Northern Noise

A friend called me surly the other day. Me? Surly? I always thought I was lighthearted and... okay I can't even b.s. may way through the whole sentence. I am sort of surly. I think I have been for a long time. My question is whether I have always been surly, or whether it's a relatively new state in my life? I like to think that although my surliness occasionally reveals itself, it's because the circumstances warrant it. I get surly when people at work make dumbass decisions and it causes extra work and time for me. I get surly when I'm enjoying my own quiet time and people start to bug me just because they're bored or tired. I get surly when I have to be around stupid people. These are all perfectly justifiable reason to be surly in my mind. I don't think surly is my normal state - generally I'm cynically humorous, sarcastically generous, and energetically outgoing. The potential for surliness gives me my edge, but it doesn't define who I am.

Today I was finally able to add my name to my father's bank account as the executor of his estate. He now has an "estate account" instead of a checking account. Wierd. This weekend I'll write checks and pay off the last of his bills - at least the ones I know about. I'll fax death certificates and the "Affidavit to Claim Personal Property" to the electric company. I'll call Social Security and make sure they've got all the paperwork they need. There's a lot to take care of when people die. I wish they made a "So your dad died" checklist. I'd like to think I'm a reasonably intelligent woman, and I hardly even know where to start. It helps in this case because there's not much to dispose of or "claim." Still, it's hard to figure out. When he died, I got a lot of the "circle of life" crap from friends and family. Sweet comments like "he's at peace." What I remember my dad say

Is it disrespectful to disregard advice that is well-intentioned, wise, and good for you? I have people who care about me and who give me good advice, but I tend to feel an irrational and immature need to run whenever I'm given good advice. If there's any good advice out there for how I can improve, please let me know.

I'm grumpy today. Whether it's because I have turned 40 or because I'm just a grump, I'm not sure. I keep thinking that my dad died before I turned 40. And I hate it when people are nice to me, for some reason. I don't like my mother telling me what a "wonderful mother you've become, yada, yada, yada." It makes me grumpy. I think I'll use this grumpiness as an excuse to eat pizza, drink some wine, and not grade papers. Hmmmm, that was my excuse last night.....

I like to write. I used to know this, in fact I used to consider myself a "writer," but I haven't even thought about it for a long time. I didn't expect to enjoy this "blog" thing, largely because I didn't (and still don't) really understand the "why" of blogging. I get the blogs that keep friends and family informed, I get the blogs that comment on politics or baby-friendly restaurants, I even get the blogs that share all the secret codes in the lastest PS3 game. I don't really get my own blog though.... it's just a chance for me to write. A way to force myself to write. So why do I want someone - anyone? - to "follow" my blog (and why am I using so damn many quotations marks???)? Am I just needing to feel validated? How can I have someone follow without stressing out over who may read? I guess I could just create my own alter egos so it looks like I have followers. I could sing "I'm my own foll-o-wer

So I get a phone call, it's my 5 year old and he's crying. At first I can't understand him; all I get is "moose," "sledding," "scared me." Finally I realize that, while sledding, he and his sister saw 2 moose in the yard and decided to head back into the house. Later on, the mama moose chased the dog a bit. Now, Jed's worried the moose will come onto the porch or, worse yet, into the house. His sister isn't very patient and doesn't seem to remember the time she went out to the car in the morning and ran nose to nose with a moose who scared her (and she it!) half to proverbial death. When I was a child, I got chased by moose at the bus-stop twice. Once was my own fault, I was being funny and antagonized the beast. The second time I walked unknowingly between the mama and calf, she snorted and took a few good steps before I ran and jumped over a snow berm to safety. Since we've lived here we've had lots of interesting m

The popcorn slowed, then almost stopped. Unplug, turn into the bowl, salt... back into the living room to snuggle with the boy. He is almost six now, and any chance to snuggle is taken, savored, and cataloged into memory. He's watching the movie, and doesn't mind when I touch his head, smooth his hair. His focus is on popcorn and mindless entertainment and I'm simply a prop in this scene. And then he turns, "I love you mama" and I get a smile. He turns back to the television and I'm whole again. He leans back against me, relaxed, secure. His world is good. My world is good.

Sometimes it's hard to know what to feel. Especially when you know you feel something, but aren't sure exactly what, and you aren't sure if what you're feeling is what you're supposed to be feeling and if it is, what does it mean? (Clear as mud now, right?). Today is one of those days. Pink Floyd sings about being "comfortably numb" but I think I'm more uncomfortably numb. And even within the numbness there's something gurgling beneath the surface, not quite a boil but more than a simmer. It rises up into my throat, and then subsides. Swishes around some more, threatens to erupt again, and then settles down into a false dormancy. It's not the feeling that makes me uncomfortable, it's not knowing what it means. What kind of feelings are these exactly and where are they coming from? What's the source of the unrest and why does it feel so... so.... just so weird I guess. I want to be able to rationalize and analyze these feelings.

Is it just February that makes folks a bit crazy? I thought it was just me. Then, I thought maybe it was those of us who live in the dark and cold of interior Alaska. Then, as more and more friends shared the news that they too were grouchy, tired, cynical and downright yucky, I realized that it must be February. February the month of Valentines, presidents and my birth. Maybe my turning 40 is infecting everyone I know. That alone is sending me into a bit of a tither. It's the month where I want to go to bed, snuggle deep into the covers and wake up to spring. I want sunshine, energy, warmth, the thought of a summer without grading. As my father said, "it's good to want things."

So today I stayed home. Bob thought it best since I (sort of) had a freak-out, anxiety attack episode yesterday. So I got to spend the day relaxing with my wonderful hubby, watching some Buffy, drinking hot coffee with a nip o'chocolate in it, napping. So why in the hell do I feel more stressed, not less? Why in the hell am I mean to the ones who love me? Why is the hell do I feel like punching a wall? Why the hell do I feel like running away? Now I know I won't do those things. I know I'll carry on "like a trooper." I know it's "normal" and a "process." But today I'm pissed off. Not that my dad is dead, but that I have to keep on trucking. I'm not one of those who can afford a meltdown. There are lots of folks who would do it anyway, just let it all go and figure someone else will pick up the pieces. Not me though. And then the ones who care will say "take care of yourself." They'll say "we're

I wasn't a very good daughter. At Christmas, I mailed a package to my friend in Puerto Rico, and to my mother and grandmother in Oregon, because I didn't want them to have nothing for Christmas. My present for my dad, and my brother & his wife for that matter, is still sitting on the floor upstairs. I never mailed it, and it probably made my dad feel sad. I loved my Dad, and I know he loved me. Neither of us were the best at showing it. He had his demons, and his battle with them took his energy. When he wasn't battling, he was lost to me. When he needed help, I tried to be there as much as I could, and I tried to protect the rest of us, the family, from troubles that might be left to us an inheritance. On that front, I did okay. We had the paperwork in order (I hope!) and we kept the few things of importance, his books, his butler chair, in the family. That was good. I keep thinking that I blew it at his memorial. I tried to front a strong presence, and remi