Identity Hyperbole

I just said good-bye to my heart brothers. Henry and Oliver are off to Switzerland with their father, and while I'm excited for them I also feel -- well -- unhinged. I cried a bit after they left, certain that my life means nearly nothing when they're not around. I wondered what the hell I'd do when they leave for real one day, and I cried a bit harder for my lost identity. I wish I could say this was mostly dramatics or even hyperbole, except that it's sort of, kind of not. I mean, it's the truth. Who am I without these people? Sophie and I sat in the very quiet kitchen, and I fed her some beans and rice. I ate some whole grain crackers that I've recently become addicted to, spread with a thick layer of butter. I might have eaten 1/3rd of a stick of butter, but maybe that's hyperbole. I also ate a tomato from my garden like an apple and sprinkled crazy salt over it before each bite. I sipped some red wine that's been sitting on my counter since my last book salon. I'm not a big drinker, but I figure a tiny buzz might cut the angst a bit. In less than 24 hours, I went from feeling nearly orgasmic with joy and freedom (not hyperbole) after a sunset swim in the Pacific to feeling bereft and abandoned (ok, hyperbole).

Here are some pictures from the weekend.

I was in San Diego County with Henry, attending a lacrosse tournament. When he took off with his buddies for the whole day yesterday, I lay on the hotel bed wondering what the hell I was going to do with myself, but eventually I got up and walked miles, went shopping and bought myself a funky outfit and then went down to the beach in my bathing suit and actually went into the water and swam for at least a half an hour. I submerged myself -- dove into waves and paddled around -- and then dried off, sat on a towel and watched the sun set.

Here I am coming out of the water:

Oops.

Sorry. That was another woman. That woman lives in the Caribbean Ocean and walks out of it occasionally. She has no idea what's coming around the corner. Tell her to turn around and dive back in!

Here I am:

And here's the sun setting over the glorious Pacific ocean:

The Big O is Home from Switzerland

As you can see, Oliver got home from Switzerland with a hell of a lot of Swiss chocolate. Added to the Christmas crap that is, literally, everywhere, I can say confidently that I live in a Christmas and Chocolate Shop. I haven't even seen The Big O this morning as he is sleeping, still, at 2:00 in the afternoon. I'm trying to take down Christmas and simultaneously declutter. I've begun in the dining room, and in between opening cabinets and drawers and tossing what I don't want or need or am sick of, I pop one of those chocolates you see up there, clustered in a pile to the right. I'm being fueled by chocolate and incredulity at the amount of crap I have. January 3rd seems like as good a day as any to be ruthless, but don't think it isn't hard for me to part with some stuff. There's a three-drawer cabinet in one corner that has long been The Art Cart, and it's filled with art supplies -- markers, pencils, paper, stamps, watercolor paints, drawing pads, and various odd stuff like pipe cleaners and popsicle sticks.

Here's the thing. No one in my house is remotely crafty or artistic in the manner of The Art Cart, although we have riffled through the contents over the years for school projects, lemonade stands, etc. I really am loathe to get rid of The Art Cart, though, with that nagging premonition that the moment I do toss it, I'll need something from it -- why the hell did I throw out that Frida Kahlo coloring book? -- and have regrets. During hour three of the purge, I took a break and rode over to the post office to mail something and mulled over the art cart, the difficulty of getting rid of stuff, what that means in a psychoanalytic way and other psychic-shattering things.

Reader, I actually thought this thought:

The Art Cart could stay there and maybe when I have grandchildren, they'll appreciate the stuff inside of it. 

I'm going to wake Oliver up and pop some more chocolate.

The Day After

The urge to take it all down has to be tamped because I just don't have the will to do so, and Oliver who would ordinarily be the one to help has left for a week for Switzerland with his father. Diehard readers might remember last January's fiasco, when his passport didn't arrive in time, so his open ticket is being used at this moment. It will be a quiet one in Los Angeles -- just me and Sophie and Henry, and Henry will be using his father's car to ride around the shitty with his new license and his girlfriend. What to do? What to do? What to do? I ate an egg and a piece of toast and four Pecan Puffs. I ate a salted caramel and a bite of nougat. I sat in bed for hours and continued to read Strange Pilgrims, marking it with post-its -- such beautiful passages to share with the salon I'm hosting in January. I dressed Sophe in the sweater and jeans I bought for her for Christmas, told her that she looked beautiful and kissed the tip of her nose. I had the fleeting thought that though near twenty years, no boy will ever drive all over the shitty to pick her up and take her places, admire her clothes and kiss the tip of her nose. Sigh. It was fleeting. Everything is fleeting -- even the dudes in the dirt pit that used to be the house behind us, their Bobcat moving and dragging the dirt, digging holes, building illusory foundations. The day is chilly and the sky is blue.

A Cure for Everything

The Husband has returned from the mother country with knives and chocolate.

What to do when you're not in Switzerland**

photo by J. Werndorf

Go boogie boarding at Zuma Beach in Malibu with your friends. Warm air, cold water -- gratitude.

photo by J. Werndorf

**The weather in Swissland is evidently cold, rainy, foggy and no snow.

I need a title for this post, and make it witty

Don't read any further if you don't want to read about politics.

Gone?

It's about a million degrees in Los Angeles today, and I've felt kind of queasy for about two weeks for no apparent reason. Evidently there were some more earthquake clusters out in the desert, but I didn't feel anything -- or maybe I did on some deep tissue level. I woke up at three in the morning, worried, for no apparent reason, so I went into the den and found The Husband watching television where he'd been sitting since returning from The Mistress. I chastised him for not taking care of himself and watched him stumble off to Sophie's room, where he lay down beside her and promptly fell asleep. I then went into the kitchen and mopped the floor, ate a Liberte coconut yogurt and climbed back into bed to read a bit of Joanna Brooks' memoir Mormon Girl. I went back to sleep and woke up a couple of hours later to get Sophie ready for school and then drove her to school. I then drove back to my house, did some work for my job at a non-profit, cleaned some more and washed mountains of clothes and then finished another job and took care of my boys and then, and here's the dumb part, wasted entirely too much time in a back and forth conversation on Facebook about Ann and Mitt Romney with a guy I went to high school with and a motley assortment of his friends who I don't know and who don't know me.

Why?

Why would I do this other than to satisfy my primitive urge to rant?

I can't tell you, although there's a small part of me that sort of enjoys the back and forth, particularly when it's not personal (my high school friend is always gracious, even if I disagree with everything he says). That part gives me hope.

What irritated the hell out of me, though, were some of the friends' comments which sounded, for the most part, like they were plucked out of the bosom of the Republican birthing machine, maybe even Ann Romney's outstretched arms in her oh-so-red suit (why? why are Republican women always in red?). 

What started the exchange was a fairly innocuous comment by my friend on his FB page about how much he admired Ann Romney for loving America as opposed to hating it like Michelle Obama. I think he might have called her a "class act."


Here was my response:

Ah, yes. Ann Romney: proud working mom who is worth 1/4 of a billion dollars and employs five nannies/maids. Her America is definitely something to be proud of as opposed to the America where my friend Mirtha, a legal citizen, works three jobs to support her family and recently needed my help to file for food stamps and is called lazy by the RNC.

And here was his:

Well that is unfortunate about your friend Elizabeth. Hopefully she can work her way out of her situation. No doubt millions of Americans are hurting. Obviously she has not improved over the last 4 years either. Politics aside, the country has not improved over the past 4 years and we need a dramatic change.

And here is mine:

 it's silly to think that the last four years is why this country is in a recession or that during the last four years we should have somehow snapped our Democratic fingers and fixed all the problems of the world. The Congress has been

 in a deadlock with extreme obstruction for the last four years, with the far right wing of the majority party hell bent on dictating who should marry whom and parsing out the distinctions between rape and forcible rape, while their moderate counterparts flail ineffectually. The Obama administration has disappointed many of us who had hoped for universal healthcare and a serious end to the obscene, lost wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, but it has passed the Affordable Care Act that ensures tens of millions of people and, in my case, guarantees that my daughter can have healthcare despite her pre-existing condition. He also ended state-sanctioned torture, one of the greatest evils ever perpetrated by the United States and something that I am unembarrassed to be ashamed of my country for justifying. When Michelle Obama said that she was ashamed of America, she spoke of its history of slavery and torture and the FACT that nearly a quarter of our children live in poverty. It's disingenuous to smear her as a person who hates America. I know nothing of Ann Romney but have listened to her speak and shrink at her condescension. As for her husband, tell me one thing he says that isn't pat jingoism.

And after that tirade, I'm going back to posting videos of babies.

Which I did. I posted that video of the twin girls dancing while their father played the guitar.

Then I got the notice that a friend of my friend had posted a comment to me:

 The difference in the two parties, is a Republican who starts from nothing makes his way on his own, investing his own time, energy, and money: and a Democrat feels he needs help from a program in order to do the same thing.

I KNOW! I should have let that sad little ball just drop right there. Let those be the last words.

But, no. Think of me, your friend Elizabeth as a sort of fly, lazy in the southern California heat, in the backyard, where the dog has just -- well -- here's what I said:

 Your theory doesn't hold up well given that Romney is decidedly not a self-made man, but Obama most certainly is. Way too simplistic -- 

And then my friend responded, still gracious:

Wait a second Elizabeth... what do you mean Romney's not a self made man?? Its a given he grew up in wealthy household, but have you ever read or heard of the extrordinary success he had at Bain? He started at Bain and Company at age 30, 

later started Bain Capital, then later returned and ran Bain and Company, growing both firms phenomenally. He may have inherited a few million fro papa, but the over $200 million he has is money he made. Yes, he did build it!!

 I don't have this kind of cash just yet, but certainly I'm not bitter that he has it. I congratulate and embrace successful stories like this. This is the kind of mindset we need to grow our ecomony back to prosperity. By doing so, we all, incluidng health insurance for your daughter and job opportunities for your friend, benefit.

And dumb old, fly-like me:

I'd hardly call "inheriting a few million from papa" "starting from nothing." Maybe it is nothing to you, though, and I'd argue that NO ONE makes that much money completely on their own. Read Elizabeth Warren's statements on wealth. Read about the myth of the self-made man.

Are you still with me? Because this is when the attack started by my friend's friend, and not only did it get personal, but it wasn't particularly intelligent.

Obviously, you have never started a small business. I think he started his own successful business before his father died and left him anything. You have a chip on your shoulder about anyone who has been more successful than you. So sorry

 for you. Obama is self made using everyone else's money except his own, hardly self made. That is how he has become president, other people's money, Romney at least has put some of his own money into his campaigns.

Well, bless her heart.

I asked the friend of my friend to not personally attack me when she knew nothing about me. I told her that The Husband and I are actually owners of a small business and that she didn't know what she was talking about when it comes to me. I think I then gave some links to an interesting article I read about the myth of the self-made man and then I stopped. My original friend had some things to say, but I didn't respond and I guess I won't anymore.

Instead, I lay on the bed with Sophie who had just come home from school and I thought about the Alps in Switzerland. I thought about The Husband and me and Sophie and Henry and Oliver with hands entwined and arms outstretched weaving in and out of grass and flowers, the peaks behind us, The Mistress (that business I know nothing about) out of our minds, all of us, weaving in and out and on our way to freedom from flies and bullshit. I know that's just a dream, and I'll be buzzing around again, but doesn't it sound nice?

Now I need a title for this post. I'd love to work the phrase sister wives into it.

Facebook Snafus, Gun Control, Switzerland and the The Husband

Switzerland, 2007

I've been called bitter, unhappy, unpatriotic and pompous because of some comments I made about gun control and America yesterday on Facebook. I was also defriended by one of my cousins because of it, so I think I'll take Denise's advice and blog about it.

Oy vey.

Bitter? Well, I'll concede that I feel a tad bitter about the difficult times I've had negotiating for care for Sophie, for medications that cost less if I get them illegally from Canada than legally through my insurance company that has jacked up Sophie's premium more than 150% in three years. Bitter actually might be too mild a term for what I feel about the way this country handles healthcare and the insurance industry. As an overall characteristic of my person, though -- well, I'm not there, yet, thanks to daily meditation and the support and love of family and friends.

Unhappy? Hmmm. What the hell does it mean to be truly happy? I'm certainly not happy all the time and am distinctly unhappy about many things, but I try to do something about the things that make me unhappy. I think if someone knows me well, unhappy wouldn't be a term they'd use to describe me. I'm too much of an idealist to be unhappy. It does make me unhappy, though, that I can't have a heated discussion on Facebook with a first cousin without it degenerating into personal attack.

Unpatriotic? I was born an American and didn't work my ass off to be one. I didn't swim shark-infested oceans or dodge tyrants from the left or right. I believe it was sheer chance that I was born here and not some other country, and I'm grateful to be a part of such a vast, crazy, diverse and free place. I like ice in my drinks, movies, popcorn and peanut butter, all things that you're hard put to find in such plenitude elsewhere. I think our national parks, particularly Yosemite, are the greatest places on earth. Do I believe America is God's gift to the world? Absolutely not. Do I believe America is the best country in the world? Absolutely not.  I'm grateful that my parents and their parents worked incredibly hard to give me the life I was born into. I'm grateful that I can speak openly as a woman in this country, that I can be in charge of my body, that I can choose to worship or not worship as I please. I'm grateful that our country is organized in such a fashion that I can go to the poll-booth and vote without getting killed, that I can rely on the country's military to protect me from imminent danger. I'm grateful that I get some financial aid from our government to help me with respite care for Sophie and my boys. But I'm an integral part of this country as well and grateful for the opportunity to give back with my own tax money, not only to pay for this military and many of the services that make our country a great one, but also to help those less fortunate. Do I believe I'm a human being connected to other human beings, regardless of where they were born? Yes, I do. I'm not sure if that makes me patriotic or unpatriotic, though.

Pompous? Well, I'll cry mea culpa on this one as I do have the tendency to condescend and my tongue is as sharp as a scythe. I'm working on it. When my son Oliver acts like a crazy person as a catcher on his baseball team, I wince and think he's a chip off the old maternal block. I even think the word asshole. Other people just say they like his passion. If I could learn to express my passion in more constructive ways, I'd be better off, as would those on the receiving end of my pontifications.

So, where does that leave us?

The Husband has been privy to the snafu on Facebook, and unlike a good Swiss, he's not been neutral. He rolls his eyes at Americans and their passion for guns and violence. He thinks the NRA is a repellent organization, drunk on power and a tired, irrelevant history. He's lectured me on the real reasons the Swiss all have guns when they're twenty and ammunition, too. He is a sharp shooter and participated for many years in the Swiss bicycle calvary. He hated every second of it, as his father did before him. The Husband is extremely knowledgeable about his country and loves his heritage no more or less than his life in this country. That's one of the reasons, I suppose, that I married him. You know -- all that John Lennon imagine stuff, imagine there's no country, no one to kill or die for, I wonder if you can.

Now I'm off to make some Hallelujah Cake, distinctly American for the Swiss Husband's birthday.

Veil Gluck zum Geburi!

I feel like my brain is being sucked out by a vintage hairdryer

1. Why did I argue on Facebook with some members of my family about the Second Amendment and gun control laws?
2. Why did I bother when I knew perfectly well that their beliefs are nearly antithetical to my own?
3. Why did the shooter in Colorado have no problem buying more than 6,000 rounds of ammunition for his guns?
4. Why is there not unequivocal agreement that the above is INSANE?
5. Why was it easier for that guy to buy his guns and ammo than for me to petition my private insurance company to add an epilepsy drug to the formulary so that I can afford to give it to my disabled daughter?
6. Why don't I feel nearly as much terror about what happened yesterday in Colorado than in the newest statistics about global warming?
7. Why do people believe the NRA to be anything but a powerful business conglomerate interested solely in money and power?
8. Why do people insist that owning a firearm gives one the ability to defend oneself? From what?
9. Why is everything couched in military terms? 
10. Why don't I feel the same warm, fuzzy feelings about American "liberty," "freedom," and "values" as my relatives?
11. Am I a bad person for not thinking like them?
12. Are they bad people for not thinking like me?
13. Why are Christian conservatives so afraid?
14. Why am I not afraid?
15. Why do I get called a "libtard" if I question American exceptionalism?
16. Why in the recent spate of mass shootings did no one fire a gun in self-defense if this is an argument used by NRA types? Surely one or more of the nearly 50% of Americans who own firearms have been bystanders in the recent spate of killings.
17. Why is the United States ranked fourth in the world for murders by firearms after South Africa, Columbia and Thailand?
18. Why is Switzerland, with such high gun ownership rates, such a peaceful country?
19. Why does Switzerland's populace feel that since they are a wealthy country, it's their duty to protect the most vulnerable (the disabled) from birth to death?
20. Why do Americans believe that protecting the most vulnerable is tantamount to socialism, one of the world's greatest evils?
21. Why do people insinuate that I should just "love it or leave it?"
22. Why don't I just move to Switzerland?
23. Why does the United States account for 5% of the world's population but 25% of the world's incarcerated population?
24. Why does posing these questions incite others to claim moral superiority over me with their faith in the status quo?

Reader, I'm certain you have answers to some of these questions and perhaps even some questions to add. 

Please do.

Eighteen Years

May 21, 1994 - Mollis, Switzerland

I don't want to throw in my lot with the marriage-is-hard-work crowd, the ones who suggest you see a couples counselor before you send out the invitations, who seem to support the entire advice-book industry. I was never one of those women who tell you that their spouse is their best friend, that they're always on the same page. I feel like you're ahead of the game if you're even in the same book.

 Anna Quindlen, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake 

Happy Anniversary to The Husband, with gratitude for being in the same book for eighteen years.

Snow Day

Amden, Switzerland, 2007

I'm surprising the boys this morning and not waking them up for school. It's raining here in Los Angeles and since we never have snow days, I'm calling one. We need a mental health day -- I think chocolate chip cookie-making is in order, perhaps a viewing of True Grit, and pajamas all day.

And maybe we'll listen to this:

Aunt Rosemarie from Switzerland is here!

At least twenty pounds of assorted Swiss chocolate was unloaded from a suitcase to a chorus of shouts of ecstasy and groans.

Our lives are Swiss

Mollis, Switzerland, The Husband's home

Our lives are Swiss -
So still - so Cool -
Till some odd afternoon
The Alps neglect their Curtains
And we look further on!


Italy stands the other side!
While like a guard between -
The solemn Alps -
The siren Alps
Forever intervene!


Emily Dickinson
c. 1859


It's strange and true and wonderful how one can open a book of poetry and find something so apt, so perfect, so apropos. I am of Italian descent, The Husband Swiss-German, and I love how Dickinson captures so neatly our union.

on the Repealing the Job-Killing Health Care Law Act (that's really what they're calling it!)

Mollis, Switzerland

And it's not about the money. As I tried to explain in my last column, the modern G.O.P. has been taken over by an ideology in which the suffering of the unfortunate isn't a proper concern of government, and alleviating that suffering at taxpayer expense is immoral, never mind how little it costs.


Paul Krugman, from today's Op-Ed column in The New York Times

Yet Rappaz looks puzzled when asked about people in the United States who say that it would be intrusive to mandate health insurance.

"I'm not sure that I get you," she says, cocking her head.

When the question is put another way, she laughs. "Oh, I see. That's really an American question. You are so used to having this individualistic way of thinking, and that's why you don't have these social [safety] nets. You still have this pioneer mentality where everyone has to take care of themselves."

That's not how people in Switzerland think about it, she says. That pioneer mentality, "is good for people who have no problems, but there are a bunch of people who ... need a social net.

"I'm really happy to give part of my salary to a solidarity system," she says.


Cecile Crettol-Rappaz, a Swiss citizen, speaking in response to questions regarding the cost of helping those in need.



The way the Swiss government approaches this is that every person who is a Swiss citizen has the right to be able to live decently.


Ellen Wallace, a Swiss citizen speaking about the insurance program that guarantees her disabled child will be covered for life.

Both of these quotes were taken from two interviews a couple of years ago when the United States was in the beginning throes of healthcare reform. You can read more  HERE and HERE.

The idea that we have to go through all of this again, especially given the title of the new bill (Repealing the Job-Killing Health Care Law Act) is offensive to me and has nothing to do with democracy. If not immoral, it's plain stupid. I just don't understand why we can't expend energy on making the bill more fair, more equitable, etc. and not on repeal.

Did I mention that The Husband is Swiss?