Sometimes, things do change . . .

Me, for instance. Which, if you're reading this, is what you care about anyway. I've changed quite a bit just in the last year, and considerably over the last five years. In the past year, I moved from the southern Plains to the Pacific Northwest, and am happy in the climate I live in for the first time in my life. I like rain. Snow is fine, but what we got in December was a bit much. The mild summers are what wow me. I finally understand why those poets and novelists (mostly English) were always rhapsodizing about summer.
There were other consequences from my move, first and foremost my appearance. I have always been a clotheshorse. I was know for my wardrobe and especially my expensive footwear. At library conferences and academic committee meetings, I was usually the only one in Manolos. Now, I'm down to one pair, with only 2" heels, and I haven't even worn them this year. I spent the spring and summer in Birkenstocks, which I used to consider the ugliest shoes on earth. I even have a "dress pair" of Birks. I haven't yet sunk to crocs, the current holder of that title, but you never know. This winter, my only new shoe purchase, and most frequently worn footwear, is a pair of "Wellies" -- knee-high hunter green rain boots. I used to buy clothes with reckless abandon, and spent hours thinking about what to wear. Even when I worked at home, I dressed up to run errands or to go out to eat. Now I get up and put on one of three pairs (each) of jeans or khakis. The khakis are men's, from Goodwill. These are paired with one of 5 sweaters, with a t-shirt underneath. And those are my "nicer" outfits, that I wear to work. If I'm staying in, it's yoga pants and fleece sweatshirts. I did wear long cotton dresses in summer, on hot days, but mostly I wear pants now, unless I'm travelling for work.
I used to spend an enormous amount of time and money on personal maintenance. Hair was cut and colored every 4 weeks, facial once a month, mani/pedi once or twice a month, especially in summer, regular massages. I had one facial one massage in the last year. I haven't had my nails done in a year and a half. I stopped coloring my hair almost two years ago, and it's now gray silver, approximately shoulder length, of no particular style, and hasn't been trimmed in 4 months. I wash it, comb it, and go. I have no styling products or tools. My boyfriend's mother, a Southern Lady, was shocked, and, I think, rather horrified, when she arrived and found I had no hair dryer. She had to go buy one, and left it to use when she visits. I never wear makeup, either. I am fortunate that my boyfriend likes the natural look.
On a less superficial level, I think I am calmer (well, a little), more adventurous, more flexible (or maybe less rigid), and more accommodating than I used to be. Part of this comes from living with someone for the first time in 25 years, and part fromreally believing that this someone truly loves me enough to accept all my faults. I actually quite like living with someone. It makes life easier in many ways, and the benefits more than make up for relinquishing complete control over my living quarters.
In all, I'm very pleased with the changes. Sometimes I do miss dressing up, getting compliments, attracting attention, but overall it's nice to just blend in with the crowd, and be comfortable. That's a good way to sum up the changes: I'm more comfortable -- with myself, with my life, with my choices -- than I have been before.

New Year's Aspirations

I like "aspirations" better than "resolutions." One feels like less of a failure if one is less than perfect in adhering to them.
1. Be more grateful for what is than afraid of what might be.
2. Don't borrow trouble.
3. Recognize that optimism does not always equal delusion.
4. Be as realistic about the good things as about the bad.
5. Be kind.
6. Be thoughtful, especially before speaking.
7. Be present.
8. Don't take things so personally.
9. Sometimes, it's best just to let it go.
10. Be grateful. It's worth repeating.

What I hate about Xmas

1. The kind of greed and crass commercialism that resulted in a man's death at a Wal-Mart on Black Friday.
2. The crappy music.
3. The forced cheer.
4. The unbelievable pressure to be happy, make everyone around you happy, and above all, give and receive really good presents.
5. The idea that people should go through hell and high water to be home with the family for 36 hours of forced cheer, fighting, recriminations, drunkeness, and unsatisfying "togetherness."
6. The myth that everyone but you is having the kind of Christmas only seen on "The Waltons."
7. How this myth makes those who are alone feel lonely, depressed, and unworthy.
8. How this makes people with normal family feel resentful.
9. That the pressure of "being with family" means that some couples with young children will drive hundreds of miles and attend three or four Xmas dinners/gift exchanges, so no selfish and petulant grandparents will feel left out.
10. The fact that it is crammed down my throat from Halloween on.
11. It's all about stuff. And more stuff. Because stuff makes up for everything.
12. Liquor stores are closed just when you need them the most.
13. It's a Wonderful Life. No, no it isn't.
14. Ugly sweaters.
15. Office parties.
16. Fake expressions of love and good wishes from people who don't feel those things at all.
17. The fact that it pervades everything, is inescapable, and is forced on everyone whether they like it or not.
18. Tacky lights everywhere.
19. Did I mention the crappy music?
20. And the unrealistic expectations?
21. And the pressure?
22. And the greed?
23. "Christmas in Washington" and all other specials except for Stephen Colbert's.
24. The tremendous waste of money and time on meaningless decorations and gifts rather than on things that would demonstrate the supposed "true meaning of Christmas."
25. The total absence of Peace on Earth and Good Will towards Mankind.

5 cats, 4 days, etc. Days 3 & 4

We awoke in Fresno on Day 3 to torrential rain. Loading the cats in the car as quickly as possible, we got on the road, stopping at a McDonalds drive thru for sausage biscuits and coffee (their coffee is vastly improved BTW). There were a few clementines left that I'd brought from OKC, and I ate one, hoping to balance out my very unhealthy breakfast with a bit of fruit. Once again, trying to so the healthy thing did not pay: I discovered that my allergy to oranges now includes clementines. My throat began to itch and my lips to swell. Meanwhile, we're driving up I-5 in the pouring rain, and Jason is trying to deal with the imbecility that possesses California drivers when rain begins to fall. No offense to Californians, but I'd rather drive on ice in the Midwest any day. I searched my purse for benadryl, which I usually carry, but of course I was out. Endeavoring to remain calm and to avoid panicking Jason while he was coping with traffic, I mentioned that I needed to stop and get some benadryl when we had the chance. This approach was too low-key; we passed a couple of exits without stopping and I began to get scared, because I could feel my lips getting really swollen and feared my throat would soon follow suit. I explained that when I said I needed to stop, I REALLY meant it. We began looking for the next exit, but of course we were in a rural area. After 5 or 10 minutes (though it seemed longer, we saw an exit with a gas station and pulled off the highway. I ran through the downpour into the Shell station and went up to the counter, where the clerk was standing with a man who was just leaning against the counter, looking down. After a couple of seconds, I said, "Excuse me, could I get some benadryl?" I could see the packets of pills behind the counter. The clerk gave me a dirty look and said "When I'm done with him." The other customer was carefully considering which lottery ticket top buy. I had a better chance of dying from anaphylaxis right there than he did of winning the lottery. Finally he made his choice and I was able to get my drugs. I soon felt much better and could laugh at my visions of dying on the side of the road.
About an hour later, we reached Sacramento. We had heard on the radio that I-5 was closed north of Sacramento, so we decided to go through the Napa Valley and up 101 to Oregon, as there was unlikely to be snow along the coast road. After Oklahoma, we figured we could handle the wind and rain with no problem. There was, however, a lot of rain.
When we got into Napa, entire vineyards were underwater. There were a couple of times I wasn't sure we would make it through. The drive was beautiful, but a bit surreal, with evidence of the extreme wind and rain everywhere. We made it to Crescent City, CA -- the last town before the Oregon border -- about 7 PM. I had made reservations at the Super 8 there, but we kept driving up and down the two block area where it had to be, but just couldn't see it, and they weren't answering their phone. Finally, the second time we turned around, I spotted it. We hadn't seen it because it was completely dark: power was out to it and half the motels in town. Most of the ones that had power were full, but we had a Econo Lodge with a vacancy that was willing to take the cats. There was a couple in line ahead of me, but they were put off by the fact that the cable was out! We unpacked the cats in the pouring rain and ordered a pizza. Jason made friends with the other smokers standing under the balconies in the courtyard. It seems power had been knocked out to half the town when the storm hit the night before with 100 mph winds.
The next day we were excited because we would finally get to our destination. I called our real estate agent in Mac for weather reports on the mountain passes. After reviewing our options, we decided to take the route from Newport to Eugene. It wasn't too bad, but at one point we went through a tunnel and came out on the other side in the midst of a snowstorm. It was like going through the wardrobe to Narnia -- so bizarre.
It was all downhill from there. We got into Mac in the late afternoon to find our house stuffed with furniture and boxes. After cleaning up, we went to La Rambla and had tapas -- a nice change from fast food.

5 cats, 4 days, etc. Day 2

On Jan. 3 we left Albuquerque at about 5:30 AM following a less than restful night. The sunrise (hadn't seen one of those in a while!) over the high desert was gorgeous. I enjoyed the drive through NM and AZ — it's alien and strangely beautiful but I cannot imagine living there. By now we were learning of the winter storms hitting California, via NPR (our on the road companion) and weather.com on my Blackberry, and were beginning to get concerned about getting stuck somewhere. I foolishly thought that by going the I-40/I-5 route we would avoid bad weather and be out of danger once we got through Flagstaff (which was clear, BTW). My ignorance of California/Southern Oregon geography came back to bite me. I didn't realize the mountains there would pose a weather challenge.
We had originally planned to meet up with my friend Elizabeth, who was planning to meet us in beautiful Barstow. With the weather reports getting more threatening all the time, we decided to stay on the road rather than stopping in Barstow. Liz will just have to come to Oregon now! We pressed on, across the Mojave to Bakersfield, which is without doubt the worst-smelling place I've ever been. It's like being smack-dab in the middle of a feedlot for miles on end. We were almost gagging, what with the odor and the never-ending Iowa primary coverage. The smell lingered until we were nearly to Fresno, where we picked up beer and snacks at a gas station, checked into the pet-friendly Super 8 (OK, I mentioned i had cats, I just didn't specify 5 cats – there's such a thing as over-sharing.) We spent 17 hours on the road on Day 2, and I have to say the kitties were very quiet, but they were definitely as glad to get out of the carriers at the end of the day as we were to get out of the car.

5 cats, 4 days, 3 winter storms, 2 thousand miles, 1 Honda Civic - Part 1

So, the significant other and I moved from Oklahoma to Oregon in early January, driving the southern route (I-40 to I-5) to, we hoped, avoid bad weather. We were in the trusty Honda (4-door Civic) with my 5 cats, 4 in carriers, one sitting in my lap/at my feet. The first day, Jan 2, we moved the remaining furniture to the OKC pied-a-terre, then hit the road shortly after noon. There was considerable yowling protest for the first 1 1/2 hours or so, but the cats settled down by the time we reached Texas. The Texas panhandle has to be one of the ugliest, most boring drives in the US, so I was glad when the sun went down. We got into Albuquerque around 10 PM, checked into a motel, and smuggled the cats inside. Second floor room of course. Took three trips to get them and their paraphernalia in. Psycho kitty, who we were afraid to release from the cage equipped all the comforts including private litter box, set up a very loud protest. Terrified that the neighbors would complain and we would be kicked out, I took her carrier into the bathroom and released her. I spent the night on the floor with 2 pillows and my coat, trying to keep her calm. I was exhausted, but every time I started to drop off, she would begin to howl. At 5 AM, tired and sore from spending a night on a bathroom floor sober for the first time in my life, I woke up the boyfriend and suggested we hit the road. I tell you, that night gave me a whole new respect for those who've had babies. I was ready to break after one night. I cannot imagine dealing with that for months on end. Hell, I was threatening to feed Psycho kitty to the New Mexico coyotes by the time we stopped for food & gas.

Why do women do this???

In a week when a lot of things have made me angry — see Homofascist's Army for more details — this article from the NY Times topped the list: Nice Résumé. Have You Considered Botox?. Apparently a new book called How Not to Look Old is advising women over 35 that letting themselves go is career suicide. As the book jacket warns, "Looking hip is not just about vanity anymore, it’s critical to every woman’s personal and financial survival." Apparently, just when we thought that having careers that made women financially independent would protect the middle-aged when their husbands left them for other women, we find that if women "let themselves go" their employers will dump them just as fast as their first husbands did. The answer: botox, hair dye, teeth whitening and relentless self-maintenance. God forbid anyone should look their actual age. No, no Barbie – stay perky or be left behind.
Let me say that anyone who knows me knows I am vain. I colored my hair for over 20 years because I started to go grey in my early 20s. I love fashion, shoes, girly things, and I even believe that what we choose to wear is a form of semiotics that we use to tell other who we are. However, I'll be 47 in a few weeks, and I'll be damned if I'll try to look like I'm 30. I like my grey hair, and I get tons of compliments on it. I'm not going to torture myself with stupid diets because my metabolism has slowed down. I've been a size 2, and believe me, I'm happier as a size 12. I look better and feel better. I'm not going to inject myself with toxins to remove the lines I've earned by laughing, crying, and living life. As the kids would say, Do. Not. Want.
What really gets me: it's women who are doing this to other women. They can blame the men till they're blue in their botoxed faces, but by playing along, by writing and buying books like this, they become the worst sort of collaborators. I say we shave their heads, @agrave; la post WWII France. I went to a women's college. I believe sisterhood is powerful. I believe you can be a feminist who loves fashion. I find it unacceptable that some women inflict their own insecurities on their own sex — and make money doing it, I might add.
What really surprised me about this is that I had noticed, ever since I went grey, how much more often older, grey-haired women were being portrayed in advertising, that indicator/setter of trends. I found this enormously encouraging. Meryl Streep's grey hair (and wrinkles, I might add) in The Devil Wears Prada were an inspiration to me and, I hoped, a sign that powerful women could be portrayed like powerful men. Guess I was just dreaming.