Monthly Archives: June 2008

The day the lights went out in Bethesda

Life, Musings, ,

So our electricity is back, along with Internet access and telephone connections. I’d say, “its about time,” but I liked spending time with my two very bored teenagers.

The electricity went out during a severe thunderstorm on Wednesday afternoon while Clare and I were driving back home after a meeting at her school. We heard a transformer blow as we neared our house and feared for our power. Andrew greeted us at the door with news that the power was out. We told him of our frightening drive from school (the rain and trees were blown sideways some of the time).

That afternoon, in between complaining about no electricity, television and Internet, the kids read books, jumped on the trampoline and listened to the battery powered radio about storm damage. When it got dark, Clare studied for her upcoming final exams by the light of about 16 candles. Andrew went to bed early.

On Thursday, since there was no school because it was graduation day, the kids alternated between studying and playing. Clare’s anxiety took over and she ended up going to work with Dean to study. Andrew read the first 150 pages of The Overachievers then helped me untangle some crochet yarn. Then he made a potholder with a loom I’d just bought.

When Clare got back home and after we’d eaten dinner, the three of us sat on the porch until dark, untangling yarn and talking.

Sure, we could have these kinds of interactions any day; the electricity does not need to be out to do so. But I think we’d all be thinking about what we could be doing — watching TV, writing blog entries, visiting Facebook — you know what I mean.

Today when the kids come home from school, everyone will be at their own screen doing their own thing and our interactions will be either non-existent or half-hearted.

At least I now have an imperfect neon green and orange pot holder as a visual reminder of our near-perfect day together.

What’s this woman’s problem?

Events, , , , ,

LA Times OP-ed Columnist Meghan Daum has an issue with an entire generation. She complains that the media attention on baby boomers is stealing the limelight from the GenXers. She goes so far as to suggest that she’ll look forward to 2050:

“And on and on it will go until, say, 2050, when, if they’re lucky, the last of the boomers will be living out their days in the Young at Heart Chorus. Something tells me they’ll bring a little something extra to ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?'”

I think Meghan is a whiny spoiled brat who needs to chill a little. Who gave her a pen anyway?

Becoming Dona

Reading, , , , ,

When I was in the 6th grade I had a friend (fittingly named Eugenia) who introduced me to romance (mostly gothic) novels. I began with Phyllis A. Whitney who, I just discovered, passed away earlier this year. I then moved on to Victoria Holt and all of her pseudonyms. Eventually I read some of the Brontës’ work. I never read Jane Austen.

One trait most of the women in these novels possesses is a sharp tongue and the habit of provoking bantering conversation with all men, but mostly the men they were interested in romantically. Being relatively sheltered and shy, I didn’t have much opportunity to converse with males other than my relatives, so I didn’t really know how to talk to them, especially guys I was interested in. So I took a cue from the romance novels I read and, in my imaginary conversations with guys, carried on sharp-witted banter with them in my head. Oh, I was witty. My fictitious retorts to imagined flirtations were brilliant.

My real conversations with guys wasn’t so successful. Either I’d blush and look down and stammer something unintelligible until they walked away, laughing; or I tried to be witty and the guys would look at me like I was insane. They never bantered back.

I didn’t realize that “normal” people didn’t talk like that. That it was just fiction. In fact, it wasn’t until the past ten years or so that I finally really understood that I was not going to find my perfect verbal sparring partner and that the banter I’d expected to experience just wasn’t going to be a reality in my life and, in fact, was a pretty annoying thing to listen to.

Clare and I started watching Becoming Jane last week. We got about a quarter of the way through it and couldn’t’ deal with the banter. Perhaps Jane Austen did talk like that. Perhaps men and women of the late 1700’s and early 1800’s bantered. Perhaps to be the ones bantering was exhilarating. But to listen to consistent banter? It’s downright irritating.