Things I'm Obsessed With:

During the recent illness of my friend/employer, she couldn't move around much and found it difficult to concentrate on reading, so we spent much of our time watching television. This was a treat for me, as I don't often watch television. Because she wasn't feeling well, she preferred easy-to-digest shows such as cooking shows, procedurals like CSI or Law and Order, and game shows, specifically Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, and Jeopardy. Usually she recorded these on her Tivo, and forwarded through the commercials, but one night, for some reason, this didn't happen and I was exposed to an advertisement for the Snuggie. It was a blanket with big sleeves, so you could play on your laptop without getting all twisted up. I got home to our freezing house, and looked it up. On the cusp of being sold on the Snuggie I looked up reviews and that's when I found that people calling it the poor cousin of the Slanket.

Flipping back and forth between websites, I noticed that the Slanket was forthright about its measurements: 60"x 95", whereas the Snuggie was coy, refusing to reveal more than "very large." More research indicated the Snuggie was 60"x 65".

At first I told myself it was a little ridiculous. I didn't need a Slanket. But the thought wouldn't leave me. I started to show pictures of the Slanket to friends who came to the house. I found myself bringing it up in conversations. Finally I decided to take the plunge and order a Slanket.

Sadly, the Slanket seems to be on back order everywhere, including the main website. Amazon has a few, but the prices are well above market, starting at $99. The best price is about $30 at QVC, but there is a waiting list and a shipping charge. I finally chose the moss green version from solutions.com, which will hopefully ship December 26.

Will the Slanket be all that I dream? How could anything be? This is what happens when you don't watch television. My resistance to suggestion has been reduced to nil, and despite my best efforts, I look forward to the arrival of this product on my doorstep as life changing. I'll keep you posted!

Nina

For about a month—from early November of 2008 to early December I worked for an exceptional lady. According to wikipedia, the word "diva," is someone who is accomplished in opera--and by extension in theatre. It can be used with the sense of “goddess” or “fine lady,” or with a negative connotation to denote someone who is “high-maintenance, manipulative, fussy, highly strung, privileged, and demanding.”

The woman I worked with embodied all of these things.

During the time that I spent with her, she was ill, and in December, she died.

This is another topic that I have not felt entirely comfortable writing about, especially in the moment, as there was a certain element of celebrity involved but before the year comes to an end, and the world moves on, I want to mention it, and to acknowledge the impact our brief relationship had on me.

Being with someone during an illness is a strangely intimate experience. I've done it now as the person who is suffering, and as the witness, the would-be comforter. It's so very direct, and you experience aspects of someone that few others, even those who know them well, have seen. But it's like sex, or childbirth--it's just pain, and that ends and it was so intense you don't really remember much of it--and in some ways, you don't know that person any better for knowing their humanity. You've shared something, but it still remains to be discovered whether they like avocados or classical music, or whatever. We mostly think of people in the course of our normals lives.

Although I got little pieces, I didn't get much of a chance to make enough of those everyday normal life discoveries. So while I am grateful for the time I spent, there is part of me that feels betrayed for being deprived. She was the kind of person who makes an impression on everyone who knows her. Everyone has anecdotes. But they don't seem to be the person I knew. Sometimes when you come to the party late, you don't feel like you were at the same party everyone else was at even though they assume you were.

Regardless, the party I attended was pretty intense, and for a number of reasons I won't go into the whole thing has knocked me for a loop. I still find myself crying at odd moments.

TV: Its Own Worst Enemy

Yesterday was Monday, so I took a moment of silence to mourn the loss of My Own Worst Enemy, cancelled after only nine episodes. I found the show compelling. It reminded me of the first season of Alias, except less annoying. I liked it because it really worked with character--it felt like a show about characters who sometimes go on adventures, as opposed to shows about people who go on adventures (solve crimes, whatever) who also happen to occasionally have characters.

Why Haven't I Been...Continued

When I started my program at school, we were asked to be careful about blogging--a reasonable and not unwise request for two reasons:

One is related to the travel writing thing: When you leave your world and enter a completely strange one—in a new place, doing new things, it’s easy to approach it as a tourist, an observer—and easy to forget that sooner than you think, you'll become part of that world—the funny looking guy in your basket weaving class might become your boyfriend. One day he’ll start to read old posts on your blog, and next thing you know it'll be like when Mark Darcy flipped through Bridget Jones’ diary and she had to run down the icy street in her underwear to explain. Fortunately, Mark Darcy was extremely understanding, but that doesn’t mean your funny looking basket weaving boy will be.

The second reason is that the school has some stature, and must be careful of its reputation. This is good for the school of course, but also for its graduates. If I say my spelunking teacher didn’t teach us anything about spelunking, this could hurt both the school—which highly touts its spelunking faculty in its recruitment brochures, and it could hurt me, if after graduation, my potential employer has heard a rumor that the place I received my spelunking training is not as strong as the school another potential spelunker attended--or worse, has read the blog post where I confessed I didn’t learn a damn thing about spelunking.

This is entirely hypothetical of course, and I am in no way inferring that my current institution falls short in the spelunking arena or any other…but in almost any environment—work, play, school or sports—there is bound to be some variance in the levels of competence of the players, and on any given day one might be impressed or frustrated.

Now, my program has also requested that if I have any problems, that I approach the program head directly as opposed to blogging about it. This also seems to be wise advice…at least in theory. In practice—well it’s a little harder. In truth, there is an incredibly large stigma related to “tattling.” So each time someone makes an administrative glitch that means I don’t get into advanced spelunking, or my basket weaving professor fails to explain some weaving technique, should I really have to go “tell on them?” No one wants to be responsible for someone getting reprimanded or fired—and knowing (as I do from my many jobs) that it’s actually incredibly hard to get fired, who wants the political weight of having been the narc? No one I know.
However, most of us would happily complain—maybe not even complain, maybe just tell the funny story—to a friend. And you, dear readers, are my friends. So what’s a girl to do? That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.

Why haven't I been writing here lately?

I have been insanely busy, that is true. But it's not the whole truth.

I had a conversation recently with a friend who is a fellow cancer survivor, and also a fellow blogger. When she was diagnosed, she kept a forthright and riveting account of her life, centered around the illness. Her words were a source of entertainment, education, and comfort to many. But lately her posts have dropped off. She is in now remission, but going through a divorce and other life changes. Because she is a great writer, I’m sure she has equal insight into these experiences, but, as we discussed, she doesn’t feel comfortable putting them out into the world, because they involve other people.
Many people use the metaphor of illness as a journey. Writing about illness is a little like being a travel writer. You see everything from the point of view of a newcomer. Illness, like travel, brings you into interaction with all kinds of characters who are unlikely to become close friends, i.e. people who will never read your blog. And as a writer, this is a kind of gift. For a while, you can journalistically document your own life, with detailed, visual descriptions, observations and quoted conversations.
What happens though, to the traveler (of whatever kind of journey), who comes home? Now the funny observations, the small rages or hurt feelings, conversations, are taking place with people who know you, and with people who know each other. It is difficult talk about yourself in a vacuum—at least without being narcissistic or a bit boring—as Alice in Wonderland notes “What use is a book without pictures or conversations?”
Questions then abound: What is appropriate material for a blog? You might believe, as I do, that everyone owns the story of their own life—their experiences, perceptions, feelings. And yet if those perceptions are of something or someone, if those feelings are about something or someone—then even if like me, your readership is about eight people, isn't it difficult to dismiss that your opinions might at some point have an impact? But should one tiptoe through life trying not to have an impact on anyone, not daring to disturb the universe? Should I commit lies of omission in regard to my own feelings and thoughts—in effect misrepresent my current state or view on the world out of deference to others?
On one hand, I pride myself on my discretion, I am, by nature, someone who can easily guard someone’s personal confidence. But on the other hand, I strongly believe that having a real connection with the world requires openness and honesty with oneself and others. How can you truly engage with anyone if you don’t let them know you? At some level, I believe that discretion is a virtue—it is respect for the feelings of others. At another level, though, what we call discretion is often a kind of complicity—and perhaps cowardice about confrontation.

Coming Back Soon!

You might be thinking that this blog is slowly fading away. It is not! Vacation is coming, and I will be posting twice a week--at least for the rest of December into January. So hang onto your hats!

In the meantime...

If you've got thirty seconds (which you must if you're reading this blog) it would really help Paul (us) out if you could take a gander at these short spots for Benjamin Franklin, "the punctual plumber!"

Some of you might recognize my sister and her two kids in the starring roles--and if you're really good, you might recognize my brother Greg's inimitable musical stylings.

Speaking of which--if you have an opinion as which music you prefer--please shout back. We've got folks on both sides of the fence around here!

Should load fast, no voting, work-safe content...all views counted by December 17, so before then is best!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfc1Sa9lCA4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wdk9emrjLOE

Thanks for your time and support and I look forward to seeing you in a week. My first post back will be about my new obsession with Slankets!