tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-106131952024-03-14T00:21:56.811-07:00Bliss and the Color PinkWhat happens in those quiet moments when you're near 50, living in the 'burbs with kids and husband in tow, teaching law to undergrads, and a hopeful liberal? You grab a coffee and read a few blogs. Write one.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-45999475846051006602012-01-25T23:41:00.000-08:002012-01-26T00:01:03.095-08:00January 2012Venturing into the blogosphere like a scared rabbit because it's been so long. Have things changed? Perhaps. Perhaps not.<br /><br />Still teaching at that small college. Still struggling with academic writing. Still being challenged by J but lifted by M and A. My younger children amaze me, my eldest bewilders me. I have found love in a most surprising place. There, I have found peace and impatience and regret and unabashed joy. I am left breathless.<br /><br />Yes, yes, things have changed. I have changed.<br /><br />At a time when I thought my name was most ironic... I have found bliss.<br /><br />Today, I drank a margarita, sitting next to my children, in a suburban restaurant. We laughed and looked at our phones and shared things coming across the airwaves. Just like all the others at the tables. Not-so-little-but-still-little M turned to me with her round rosy cheeks sprinkled with freckles, smiling at her iPod and the games and the music, feeling so grown-up. I wish she could stay eleven. In this moment, I hope she'll always feel as beautiful as she is. I hope she'll always believe she is as smart as she is. I hope the world will not steal her confidence and sense of inner and outer beauty.<br /><br />The salt on the rim of the glass is good, and I lick my lips. We pay the bill, gather our things, and run to the new red car, yes, yes, red, red as a sun's summer kiss. We flip on the music and drive into the dark.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-78229052216456559432010-05-25T15:43:00.000-07:002010-05-25T16:44:57.163-07:00Arizona and Anti-Latino SentimentI have rarely used this blog to share political opinion because I'm not very good at it. I tend to jump with knee-jerk emotions first, common sense second, and deep liberal bias third. Maybe not in that order. Despite that disclaimer, here I am, sharing political opinion.<br /><br />Arizona's recent laws give local police the power and authority to chase down <a href="http://www.politicsdaily.com/2010/05/23/the-arizona-backlash-immigration-debate-stirs-historic-passions/">illegal immigrants</a>, as well as school districts to <a href="http://dissidentvoice.org/2010/05/arizona-law-targets-ethnic-studies/">ban ethnic studies classes</a> and <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703572504575213883276427528.html?mod=WSJ_WSJ_US_News_5">oust teachers with accents</a>. These laws have really gotten under my skin because they nicely legalize Latinos as the scapegoats for our country's problems. My Facebook profile is full of links to these articles alongside my bitching. I'm doing it knowing I've got a slew of conservatives as FB friends. I am desperate, I find, to change their minds even though I know it will not work. They are dug in, their feet stuck in the mud of "patriotism." And when I look closely, I cannot help but notice that the conservative FB friends are mostly white. If they're not white, they are Latino family of mine who grew up in Orange County (pretty much...white) and pretend they are not Latino except when it is convenient.<br /><br />My mother raised me in a pro-farm-worker environment. She never let me or my siblings forget who picked the food on our table, the lettuce, the spinach, the strawberries, the green beans. She also reminded us that the workers for the most part were not documented and treated very poorly. For years, long past the time of the great Gallo-wine boycott, she would not drink Gallo wine. Even today when I see the name of Gallo, I pull back my hand, opting for something else. My great-grandmother worked the migrant farm-worker routes alongside her last husband on her way towards citizenship. She landed in the San Fernando valley, raising her family to adulthood and then dying surrounded by many generations of Mexican blood firmly rooted now as American citizens.<br /><br />Today when I read and hear the vitriol towards "illegal immigrants," code for Mexican, and I see the person speaking or see a shot of the writer in his or her byline, I cannot help but see they are not Latino. They cannot connect to these people who have broken their backs for the comfort of these same complaining citizens. It is very frustrating to me. "They" do not know. Now, I am well aware that there are Latinos that support Arizona's efforts, and whites that are against Arizona's efforts. Of course.<br /><br />But still, I hear the anger, I hear the hate, I hear the denial of responsibility. I think "they" do not know. They simply lift their fork full of hand-picked food to their mouths, scraping their forks against the plates and drinking their local wine made from hand-tended grapes in their little cozy dining room after a day in the office or the store or plumbing someone's house. From that comfort they rail against those people who are invading their country and taking their benefits. It is strange to me the profound disconnect. The denial of their OWN histories. The denial that it is their demand for cheaper products and more interest on their pension plans that corporations will hire the cheapest labor possible who can only be...undocumented workers who will not complain about the wages and the conditions.<br /><br />Enough railing.<br /><br />The year is ending for us. I have grading to do, as always. I am looking forward to summer vacation, mere days away. I look forward to lazy times by the pool, a writer's conference in Jackson Hole, catching up on an online teaching certificate, prepping for the fall, contemplating yet some more a law review article. I will not rail about the circumstances of J. That is reserved for another post.<br /><br />Much on my plate.<br /><br />Is that a Santa Ana breeze on the horizon? It is too bad that it is not enlightenment; no, just hot air.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-59101932583991293302009-09-01T21:25:00.000-07:002009-09-01T21:30:09.764-07:00Schools are tightening up...D couldn't get into his classroom at the local middle school because someone stuck something into the lock and broke it off, meaning the door lock was broken. Once inside, he read a memo that let him know that the school district cannot afford copy paper, or tissues. So he has to buy his own copy paper, and buy tissues for the kids. Meaning...god forbid that the swine flu comes around and kids have nowhere to wipe their running noses!<br /><br />School has most definitely started. Fires are burning, kids are grouchy, parents are tired. Is it Friday yet?Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-38644103344818233672009-08-20T00:29:00.000-07:002009-08-20T02:15:21.942-07:00Black Sabbath, Jimi Hendrix, Rage Against the Machine: JoyI cannot help but be in awe of passion enacted, of seeing the temple in which a person's heart lies. As J lounged about at the foot of my bed, near midnight, laughing and chatting with me and D, I knew he was happy and proud and satisfied. Rarely do I see this person. Rarely does he allow himself to feel the joy to the point where it spills out, splashing those who love him most. It was a wonderful sight! They were precious moments indeed.<br /><br />See, tonight he played his music - shared himself at his best with strangers, friends, and family at a humble restaurant-bar in the suburbs - he played his drums, driving the music with his excellent timing and lively fills. J and his band played their fave music, a 45-minute set of good old fashioned rock and roll. At the end of the set, he and his bandmates each got paid 50 bucks, and the restaurant owner wants them back. An awesome night. He was exactly where he wanted to be. He was where his heart truly lies, where he thrives and lives and breathes.<br /><br />One year ago, J was kicking and screaming as we signed him up for an ongoing, formal "rock band" music program in our city. He didn't want to do anthing that even hinted of "school." The program director was young and hip and yet J proved a major challenge to him. J said horrid things aloud, rebelled against the structure of the weekly sessions, he sometimes didn't want to go to practice. The director would sort of look at J in distress, laughing sometimes, cringing at others. He admonished J. Sort of implied that maybe J shouldn't come back. The director was like a first-time parent (in fact, the session J attended was only the director's second session of his cool new program). Never had he encountered such an unpredictable and difficult to wrangle kid (we were so proud).<br /><br />D and I figured this was yet another path that he'd burn up. Oh we fought him on it, we pushed for it, but we knew this was up to him to pull off. So J slogged through that first session, concluding the five weeks by playing three or four rock songs with other students at a big outdoor show (part of a music festival in our L.A. suburb). Another five-week session was about to start. D and I prayed he'd sign up but doubted it. J complained about the director, about being older than some of the kids he played songs with, about the time away from his "friends", friends D and I desperately loathed (and still do).<br /><br />The director (like all smart and loving parents) decided to try a different approach with J. Before the session was to begin, he called J on the phone to personally invite him to the program once again. He used plain words, saying simply, "You're my best drummer. Nobody gets it like you do. I need you to be a leader...not a fucking shit head." Please know, the young and hip director had our full support.<br /><br />J signed up again. And again. For the past four months, he has not only been a part of the formal program, but got asked to be part of a separate band by a fellow program student. The best of the best, really. These other kids are awesome, great kids. These kids comprise J's band - they have grown to be good friends. Very good friends. The band has played quite a few shows around town. Played at an under-18 club, at a party, played at a couple of fund-raising carnivals. All on their own, with a little help at booking by the parents behind the scenes. And they're good! I knew J knew his stuff, but how cool that these kids found each other, all very talented for being so young, all passionate about music.<br /><br />Now, yes, they are well-supported by their parents. I worried about that actually. At first, they seemed like five kids stuck together, playing music their parents liked. J, of course, was most worrisome. He would get a bit moody because these weren't HIS friends. He liked them, but they weren't his people. I don't worry any more. He has slowly begun to prefer his bandmates to his friends. Slowly. In fact, they have not only become good friends, but true professionals.<br /><br />When the lead singer quit (you're not a real band until someone quits!) a few short days before a gig at a carnival, the remaining four buckled down with the lead guitar player taking over lead vocal and let me tell you, they played the hell out of that show. They were in a pinch and they tackled it, without the parents calling any shots. I was most proud of J.<br /><br />They have a new singer now who played tonight, another great kid with a great voice and that same amazing passion in someone so young. In other words, an excellent match. Mind you, the boys advertised for a new singer, got a hit, auditioned him, and took him on.<br /><br />Yes, yes, tomorrow we'll get angry at J for more rebellion, for more poor decision-making. He will continue to struggle against those damn boxes until he can get to music full-time. We will struggle with trying to get him into the box because that's our job. We're hoping for a little compliance with the continuation school...for meeting with the school-appointed psychologists...because we are his parents and we have to do the "right" thing to keep him off certain rocky, unpaved roads to which he seems ever-drawn.<br /><br />Not too long ago, someone commented to me, "Why the hell are you encouraging this rock and roll crap? He needs to be in school!"<br /><br />We encourage the "crap" because we ARE his parents, and we see where his heart lies. It is a beautiful place. It might not look like YOUR temple...it might not offer up a degree...or a corner office...or a pension plan.<br />No, J's temple is deliciously dark, and moody, with colored lights flashing, tall amplifiers blaring, electric guitars whining, where beers and tacos get carted around by curvy waitresses, and there's a tip jar on a step. His temple smells like cigarette smoke that wafts in from the outside, and there are flirtations happening on the side of the stage where he can't quite see. There are girls in the front dancing and making eyes at the players, and there are grown folks who nod and bob their heads the incessant beat and say, "damn, I remember doing that," or "damn, I wish I'd been able to do that way back when..." The temple is filled with music...and joy.<br /><br />Tonight J was at his best, he was where he is supposed to be. For that, I am in awe.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-19161904381231451382009-08-09T17:51:00.001-07:002009-08-09T17:53:01.872-07:00Birdfeeding<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIx7DYtTUbnYD_DZQOE2pAgJXOuwwhBCzyDLDa6lfbzVIX61PtRRMMkB85QjEfnbpARtwEVCeWkveNaDX-gnwTUFQ73WNIbWSMmAELUKnnWxm1I3qhyphenhyphenWhgo6ZFPLpx6VMj5Iykg/s1600-h/0809091713copy.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 368px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368131595380222450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIx7DYtTUbnYD_DZQOE2pAgJXOuwwhBCzyDLDa6lfbzVIX61PtRRMMkB85QjEfnbpARtwEVCeWkveNaDX-gnwTUFQ73WNIbWSMmAELUKnnWxm1I3qhyphenhyphenWhgo6ZFPLpx6VMj5Iykg/s400/0809091713copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Our entertainment for today: putting out seeds for birds.</div>Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-5438888562501248792009-08-08T17:53:00.001-07:002009-08-08T18:17:43.504-07:00PerspectiveThroughout this summer, I've been reading Danny Miller's highly moving story of the premature birth of his twin sons at his blog, <a href="http://dannymiller.typepad.com/blog/">Jew Eat Yet?</a> His tale of the loss of his son, Oliver, and then of Charlie's fight for survival in a Los Angeles NICU, has brought his readers along on a harrowing journey that reaches all the amazing parts of parenthood. In reading Danny's heart-wrenching entries, I cannot help but turn to my own children, and see them again as the miracles that they are.<br /><br />It's not that we, parents of children who are..."out of the box" for lack of a better word, can ever forget the amazing fact of having a family, but rather that we can (at least *I* can) easily lose perspective. And maybe it's just me. Maybe I have unreasonable expectations, maybe I'm so influenced by what we're all "supposed" to be doing, that I cannot see the good parts of children who are not like all the others.<br /><br />The other day, the Bliss family was having dinner with my sister's family. Now...my sister AB, is one of those lucky people who has children who are highly compliant. They follow the rules, they heed the demands of their parents, they perform fantastically at school. Rebellion is simply not a part of their lives, and I'm quite confident, based on obverving their personalities, that rebellion will never be a part of their lives. It's just not in them. So...at this dinner, my son, is trying to explain why he has to leave the party early. Why he has to get up at six in the morning to pick up trash at the local park.<br /><br />Community service. This simply does not register on the mind of my nine-year old nephew. So J is his special way smiles broadly and says to little T, "I'm helping society and our environment tomorrow morning! It's a good thing to be green."<br /><br />Yes, it is.<br /><br />Our summer has been filled with a lot of music, J and A both are in cover bands and they're playing all over town - at band battles, baseball fundraisers, and J's band is playing in local under-18 clubs. They're having a blast and doing well. M is busy with swimming and guitar lessons.<br /><br />We're all playing lots of Playstation Rock Band gigs. We've been to Mammoth Lakes and have been completely indulgent in going out to dinner. I've done lots of reading, prepping for classes and a presentation in October, and lounging around in idle and funny conversation with the kids. We've watched a lot of tv, our feet up, popsicles in hands, our dog in our laps. The summer has been surprisingly cool. When it's hot we swim in our community swimming pool. We've had few battles this summer since the boy both decided summer school wasn't going to happen, but for the most part D and I have just focused on enjoying the free time we have without the onus of work.<br /><br />Our vacation is coming to an end and the routine will once again jump up and force us to strive towards "in the box" behavior. But until that day, we've tried to adjust our perspective and soak in the miracle of our little family. Thank you, Danny, for sharing your story and reminding me of the amazing parts of life that get swallowed up in routine and living in the box.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-37082532146891360432009-05-23T10:37:00.000-07:002009-05-23T10:56:23.302-07:00Summer AgainWasn't it just a couple of months ago when I posted about Summer, 2008? I had big plans and accomplished few of them. Wasn't it really just a few months ago when I posted that J was determined to not fail the semester? Well, here we are, June lurking in the short distance and he is failing all his academic classes. He plans on continuation school in fall. He plays in a band and hangs out with his friends. He has locked himself out of driving, proms; he has no phone, he gets no money from us, or extras. Essentially, he has no life. The school did everything they could, short of doing the work for him. Every teacher sat there with everything they possibly could to get him to give one little shit about getting a "D". We yell every so often, but for the most part we have given up. His future in his hands.<br /><br />We did everything within our economic means. We did everything emotionally but bleed out in front of him. The doctors have examined him up and down. He's on medications to address his disorders - he skips taking them. He curses us when we don't provide him with money or a ride anywhere. There is no "punishment" that elicits anything, nor any reward either.<br /><br />It is hard to be supportive because there is not much to be supportive about. That he takes a shower? Good job, son! Oh look, he's walking on the sidewalk! Excellent, he remembers his password for MySpace. Nice job on getting dressed and finding your own way to your friends' houses. I can imagine that for some these would be miracles. I have completely lost all perspective.<br /><br />I dreamed last night his friends broke into my house.<br /><br />We simply stand by and watch him fall lower and lower. He wants no help to move forward. He doesn't want to move forward. He simply doesn't care.<br /><br />I do not know what to do any longer...short bleeding out in front of him simply to end a terrible ache.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-68080849760275997402009-05-09T10:49:00.000-07:002009-05-09T10:52:28.277-07:00Today, tomorrow...The weekend has hit and I couldn't be happier. While I love school, I love teaching, I'm thrilled that summer is here. Never fails I imagine so much getting done without the drag of a routine and meetings.<br /><br />I signed up on Twitter, trying out a new way to write, another possibility of technological expression.<br /><br />Probably, I'll abandon that, too.<br /><br />Tomorrow's the beach.<br /><br />Happy Mother's Day to all!Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-24897981297641439332009-01-26T19:51:00.000-08:002009-01-26T19:59:49.941-08:00A New DayOne thing I love about teaching is the prospect of a "do-over" every semester for the repeat courses. It's a great thing being given the opportunity to restate information to students, to tweak assignments to make them more effective, to adjust lecture material to make it more interesting and accessible.<br /><br />J seemed to have the same feeling with the start of the semester. Towards the end, he gave up because the snowball had become too large to manage. He blew major classes in the semester because he believed there was no chance to salvage his grades, and he was probably right. Too much make-up work.<br /><br />Tonight he's working hard to complete assignments. He told me he was going to really try to get all the homework done. "Check my homework every day, Mom. I'm really going to do this. I have to."<br /><br />Do-overs are soooo wonderful.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-74559607473384666572009-01-09T22:35:00.000-08:002009-01-09T23:12:03.757-08:00ObservationsIt's been a hellish week - the child, J, isn't attending school. At all. We've got the school involved, he'll be cited (50 hours community service for him; three hours in court, court costs and getting up early to take him to community service for us), he's lost his phone, computer time, money for lunch, rides anywhere. He still has a warm bed to sleep in, food, clothes, medical care. He left without permission to hang out with friends and didn't come home until nine o'clock. He grinned at me through the front door's window, cold yet sweaty from skateboarding in 60 degree weather. Hungry. I was surprised to see him, sure he'd stay the night out. Sure he'd miss tomorrow's drum lesson and Saturday detention. I was wrong. D told me he'd be back.<br /><br />"You missed dinner," I said as he strolled inside. He made himself a can of soup. Made small talk with M. Watched TV with D. Went to sleep. Another day...<br /><br />Dealing with this has left D and I feeling hopeless, helpless. The situation reminds me much of when I was a child and could do nothing to control an out-of-control mother. It frustrates me. Saddens me. I see such a bad end. The depression is rolling in like late-night fog and when the children leave for school, I crawl into bed and stay there until noon.<br /><br />***<br /><br />M is enrolled in gymnastics for the first time. She loves it! She's sweet in her baby-roundness, in her clumsy efforts to follow along. She smiles at me, though, from the blue mats, trying hard, and at the end accomplishes moves she could not do at first. I sit and watch, listening to the other mothers. One boasts about how she follows her children all day long from activity to activity. "I don't miss anything. I'm there all the time whether it's practice or the games. I have three children and I get to every thing they do."<br /><br />I don't understand why she needs to prove her devotion so loudly. I say nothing. We were devoted like that to J.<br /><br />The exercise is good for M and will improve her tendency to fall easily, make her less clumsy. She's too much like me in that way. On the way home, M tell me about the Vice-Presidential run-off she's in for her second grade. She's concerned about the boy-girl ratio. I tell her that Hillary Clinton had the same problem. We both agree that politics is a rough road. She wants to know how many times a President can run for office. She's calculating how many times it might take to turn around that boy-girl ratio.<br />***<br /><br />Next week I'm headed to a university retreat in the local mountains. I'll be grateful for the change in pace, for the snow, for the cozy dinner. It will be nice to sleep in a warm bed, alone, and in complete white silence.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-13123863680987261242009-01-06T17:51:00.000-08:002009-01-06T18:01:54.916-08:00Another day, another...Another day, another opportunity for my eldest and dearest to tell me to "fuck off." His language is such a delight! It always makes me self-reflect, wondering, classically, where did I go wrong? At what point did he decide that life "in the box" was not his thing? I don't even know WHAT his thing is anymore. <br /><br />I don't know where he thinks he will end up. To him, the streets seem a viable and sometimes preferable place to being in a home where he has to attend classes and not fail them, oh, and not commit crimes. That is ALL we require. I don't demand that he do chores, or get straight A's (hell, I don't demand C's), or even be nice to people. <br /><br />BUT...the streets is where he'd prefer to be. I'm not sure what to do about it. I thought therapy would be good, but he refuses to comply. Medication he won't take. He simply says, "fuck off."<br /><br />God, I'm so glad I decided to procreate.<br /><br />This morning, I dreamt of my mother. I was so relieved that she was here and ready to tackle the problem of J. I cannot quite convey the intense disappointment when I wakened to a darkened room, with my husband snoring away and my dog curled up in between my knees.<br /><br />Damn, it's all on me. Still.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-89012626698362070812009-01-04T21:56:00.000-08:002009-01-04T22:28:35.670-08:00New Year's Resolutions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdxUQShNuJ1TrzPwyEWoIC071yhXP0Uiq98luMd4vlwN8s4DJw7hyphenhyphennir1K9ChIaMB4i_x3M6gi7yyMKznC_9nET2x5g-WlXme5AxGI8VArCsJLhlWMdi24kRa7XthEBZJ5uSyMw/s1600-h/2009-01-03-21034.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdxUQShNuJ1TrzPwyEWoIC071yhXP0Uiq98luMd4vlwN8s4DJw7hyphenhyphennir1K9ChIaMB4i_x3M6gi7yyMKznC_9nET2x5g-WlXme5AxGI8VArCsJLhlWMdi24kRa7XthEBZJ5uSyMw/s400/2009-01-03-21034.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287691795982342898" /></a><br />Procrastination runs in the family. Tomorrow the kids start back at school and in these last moments of vacation, I checked A's teacher's website and oh dear, there's a book report due on Friday. I scrambled through our own limited library for books to read, plugging them into the Accelerated Reader website to see the reading level and finally said...hell with that, kissy, kissy, go to bed. <br /><br />I ask, why did I not take a peek at the website two weeks ago? Why did my little angel not bother to remember that this book report needed to be done, i.e. that reading needed to be done? He's in sixth grade - I think he's ready to take some responsibility for his own school requirements. Yes? <br /><br />J has an opportunity to audition for a band that might get media attention and so to do that, he needs to practice the most basic elements of drumming: keeping a beat for longer than three minutes. He played all of five minutes today. He says, "Yeah, I'll do it." I won't even mention the schoolwork situation. We have two letters on the counter saying he's failing courses at high school. <em>Yeah, yeah...I'll do it.</em><br /><br />I have many projects sitting on a desk at work waiting for me. Yeah, yeah, I'll do them. <br /><br />What is my New Year's resolution? Get better at not procrastinating. I'll try to get to that res tomorrow...or in the next few days. Sometime later this month.<br /><br />M is like her father and is not a procrastinator. She might be young, 8 years old now, but she is always keenly aware of school obligations, or important dates, or activities. She put out her school clothes for tomorrow morning. She made sure she was in bed at 9:00. She always comes home and does homework right away. I pray she will always be so punctual.<br /><br />J, A, and I will drown beneath put-off obligations.<br /><br />***<br /><br />I so wish to return to daily/weekly blogging. I miss my home here. I'd love to say, I will write here every week/day. Yeah, I'll do that.<br /><br />***<br /><br />Where has 2008 gone? We struggled with J most of the time. I struggled with my marriage the rest of the time. D and I have very different viewpoints on how to handle difficulty. In the end we are textbook dysfunction: we point fingers at each other and everyone is miserable. We dare not venture near the other because we're too pissed off. I cannot seem to rise above the muddy fray. Instead I choose to wallow, burying myself in work. At work. At least there, there is the semblance of functionality.<br /><br />My second resolution is for a better family life, but I doubt that will happen.<br /><br />My third is to get through the promotion process at work successfully. I'll let you know if that happens in February, 2010.<br /><br />***<br /><br />I'm terribly lazy when it comes to exercise. Wouldn't it be grand to try for that 20 minutes a day routine? Yeah, yeah...that would be a fantastic resolution to accomplish. I'll get to it after I read a few more pages of "Hood" by Stephen Lawhead.<br /><br />***<br /><br />Happy New Years, blogger-world. May you all have resolutions that can be accomplished. And get a little goofy in the process.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-7504086393773290572008-10-23T23:59:00.000-07:002008-10-24T00:50:31.590-07:00Sooooo silly... We bought a webcam to talk to family across the country. I thought to test out video capture since I'm suffering insomnia. Posted about J. Always J.<br /><br />We've already amassed a ridiculous collection of home videos. M and I talking about our "hotel." A loves to spend many minutes staring at the camera and making faces. The dog swimming across the screen.</p><p>I'll have to see if this works during the day, when I can speak in a normal tone. I never knew I rolled my eyes as often as I do. I'm in my pj's. I'm gonna be in pain tomorrow when I try to get up to take the kids to school.</p><p>Did I already say it? Sooooo silly.</p><p>So I posted something and immediately took it down. The sound was way off. I'm going to have to make several test runs.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-58863248172676014002008-09-14T20:49:00.000-07:002008-09-19T11:37:04.961-07:00R.I.P. Sassy<a href="http://www.pbase.com/dr_cabbie/image/50962960/medium.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.pbase.com/dr_cabbie/image/50962960/medium.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>We lost our beloved girl today, doing what she loved...running like mad, down the street. Playing the jester just one too many times. We will miss you, doglet. </div>Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-84008006649777459812008-08-30T12:38:00.000-07:002008-08-30T12:52:32.586-07:00VigilThe hardest part of sitting vigil while a person slowly retreats from this life is...sitting vigil. With both of my parents, I recall having to sleep, needing to finally go home and rest. I couldn't do it - I lay in my bed, tossing and turning, weeping, praying, waiting any second for the phone to ring. For some unknown cosmic reason, as if I willed it, the phone would ring and I would jump and grab the handset and there was this horror when I realized it was a wrong number at four in the morning.<br /><br />This weekend we sit vigil for a beloved brother-in-law, the husband of D's older sister. BW is a strong man, a kind one, a truly giving Christian man. I point out his beliefs because he and I sometimes battled. In the end, I could not help but feel a slight envy at his faith.<br /><br />Today, he is on our minds. We wait, we worry, we hope that some miracle will change the inevitable result of a long battle with diabetes.<br /><br />School starts on Tuesday - there are things to be done. We've had a wonderful summer, visiting my brother-in-law's only son and family, D&A, in D.C., hanging out by our community pool, going to the beach, staying a week with my sister in Mammoth Lakes.<br /><br />I have yet to write a thank-you note to D&A in D.C. for their great hospitality. The card waits on the table, the little gift to include. I don't know what to say now that D&A sit vigil in the hospital. I missed my opportunity to express that thanks and now my voice will seem like a drop of rain in the aching storm that for the moment, for now, is their life. Hopefully the words will come.<br /><br />Godspeed, my dear friend.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-30590292904949612442008-06-06T08:58:00.000-07:002008-06-06T09:05:25.072-07:00The morning after...Ahhh, now I see the articles analyzing Hillary and her accomplishments on behalf of the "gentler" sex.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/06/06/wilson/index.html">Marie Wilson</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/06/06/walker/index.html?iref=mpstoryview">Rebecca Walker</a><br /><br /><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7410751.stm">BBC News</a>Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-14941210472308662292008-06-04T17:41:00.000-07:002008-06-04T18:11:21.963-07:00Godspeed, Hillary...damn it!Don't get me wrong, I truly respect and admire and am in awe of the meteoric rise of Barak Obama. But the woman in me who rallied like mad for Geraldine Ferraro back in college, who waited 22...nay, <em>28</em> years for another woman to even come close to the Presidency, the woman in me is deeply and, dare I say, bitterly disappointed that Hillary Clinton is not our nominee. We could taste the success and at the last moment, saw the end fly out of our reach.<br /><br />Reviews of Hillary's speech last night were typically scathing. However, unlike the critics, I thought her speech was absolutely appropriate. DAMN it, <em>she</em> harnessed 18 million voters. As one of the CNN commentators said, Barak can still feel her breath on the back of his neck. This was no landslide. Not even close to one. So damn it, <em>she</em> owed those 18 million voters a speech and a speech she gave them on the eve of her post-primary departure that we all knew was coming. As a Hillary supporter, I liked hearing her accomplishments, I liked the reminder of the states she won, I liked hearing a reminder that DAMN IT, we as women are NOT finished, we are not conceding to anything. And if some people believed she was "defiant", well, she ought to be.<br /><br />Critics railed that she should have acknowledged Barak's accomplishment in being the first Black to become a Presidential party nominee. And so many have. But Hillary...this was her night, too. No woman has gotten as far as she did in the process. Nobody commented on that accomplishment. That accomplishment has been virtually ignored in favor of criticism of her defiance.<br /><br />My god, where would women be today if they weren't <em>defiant? </em>Where would most of this country be, if not for <em>defiance?</em><br /><em></em><br />Hillary Clinton will be gracious when the time is right - today at the <a href="http://www.usnews.com/articles/news/campaign-2008/2008/06/04/clinton-and-obama-conciliatory-at-aipac.html">American Israel Public Affairs Committee</a> policy convention, for example, and Friday. But last night, was "her" night.<br /><br />Damn it.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-11599380265108149292008-05-11T12:16:00.001-07:002008-05-11T12:17:06.632-07:00Happy Mother's Day!!May the day be a blessed one for all!Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-8452974102992854112008-03-05T08:33:00.000-08:002008-03-05T15:28:11.279-08:00Go Hillary!You know, when it comes down to it, I have such a soft spot for Hillary Clinton. While there might not be much difference in policy between Barak Obama and Hil, I believe in her experience and woman-ness. YAY for Ohio!Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-5005039959630140452008-02-22T20:32:00.000-08:002008-02-22T21:40:28.139-08:00First Post of the YearMid-February - such a delay for a first 2008 post. I've been distracted by family routines and drama and the new job. But I'm here now.<br /><br />I lost my coat somewhere, sometime in January. The coat was a grey wool pea coat that my mother and I had purchased together at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Nordstrom's, off the sale rack.</span> The right-hand pocket was flawed in that one side of the satiny pocket had never been anchored to the thick outer shell of the coat. To use it, I always had to fish for the opening once my hand passed the slit in the coat. Every time I searched for the side pocket, I thought of my mom telling me, "We'll just sew it up. Easy." We never got around to doing that before she died. The coat got a lot of use. Whenever the temperature dipped below 60, I grabbed it out of the hall closet. For years that coat has been featured in family pictures. For years I've hidden in the coat, protected, comfortable. I thought of getting a new one, but new ones never felt as secure as the grey one with the big black buttons. My sister told me the coat was getting a bit...<em>outdated</em>. Sometimes when the house was particularly chilled, I cuddled beneath the coat. If I was unsure of the weather, I'd take it anyway. Even if the thing stayed draped across the back seat.<br /><br />So, yeah, the coat is gone. For the life of me I can't remember where it could have been left behind.<br /><br />I wonder if it got left at a faculty assembly, where I sat between my boss and a Psychology professor. Or maybe it was in a classroom, where I stood at the front of the room and spoke of outlining as a tool to improve writing. Maybe I left it in the room once I gathered my books and flash drive, before I headed out into the dark. Perhaps I simply shed the coat in the hallway outside my little office decorated with books and framed posters from my house. Perhaps I walked and shrugged off the drab grey coat, shrugged it right off my shoulders to show off the lacy blouse beneath, the light-colored slacks, and the platinum pendant swinging against my chest. It must have felt good to walk away from that heavy weight on me.<br /><br />I know it must have felt good because I didn't even notice its absence for the longest while.<br /><br />Today, I read homework and assignments and dialogued with students by e-mail. We're having a meeting on Monday afternoon to revive our department's student association. I'm working slowly on an accreditation report due in June. My boss is a lovely person, a former missionary, a lawyer, too. We have lunches together and she always smiles when I walk into her office. When she introduces me to people she knows, she says, "We're just thrilled to have her!"<br /><br />During the winter intersession at the University I learned that a colleague knows my favorite professor from my a<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">lma</span> mater. I realized in that moment that I was where I was always meant to be. In my senior year, I took a detour from my wish to get a doctorate in English. Law school. By walking away from graduate school, I knew I was walking away from an academic career. For many years I agonized about that decision. Dissatisfaction with practicing law grew and weighed down my spirit. The children came, the marriage dipped, I was lost in a fog of displacement. Writing wasn't good enough to quell the lasting ache of having missed what I thought was my long-lost opportunity.<br /><br />When I heard that I was mere steps away from my English professor, I suddenly saw the full circle.<br /><br />I shed a weight when I signed on to work at the College. I finally got to a place where I wanted to be. And it feels so good to be free.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-79095170919180043682007-12-24T12:10:00.001-08:002008-11-13T12:34:40.818-08:00Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!From the Bliss Family...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOY0f5awaXbu68GZPkGbFE2FxXc_DyhFPb-bDqQ0VO7PqcsdUHpkUZQniYx-8Hs1q6iX-8XeFiLdH6zoISt9z2RDXAIVgYiTC3b8FdaZx6K911x2ZMLPoAsYGB3urGesD4KxN2Q/s1600-h/Christmas+2007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147634809897244226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOY0f5awaXbu68GZPkGbFE2FxXc_DyhFPb-bDqQ0VO7PqcsdUHpkUZQniYx-8Hs1q6iX-8XeFiLdH6zoISt9z2RDXAIVgYiTC3b8FdaZx6K911x2ZMLPoAsYGB3urGesD4KxN2Q/s320/Christmas+2007.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Have a wonderful holiday!</div><br /><div><br /> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-4246524865080420642007-11-21T21:47:00.000-08:002007-11-21T21:48:35.048-08:00Happy Thanksgiving!!May everyone have a beautiful and satisfying holiday!Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-7254066476413206632007-11-06T01:37:00.000-08:002007-11-06T02:07:41.223-08:00AwakenedAs if to smooth the non-touching wrinkle in our marriage, he brought potent creamed coffee to my classroom. I drank the large coffee in sips and slurps on and off throughout the lecture and now it's two in the morning and I'm wide awake. For hours it seemed I lay beneath thick covers unable to warm up. I started with few clothes on, a t-shirt, a pair of pajama shorts. I got up to get socks. I switched the shorts for pajama pants. I finally threw on a robe. Still the bed was cold, still my mind wouldn't stop. Last step was getting out of bed and hitting the keyboard.<br /><br />Music haunts me, Mexican music. The tones have been following me, trailing my every move. A week ago or so on a Saturday night, in a similar vein of wakefulness I rose to the sound of Mexican music coming in through a cracked-open window. Near two-thirty in the morning I saw. I pushed the covers off and walked through the dark to poke my head out the sliding door of our room, listening for some minutes to the music. From next door, I realized. For the longest time I listened, so much like the <em>musica </em>my mother listened to when she felt homesick. The words, the meanings, I had no idea. My Spanish has never been good. I tended, I tend, to gather meaning from the tune, from the rises and dips in the melody. This...I couldn't quite read. I wasn't picking up joy. Reminded of her pain, I went to bed. The music was unusual. The music carried so far, it stayed with me until I fell asleep. I dreamt of my grandmother.<br /><br />In the morning, my son came to me and said plainly, Mom, Robert is dead. Someone killed him. 23 years old. At a party. Somewhere. Around one in the morning.<br /><br />Oh no, I said, oh no, his poor family. His poor parents. Their world has stopped cold. For a few weeks, for some months, their world will not be real. He was one son of five.<br /><br />The music comes to me now. I wonder if they'd learned of it. If someone learned of the killing and played the music to soothe a heart in shock. Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps it was a dream. I won't ever know because the family is private that way - the dad waved to me during the week, a wave that screamed of normality, of business as usual. I know that's not the case.<br /><br />Writing hasn't put me to sleep yet. I hear a whispered voice carrying down the hall, "Mommy." No, that's D's rhythmic snoring. A kind of choked music, a soothing, grating, familiar noise which at once can lull me to sleep and keep me wide-eyed.<br /><br />Tonight I asked a student if she'd be interested in a Law and Literature class. She said yes, but hoped music would be included as part of our literature. She'd love to research rap as a statement about law in our modern society. Yes, yes, that's wonderful, I said. Music. Music.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-81445706300778683202007-10-09T16:06:00.000-07:002007-10-09T17:01:02.601-07:00Driving-By, Shooting the Sh...The University where I work is a small town compared to the community college - the streets are quaint, the buildings have character, and parking is a constant thorn in the sides of faculty and administration. I find that I miss the students off the city streets back at the community college. They didn't have to apply to get in so they were often rougher in their knowledge, in their recall of the last exam they took. Even the younger students had the cynicism and pallor of working folk, burnt out on traffic and too many hours in air-conditioned discomfort.<br /><br />At the university, the students are well-invested in their education. They pay a lot of money for unit hours, read their text books, and are firmly headed towards their 4-year degrees. Community college students are much less confident on what will happen in the upcoming year. They might be there, they might not. They might transfer, they might not.<br /><br />In my new position, in my little, over-air-conditioned office, I find myself un-confident of where I'll be in a year. Will I make the grade? Will I transfer? Will I be able to do all I said I could do?<br /><br />At home, we're even less confident. Our eldest angel is maneuvering his way through high school, a treacherous path of incompetent teachers, temptations, and unmet needs. We're happy to see that his tics are quite manageable - quite reduced. We're happy to see him swimming in a huge school, but sad to see his grades bump back and forth between an A in English and an F in math. How funny that college used to be an automatic in my life, an unquestionable goal to attain. Today, I really have no idea if he'll ever get there, much less graduate from high school. I can't see him enlisting in the service (he hates taking orders from any kind of authority). Don't think he has the passion yet to be a professional musician...so...<br /><br />Oh hell, it's probably too early to tell. Really.<br /><br />My second son, A, has developed an interesting maturity about school. While he's still in "RSP", the modern "special ed", and he still struggles with completing "extra work", he also prides himself as being a "rule follower." He is a pleasure to have in class, his teacher assures us. He's attentive and always does his best even if it's not perfect. At home, he's just himself: liking to get under the skin of his brother and sister. He chuckles to himself, I can see, when he gets them to raise their voices. He still moves at his own speed, when he's good and ready.<br /><br />The baby, M, not so baby. She's a peach at school, excited about everything, finicky about doing things correctly and in a pretty way. If she can make it sparkly, she will.<br /><br />The man in my life: D. We continue in our comfortable co-existence, but I struggle with his reluctance to treat our oldest for his behavior problems. D doesn't like the label perhaps that J's problems put on him. Perhaps it's denial. I'm not sure.<br /><br />Our weeks fly by, full and noisy. There's always a test to take, a class to prepare for, math facts and spelling words to memorize, a test to write. As always, I love the quiet of the house, late at night and right after I return from taking the three to school. Sassy and I walk the rooms and sip coffee and check e-mail. I'll shower before heading out to the University where there is much more to do, more meetings to attend, new classes to worry about, high-paying students to sell myself to.<br /><br />M is singing now as I write, her new poem of the week, <em>Five stinky pirates, as plump as can be... </em>except the words grind down to a groan because she's aggravated, because she can't remember the rest. <em>I'm hungry, </em>she says, haughty and princess-like, while copying sentences, before reaching for the Cheez-Its. <em>Can I do this later??</em><br /><em></em><br />"No, M, do the sentences now. There is no later. Later there is dinner, baths and books to read. Do it now."<br /><br />"Oh!!"<br /><br />We miss summer, I realize.Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10613195.post-418589108050358562007-07-05T11:06:00.000-07:002007-07-05T12:06:39.016-07:00Summer ReadingVenturing outside my normal topics of posting, I wanted to share a book with you that I'm reading called "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Outlander-Diana-Gabaldon/dp/0440242940/ref=sr_1_2/103-9301036-4925407?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1183659002&sr=1-2">Outlander</a>" by Diana Gabaldon. No, it's not literature in the traditional sense of the word, but neither does it qualify as "romance" or "science fiction" or "historical fiction." Rather, it's a combination of all three genres which is why it has appealed to so many fiction-readers. In fact, the entire series has been so beloved that the books have been on the national bestseller lists since "Outlander" was published in 1991. In this first book that I'm currently reading (all 640 pages or 896 depending on the format), 1945 nurse Claire Beachamp recently reunited with her husband following a separation due to World War II finds herself transported to 1743 Scotland when she touches the boulders of an ancient henge while on a walk to pick herbs. From there, her adventure starts.<br /><br />Now, some of the dialogue is silly (one exchange has our heroine, Claire, saying, "Ugh!" in response to hearing some terrible incident involving her Highlander lover, Jamie Fraser, a written vocalization which never fails to stick in my craw). There is also the unreal ease with which the heroine accepts Jamie's love (thereby seeming to forget her still-living-in-another-time period husband without that much of a blink) as well as the rather ... er ... politically incorrect punishment from said husband (Jamie spanks the bejeesus out of her with his belt when she disobeys him).<br /><br />All that aside, I've found myself transported right along with Claire despite my high-minded preference for more intellectual literature. I recommend "Outlander" to anyone who's looking for some fun, light, engaging summer reading.<br /><br />On a related note, I've actually been reading more tradition romance novels. Rubbish to be sure, but enjoyable nonetheless. The books seem to go along with my penchant for movie and television watching. I wondered why I've abandoned writing, why I put aside my heavier reading pursuits in favor of silliness.<br /><br />I wonder while I lecture J on the necessity of school, of passing classes, of not running around with hoodlums as friends, while I dole out medications to the boys and tie and re-tie M's hair in ponytails and listen to J tic because he's so stressed out over summer school. Today I meet with the principal of the school because in truth, J's needs are not being met. I've come to the conclusion that if he's unmanageable in school, it's because he's not being managed correctly. The other day he cursed me out, using...well...using my favorite F-word in the world. Yeah, THAT one. I was surprised, horrified, wanting to get a switch off the tree and mete out my own punishment, but I realized the stress over school had simply reached a boiling point. Something isn't right in Denmark, so to speak.<br /><br />I don't think I need to wonder why I'm escaping into escapist fiction. When I was in law school, I used to escape the serious lifestyle of studying with video games and made-for-tv movies. Today, there's stupid fiction, hot sex between the pages, happy-ever-after endings, and ... made-for-tv movies. I'm not doing anything different than I did back then.<br /><br />Last night we went to the Pomona Fairgrounds for the fireworks. The show was preceded by monster trucks and freestyle motocross. I had to laugh that in Pomona (versus the big show at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena) when the announcer asked everyone to clap and cheer for our servicemen, firefighters, and law enforcement, the crowd booed law enforcement. D and I laughed hard along with all our compadres in the crowd. I don't think any police officer wanted to stand up in that crowd! We had fun though, yelling out wildly for the Bounty Hunter who stirred up so much dirt with his wheelies that it took a full ten minutes for the air to clear. We collectively gasped when the motocross guys did no-handed flips with their motorcycles and one truck caught fire after too many <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_z5t7UbTe0">donuts</a>. And then the fireworks. We took pictures with our cell phones along with the rest of the crowd - no fancy cameras and tripods for the cheap seats! Even though J stayed home, choosing to hang out with a neighbor, A, M, D and I enjoyed ourselves despite the long and slow exit. For the evening, we escaped and forgot our usual troubles.<br /><br />Well, back to "Outlander."Adriana Blisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120973373594320270noreply@blogger.com4