There is a "Tree of Heaven" growing on the side of our driveway, between the garage and the fence seperating our house from the neighbors. It's a big weed of a tree and it's trunk is curved in such a way that it leads one to believe one could shimmy up the tree, grab onto the next branch and easily step onto the roof of the garage. Ben and I were sitting in our lounging chairs on the back patio, and I was looking up at the tree, and said, "I bet I could climb that damn Tree of Heaven and get on the roof of the garage." Ben promptly took me up on the bet. "What do you want if you can do it?" he asked.
"If I can get up there, I get to decide exactly what we get to do tomorrow." And if I couldn't, Ben could call the shots all day.
I ran into the house, changed into my old Levi's with a "skosh more comfort" (they have some stretch to them), a long sleeved shirt, and my walking shoes with the good treads on the bottom. Then I ran into the back of the house and jumped into Ben's view and putting my hands on my hips like a superhero. I did some jumping jacks and a few streches. I went into the garage and got my gardening gloves on.
The first part was easy. The tree is rubbing against the side of the garage, basically starting to grow into the siding, and then curves outward, sort of banana shaped. So it was fairly easy to hoist my leg up to the point where the tree meets the house and then grab onto the trunk and hoist myself up. I felt pretty pleased with myself for executing the first part so gracefully. It was another matter to try to shimmy up the curved part of the trunk to reach the Y where I could grab and try to pull myself up almost even with the roof line. I managed to inch my way up the trunk and finally get my hands in the crux of the Y. "You know what we're gonna be doing tomorrow?" my smug husband asked, "Looking through the junkyard for new seats for the truck."
I was panting and grunting there was mad giggling from Ben, who has watching from the comfort of the deck chair. I just couldn't pull myself up far enough to be able to stand in the Y and get on the roof. "Come on, Sue. It'll be dark soon." I finally gave it up and let myself swing around to the under side of the trunk, letting go with my legs and landing flat-footed (thank God) on the driveway below.
Ben decided to take a turn at it, though he technically didn't need to in order to win the bet. He made it, still straddling the tree trunk, but with both feet on the roof. I told him it counted well enough and he headed back down.
Still, I did pretty well. And Ben was proud of how far I actually made it. I'd say the only mistake I made was giving the bet such high stakes. Looks like Sunday will be spent at U-Pull-it.
10:36 PM | permalink
Friday, August 16
Ben and I made a trip to Safeway tonight for some beer and zucchini. He had to scold me twice for using the "F" word. For some reason, I always want to say "fuck" while at Safeway, and I always seem to do it within earshot of toddlers.
The bad stuff about a new job always hides for at least a month. My natural optimism registers only the positive aspects of a job for the first four weeks.
Hey! I get paid everyweek! Hey there's plenty of time to surf the web! Hey, they haven't figured out how smart I am yet, so they aren't saddling me with an unrealistic work load. Hey! Everyone's so friendly!
Then once I settle in I begin to see the ugly side.
Gee, some of these HVAC technicians are really arrogant and rude. Gee, poeple with shit overflowing in their bathroom sure are cranky on the phone. Gee, maybe the president of the company should mind his own business about my smelly armpits. Gee, these desks are way too high for a normal sized (or slightly undersized) human being to sit at, I'm developing wrist, neck and shoulder pain again. Gee, they sure work people to the point where they crack. Gee, they are not very understanding about young mothers needing to work part time even though they been with the company for seven years. Gee, the president sure is overly concerned with the cleanliness of the carpets. Gee, management's expectations are unrealistic, and the receptionist tells me they don't pay their creditors in a timely manner. Gee, they are now giving me three times the work, but no pay increase.
Why can't a company surprise me, for once?
8:04 AM | permalink
Wednesday, August 14
The test went okay. Ben said it was nerve-wracking and bureaucratic. We won't know any results for at least a week and a half. Keep 'em crossed.
9:49 AM | permalink
Tuesday, August 13
Ben is at the Utility test for the City of Portland as I am writing this. Please, everyone keep your fingers crossed. This is the event we have been waiting for since we moved to Portland in June 2000 and Ben started seasonal work for the City. The results of this test will put him on a list that will be used to hire full-time, permanent utility workers. This is a union gig.
9:49 AM | permalink
Monday, August 12
I broke down crying the other night when Ben and I were watching the second season of the Simpsons. It was the "Lisa's Substitute" episode. Dustin Hoffman plays Mr Bergstrom who fills in for Miss Hoover when she thinks she has Lyme Disease. He is the first teacher Lisa has ever had who could match her enthusiasm for learning. He sees that she's special and tells her so. He even tries to get Homer to be a positive male role model for his daughter. Then Ms. Hoover returns and Mr Bergstrom is transferred to Capital City. Lisa confronts him at the train station, saying she feels abandoned. "That's the problem with being middle class," he tells her, everyone who cares eventually leaves to help someone who needs it more. He tells her that anytime she's feeling low and doesn't know where to turn, all she has to do is read this note he writes for her. It says, "You are Lisa Simpson."
Naturally, at this point in the episode, tears are streaming down my face. Then comes the scene where the Simpsons are at the dinner table and Lisa is trying to express how sad she is that Mr. Bergstrom has left, and doesn't think anyone is listening. Homer has the famous line, "Just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't understand." Lisa calls him a Baboon and runs off to her bedroom in tears. Homer starts complaining about the insult and Marge interrupts him, "Homer, you're not allowed to have hurt feelings right now, upstairs there's a little girl whose confidence in her father is shaken, and no little girl can be happy unless she believes in her father." Or something very close to that. That's the point where I lost it. I started bawling and buried my head in Ben's chest while he murmured reassuringly.
Just when I think I'm over all the shit my dad did to me, something brings it up again. It wasn't a re-injury, it is just my overwhelming empathy for little girls in that situation. Smart little middle-child girls.
Stories about fat kids always get me too, but that's another story.
8:49 AM | permalink
Phone message from my mother in Minnesota, left sometime in February
"Sue, this is mom, I've always wanted to ask you how you guys -- if you ever need furnaces up there. Tell me if you have a furnace or not, and call me, I gotta tell you what happened today. Goodbye. I'm at home."
I missed posting yesterday. I was down in the dumps. Then Ben took me for a walk and we laid on the grass at Kenilworth park for awhile, watching dogs run around and kids hide in the bushes. I feel better today.
My friend Tanya is brilliant, please check out her "About Me" page on ebay and the links to her art. -link
12:53 PM | permalink
