The other night Phil and I were talking—okay I was talking and he was listening. Yet he didn’t seem to be taking what I was saying quite seriously.
“I love my job. I really like it. But right now I don’t have the time I want outside of my job to do the things I want to do. I want the kids to be happy. Are they unhappy because I am working or because we moved? Or both? Would me not working make their lives magically better. Probably not. But maybe. I love my job. I really like it.”
Phil was nodding—and not saying much.
“You don’t seem to appreciate the gravity of my situation.”
“I do. It’s just we’re having the same conversation all the time.”
And we have been. For years we’ve been working through the same issues that I think we will continue to struggle with for a long time. And that’s okay. It’s an important conversation to continue. And there’s nothing wrong with repetition.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Judo
Sumner has found a sport that suits him. As far as I can tell Judo is wrestling in white suits on a padded floor. Sumner loves it.
He told us at dinner that they were working on pinning each other down during class. Inevitably we asked, “Did you pin the guy?”
“No. Well, yeah, but not for long.”
“What happened?”
Sumner looked up and flatly said, “My partner kept going…” at which point Sumner started to hold his breath and make his face turn red, and then said gasping for air, “‘Let me go. I can’t breath. I am choking,’” just as his partner apparently said earlier in the day.
Concerned for the life of his partner, I asked, “Where you choking him?”
To which, he replied, “No, I was just kind of laying on his wienie.”
Like I said, I think our little brickhouse has found the sport for him.
He told us at dinner that they were working on pinning each other down during class. Inevitably we asked, “Did you pin the guy?”
“No. Well, yeah, but not for long.”
“What happened?”
Sumner looked up and flatly said, “My partner kept going…” at which point Sumner started to hold his breath and make his face turn red, and then said gasping for air, “‘Let me go. I can’t breath. I am choking,’” just as his partner apparently said earlier in the day.
Concerned for the life of his partner, I asked, “Where you choking him?”
To which, he replied, “No, I was just kind of laying on his wienie.”
Like I said, I think our little brickhouse has found the sport for him.
The Fish Following Us
Amy and I took the kids and Amy’s new canoe to Bayou St. John yesterday, right in the heart of Mid City New Orleans and paddled around for a few hours. We had a blast. We paddled under bridges and past lots of duck families.
Every couple of minutes we’d see a fish jump about 2-3 feet out of the water. After a second it would jump again, and then again and sometimes even a fourth time. It was really fun to see. We all squealed when we saw the first jump, pointed to show the others where it would emerge again, and then squealed some more.
Near the end of our journey when the newness had worn off, the pretzel and dried mango bits had run out, and everyone was on the verge of getting really cranky, we saw another fish jump. Sumner then said in his signature bothered tone (a little louder than usual and slightly annoyed at the world), “Why is that one fish following us around?”
Every couple of minutes we’d see a fish jump about 2-3 feet out of the water. After a second it would jump again, and then again and sometimes even a fourth time. It was really fun to see. We all squealed when we saw the first jump, pointed to show the others where it would emerge again, and then squealed some more.
Near the end of our journey when the newness had worn off, the pretzel and dried mango bits had run out, and everyone was on the verge of getting really cranky, we saw another fish jump. Sumner then said in his signature bothered tone (a little louder than usual and slightly annoyed at the world), “Why is that one fish following us around?”
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Proliferation of Oregonians
You can take the girl out of Oregon, but you can’t take the Oregon out of the girl.
In my various stops along the way from Oregon to New Orleans I have bumped into a few Oregonians. Just a few. I can spot them a mile away and most always I feel a kinship with them. They are plain and practical. Plain to me is a complement. Plain is not boring, it means someone who knows what is important in life. We know how to use a hammer, swim in cold water, like the color blue, and appreciate clean, crisp lines.
Aarti (and Ara) smirk when I begin to go on about Oregon. How could anyplace be so fantastically wonderful? And if it is all that, why aren’t you there? And to that all I can say is that I am not called to live there—just to spend several weeks there each summer. Back when Phil and I were “just friends” in college he found my Oregon-worship quite annoying, but I just can’t help it…it’s so GREAT!
So, in another bizarre turn of events here in New Orleans, we have noticed and anecdotally documented that there is an influx of Oregonians here. I teach with an Oregonian. Someone with a Subaru and Oregon plates just moved in down the street from Amy and Marlow and their Subaru with Oregon plates. I was working with a volunteer at school who is a law and MBA student at Tulane—Oregonian to boot! I could go on. Then just driving down the street I see them in their high-mileage-to-the-gallon cars with their cute little Oregon fir tree plates.
How did they get here? Why are there so many? What’s the link? Oregon to Vermont? I get that.
Amy suggests that the people, their friendliness and openness, is very similar. We feel at home here.
In my various stops along the way from Oregon to New Orleans I have bumped into a few Oregonians. Just a few. I can spot them a mile away and most always I feel a kinship with them. They are plain and practical. Plain to me is a complement. Plain is not boring, it means someone who knows what is important in life. We know how to use a hammer, swim in cold water, like the color blue, and appreciate clean, crisp lines.
Aarti (and Ara) smirk when I begin to go on about Oregon. How could anyplace be so fantastically wonderful? And if it is all that, why aren’t you there? And to that all I can say is that I am not called to live there—just to spend several weeks there each summer. Back when Phil and I were “just friends” in college he found my Oregon-worship quite annoying, but I just can’t help it…it’s so GREAT!
So, in another bizarre turn of events here in New Orleans, we have noticed and anecdotally documented that there is an influx of Oregonians here. I teach with an Oregonian. Someone with a Subaru and Oregon plates just moved in down the street from Amy and Marlow and their Subaru with Oregon plates. I was working with a volunteer at school who is a law and MBA student at Tulane—Oregonian to boot! I could go on. Then just driving down the street I see them in their high-mileage-to-the-gallon cars with their cute little Oregon fir tree plates.
How did they get here? Why are there so many? What’s the link? Oregon to Vermont? I get that.
Amy suggests that the people, their friendliness and openness, is very similar. We feel at home here.
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