on the issue of meat

Recently the New York Times magazine did a food issue, and every article I read made me feel dissatisfied. There was an article about Jamie Oliver, whom I love and adore and which made me want to cook more, and an article about calorie restricted diets, which made me wish I hadn’t eaten half a pack of Trader Joe’s cookies beforehand. And there was an article about meat by Jonathon Safran Foer, about his periodic flirtations with vegetarianism.

I was a vegetarian for a couple of years in high school, and that ended with me standing outside the refrigerator gorging myself on a leftover hamburger from a family barbecue one hot summer evening. I was ashamed, but it was good. So there went vegetarianism.

In college, many of friends were vegetarians,  but they tended to eat a lot of beans and weird grains, and as a result they were typically gassy and bloated with self-righteousness.

GB & I talked about the article and it made us both wish that we were vegetarians. This is the ‘two’ of a ‘one-two punch’ which the NY Times has inflicted on me relative to meat in recent weeks, the first being the ground beef article I linked to awhile back. As it is now, we don’t eat nearly as much meat as the average American family – usually only once or twice a week. But the moral, ethical, and environmental arguments are extremely compelling for us.

Not enough, currently, to actually sway us into becoming vegetarians, though.

As the writer points out in the article, there are lots of times when meat is just right. I CANNOT countenance a ‘tofurkey’ for Thanksgiving. On Sundays I love GB’s roasted chicken. I would miss Snoop’s ‘rib dance.’ Shepherd’s pie, an occasional slaw dog, bean soup with a big hambone in it – I wouldn’t want to give those things up. They can’t be replaced.

Besides, I know the minute I said, ‘I’m a vegetarian, darn it’ I would instantly begin to crave a burger or a slab of ribs, even if I hadn’t wanted either of those things for weeks. The quickest way for me to set myself up for failure is to define myself as something. Whereas, if I just casually tell myself, ‘I can eat meat whenever I want it,’ then I don’t usually want it very much.

Yes, I play strange psychological games with myself rather than having to enforce actual self-control.

h1n1 clinic

The clinic started at 2,  but we arrived at the Palace of Auburn Hills at about 1.30. They directed us all the way around the arena to the far west atrium, and as Snoop & I rounded the corner in a wave of people coming from the parking lot, we were greeted with at least a thousand more threaded through police gates and yellow crime scene tape. “Doors don’t open until 2,” someone told me. It was cold, with a stiff wind, but Snoop & I were well bundled, and the line was full of a lot of cheerful people ready for a long wait.

the line in front of me, half-hour pre clinic, above; the line behind me, below

News crews were there, and the National Guard and Palace staff kept the line moving and entertained. There were moms and dads all around me, some with thermoses of hot tea or cocoa, and we chatted and texted our families and watched the progress of the line carefully.

They divided us into 2 lines depending on whether we were walk-in or pre-registered. Snoop had been pre-registered, but it didn’t really gain us much – the walk-in line was shorter. By 2.17, though, we were inside the Palace and at least warm. A few minutes later, the autumn skies opened up in a deluge of rain and hail, which would have cut it for me and sent us home if we had still been outside.

The National Guard kept telling us that we were aiming for a purple pillar, but the Palace is full of purple pillars and the arena was packed wall to wall. The Pistons never drew such a crowd, I am quite sure.

Snoop was so good, I swear. She never cried, whined, or complained. She watched the proceedings avidly, ate some crackers, had some water in her sippy cup, and read ‘I Spy Bunnies’ a few times. She was a champ.

It soon became clear that the line was being moved all the way around the Palace on the inside, from west to east. At 3.00 the first shot stations came into view. Our forms were reviewed, our ID checked, and beaming Health Dept workers sent us into the final holding area before we were funneled into the restaurant / bar which had been converted into the actual shot areas.

By 3.05, I was watching four Health Department workers and a frazzled mother holding down a terrified nine year old who was bellowing, red-faced and thrashing, that he DID NOT WANT THE SHOT DIDNOTDIDNOTDIDNOT!! He got in a couple of good kicks and a left hook. If that had been my kid, I might have thought that the swine flu probably couldn’t kill him, and it might have been preferable to dealing with that.

By 3.10, Snoop was sitting on my lap watching the rain outside the big windows. The shot went neatly into her thigh and she looked indignant and grieved. ‘I Spy Bunnies’ was retrieved, a cracker and a kiss distributed, and she was tucked back into her stroller with nary a grizzle.

By 3.17, we were bundled back up and outside, heading back all the way around the arena, trying to find our car in the packed parking lot. On the west side, where we had come in, the line was twice as long as it had been when we arrived. We passed a traffic jam coming in as we gratefully shot out. Snoop went right to sleep in her carseat, exhausted at her big adventure.

So all things considered, I think the clinic was a success, and I think the Health Dept did a good job keeping it orderly and efficient. An hour and a half was totally manageable – not ideal, but manageable. I’m extremely relieved that she’s gotten her first dose, and we’ll worry about the second one in 30 days. On the evening news, they were at the Palace live, and the line was winding around the arena and out into the parking lot. They said the average wait was two and a half hours. People still looked cheerful, despite the rain and the wind. 

And the Health Dept workers were still beaming, too. They said they had ten thousand doses and expected to give them all out, every one. Although the clinic was scheduled to end at 8.00, they said they planned on being there until at least 10.00.

the good news and the bad news

The good news: my Veeps – both Japanese and American - accepted my proposal for a 32-hour work week. So, effective November 30, I will work from 8 AM to 3 PM and have a little less stress for wintertime commutes, and a couple extra hours to spend with the baby girl. My Japanese Veep wrote a solemn little email:

Dear Sara-san,

I accept your proposal.

Have a good time with your baby.

It’s funny that a little bit of kindness in the workplace after this past year sort of makes me want to cry. Just a few snuffly tears. Ahem.

The bad news: Unless the Vaccine Fairy drops a delivery of H1N1 vaccine doses on my pediatrician’s office tonight, tomorrow afternoon I will bite the bullet and take the aforementioned baby girl to — horror of horrors — one of our county’s Health Department H1N1 Vaccine Clinics. Open to all residents of our county within the strictly targeted population of old people, young people, sick people, pregnant people, and caregivers of people. At the freaking Palace of Auburn Hills, people.

GB & I discussed the pros and cons of the vaccine ad infinitum, and at the end of the day, even though we had some concerns with it, we agreed that it was the better of two not-so-good options. However, the vaccine shortage has stymied our ability to act upon our decision. So now we agree that it is time to take the measure of being inconvenienced for the sake of her health.

They are conducting them in smaller venues around the county, but they don’t know in advance when they will have them or where they will be. This one happens to be at the Palace, next week’s may be around the corner in our neighborhood school. But without knowing, I can’t take the risk that they’re going to run out. I debated over the venue, but decided that the pros of an enormous venue like the Palace include ample parking, lots of nurses giving shots, the ability to wait on the queue inside the building rather than outside in the elements, more restrooms, etc. No good options here, I’m going with what I got.

I have no doubt that in the way of the universe, I will take time off work and stand in line with the masses to get her this shot, and next week my pediatrician will be rolling in the doses. Oh well – what can you do?

There will be a story to tell here, provided I am sufficiently composed to render the telling after standing in line at a stadium with a 14-month old for hours to get her not a fun basketball game seat, a concert ticket, a popular toy or a game – but a shot.

halloween

Snoop loved Halloween. She stood at the front door, hands plastered on the glass, watching all of the kids in their costumes. She ran up and down our hallway in her Halloween dress, thrilled at the excitement, the ghost lights, and the glowing pumpkins.

We put a CD of the original 1969 ‘Haunted Mansion’ (starring the voice of a young Ron Howard) on our boombox on the porch, and the spooky story and songs greeted all of the trick or treaters. I remember I had this on a record when I was a tot, with some Donald Duck Halloween thing on the flip side, and when I got the remastered CD I couldn’t believe how much of it I remembered. We had skull lights and a last-minute carved pumpkin courtesy of GB.

And we had polite kids, too. Even the big kids were decent. About 80% said ‘thank you’ and ‘Happy Halloween’ which is a refreshing change from a couple of years ago. Oh, we had our share of oddballs, such as the kid who staggered up on the porch and blurted, ‘One time I ate an eyeball!’ But GB even handed out some candy and came away without feeling aggrieved and antagonized by rude demands from rude children.

Hope you all had a nice holiday. It’s November now!

happy halloween!

All Souls’ Night, 1917
by Hortense King Flexner
You heap the logs and try to fill The little room with words and cheer, But silent feet are on the hill, Across the window veiled eyes peer. The hosts of lovers, young in death, Go seeking down the world to-night, Remembering faces, warmth and breath— And they shall seek till it is light. Then let the white-flaked logs burn low, Lest those who drift before the storm See gladness on our hearth and know There is no flame can make them warm.

on a whim…

…I decided to dress up for Snoop’s day care Halloween party on Friday. 

I was originally thinking this:

But honestly, neither my child nor I ever look that calm or happy, and it just felt like hubris.

Before settling on this.

Because, you know, why not just scare ALL the little kids instead of just your own.

I got a mustache, already have a velvet blazer and a tuxedo shirt, and GB picked me up a bow tie and a monocle.

I don’t think EAP ever wore a monocle, but anyway.

I even bought a raven.

Er…a stuffed crow. It was the last one at Michael’s during my lunchtime run and was attached to a store display. I lugged the entire display up to the counter and said, all I need is the crow. It was either that or spray paint a fake turkey…but the beak just isn’t the same.

The woman looked at me tiredly. How does 3.99 sound?

Like a DEAL, I said happily, and tore the crow out of the display.

I’m getting a little too attached to it – it sat on my desk at work all afternoon and perched on my dashboard on the drive home, as I slogged through the FINAL DISC of ‘Jane Eyre.’

I will post pictures if I can get the hair right. Otherwise, I might just look like Charlie Chaplin. With a crow. And a monocle.

One of my staff, who dressed up as a naughty schoolgirl for HER party, looked at a picture and said doubtfully, Wow, he’s really ugly.

Yep. I guess it’s just how I roll.

schedule (read when you have time)…

…was the subject line of my email. To his credit, he read it promptly.

After I had Snoop, I told myself I would wait until her first birthday before I made any big decisions about work. My hormones were a noxious stew, and there was the adjustment period. Multiple adjustment periods, really. Adjustment to having a baby, first of all, adjustment to her being in day care, adjustment to working full time…I needed to get past all of those things to see it clearly for what it was.

So I took a little longer. I took until about a week ago, actually. And then I called up my friend in HR and said, what have you got.

What he had was a 32-hour work week. Basically, for a 20% paycut, I can work 8-3 every day and keep my benefits, vacation, and 401k. To the desperate, it seemed like a good deal. I get an extra 2 hours a day with my baby girl, and the company gets the same resource for a 20% discount. I imagined having an extra two hours. I imagined not having to worry about my commute home during snowstorms, not having to have Snoop be the last little kid at daycare. I imagined having time to cook sometimes.

We talked today, the new boss and I.  I kept my voice steady. He is a straightforward, intimidating brush cut of a man, and he has judged us harshly at times during his first few weeks. There are a lot of people who already hate him, but despite myself, I kind of like him. I don’t trust him, but I can’t help but like him.

Can I still work your guts out when I need to?

Yes, I said, you can.

If I need you to do something, will you do it?

Yes, I will, I said. 

We have to keep talking to each other, he warned. I don’t want to have to come to you and say, this isn’t working out and I’ve made other arrangements, goodbye.

I don’t want that either, I said, somewhat insulted. And I don’t think it would ever get to that point. If I don’t feel good about what’s happening, if I’m working too much from home, or letting things slide, I think I will be the one to come to you and say this isn’t working out. 

He still looked dubious.

How about a trial period? I suggested. Two to three months, and if it doesn’t work, I will go back to 40 hours.

He brightened.

I still have to clear it with ___-san, he warned, mentioning his Japanese VP counterpart.

Okay, I said.

I’m not opposed, he said. I understand.

Okay, I said. That’s all I can ask, is for you to consider it. Think about it, and just let me know. I really appreciate your consideration.

So I guess I will soon find out if my plea to be a 20% discounted resource so I have 2 extra hours a day to spend with my daughter is accepted. I had to try, I told GB. I had to try something, and it it doesn’t work out, then at least I gave it a shot.

the good old days

I don’t know what year this was taken, but I couldn’t have been much past first or second-grade, and my brother younger. I wish we had the Polaroid of us wearing the masks, but this is the only relic of Halloweens past that I possess. My husband does not recall the days when Halloween costumes came in big crinkly boxes and consisted of a molded-plastic mask held on your head by a stapled, thin elastic band, and a thin plastic overshirt imprinted with the character you were posing as. I can’t believe this – those costumes were a staple of Halloween childhoods. Can you imagine the amount of deadly chemical fumes we sucked into our lungs during those hours spent in a cheap plastic mask?

Fond memories, even if my brother and I have the same haircut, just parted on different sides.

a note from the universe

Although I signed up for it, I usually sort of scoff at the daily emails I receive from the Universe, sort of a motivational website. But this one actually made me smile, as I sat at the breakfast table reading it on my Blackberry in the dark morning. Snoop sat at her high chair sucking ferociously on her milk, swinging her feet, and stared at me dubiously as I smiled away, in spite of myself.

“Tell you what, Sara: If you can get happy right now, in spite of any problems, challenges, and circumstances that now seem to taunt you, I’ll take care of those problems, challenges, and circumstances, as well as “ever-after.”

Agh-hmm… Please, do the math, take the bait, and never look back.

The Universe”

animal house

Funny how most of our fun trips and adventures with Snoop seem to be animal-related.

 

 

This combined with the Tub Time Tugboat toy that we have nicknamed the ‘Nisshin Maru’ and which we encourage her to sink at every bathtime opportunity, and her mild aversion to meatstuffs, leads me to wonder if we are not raising a potential little Greenpeacer!