A week that starts with police pounding on the door because the neighbor’s two-year-old is missing (is okay despite being out all night, and mom has been ordered to drug treatment)…
And ends with me opening a door because I thought it was UPS pounding on the door, not a meth head with a fancy fixie asking for someone who clearly doesn’t live here and does he really think he’s fooling anyone? (is okay despite going on to case all the other condos)…
And contains in the middle a sullen tween and days of nausea and vertigo, including falling down, head first, concrete stairs at the Oregon Zoo (is okay despite requiring two Tegaderms to cover bleeding–but that’s why I carry Tegaderms)…
Since it’s now de rigueur to skip sleep and then rant on the Internet, I might as well take advantage of barely two hours of sleep last night to go off on something–and so I shall.
But first, a word from our sponsor. Well, no. Not a sponsor, but still: I want to pause for a moment to share these. They are perfect.
Right? Badass and beautiful. The distilled essence of all the time I spent playing dinosaur tag with pH. (Too bad my shoe budget for 2017 is already spent.)
To make an awkward segue so that I can again segue into the promised rant, I wore a pair of badass shoes to an asylum law training last week. The first part was about US asylum law generally, and the bit at the end was about the Executive Order particularly. The organizers had anticipated 30 people, but then the EO dropped, and 120 of us ultimately registered for the training. It was four hours in stuffy rooms, plus some pizza and Diet Dr. Pepper and the inevitable breakdown into small groups to discuss. (I hate small groups. I want to learn anonymously, preferably in a giant lecture hall.)
The rant has nothing to do with immigration law or the EO. (Too easy.)
No, I’m going to rant about a law firm shareholder who, when I said I was homeschooling pH, said she could never do that, it was too hard, and she just didn’t have the patience/energy/whatever. She thought about it a couple of seconds then reiterated, “No. No. I couldn’t possibly.”
Here is the thing about “I couldn’t possibly.” It hints at a choice. If the choice is a child attending a poorly performing school with very little enrichment or sucking it up and teaching her at home, I suppose I had a choice. In reality, though, I didn’t. I brought a little human into the world. There is no money for private school–not even if I swore off new shoes for the rest of my life. The public school is awful.
Did I ever want to teach? No. Do I particularly like children? No, with exceptions for pH and a few others. Would I rather be wearing awesome shoes while defending a motion for summary judgment? Hell to the yes. These days I end up drafting a few of these a year, ghostwriting for others, but I still love it.
There’s no magic bean that gives someone the ability to homeschool or not; it’s just what had to be done. Also, I’ve found almost every controversial thing I’ve done is met with the “I couldn’t possibly” and “You’re so brave.” If you substitute “lunatic” for “brave,” you get what most people are actually telling me.
I have heard “I couldn’t possibly!” for: high risk pregnancy, downsizing to a loft for a couple of years (would do again in a heartbeat), solo law practice, representing victims of sex abuse, going into tech after university, minoring in chemistry (to my history student comrades) and majoring in history (to my chemistry lab partners). Actually, I’ve heard it a lot. It seems to be a go-to reaction to someone doing something unconventionally.
In many practical ways, homeschooling is easier: I don’t have to worry about attendance, being late, packing lunches, or the crap shoot of teachers every year. (My experience with pH and teachers is that one in five get her and one in ten really get her and gush. The rest seem to find her a trial, and I get it. No, she doesn’t ever stop asking questions and yes, it is completely exhausting.)
In many ways it sucks. I’ve lost my time, a good deal of sanity, and my professional identity (although I was pretty sanguine last week about saying, “My background is civil litigation, but I’ve been homeschooling my daughter for about four years”). If I could find and afford a school that was a great fit for pH, I’d jump on it. I’d love being Mom, instead of Mom, Teacher, and Coach.
But, you know, I can’t possibly imagine it.
Well, it wasn’t much of a rant, but I didn’t stop at 140 characters. The shoe picture was worth it, though, wasn’t it?
To be serious, though, look into the Center of Excellence and consider volunteering. At least read as much as you can–no harm, no foul, and it might help one of your clients in the future.
For someone who is isolated from adult conversation most of the day, it was an honor to sit in a room full of attorneys volunteering their otherwise billable hours, who want to help and know they won’t be paid much, if at all, for what they will do. It brought out the very best in our profession.
Around that time, I discovered the S4C website and I looked for things that were 1) relatively easy to follow, 2) had English subtitles, and 3) would hold my attention.
So, soap operas! I figured the dialogue would be mostly conversational–the hi, bye, how are you? things you get in language courses…plus bonus vocabulary about who is sleeping with whom. And so it is. But I didn’t reckon on LIKING soap operas, though. There are other shows that I’d count as soaps, but two are the most like daytime soaps American audiences are familiar with (even if they air at night in Wales): Rownd a Rownd (airs 2/week) and Pobol y Cwm (airs 5/week). Both shows are 20 minutes long and divided into two segments. Rownd a Rownd just celebrated its 21st birthday and Pobol y Cwm has been around for 42 years.
The shows are pretty different from American soaps. For one, the actors look like real people. For another, their professions in the shows are realistic, like farmers or contractors or plumbers or small business owners or mechanics. There’s a lot of what we’d consider blue-collar jobs. No one is independently wealthy (that I can tell; the richest person on Rownd a Rownd seems to have built his business). I love that. The most exalted profession in both is teaching. What might be something worthy of a class-conscious letter to Dear Prudence (“Dear Prudence: Help! I’m a teacher and I’ve fallen in love with a mechanic/climbing instructor/plumber! How can I tell my family and friends? Should I dump him because he can’t discuss Marxist theories of history?”) is no. big. deal. And I love that, too. I don’t know if that’s an across-the-board Welsh TV thing, a Welsh thing in general, or something else, but it’s nice.
Rownd a Rownd is set in North Wales. Pobol y Cwm is set in South Wales. There is a huge difference in how the language sounds from north to south, and there are some vocabulary differences. (The most critical seem to be the words for a cup of tea and now.)
But…it didn’t take long until I realized there were more similarities than differences between the shows. Heck, there probably are more than this, but I’ve only been watching for about six months.
Hair salon: In PyC it’s run by Sheryl, who employs Dani, kinda. I think? In RaR it’s run by [obvs] a different Dani, who employs Jac and Lowri.
Mechanic: In PyC the mechanic is Gethin. In RaR, it’s Rhys. I don’t think Rhys has come across a dead body in his shop yet, though.
Local Shop: It’s like a mini-mart/grocery in both. In PyC it’s owned by Elaine. In RaR it’s slightly more complicated, but it’s run by Philip.
Pub/Restaurant: In PyC, it’s the Deri or Cafe Meic. In RaR it’s Copa.
Teachers: In PyC, Tyler and Ffion are teachers and Gaynor is the head teacher. In RaR, Mathew and Llio are teachers and Jim is the head teacher.
Guys with shady pasts and rhyming names: Gary (PyC) and Barry (RaR).
Pregnancy plots: Sara (PyC) and Carys (RaR).
Juvenile arson of beloved buildings: Chester targeted Bethania, a chapel (PyC). Gareth went after the Parry’s/Sgram/Dani triumvirate (RaR). Consequences: Chester went to Welsh Juvie, and Gareth just disappeared from RaR.
Painkiller addictions: Kath (PyC) and Carys (RaR). (I also watch Gwaith/Cartref, and lo, there is another painkiller addict.)
Gay couple: Tyler and Iolo (PyC), Rhys and still-mostly-closeted David (RaR).
A super annoying old person: Megan (PyC) and Arthur (RaR).
Teenagers learning to drive: Courtney (PyC) and twins Erin and Wil (RaR). It didn’t work out for Courtney.
American-themed clothing: I find it kind of jarring to see things like a Yankees ball cap or a US university’s sweatshirt (or whatever), but both shows do it.
Both shows, like all soaps, have a ton of characters. Pobol y Cym’s all seem to have slept with each other. Sometimes when one of the old characters shows up for a few episodes, I get completely confused. This happened recently with Angela, the mother of the now-deceased Courtney, and I was left to puzzle out a very complicated family tree knot.
Not quite right.
Still not quite right, but it’s the best I can work out.
One thing I like about Rownd a Rownd, or did like about it until Christmas, was the existence of more than one long-term relationship. I can’t think of any (at least nominally) long-term monogamous relationship on Pobol y Cwm, but I’ve missed 41 years of the show.
I tried to work this out, too.
I could do the same thing with Rownd a Rownd, but I think at this point my head would blow up. (Also, the Rownd a Rownd website has a really useful guide to the characters, and I have been able to figure a lot out.)
In any case: I get a kick out of these shows, and also get a kick out of summarizing the plots for my husband when we are out. Bonus, of course, is that it’s a great way to learn the language.
I haven’t done a lot of public hang-wringing about the election, although I will be out health coverage when the ACA goes. Before the election, I knew there were a lot of people spewing a lot of hate; now I know there are many millions more. [I am angrier at people on the left and center-left who didn’t vote for Mrs. Clinton (or at all) than I am people on the right who voted for the man who is now president.]
I also know that for every president since Washington, there have been people who thought the sky would fall with the incoming administration. The Democratic-Republicans thought Adams was a disaster (with cause–remember the Alien and Sedition Act?); the Federalists went kaput after the Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe. But life went on and gave us some winners (Lincoln, TR, FDR, JFK, LBJ–a corrupt man, LBJ, but the Great Society changed many lives for the better) and some losers (Harding, Hoover, Nixon, Bush II, and choose-your-own).
Four years is a long time to despair, so I won’t. Instead, I’ll keep reading the words of people wiser than I, who value(d) the many above the few. (Why do people want to elect someone they could grab a beer with? I want to elect the smartest and best person possible and I don’t want to go on a pub crawl with them.) Maybe we should be thinking of a part of FDR’s 1933 address that isn’t commonly quoted:
Yet our distress comes from no failure of substance. We are stricken by no plague of locusts. Compared with the perils which our forefathers conquered because they believed and were not afraid, we have still much to be thankful for. Nature still offers her bounty and human efforts have multiplied it. Plenty is at our doorstep, but a generous use of it languishes in the very sight of the supply. Primarily this is because the rulers of the exchange of mankind’s goods have failed, through their own stubbornness and their own incompetence, have admitted their failure, and abdicated. Practices of the unscrupulous money changers stand indicted in the court of public opinion, rejected by the hearts and minds of men.
Or this part:
Happiness lies not in the mere possession of money; it lies in the joy of achievement, in the thrill of creative effort. The joy and moral stimulation of work no longer must be forgotten in the mad chase of evanescent profits. These dark days will be worth all they cost us if they teach us that our true destiny is not to be ministered unto but to minister to ourselves and to our fellow men.
(Can you imagine the modern electorate voting for someone who uses the word “evanescent” in an address to the nation? I only wish I could.)
But remember he also said this:
We do not distrust the future of essential democracy. The people of the United States have not failed. In their need they have registered a mandate that they want direct, vigorous action. They have asked for discipline and direction under leadership.
I live in a bubble in a liberal city. I have an advanced degree. I have liberal, educated friends, a few of whom have been grating on my nerves for months with smug condescension toward the people who voted for the current president. (I don’t know about you, but I never changed my mind about an issue because someone told me I was stupid for having the belief/opinions I did.) Yeah, I’m a bit bewildered by people who vote against their own self-interest, too. But…
We need to remember the current president is the symptom of an advanced disease process. He didn’t fall out of his tower and land at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue without help. He’s there for a reason. Until the disease is treated–until the millions of people who were so hopeless that they would believe the rhetoric of an orange creep, who think a guy who brags about not paying his taxes is a role model worthy of electing president–marching and protesting isn’t enough. We need to think about what is going to work, to stop tearing down and start building. It’s going to get worse, probably a lot worse, but telling people they’re stupid because of the person they voted for won’t win any votes in 2020. Caring about what happens to and helping them, regardless of how they voted, might.
TL; DR: Judge not, golden rule, and light a damned candle.
We don’t get a lot of snow in Portland, which is the oft-repeated excuse for why we are perennially unprepared for winter weather as a city. (We have winter storms with increasing frequency, yet we continue to not be prepared for them.)
We have had snow. And snow. And snow. The most recent storm started on Tuesday, and here we are on Sunday and the streets continue to be coated in snow and ice. Because kH only gets paid when he works, all these snow days (yes, the city shut down, the courts shut down, the schools shut down, the places people take kids to when the schools shut down also shut down, and of course his work shut down, too) have meant he’s had maybe one full paycheck since Thanksgiving. (He also doesn’t get holiday pay yet, because the agency he works for is cheapexploitive what it is).
Thankfully I had pH’s holiday gifts purchased ahead of time, and thankfully I believe in having a lot of food stocked in the pantry, and thankfully I still remember how to cook.
Today we went out to the library, pH and I, and she said, “I can see how this snow thing can get old.” (An hour later she was fascinated by icicles, so don’t write her off as a snow cynic–yet.)
In a delightful bit of timing, the agency he applied to work for over a year ago has decided that this should be the week to interview across the country; they will reimburse us for his travel/expenses. They kept changing the date, so we couldn’t plan. Now he has a date–Friday. Monday is a holiday. And did I mention he doesn’t get paid if he doesn’t work? So we’re looking at $1K in travel expenses which we would be reimbursed for, but it’s 1K we don’t have because SNOW. Once he’s there, we’re looking at yet another tiny paycheck (if he takes a red eye, and that would seriously suck, he’d only miss one extra day of work).
[This is where I emit a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush.]
We have to get kH across the country–by Friday morning. (He tried to get them to do a Skype interview–isn’t that MUCH MORE reasonable?– but apparently no.) If we’d had a week or two of warning, we could have swung it. We didn’t. I’d be appalled by the timeline and assumption of expenses, except this is the government and it’s a job kH really, really wants.
Perspective: I mean, we’re not starving. We’re not freezing. It’s not the end of the world. We will catch up sometime in mid-late February. And somehow we will get him across the country, even if it involves a giant slingshot.
If the weather would only just give us rain again…please?
me: Um, okay. (I downloaded some falconry library books to pH’s Kindle and requested others through ILL.)
pH, racing into my room, 30 minutes later: I’m really, really, really interested in falconry.
me: Okay. Long before you apprentice (I used my 30 minutes Googling), you have to do some things. First you have to learn how to shoot. That’s fine, we’re planning on that anyway. Second, you have to learn how to hunt. Third, that means you have to get used to killing things.
me (continued): Do you think you’d be okay with killing things? Because if you want a hawk or a kestrel to kill something for you, you have to be willing to do it yourself.
pH: I think I’ll be okay with it. Yeah. I think I can kill things.
me: We’d have to actually eat the stuff you kill. You want to eat game? My grandfather never ate venison after the Depression.
pH: (Whose favored foods are almost exclusively, and in this order: blueberries, ribeye, seaweed, edamame, miso, Ritz crackers and cheese, tamago, and Luna bars). Long pause, then: Yes.
me: You’d kill things and you’d have your bird kill things. You’re sure?
pH, strongly and emphatically: Yes.
me: And…you’re planning a career in politics now?
So while I wait for the vegan army to evict us from Portland, the reality is that while I’m not hot on shooting anything, let alone dressing or eating it (I actually don’t like to eat much meat: raw salmon, yes. Cooked halibut and salmon, yes. Occasionally a good steak, yes. Anything else? Ew….) if she really, really wants to do it, I’m fine with it. She’d be able to support us come the zombie apocalypse, and my grandfather did feed the family with venison during the Depression. (kH’s family got by because they had chickens and a cow.) However, pH can’t stand being near an insect, has never killed one to my knowledge, screams at spiders, and hates loud noises. But, pH learning how to shoot is on the 2017 to do list, anyway. We’ll see how it goes; she can’t apprentice until she’s 14.