VirusHead

The neighborhood had a huge yard sale yesterday. I decided to participate at the last minute, and made several trips down (and up) the steep driveway with a big bunch of the stuff that’s been gathering dust in the garage. Several people stopped in – maybe half walked away with something. I pretty much gave the stuff away, especially the kid’s toys.

I ended up ahead by a little, but I bought a bunch of stuff, too. Everything I bought ended up being from our next-door neighbors.

The best part was that they placed our kitchen table and chairs, and I bought the one they were going to sell. Big improvement! I’ve been waiting for years to get rid of that set. Yay!

I also got a big whiteboard and a big oscillating fan for John.
For Ben, a little fan.

For me -
An adjustable table/stand thingie.
AND a vacuum cleaner to replace the one that’s been giving me grief.
AND sushi dishes.
AND a hallway rug.
AND oh! clothes! Several outfits! Gorgeous stuff!

So I’ve made the first cut into the garage project. There’s a nice slice of stuff that’s gone now.

Today, I’m sore from all the hauling and climbing – but it was worth it.

I’ve got a ton of other work to do today, though – so I’d best get back to it.

What a week. Really.

On Monday and Tuesday, I was still recovering a bit from the effects of the pollen overload on my system. I went to work, but I was dragging. I was starting to look forward to my birthday, but I wasn’t sure what there would be in celebration. I got a few things in the mail – a cd, a book by Slavoj Žižek (looks like he ripped off Jean Baudrillard in this one), a voodoo toothpick holder (hee-hee), a “Gin & Titonic” ice-cube tray, a Lumpy Bumpy candy bar, some great cards… but there didn’t seem to be anything planned as an event.

I was also dreading the prospect of going through physical and psychological withdrawal. I decided that instead of quitting on my birthday – and ruining the whole day – I’d make my birthday the last day of smoking.

Wednesday was my birthday. I went in to work, a little dressed up, feeling a lot better – and my brother Michael took me out for a yummy sushi lunch. It was good to spend some time with him. I’m a number of years older, and his card said “When we were kids you were always reminding me that you were older.” Inside: “Now I’m just returning the favor. Happy Birthday.” We live pretty close, but we’ve both got demanding jobs and families – and it just seems to be difficult to get together very often. Sharing lunch with him made me really happy, and the sushi was excellent.

Back at work, I heard a little noise behind me – someone had dropped a card on my desk. It was a Peanuts card: “Birthdays remind me of what a great person once said” – and then, when you open the card, it’s that “adult” wah-wah-wah-rhaa noise. “Don’t worry. It didn’t make much sense to me either.” My whole team had signed it. That was really touching. Usually, the birthday person gets taken out to lunch or something like that, so this was extra-special.

But then – I got called to reception for a delivery. Sitting there on the front desk was the sweetest bouquet of flowers – orange lilies and yellow roses and little purple mums. The card inside said “We vetoed Phil’s idea and got you flowers.” Again – from my team (although I know who actually did it – thank you Mark). I actually got all mushy, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I went and washed my face. So, so, so sweet.

Our neighbors Marilynne and Ron graciously invited us to celebrate with them at their house. What a relief! Our house was a total wreck, and it was depressing. To sit in their warm inviting kitchen and then, later, in the gorgeous sunroom, was a real treat. We had a delicious dinner of chicken korma (I got the recipe) and yogurt and rice and snap peas and broccoli and kale. Ben came with us, and they included him in the conversation and made him feel at home. Their three dogs are the sweetest ever; it almost make me want to get a dog (although I’m still aching for a cat).

We brought beer and wine and a cake with us, and at the appropriate time, John and Ben stuck in the… um… symbolic number of candles, and everybody sang and I made my wish and blew out all the candles. Eventually, John went next door and tucked Ben into bed, and then we all sat around and talked of all sorts of things. Marilynne brought out some well-aged port, and we had a bit of that.

We shared a very fun and wide-ranging conversation, but one of the things we talked about was the website that Marilynne has been working on for one of the Sherlock Holmes groups. Check it out. If you love Sherlock Holmes stories, you’ll find some surprising things – and if you haven’t read any, go here to get started.

The Beacon Society is a scion society of The Baker Street Irregulars, an international organization of Sherlock Holmes enthusiasts founded in 1934 by Christopher Morley. The Irregulars (known as the BSI) meet every January in New York City for a weekend of celebration and study. The Beacon Society serves as a link to other scion societies, providing teachers with local resources to bring the magic of Sherlock Holmes to life in the classroom.

It was a week for flowers. Over the course of the week, John got me three different potted plants. There was the bouquet from work. Then – just today, the parents of one of Ben’s friends brought a big bouquet of mums for my birthday – and to celebrate my progress.

Yes… my progress. Well – I had my last cigarette at two minutes to midnight on my birthday. The last couple of days have been interesting. I’ve been watching the cravings come and go. Paul, you’re right – you can get into a meta-observational place with that.

Still – I have to admit I’ve been easily irritated, impatient, cranky. I’ve even felt a certain inclination toward violence. Oxygen helps. I’ve had some luck blowing in and out of plastic straws – and chewing on them when it gets really bad. It beats eating or chewing gum. I’ve hammered at a piece of wood, broken assorted fallen branches over my thigh, and puttered around – doing laundry, cleaning up, keeping busy, keeping moving. I’ve also been trying to comfort myself. I have the softest, most cuddly socks on.

There have been some cosmic sparkles here and there that have kept me focused, too.

So far, so good.

Still sick, coughing, shivering, sweating, miserable. One good thing has come out of this, though. I’m sick and tired of feeling sick and tired, and there’s one thing I know I can (and should) do to make things better.

I am quitting my terrible smoking habit.

Potential embarrassment and shame about failure will be a further incentive, so I’m announcing here there and everywhere.

I’ve got a quit date – next Wednesday April 15th. I took my first Chantix pill last night. and it takes about a week to kick in – and my birthday isn’t a bad day to quit. I (really, desperately) hope it helps me get through the initial stages of withdrawal.

I’ve got a list of various warning signs, and another list of helpful tips – and I’m trying to adjust my psychology between now and then. I’m not going to do any nicotine replacement, because for me that would just prolong the misery.

I’ve been thinking seriously about quitting for a while now, but I just haven’t had the will. Everything came together this time, and it feels like a good time to do it.

I want to feel better, have more energy, and get that smell off of me. I want to get my father’s flat hopeless look out of my eyes. I want to be free of this addiction.

I’m also sick of the snarky comments, and the increasing class distinction – although to be honest, that’s just one more stupid reason that I’ve kept smoking, in defiance and rebellion. Well, gotta transcend that too.

John seems a bit apprehensive, as well he should be. The last time I tried this, it didn’t go very well. I know he really wants me to quit, though, and he’ll be very happy to see me do it – once it’s done.

My posts for a bit may just chronicle this particular journey. Maybe it won’t be a big deal. Maybe I’ll be a little crazy. I’m not sure. Even if things are a bit unstable for a couple of weeks, it will be worth it to get to the other side. I’ve got a lot of support for this, and I hope that my family, friends and co-workers will cut me a little slack if I act a little bit uncharacteristically here and there. I’m a little worried about that aspect of things; it’s one of the reasons I’ve put this off. Ideally, I would be shuttled off to some cabin miles from anywhere for the first two weeks, but that’s never going to happen – and waiting for the perfect opportunity to quit has meant that I haven’t quit. There’s never going to be the perfect time.

By Ben’s birthday – one month after mine – he’ll have a totally smoke-free and recovered Mommy wishing him a happy birthday, and she won’t have a lighter handy for the nine candles on his cake.

There is one thing that I truly enjoy about smoking. The controlled breathing of smoke in and out of me always made me feel a bit like a dragon, the keeper of the flame, the mistress of the wind. I’ll miss that more than anything else.

Just when I had loads and loads to blog about, I got knocked down by oak pollen. I just knew those trees were hostile. There is too far too much to tell, so here’s just a very quick summary.

• Equinox Weekend – Inconsolably depressed, and for no good, acceptable (rational) reason.

  Spiraling outside my will. Surrounded by a wall. Falling down a well.

  But then… the thunder quieted a little and – between the soundcracks of the whirlwind – I began to hear multiple voices in my spirit.

  … wake up… wake up… wake up, love… look who’s here to see you…

  Friends. Light. Comfort….

  Take heart…. open your eyes… Arise!

  And then the gifts arrived, one after another…

• 3/24 – Dinner at the fantastic Rathbun’s Restaurant with Joseph and Marie-Claude and David. Friend vibes overwhelming – like an angel rescue. Readers of this blog will already know how much I admire Joseph and his work. I hadn’t seen him since I was last in Paris, and if anything, we’re more simpático now than we were then. It was totally lovely to meet Marie-Claude at last, and so fun to sneak out for a smoke with David. Even our waiter was fun. Oh! The food! They had yummy Wellfleet clams, and the Lamb Scaloppini was to die for. Oh! The conversation. I was totally relaxed and free. I haven’t had so much fun in ages. Just what I needed – thank you, cosmos.
  

  Heidi, Joseph, David, Marie-Claude

  

  John, Heidi and Joseph

• 3/26 – The big event – Joseph’s terra incOgnitO gallery opening at David’s beautiful Wm. Turner Gallery in Atlanta.

  Take a look at the art! I’m writing an essay on the artwork (stay tuned), but meanwhile listen to this interview. Since Joseph’s art was on the cover, they also had a copy of John’s book there. Very nice.

  

  Friends turned up! Jerry was embroiled in conversations brilliant. Robert and Sloane (who appeared with a baby! how did they hide that little gem from us?!?!?) dropped in and on such as day as that there is much hugging. Geoff and Curzio got in some good conversations with Joseph and John, and I drank champagne and reveled in my happiness level. We went out for snackies afterwards and I got to meet David’s wife – a very cool woman who is – unfortunately – allergic to Facebook. Wah. I was able to speak at greater length with Marie-Claude, and hear all about their impressions of Atlanta. There were foot rubs! Perfect evening.

• 3/27 – Jeff and Ann made a very brief swoop-in visit to Atlanta for an occasion, and we arranged to meet them with some of their friends at Manuel’s Tavern (prior to having dinner at Cafe di Sol). Manuel’s is the hangout of Atlanta liberals – yes, we exist! John and I showed up at the appointed hour, and it was hilarious because we wandered all around seeking but not finding. I had never actually met Jeff or Ann. I adore all of Jeff’s fiction (read him – he’s top notch – really, maybe the best living American writer) and we had all become friends via online interconnections, but I wasn’t completely confident about picking them out at a crowded bar/restaurant. John and I did several circuits around the place, garnering some curious looks, but didn’t see them anywhere. We saw a young woman standing outside, also looking around and waiting, but we didn’t think to ask her if she was looking for them, too. Finally, we walked down the street to see if they had decided just to go straight to Cafe di Sol – which turned out to be the old Cafe Diem where I spent far too much time as a graduate student. Nope.

  Finally, we went back to Manuel’s and ordered a drink at the bar. That was fortuitous, since we then became involved in conversation with two very charming men – one who lived in a part of France that we’ve wanted to visit (John cornered him for details), and another that I clicked with right away – he works at GA Tech and is originally from New York. We were soon trading stock phrases in northern accents and having a grand time. We all exchanged contact information…. Then, I had a sensation on the back of my skull, looked toward the door, and there they were, just walking in!

  And yes, the beautiful young woman – Desirina – a talented writer in her own right- had also been waiting. Along with were more creative cool friends Will and Sara – but I hardly even got to talk with them at all! Why? Why? Because the restaurant was too darned noisy, that’s why! The old Cafe Diem was always more subdued – it was easier to talk then.

  

  Sara, Desirina, Heidi, Ann, John, Jeff

  John and Jeff huddled – it sounded like it was probably a fun conversation, but I only got little bits of it. I’m sorry for that, because I would have liked to talk more with Jeff, but I can’t complain because I had a fabulous time talking with Ann. She brought us issues of the magazine she edits – Weird Tales. Yes, that’s right – THE Weird Tales. Why I don’t already have a subscription to that, I have no idea (that’s been rectified). The magazine is on the ballot for a Hugo this year. Even against the steep competition, I think they’re going to take it. Ann is an amazing woman – I love her, and she is henceforth considered to be my sister, with all associated benefits.

  

  Ann with Digital Kitty

  Click! Click-click – CLICK! Thank you, benevolent deities, inc.

• 3/28 – Ok, now I’m officially over-socialled and crashing fast, but there’s more! Dear friends Mark and Marty threw a rock-climbing birthday party for their son – this was in addition to the new puppy, lucky kid. John wasn’t feeling well, so I packed up Ben and off we went.

  This is the second year they’ve done this, and there’s a confluence between me, the rock-climbing place, and the presence of pounding rain. As I approach this building, it’s pelting rain. Once I enter the building, the rain dies down and stops. Silly, you say?

  Yes, but oh, it goes further! I accompanied Mark to go fetch the pizza and ice-cream cake. Again, as we approached the building – RAIN! Once inside… no rain. It made me feel a little like Tyrone Slothrop in Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow. Sometimes even magical paranoia can be fun. We had a low-key and enjoyable afternoon. I got exactly three photos before my cellphone died. Great expression, Marty!

  

  Marty

  Oh, Mark: Linen which?

• Well, then it hit. The pollen. Pollen! Pollen! More Pollen! It knocked me out for most of last week, and I’m not quite recovered even yet. But how could I let a shining week like that go by without comment?

  Thank you to my beautiful lovely smart creative wonderful friends of the spirit. You make me remember.

Today’s blog post is about March birthdays and suburban momhood, and is brought to you by the letter “M.”

The month of March marks the birthdays of a disproportionate number of my kith and kin. Today alone, there are five!

One of these is my (younger) brother Michael, who is claiming to be “officially old as dirt.” When questioned about what exactly that makes me, he mentioned cosmic aether (grin).

So – Happy Birthday to all the March birthday sweeties! May you be surrounded with love, light and laughter! I love you.

March! March begins with “M”! Muah-hahahaha.

This last Thursday, we went to Ben’s school recital. Maybe it was just the mood I was in after having to arrange a whole bunch of things in a hurry before we got there – I was tired and a little punchy – but I really had to concentrate on not letting myself burst into wild raucous laughter. It’s all so unreal. The only thing that centered me at all was Ben, catching my eye and smiling at me. I love that kid. Only for him could I be dragged into such a scene.

It was held at the nearby middle school, which has a bit more room than the elementary school he attends. Middle school! Middle school begins with “M”! Muah-hahahaha.

Anyway, this was a big favor, unprecedented I think, and so everyone was being grateful and welcoming and sweet, but it was all slightly off. The principal, really a smart and lovely woman, had that warm charming “principal voice” on. It’s so over the top, even John was hiding a smile, but I can see the reason for it. She really does make the kids feel welcome and secure – and I think it works for most of the parents, too.

As usual, they held the PTA meeting before the performance. They nominated and elected next year’s officers, and approved the last meeting’s minutes, and approved the financial statement – all by the rules, but it certainly wasn’t an environment suitable for asking questions or making motions or anything of the sort. All the parents wanted was to move it along so they could watch the kids! It’s all so pro-forma. One thing that is always very funny is that they totally ignore when anyone in the audience says “Nay.” To be fair, it’s usually children who do, but not always.

I kept threatening to stand up and move that children’s recitals not be used to mandate attendance at the PTA meeting, but John talked me out of it. Move! Move begins with M! Muahhhh-hah-hahaha-hahahahaha.

There was an inspirational reading from a sweet gal that always finds something to share. This time is was from Robert Fulghum’s Uh-Oh. She read a bit of it, and then related it to the parental sense of loss as the kids grow up – and go to middle school. To me, it was clearly the parent’s perspective as it relates to their children, but she was in tears later because evidently the elementary school principal misinterpreted her intent. I assured her that the message was very clear to me, and voiced back to her my sense of the mood, content and intent. It seemed to help a little. I hope so, because although the “inspirational message” is always very sentimental, it always addresses the parents and is fitting to the occasion.

The reason for all the concern was, I think, because next up was the middle school’s assistant principal and he started with “I hope it’s not an ‘uh-oh’ for your children to come to the middle school.” He started trying to talk about school improvements, and tried to project a welcoming stance. However, he wasn’t very adroit in this kind of messaging at all, and he just didn’t have the ability to know when to stop. The more he talked, the more he dug himself in. (What? I didn’t know there were any rumors to be concerned about until just now!) The more he tried to soothe the audience, the more he invoked things that alarmed the parents. It was hilarious. Messsaging! Messaging begins with M! But is it a real word yet? I’m not sure.

They had the traditional pledge of allegiance – under God and all. I know I’m overly sensitive to this issue, but it still bugs me. I know that by the time kids have any real sense of what it means, they don’t have to do it anymore. I shouldn’t get irritated about it. As a comedian – his name escapes me at the moment – recently said, the pledge just functions as a cup of coffee for the kids, a ritual to give them a space to wake up and ready themselves. Ben salutes the flag – it’s not such a big deal. I still don’t salute the flag. My years of explaining why one shouldn’t kind of stuck with me. I noticed once again that a number of other parents don’t salute the flag either. Most, if not all, of this is because they aren’t American; there are a lot of international families in our area. I’ll bet their kids do salute though, and I think that’s inappropriate – even if you do treat a national flag as though it were a sacred object, why would you want someone pledging something that isn’t true for them just to blend in? Sigh.

The music director is really great and they are lucky to have him. He’s kind, enthusiastic and talented. He loves those kids, and they love him. He chooses somewhat challenging music for them to sing, but they really enjoy it. Music! Music begins with “M”! Muah-hahaha-ha-ha.

Ben was nervous about the performance. He asked me to grade him. “A, B, C – I can take it.” He looked so cute, waving his little headball like a muppet (Muppet! Muppet begins with M!), singing his heart out. He was buried in the mass of children, though, and I couldn’t seem to get a good picture.

Ben Recital

There were perhaps five or six songs sung, one of them in Latin. The music director actually had them doing three-part harmony, and syncopated clapping. It wasn’t bad, and although I privately thought that the selection last semester was a bit better, I gave Ben a resounding “A” on his own performance. There were a handful of really talented singers, and the normal number of kids that kind of just stood there, mouthing the words they remembered. Everyone liked the clapping parts, though, even the kids that clearly don’t like to sing, so they are at least getting a sense of rhythms. It’s all good.

The upper grade’s rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” on the recorder almost made me fall off my chair trying not to burst into laughter. I had completely forgotten about the recorder, and the whole cultural school “thing” about playing the recorder. Does anyone play it after they graduate from public school?

Playing the Recorder

I’m not really cut out to be a suburban mom. All of my reactions seem so out of step with the other parents. If it weren’t for my overwhelming love for this one little boy, I would go into full witchy (that’s mostly with a “w” and not a “b” – and an “m” wouldn’t really make any sense here) mode. But… Mode! Mode begins with M! And MOM! MOM begins and ends with M! Muah-hahahaha-ha-ha (choke).

Well, at least I’m learning to enjoy the humorous aspects of it all.

The blog post was brought to you by the letter “M.” Mmmm-mmmmm. M.