February

Rumor has it that February is not the cruelest month.
The rumors are wrong.
February is as bad as it gets. February sucks. February is the "DAMN why is it still winter?" month. Those of us who suffer from that Seasonal Mood Disorder thing and I can never remember if that's the real name for it because I just don't care, have already spent a couple of months dragging our asses along, trying to give a shit about anything... and then comes February. For being a short month, February is endless. And here we are, almost at the end of it, maybe there's a light, because March is a turning point; it is, don't ask why, and the damned weather people had the gall to talk about the possibility of snow.
Oh; fuck me.
For whatever reasons, this winter has been especially brutal. I've really questioned my sanity; even though I know its just depression. Its been a bad depression. I lack enthusiasm, motivation, interest and personal hygiene. Seriously, I'm a mess. And I've just been thinking "March, March is coming. The sun will shine, flowers will bloom, grass will grow, the microbes in the water will wake up and I will crawl out of this hole and it will improve." (I had an old college prof who had a theory that the warm weather some how caused the winter-dormant microbes in water to wiggle again and thus caused Spring Fever in students. He was a Film History prof, so take that under consideration) But no, they're talking about snow. Freaking snow. At the end of February. In North Carolina. If I had the energy to shake my fist at the skies, I would.
I really want to come out of the cave. Granted, I've read a number of decent books, some were even good, but I'm tired of it. OK, that's a lie. Not the books, some really were good. The part about really wanting to come out of the cave; I'm not ready. Its safe in here and I don't have to care or try or fake it. But I'm still sane enough to know that this is not good and I need to stop.
I need microbes in my water. Stat.

Past Is Present

Recently, due to the wonder that is Facebook, I've been running into people that I haven't spoken to in years. Some of those people I really hadn't even thought of in a long time; some were people I knew I'd misplaced, I just couldn't remember where. I'm talking to my old dorm mates from 25 years ago, theatre folk from 30 years ago, my old band buddies from 10 years ago; and mostly its been pretty terrific. Some (maybe most) of that has to do with age. I mean, there were guys in my dorm who drove me up the wall when I lived there, now they're all mellow and funny and smart. The theatre crew, jeez we were in high school, which is basically permission to be a shit head and mostly everyone is pleasant and compassionate and slightly ashamed. And my band girls? That's just generally great. I'd missed them. They're still quirky and talented and fabulous. So all in all, my little trip down memory lane has been pretty great, right?
Not entirely.
I ran into an ex-boyfriend, a major ex-boyfriend and I figured what the hell and e-mailed him. I didn't think he lived around here anymore and felt confident that he would be married or something close to it. But hey! He's in the next city over, after getting punted from an eight year relationship. We met for drinks and no, there's no notion of getting back together. The break-up only just happened and it happened because he finally admitted he was addicted to gambling. He's doing all the right things, plus a few extra things to get his life back and I applaud that and I'm proud of him. But I would have a much easier time if he were a drunk or a drug addict. I kind of understand those things. I simply don't get gambling. I don't think I'm less of a friend to him because of that, but I don't get it. Gambling? Its dull. To me. Obviously.
Late last week an old college friend called my mother, trying to figure out where I was. Its been a good ten or eleven years since I spoke to her. Only she wasn't someone I'd misplaced; I'd very intentionally removed myself from her life. I didn't like her. We had nothing in common. She'd been the pretty girl in college (and I'd been the sidekick) and she'd never stopped seeing our relationship in that way. I wasn't interested in being the sidekick anymore, especially since she just wasn't the pretty one after fifteen years. But we've e-mailed a couple of times and she seems... lonely. And grateful to be talking to me. That makes me feel either fiendishly powerful or guilty for feeling that way and then I have to question "why is she lonely? Does she still behave like the hottest girl on campus?" That would not be a good thing. I suppose I'm willing to find out, though.
Today I got the paper. I read this article. One of the people mentioned in this article was my best friend when I was 5 or 6 years old. Now she's a mentally ill, recently homeless drug addict. How the hell... no, I know how the hell. I knew some time ago that there was something not right about her. No, not when I was 5 or 6. We actually stayed friends for a while, probably up until middle school or so. She wasn't alright then. I just didn't know in what way. Now I do. Wish I didn't.
I kind of hoping this great reunion is wrapping itself up. I'm not loving every minute of it.

Yes We Can

Its difficult to fully express how I feel today. I'm overjoyed, yes. I'm also tired and still a bit hungover. I'm proud and impressed and generally giddy. Most of my adult life has been spent on the losing side; its unusual for me to feel like a winner. And what a winner; Obama's acceptance speech made me cry. I cried a lot, in fact. It was good crying, it was tears of relief and fatigue and hope. The people of the United States elected an intelligent, thoughtful, insightful man to lead them. The fact that he's African-American is just icing on an already wonderful cake. We regained the respect of other nations. We did this. We didn't buy into fear and rumor. We bought into hope. This is an incredible thing.
I've already seen displeasure from certain segments of the people; that God is displeased and that Christians must rise above this "set back." I'm ignoring them. Like I said, I've been on the losing side; I needed to vent then, I'll let them vent. The fact that they need to use God as a fall back is unfortunate, as I don't believe God (he/she/it) endorsed John McCain. McCain lost for a number of reasons; but God's will was not thwarted. Even McCain said, no; Obama is your president, I'm going to work with him, you should too. And for the first time, I admired John McCain.
I give props to Thomas and Karen and Brooke and Josh and everybody else in the state of Pennsylvania who worked their butts off. I give props to the people of Ohio, none I can name, who did the same. I blow kisses to the folks in Florida who weren't going to have their state make the national news in a bad way again. And so much love to the rest of North Carolina who made the Republicans wish they'd been paying a bit more attention. The state of Jesse Helms sends a female Democrat to the Senate! Cumberland County, home of Fort Bragg, voted for Obama. We did this.
Dear Mr President-Elect:
I voted for you. I have great respect for you. Please make the closing of Guantanamo Bay your first priority after you are sworn in. I'll be in DC for that event. Make us even prouder than we are now. Thank you.
Love--
Jen
P.S. Yes. We can.

The NY Times

Yes, I read the New York Times. I realize this makes me a liberal, elitist, egg-head snob. I can live with that. Late last, as I couldn't get to sleep, I played with their latest interactive map; the one with the red states and the blues states and the striped states and the yellowish states. I live in a yellowish state, which makes me proud and nervous at the same time. Anyways, according to the stupid NYT map, even if McCain takes the 5 yellowish undecided toss-up states, we still have President Obama. I have no idea what to do. I want that to be true, hell; I NEED that to be true. But I'm terrified. Something will happen, something will go wrong; it always does. There will be hanging chads. There will be bizarre conflicts over voter registration. Something will go wrong. And I'm just far too invested to relax and let Tuesday happen and say "whatever."
So tomorrow, I'm buying a bottle of wine and putting it in the fridge. And Tuesday evening, I'm going to park myself on the sofa and uncork the damned thing and I'm going to watch and I'm going to drink. Hopefully by the time a decision is reached, I'll be mellow enough to go outside into my very blue neighborhood and scream "Hell yes, President Obama, y'all!" or "This is BULLSHIT!" and wait for the screams of agreement. Because at least I know, in my neighborhood, I am not alone.

A History Lesson

Recently, I learned that my friend Kathy was researching her family tree and had added 3000 names and could trace the family back to basically the Medieval age (I might be exaggerating a tiny bit). I got jealous. I can get back to my great-grandparents and then everybody's back in Europe and I can't trace that so well. I griped about it and Kathy was kind and pointed out that yes, her family has been in the US since forever and they've even been in basically the same area for much of that time, so she can catch a break that way. Even so, I got motivated and quizzed my parents some more (again) on what they knew and tried to get some names and dates out of them. Its tricky, especially on my dad's side, because they just weren't great communicators. There are secrets, or at least things that people considered secrets because he just doesn't know things that most people (I think) would know. Like his maternal grandmother's name. I mean, I know my grandmothers' names! But his grandmother died early and I guess his mother never mentioned her again. I don't know; I really don't. I've tried the various sites for researching families, your Ancestry.com and the like, and I get nothing. However, I do have some info and better than that, I have some awesome photos (although sometimes I don't know who is in them) and I have killer stories. So here's what I do know...

Everything starts here, at Ellis Island. Only, that's not really true, since I have photos of some great-grandparents before they got to the US. Also, its an assumption that all of my family passed through Ellis Island, but its a pretty good assumption. I know (from my history classes) that people came into the country through Boston as well as New York, but I can state with some level of certainty that my people didn't come from Boston. My grandparents are all from northern New Jersey or Cleveland and it seems to me that people from those places came in through New York. I'd like to have a look at the immigration records, but so far I can't find a free site that will let me. I'm still looking.
~~Intermission~~
Hey! I found a free site! I'm now a big fan of the Ellis Island Organization. Here's what I know about one side of my mother's family:

This is my great grand-mother, Frances Haffner (or maybe Hafner, we're just not sure). She was born around 1887 (plus or minus a couple years) in Kranje, Slovenia. Sometimes this shows up as Krain, Austria; but she was a Slav. I know this because my Uncle Larry was terrified of her when he was a boy because she never learned to speak English and she was not a tiny woman. This photo was taken in Ljubljana, the capital city. I'm guessing they didn't have professional photo studios in Kranje (oh, rhymes with wine). I have no idea what year this is, but I'm fairly certain she arrived in the US around 1905, so you can guess as well as I can. I don't think its much earlier than that. She moved to Cleveland, Ohio because all Slavs moved there. Yes, I'm sure there's another reason, but I don't know what it is. *sigh*

Once there, she met a man named Martin Valetich (VAL-uh-tish) and they got married. I like how the groom is the special one in this wedding picture. The wedding was in October of 1907 and my grandfather was born in December of that year. Um, yeh. I think this wedding photo was taken later, because I just don't think any woman could be that pregnant and have it not show. We've debated that a lot. We have no answers. Now, Martin, I can tell you a little more about him. Also from Kranje, he was born in 1883 and came to the US in 1901 at the age of 18. If he made the trip with anyone, they weren't family because he's the only Valetic (vul-LET-titch) on the boat. I do not know when or why he changed his last name. I had assumed they did that when he arrived, but now that I've seen the paperwork, that's not true. He did it himself and I really don't see how Valetich is anymore "American" or easier to pronounce than Valetic, so go figure.

And this would be the ship he arrived on, the Kaiserin Maria Theresia. Its hard for me to fathom how an 18 year old managed to make this trip all by himself. Maybe he did have a friend with him. Maybe 18 year olds were much older in 1901 than they are now. Maybe Martin was a very confident young man; he seemed to stay that way. Every picture I've ever seen of him and there aren't many, shows a very well dressed man. He was always in a suit and he always wore a hat. Oh, and if we're to get really technical about this, Valetic is not a Slovenian name. Its Serbian. Since I know nothing prior to Martin, I don't know why his family left Serbia. I'd like to believe there was a big scandal, because it just seems unlikely that a family of Serbs would up and move to a not-big town in Slovenia in the mid 1800's. But there's no one left to ask, so that will have to remain my mystery.
Anyways, Frances and Martin got married and had 5 children. My grandfather, Sylvester, was the first. Then there were 3 girls and a boy. One of the girls, Julia, died as a child from something that children died of then; scarlet fever, tb, the flu, I just don't know. I cannot find any pictures of them as children. I have pictures of my gramps as a middle-aged man with his kids, but the only picture I have of all of them is this one. This was in 1980-something; my gramps is on the upper left, next to him is my Great Uncle Martin, who took the name changing a step further and became a Vale. See; now that's easy to pronounce. The ladies are Great Aunt Frances (L) and Josephine (R). At some point, I'll call my mother and find out which one is older and what the heck their married names are and if either are still alive. I'm doubting it; Martin was the baby and he died a few years back.
Next time I'll deal with my mother's mother and they're Irish and there are far too many of them and it gets terribly confusing.

Feeling Big & Strong

I voted early today and despite the rumors of it taking half a day to do so, I was in and out in under an hour. I also managed to do some campaigning for my dad while I was waiting in line. Well, until I got to the sign that said I had to stop. Of course, when I got home my brain told me I should get all excited about staying up late to see who won. My brain and I had to have a little conversation about early voting and how this wasn't really election day. I'm not sure my brain believed me. I've decided I'm going to have to buy a bottle of wine on Monday; I don't know how else I will get through Tuesday. And I don't drink. But I'm tense already and I figure I'll either need to celebrate or drown my sorrow. Either way, I anticipate very little sleep. I don't think there's been a presidential election in my lifetime that matters so damned much; I'm going to see this one through.
I'm nervous; terribly nervous.

Food

I used to be a really big fan of food. I could get equally excited by fine quality restaurant food where I frequently had to ask my server to identify certain things as I was by a plate of Hamburger Helper. Made no difference to me; food was tasty. And the best part of being a big fan of food was that I never gained weight. That's right; I was blessed with the metabolism that most people would kill for. I could eat like an absolute pig and never gain a pound. I knew I was pregnant very early on because one morning the scale read 104 lbs and I was baffled. I couldn't crack the 100 lb mark if I stuffed myself with pasta and chocolate everyday. Yes, I was underweight; I'm 5'3". But I'd been like that since college and didn't really mind. Of course I gained weight being pregnant, but most of it fell off very nicely and left me at a slightly more healthy 105-110 and I stayed that way for a long time.
Then my ovaries retired a couple of years ago.
Now I'm only 45, so I was a little pissed off with my ovaries for checking out early (or what I considered early). I wasn't hugely upset, though. I had my child, I'd never really wanted a second one and so my ovaries don't work; big whoop. I never considered the notion that I was now an old woman because... well, because I'm just not. You'll have to trust me on that. What pissed me off big time was the sudden weight gain. It wasn't a nice gradual weight gain, it was a sudden explosion. And suddenly I was heavy.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not obese. You will not see me on the next season of "Biggest Loser." I'm probably what most people would consider totally normal. But since I've never been totally normal, I don't like it. I don't like rolls on my stomach when I sit down. I don't like the fact that my knees object to the extra 25 lbs. I don't like the fact that none of my bras fit anymore. I just don't like it. So, I'm on a diet. I've never been on a diet in my life. Mostly all I've done is switch to "diet" or "low-cal" everything. Since I'm a terrible soda junkie, I have diet soda and a whole lot of vaguely flavored waters. If it isn't made by Weight Watchers, I don't have it in the kitchen. Except for my new best friend... Special K. Its working. I'd lost about 10 lbs before the Pittsburgh trip.
However; I HATE IT.
I hate diet soda, it tastes like crap. Rice cakes are not nearly as tasty as Doritos. I miss chocolate chip cookies like I miss a lover who dumped me; I pine for cookies. But the very worst part? When presented with real food, full of fat and calories and flavor, I don't enjoy it. My brother can cook up a storm and he did when I was visiting. I ate it and felt terrible. I couldn't enjoy it. I felt guilty. And that just plain sucks. I suppose I'll have to eat like this for the rest of my life. My job is physically demanding, I get plenty of exercise, so its not a lack of aerobics; this is just the way my body behaves now. (yeesh, imagine if I had a desk job; then I'd really have something to complain about) I really resent my body. Its a betrayal. I trusted my stupid body and it turned on me. It tricked me.
I keep thinking its a cruel joke and one day my metabolism will say "Ha! Just yanking your chain, back to normal now." But I don't really believe that. So I'm just going to finish up this glass of orange flavored water now and tell myself that I'm full and go on about my business.
Stupid body. I want my old one back.