Authentic Tea, Frankenstein and a lovely state of exhaustion.

Authentic Tea:


Yesterday I had a powerful craving for something sweet. I don't allow myself, during the week, to have sweets. Dilemma. Fortunately I remembered that I had some vanilla chai tea and I remembered that being a rather sweet drink. I dug it out, read the directions for "authentic" chai tea, and brewed a cup. Absolutely delicious. For such a simple recipe (boil 1 C. water with 1/4C. milk with the tea bag, simmer for two minutes) I felt quite proud of myself. I think it's because I had transitioned from drinking tea made in an unauthentic way to an authentic one.

Frankenstein:


I had to read this book for school. Yes, I did say I wasn't going to school, and I meant it. Then the first day of school came around and I was a miserable, emotional wreck. I even cried (I don't normally cry). So Damm fixed it by discovering that I can get the Pell Grant-the entire amount-if I have six credit hours. So I am now in two classes: one a Science Fiction course, and one a military history/social course. They're fun in content and I don't foresee them being stressful.

Anyway, I had to read this book for school. I had already read it and remembered loving it. I'm not too sure what I loved about it; a little kid dies and Victor Frankenstein was a pompous @#$. Apparently in Mary Shelley's first version Frankenstein took some responsibility for his actions, but when she revised it in 1831 she took that away and made him more of a victim of destiny. Baloney, in my opinion. I think we were supposed to have some sort of compassion for the monster (in the book the monster is never, ever given Frankenstein's name and that is a crucial point) but I was unable to muster any given his crimes.

The point of reading this book for my class is that it is the first example of Science Fiction. Our prof theorizes that the transition from the Enlightenment to the Industrial Revolution was responsible for this new literary style. For the first time a person could be born in one world, technologically speaking, and die in another. That was not the way it had historically been; parents expected that their children would grow up and live and die using the same technology they had. So, viewed in that light, the book is pretty interesting.

Exhaustion:


Between taking care of the kiddos, working a demanding physical job, training for the Bataan march and fitting in homework sessions I've lost and inch and a half (yay!). The downside of that is that I've been exhausted. That was somewhat remedied by the nap I took yesterday. It was a memorable one: Miniorc fell asleep with me, the heater was on ensuring the room was nice and warm and I was surrounded by nice, soft pillows. I don't take naps often so anytime I do I make note of it:) There wasn't really a point of relating this nap to you but it was just so darn relaxing that I included the experience.


Next up is the War of the Worlds. I've seen both movies but I don't think I've ever read the book. Should be interesting.

I thought we were a few years away from this conversation.

This is the Orclette two years ago. She's still that size in my head, and I suspect I will always, at least in some way, picture her as my little baby. Yes, this is relevant to the topic.

So this afternoon I was looking for some way to entertain the Orclette and Miniorc. It had been a loooong day; first day of school for Damm and an emotional one for me as everyone started school and I didn't. I got out the removable "Cars 2" tattoos and put one on the Miniorc's hand. He flipped out, crying and asking me to take it off. I'm guessing he's observed mine don't come off and he thought I'd put one like mine on him. I removed his "tattoo", told him I wouldn't do such a terrible thing to him again, and we were all good.

The Orclette was cool as a cucumber, picking out the ones she wanted and sitting completely still as we waited the thirty seconds necessary for the design to transfer. For some reason I thought this would be a good moment to mention that real tattoos don't come off as easily as these did and that she was going to wait until she was eighteen and probably shouldn't get one anyway and that if she did it should be somewhere she could easily cover it up and she better pay cash for it (imagine I said all that without pausing and with increasing intensity). She looked at me very seriously after my mini-lecture and said "well, I'll probably get one when I'm eighteen".

Should never have brought it up. At least she told me she planned to disregard my advice, unlike myself who disregarded my mother's advice and let her discover it later (that was a really bad moment, when she spotted my first tattoo). And there's still time to persuade her not to get it smack-dab in the middle of her chest area. I now have sympathy for my mother, who probably carries around a toddler-sized image of me in her head. I can't imagine that little cutie in the picture letting heavily tattooed men tattoo her to the sound of really bad rock music. My, how times have changed.

The best feeling ever.

This past summer I had to have my wisdom teeth removed. I'm not averse to some pain but the thought of being awake while my teeth, one of them impacted, were pulled out was a bit much. So I opted for sedation surgery. It was amazing: the stuff they gave me was incredibly relaxing, and it was better than the moment my epidural hit after eighteen hours of labor (but not by much). The day after, which was filled with sleeping and then more sleeping, was also heaven.

The absolute best moment, though, was about a week after the surgery. I had been trying to get through the day without Percocet, because I had read it's highly addictive and I didn't want to take any chances. I wasn't healing as fast as I should have been, however, so the doctor told me I should take the Percocet. I obeyed. One Sunday morning I got up early, as is my habit, and got some homework done. I was still extremely tired, though, because both Damm and I push ourselves incredibly hard during the semester (it takes weeks for us to physically and mentally recover). So I took my Percocet and decided to cuddle with my kids and Damm on the bed. I fell back asleep-something that doesn't usually happen-and that feeling as I succumbed to the effects of the drug surpassed the epidural and the sedation surgery.

Since then I haven't felt relaxed. I'm making progress, now that the decision not to go back to school has been made. But that feeling of complete and total inertia has been hard to replicate (because I have no desire to become dependent on any type of drug), at least until I restarted my yoga practice. I don't typically do the harder versions of yoga; I prefer slow and gentle. And today, while I was going through a series of forward bends, I achieved that feeling of complete inertia, of total relaxation. It was felicity.

All that to say, if you're anxiety-ridden or stressed out, try yoga. I like Rodney Yee's videos, and Shiva Rea is also excellent. If you're wanting a workout, you could try Jillian Michael's "Yoga Meltdown", but it doesn't deliver the same impact (in my opinion). Trudy Styler, wife of Sting, also has a yoga video out that is geared toward weight loss. I prefer that one over Michael's, because it stays closer to the classic yoga poses. If you need yoga gear try your local Barnes & Noble store; they have a good selection of yoga DVDs and mats, as well as the yoga towels, socks and gloves, all in pretty colors. Walmart has some supplies as well, as does Target.

Try yoga, and you won't be sorry, although it does take some time to stretch the muscles. Best feeling ever.

The notoriety of it all.

I've been busy reading. First up on the list was Leslie Carroll's Notorious Royal Marriages, a book I had started before but suspected I hadn't finished. Turns out I did finish it that first time but I couldn't seem to put it down, it was so depressing. Being royal did mean power and money-most of the time-but it also was synonymous with heartache and depression. Henry VIII? Went through six wives and never found true happiness or contentment and worried to his dying day about the state of his soul because of his rift with the Pope (although it seems he never contemplated reversing his decision). Eleanor of Aquitaine, my personal favorite, was imprisoned for fifteen years because her husband, Henry Plantagenet, cheated on her and she had the temerity to be upset by it and to take action. She outlived him, however, and devoted herself to her sons, so I imagine she wasn't completely unhappy (although three of her sons died before she did, including her beloved Richard).

Then there were the modern-day royal marriages. Prince Charles had a girlfriend but she wasn't quite good enough for the royal court (which is rather funny, considering the antics of many of its members, living and dead) so he was instructed to find a proper royal womb. Diana fit the bill, and then millions of people tuned in to watch her walk down the aisle. Problem was, of course, that Charles had no intention of giving up his mistress. Diana could take action, however, something many of her predecessors could not do (although in other courts it seemed to be acceptable to discretely take a lover after the heir was born). She took lovers of her own and then decided to truly get back at the royal family, dishing about all the dirty laundry via the media. I must say I "hurrahed!" at this point, because I rather saw her as standing up for all the other English queens that had no voice (upon consideration I must add that I do not condone that action, but I completely understand why she did it). Then Diana's life came to a crashing halt and Prince Charles was free to marry the love of his life. It appears that there is some friction there, however, because Camilla is finding the life of a royal to be somewhat constricting.

Whew. That was only one modern marriage, but I think it's a good stopping point. That's not the only book I've been reading. I finished Dave Ramsay's The Money Answer Book this morning and my head is brimming full of ideas. It also put to rest most sympathy I had for the "we are the 99%!" protesters who have been sitting around and doing nothing, although they are asking for free money (which is a misnomer, someone is paying for it). Although some undoubtedly are having trouble finding a job I refuse to believe all of them can't find work. Wealth doesn't come easily (unless you inherit), most people have to sacrifice some creature comforts in order to attain it. I think we've (as a country) gotten away from the idea of hard work, pay cash, don't buy things unless you can afford them. I'm always amazed at the people who own nice cars yet live in dump heaps and have cable television yet complain they have no money. You can survive without those things and be happy.

Of course, there is an economic gap, and apparently that is something of concern because a shrinking middle class is not beneficial to an economy. I'm not an economist, neither am I a politician. I am, however, the daughter of an immigrant whose father and mother worked long, excruciating hours at a grocery store to save up enough money to eventually own their own business, several boats, and the latest in electronics and gadgets. On my mother's side I'm the descendant of many people who worked hard, saved hard, and now are wealthy. Right now I work full-time, my husband is ROTC and National Guard and working part-time and, in case that wasn't enough, going for his engineering degree. It's the first semester we haven't taken out loans (although of course that wasn't planned and at first I was really upset by it) and we will survive. Not only that, we will (if we stick to the budget, which is hard to do, I will be the first to admit) be able to put some money into savings. Upon graduation we won't have an increase in our living expenditures, although Damm will be making more than we pull in now. We'll be attacking our school debts, saving up for retirement, for our kids college funds. We don't have cable, we have an old car, we eat lots of rice and beans (although I do include enough variety in our diets to make sure we are healthy and that the kiddos are thriving), we don't go out to eat often and we won't be buying a home until we have enough to plunk a sizable amount of cash down. All that to say: if we can do it and have hope of being debt-free with a comfortable retirement and the ability to assist our kids, so can everyone else.

I will add (because I'm me and can't get away from putting myself in other people's shoes, even when I don't want to) that I don't like people being out on the streets, I don't want kids to go hungry, and I want everyone to find gainful employment. I might have little sympathy with the protesters (who seem to have gone away for the most part) but I do have empathy.

But enough of my sermonizing. Work hard, save hard and give hard. Now "hard" doesn't look like "hard", because I've typed it too many times. Does that happen to anyone else? When you look at a word too long and it looks weird? Anyway, Wulfa out.

Fidgety.

And bored. Fidgety and bored. It happens regularly this time of year. I would just console myself with the thought of another semester starting but, for me, that is not happening. So my brain is restless, and nowhere was that more evident than in church this past Sunday. I normally pay attention, take notes, and I was doing that, but the hair distracted me. It did not move. It was completely hair sprayed into place. After watching this phenomenon for a while I turned my attention to the other hair styles in the room, noting those that were obviously hair spray-plastered and those that were allowed to move freely. I definitely appreciate the free-moving ones; the other ones are rather scary. Wasn't that fascinating? Elucidating?

I did think of expanding my culinary abilities. So far I have made macaroni and cheese (not from a box!), reduced-calorie macaroni and cheese (once I figured out how many calories were in regular macaroni and cheese), Irish Soda Bread, Bread Machine breads and tonight I'll be trying a new chicken recipe. That only takes up so much time, however. So I decided I would grow herbs in my kitchen. I don't particularly like herbs, but it would be a learning experience and would expand the brain parameters. I haven't begun yet; this is a rather new resolution.

I also got the ambitious bug and began adding non-fiction books to my Nook wish list. After doing that it occurred to me that I have a slew of books I have bought but haven't read/finished, like Barbara Mertz's "Temples, Tombs & Hieroglyphs", and "Our Lincoln" by Eric Foner (edited by him, rather), and other ones I'm too lazy to get up to check the titles of. I might also resume my forays into classical literature. My mother made sure I had a good grounding; I've read Austen, Bronte, Chaucer, de Cervantes, Dickens, Dumas, Hawthorne, Homer, Melville, Poe, Shakespeare, Shelley (adored "Frankenstein"!) Sophocles, Swift, Stevenson, Tolstoy, Twain and Voltaire (among others). I haven't read Steinbeck or Faulkner, though, and I didn't read "Moby Dick" (I read "Bartleby the Scrivener"). Neither have I read Dostoyevsky; I've tried but was defeated. A long ways to go, then, to round off my adventures in literature.

And now I'm off to decide which non-fiction book I will start (or finish) first. This might be somewhat distracting; I bought each book in a spasm of delight because it was simply amazing! I love the subject matter! etc. Never, ever let me loose in the history section of any bookstore. It's bad.