| Essays With Andy - Andy's Essay on Language |
[Jul. 11th, 2009|12:19 pm] |
Essays With Andy
Andy
Today at 12:01pm
We’ve always known language was important, that language set us apart. God wanted to know what Adam would call the animals. Confucius, asked what would be his first priority if given the ministry of a state, replied, “The correction of names.” Six centuries before the Gospel of John, Heraclitus of Ephesus said, “In the beginning, the Word.” Aristotle, in Politics, wrote that speech sets Man apart from other animals, who have only voice. The human brain is three times larger than that of other apes our size and weight. Modern Darwinians theorize that human brain-size is due, at least in its final stages, to language and our cerebral capacity for language symbiotically co-evolving. The philosophical debate about the priority of language over thought or thought over language is a pointless chicken-or-egg dispute. Nothing like human thought would exist without language, just as nothing like human language would exist without thought. Language imposes some limits on the thinkable, but human thought also creates new linguistic tools, so that the limits of the thinkable keep expanding. The evolutionary bootstrapping effect continues.
( continued ) |
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| Essays with Andy: Language |
[Jul. 11th, 2009|12:00 pm] |
I was going to write about language and culture. There's much to say about how culture shapes language and the importance of understanding a culture through its language. I've had a week to think about it and I could write about it but this is supposed to be an essay on my beliefs about language and, it just so happens, I have some big feelings about this particular subject, so, I'm going to get my snark on and say what I feel.
Unless you are in the National Spelling Bee or on Jeopardy! THE POINT OF LANGUAGE IS TO COMMUNICATE. It's not about your ego, it's not about trying to impress people, it's not about writing complex sentences that sound scholarly, and no one is going to plop down in front of you to give you the Nobel Prize for Sesquipedalism.
I am annoyed by people who muddle a conversation with the use of affected language and complicated sentence structures. Words are tools and smart people get the most out of their tools. I don't care if you have a Ph.D or if you got an F in every English class and dropped out of high school when you were 15-years-old--if your language is so affected that you fail to communicate, you are not smart.
A smart communicator considers the purpose, the topic and the audience when they speak. Even in junior high school, I knew that I didn't need my entire vocabulary to speak with the stoners out behind the school. And, not because they wouldn't understand it (some of them certainly would) but because it wasn't necessary. It didn't aid communication.
By the way, I love the National Spelling Bee. I'm impressed by the kids dedication and their love of language. But what I really love is hearing the interviews with the kids and realizing that they sound just like other kids. I'm glad to say that not once have I heard one of them come out with a sentence like, "My paternal grandfather once noted that my discourse runs from the magniloquent and obtuse to the abecedarian and perspicacious." -- but, if one were to say something like that, I'd instantly dislike that kid and the kid's parents. It's obnoxious; it's ridiculous; and outside of a party game, it's just plain foolish.
I can think of a few arguments that people might make against what I'm saying here, so I'll address them:
1. I'm not encouraging the "Dumbing Down of America" and I'm not saying Big Words Are Bad. I love big words and archaic words and Shakespeare and idioms and scientific language and I want our kids to know these things. And I want them to know when to use them. Words are a tool to be used in the art of communication and if you are choosing the language that fails to do that, then you don't own your words, the words own you. The most attractive people fit comfortably into various social settings, because they understand the intention of language. Sure, there is a time and place for someone to use words like paradigm and paradox, but if you want to shut down a good number of your social interactions, introduce those words at the wrong time and to the wrong people. If you sound smart but you go home alone, what good did it do you?
2. Recently, I heard the argument that when you spend years in academia that it becomes second nature to talk a certain way, to sound pompous, and that it's not intentional, it's just a natural progression after spending years of trying to impress teachers and other students. At first, I bought that. It seems reasonable on the face of it. Except, no, it's not. It's a cop out. I didn't lose "See Dick and Jane run down the hill" when I learned more vocabulary. That's like saying, to get smart you have to get dumb. Do you have to lose the ability to communicate with a class of 2nd graders? Do you have to lose the art of clear and concise communication? What sort of an argument is that, really?
Anne Morrow Lindbergh said, "Good communication is as stimulating as black coffee and just as hard to sleep after". Isn't that the best feeling ever? Who doesn't love having a deep and interesting conversation, the kind that plays over in your head again and again because it was so thoughtful and entertaining. That's the kind of conversation that leaves everyone feeling smart. |
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| Conversation #432 |
[Jul. 10th, 2009|06:56 am] |
HE: Do you think birds believe in reincarnation?
ME: I don't know. I'm not a bird, I'm a Baptist.
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| Andy's Essay on Death |
[Jul. 3rd, 2009|01:23 pm] |
Andy
Essays with Lisa: Death
Today at 12:28 p.m.
When I was young, the nature of life and death were presented to me through the Paradigm of Reward and Punishment; I was told that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and that the wages of sin was death. Essentially, then, I was told that everyone dies because they deserve to. This can be generalized beyond the Christian paradigm: anyone who wants the world to be justified, not merely explained, and who perceives death as an awful thing, must surely feel that in order for death to be justified, we must have done something to deserve it.
( continued )
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| Death |
[Jul. 3rd, 2009|10:43 am] |
Every culture has at least one theory of afterlife and I think those theories are beneficial. Many years ago, Dr. Bob Baugher told our class on Death and Dying that the human mind cannot imagine its own non-existence. At first, I didn't believe that was true but it stuck with me through the years and I have come to believe it. There's an article in Scientific American that explains it better than I could:
"Because we have never experienced a lack of consciousness, we cannot imagine what it will feel like to be dead."
While it is impossible for the human brain to imagine nothing, I think it's just as impossible for us not to try to imagine it. Even the attempt causes anxiety. There is a theory in Social Psychology called Terror Management Theory which holds that we have an automatic and unconscious arsenal of psychological defenses designed to keep us from thinking about death by turning our thoughts to happier things and that if we did not have these defenses, the terror would be paralyzing. Another article, in BPS Research Digest explains some of the research in that area better than I could.
I'm happy to acknowledge these psychological defenses to be true and necessary, but I can also say without hesitation that I do believe in an afterlife and I believe in a benevolent, omnipresent God who is providing one. I'm taking this one on Faith.
I can't tell you what it looks like.
I can't tell you who will be there.
I can't tell you anything about it.
And, as Ken likes to say, the people who already know, aren't talking.
Because I'm human and a writer who loves the sound of her own thoughts, I'm tempted to write more--to tell you what I think heaven looks like; what I hope it's not; what I think would be really cool--but I've already acknowledged what that's all about, right?
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| Trains and Hot Nights |
[Jul. 2nd, 2009|02:39 am] |
Wide awake at 2 a.m. thinking about the summer of 1977 and remembering how wonderful it was.
On my 15th birthday, I stayed out until 3 in the morning, sitting by the pool, talking with our hot, 28-year-old Mexican neighbor, Lalo. The next morning (when my brother, Tink, ratted me out) my mom loaded me into the car to drive me to northern Idaho to stay the summer with my sister, Shelly. I was banished. On the 8 hour drive to Idaho, my mother asked me about the hickey on my neck. I lied and said my brother, Billy, hit me in the throat with a baseball. I acted indignant that she'd dare to think it was anything else.
Before we left that morning, I was able to sneak a note to Lalo through a neighborhood girl, telling him I was being forced to leave and giving him my sister's address. He wrote to me a week later to tell me that my brother had decided it was a matter of honor and had taken on Lalo and his 2 brothers out by the pool. When Tink was clearly not winning the fight, my sister-in-law, Xena, who was just 16 at the time, grabbed a 2x4 to join the fight and even the odds.
It was a great summer after I stopped crying over Lalo. Shelly was 25 and her daughter, Dooley, was 2 1/2 years old. We swam in the River, hiked in the woods and worked in the vegetable garden. I had the best tan of my life and a smokin' body. Not that it did me any good once I was banished. I was stuck on 40 acres of land in the middle of nowhere, 20 miles from the nearest town.
I just went outside to cool down and realized it was the trains that woke me, just like they would wake Dooley and I from our afternoon naps so long ago. I loved those trains. Thw swoosh against the tracks, the whistle and the whine. I can still feel myself laying on my back on the twin bed in Shelly's guestroom, stretching and listening.
Later that fall, I was hit by a semi and thrown through the windshield of my boyfriend's car. The next year, I was married and a high school drop out. Five years later, Shelly was gone.
I'm sure glad we had that summer. |
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| More On Love & Fear |
[Jun. 29th, 2009|07:10 pm] |
Dr. Andy has 2 friends, Patrick and Steve, who are also philosophy professors. They have friended me on Facebook so they can read my "Essays With Andy". I'm sure they are intrigued (frustrated? perplexed? astonished?) by my views. I told Steve today, "Oh, Lord. You teach critical thinking and I'm a confessed Magical Thinker. Don't read my essays. You'll have fits."
A few days ago, I wrote a status message that had Patrick asking me questions about my love vs. fear philosophy. Unfortunately, I stated it wrong when I said:
"...just heard a guy named Dr. Wayne Dyer say '_The Course of Miracle_ says, there are only 2 emotions in this world, fear and love' -- which is what I've believed and said for about 15 years. Now I must go find this book. And check the publication date."
While Dyer did say that there are only 2 emotions in the world and I did say that I believe that, what I really meant was that I believe that fear and love are the primary emotions and all other emotions generate from one or the other, which isn't the same thing at all.
But he probably would have called me on it anyway.
( more discussion )
Sometimes, I wonder if I'll look back on these essays and discussion in 10 years and say, "What the hell was I thinking?"
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| Courage |
[Jun. 29th, 2009|12:16 pm] |
I think courage is fascinating and perplexing and I can't believe that I'm daring to write about it. I could argue that it's the most revered of virtues and necessary for growing into many other virtues. Can one be honest without courage? Sure, you can be mean and honest, but can one be virtuously honest without the help of courage? Is it possible to be devout, just, steadfast, hopeful, peaceful, merciful, even kind, without the help of courage? I don't think so.
To me, the most beautiful thing about courage is that people who truly have reason to claim their courageous acts, generally don't. I'm thinking of the dozens of times I've seen someone labeled a hero (the person who rushes into a burning building; the police officer who shoots it out with armed bank robbers; the soldier who goes back for the wounded under a barrage of heavy weapon fire) only to hear the hero say, "I'm not a hero, I did what I had to do." I suppose a person could interpret that as false modesty, but I don't believe that for a second.
I've never been in a situation that required me to choose whether or not to risk my life to save someone else, but I believe it must be humbling. In that quick moment of decision, just before one chooses to act or not, can their be anything more terrifying? Our natural instinct is for self-preservation and, yet, for the courageous, in a split second the mind overcomes the body and something great occurs. That's the defining moment: courage is being afraid and going ahead anyway.
And then comes the reflection. The still, quiet moments afterward when one has time to examine what happened. Everyone else is running around saying how courageous you were, and inside you know that you were scared to death, that you were one breath away from being conquered by your fear; one breath away from being a coward. Wow.
I think that is incredibly, beautifully human. And, to think, on a smaller scale, we do that every day. Sometimes we win against our fears, sometimes we don't.
I heard this story once about a soldier who was cowardly in battle but in every other way was considered to be a model human being, well respected by his fellow soldiers. When his regiment was called to fight, he'd stand beside them until the first shot was fired or until a comrade fell dead next to him, and then, overcome by fear, he'd run off, only to rejoin the regiment later. Sometimes he'd rejoin them right away, at other times it might take a week, so ashamed was he to face them. Each time, his comrades encouraged him to stand with them. But he couldn't do it. Asked if he thought the man was a coward, one of the soldiers said, "It takes a courageous man to keep coming back, to try again and again."
I believe that courage is a vehicle that moves us on the road from fear to love. It's a journey that each of us makes over and over. I like to think that with every trip we make in that direction, we are slowly wearing a pathway that makes the journey a little bit easier each time. I don't know if that's true but, I hope so, and I choose to live my life as if it were.
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| Andy's Essay on Advice |
[Jun. 27th, 2009|05:47 am] |
Andy
Essays with Lisa: Advice
Yesterday at 12:41pm
Advice comes on all subjects and in all qualities; and it comes from all directions. There is a good deal too much advice out there, too many conflicting opinions, a dissonance of clashing voices--a lot of morons with opinions, and not a few slick dealers with ulterior motives. I suspect that if one possessed the requisite wisdom to discriminate reliably between good advice and all the bad advice out there, simply on the hearing of it, one would not need advisors at all. But of course, nearly all of those who think they are that wise are mistaken.
So we have a Catch-22: we seek advice because we are aware we need wisdom, but in a world full of advice, we need wisdom to know which advice to heed and follow. We can ask, who has already followed advice sufficiently like this, and how did it work for them? But again, we will find it is not that there is not enough information, but rather there is too much information, misinformation, and disinformation. We are left with the same sifting problem as before. Philosophy is born from this problem of the plurality of voices; people sought a criterion by which to judge between the many competing claims to authority. But for the most part, we have to take a piecemeal approach. Who do we trust? What has our own experience born out?
( A few pieces of advice ) |
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| More on Honesty |
[Jun. 26th, 2009|02:34 pm] |
In response to my two-line essay on Honesty: "Everyone says they want honesty, most are lying." (which I really mean to read everyone is lying), a friend wrote the following:
RGF: No one wants brutal honesty forced upon them, but most people accept gentle, tactful honesty administered in appropriate doses when it is clear that the power to choose remains with the one hearing the message. Of course, I am not talking about the white little lies that grease our social life. We couldn't do without those.
( More conversation ) |
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| Advice |
[Jun. 26th, 2009|11:30 am] |
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I see advice falling into two distinct categories: personal advice aimed at one's life and a more general sort of advice that amounts to a philosophical idea that you can take or not take, depending on whether or not it meshes with your own philosophy. That sort of advice can come from many sources, even people you've never met and it is never intrusive. Either you accept it or you don't.
Philosophical Advice
The first thing that comes to mind when I think of the philosophical advice that has impacted my view of life and that I've adopted as part of my own philosophy are two stories from Maya Angelou.
It must have been 15 years ago when I heard Angelou speak on the power of words. She described them as "energy pellets that shoot forth into the invisible realm of life" and even though we can't see them, they become the energy that fills a room, our lives, our minds, an environment. She also likened negative and angry words to big sticky black blobs that attach themselves to the walls of a home. And these blobs don't dissipate, they simply pile on top of each other, taking more and more space and squeezing the air out of the room until you can't even breathe in your own home. I really believe that to be true. I think that the more negative and angry we are in our homes, the less room we have to breathe. We have the power to choke and suffocate each other with hurt and anger.
I also heard her tell a story about going on a date. She came out of her house, climbed into her date's car and the first thing he said to her was, "You're going to wear that dress?" I can't recall for certain what Angelou said in response to that, I think she said nothing at all, but she got out of the car, went back into her house and never saw that man again. I think of that story often and I try to live the spirit of it. There are people who deserve to be in your life and people who do not.
Personal Advice
I have a quote on my Live Journal info page from Edna St. Vincent Millay that reads, "Please give me some good advice in your next letter. I promise not to follow it." It doesn't quite say what I think about advice, but it captures the spirit of it. I have it there to discourage people from giving me unsolicited advice about my life, which is a practice that I find anywhere from annoying to abhorrent depending on how well I know (and like) the person giving it.
Really, is there anything more annoying than being given unsolicited advice from someone who has not earned that level of intimacy with you?
I firmly believe that one should choose one's council carefully. Just as not all opinions are equal, neither is advice. I rarely ask for advice of any kind, and it is even more rare for me to ask for advice about my life but, when I do, I ask it of a very few select people. These are people who have proven to have my best interest at heart; people who I trust with my life; people who have a track record of wisdom. And when I go to them for advice, I don't do so lightly.
We've all known people who ask for advice from anyone who will listen to them. I have two thoughts on that: either the person is simply looking for someone to say what he or she wants to hear or the person lacks discrimination. In either case, it's not a good thing. It's not an honor to be asked, it doesn't mean they respect your opinions or your experience, it has nothing whatsoever to do with you other than you are a warm body. It's a waste of your time and energy.
Consequences of Asking For Advice
Advice is never free. It comes with consequences and it shapes the relationship between the seeker and the adviser.
Some people expect you to take the advice they give, and even the ones that don't have a certain expectation that if you're not going to take the advice, you better not come back in a month with the same problem asking the same questions. They're not going to want to hear it. You wear out your welcome.
Another consequence (if you're not careful about choosing your adviser) is that you tilt the balance of the relationship. Once you've given someone the right to comment on your life, that's not an easy thing to take away. And the more you allow someone to comment, the more you tilt the power in that relationship, until finally one is a parent and one is a child.
Adult relationships are not meant to go in that direction. With children, if you're lucky, you're giving them less and less advice as they grow up because they are insisting on making their own decisions and you are becoming more comfortable trusting their decisions. That's the natural progression.
When It's Not Advice
I love to have a good conversation about almost any topic. I especially love it when it seems like I disagree with someone and then we can talk it out and find the common grounds, those areas that make sense to both of us. I leave discussions like that thinking, "Yeah, that's why I like having that person in my life, we don't think exactly the same, we have our own ideas, but we get it, we get each other." And I love it when I or someone else has the chance to be supportive when someone is sharing their story or their heartache or their frustration. That's not giving advice. That's using discernment and care and respect and etiquette. I wouldn't want people to confuse my reluctance to receiving unsolicited advice as a reluctance to accept warmth or caring. There's never too much of that in the world.
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| Man, Oh Man |
[Jun. 26th, 2009|01:58 am] |
When I went to bed, I couldn't quiet my brain so I got up and posted the poll. Then, when I went back to bed, I tossed and turned for awhile and felt a headache coming on so I got up again and took some aspirin. I went back to bed and tried to ignore the headache and tried not to think and tried to go to sleep but the the headache was getting worse and it was one of those headaches that feels like it's in your jaw and cheekbones and eye-sockets and...UGH, UGH, UGH.
Eventually, I did fall asleep but I seemed to go from nightmare to nightmare, each one waking me long enough to realize what it was before I dropped back into another restless sleep. The last one though, hot damn, that was bad.
I was in a big Live Journal rooming house, having a great conversation with ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) chaptal and jeff2001 in the common area. I remember feeling really happy to be there, talking to them, thinking how cool it was that we had apartments in the same building and could hang out and talk. It was early in the morning, and I was saying that I needed to leave for work and Jeff opened the door and told me it was snowing like crazy. I looked out and realized that we were on a mountain top and I told him that I had to leave immediately--I needed to go tell my co-workers to stay home from work--and I started running downhill very fast.
All around me their were crags and cliffs covered in snow, and at the edge of one cliff I nearly stumbled over the body of a skier that was tied to a backboard. I stopped to look closer and saw that he was clearly dead and his chest was covered in blood. He was also half hanging over the edge and blocking my way down. I stood there deciding what to do and I remember thinking, "Oh shit, this is another nightmare" and then he moved his arm and turned his head to look at me. His eye sockets were empty and the flesh was falling off his face. I turned and ran and he was yelling at me to help him.
My heart was racing when I woke up and I could not stay in bed. And now I'm wide awake. I hate nights like this when I go from nightmare to nightmare. It makes me so afraid to go back to sleep because I know I'll have another one. I've been here so many times.
It's almost 3 a.m. now. Ken will be up soon and then I'll be okay to go back to sleep. He'll be on the lookout and no one will get me. Looks like today is going to be a work from home kind of day.
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| Checking My Self Perception |
[Jun. 25th, 2009|11:01 pm] |
I can't sleep for thinking of this. I'm writing an essay on "Advice", and before I post it at noon tomorrow (Andy and I have a schedule), I want to check my self-perception vs. how others see me. Your assistance by taking my poll is much appreciated. Please feel free to be completely honest, there is no answer here that would hurt my feelings or make me feel bad, nor is there any answers that would make me feel good--I'm just curious if people see these things the way I do.
( poll responses ) |
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| The Day After |
[Jun. 25th, 2009|08:28 am] |
My body froze up over night, and I was moving slowly this morning. Ken was the same. At first I thought, "Man, it feels like we were playing Twister last night instead of Pictionary," and then I remembered the Cleaning Frenzy. Poor Ken. He can't just leave me to do it. He has to join in and do just as much as I do. But, we lived through it and our house looks marvelous. Spring cleaning complete!
Our Ju-Ju party was delightful. We ate Mexican food, sang "Happy Birthday to Us", told stories, laughed and laughed, opened birthday presents and played games. It was so good to spend time with these friends. Norman didn't bring his glasses and couldn't read the game cards, so Ken offered him a pair of reading glasses. Jamie said, "Remember the days when we'd say, 'I'll take a beer!' and now it's 'I'll take a pair of reading glasses!'" We laughed so hard. There's something to be said for aging together.
Ken and I are both off today. We thought about driving to Mount Rainier, but we're both tired and enjoying the quiet day. After 30 days of no rain, and a few days of very little rain, it would be the perfect day for a rain storm. We could stay in bed and watch movies. But, it looks like it's going to be another sunny day.
ME: Wouldn't it be perfect if it was raining today?
HE: Yes.
ME: I'd love to lay in bed and listen to the thunder.
HE: Honey, this is Seattle.
ME: Okay, listen to the two claps of thunder.
HE: One clap. Twenty miles away.
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| Andy's Essay on Honesty |
[Jun. 24th, 2009|03:47 pm] |
Andy
Essays with Lisa: Honesty
Today at 3:48pm
I can’t approach writing an essay on honest without a certain sense of trepidation, irony, and shame. By my own definition of honesty, I’m not an honest man. Not yet. And this essay won’t change this much. My publishing an essay on honesty is a little like Ronald McDonald doing a public service announcement for PETA.
Honesty is more than a pattern of behavior, it is a Virtue: an acquired inner disposition toward truthfulness, dependability, and general non-duplicity in word and action. It is not enough to be statistically truthful most of the time, or statistically dependable; either of these can occur almost by accident, because one is not really put to the test. The question is, what would be one’s first inclination in a given circumstance, and in all circumstances? Is honesty one’s consistent reflex?
When I consider the tests I have been put to in my life, it is the failings that come to the forefront of my mind. Perhaps they only show up against a background of mundane successes that I’m taking for granted, but, to me, these failures are glaring. I won’t elaborate much, as that would infringe on the privacy of others; suffice it to say that of the Ten Commandments, the only one I’ve never broken was the prohibition on murder. (OK, the stealing and false witnessing was really minor stuff, but still...) The best I can say for myself is that I aspire to honesty. Being an honest man would make me happy. But virtue is easier abandoned than recovered.
If one had the Virtue of Honesty, as defined above, being honest would always be easy. But more conventionally speaking, honesty can be easy or hard. I think interpersonal honesty is easier for the young, and, unless one works at acquiring the inward disposition, becomes harder as we age and acquire more baggage. Honesty is NOT a tendency to over-divulge too much information, that is in fact an easy substitute for the real thing. Individually I have found complete openness to be easier in the early stages of a relationship, and more challenging as the relationship becomes more important and there is more to lose. This is my experience, probably not true for everyone.
Dishonesty travels hand in hand with self-deception. Lying is easier when you believe what you’re saying. And self-deception is the chief mark of the fool. It is wise to surround oneself with friends who never let the even the smallest fib slide. The ones who do may be more comfortable, but the ones who don’t are better for one’s character.
Aspiring to honesty isn’t the worst place to be. It has the drawback that one second-guesses oneself a lot. When I was a child, we used to sing a hymn that included the words, “see if there be any wicked way in me…” But the time I reached high school, I was sick of prayerful introspection, because every time I looked for something wrong in my soul, I found it. I tried to give up introspection entirely, so that I didn’t have to continually second-guess myself. But habitually second-guessing oneself is a light yoke to bear, compared to the consequences lying to oneself.
copied here with permission |
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| Conversation #780: His Night Stand |
[Jun. 24th, 2009|11:20 am] |
HE: Wow! This bedroom looks great! I'm seriously impressed.
ME: Thank you. I was hoping to have your nightstand cleaned off before you saw it.
HE: very unhappy look at Lisa
ME: Ha! I knew that would get you.
HE: You said that to bother me. My night stand does not need cleaning off.
ME: You have got to be kidding.
HE: I need all of these things. I live here.
ME: Okay, fine. I'll leave it alone.
HE: Thank you. Here, have a plastic fork.
ME: tosses it in the garbage next to his night stand
HE: You threw away Kenny's Memorial Fork?
ME: You know, other men go away for a week, camping or hunting, so their wives can be happy while they clean. But no, not you.
HE: Fine, I'll go to Argentina for a week.
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| Conversation #779: Where are the...? |
[Jun. 24th, 2009|10:47 am] |
HE: Where did you put that stack of new books?
ME: I made room for them on the bookcases.
HE: Oh, okay. That looks good.
(10 minutes later)
HE: Where did you put the stamps?
(I walk out of the bedroom where I'm trying to make the bed and stare at him)
HE: (pointing) Where are the stamps that were on top of that book?
ME: (also pointing) Right there.
HE: Oh, okay.
ME: Are you going to keep asking me these questions?
HE: No, I'll stop.
ME: You know where everything is in this house. I hate that. I move the smallest freakin' thing and you notice it gone.
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| Conversation 778: Cleaning for the Ju Ju Party |
[Jun. 24th, 2009|10:23 am] |
Ken's home from work. Why can't this be his long day?
HE: So, you're hiding all my shit and you're rearranging the furniture.
ME: This is why you can't be here when I clean.
HE: It makes me stressed and then I won't have a good time.
ME: We need to compromise.
HE: Compromising means one of us compromises and the other takes a Xanax.
ME: Fine. You compromise and take the Xanax and let me clean.
HE: I hate this.
ME: Why do you hate this? Am I asking you to do anything?
HE: (shakes his head no)
HE: I will say, when I drove up, I saw the colorful wine glasses in the kitchen window and thought they looked pretty.
ME: See?
HE: And then I thought, Oh God, Lisa's going to get up in the middle of the night, go to close the blinds and that will be the end of all those glasses.
ME: Yeah, that might happen. We'll buy new ones.
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| Conversation #777: Ju-Ju Party. |
[Jun. 24th, 2009|05:47 am] |
Yesterday, we thought we were going to a party tonight and then the plans for the party changed and now we are hosting the party at our house. I was wide awake at 4 this morning, feeling like it was Christmas morning, but mostly thinking of the cleaning that we need to do.
ME: Ken, I'm going to tell you now, so you won't argue with me about it later. I'm going to put things in a box.
HE: No. Like what?
ME: All the clutter that's sitting around and doesn't need to be out. I have to do this to feel good just for tonight.
HE: What are you going to put in the box?
ME: Like your flashlights and things.
HE: No. I can't find things when you do that.
ME: Ken, it's just for tonight. I'll put them in one box and after tonight, you can empty the box right after everyone leaves if you want. Or I'll empty it for you.
HE: No, no, no, I hate it when you do that. You disappear things! That's your Superpower. That's why we have 4 flashlights and 24 rolls of scotch tape.
ME: One. Night.
HE: Where are you going to put the box?
ME: I don't know but it won't be hard to find. I'll take. it out. Right. After. Everyone. Leaves.
***
HE: Do you know how much cleaning we have to do, time-wise?
ME: A couple of hours.
HE: Vaccuming and picking up, that's it.
ME: Washing windows, scouring the bathroom, dusting the blinds and the bookshelves, changing the sheets on the bed, clearing the clutter, washing down the stove and the fridge, checking for cobwebs...
HE: God, you're picky.
Thank goodness he's gone to work now. It's so much easier to clean with no one else in the house. And, I forgot to tell him that I'm going to re-arrange the furniture, too.
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