Miser family update: shades and bling (and B-child!)

Life continues to be rich and full in the Miser Family household.  I'm going to start with two pieces of very happy news.  One: B-child!  Born earlier today.  

K-daughter and my second grandchild, B-child, 
side-by-side instead of one-inside-the-other.

Two:  J-son got a job, with no help at all from the many mothers in his life, but entirely of his own & his friend's volition.  Whoop!  

With that awesome news leading the way, let's unveil this week's Family Fun Foto: Shades and bling.

No surprise, given today's events, that there's no K-daughter in bling this week.  I've been having fun having A-child over here this weekend, she's "helping" me paint the living room.  Meanwhile, J-son and N-son schooled me in the new lingo:  J-son has got drips.  Which is like bling, but . . . it's drips.  Kinda like the bling/drips that Y is rockin' there.   L-daughter the younger has a different kind of drips; she's on a boat (that's a wake in the water behind her).  N-son is sporting a Spidey-blanket knitted by a sister who says, "You wanna see jewelry? I got jewelry!"  (That blanket is mad needle skilz right there.)  Speaking of skilz, I squeezed in two pics of L-daughter the elder because the dress is too blingy to omit, but also:  who teaches dogs to wear sun-glasses and all look at their trainer all at once?  Like, how?  And my husband has the most expensive bling of anyone here, right there on his arm.  (He can straighten his arm 5 degrees more than the previous week, but he's still got a lot of work to do on flexing it.)  

In this exciting week, it's good to remember that we all have a chance to use our mad skilz to work for Justice that is long overdue.   I owe extra gratitude to I-daughter, who does social media (which I don't), and who therefore knew about, asked me to join her at, a socially distant corner of our city's protests last week.

I've also been overhauling my own classes --- even though my fall classes are months away --- because online teaching adds its own heaviest burden on the students who are already likeliest to face discrimination and injustice elsewhere, and I feel like I need to take the chants for justice as a personal directive, and not a distant police issue only.  So prepping for a "hy-flex" fall is what's filling up a bunch of my days.  

Well, that and painting the living room with the help of my 5-year-old granddaughter, now a big sister.

And that's the news from our family, which continues to be wealthy in our adventures.  May you and yours stay safe.  

Chopsticks, jigsaws, cordless drills, and soap: Thinking of you in the bathroom . . .

Let me explain this thing in the picture below.

I wrote to my friend the Grasshopper recently, saying,

"Thinking of you in the bathroom . . . "

. . . specifically, every time I open the bathroom closet where we store shaving stuff, extra toothpaste . . . and three bars of soap you made.  (The fourth is on the counter).  My bathroom closet smells so good now, and whenever I open it, I get a wonderful whiff, and think of my friend.

My friend makes soap (if you can't tell), and I'd bought four different flavors (if that's what you call them) about a month ago. mmm, but they smell great. She wrote back to say, in part,

I am so glad you like the soaps!  They will last a good long time if able to drain well; do you have a soap lift, those little silicone bumpy things?  They really, really help!

So, no, I don't have a bumpy silicon thingy.  Alas.  I do keep the soap in a square orange bowl that mostly keeps the soap upright (and hence, largely dry).  But I heed the advice of my lather-wise grasshopper, and I've jonesed over my sister's wooden soap rack for a bunch of years.  So I decided to make myself one. 

I was fortunate to have a couple of extra pairs of chopsticks lying around (I'd rescued them from somewhere -- I'm trash-averse enough that I bring my own metal pairs to restaurants, so not exactly sure where these came from).  For the support bars, I first tried to cannibalize paint-stirrers, but they split apart whenever the drill touched them, so after a few tries, I gave up and went to bed.  

The next morning, I located another small-ish scrap piece of wood that didn't mind the cordless drill as much (and after all, it's an awesome cordless drill!)  So I made the holes first, and then jigsawed the two even-smaller blocks off the smallish, hole-y scrap.   And then I squeezed everything together.  

This lovely little soap rack fits perfectly in the bottom of my orange bowl (phew for measuring correctly!) And so now my soap -- which smells sooo good -- has its own breathing space. 

Tassels of happiness on a curtain of gloom

There is a lot that fills me with dread out there.  I don't want to add to other people's sense of dread -- not only for kindness' sake, but also because it's hard to take good action when we feel low.*

So, while acknowledging that there's a huge curtain of gloom draping over the country right now, I'd like to share some small tassels of happy news.   They exist; they're not the main story, but they are there.  

You might have inferred that, of all my children, J-son has had the largest roller-coaster of a life.   In recent years, he could have won any family prizes we would have given for what one might euphemistically call "adventures": economic adventures, legal adventures, pharmaceutical adventures.   Heck, even just thinking residentially, he's had more addresses than any of us.   

Throughout all of this, I've tried to carefully walk on the balance beam of support without enabling, of being a non-judgmental resource while not condoning self-destructive acts.  What I just wrote there sounds lovely in theory, and of course it doesn't work so nicely in practice.  But there it is.

So here's a little tassel of happiness.   J-son just texted the family to say that he's got a job.  

Actually, this is three tassels of happiness:  the first is that, in spite of all the odds stacked against him --- the pandemic, potential racism (he's in a predominantly rural, white area right now), his current living situation, his past "adventures" --- in spite of all that, he's got a job.  The second is that, he did this himself: it wasn't me or his former foster mom or any other adult leading him by the hand and making connections; it's him, showing initiative.  This is the first time he's applied for and gotten a job without a parent helping him.

The third, and the one that most warms my heart, is that when this happened, he texted the family.  All the bridges that could have been burned during these adventures: they're not burned.  He's proud and he knows we'll be proud of him.   It's a frilly little tassel of joy for me: he texted us that he got a job.

The family texted back with lots of congratulations.  And J-son writes,

Thx everyone means a lot

Miss u all

I miss you, too, kid.

* It's hard to take good action when we're overwhelmed with dread, 

because we don't know what to do.  We shouldn't have to say 

"police should protect citizens, not murder them"; 

we shouldn't have to say that bigotry and xenophobia are sins 

against our neighbor (and against God, if you believe as I do). 

How do we stand up and say what we shouldn't have to say?  

And who do we say it to?   I did attend a rally downtown with

my daughter over the weekend, and I revised my professional web pages 

to describe not just what  I teach, but that I teach it for reasons of social

and economic justice for all people.  I'm still casting about for more

meaningful and effective responses.  Suggestions welcome. 

Miser Family update, beloved toy edition

Life continues to be rich and full in the Miser Family, which has been having a ball, and a stuffed animal, and . .  well, having a lot of our beloved toys.  Hence this week's Family Fun Foto.  

There seems to be an obvious dog theme happening here.  I'm not sure whether the dogs are toys, or the dogs have toys, or both.    L-daughter (the elder) has two dogs of her own and she also fosters dogs;  middle of this image is such a foster dog: "Here is Amelia with her favorite hedgehog."  But also, L-daughter (the younger), texted us:  "So I forgot and then tried to use my friends dog . . . Can pretend she's a stuffed animal".  I figure, since it's one of those tiny toy dogs, it counts!

Our former host-daughter Y also co-opted OPT (Other People's Toys):  "Does it count if it's my flatmate's stuffed narwhal?"  (Sure, we'll count OPT, especially when they smile happily along with you!)   A couple of us had toys that double as useful artifacts; my husband is putting an extra-small pair of jeans in for a tiny load of laundry (his mini-"machine" is sitting on top of the real one); D-son asserted that his "favorite 'toys' are his mixer and vacuum"; and L-daughter (the elder) told us, "My favorite toys are my workout equipment helping to keep me sane in the pandemic".  I can relate!

And some of the rest of us have traditional snuggly toys. And so I introduce to you Mr. Burp and Me-Bear, (the former so beloved by a young me and also by so many dogs that he lost his ears, his eyes, his lower jaw, and the growler in his tummy that had given him his name).  K-daughter has teddy bears given to her by her birth mom and her husband.  N-son has "Baby" (a tiger) and "Snakey" (guess).  I-daughter also brought her own Tiger (the original "Baby") to the Foto Fest.  And A-child . . . well, I'll let her mom describe this collection:   "A-chlid with all her favorites. Sad part is... Still probably missing 50 ponies "

When we're not hanging out with toys, we have other ways of amusing ourselves.  My husband is now able to buckle his own seat belt again.  He had his bone density test on Friday, and we expect the results back in a week or two.  Since he can't jet about the world right now, he and N-son have been enjoying a set of Travel Documentaries in the Bourne series (Bourne Identity, Bourne Ultimatum, etc).  I've never been to Morocco or Moscow or Berlin myself, but I have to say, they seem like very exciting places to spend some time.

Me, I'm starting to paint gray walls yellow.  Our living room has a bunch of interesting corners and nooks, so I'm doing one small piece of wall at a time.  On these small wall-ettes, so to speak, it's really hard to use a roller brush, and I don't mind spending a bunch of my time painting, so I'm getting away with using no painter's tape, using small brushes near the edges and bigger brushes in the middle.  Less trash generated that way, which I know really matters to basically no one but me -- but it makes me happy.  So.

And that's the news from our family, which continues to be wealthy in our adventures.  May you and yours stay safe.

Wrapping my mind around the future

I am in the witness protection program, hiding from the Amish mafia, waiting for the distant day when I'll head to court to tell the sordid truth about hand-plowed sorghum fields.

I am a writer in exile, separated from my country, and lying low until the clamor over my controversial book on the Secret Lives of Mathematicians subsides and it's safe for me to show my face again.

I am a media star of unparalleled popularity, avoiding the paparazzi who stalk me at every turn --- so that every time I emerge from my mansion, I slip on a mask so that I can wend my way through my adoring fans without being recognized. 

I am a religious disciple on a spiritual quest, in humble obedience to a vow of solitude.  

Or maybe I'm just trying to imagine a long-term mind-frame for living a pandemic-structured life.  When all this started, like many people I thought of COVID-19 as a particularly noxious version of the flu.   I hugged my students good-bye and lamented the caution that had caused my college to move to remote learning.  I patted myself on the back for having a month (or two or three) of food stored in the basement.  I reluctantly prepared myself to wait this out, watch it all blow over.

And now?  

Now I have had friends who have had this disease sweep through their households.  

• "It's everything they say it is.  It's a month later, and he's still coughing."  
•  "Entire body aches; fever up and down (my highest was only 101.5); acute discomfort I describe as steel bands tightening across my middle back (fortunately those bands made no appearance also across my chest front); band tightening usually accompanied by chills".

Now, in spite of all our lockdown efforts, COVID-19 has killed twice as many people in my state--in just three months--as all the people who died of the flu in a previous year.   Did I mention that this is in spite of all our lockdown efforts?

Now I follow the conflicting news reports; among these, many scientists and public health experts (whom I trust) caution that this disease will be with us for years.  As much as we all hope that the most pessimistic outlooks turn out to be wrong, it seems misguided not to prepare for this future, in the same way we prepare for other events we don't want to happen.  In the same way we have a first aid kit and flashlights with batteries and smoke detectors and clean water stashed away, I've decided I need to have a plan for long-term social quarantine.  

Some of the plan is just tweaking strategy.  As an example:  I'd been going to our local market almost weekly for refills on our olive oil.  Can I buy olive oil by the gallon, instead of in the smaller bottles, and still do this zero waste?  (It turns out that the market is happy to fill a larger glass bottle I happened to find, and so I can support my local business, be as eco as I like, and yet enter that particular store monthly or so instead of weekly or so).  

Some of the plan is figuring out new structures to keep myself healthy.  In spite of traditional "exercise"---running 4 times a week and doing occasional Fitness Blender workouts---the fact that my daily routine has me sitting around at home instead of walking around my campus means that I'm just not getting the right kind of sunshine and regular movement that I need, and I have to figure out how to work that back in.   It's hard switching from movement as an unintentional by-product of, say, going to class or heading over to a committee meeting, to movement as a conscious and deliberate interruption to my day.  I really have to find a way to rejigger my home life.  

A lot of this plan is just mental.  When I run a race, I have learned not to think about the particular hill I'm running up, or I push too hard and end up wearing myself out.  Instead, I think to myself, "you've got an hour left.  It's 12:15; picture the minute hand sweeping all the way to 1:15; you've got to run that whole time."   In the same way, I am thinking to myself, "You are going to live this way for two years.  Think about the months going by from now to 2022.  You have to be prepared to lie low for that whole time."  For me, that gives me a way to try to pace myself, and (I hope) to avoid burning myself out.   To think about living through this in a way that allows me to take care of myself, and also to be a help as needed to those around me.  

I love the beauty and creativity that is emerging from other people making the most of this crazy situation.   Here's one of my recent favorites.  I get kinda teary toward the end . . . 

I miss you so bad, 

but I think you ought to know that

I intend to stay here for the longest time.

Inside-joke mending project

A few years back, my guy and I did a big deal of a sporting event called an IronMan.  My goal was to finish it and to "not collapse", and I succeeded.  Likewise, my husband finished and did not collapse.  So, that's good.

Ever since then, my husband keeps buying himself random IronMan-themed stuff.  He is not a miser.  He says, "it was on sale!", but it's still stuff, and he's still paying for it.  And even though it has that IronMan logo, it's honestly pretty crummy stuff as far as construction goes.  

Case in point: this nylon bag, on which the nylon seams keep fraying, and the straps therefore break off and become useless for carrying the bag.  

He was hauling 8 pounds of coffee in it, as part of his walking rehabilitation, when the straps broke again.  With only one good arm, he couldn't carry the bag in that condition, so he called N-son to meet him by the side of the road, to fetch the bag (via bike and a sturdier backpack).  When they got home, he then asked me if I could fix it yet again.  

On the one hand, it's a crummy bag (from the point of view of anyone who cares about utility and workmanship).  On the other hand, Thorstein Veblen --- the 19th-century dude who popularized the phrase "conspicuous consumption" -- notes that we like our possessions more for what they add to our reputation than for how well they serve our practical needs; and that IronMan logo means a heck of a lot to my guy.  I knew if I didn't find a way to fix it, he'd just go buy another one. 

So, here's what I did.  Inside this flimsy piece-of-sheet bag, I made a sturdy bag that's not going to break easily.  And I made it out of a thick cotton hospital gown my husband brought home after he broke his arm.  

See the IronMan logo on the cords and on the bag?
Inside, there's now a medical-gown sack.  

Heh.  I love this.  On the outside, there's the show-off nylon shell that breaks apart easily, but inside -- invisible to onlookers -- lurks the strong medical sack that supports everything and keeps it all from falling apart further.  

What a mending metaphor, eh?  

Miser family update in hats

Life continues to be rich and full in the Miser Family, in our various households.  This week, we celebrated a Family Fun Friday Foto, in hats.  And here is my family -- they're the tops!

I-daughter, in her highly fashionable summer bonnet, has put away her sweaters for the summer, storing them in the cedar chest my father made for me when I was in high school.   One of her sisters asked if she was going to wear a particular animal-themed hat she had knitted herself, which led to the following  text convo:

I-daughter: I'm wearing a garden party hat...

K-daughter: Bummer! Not your elephant hat!

I-daughter: No, it's the wrong season for that 😆🐘

L-daughter: Yeah I checked my fashion calendar too and it said "not elephant season". . . 

  . . .   I'm dead 😂 what does that mean?

I-daughter: It's a warm hat... For winter wear

K-daughter: 😂😂😂😂,

L-daughter: However I do kind of like the idea that late spring is not elephant hat season.    Like it's something everyone just knows,

I-daughter: You should spread the word

Word.  So now you know: not elephant hat season. 

J-son (not dressed as Aladdin; the only "hat" he could find was a bowl) is contemplating getting a job as a box tagger that a friend might be able to set him up with.  The pandemic and a couple of other choices he's made so far have left him with a lot of time on his hands and a lot of questions about his life, which isn't always a great place for him to be.  So I'm kinda hoping this job comes through and works him into the ground for a little while.  

Y, our host daughter, has finished her third year of med school. Yay, Y!  Her picture comes with a tiny title saying, "Day 5 of Summer break and already I'm Bordeaux".  She sent me an email this morning with the subject line, "Did you ever think about chickens?"  I love that question (and I'll respond soon, I promise, Y!).

L-daughter, the elder, has put her prodigious artistic talents to good use making a bunch of posters for protest to improve working conditions at her VA hospital during this pandemic.   Man, it sure would be nice if we could properly equip the people we were asking to take care of other people, don't you think?  Here's a nice story about the protest. 

L-daughter, the younger, is wearing what she describes as "the only hat I could find", but I bet if she looked hard, she could find a bowl.  I do like the hat she found, though!

My guy, wearing his Iraq desert hat, has gotten a bionic brace for his arm.  He is very happy to be able to walk all over, and he does so, logging 9 or so miles in a day. He's doing more physical therapy than his trainers want him to (which is normal for him -- when he had his knee replaced last year, his physical therapist told him, "Listen to your body . . . um, I mean, *don't* ever do this to the point of pain!!"). He's getting his staples removed later this week.

N-son was practicing his "Honey, if you love me, would you please, please smile" face.  (That's a game all my kids tried to play with me as a kid, and N-son was the only one who could make it through without cracking up).  He is enjoying living on his own but comes over for laundry, dinner, movies (this week:  Thelma and Louise and Fight Club), and general catching up.

Even though it's summer, I'm doing a bunch of academic advising and thinking ahead to my fall classes, because teaching is so crazy these days!  I also happened to get an email from an engineer who has questions related to the kind of math I do, which is like, totally, weird for me, because I've spent my entire career thinking of myself as a theoretical -- not applied -- mathematician.  But we've started working together, and it's a lot of fun!

K-daughter and family have been learning first-hand the value of exercise for highly active 5-year-old kids.  They've been getting outside to do hiking, and A-child gets a couple of opportunities to run up and down a hill with a parent as a way to enhance discipline.  I love that creative and healthy approach!

And that's the news from our family, which continues to be wealthy in our adventures (getting ahead, you might say).  May you and yours stay safe.