Functionally Literate

Because, sometimes, when your first reaction is, "How the hell did THAT happen!" you get a minute to hit the delete button and say, "oh! congratulations!"

I think I've mentioned before that the people I work with are truly awesome. Not all of them, of course, but most of them and, really, all of the ones that are part of my same group. (mmmkay, so we have one batshit crazy chick. But she is sooooo batshit crazy that it's almost funny, and anyway if everyone agrees on who the office psycho is...you know its not you).

The thing I can't get over is my shock at how kind everyone is. Meetings, where I work, end with the words, "Thank you." We compliment one another and I feel like most of the compliments are genuine. It's more than compliments, really; we admire one another, and one another's work. Beyond our little pod, we speak respectfully and proudly of each others' accomplishments. (In stark contrast to a sister unit in particular, we are almost slavish in publicly giving credit where credit is due.) (This extends to managers, and yes I know how lucky I am to have a boss who gives me credit whenever I am due.)

I've never really believed that kindness breeds kindness, and I still think only sincere kindness can breed more kindness. Despite my skepticism, I have to admit that it's a powerful experience to be among smart, talented people who support one another and genuinely want one another to succeed.

I'm experimenting with kindness in other spheres. It's less effective when you don't really mean it. It's much harder when it's not reciprocated. And, sometimes, it opens a door to a wonderful room you never knew existed. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still naturally bitchy. I'm just surrounded by examples teaching me that I can rise above my limitations, and it's startling to realize just how high I can go.

There's this woman, at The Shul I Go To Now, who has a hand in Very Important Things and does them very well. As is right and good for one who does so much, there was recently a Shabbat dedicated to honoring her. Gifts were given, speeches were made, the story of her life was reviewed.

(Uncharitable side note--the rabbi used said life story to unabashedly name-drop, and rather made a jag of himself while discussing a very-long-ago divorce. How did she not off him?)


In this life story, much was made of the husband ('scuse me, "Second Husband") who repeatedly encouraged this woman to go back to school, fulfill her lifelong dream of studying all the things that made her many, vital contributions to the congregation possible, and then enabled her to do so much of the work that keeps our community going. (Much of this was said by the honoree herself, and there was no jag-tasticism.) And it was here that I began to think:

"Wow, how amazing to be supported in your dreams by your life partner. How incredibly selfless for him to allow her to study and do the work that makes her happy. How lucky to be with someone who is willing to allow you to volunteer and mentor others!"

And then I thought, "Seriously? I think that's above and beyond the call of 'love and honor'? What the fuck is wrong with me?"

This article fit in perfectly with a list I've been making in my head lately. The thing that strikes me about this list? Every item on it is completely meaningless. And yet I feel like it matters, and I've had them used against me.

1. I see nothing wrong with wearing sweatpants and studying for an exam, all day on Sunday.
2. I like chunky sauces and faux-meatballs on top of angel-hair pasta (and like that combination even better reheated).
3. I have a balance ball instead of a desk chair.
4. I hang-dry my delicates.
5. I rarely wash my coffee cup.
6. I wear socks to bed.
7. I find roasted vegetables and a boiled egg to be a perfectly acceptable dinner.
8. I'm uncomfortable with the idea of a cleaning lady.
9. I dislike delivery and take-out (because I like my hot foods really hot)
10. I sometimes don't finish the Sunday paper until Tuesday.
11. I'd rather go out on a weeknight than a weekend (this one deserves its own post...)

I'm sure there's more...what are your weirdest live-alone habits? For those of you co-habitating, what do you miss most, now that you're living in a civilized manner?

I suppose there are some people who appreciate the "People You May Know" sidebar, and the ease of clicking "Add friend" when folks have friended more and more of their friends.

But perhaps you could consider adding an option that reflects my reality. Sometime like, "Tried desperately to get into his pants. Failed Miserably. Warn me when we're going to the same party."

k thx bai.
love,

There's a service dog I see on my commute, most days when I'm on a regular schedule. He's a lab of some sort, and light colored; his leash is not the harness that most seeing-eye dogs wear, so perhaps he is a seizure dog or autism dog or something else entirely, but he has a small vest and a proud demeanor when he's leading his companion through the crowd.

Sometimes I see the dog in line as I pass by the Starbucks on my commute and his head is still held high as he waits patiently. He is in service, after all, and this is one of his master's needs. (Yes, I've been watching Downton Abbey, and this dog could well be a valet.) In line at the popcorn shop across the way, his head droops a little bit and his shoulders sag; this is, as the Shel Silverstein poem goes, not exactly "the kind of help that helping's all about." But he tolerates the line and the stench of burned caramel, for love of the woman at the end of the leash (or at least that's what I like to think).

When it's snowy and slushy, this dog has these super flashy leather kicks that coordinate with his vest. I'm sure it's a good thing to protect his paws from road salt and sharp ice, but you've never seen a dog so embarrassed as this one when he has to wear his shoes. He slinks through the crowd, hoping to avoid notice, his tail tucked ashamedly between his legs.

There's a lesson here, about the lengths we go to to protect our dignity and those we love. There's also a lesson about the power of cute shoes. Pick whichever one you'd like.

I have work friends, these days. I've never had work friends before, except for when my work friends were also my school friends and I have to suspect they were really more school friends (and now lifelong friends, of course). I go out with some folks from work, and am invited out by some folks from work, and some events of the past week or so have helped me to realize that a couple of those relationships involve actual give, and take, and trust.

Then there's my MM social circle, which is small but tight and true. It includes Muse and the BoM, and not everyone can lay claim to family friends.

Then there are the lifelong friends (hi guys!) who G-d help us all are stuck with me and me with them, at this stage in the game, no matter where we all are--and we're from coast to coast, and then some.

So maybe it's okay that I just can't seem to make the Jewish Friends thing happen in MM (beyond the Tribal folks in the aforementioned groups, I mean). I'm too young for the Sisterhood and too old for the 20s and 30s minyan (or maybe I'm not, but I meet almost no one over 25 there), have no entry ticket for Young Family minyan (not that I want one, but a quick reckoning suggests that's where most of the folks my age are) and I guess I'll give the New Age Minyan one last try but we all know it's not going to work out. I have all these great friends elsewhere, and so what if there's this gaping space right in the middle of what used to define me?

Today I listened to a talk about eco-kashrut, about rotating the crops and fields lying fallow. Maybe that's what this is, time to harvest somewhere different; maybe I should just enjoy the fruits of this entirely different growing season. (And, as one of those new work friends reminds me, my options expand exponentially if I start dating treyf.)

I worry about crossing the line between dormant and dead; I thought it would get easier once anger turned to grief, and I'm not sure if perhaps mourning turned into isolation. Then I worry about greed, and all that crap about greener pastures. To everything a season, and all that; but in this strange snowless winter it seems entirely plausible that some seasons will never come, or never end.

Lying fallow is not the same as remaining empty, but fallow suggests knowing what will one day be planted. I can't say that I'm there, yet.

(Not the singer. Whatever on that front.)

I don't own a pink ribbon. You probably won't be shocked when you think that one through--you know I vet my charities for efficient use of funds, and a shocking number of pink ribbon projects donate a pitiful amount to breast cancer awareness. And, for what it's worth, upper- and middle-class white women in the United States are pretty well [over] done on breast cancer education. Research? Great. Women's health--as in their whole bodies? Yes please, particularly in poor and minority communities. (Like, say, mine, served by the Planned Parenthood right around the corner.) So while I'm a big believer in supporting women's health, I've never given to the Susan G. Komen foundation. (Okay, fine. I once included three yogurt lids in a work donation, under great peer pressure.) Today's news isn't really changing that. (By the way, please read the link. This is not expressly an anti-choice statement.)

If you're similarly displeased by the spinelessness of the organization, please consider supporting some organizations that promote women's health.
(Thanks to the Eclectic Enigma for the link.) I've owed Planned Parenthood a donation for a couple of months; this seems like a good time to up it a bit or perhaps to send some money to other organizations in my city.

I suspect we'll be reviving the meme that makes its rounds every time women's health gets a kick in the pants. So, if you'd like to get a jump on the game, here's How Planned Parenthood Kept My Head From Exploding.

There was a spike in "I have food poisoning!" posts on my facebook page this weekend.

After the obligatory "poor you" replies and offers to bring soup to local folks, I assume normal people think, "Ew" and try not to eat by those friends for a while. Responsible folks probably clean out the fridge and up the handwashing. Lawyers probably lay the groundwork for class-action lawsuits against chain restaurants.

I, of course, reckoned out what percent of my "friends" this was, expanded the number a bit to account for the folks who would never post their intestinal distress (ahem), and worked on estimating the probability that an American adult would have food poisoning during a 3-day stretch. I mentally started constructing mathematical models that might determine the significance of this perceived "outbreak," and considered whether I could leverage the statistical software available to me to determine geographic patterns.

Oh yeah. Not statistically significant. But a significantly fun way to spend one's commute.

I made a bad call the other day. Not life changing. Heck, it doesn't really matter and I'm not sure than anyone but the person who called me on even noticed it.

But. I did get called on it. And I had a little warning I was going to get called on it, so I had some time to get defensive. There's definitely a world view where I was not given clear instructions, did not have a clear directive, and certainly had some help in my minor screwup. I debated protesting. (I did whine, a little bit, to someone I knew would be sympathetic.)

And then I took responsibility, acted contrite, and got on with my life. As did everyone else. I was a little surprised, because I'd been lead to believe that the way real people handled this situation was to lie, and blame the accuser, framing the accuser if at all possible. Then you storm and fume, proclaiming your innocence while privately crowing about your guilt and how you got away with it.

I might be handling this all wrong, but wow it's so much less exhausting this way.


(And that person who [politely] called me on it? Made the same mistake today. I'm letting things lie, because it so doesn't matter.)