Persephone's Box

Visiting for Groundhogs Day

2010-02-02T08:45:00.006-05:00

It's been a long, long time! I've been writing lots elsewhere though. I'm in the second draft of an actual book. And I have another blog that I write at every day. I'd link to it, but it's the real me there. I can't have worlds colliding like that - not while I'm still a teacher with very unteacherly thoughts. And not while I still talk shit about people I know in real life. This place is best for venting, which is exactly what I'm going to do here.

The funny thing is that I still get way more hits, about ten times, here than there. Actually it's to be expected. On my other blog I never write about sex.

I just got back from a very expensive trip to Quebec City for the annual Carnival (accent on the last syllable). I had never been before, and I wanted the kids to see what it's all about. There are tons of amazing things to with kids there - it's a giant outdoor winter playground. And it's a great chance for the kids to practice their french. We can't really afford it right now, but I decided to splurge because it would be such a great experience for them. Of course expectations just set us up for disappointment.

My littlest was fine, but the 15 and 13-year-olds refused to dress warmly. I got the standard eye rolls relegated to the inept and moronic whenever I'd insist, "You really need a scarf and hat."

My daughter, 15, wouldn't wear a hat because of her hair, and she couldn't take the cold, so she soon refused to leave the hotel room. It cost $300 per night for her to read a book all day. My son, on the other hand, insisted he wasn't cold at all, but his lips were blue and he couldn't talk properly and, at 20 below not including the windchill, he was clearly heading for frostbite. How cool does it look to not have lips or a nose? Cool enough to ditch the scarf I forced on him, apparently. So we took him indoors too. And now they're asking to come back in the summertime.

My guy wants to come back next winter without the older two, but his focus, even with the little one along, is hitting bars. He likes to drink every night, like his dad does, and insists it's reasonable because he doesn't actually get drunk. But I'd have some issues if he insisted on drinking two or three cans of Coke every night too. It's not healthy, and it's not providing a good role model for the kids. It normalizes unhealthy living for them.

The bigger issue, much bigger, is that if there's beer in the house, I want some too. If it's not there I don't even think about it. But held under my nose, I succumb. After the first night of drinking in the hotel room, I asked him please not to buy any more beer. He's baffled because when he offers it to me, I jump at it. He complains about my mixed messages. I try and try to explain that I have no self-control, but I always regret drinking. I rarely have fun. I almost always end up crying or angry or sleepy. There was much happening in the wee hours outside, but I was out by ten o'clock every night. Because after I pleaded with him to not drink the rest of the trip, he showed up to the hotel with beer and Baileys. Mmmm yummm. So I cried a bit and yelled a bit then passed out. And I hate myself for being so weak, and I hate that I got drunk in front of the kids. And I hate that he brushes off my concerns over and over. I tell him I'm an alcoholic, but he doesn't see why that should affect how much he's allowed to drink.

The worst moment was when he brought my son into the conversation and spoke about me as if I'm an idiot: "Your mother thinks I get drunk on two beers. She thinks I'm going to get out of my mind!" It's bizarre that he can't hear me say, over and over, that I can't not drink if he's drinking, that my concern isn't how drunk he gets - that's never my issue - but my own inability to refuse to drink too. I have no stoppers. Once begun, it's all I want to do.

In 1993 I ended a ten-year relationship because that guy wouldn't stop drinking. He wanted to live with beer in the fridge all the time. I can't live like that and made him choose. He picked beer over me. When I met my guy, he didn't drink. We spent a couple of years talking and going for long walks and listening to music until the 2 a.m. regularly. Now we hit bars or drink at home and I'm out by ten. And it's so fucking boring. And once again, at the ten year mark this week, his lifestyle choice of having beer in the fridge ranks higher than my lifestyle choice of living in a booze-free home.

When we met, I was struggling with how to have fun sober. And I got it - for a while. I was playing and laughing without help. I've forgotten how to get there again.

All things considered, if I ever go back it will be with the kids and not him, rather than him without the kids. I have to stop drinking of my own accord, without his help. I need to find new people to play with that don't have booze as the focus of every occasion. I'd like to have a home where things are easy, where I can hang out and not be tempted, but it seems like that's never going to happen.

I know there's people out there that don't drink all the time, but this child-of-an-alcoholic can't seem to find them - because I can't see them. Or if I do find them, I seem to change them - turn them into daily drinkers.

Living with him, is to live with temptation. He won't stop. And if I ask him to only drink dark beers that I hate, he'll still get me some - and he thinks he's being sweet even after I throw them into the backyard or down the drain. He still can't hear me. Whether or not I can resist temptation, rather than just trying to avoid it, remains to be seen. Perhaps this is a challenge I have to face in order to get over this hump.

Well, two grand down the tubes. My 5-year-old's favourite part of the trip was the hotel pool. I must take her swimming more often at the pool a few blocks from our house. She can have this kind of fun for a few bucks a pop!

It's the middle of winter. Imbolc. It's a good day for beginnings. It's the day of Brigit, the lusty goddess of healing and poetry.

Just another test of my strength along the journey.

Family Ties

2009-11-19T19:58:00.002-05:00

I've always leaned towards nature over nurture. I believe that our genes really dictate a lot of our personality. When I had my first kid, I thought I could create her into whatever I wanted. It seemed to work beautifully. But then I had a second kid. From the word go he was so radically different, that I soon realize I hadn't created my first kid's personality, she just subtly trained me how to best work with her to get positive results. My son did the same, but my behaviour had to be completely different with him.

Recently I've started to lean even further to the nature side.

I'm the youngest of six kids, and I'm a good seven years younger than the next oldest. My mother, a university prof, was perpetually exhausted. Whenever I'd want to talk with her, she'd shoo me away, "Not now, honey. Don't be a bother." And for years I worried about bothering people. And whenever I'd stop myself from asking someone a question, I'd blame my mother for shooing me away. It's her fault I'm so timid.

But my daughter is the oldest of three. I stayed home to be with my kids when they were young. And I devoted my full attention to them, conscience of their needs, ensuring they were never shooed or ignored, but that they were fully heard and appreciated. Then my daughter, now 15, told me that she never wants to talk to people because she's worried she'll bother them.

And as a teenager I despised my dad. He didn't really do anything horrible, but I refused to talk to him at all, ever. It lasted until I was about 25. He was the alpha male, and I used my smaller person defenses against him - silence and total obliviousness. I came around eventually, and quite like him now. Unfortunately he hooked up with a bible humper, but that's a different story.

My girl will snap at her dad and step-dad for very minor infractions. She's incensed that my dude bought cereal that we already had a box of. She sees it as a black mark on his character that he didn't know we already had that cereal. She can't believe he's so stupid to do this! And it's me all over again. Irrationally angry at authority figures. She has the glare down to an art form.

We are very alike even though our childhoods were radically different. Genes? I think so.

Last Days

2009-11-01T12:01:00.003-05:00

Do we need some kind of apocalyptic future for some reason? For centuries we've had one courtesy of the Book of Revelations. For non-believers, we could relax a while in the knowledge that the Bible's just a fantasy and the world's not going to end, not even in 2012.

But now the world really is going to end according to environmentalists. Lovelock says we've got a 10% chance of surviving the next 100 years, that 90% of the population of the world will die off because of the number of entire eco-systems we're destroying. It's not as immediate or dramatic as a seven-headed creature rising from the sea to cause havoc and turmoil, but it'll be as devastating. We're frogs sitting in water that's being slowly warmed to a boil.

The environmental apocalypse is taking over the job of the religious one. But what job is that? Why end the New Testament, the Good News, on such a sour note? It's all to keep us in line, to separate the good from the evil. Hey, aren't we all sinners anyway? Whatever.

Now there's a new good and evil: the sustainable and the over-users. But this time there isn't such a secure line from being good to being saved. The good can do all they can, but they still might get wiped out by floods, starvation, oxygen depletion, dehydration, cholera, etc. And the bad, by simple luck of the draw or the wealth and knowledge necessary to move to the safest possible location on the globe, might survive beautifully.

We can only all survive if we're all good. I propose a Jehovah Witness strategy: the Climate Change Believers, or CCBs, need to start going door to door to convince people to change their ways. We can follow JW strategies, because even if you slam the door, a lot of people stop and listen.

If they tell you their yard is too small for a composter, remind them they only need a 4 x 8 area. Surely their yard is more than 32 square feet! Offer to build the composter yourself from scrap wood and teach them how to layer brown and green waste.

If they insist they can't possibly live without a car because they have little kids who won't walk anywhere, remind them that their kids and grandkids will suffer horribly if we don't all stop driving to the corner for a loaf of bread and a gumball from the machine. If we care about our kids at all, we'll find a way to live without a car.

And we can print off information booklets called "The Watch Tree" printed on hemp paper with lots of tips on saving the environment.

Because if you're like me, you know this is the last chance we have. There's no afterlife to lounge in for eternity. When this world ends, that's it for humanity. God's not going to save us; that's up to us.

Hating Teenagers

2009-11-01T10:24:00.003-05:00

I never thought it would happen to me.

I've always had a strong bond with my kids. We still snuggle all in a pile when we watch TV. We still hug and kiss hello and good-night mainly initiated by them, even in front of their friends. But there it is.

My son's started telling a few lies to me. He used to tell me everything, but now I get a lot of bullshit. He's 13. He's not getting his homework done or eating the lunches I've made him. The tricky thing with him is he has pretty serious OCD. So he told me he had 15 lunches rotting in his knapsack because one day, three weeks ago, he skipped lunch and he had a great day. So in some part of his brain, not eating has been attached to a lucky day, and he won't eat. But instead of mentioning this to me, he kept telling me what a great lunch I made. Until I found them all - by the stench.

My daughter, 15, is a portrait of misery. We went shopping for hallowe'en stuff, and she was downtrodden and irritated by the height of the clothes racks, the number of people, the lack of that one very specific item... I hate shopping, and I can understand the irritation, but lighten-up already! I told her it's can be hard to have fun when she's around sometimes. She countered with this great speech:

"People always say it's the teenagers that are horrible, but nobody sees that really it's the parents. Parents lose their patients by the time they have teenagers and suddenly they start saying horrible things to their kids, hateful thing that make their kids miserable and hard to be around. If parents could stay nice, then teenagers would be nice too."

There you go.

I keep reminding myself that it's all nature's way of making it easier to cope with the impending empty nest.

Certainty of Religion

2009-10-15T19:03:00.005-04:00

At Matthew Good On-line there's a lovely piece about his lack of religious affiliations. I just finished reading Jon Krakauer's book, Under the Banner of Heaven, about Mormons, so I'm in a chat-about-religion kinda mood.

*SPOILERS WARNING* (To my guy mainly, who tolerated me taking his book and finishing it when he was just part way through - and has kindly said little about the fact that I accidentally left the book at the cabin on the weekend - sorry honey, now stop reading this!)

Most of the book focuses on the polygamous families in Utah and Bountiful, and particularly the murder of a woman and her baby by two of her fanatical brothers-in-law while her husband was at work. The stories around this family and others are heinous and very hard to read - lots of 13 and 14-year-old girls getting forcibly "spiritually married" and subsequently raped by their neighbours, step-dads, uncles, or other relatives, sometimes men in their 80s. Worst of all is how many of these girls defend the action of the men within months of their arranged marriages largely because they are kept from outside media that would give them a clue that they have alternatives. It's all clearly a means to grant full power to white men to abuse women and children and despise all other races.

I've said before that I have no problems with polygamy, and I still don't, but it has to be (1) consensual before the fact, (2) with people of age, (3) who are physically and emotionally free to leave when they're no longer interested in the relationship.

The end of the book shifts gears and made me think of the South Park episode when Stan makes friends with a Morman kid, and envies how family-focused his family is, playing together and talking all friendly-like, as compared to his own family with his terrifying older sister yelling through her head-gear. In the book, the schoolyard is described where students walk on the paths only, never on the grass or in the gardens, and everyone is very polite to one another. It's a little Stepford-esque, but on mornings where the neighbourhood kids plow through my garden because they just love that little path I made, and the moms think it's cute even though they're all a foot from our window while I'm trying to have a quiet cup of tea, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to be surrounded by kids who had a few more boundaries imposed on them by their parents.

There are some things to envy in these communities. But we can have family-focused communities without ascribing to incestuous relationships so entangled that birth defects become a norm. And we can have polite kids that don't believe in god.

Near the very end of the book Krakauer reflects on his feelings toward religion and says something to the effect that the non-polygamous Mormons he grew up with were incredibly happy. But happiness is not the most important trait. Knowledge is better than faith even if it makes us miserable. Something like that.

And I was thinking about that whole ignorance is bliss thing. Here's an analogy. What if a woman's husband was fooling around. There's little bits of evidence here and there, but she's so happy with him, and he's such a great father, and everything's going so swimmingly, that maybe we shouldn't draw her attention to the fact that he's a cad. Is it better that she live a lie happily, or live a more authentic life that involves some angst-ridden misery? I kinda like being grumpy, so I know which one I'd pick. But who am I to judge if she'd rather be swooning with joy over her perfect husband than packing her bags??

If believing in God gives people comfort and joy, and helps them cope with tragedy, and makes them feel tingly all over because He's with them all the live-long day, why is that a problem?

If I was teaching a lesson at work, I'd stop there to appease the majority of students (and their God-fearing parents). But I'm not.

The Mormons Krakauer admired have certainty and confidence that is based on false information, and they're unwilling to see the masses of evidence to the contrary. Opposing ideas are refuted without being given a fair trial, without critically analyzing comparable evidence from both sides (as if there really is evidence that's remotely comparable). Celebrating an untainted love that's false, or celebrating a perfect being that isn't possible, or about as possible as leprechauns as Good says, is delusional. The analogous woman isn't loving the man she lives with, she's in love with a pretend version of him; she's living a fantasy life like we did with dolls as children.

I remember being nine, and the neighbourhood kids would squabble about who got to have Fonzie as their pretend boyfriend for the game, and finally agreeing that we'd all keep our pretend boyfriends' names a secret, but of course, everybody was still pretending they were mackin' with the Fonz. That game was a way to pick up social norms and cues and practice being grown ups. Once adults, love should be different than that kind of fantasizing.

A person's pretend love is secure, more secure than the real thing. It's not real, so it can last forever. It's easy to see why it's prefered by some. But there's something significant missing when you're pretending to have dinner with Jim Rockford instead of actually eating a less-than-perfect meal with that cute guy from work.

I'd like to have one of those warm, loving families, but I'm choosing to write while my 5-year-old whines about her frozen waffles not being quite right instead of giving her my full attention right this minutes. Or even toasting the bloody things for her. Just kidding - they're toasted, but there's a spot of brown, and that renders them inedible, and this wouldn't be an issue if my family was the focus of my life, but it just isn't because I'm not made of that kind of stuff. Maybe if I'd been brainwashed from birth to believe that it's my role in life, I'd dote on my little ones. But I knew I had options, and I chose individual freedom over group security. Sorry kids.

Security and certainty's not all they're cracked up to be. A few lines of Krakauer I managed to scribble down verbatim: "Uncertainty is an inescapable corollary of life" and "An abundance of mystery is simply part of the bargain - which doesn't strike me as something to lament."

Exactly.

Teacher's Little Helper

2009-10-13T19:53:00.004-04:00

I have a teacher's aide in my special needs class. She's away for a week, and I get a supply T.A. which is much worse than none at all. I asked today to send the supplies elsewhere.

The supply came into the class late, with her coat on, and wanted to take some time to chat and introduce herself, shake hands, all those niceties. I'm not big on that stuff to begin with, but especially not with a room full of students with various needs being ignored for the time it was taking. After getting the class off to a good start, this interruption totally fucked it to death. Two kids never regained composure and eventually had to go to a time-out type room to just sit quietly for a while with a behavioural teacher. You just don't mess with the routines of a special ed classroom in progress.

After I got going again, she called out, "Whose's Sage? Are you Sage?" looking from girl to girl in the room. "I'm supposed to be working with Sage right now."

"That's me. You're here to help me."

"Oh. Okay."

She didn't once move from her seat even though people needed help getting pencils and paper and just generally managing to be in a classroom setting. She sat and called out to various student from time to time, "Can't you write? Do you need a scribe?" Then at me, "Do they need scribes?"

Scribing is easy work. You just sit and write and ignore behavioural issues creeping up. A lot of TAs love to scribe and work one-on-one in the hallway. Many hate to do what I ask of them: help people to focus on the work we're doing today. It means standing and walking and getting close to students, sometimes physically touching them, to get them on task. She wasn't about to move.

The lesson today was on laws, how we decide what should be a law, eg, majority rules, or morality rules, or the leaders decide, or the rich decide.... Whenever I asked the kids a question, the TA's arm would shoot up like Horshack, and I'd remind her, "Let's give the kids a chance to answer." Not just once, but every single time I asked a bloody question. She's not the first TA to forget she's not a student in class, but she was the most persistent.

Then I brought up some controversial laws - gay marriage, which was decided against in CA by a majority ruling, and decided for in Ontario by political will. She was against anything the majority doesn't vote for. So we talked a bit about Plato's idea - the problem of the ignorance of the masses and all, and Canada's thing about respecting the rights of the minority.

Then I asked about laws that mainly serve to save people from harming themselves - like bike helmets and seatbelts. I finally called on her outstretched hand...

"I think they should definitely make it a choice to wear seatbelts because I know thirty different people who were in accidents and they got trapped in their cars under an inch of water and every single one of them died!"

Thirty people? Is that right? All drowned in the exact same tragic circumstances under one inch of water?

I didn't say that, of course, but I did suggest that more people are saved by seatbelts than die by them. And she left really pleased with herself for opening our eyes on these issues. And the students went away certain that their seatbelts will cost them their lives next time they're driving near Lake Ontario.

Before she left, she added her stance that the government interferes way too much in our lives, and they should back up a bit. It's not an uncommon view, yet isn't it curious that she feels this way about seatbelt laws but quite the opposite when it comes to gay marriage.

Random Order

2009-10-12T13:50:00.004-04:00

Believe it or not, I can be hard to live with sometimes. It's really because I waver dramatically between feeling one with the universe and feeling immersed in the evilness inherent to humanity.

Shake up a beer in a glass bottle, then look at all the bubbles perfectly uniform. It looks like snake skin. And each bubble is so exact. Then look up at maples and spruce trees; notice how the stems separate perfectly into smaller and smaller parts, like the airways in our lungs, or blood vessels, or broccoli. I went to a human body exhibit once and was fascinated how much our innards look like plant-parts. It's all one. And here's the Eiffel Tower, and here's a hamburger, and here's an orgasm...

I'm not even on acid.

But when I notice how organized it all is, how much it all makes sense by random chance, it makes me happy and makes me forget how much money I owe right now, and forget that I have marking to do, and forget that my colleagues are back-stabbing assholes because it's all part of everything else, and the little details don't really matter so long as we can continue to be awe-inspired by life.

Then I snap back into reality. And I get extra-grumpy to make up for lost time when I was feeling all interconnected and shit. And I realize that individual acts likely won't save the planet, and that greed is so ingrained that profits will always come before life itself - before climate change and before peace talks. People always talk about how the economy has to be dealt with before we can do anything about the environment and a debate ensues. But they don't say, right out loud, that really, the economy has to be dealt with before we can do anything about war, even though war is profit-driven. They don't say anything, and no debate ensues. And we're all fucked. And people will stomp on you if you give them any leeway. And if you're patient with students who talk too much, other students will go to the office to complain that you have no control over the class because people live to see others punished, if not their peers, then the supervisor. And someone will always complain about dinner because nothing's ever just right.

Except that everything is just right. They just can't see it that way. Maybe kids have to be annoying enough that we want them to leave eventually or else we'd let them hang out with us forever.

My guy yells at my son to go to bed regularly. My son claims he hates him for the way he treats him. Then, finally, I lost it on my kid who stays up half the night watching TV. We typically fall asleep long before it's his bedtime, so nobody really makes sure he's going to bed. He just gets in shit when the TV's still on in the morning. After I lost it, he's shifted alliances. Now it doesn't bother him when guy yells, just when I do, because I'm crazier and almost cry when I yell. And he and guy are best buddies, doing stuff together all weekend including making fun of me, and jumping on almost every comment I make. Son is punishing me for setting the boundaries - which will never be well-enforced because I can't monitor his sleep when I'm sleeping. I can only really just bitch enough to make him wake up faster when he hears me coming down the stairs in the morning. And guy is enjoying not being most hated anymore. I never thought teenagers would happen to me in such a stereotypical way. Go figure.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Ask Me Why Public Health Care Works

2009-10-06T08:34:00.004-04:00

Check out the video here.

And don't be idiots. Vote in favour of public health care. It's socialist, but that's not a bad thing. It means the poorest in society are cared for because everyone chipped in a little to help. Isn't that what Jesus would do?!

That's right. Jesus was a socialist.

Another Straw

2009-10-06T07:59:00.003-04:00

We've had our cursed apartments for just over two years now. (Click on "the apartment" on the right for more info.) Every other year, it needs a fire inspection. It passed last time, just before we bought it, so I wasn't concerned. We had only improved the place!

Well, of course, because the place is cursed, it didn't pass because we have a stove in the basement apartment and, apparently, there can be no cooking appliances down there - not even a toaster. It's the ceiling height. It's a foot too short for legal compliance. Don't suggest we dig it out or raise it up - that's $30,000 we're not willing to spend. We'll likely make the main floor and basement into a 3 bedroom, and that new kitchen in the basement will go to waste.

When we bought the place, we were told it's a legal duplex, but the basement apartment has always been rented out without a problem. We bought it with a basement tenant who had cooking appliances in his apartment! It would appear that the previous landlord just removed the stove every year just before the inspection, then put it back the next day. All well and good for him, but now they're on to us and could do a spot inspection to make sure we don't do just that.

The last landlord grew pot plants in the garage, had vicious dogs, one of whom ate the leg off the neighbouring dog, and tenants that left garbage everywhere and peed on the enclosed front porch. We can't sue him for not disclosing stuff or for falsifying documents (which he did when we bought it) because he took the proceeds from the house and disappeared in an RV. We bought the place to nice it up for someone else. Now we can totally understand why there are so many slum landlords. The rules make it difficult to do everything on the up and up. We're ready to burn it down, but then we'd still be stuck with the lot. And insurance would just pay to rebuild it as it was. Double-suicide also crossed our minds.

This too shall pass.

Writing Funny

2009-10-03T10:45:00.005-04:00

I finished the first draft of a whole book-type thing. Almost 80,000 words all in a row. I actually hired an editor too. She loves my sense of humour and suggested I need more of it. So I've been reading Dooce and David Sedaris between revising chapters.

I love Dooce. Her daughter is just three months older than mine, and I had very similar feelings of ambivalence or hatred or something towards mine for many years. I'm really just connecting to her now, at 5. Except I had two others more Marlo-like first, so I didn't sweat it when I just didn't dig this last one the same way. As she said here, it's all luck of the draw. True that.

And she wrote about having a blockage in her boob, and I remember being there. I remember a male colleague watching me hold a cup of hot tea to my chest and insisting that I was, in fact, having a heart attack, and I need to go to the hospital. I was torn between thanking him for his concern and killing him for being so pretentious as to refuse to believe that I have a clue what's going on in my own body, dammit.

The book I assembled is all about all the sexual harassment, abuse and assault I've endured over the years. But it's funny. Well, in it's own way. Humour is necessary around shit like this. Sedaris writes about his mother and his own struggles with tourettes and OCD with humour and empathy. And Dooce does the same thing with her struggles with parenting and depression and being Mormon. It's funny, but heartfelt and sweet and sometimes very sad.

Something like that.

When the editor thinks it's up to par, I might try to get it published, but that looks like a whole lot of work - the work-work kind that I would loathe to do involving trying to publish little essays first and getting my name out and all that jazz. I might just self-publish and put it on my shelf and offer it up to a few local bookstores instead. The editor is trying to convince me to do the former, which is flattering, but I'd rather get going on the next book instead. Life is short.

I Should Just Laugh

2009-10-03T09:59:00.004-04:00

I'm really not cut out for special education. I want to have discussions and debates, but all I find myself capable of doing is getting them to fill in the blanks on handout after handout. I teach them civics, which sounds boring, but I think it's fascinating and so important.

I try discussions, but they all interrupt each other and me with bizarre non-sequiturs. They're so needy; they have to tell me every detail of their lives daily. They whine and stand on the desks and spit out the window. They haven't made it past kindergarten socially. But one has a toddler at home and a new 35-year-old boyfriend. Another insists rape is natural because animals just grab other animals whenever they want. Several have obviously been abused at some point.

The saddest case in my eyes, is the one who is really bright. He reads the paper regularly and understands everything going on and all the implications around the possible dissolution of the G8, the cleaning up the homeless in Vancouver, the new harmonized tax, etc. But he's stuck with this bunch because he doesn't write very well. He can read and talk like an academic student; he just can't produce. And it's all about producing.

He reminds me of my guy who is also very smart but was crappy in school. He found his place in the world and makes more money than me now. But he had a high school diploma. This guy in my class will only have a certificate because of the program he's in. I'll try to get him out, but it's typically a losing battle. They try an academic class, can't do all the writing required, and they end up back in special ed.

But what's really making me nuts is having to argue with them regularly on inane ideas they've picked up from somewhere. They're gullible but also incredibly stubborn in their beliefs, refusing to accept they might be wrong.

"Can people be brought back to life again I wonder," asks one kid.

" Yes, with an epi-pen," replies another confidently.

I start gently suggesting that it's not quite the case, they argue back vehemently that they've seen people who were dead being brought back to life this way, so I respond more forcefully that it's just not the case. If someone's going into shock and maybe appears dead, maybe, then it can help them. Maybe that's what you saw.

"You know the truth about the church, and why it's so powerful. It's because they have secret special magical powers that can put spells on people so they'll join and give them their money."

Okay, that might be true, but I suggested that their power might have come from, at certain times in history, killing off anyone who wouldn't join, and guilting them (or forcing them) into tithing.

And every day they each have little illnesses or aches and pains they have to share with the class, or, if I'm lucky, with me alone in the hallway. "I have a line fractured hair in my arm, so I can't write today miss." Next day: "They found out what's wrong with me. I have severe tendinitis, so I can't work today either."

Wait 'til they get old! I sprained my thumb wiping out on the deck last week*, and it still hurts so much I can't put my hair in a ponytail. And a few nights ago, my cat was doing that circle dance they do before settling in for the night, on a chair near my bed, on a PLASTIC BAG. After launching a few small trinkets at it, I bolted up and tossed the cat out the door, without warming up first, which did something nasty to my upper back. I got back in bed and did some labour breathing until I could get it together enough to go downstairs for ibuprofen. And I still made it to work, and did all that was required of me, without complaining to anyone (except my guy, but that's what he's for - okay, and now you too, also what you're for)!

Counting the days until the end of term...

*I had just gotten home from hip hop class, and I wanted to practice, but everyone was about. So I went on the deck to practice, and it was wet from rain, and after only a few moves, I ended up on my ass in a puddle.

Sexual Assault Prevention

2009-09-26T23:18:00.003-04:00

I like this so much I'm reproducing it in full: It's from No Not You, which just changed to Feminally. h/t Liberal Debutante

Sexual Assault Prevention Tips Guaranteed to Work!

1. Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.

2. When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!

3. If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them!

4. NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.

5. If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON’T ASSAULT THEM!

6. Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry, do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.

7. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.

8. Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.

9. Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake!

10. Carry a whistle! If you are worried you might assault someone “on accident” you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.

And, ALWAYS REMEMBER: if you didn’t ask permission and then respect the answer the first time, you are committing a crime- no matter how “into it” others appear to be.

Hip Mama

2009-09-26T22:41:00.003-04:00

I'm taking a dance class this term. I took ballet and jazz dancing for ten years about thirty years ago, so I was put in the level two class. I was a bit worried because it has been a really long time since I danced. The money-taking woman assured me I'd be bored in a level one class with all my training. (I didn't even get to pointe-shoes! I was mainly dancing as a toddler!)

But it's not ballet or jazz. I'm dancing hip hop, yo. It's hilarious. When I was signing up my kid, I asked if there were any adult classes. This one was it. Except I'm the only one over 16. The first class I did pretty well. I kept up with the steps as well as the other girls. But the second class I started getting lost. It goes really really fast. And there a type of standard body move done over and over that it's just assumed we do walking down the street. But I'm old school, and I really can't get it. It's like learning a language after you're an adult. The accent's never quite right.

It's all the head sliding moves and the snake-like body positioning moves. They're just thrown in there, in the middle of all the other dance steps, and I can't keep up. The others were born with that "oh no you do-on't" head shaking attitude. It's not fair. They do the stuff I'm talking about in this video about one minute in.

So I figure my only hope of not looking completely ridiculous is to practice like there's no tomorrow. When I came home from my last class, I started dancing in the kitchen, but everyone was milling about. So I moved to the back deck, in the dark. Just three or four hips and hops, and I was flat on my ass on the rain-soaked wood. And I strained or broke my thumb which makes it really hard to open beers, dammit!

The hip hop gods are against me!

Wife and Mother

2009-09-26T21:50:00.003-04:00

At a previous post Val asked what's going on with my other blog. I stopped writing there privately as soon as my guy discovered it. And my guy still lives here, and things actually are better even though I know a few of you won't believe it. He's been doing the laundry and cooking every night and cleaning the bathrooms. And he has been substantially nicer to the kids, watching their shows, and playing with them on their terms, even if they don't immediately recognize it. And he stops himself and apologizes when he's being sarcastic or mocking. We'll see if it lasts. People DO have the capacity for change. Remember Tracy Lord's line (the socialite character, not the actress): The time to make our mind up about people is never.

He still has ADD though. One night this week, he started to make one meal, and it was ruined because the milk he was using was chunky. So he started in with another meal without getting too upset. Everyone was hungry and eagerly awaiting the next concoction. Just as he was starting, he decided to take apart the fridge door handle because it was starting to come unscrewed. Then it got broken by my youngest, and it took a while to sort things out. I got frustrated and left the room.

Later my son told me not to give my guy such a hard time. "You've got it really good you know. All my other friends have dads that call their moms stupid or lazy fat cow or idiot, and the moms just laugh. The dads get angry if dinner isn't ready as soon as they're hungry, and the moms move faster. The dads don't do anything around the house, and the moms just do it all even though almost all of them work all day too. You're the only mom I know that wears the pants in the family. The guy will do anything you say." ...Eventually.

WTF? It makes me so sad to think that his friends' parents all live with this kind of dynamic. I tell myself that some women just like to take care of their husbands like this, the way my guy's mom does, but I find it hard to believe. It's like I find it hard to believe women would choose prostitution if they really had access to other opportunities, yet that might also be the case.

My son's step-mom is one of the women my kids was referring to. She laughs when dickwad calls her names. I remember when I dated him, and he'd pitch a fit and lash out, and I'd scowl and walk away. He'd tell me I should just humour him, just laugh it off to lessen the impact of it. That I add to the intensity by getting mad at the names he was calling me. I told him to fuck himself. But he saw that being played out by his mom, and he was baffled that I didn't know the rules of the game.

Dads can get enraged, but moms have to keep it all civilized and calm by pandering to their explosions. That's no fun. As I've said too many times in this lifetime, I'm not going to play mommy to an adult male. That role seems sick and twisted to me. If he's sick or hurt, I'll take care of him. But I won't cook and clean like a maid. And temper tantrums are never acceptable behaviour, and I won't pretend it's okay just to keep the peace. Sometimes battles are necessary.

More Homophobia

2009-09-18T07:57:00.004-04:00

I'm teaching another special needs class this term. It's a civics class, so I get to teach them how to be good citizens. Just a few days in and one guy used "gay" as an insult. I jumped on it in my standard way: "Calling Joe gay is an insult to gay people everywhere." Usually students laugh because they get that I'm insulting Joe with the line, but in a friendly way that Joe typically doesn't mind. I forgot that these kids don't get anything subtle.

Him: "It's okay if I use gay as an insult because I hate those people. They make me sick. I'm glad that I'm insulting them."

Hmmm. So I have to be straight to the point with this crew, and much more stern in my approach....

Me: "I can't stop you from being homophobic, from hating a group of people solely because of who they find attractive, but I can stop you from using words in an offensive way in my classroom. I don't want to hear it again. Is that understood?"

Hate is all about fear. And fear is often from a lack of knowledge or understanding, a fear of the unknown possibilities: What if one of them comes on to me? What if one talks to me and people think I'm gay? What if I am gay because I like my best friend better than anyone else in the world? And it's no secret to anyone who works with teenagers split up into different educational levels: the weakest students are typically those with the most prejudices. They don't get it, so they fear it and hate it. Soothe their fears to stop the hate.

I'm working on it.

Open House Dream

2009-09-18T07:13:00.003-04:00

I had a dream...

It was winter. My parents sold their house to my ex, his wife and kids. I went over to see it. I was really pissed that they were enjoying my childhood home. There was tons of snow on the front stairs, and I packed it in and slid down them into the snowy front lawn.

Then I went looking for another house. I went to an open house with my 5-year-old. The house was enormous, 8 bedrooms, some of the rooms were really cool. The basement had a few couches with a big fish tank and a fireplace. Down a few stairs was a harvest table with a tablecloth just like material I bought recently that I love. It was really exciting, but I knew there's no way I could afford the place. My girl kept taking out toys in every room and leaving a mess in her wake.

Upstairs in the kitchen I ran into an old student. He was complaining about moving and telling me he's going to get his own place. Someone called him and he said she wanted to talk to me. The girl on the phone warned me, in a taunting way, to not get involved with another student. I thanked her for the advice, sarcastically because obviously I'm not getting into anything. But after he hung up, the student came over and curled up on my lap. I brushed him off to get my stuff and go. Then I noticed I was missing a boot and my mitts, and we couldn't find some of the kids' stuff either. So we had to search the house for it. While doing that, I started cleaning up after the little one. She kept trying to steal toys for herself. There were so many toys.

I went to a different open house and tried to find some new boots for myself, but it was all kid stuff.

Then I wondered around my childhood neighbourhood and called my guy to ask him where I live now because I couldn't find my home.

Analysis anyone?

9 with Spoilers

2009-09-14T07:57:00.002-04:00

I saw 9 last night with my two teenagers. I left the little one at home despite her protests. In the first five minutes I was glad she wasn't there for this particular cartoon. There were some great monsters. It was, in brief, enraging because it's so close to brilliance.

Spoiler Warning

The first hint that this movie has strong religious overtones is that the safe place our heroes use to hide in is a church. Nevertheless...

It's 1939 and war has broken out, but it turns out differently than we might remember. An intelligent nuclear driven machine was created for good but used for bad. Standard. Just like in The Matrix, the machine took over and killed all the people. But the inventor of the machine realized the problem is he didn't give the machine a soul. The atheists in the group might say "a conscience" or "the capacity for ethical determinations." So he makes nine little machines that look humanish and finds a way to impart a portion of his soul in each. He dies making the last of them, 9, because his soul gets completely used up.

What I loved about the film is the idea that each of these nine creatures is part of the inventor. Among others, there's a superego who's obsessed with safety at all costs, little curious dudes, a brutish stoner, an intellect, and a woman - his anima. As a hermeneutical allegory, it was really cool. But that concept falls apart at the end and a few times before.

A few of the creatures get sucked up by the monster machine. They called out from the machine because they were trapped inside. But the machine doesn't ever sway its course. If the inventor was right, that it lack soul, then sucking up the creatures should have altered the machine's agenda - making it goofier after one, and smarter after another, etc. And the solution would be for the others to allow themselves to get sucked up to add to the kindness of the beast. But they don't.

Instead they find a way to kill the machine, and get the dude out. But they come out like souls and fly up to heaven. "Now you're finally free!" Barf. Somehow they should have all stuck themselves together to re-make one full person. But they don't. It ends with 9 and the female and the two little dudes together: a nuclear family reminiscent of the Teletubbies. And they comment that they've got the place to themselves. But what the hell will they do stuck there together? How long before they realize hell is other sentient beings?

It was all still very entertaining to watch. It's just unfortunate that it didn't go all the way - well, that it didn't go in the direction I was hoping. God is such an easy out.

Not a Dream, Unfortunately

2009-09-09T08:06:00.003-04:00

A long ago memory filled my head for no good reason this morning:

I was in university, late 80s, in a sociology class no less. I can't remember which course specifically, but it wasn't a first year fill-an-auditorium type course. It was a class of about 30, so it must have been at least second year, maybe even an honours elective. There was a loud, boorish young woman that typically sat in the front row of the room. On this day, we had a guest speaker. I can't remember what he spoke about, and I can't even picture him. I just remember this girl.

The speaker walked in and I'm guessing he must have been effeminant in some way, because this chick had the kind of shit-eating grin on her face that makes me want to punch her in the nose. And you could tell she was thinking, "Oh my God, is he ever gay!" She was right in his face with her stupid grin. It was one of those times in my life I wished I knew how to use a ninja star.

But it had to get worse. About a quarter of the way through class, the girl wrote one word in big letters on a piece of paper "GAY" and held it up for the class behind her to see. The speaker just kept talking, oblivious I'd hope but more likely working hard to ignore the numbskull a few feet from him. What a piece of work.

That smile on anyone still triggers that face-punching longing in me that will never be recognized. It's the look that says, "I've got dirt on you. I know stuff about you that I can use against you. I win."

Just fuck-off already.

Transgender Questions - Help

2009-09-06T09:39:00.003-04:00

I've been busy writing for, maybe, publication. I want to write as inclusively as possible, and it struck me that talking about problems between "men and women" misses people who might not feel comfortable identifying as either. Is there a better way of expressing this? Not "people" because I'm specifically talking about issues between the sexes, because of differences. And adding "other" feels dismissive in some way.

Thoughts??

Segregating Private Space

2009-08-04T17:44:00.006-04:00

At the conference I went to recently, a guy with a genderless name was inadvertently put in a room with a woman. They had to switch it at the last minute, so they both ended up with rooms to themselves. Lucky them. But I asked, naively perhaps, "Why did they move you?" The guy said, "In case I fell off the top bunk and accidentally started having sex with her."

I think about this sort of thing with washrooms too. Because really, we segregate spaces where we might be partly naked to avoid being ogled while we change. I might want to brush my hair in nothing but a provocatively slipping towel secure that my roommate won't be aroused by the mere sight of me in various state of undress.

Yet nobody ever asks about sexual orientation. If they did, they might get people up and arms about their rights. But I think about it differently. If I want a room free from potentially unwanted leering, then I need a roommate who's not attracted to women, not necessarily a woman roommate. And things could get really complicated if people are attracted to both sexes. We might end up detailing our attractions and repulsions a bit insanely just to keep us safe from the gaze. And what if I'm not your type typically, but I do or say something attractive, and that changes everything?? There'll be no end to it.

Can't we just put everyone together unless they specify otherwise? In fact, I thought I had read something on the accommodation form, some choice between "room with same gender" or "don't care." I'm sure I checked "Don't care." I might check out anyone, so I may as well take a chance to be checked out by anyone. Really, nobody's safe from us bi-curious types. But surely we can all be grown-ups about it all, respect one another's privacy and dress discretely around the room. Unless, of course, we want to attract attention.

Think of how even the line-ups would be in bathrooms if they're both unisex. And it would remove one dilemma for transitioning people. In a crowded bathroom, I think it would work well. It's the empty bathroom scenario, with a strange man following me in, that would give me pause.

On Gentlemen

2009-08-04T16:41:00.002-04:00

A conversation of a few week past is nagging at me.

I was talking to a guy about what it means to be a gentleman. In particular, we were both on about movies from the 1940s. I told him one of my favourites is Philadelphia Story, especially the scene in the morning after, when Katharine Hepburn can't remember what happened the night before, and Jimmy Stewart calms her fears with, "You were a little better for wine, and there are rules about that." Gentlemen don't go too far with a drunk companion. I think that should apply the other way too, but that's beside the point here.

My friend calls himself a gentleman. He dresses well and speaks softly. He's polite and always holds open the door for others.

So he tells me about being at a bar and meeting up with a girl he used to date in high school. They had never slept together, but he had always wanted to. She was very drunk, and after he drove her home, she asked him to come up to her room. Because she was trashed, he declined, but said he'd call the next day. Ever the gentleman.

The next day he called, true to his word, and she was relieved he didn't come up. Turns out she's happily married, her husband was away for the weekend, and she just got carried away with an old flame.

She was relieved nothing happened. And I would think he would be too. But he, the gentleman, was royally pissed off that he didn't go for it. The thought of letting this girl slip through his fingers was infuriating to him.

And I find that disturbing. In fact, I find it not at all gentlemanly. It appears that he's a gentleman only because he's patient enough to wait for rewards to come, not because he's more concerned with others' well-being than with his own satisfaction. Acting gentlemanly is different than being a gentleman.

Some other great lines:

"It's alright. We all go haywire at times and if we don't, maybe we ought to."
"The time to make up your mind about people is never."

Questions of Etiquette

2009-08-04T16:35:00.003-04:00

If I were to assemble some of my posts into a book form of sorts, and I improved some of the ideas by taking direction from some of the comments, then what are my responsibilities to my commenters???

I would credit direct quotes, obviously, but most of the time it's just a matter of adding another point to clarify my ideas. But the added point was because of a comment. Does that type of change also require a footnote? Or is it enough to include a general thanks in the acknowledgements?

I've been provoked into action when a friend self-published some stories and sold over 100 copies. And it's a way to really solidify what I think on a few issues. But I don't expect many will read any of it.

Thoughts?

Tao of Emotions

2009-07-31T07:58:00.005-04:00

At the conference I went to, I got talking to a guy about relationships and ending things because he's newly divorced. I mentioned that I'm pretty comfortable with endings. I can let things go and move on without a lot of tears or nashing of teeth. And I told him about a time when my daughter got stung by a bee and almost died. As we were driving to the hospital, I thought, "It was really nice knowing you these past few years."

His response: You have no emotions.

And it's not the first time I've been told this. Yet I disagree. I feel things intensely, I'm just very accepting of the cycles of life, of the need for endings, for death, in order to have new beginnings. And that response seems to imply that if I don't grieve "properly," if I'm not demonstrative in my expression of grief, then I don't have access to love or rage or loneliness or worry or sadness or despair or any other emotion.

Or I'm just rationalizing some symptoms of Anti-Social Personality Disorder. Here's the list. I've got about 7 of the 20. But it could also be seen as part and parcel of being an INTP. That introverted thinking type has a strong focus on tasks, not connections.

But emotions are a reaction not to an event, but to our interpretation of an event. The more I read and study Taosim, well, actually, if Taoist ideas happen to be at the forefront of my mind when something happens, the less reactive and emotional I get. Which, if you're a frequent reader you'll know, isn't actually very often!

If we can be accepting that things are as they are, and just go with that, then there's no reason to get our shit in a knot about anything. And part of that acceptance, perhaps most important, is an acceptance of ourselves, how we are and how we change over time.

Last night my son told me he doesn't see me as a mom really. I often don't even make dinner. We scrounge. And I hate cleaning, so I don't. Other moms prepare an amazing variety of meals for their children and really focus on the kids. At first I was defensive and upset. Of course I'm a mom. But he went on to explain that it's not a criticism, it's just how it is. I have other things I'm focused on for better or worse. His friends' moms have a more singular focus. They don't work, and they don't write or paint, and they don't go to bars.

I don't wish I was that kind of mom, but I sometimes wish my children had that kind of mom. But then maybe they wouldn't have incredibly insightful conversations with me. And this just is the kind of mom I am, and that's okay. I have different things to offer. I often have that experience, though; I get a surge of some intense emotion, and I calm it down with acceptance.

I like this bit on Taoist acceptance. It's not about being resigned to being a crappy mom, but about recognizing that I am the mom I am. And it's about choosing to work with what I have in the way that gets the job of raising kids done well: if I can't cook the food they like, I encourage them to get the recipes and try to cook themselves. They're teenagers, after all.

And if they die before me, I will be surely devastated, but I will also recognize that we all have to go sometime, and isn't it wonderful that we had this time together. Things don't have to be permanent to be valuable.

Eco-Respect

2009-07-30T08:31:00.006-04:00

I just got back from an eco-retreat: three days in the woods with a bunch of teachers. Normally I'd rather stick a fork in my eye than spend time trapped with teachers, but it made a difference that they were all concerned about increasing environmental awareness in the schools. At a conference like this, I typically stress about where to sit at meals. This time, I didn't even think of it. I was happy to sit with anyone. I felt totally in my element.

Sort of.

Teachers are a funny lot. They all want to be in charge and be able to tell people off when they're not behaving (myself included). They're all know-it-alls who are desperate to show off all they know (myself included). And they all talk to each other, loudly, throughout every single presentation that they paid to see (except for me and a few similarly annoyed people). Even the organizers sat in one corner of the room talking constantly during every speaker they spent time and cash to get to come to their workshop. What the fuck?! That's right. I spelled it out, such is my distress.

I'm easily distracted or have hearing issues or filtering issues or some weird thing, but I couldn't hear most of the presenters. I spent most of the time glaring at the chattiest of the monkeys, which likely made me very popular. I know that people come to these to "network" or party or whatever, and I did too, but can't we sit and learn for an hour here and there? And dammit, shouldn't we be respectful of people who have prepared a lecture for us to hear? I think being environmental is all about being respectful of the world and all the creatures on it.

Respect isn't just about having good intentions, but about taking responsibility for your effect too. Even if someone is talking about the presentation or adding an important example for a neighbour with the intention to add to it in a small group, the effect is that others are bothered. One participant would yawn loudly or make jokes about the presentations being boring - really loudly for all to hear. One of the organizers told him to tone it down or he would be asked to leave. He asked me what I thought he should have done.

Me - Did you apologize to her*
Him - Why should I. I was just trying to be funny. I just want to lighten things up and bring attention to the obvious.
Me - If you open a door and hit someone behind it, do you apologize. Of course, even though you just meant to open the door, your effect was to harm someone.

He was not convinced, and he left before breakfest the next day.

However, as teachers, the organizers were a little heavy-handed with people. They threatened three different people with sending them home without a certificate (which is useless to anyone who is not trying to get into admin). There was this guy, then another group went out for beers, and another slept in and missed the morning session. This is our holidays, ladies!

I'm clearly more of an eco-Nazi than most people at an eco-conference. I was concerned with water waste because the taps are automatic and don't turn off for several minutes after you walk away. People rolled their eyes. And I kept mentioning that we could have lights off during daytime presentations to save energy - the room was full of windows - but nobody rallied with me. And we came away with a butt-load of paper nobody will look at again. People were thrilled. We spent way too long talking curriculum. Being environmental teachers isn't about what we teach, but how we teach. It's about modelling practices that kids will pick up on in future, like using the backs of paper, and only giving hand-outs when absolutely necessary, and walking or bussing to work. I don't remember a thing that was taught in a class in high school, but I do remember the teachers, the kind of people they were. That's far more interesting.

And I'm a bit off; it's confirmed. No matter how comfortable I feel with people, and no matter how much I think I'm just like them, I stand out. We were doing a get-to-know-you game at the beginning. Throw a ball and say a person's name. The person I threw to missed the ball, and the leader reminded me to say her name. I had, dammit, only apparently my voice volume is way lower on the outside than the inside of my head. Good to know.

But the loudmouth started hanging out with me. He said as soon as I walked in he knew I wasn't a typical teacher, and I might be someone he could actually talk to. He couldn't elucidate further, unfortunately. What makes me appear different when I walk in a room?? It's fascinating to me how people group together. I ended up with the heavy-drinkers, the cynics and skeptics, the mischievious ones. Yet I think of myself as a keener. I just want to learn stuff. The smart kids don't want to hang with me.

A few too many tattoos perhaps.

***
Tech Support!: From time to time, seemingly randomly, I lose the apostrophe, quotation marks, and question mark on my keyboard. They look like this respectively: èÈÉ. I thought I hit a button to turn the keyboard french, but it only happens on blogger. If I open a word page and start typing, or go to google and type in a search with an apostrophe, it works just fine. Weird.

On Happiness and Regrets

2009-07-24T08:10:00.005-04:00

There was a study done recently by Ran Kivetz that found, "If you rabidly focus on work, in the long run, you'll be unhappy". The study concludes that doing the right thing, putting responsibilities ahead of momentary pleasures, often leaves us unhappy later. After interviewing 60 people, they found people who chose pleasure over work last week felt strong regret but over five years felt little regret. And people who chose work over pleasure last week felt no regret, but over five years felt strong regret.

There's a few problems here. The obvious one is a very small sample size to generalize to the population of, what, the world? I hate when reports of studies make such vast, sweeping conclusions that imply all people are like such-and-such.

But there's also a question of how regret is tied to happiness especially in this study's method. I wrote more on happiness here, and I came to a very different conclusion. If you tell me to think up a time, five years ago, that I chose work over pleasure, I might think of the nights I spent developing courses instead of playing with the kids or seeing live bands. I might strongly regret the fact that I didn't get out much back then, if, perhaps, I felt like life were passing me by and there'd be no more similar opportunities. But I don't think that necessarily means this event decreased my happiness in general.

Had I neglected the courses, I wouldn't be as happy about being a competent teacher right now. Sure I missed some musicians who've passed through here, and I regret missing a few specific ones, but I don't rate that higher than the satisfaction I get when students are enjoying my classes. Perhaps the people studied get no satisfaction from their work.

And if you spent your days dwelling on regrets from the past, you're likely to be very unhappy and bitter. But how often do you think of that one time, years ago, that you worked late instead of partying.

Another portion of the study had participants agree or disagree with statements like, "I should have travelled more." Again people regretted work, but not pleasure. And again, I think, unless you're a dweller, this type of study doesn't really show a lack of happiness in day-to-day life of the people who worked hard. It just shows temporary unhappiness when someone gets you to hash up all the regrets you have from the past.

Or maybe I'm just justifying working all the time.

And there's another problem. What do they mean by work? I typically think of work as what I do for a living or to get ahead. But if we define it, for example, as something that we have to do and don't enjoy, then that changes things. Because the reality is, I love doing teacher-work, and I find playing with children tedious. It doesn't appear the study addresses these types of dilemmas.

I'm taking the kids to Quebec City for a week, and I'm dreading it. And this weekend I'm taking the kids and their friends to the cabin. I'd much rather spend the time writing or reading or working on the house this summer. But the trips fulfill part of my job as mother - to provide them with a few good memories of their childhood.

Finally, actually what first hit me as a major glitch, is the word they use to describe people who chose work over play and regret it later: hyperopia. They define the word as "an excess of farsightedness." First of all the word already exists, and it just means farsightedness. So an excess of farsightedness should be hyperhyperopia, which is more fun to say anyway (like olly olly oxen free).

But why would someone define people who strongly regret decisions they've made, as having an excess of farsightedness?? Anyone who looks back with strong regret because they screwed it all up, really had a void of farsightedness. A better term might be hyper-responsible.

And, of course, Plato dealt with all this so long ago. The most important skill people should be learning in schools is the art of measurement. But he concluded the reverse: don't choose the immediate pleasure over the long-term contentment. Have the foresight to recognize the party is not as important as contemplating over courses. And I still agree with him.

I'm an ant relaxing in the winter of my career, and that grasshopper's still banging on my door in the freezing cold. But maybe that's just a story we tell ourselves to keep us from regretting the fun we've missed along the way. Because really, if the grasshoppers are cute or charming, we'll let them in.