me and fiction is that I didn't have to choose between the two worlds, so it doesn't feel like I betrayed anything. To me.

I should probably just stick to Die Hard.

you keep using that word

I've ranted before about how it bugs me when people take words with specific meanings and use them to dramatize their feelings about things for which there are already perfectly good words in existence. I realize there are horrible things in the world that I could be getting upset about instead, and that these are annoyances rather than rages, but boy-oh. Pets are not children. Friends are not family. And the ones that's been bugging me lately is the misuse of "single parent". 

 

If you are not getting any partner-type support, financial or otherwise, from another adult, then you are a single parent. That is exactly what those two words mean - you are unpartnered as a person and specifically as a parent. But here's the thing: If you only get every other week to yourself while your former partner has the kids, or you're fighting about pick up times, or you think they should be giving you more money, or they work out of town, or whatever, you ARE NOT a single parent. It cheapens the extraordinary difficulties that actual single parents have to deal with, and it also makes your own difficulties seem like you have to exaggerate them when in fact they're often horrible enough on their own. I'm glad every day that I don't have to worry about custody and child support, believe me. Look, we all make choices -- and sometimes we don't even have a choice. But when you choose to call a divorced or separated parent a single parent, I lose some respect for you. Wouldn't you rather call yourself what you actually are, or skip the labels altogether, and pull up a bottle of wine and talk about it?

 

you talk as if you knew me

My recent attempts to assert my own preferences have been going pretty well. I'd prefer not to eat pork, thanks; I'd prefer not to sign your silly contract for the work I'm doing for you for free; I'd prefer not to leave the house. Thanks, but no thanks. It turns out that if you're not emotionally invested in telling people no, you can get a pretty fun anthropological kick out of watching how they take it. 

I feel bad about saying no because I've spent a lot of time trying so hard to be accommodating of the inexplicable preferences of others, and I still feel like it's rude to inconvenience people when your preference is equal to theirs, but I have picked olives out of enough dishes after having them sneered at, and dammit, I get to say I don't care for brussels sprouts. Because I don't, I never have, and I have eaten enough of them to be sure. I'd prefer not to have more, thanks. Imma leave that right here on the side of my plate in a tidy pile, okay, thanks. 

**

I'm still wondering why so many of the foods frequently served at parties give one bad breath. Any ideas? Hey, I'm about to talk to you really close for a while, how's my stinky cheese breath? Do you like these cocktail onions exhaled upon you? Mmm, spicy sausage with garlic on a little toothpick breath. 

**

I am happy to report that the hospital that has two outstanding invoices has now paid one of them, significantly bringing down both their debt and my blood pressure. This was for work I did in June, and I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get paid or whether I was going to have to take somebody's firstborn. Seriously, who DOES that, just doesn't pay you for what you've done? 
Fortunately, it looks like it might get concluded before the end of the year, which is good because I am tired of having Laurie Anderson's Example#22 running through my head all the time. PAY ME WHAT YOU OWE ME.  

**

In my many trips to many, ever so many bars, I have formed some opinions that now seem so obvious to me that I am always a bit floored when the bar owners don't share those opinions. Stuff like... it's a good idea to have a variety of wines in stock. Two of each color, say. It's a good idea for nobody on staff to spend any length of time standing at a table chatting. It's a good idea to check the bathrooms regularly for supplies and messes. Clearly just my opinions, here. 

**

Regarding the election, if I may: I, too, have voted for candidates who have lost. It is a bad feeling when you think that other people do not share your values, or at least not enough other people. It feels lonely. I didn't feel like America had somehow gone to the dogs, but I did feel like maybe it didn't want me. And you know what? I totally DID leave the country -- not just because of any election, but honestly, the political climate was a factor in why I left the first time, and it was a factor in why I stayed away the second time. I did so because it made ME feel better. I don't think America gave a patootie that I did so, not least because I've continued to pay taxes. I don't know; I guess I'm saying I find the idea that leaving the country will "teach it a lesson" is pretty funny, because it won't. You leave because it makes you feel better, just like why you leave any relationship that isn't working any more. 

fathomless

Here's a fun exercise: tell people that you have heard of a super [scary thing -- virus, bacteria, crocodile, whatever] and ask them where it came from. I have been researching SUPER LICE and the sources are, variously, Asian immigrants, people from the Middle East, the over-prescription of antibiotics, and the fact that people don't follow directions so the lice just come back because it's their nature. I was persuaded by the third, because I think that's the cause of most health-related problems, until I read the fourth one because -- well, when in doubt, bet on stupid. But it is interesting how many sites seemed to slant blame toward minorities in general and immigrants in particular. I know that other living things migrate just like people do, and often hitch rides with humans, but it's not necessarily on immigrants unless they're bringing in smallpox on a blanket. I mean, it could be wealthy people traveling, or food or other goods, not necessarily immigrants. And yet that is a narrative that people believe. If you have reasons beyond the obvious, I'd be interested in hearing them.

Maintaining a tilt that is hard alee with the forms of my vanity, I got my eyelids tattooed with permanent eyeliner. I may be a periodic weepy emotional mess but that doesn't mean I want eyeliner streaked all over my face. I am no Tammy Faye. I realize that the logical solution would be to stop wearing make up but as you may know I like the pain, and besides it was on sale, so it was basically a double score. It hurt like crazy. On a pain scale of things I have experienced it is really up there, and I just ripped a toenail out of my foot this morning by dragging a cabinet over it, and I barely cursed. So eyelid tattoos hurt, and if I had it to do over I'd be too scared to. On the plus side, I now roll out of bed looking ridiculously awake and ready to start the day, so there's that. 

For some reason the need to batten down the hatches (you liking the boat theme? It's totally not because the sun is past the yardarm or anything YARE like that) is strong this year. I have had chairs recovered, fixed broken things, cleaned out cabinets. Rearranged rooms, the whole thing. There is a man who looks not unlike Jack Skellington in my room right now painting it a color somewhere between bricks and wine, a dark bruised red, and I love it. My previous very favorite painter in town retired, and I cast about in despair for a while, but this guy was recommended and I felt instantly comfortable with him because he ran around exclaiming "What's THIS?!" --- no, but I did take a liking to him, and he seems to be doing good work. 

Man, I hate winter, and it has already snowed more than once this year. I'm probably not leaving the house again until February, but you should come and visit. Guest room is shipshape and all. 

you only live twice

A few nights ago, I woke up to the sound of the floor creaking, and I thought there was someone in my room -- someone large, by the sound of the creaking. I was absolutely paralyzed with fright. I rolled over as if I was shifting in my sleep and tried to get a look, but I couldn't see anybody - although the door was open and I always keep it closed. I was trying to think of what would make an effective weapon, good enough for me to get past this hulking mass and to my son's room. Heart pounding, mind racing, not good for thinking. All I had within reach was a glass of water, but I thought maybe that would be a good element of surprise at least. I could hear the dresser drawer being slowly opened, and I thought: GO! So I got up and moved towards the door, and there was nobody at the dresser, or in fact in the room at all. I snapped on the light all HA and there was the cat, who has apparently learned how to open the door AND the dresser, and was all nestled in amongst my sweaters. I did not pour the water on her.

The moral of this story is: my cat may be a little on the hefty side.

Today I went and rehearsed the SINGLE LINE that I am dubbing for a video game for twenty minutes. I'm sorry: TWENTY MINUTES. Please understand that I did an entire movie without a rehearsal and it was fine, so this seems like excessive preparation. Apparently my delivery of "How many slices do you want?" required an entire backstory for my character, which I got, and also several different tries in order to achieve the maximum quality pizza seller voice. I am baffled. But the people are nice and it was good for me to be out in the fresh air; it was a beautiful fall day today. 

I keep thinking about the US election. I have already voted, so I really do not need to inform myself further, but I cannot stop. It is dumb. I have managed this year to stop clicking on celebrity gossip types of things, because they are stupid and I never feel better knowing them. I have managed also to stop reading comments on news sites and I've mostly stopped reading comments altogether. This is huge for me, to consciously decide NOT to read something and stick to it, because I will read your cereal box if you'll leave it out for me. So I have got some self restraint. However, with the politics, it is just ... I cannot stop. I want to know, to acquire more knowledge. To what purpose? No idea. I mean: to be informed about politics IN GENERAL is certainly a good thing, but why I needed to read the text of a debate between two candidates when I have already chosen seems rather a time suck.

In politics where I actually live, there is a Czech artist, a lawyer by degree and a painter/opera composer/teacher by profession, who is running for president. I am so irritated by the current president, who is just a giant bag of air. The artist is witty and quick and tattooed all over. I wish he had a chance; at this point, he's still collecting signatures to try and get on the ballot.

I just finished season 5 of Mad Men. Gracious, but I do love television. It's almost ridiculous how much. I love watching people that I do not know go through their lives, some of which I recognize as similar to mine and some of which I get to understand for the first time seeing someone else experience them. I read a quote from Erma Bombeck: I should have laughed and cried less watching television and more watching life. And there is some truth to that, okay. But I laugh and cry PLENTY watching life, I assure you, and it is nice to get really angry at Don Draper and not feel like I'm being a bad friend for feeling that way.

what chance do I have here

There's a moth trapped in the lampshade and I can't believe he won't die. Flap flutter flap. You know the joke about the moth who goes to the doctor I am sure or if not I will tell you sometime, or I guess you could let your fingers do the walking. Remember when looking things up in the phonebook was a snap. Now I can't even fill out a nice voter ballot without wondering if my poor, tender hand is going to get all cramped up from the writing. Oh computer you have spoiled me beautifully, oh internet you must really really love me to give me so much.

What else? After having spent a very long time with pocket tissues I bought a box of tissues for my desk and it is like, wow, that is luxury. I splurged another 25 Kc today on a box for the living room. I want so much to be a tortoise and take everything with me everywhere but it is some kind of wonderful to not have to pat all the pockets to find simple things, but instead to reach out one's hand and it is there, the thing you wanted. I don't think it's a metaphor for anything in particular.

You want to know why blogging died? It is because the people who were talking the most forgot to do much listening, and the people who were talking a little stopped being interested in listening so hard. Who is the politician who said to people "I see you, I see you"? That guy gets it. Everybody wants to think somebody sees them, and if you're seen by a bunch of people I expect it can get hard to perform but I think just as importantly if you're not seen by anybody it's sometimes hard to keep watching. So you should say "I see you" even if all you really mean is "I see you seeing me". I actually have no fixed theory on this, but I know it hurts to feel invisible, even though it is one of my top five desired superpowers. I also want to be able to teleport, both to get to places and to get away from them.

My heated dislike of sports and competition in general is so directly counter to my love of games that I have had to give it some serious thinking lo these recent weeks. Because I love games. And I like winning them, I guess, though I like playing them most of all, and if I am with someone who plays well I am happy to lose to them. I do not think this applies to sports because sports seems more focused on playing as a means of winning than a pleasure in itself, but maybe most normal people play games to win as well and it's just that I haven't had my name never called when choosing sides at Carcassonne.

Also to be able to tell when people are lying, which is a variation on reading minds that seems less invasive than reading all of someone's private thoughts but would make me feel safer, because more than broken bones I am scared of being lied to without recognizing the lie. He never said he loved me by the way so he neither lied then nor told the truth and later changed his mind so that was a survivable pain.

After several attempts to let youtube teach me, I've decided to pay for ukulele lessons although now I have to decide if I want it tuned to C, which is US style, or D, which is European style, or whether I want to know the difference. The issue being, I suppose, whether I'm going to want to jam with Americans or Czechs. My main goal now is to learn like 3 songs and play them to myself all the time. I had not featured "jamming" as any kind of goal even down the road. But Czech or American is the first question and not which three songs. I wish I could learn languages instantly is also one; I wish I could play a musical instrument is not but get back to me next year, because if it's worse than learning Czech I will be stabby. Meanwhile I have honestly no idea what to tell you, meaning I know neither what you want to hear nor what I would say if I knew.

commas

"Well, I have 15 years of experience as a medical editor, I'm trained in AMA style, and I've never had a paper that I edited rejected for style or grammar, but... I'm not a doctor. So ultimately it's your decision what editorial changes you want to accept in your paper." 

 

pernicious anemia

"If, after being exposed to someone's presence, you feel as if you've lost a quart of plasma, avoid that presence."

So six weeks in the US, in addition to entirely depleting my bank account, made me step back and re-evaluate how lucky I am in the life that I've made here. Love the work I do (could use some more, but love what I have). Love where I live (though I was inspired by the bustle of my US buddies to review and improve some things here). Love the socialized bits, the healthcare and the transportation and everything. Love my friends. So I count all those things, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still a bit cranky.

It does seem to me that possibly some of my recent unusually high irritation with others has to do with the fact that I have no skin for it. I'm tough for some stuff, but I don't have to be nice to people at work any more and it makes me weaker at being nice to people away from work. Why should I be? I am very good at realizing that somebody's got a different burden to carry than I do, or is coming at the elephant from the other side and perceives it differently or whatever, but HONESTLY some of the time I feel like I'm the only person trying to bring tolerance and forgiveness and politeness and everything to the table, and I'm tired. It's as if people state their points of view not to have them understood so much as to cut a wide swath in front of themselves in which those points of view have to be respected. And I think now: You know what? Here is a very wide swath for you; here is me leaving the table, the room, the party altogether. That's about all the respect I have the energy to muster today.

And yet I had a great conversation about guns with a man in Montana who owns them and likes them a bunch. He changed my mind about some parts of my argument against guns. I don't mind arguing; I like that when it feels like "You don't have to agree with me, you just have to understand why I disagree with you, and the opposite is true." When what we're trying to do is be understood, more than agreed with necessarily --although I did agree with him, more than I'd expected to, in the course of understanding him. He didn't come into it saying that I was a bunch of nouns I'm not, and that helped. I feel like these conversations are harder to have, not because of me but because of the world. I blame the telegraph.