Vince and I were driving home from a play on Friday night. A voice mail message was left on my phone while we were in the theater, "Hi, Linsey. It's Mom. We are getting on the boat early tomorrow and so I just wanted to call and tell you I love you. It was nice even to hear your voice on the voice mail. I am sorry I missed you. We'll be thinking about you and we'll let you know when we get there."
Vince's mom called while I was listening to the message. I know when it's his mom because he speaks to her in Chinese and uses a lot of "Yes, of course"s. To date I have only successfully learned the following words in Chinese:
1-Older brother
2- Younger brother
3- Dad
4- Yes, of course
I sat and listened to Vince speak with his mother. "This language is so foreign," I thought. "I can't pick out anything! No word, no phrase stands out to me. They could be talking about anything. And it just sounds so strange. I will never learn this." This is dramatically different from how I feel when I hear someone speaking Spanish, Italian, French, Dutch, German, Swedish, Arabic, or Russian. I think, "if they'd just slow down, I'm sure I'd catch something. I could learn this language; just a few months and I'd easily be communicating."
Vince put the phone on speaker and I heard his mom say, "Song bibi! Song bibi! Song bibi!" The repetition was lovely! It allowed me to pick out and remember a phrase.
"What is 'song bibi'" I asked, carefully rolling the words around my mouth as I asked.
"I thought you'd get a kick out of that. It means, 'Have a baby'."
"What! NO. Your mother just called you at 11:00 pm on a Friday night to tell you to have a baby? That's why she called?"
"Yup. She figured I am out on a date, so she wanted to remind me that I was just wasting all my time and resources dating when I need to focus on girls who want to have a baby. She doesn't even care if I get married first anymore. She just wants the baby."
"No! How can you handle that?"
"I love her. She's my mother. She's insane."
So words 5 and 6 I learned in Chinese: song bibi.
My mother would never, ever even think of pressuring me to have a baby. In fact, my mother is sailing the open sea to the Galapagos islands with a boyscout compass and a satellite phone that doesn't work. Our mothers are living two very different lives.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
My Favorite Mistakes
My friend Mimi posted a bit on her blog about some of the challenges between crossing between languages. You can check it out on Stranger in a Strange Land. It made me start thinking of some of my favorite mistakes that I have made in both English and Hebrew.
Probably the mistake with the worst consequences was the time I made a scavenger hunt for Yuval and started it off with a note on the door of our apartment. I intended to write on the note, "I have a secret". Yuval came home for work and burst into the house panting, note in hand, "Are you alright?" he yelled. I was stunned.
"Of course. Why? What happened?"
"You wrote on this note that you had a robbery. I thought you were a genius or something. Here you were being held hostage in the apartment and you somehow managed to put a note on the front door to warn me."
*****
Learning to write emails in Hebrew using medical terminology was often challenging and rarely satisfying. I'd struggle to craft an email for 30 minutes and then show it to my secretary. "Hmmm," she'd say, "why don't you try telling me what it is that you wanted to say and I'll type it. Then you can tell me if it says what you want it to." And people say Israelis don't have tact!
But sometimes my secretaries weren't around. Like the time I had to send out an email outlining times when a colon cancer screening test was counter indicated. At times like these, I prayed the spell check would catch any terribly embarrassing mistake. This time I was lucky, no red underlining showed up on the screen. But, I thought, how can it be that I correctly spelled the word for hemorrhoids on the first try? I can't even spell it right in English on the first try. So I double checked the dictionary, apparently the word I typed was spelled correctly, but the word I typed meant "penis" in some obscure term I had never heard before. "The test is counter indicated if the patient has a symptomatic case of penis."
****
The first time my boss handed something to me and said, "Now go type a memo," I nearly fainted. I went back to my office and was ready to cry. I had no idea how to type in Hebrew. One of my co-workers, whom I will always adore for this, looked at my white face and asked, "What's wrong?" I told him my assignment and then admitted, "I don't know how to type in Hebrew."
I was on the verge of tears. He sat down next to me and took my boss's notes from my hands and placed them so we could both see. "All right, what's this letter?" he said, pointing to the first letter of the first word." I told him the letter and then rather than typing for me, he pointed out where the letter was on the keyboard. Then we did the next letter and the next, until I finally sent him out of the room while I finished. Afterwards, he went over the memo with me to make sure I understood what I had just typed. And people say Israelis have no patience.
*****
There are phrases that I miss in Hebrew, even when there is a direct translation in English. Mimi mentioned, "Maximum" which in Hebrew means, "if it comes down to it", but somehow to me, it seemed more weighty than that, there was always something reassuring in it to me. The worst may happen, but we got it covered.
I miss "davka", a word with no English equivalent. Yuval's cousin Yaron once came up with a way to explain "davka" to non-Hebrew speakers. "It's like this. You would say 'I davka like potatoes.' And 'davka' in this case would mean, 'I actually really like potatoes, in spite of all the many reasons you can think of for me to NOT like potatoes.'" I had no problem living without this word for 20 years, but now I miss it.
******
I miss sweet words in Hebrew too: Mami, chamuda, buba, neshema, yafa and all the little endings to turn something into a cute word -chick, -oosh, -ley.
******
I guess I rambled a little off topic from my original idea of writing about mistakes. That's how language works, though. The language is so intricately wound up with my memories, both good and bad, of the people I spoke with in Hebrew and the experiences I had struggling with changing from being someone comfortable expressing myself in any format, to being unable to do the simplest of tasks, or successfully communicate the simplest of ideas and then slowly, painstakingly, becoming able to communicate once more.
Probably the mistake with the worst consequences was the time I made a scavenger hunt for Yuval and started it off with a note on the door of our apartment. I intended to write on the note, "I have a secret". Yuval came home for work and burst into the house panting, note in hand, "Are you alright?" he yelled. I was stunned.
"Of course. Why? What happened?"
"You wrote on this note that you had a robbery. I thought you were a genius or something. Here you were being held hostage in the apartment and you somehow managed to put a note on the front door to warn me."
*****
Learning to write emails in Hebrew using medical terminology was often challenging and rarely satisfying. I'd struggle to craft an email for 30 minutes and then show it to my secretary. "Hmmm," she'd say, "why don't you try telling me what it is that you wanted to say and I'll type it. Then you can tell me if it says what you want it to." And people say Israelis don't have tact!
But sometimes my secretaries weren't around. Like the time I had to send out an email outlining times when a colon cancer screening test was counter indicated. At times like these, I prayed the spell check would catch any terribly embarrassing mistake. This time I was lucky, no red underlining showed up on the screen. But, I thought, how can it be that I correctly spelled the word for hemorrhoids on the first try? I can't even spell it right in English on the first try. So I double checked the dictionary, apparently the word I typed was spelled correctly, but the word I typed meant "penis" in some obscure term I had never heard before. "The test is counter indicated if the patient has a symptomatic case of penis."
****
The first time my boss handed something to me and said, "Now go type a memo," I nearly fainted. I went back to my office and was ready to cry. I had no idea how to type in Hebrew. One of my co-workers, whom I will always adore for this, looked at my white face and asked, "What's wrong?" I told him my assignment and then admitted, "I don't know how to type in Hebrew."
I was on the verge of tears. He sat down next to me and took my boss's notes from my hands and placed them so we could both see. "All right, what's this letter?" he said, pointing to the first letter of the first word." I told him the letter and then rather than typing for me, he pointed out where the letter was on the keyboard. Then we did the next letter and the next, until I finally sent him out of the room while I finished. Afterwards, he went over the memo with me to make sure I understood what I had just typed. And people say Israelis have no patience.
*****
There are phrases that I miss in Hebrew, even when there is a direct translation in English. Mimi mentioned, "Maximum" which in Hebrew means, "if it comes down to it", but somehow to me, it seemed more weighty than that, there was always something reassuring in it to me. The worst may happen, but we got it covered.
I miss "davka", a word with no English equivalent. Yuval's cousin Yaron once came up with a way to explain "davka" to non-Hebrew speakers. "It's like this. You would say 'I davka like potatoes.' And 'davka' in this case would mean, 'I actually really like potatoes, in spite of all the many reasons you can think of for me to NOT like potatoes.'" I had no problem living without this word for 20 years, but now I miss it.
******
I miss sweet words in Hebrew too: Mami, chamuda, buba, neshema, yafa and all the little endings to turn something into a cute word -chick, -oosh, -ley.
******
I guess I rambled a little off topic from my original idea of writing about mistakes. That's how language works, though. The language is so intricately wound up with my memories, both good and bad, of the people I spoke with in Hebrew and the experiences I had struggling with changing from being someone comfortable expressing myself in any format, to being unable to do the simplest of tasks, or successfully communicate the simplest of ideas and then slowly, painstakingly, becoming able to communicate once more.
Monday, February 18, 2008
My Latest Addiction
This is my latest addiction: http://www.travelpod.com/traveler-iq
My current score after wasting some time today playing is 124. What's yours?
My current score after wasting some time today playing is 124. What's yours?
Friday, February 15, 2008
Not a message that's fun to get from a loved one....
"With no bad luck between now and the morning, we will sail at first light for the Galapagos. The distance is 890 nautical Miles, or a little over 900 regular miles. We anticiapate the passage taking 7-10 days, and we will e-mail you upon arrival.
The boat owner discovered she does have a satellite phone, but so far we haven´t gotten it to work. Not terribly surprising given all the other issues. The engines, generator, and electronics appear to all be working, as do the navigation lights and electric navigation system. The basic navigation instrument, the main compass, is tweeked beyond use. We will us our small boy scout sized ones instead."
(Emphasis added)
Light your candles, say your prayers, and cross your fingers for the next week, please.
The boat owner discovered she does have a satellite phone, but so far we haven´t gotten it to work. Not terribly surprising given all the other issues. The engines, generator, and electronics appear to all be working, as do the navigation lights and electric navigation system. The basic navigation instrument, the main compass, is tweeked beyond use. We will us our small boy scout sized ones instead."
(Emphasis added)
Light your candles, say your prayers, and cross your fingers for the next week, please.
Further Dis!
Abbie called this morning while I was driving to work with time to kill since most the major stoplights on my commute had been blown out by the latest storm, bringing traffic to a near standstill. She pointed out that she still thought I was completely off base with my Utah compression blog. "Name one person that had a less than year long engagement here in Utah."
"Try everyone in my family," I said.
"They aren't in Utah," she said.
"I meant everyone in my extended family."
"They are all Mormons! It doesn't count. Name one sinner- one peer."
I floundered. I hemmed and hawed.
"Ha! I think it is clear that I have won this argument," she said.
"I think I have to agree," I said.
During the course of this argument I had arrived at work, gathered up my belonging and come into the office building. The door to our offices is always locked and I started rummaging around my belongings for my keys. 'My belongings' have gotten completely out of control over the course of the last few weeks. The rule of thumb with purses is, the more space you have, the more you will lug around. I am way, way beyond this rule of thumb. I have taken to lugging my work back and forth in a backpack, along with my gym clothes. Next I added a bag for my lunch. I'm going to a play tonight, so I also had my theater clothes with me, and my purse, and of course, my coffee. I had a lot of rummaging around to do. I couldn't rummage and continue the conversation. "Uh, Abs, I gotta go. I'm at work and I gotta find my keys."
My keys were not to be found. I called Abbie, "Yes? The Winner is speaking. What do you want?"
"I, um, locked myself out of the car. Any chance you have a spare key?"
"I'll see what I can do," she said. In the meantime, I had no keys to the office and no one responded to my knock. I wasted a few minutes taking photos of all the junk I am lugging. Enough to distract me from remembering to also grab the keys.
Then, I started calling co-workers- all who were at least 30 minutes away from getting into the office. One of my coworkers is always in by 9:00 am, except, apparently today. I called my co-worker in Chicago. "Any chance you can send a chat message to Sara and ask her when she's getting in today? I, uh, am locked out of the office."
"Sure. Hmmm. She's writing that she is in the office and didn't hear your knock. I am telling her to come to the door and let you in." And sure enough, courtesy of two cell phones, two lap tops, and instant messaging across 1,000 miles, my coworker who was 15 feet away from me, emerged from her office to let me in. "Sorry!" she whispered and she opened the door and then ran back to get on her conference call.
I spent the lunch hour jimmying open my car door with a wire hanger. Which was actually quite rewarding. At least something made me feel cool today!
"Try everyone in my family," I said.
"They aren't in Utah," she said.
"I meant everyone in my extended family."
"They are all Mormons! It doesn't count. Name one sinner- one peer."
I floundered. I hemmed and hawed.
"Ha! I think it is clear that I have won this argument," she said.
"I think I have to agree," I said.
During the course of this argument I had arrived at work, gathered up my belonging and come into the office building. The door to our offices is always locked and I started rummaging around my belongings for my keys. 'My belongings' have gotten completely out of control over the course of the last few weeks. The rule of thumb with purses is, the more space you have, the more you will lug around. I am way, way beyond this rule of thumb. I have taken to lugging my work back and forth in a backpack, along with my gym clothes. Next I added a bag for my lunch. I'm going to a play tonight, so I also had my theater clothes with me, and my purse, and of course, my coffee. I had a lot of rummaging around to do. I couldn't rummage and continue the conversation. "Uh, Abs, I gotta go. I'm at work and I gotta find my keys."
My keys were not to be found. I called Abbie, "Yes? The Winner is speaking. What do you want?"
"I, um, locked myself out of the car. Any chance you have a spare key?"
"I'll see what I can do," she said. In the meantime, I had no keys to the office and no one responded to my knock. I wasted a few minutes taking photos of all the junk I am lugging. Enough to distract me from remembering to also grab the keys.
Then, I started calling co-workers- all who were at least 30 minutes away from getting into the office. One of my coworkers is always in by 9:00 am, except, apparently today. I called my co-worker in Chicago. "Any chance you can send a chat message to Sara and ask her when she's getting in today? I, uh, am locked out of the office."
"Sure. Hmmm. She's writing that she is in the office and didn't hear your knock. I am telling her to come to the door and let you in." And sure enough, courtesy of two cell phones, two lap tops, and instant messaging across 1,000 miles, my coworker who was 15 feet away from me, emerged from her office to let me in. "Sorry!" she whispered and she opened the door and then ran back to get on her conference call.
I spent the lunch hour jimmying open my car door with a wire hanger. Which was actually quite rewarding. At least something made me feel cool today!
DIS!
My sister told me this morning, "Ty un-book-marked your blog. He's banning it until you stop writing about romance and Vince. He can't take anymore of it." In the meantime, he has moved over to my stepfather's blog. My step-father is currently supposed to be sailing the open seas to Haiti right now. Unfortunately, the boat they were meant to go on isn't working and my parents have been killing time in Panama for the last several weeks, trying to decide what to do next. Other crew members have already jumped ship- literally, and signed up to be crew on other boats. In short, my parents are wharf rats, cruising the Panamanian docks for work. If you are interested the address is: www.desertsailing.blogspot.com
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Gunshot Wounds
I invited my Uncle to come with Vin and I to the library to check out the Chinese New Year celebration. My uncle is more and more himself every time I see him, which makes seeing him more and more fun. Last week he sent me a piece of creative writing he had written. Before going to the library, we met for coffee so we could talk a bit about his piece, the point of which was to explain to other social workers how he, a drug counselor, became a user, and how he got clean again, without rehab.
Since I work a lot with brain injury, I see a lot of similarities with what happened to my uncle after prolonged drug use and a person recovering from brain injury. He had problems finding words, his short and long term memory were gone, he couldn't control his impulses, he was easily confused, unable to perceive his own limitations, unable to see how to do things in steps, and unable to track time. The combination of being unable to follow directions in steps and to keep track of time led to several fires while he was cooking.
Since he couldn't control his impulses, he was unable to have access to an ATM card or a credit card. People at the bank continually offered to set him up with either, to make his life easier. He kept telling them no; they kept offering. Finally he told them: Look. I can't. I have a brain injury and I can't own a card.
Oooh, what happened? One of the tellers asked.
I was shot in the head, he responded. He laughed telling this story. Now when I go in, I hear them whisper: Look, it's the guy who was shot in the head. You know what? he asked. It's actually true. I might as well have shot myself in the head.
It's amazing to see someone come so far in what is relatively little time. But there are still moments when I worry. Like when he called me on the phone and couldn't remember if he had told me the big news he had called to tell me a few days before, and referred to my sister's boyfriend when asking about my weekend plans.
This weekend though, he was his old self again. Until Vince and I stood up together and he looked at us and said, "Look at you two! Like salt and pepper shakers!" Those of you who know me, may have noticed how white I am. And those of you who know Vince, may have noticed how brown he is. I think I flinched. "Oh no! I didn't mean that!" my uncle said immediately. "I meant you look like you belong together. My god, I did not just say that!"
The next day, my uncle called to thank us for inviting him to join us, and to apologize again. Vince had already shrugged it off and wouldn't have thought much about it, but it was a good introduction to a discussion on brain injury.
Since I work a lot with brain injury, I see a lot of similarities with what happened to my uncle after prolonged drug use and a person recovering from brain injury. He had problems finding words, his short and long term memory were gone, he couldn't control his impulses, he was easily confused, unable to perceive his own limitations, unable to see how to do things in steps, and unable to track time. The combination of being unable to follow directions in steps and to keep track of time led to several fires while he was cooking.
Since he couldn't control his impulses, he was unable to have access to an ATM card or a credit card. People at the bank continually offered to set him up with either, to make his life easier. He kept telling them no; they kept offering. Finally he told them: Look. I can't. I have a brain injury and I can't own a card.
Oooh, what happened? One of the tellers asked.
I was shot in the head, he responded. He laughed telling this story. Now when I go in, I hear them whisper: Look, it's the guy who was shot in the head. You know what? he asked. It's actually true. I might as well have shot myself in the head.
It's amazing to see someone come so far in what is relatively little time. But there are still moments when I worry. Like when he called me on the phone and couldn't remember if he had told me the big news he had called to tell me a few days before, and referred to my sister's boyfriend when asking about my weekend plans.
This weekend though, he was his old self again. Until Vince and I stood up together and he looked at us and said, "Look at you two! Like salt and pepper shakers!" Those of you who know me, may have noticed how white I am. And those of you who know Vince, may have noticed how brown he is. I think I flinched. "Oh no! I didn't mean that!" my uncle said immediately. "I meant you look like you belong together. My god, I did not just say that!"
The next day, my uncle called to thank us for inviting him to join us, and to apologize again. Vince had already shrugged it off and wouldn't have thought much about it, but it was a good introduction to a discussion on brain injury.
V-Day
My fridge is currently the proud host to 20 of the best cupcakes I have ever tasted. I made the double chocolate cupcakes with 1/3 cup of orange liquor, which cut the sweetness of the cake and added another dimension of richness and complexity. Then, I frosted them with butter cream frosting, using whipping cream instead of milk. And if that weren't enough, my sister and I decorated them with pink and red candies and red sprinkles. How lucky am I that I get to hang out and do things as simple as decorate cupcakes with my sister? It's lovely, those rare occasions when we are in the same house at the same time.
It has been about 9 years since I had an American boyfriend on Valentine's Day. I was always an anti-V day person. I attended several anti -V day parties in college. The men came in drag and the women in old prom dresses to drink jell-o shots and watch horror movies. I didn't watch horror movies or drink alcohol, so I usually left pretty early on in the evening, satisfied I had sufficiently not celebrated the holiday.
When Y. was in the US for our first Valentine's Day together, I refused to tell him how the day was celebrated. "I hate it. It's a waste of money, and a waste of time. I never do anything. That's how it is celebrated, by doing nothing. You are forbidden to buy me anything." But he did a little leg work all the same. He saw the cuddly stuffed animals in the stores, there were kisses and hugs, and it appeared that it was important to give a card. So, on the morning of Valentine's he popped up and said, "I have something for Valentine's Day!"
"Really?" I was excited in spite of myself. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of paper. They were all pictures of animals hugging or kissing. I still remember the first picture was a polar bear.
"See, it's the bear!" he said. "There are bears everywhere for Valentine's Day. So, here is your Valentine bear." He kept his promise; he didn't technically buy me anything. All the photos were photocopied from books in the library.
*******
It's been 7 years since then. Long enough that I have actually forgotten how Americans normally celebrate Valentine's Day. I have been daydreaming about what to do for Vince since the beginning of January. I finally came up with something and checked with my girlfriends about proper Valentine behavior. They approved of my gift, which sadly, I was unable to buy today because a massive snowstorm led to a three hour commute home and the store was closed. Now I feel like I am cutting it pretty close!
For his part, Vince forbade me to come over to his house today.
"It's Valentine's Eve! I have preparations to make!"
"Valentine's requires preparations?" I asked.
"Of course. Especially our first Valentine's together." I like the confidence in the use of the word first. I like knowing that someone is thinking of me and wants to make me happy.
Life is so much more fun now that I am not constantly taking a stance on things like Valentine's Day. I loved standing in the grocery store with all the parents and kids getting ready to take their Valentines to their classmates tomorrow. I embraced buying the seasonal candies to decorate my cupcakes with this evening. Stances against commercialism be damned! It's a ton of fun. And my sister's classmates and my co-workers are going to love their holiday themed cupcakes.
It has been about 9 years since I had an American boyfriend on Valentine's Day. I was always an anti-V day person. I attended several anti -V day parties in college. The men came in drag and the women in old prom dresses to drink jell-o shots and watch horror movies. I didn't watch horror movies or drink alcohol, so I usually left pretty early on in the evening, satisfied I had sufficiently not celebrated the holiday.
When Y. was in the US for our first Valentine's Day together, I refused to tell him how the day was celebrated. "I hate it. It's a waste of money, and a waste of time. I never do anything. That's how it is celebrated, by doing nothing. You are forbidden to buy me anything." But he did a little leg work all the same. He saw the cuddly stuffed animals in the stores, there were kisses and hugs, and it appeared that it was important to give a card. So, on the morning of Valentine's he popped up and said, "I have something for Valentine's Day!"
"Really?" I was excited in spite of myself. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of paper. They were all pictures of animals hugging or kissing. I still remember the first picture was a polar bear.
"See, it's the bear!" he said. "There are bears everywhere for Valentine's Day. So, here is your Valentine bear." He kept his promise; he didn't technically buy me anything. All the photos were photocopied from books in the library.
*******
It's been 7 years since then. Long enough that I have actually forgotten how Americans normally celebrate Valentine's Day. I have been daydreaming about what to do for Vince since the beginning of January. I finally came up with something and checked with my girlfriends about proper Valentine behavior. They approved of my gift, which sadly, I was unable to buy today because a massive snowstorm led to a three hour commute home and the store was closed. Now I feel like I am cutting it pretty close!
For his part, Vince forbade me to come over to his house today.
"It's Valentine's Eve! I have preparations to make!"
"Valentine's requires preparations?" I asked.
"Of course. Especially our first Valentine's together." I like the confidence in the use of the word first. I like knowing that someone is thinking of me and wants to make me happy.
Life is so much more fun now that I am not constantly taking a stance on things like Valentine's Day. I loved standing in the grocery store with all the parents and kids getting ready to take their Valentines to their classmates tomorrow. I embraced buying the seasonal candies to decorate my cupcakes with this evening. Stances against commercialism be damned! It's a ton of fun. And my sister's classmates and my co-workers are going to love their holiday themed cupcakes.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons
I haven't actually measured out my life with coffee spoons, but I have measured out this year in library book sales. The SLC public library was rebuilt before the Olympics and is gorgeous. Beyond being beautiful, it has won multiple prizes for being a fantastic resource to the community. I had my name written in Chinese calligraphy last weekend for Chinese New Year, I celebrated one holiday with the Muslim community, watched educational and artistic movies for free, and best of all, it's where I load up on books.
The library has a semi-annual book sale that is simply madness. There are so many people you have to squeeze down the aisles, twisting and turning to wiggle past people. Each time I went I literally came away with a box too heavy to carry. How could I resist when everything sells for 50 cents to $1? (Speaking of 50 cents, have you noticed that our keyboards no longer have the cent sign? Has anyone besides me gone mad looking for it? I suspect that it was replaced with this: @.)
I went to one sale shortly after I arrived in Utah. I remember one young man who had only one book in his hands: The Sociology of Religion. Yes. It's true. I don't remember what he looked like, but I remember the title of the book he was carrying. The hand he was carrying it in was distinctly ring-free. "This," I thought, "could be the love of my life. What is more me than the sociology of religion? I love sociology; I love religion; I love the sociology of religion. In fact, how easy would it be for me to start a conversation on the sociology of religion?" I thought, as I turned and walked away. "I can't do this," I thought. "I can't be single. I can't live in Utah. This is not my life."
As I left the sale to go get my car, I noticed me ex-mother-in-law had called. I teared up immediately, disappointed to have missed the call. "Call back! Call back!" I thought. She called back as I was walking back to the car. I got in and immediately started crying. "It hurts so much! I can't do this!" I wailed. "How long will it hurt?" "Linseyle, mami, bubah, it won't always hurt like this. I am sorry. We know you don't want this. You know we don't want this, but this is how it is. You know what? In a year, you will see, it will be better. Maybe not all the way better, but much, much better than now. You know what? I will call you in one year from today and you will see just how different it is. I am writing it in my day planner right now! It's silly, but it makes me feel better just thinking about it. There. I did it. We have a date! Of course, I'll talk to you in the meantime, but you'll see. One year."
I finished sniffling, reassured that even if we did lose touch, at least I would get a call in a year. Also, I had a little bit of hope that she was right. Who knew what a year would bring? Still sniffling I drove back to Abbie, who had been bravely guarding our boxes of books. On the way back to Abbie's house, I told her about Mr. Sociology-of-Religion. "Oh, Linsey," she said. "You have to talk to them first! You can't wait for them. Believe me, they will never say no to you, once you start."
"Well," I said, "he wasn't all that cute anyway." Sour grapes.
"Yeah, but maybe he would have introduced you to his really cute friend, who also reads about the sociology of religion."
"Oh, I never thought of that. But how do you know they won't say no?"
"Trust me. They won't say no. Besides, didn't you tell me you were lonely? They don't all have to be Mr. Right. It's just about getting to know more people here. Or think of it as practice. No pressure."
It was this pep talk, and about a million more such talks, from Abbie that made me brave enough to pick up Mr. Kinkos. "He won't say no. He won't say no. It's all practice. I am just practicing." The fact he didn't say no made it that much easier the next time, and the next time.
"You are so brazen," my friend Leonard said. "Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you didn't speak up in class? 'I'm shy' you said. And now look at you, the shy monogamist. Who would have guessed?"
"I just learned they don't say no."
"To you they don't say no. To me, believe me, they would say no."
By the time the autumn library sale rolled around, I was ready for Mr. Sociology of Religion. No luck- he wasn't there. But had he been, I know I would have been able to talk to him. Now, it is almost time for the next book sale. I am looking forward to the call from my Israeli mother. She was right, I had no idea the difference a year would make.
The library has a semi-annual book sale that is simply madness. There are so many people you have to squeeze down the aisles, twisting and turning to wiggle past people. Each time I went I literally came away with a box too heavy to carry. How could I resist when everything sells for 50 cents to $1? (Speaking of 50 cents, have you noticed that our keyboards no longer have the cent sign? Has anyone besides me gone mad looking for it? I suspect that it was replaced with this: @.)
I went to one sale shortly after I arrived in Utah. I remember one young man who had only one book in his hands: The Sociology of Religion. Yes. It's true. I don't remember what he looked like, but I remember the title of the book he was carrying. The hand he was carrying it in was distinctly ring-free. "This," I thought, "could be the love of my life. What is more me than the sociology of religion? I love sociology; I love religion; I love the sociology of religion. In fact, how easy would it be for me to start a conversation on the sociology of religion?" I thought, as I turned and walked away. "I can't do this," I thought. "I can't be single. I can't live in Utah. This is not my life."
As I left the sale to go get my car, I noticed me ex-mother-in-law had called. I teared up immediately, disappointed to have missed the call. "Call back! Call back!" I thought. She called back as I was walking back to the car. I got in and immediately started crying. "It hurts so much! I can't do this!" I wailed. "How long will it hurt?" "Linseyle, mami, bubah, it won't always hurt like this. I am sorry. We know you don't want this. You know we don't want this, but this is how it is. You know what? In a year, you will see, it will be better. Maybe not all the way better, but much, much better than now. You know what? I will call you in one year from today and you will see just how different it is. I am writing it in my day planner right now! It's silly, but it makes me feel better just thinking about it. There. I did it. We have a date! Of course, I'll talk to you in the meantime, but you'll see. One year."
I finished sniffling, reassured that even if we did lose touch, at least I would get a call in a year. Also, I had a little bit of hope that she was right. Who knew what a year would bring? Still sniffling I drove back to Abbie, who had been bravely guarding our boxes of books. On the way back to Abbie's house, I told her about Mr. Sociology-of-Religion. "Oh, Linsey," she said. "You have to talk to them first! You can't wait for them. Believe me, they will never say no to you, once you start."
"Well," I said, "he wasn't all that cute anyway." Sour grapes.
"Yeah, but maybe he would have introduced you to his really cute friend, who also reads about the sociology of religion."
"Oh, I never thought of that. But how do you know they won't say no?"
"Trust me. They won't say no. Besides, didn't you tell me you were lonely? They don't all have to be Mr. Right. It's just about getting to know more people here. Or think of it as practice. No pressure."
It was this pep talk, and about a million more such talks, from Abbie that made me brave enough to pick up Mr. Kinkos. "He won't say no. He won't say no. It's all practice. I am just practicing." The fact he didn't say no made it that much easier the next time, and the next time.
"You are so brazen," my friend Leonard said. "Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you didn't speak up in class? 'I'm shy' you said. And now look at you, the shy monogamist. Who would have guessed?"
"I just learned they don't say no."
"To you they don't say no. To me, believe me, they would say no."
By the time the autumn library sale rolled around, I was ready for Mr. Sociology of Religion. No luck- he wasn't there. But had he been, I know I would have been able to talk to him. Now, it is almost time for the next book sale. I am looking forward to the call from my Israeli mother. She was right, I had no idea the difference a year would make.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Utah Culture
1)
Aleeza walked into my office on Monday morning and asked, "What does it mean when they say, "He had work to do beyond the veil"?
"It means that someone died and God needs the person in heaven. Why? Where did you hear that? Who died?"
"President Hinkley died and all the news coverage has been saying that he had work to do beyond the veil. I've been watching it all morning."
2)
As I have mentioned, my sister is in graduate school at the University of Utah. At the beginning of the first semester, someone (this is real, folks) suggested that they each take turns bringing treats for everyone in the class. One woman took it upon herself to call everyone and remind him/her when it was their turn to bring the treats. The idea that graduate students would take the time and spend the money to bring treats weekly to 30 or so peers is so bizarre to me. It took Lesha until the second semester to opt out of the treat rotation; others have followed in her lead.
3)
All the flags, and I do mean all of them- at businesses, schools, and churches, flew at half mast the entire week after President Hinkley's death. Although I knew that he had passed away, it took me 6 days to figure out who had died. I couldn't get it through my head that private businesses and government offices would be flying the flag at half mast for a week.
4)
There is such a thing as "Utah compression". (Prof. Postigo made me promise to site him if I ever use this term, which he is proud to have invented.) Utah compression refers to the fact that in other parts of the country/world, it is normal to date for a while before getting married, and then a year engagement is perfectly reasonable. In general, some amount of time that passes before a couple moves in together, and then a little more time passes before the engagement, and then even more before the wedding. Well, that isn't so much the case here. Here, you need to factor in the Utah culture, which holds that a 6 month engagement is an awfully long time. I remember being told that a long engagement had been known to "encourage sin". After all, if you are going to get married anyway, how long can you really wait to have sex? Apparently, 4 months is the perfect balance- short enough to maintain chastity, long enough to book the caterer and the photographer. I think this mentality ends up filtering from the saints into the lives of my fellow sinners.
Aleeza walked into my office on Monday morning and asked, "What does it mean when they say, "He had work to do beyond the veil"?
"It means that someone died and God needs the person in heaven. Why? Where did you hear that? Who died?"
"President Hinkley died and all the news coverage has been saying that he had work to do beyond the veil. I've been watching it all morning."
2)
As I have mentioned, my sister is in graduate school at the University of Utah. At the beginning of the first semester, someone (this is real, folks) suggested that they each take turns bringing treats for everyone in the class. One woman took it upon herself to call everyone and remind him/her when it was their turn to bring the treats. The idea that graduate students would take the time and spend the money to bring treats weekly to 30 or so peers is so bizarre to me. It took Lesha until the second semester to opt out of the treat rotation; others have followed in her lead.
3)
All the flags, and I do mean all of them- at businesses, schools, and churches, flew at half mast the entire week after President Hinkley's death. Although I knew that he had passed away, it took me 6 days to figure out who had died. I couldn't get it through my head that private businesses and government offices would be flying the flag at half mast for a week.
4)
There is such a thing as "Utah compression". (Prof. Postigo made me promise to site him if I ever use this term, which he is proud to have invented.) Utah compression refers to the fact that in other parts of the country/world, it is normal to date for a while before getting married, and then a year engagement is perfectly reasonable. In general, some amount of time that passes before a couple moves in together, and then a little more time passes before the engagement, and then even more before the wedding. Well, that isn't so much the case here. Here, you need to factor in the Utah culture, which holds that a 6 month engagement is an awfully long time. I remember being told that a long engagement had been known to "encourage sin". After all, if you are going to get married anyway, how long can you really wait to have sex? Apparently, 4 months is the perfect balance- short enough to maintain chastity, long enough to book the caterer and the photographer. I think this mentality ends up filtering from the saints into the lives of my fellow sinners.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Relationships
Perhaps part of the reason that my stepdad suggested that I move out of Utah before I start dating is that I approach relationships in a way that differs a little bit from other people. This is a nice way of saying that I take things WAY too seriously. Vince and I had our first argument last week. I was very upset and he asked me, "But you understand why I did what I did, right?"
"Yes," I said, "You were being a utilitarian- the most happiness for the most people."
"Exactly!" he said, thrilled to have a real world application to the business ethics class he took last semester. "But you are a c*nt."
"WHAT??!?" I asked, shocked that someone so sweet would use a term so crass.
"Kant," He repeated, laughing. "K-A-N-T. You are principled and I violated a principle that you value."
I just about died laughing. In spite of the laughter, and in spite of the fact that someone actually put up with my interjecting thical terminology into an everyday argument, we still parted on mediocre terms in the morning. I went to work and continued thinking. When we met up again after work, I pulled a sticky note out of my bag. "I have a visual aid," I said. I laughed, he laughed, but the truth is, I was pretty dead serious. Here is the visual aid.
I made it to explain why I had been upset that morning. This picture, which doesn't actually represent the proportion of each quality, does represent what I think are some of the most important aspects in a relationship. I think the actual percentages shift around as a relationship develops. For example, we don't currently have much history, but a successful relationship, to me, seems to demand at least these qualities. And those qualities seemed a little hurt that day.
Fast forward a week and we've made it successfully through our first conflict. I am proud of how we both handled it. And thrilled to find someone who can put up with my over intellectualizing everything.
"Yes," I said, "You were being a utilitarian- the most happiness for the most people."
"Exactly!" he said, thrilled to have a real world application to the business ethics class he took last semester. "But you are a c*nt."
"WHAT??!?" I asked, shocked that someone so sweet would use a term so crass.
"Kant," He repeated, laughing. "K-A-N-T. You are principled and I violated a principle that you value."
I just about died laughing. In spite of the laughter, and in spite of the fact that someone actually put up with my interjecting thical terminology into an everyday argument, we still parted on mediocre terms in the morning. I went to work and continued thinking. When we met up again after work, I pulled a sticky note out of my bag. "I have a visual aid," I said. I laughed, he laughed, but the truth is, I was pretty dead serious. Here is the visual aid.
I made it to explain why I had been upset that morning. This picture, which doesn't actually represent the proportion of each quality, does represent what I think are some of the most important aspects in a relationship. I think the actual percentages shift around as a relationship develops. For example, we don't currently have much history, but a successful relationship, to me, seems to demand at least these qualities. And those qualities seemed a little hurt that day.
Fast forward a week and we've made it successfully through our first conflict. I am proud of how we both handled it. And thrilled to find someone who can put up with my over intellectualizing everything.
Gung hay bok choy!!
"Gung hay bock choy!!" I said enthusiastically to Vince.
"You just wished that I strike it with brocolli," he responded.
"Oh, hmmm. So how am I supposed to wish you happy new year?" I asked.
He suggested I turn to Google for my Chinese lesson, and there I learned that the correct way to wish someone a Happy Chinese New Year is: Gung hay fat choy. And bok choy is, um, a vegetable. Oops.
It's the Year of the Rat, which is what Vince happens to be. More specifically- a water rat. It turns out that I am an Earth Lamb. Who knew? To celebrate the Chinese New Year, I am posting my Chinese sign.
Lamb people have good taste and are quite charming and elegant and rich. You may find them the center of attention at a stylish dinner party, ravishing all with incomparable wit and bon mots. The opposite is also true: they are often quite shy and sometimes prefer complete anonymity, the quiet life at home with a good book, a roaring fire, and the joys of the palate. A creative flame burns in their lives and you may find them before a canvas experimenting with bright bold genius strokes of paint. Sometimes, they tend to be pessimistic and question the meaning of life, wondering "why they dwell among green mountains." They are quite often deeply religious or spiritual and quite passionate about their work and their belief.
Sweet Potato Soup and Cellophane Noodles are among keys to good health.
Earth Lambs are like dancing daffodils, moving with kinetic exuberance and joy. Like all Lambs, these creatures are wonderful to socialize with, you just can't help loving their friendly ways and enthusiasm for living. They make lemonade out of lemons, velvet out of porcupines, and find serendipity everywhere. All their friends and colleagues get caught up with this passion. As you can imagine, they make the best of traveling companions. Earth Lambs are honorable in all their dealings; they roll up their sleeves and do whatever it is that must be done. They know true contentment because they can think of yesterday without regret and tomorrow without fear. Earth Lambs love good books and spend many happy hours seeking treasures in used bookstores. This serious nature also applies to their college years and careers, which they pursue with utmost dedication, hard work, and diligence. At some point in later life, they are rewarded with unexpected financial fortune. What a cozy twosome the Earth Lamb makes with a love partner. Relationships are filled with exquisite warmth, gentleness, and tenderness, with magical threads of sensuality taking them on beautiful carpet rides.
Famous Lamb People: Sir Laurence Olivier, Josephine Bonaparte, Margot Fonteyn, Mikhail Gorbachev, Toni Morrison, Leonard Nimoy, Pierre Trudeau, Katharine Hepburn, Boris Yeltsin.
Gung hay bok choy to all of you and happy new year!
"You just wished that I strike it with brocolli," he responded.
"Oh, hmmm. So how am I supposed to wish you happy new year?" I asked.
He suggested I turn to Google for my Chinese lesson, and there I learned that the correct way to wish someone a Happy Chinese New Year is: Gung hay fat choy. And bok choy is, um, a vegetable. Oops.
It's the Year of the Rat, which is what Vince happens to be. More specifically- a water rat. It turns out that I am an Earth Lamb. Who knew? To celebrate the Chinese New Year, I am posting my Chinese sign.
Lamb people have good taste and are quite charming and elegant and rich. You may find them the center of attention at a stylish dinner party, ravishing all with incomparable wit and bon mots. The opposite is also true: they are often quite shy and sometimes prefer complete anonymity, the quiet life at home with a good book, a roaring fire, and the joys of the palate. A creative flame burns in their lives and you may find them before a canvas experimenting with bright bold genius strokes of paint. Sometimes, they tend to be pessimistic and question the meaning of life, wondering "why they dwell among green mountains." They are quite often deeply religious or spiritual and quite passionate about their work and their belief.
Sweet Potato Soup and Cellophane Noodles are among keys to good health.
Earth Lambs are like dancing daffodils, moving with kinetic exuberance and joy. Like all Lambs, these creatures are wonderful to socialize with, you just can't help loving their friendly ways and enthusiasm for living. They make lemonade out of lemons, velvet out of porcupines, and find serendipity everywhere. All their friends and colleagues get caught up with this passion. As you can imagine, they make the best of traveling companions. Earth Lambs are honorable in all their dealings; they roll up their sleeves and do whatever it is that must be done. They know true contentment because they can think of yesterday without regret and tomorrow without fear. Earth Lambs love good books and spend many happy hours seeking treasures in used bookstores. This serious nature also applies to their college years and careers, which they pursue with utmost dedication, hard work, and diligence. At some point in later life, they are rewarded with unexpected financial fortune. What a cozy twosome the Earth Lamb makes with a love partner. Relationships are filled with exquisite warmth, gentleness, and tenderness, with magical threads of sensuality taking them on beautiful carpet rides.
Famous Lamb People: Sir Laurence Olivier, Josephine Bonaparte, Margot Fonteyn, Mikhail Gorbachev, Toni Morrison, Leonard Nimoy, Pierre Trudeau, Katharine Hepburn, Boris Yeltsin.
Gung hay bok choy to all of you and happy new year!
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Question of the Day
Well, I'll admit to being slightly tipsy while typing this post. Hopefully I'll still come across clearer than the story of the nail. I seem to have confused everyone with that one. Honestly, I didn't remember the part about the dead donkey.
So here is my question of the day: Is it possible to unforgive someone? I have always thought of forgiveness as coming with a sort of "double jeopardy" clause. I am not referring to Alex Trebec here, but to the legal version of double-jeopardy which says that if you have been tried for a crime and either acquitted or paid your dues, that's it. You never get to be tried for that same crime again.
Once I say, "I forgive you" that is supposed to mean that the "crime" is erased. It means I have weighed the evidence, listened to the opposing side, doled out punishment or acquitted the innocent, and it's over. So now, finding myself mad again at something that I have already "forgiven" and thought I had completely finished with, I feel like I am cheating. It isn't fair to the other person. But maybe, forgiveness is contingent: I forgive you, as long as I see that your behavior changes. Sort of like an emotional probation officer.
So here is my question of the day: Is it possible to unforgive someone? I have always thought of forgiveness as coming with a sort of "double jeopardy" clause. I am not referring to Alex Trebec here, but to the legal version of double-jeopardy which says that if you have been tried for a crime and either acquitted or paid your dues, that's it. You never get to be tried for that same crime again.
Once I say, "I forgive you" that is supposed to mean that the "crime" is erased. It means I have weighed the evidence, listened to the opposing side, doled out punishment or acquitted the innocent, and it's over. So now, finding myself mad again at something that I have already "forgiven" and thought I had completely finished with, I feel like I am cheating. It isn't fair to the other person. But maybe, forgiveness is contingent: I forgive you, as long as I see that your behavior changes. Sort of like an emotional probation officer.
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