that’s ehat i found. that’s what this internet timeline had to say about life in russia in 1992.
those words seem so small and inadequate. I know that historical timelines that begin in the 800s have to be small and inadequate.
Everything they say is true. But it was so much more.
So I’ve been working hard on my book. There are two basic sections to it: the first part where I am a pathetic teenager trying to be a grown up in my hometown in Alaska.
Yes, Alaska is America. Very much america, even if it is as weird a region as Faulkner’s south.
And the second part is in Russia, post-communist Russia.
The first part took a long time to write, and i learned a lot aboiut how I write things that are longer than 10 pages.
In pieces, more or less.
But I knew all along that I had to finish the part that was in america before I could move onto the part that was in Russia.
It was a whole new world. I couldn’t even think about it until I was done with the part in america.
I realized so many things about my life in my hometown. Because I’m not 18 anymore. I could see things taht were completely invisible to me at the time.
And now that I think about my time in Russia, I am terrified by what we did.
I realized that we walked into a time bomb waiting to happen. The people in the town had literally not been paid for 5 months. NO ONE IN THE TOWN HAD GOTTEN A PAYCHECK FOR FIVE MONTHS AT THE TIME WE ARRIVED.
Imagine a company town, in this case a communist town where the employer is the government, and the company just stops paying everyone? and they don’t say, hey, we’ll pay you soon. THey say, “We’re going to go over to new management. Only, we don’t know who these new managment will be. We only know for sure that they don’t have any ideas for the short term. Longer term, we don’t know either.”
No wonder they were warning all the americans to leave. If that had happened in a small american town there would be violence.
But in RUssia, they just kept going to work. They would talk about the situation over their vodka,cognac if they were educated class, and then laugh and lift their glasses again.
I have so much respect for the Russian people. They amaze me more and more the more I think aout it.
For my readers, I took a break wednesday and today…I went to DEATH VALLEY!
It was beautiful. All the rain has made the flowers bloom.
I’ll be back with more Miriam tomorrow.
The story of Miriam and it’s inspiration source has me feeling bad right about now. How sad that small-minded pettiness and intentional blindness should be so prevalent.
I am watching the Lord Of the Rings series to believe in courage and selfless heroes again.
They are not all in stories, I will believe that.
I started college when I was 17, after I graduated from high school. Jr. College. I had no idea what college was, honestly, except that it was supposed to be more difficult than high school.
So I was worried. High school was easy, but this was the big time. I told my mom I would only take 12 credits so that I didn’t overload. She thought that was stupid, that i needed to take a full load, 15 units, or it would take me forever to graduate.
Forever to graduate.
Let’s see. Jr. College the first semeseter, the University the next.
But then I dropped out to get ready to go to Russia for a semester.
The semester away turned inot a year and a half, three semesters. and when I got back I was flat broke with no parents to mooch off.
I took some night classes. Then I broke free and took a WHOLE SEMESTER of classes. 18 units! Bliss!
THe deal was, I had gotten married to Jack. He said he’d finish his degree in a year, and then I would get to do mine. So I worked and he went to classes.
But he dropped out in the middle. This didn’t make me happy. I wanted my turn! I went to the school to get a definitive answer on what he really needed to finish.
Turns out he wasn’t enrolled in the university. He’d been failing since I met him.
Wow.
Time for a regroup and re route.
We moved to California, because my goofy brother thought we could start a video game business. We didn’t know anything about video game businesses, but we needed to do something different. And I heard that California had good schools. I’d be able to finish my degree there.
Well, the video game thing didn’t go anywhere, but Jack got a good job anyway. And I started to get ready to go to the University of California.
Did you know that you have to apply to enroll in a University?
I didn’t. The University in Alaska did not require such things. California even had deadlines and things, essays and huge forms.
The UC had all these requirements before you could go there. Courses you had to have completed in High school.
Courses I had not completed in High School. Because I was home schooled.
Mad as hell, I went back to the Jr College in California to complete these classes. Deep in a Statistics class, I missed the deadline to apply
ANOTHER year lost.
man, I was depressed. My sister-in-law said, Hey, why don’t you try out for this internship-it’s for NASA!
That sounded pretty cool. I thought maybe I could be a technical writer. That’s what english majors do, right? Write? Or maybe I could be a software tester. You didn’t have to know anything to do that…
I got hired to be a desktop video conferencing tester. The boss later told me he hired me because I knew absolutely nothing, so I would be a good guinea pig to test the software. Then he said I had proved him wrong, and learned a lot.
I really liked it. It was fun and exhilerating to have a real job, not McDonald’s or Wherehouse or in a mall. I was learning things, solving problems, and writing operating instructions.
In the middle of all that excitement, I did finally get accepted into UCSC. I was so excited! And then I was unsure.
I wanted my english degree. Nothing would change that. But I knew that I didn’t want to be a teacher, and that’s the only thing you can do with an english degree.
I had learned to be a techie. I had this hope, that maybe I could go get a real job doing this. Maybe I could make good money. Pursuing my english degree would not pad my wallet.
I decided to look for a real job, and take classes at night. Later.
Later took a while. I had to find another school with night classes.
I took one big corporate job. Then I didn’t feel like I was doing all I could, I found another, and another. In the middle of all that, I lost the husband. Shouldv’e seen that one coming.
I did take night classes. I did. But it takes a lot of nights to make a full year.
So, that last big corporate job I took was a consultancy. I was beig consulted on how to run the system. I was consulted and not informed. This, then that, then the other. Your end date is now, no wait! we need you!
It dragged on, more and more frustrating. At last, my end date came. I reminded them that they needed me.
But I was thinking. I was thinking about what to do. What other jobs were available? none and getting fewer every day. What would happen to me when it was finally my end date?
It was september. maybe I would go to school. i looked to see. It was really possible! What if I went to school full time for a semester? I had enough saved to live on my own. I could do it, if I wanted to.
Boss man says, “your end day is coming. But we need you…Can you stay a few weeks? maybe…”
And I say, no. Not a few weeks. I have to go.
So I went. A semester. And then partway through, I figured out that I only needed one more semester, and I would graduate. I would be done.
It was just that fast! I was done. The right time came, and I weighed the choice. It was what I really wanted. More than a couple more week’s consultant’s pay.
Sometimes, you have to keep your eye on the true goal. It took me 12 years to graduate.
Once I graduated I was free to move away. I didn’t have to stay in the area to finish. I moved away, and lots of other things-good things! are happening.
But I am right now keeping my eye on the goal. Let go of the little stuff to grab the big, you know?
National News: Amber Fry book tells all
Jan 3, 2005 (AXcess News) Reno – Amber fry, who says she still thinks of Scott Peterson, has released a new book telling all, or at least enough to make it pay.
The headline running through the press says “I wonder if he still thinks of me”. A comment supposedly leaked from Amber Fry’s book that’s due out this week about Scott Peterson, her former lover-turned-killer.
Didn’t mention the title, but I propose I Didn’t have a Clue
I spent this Christmas in the Inland Empire. I’ve spent a lot of time there, because Chris’s mom lives in Upland. Most of the time I’ve spent there, the entertainment options have pretty much been going to malls.
But isn’t that what L.A. is supposed to be about? Not the best feature in my opinion, but when in Rome…
In the spirit of the season, on the 26th, I woke up early and bought a paper so we could scope the ads and see what was on sale. I knew we would go shopping because Chris’s family tradition is to return most of the presents recieved the day before.
But I saw the Book Review section, so I had to look. On the last page there was a review: Bohemian Manifesto by Laren Stover. The reviewer tells us, “She wore a ‘yellow thrift-ship hat and a fuchsia jacket I found in a trash can on Christopher Street” to her first job interview.”
It goes on,” ‘Bohmians…create new work and change paradigms.’ When Starbucks and the Gap move into the neighborhood, ‘Bohemians move out.'”
Oh, yeah. Thrift store shopping and treasures from the trash. That’s my background. I write a lot about growing up in Alaska, because Alaska is so weird. But the truth is, we were wierd even for Alaskans. It finally clicked for me. That’s why this guy at work jokes about me being engulfed in clouds of Patchouli (a scent I enjoy, but do not own). It’s the idea of patchouli that surrounds my way of life. Mom and Dad were definitely Bohemians.
I talked this over with Chris. He said, “What does Bohemian mean anyway?”
It’s a way of life. It’s being dedicated to the meaning of things, of ideas as more important than the moment. That the idea, of art, of social activism, or something, is more important than living the life of a philistine.
In fact, avoiding the life of the cushy bourgeouis philistine type of life is quite possibly the idea that a boho is trying to follow. Being open-minded and ready for new experiences that life has to offer…That’s basic bohemianism.
Chris; “What’s wrong with a middle class life?”
Me; “Chris, I’ve told you this before. It’s exactly that kind of question that almost make me leave you when we were first getting to know each other.”
Chris walked into my life, with his wonderbread dedication to name brand foods-it must be Coke, it must be Nabisco, it must be Kraft, or it is unacceptable.
He loves Disney.
He loves beef.
He will not eat at a Thai food restaurant, an Indian restaurant or any other type of ethnic food. When we eat out, it’s three choices: Italian, Mexican, or American cuisine.
All of which are basically American foods.
He wanted to go to Hawaii, not Europe.
These are against the grain of my bohemian lifestyle, my upbringing. My father and I used to peruse the foreign food section at the grocery store, marvelling at all the interesting foods and languages written on the packages.
I have never aspired to go to Hawaii. Hawaii is not old enough.
“Don’t you want to see architecture and art and history in Europe? I’ve never wanted to go to Hawaii.”
He answered: “But it’s pretty. You will like the flowers.”
And you know what? he was right. It was pretty.
But having to buy BRAND NAMES for him still rubs me the wrong way. Corporate clones! I don’t want to have anything to do with that!
It was a huge struggle. I seriously considered that we might have nothing in common. If our very philosophical basis was opposed, then we were doomed.
He challenged me: “Why are we so different?”
Saying that he liked Kraft and Nabisco seemed not enough of a reason.
I wrestled. Would I be giving up my ideals to be with this man? What kind of open minded student of life would I be if I were tied to bourgeous boychik?
My ideals. I had to be open minded.
And that was the point. I had to be open-minded. Was I really living my philosophy if I was judging Chris based on outward appearances and not on his heart?
Chris liked Coke because much of his grandmother’s retirement fund was Coke stock. He always thought of his grandfather and his grandmother when he bought the 24-pack of Coke.
And he loves his family, and he loves me. He doesn’t worry so much about my philosophy (which is admittedly a little vague), he is deeply concerned with whether or not I am happy.
True, he does not enjoy my open mike poetry readings. He doesn’t want to go to the parties with my artsy friends. But he meets me when I come back with a kiss, and often makes me a cup of tea while I tell him all about it.
No, he is not open-minded about trying the new sushi bar. But he was more open-minded about my hippy-dippy ways than I was being about his white-bread background.
And, as it happens, he makes me very happy. So…Different cultures, even when they live next door to each other, have things to teach one another.
This is the day!
THIS is the day!
This is the day that the sun dips lowest, and after this it will start to increase in strength.
The winter solstice is upon us, the shortest day of the year. People say it is the beginning of winter. No, it’s the last day of winter. After this, the sun gets stronger, little by little, every day!
The actual day of the solstice has changed a little. It’s drifted, because our man-made calendars are not perfect.
The solstice, long ago, used to be on December 25th.
This, my friends, is the true holiday. This is the day that no one can deny is special.
I checked the almanac. The sun, in my time zone, rose at 6:55.
I made sure to take the time to be near a window, to watch the sunrise. But you know, the almanac has this to say:
And the 6:55 sunrise time is for sea level. What if my horizon is the level of a bunch of 50-foot tall skyscrapers getting in my way?
Sunrise was view from around the skyscrapers.
I still toasted it. With my coffee.
Celebrate with creation today!
Last week was the work holiday party. I didn’t go the first year, but I went last year.
I was very concerned last year about creating a good impression and being circumspect. I wanted to check it out and see what it was all about.
Now that I know, I decided this year I would be myself. Which is not entirely circumspect. I got together my outfit, which was really great. And I made sure I had very high heels that were still good for dancing.
And I got a hat.
Now, I would like to talk about clothes for a minute. On a very basic level, clothing is for shelter from the elements and for modesty.
We’re way past the basic level though. And now, it’s all about the message. I’ve read Dress For Success; and I see all the magazines with Best and Worst dressed.
Dress to Kill.
Or maybe to get laugh. Or to turn heads. There are a lot of little strings you can pull with the right outfit.
I think of dress as a whole language, and I like to make jokes with my outfits. I like to make people think, “hmm…That’s interesting. I never thought of that before.”
For example, my party outfit had two major elements:
a huge hat
a red feather boa
Now, the boa spoke for itself. It was a lot of fun to wear a red feather boa to a work party. Stopped a lot of folks dead.
But the hat! _I_ was thinking New Orleans. Chris told me I looked like a pimp. I was willing to go along with either.
However, all the people who commented on it (more than the requisite ‘what great hat!’) said it looked like Ascot.
English. Horsey. Interesting.
I had used the hat previously for high teas. Of course, for this occasion, I had added a tiara to the front, a red scarf, a puff of curly gift ribbons and it’s own little fluffy white feather garland. I thought all that made it something else.
But the language of the hat spoke England to a lot of people.
Of course, the outfit had it’s moment during the first half of the night. THe second half, the band was playing.
And that is when a different language took over.
The language of dance.
I love dancing, and I think it also has it’s own message. And no, that’s not what I mean. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Certain movements evoke responses. Ever hear of physical humor?
It’s funny when a group starts doing the electric slide. And of course, the Travolta pose when “Stayin’ Alive” comes on is necessary.
But throw in a little Pee-Wee Herman dance, and see if you can get a smile of recognition…? Eh? I like that one.
I’ve taken the time to learn a lot of dances, thought I’ve never had a decent partner stick around long enough. I know that pretty much no one but me is gonna get the riverdance moves I throw in. And then there is the old hollywood 7 brides for 7 brothers one I do every once in a while.
Swing moves slip in very easy.
Once, in San Francisco, I had a great time with a very happening gay guy. He would call out the dance. “Riding the bus!” And everyone would do some kind of dance in the stance of holding a strap while on the bus. “Shopping cart!” and we’d all boogie around pushing a cart and throwing our invisible purchases in.
How much fun was that! It was great.
And that’s what I like to do, with my dancing and my clothes. Make little statements. Surprise people, make them happy. Just be silly. It’s worth a little effort.
I went home early on Wednesday. I only was at work for 8 hours, and I decided that my feelings were hurt.
I’d asked for help and the answer was:
“You should manage your time better.”
HMPH
manage my time better! Well, I would manage my time better by going home after eight hours, that is what I decided. So I went home and was reading a book in bed.
The phone rang. I let it ring. I enjoyed my shrugging of responsibility at work earlier, and I thought I would ride the train a little further.
But Chris didn’t know that, and he answered the phone.
“It’s for you.”
I gave him a withering look and said, “Hello?”
“Hi, this is Jane, your neighbor down the hall. Umm..Are you planning on attending the board meeting this evening?”
“I don’t know. Was something happening?”
“Well, they are discussing the CC&Rs for the complex, and this is the time we are supposed to bring up any questions we have. We are supposed to vote on them next month.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, they didn’t make it very clear. I am bringing an attorney friend of mine, because I’m very concerned about some of the changes.”
Now, I only knew Jane from the last time she called about this same thing. I had no intention whatsoever of going to this meeting. I was busy nursing hurt feelings, remember?
But I had to be polite.
And I had to get off the phone.
She was still going: “…because they have made changes that affect our lives. They have given themselves a lot of power. And the last time I tried to talk about it, they just cut me off. I don’t think that’s right.”
“Wow. Well, I’ll have to read over the notes again and take a look.”
“Yes, because we need to have the ability to speak up.”
“Thank you for calling. I will take a look.”
It took about four more exchanges before I could hang up.
And while I was trying to find a way to hang up, I knew I had to say things that would give her the impression that I might come to this meeting.
Which I wasn’t going to do.
This sort of verbal smoke and mirrors is a part of my life now. Maybe it comes with working in elevator buildings. But I often have to give answers that are noncommital and reassuring.
Maybe this should bother me. Sincerity is a commodity, to be used sparingly. Is that how I ever envisioned my life?
How much is integrity tied to sincerity? Integrity is one of my cherished values. I will be the one to keep my word, I will be the one not to drop the ball.
But a big part of that is not picking up the ball in the first place.
I have this theory about communication. You cannot simply state the facts that need to be used. You have to have communications overhead. You have to say:
Hi, How are you?
…
That’s great. Hey, I wondered if you could go to your files and
check for this one thing.
…
Yeah, I was looking for the numbers from the New York buildout.
…
You have them? Oh, good. COuld you give them to me?
…
Yeah, just forward them on.
…
Thanks!
All of that could have been done with ONE sentence, 30 seconds. But humans don’t work like that. In fact, that was a rather succinct interchange, comparatively.
But the message had to be wrapped in soft exchanges, to be recieved properly. The content had overhead. Yes, we could say, “Forward me the numbers from the New York buildout” and leave. But the likelihood of even getting a response would be lowered, because the person could say, “How rude! If she really wants that information, she can come back and ask nicely.”
We have to feel cared for, we have to know that there is kindness and goodwill involved in the exchange of information.
That’s why, there is a kind of relationship that has to be built between people who interact.
But then, maybe you can take it too far.
This guy at work, who is really a mover and shaker, has an intensely good-natured attitude. He very seldom complains, and when something is upsetting, he just laughs.
And this makes him very approachable, etc.
But then, he also makes sure to tell people what they want to hear. Once, when we were working on a project, we got a price for a particular piece of it. I said, “hey, that’s not as expensive as I thought it would be.” He nodded and said, “yeah.”
We went over to the guy who could approve the purchase, and that guy said, “Wow! That’s expensive.”
My guy pulled a face and said, “I know.”
Which is it? I noticed he does this a lot. He appears to empathize with whoever he is speaking to.
Which makes me wonder if anything he says is true. And I feel a little bad wondering that because he’s a very nice guy, works very hard, etc.
But at the same time, how can you sincerely agree with two opposite opinions?
Where is the line in sincerity and integrity? Do we sincerely have to care what our fellow humans beings did over the weekend? Why do we ask?
There are so many times when I have to paste on a smile so that I can get my job done. But getting the job done is part of my self-respect, my sense of integrity.
So when I say what I don’t mean, like “that’s alright, it’s no big deal, I’ll take care of that” that lets me mean what I say when I say (to myself at the very least) “I am really damn good at what I do.”
Funny, that sincerity should have to be sacrificed like that.