Friday, September 26, 2008

What is This Handbasket and Why am I so Hot?

Strange day in Seattle.

Major, big-time major, bank fails.

Homeless Seattlites are evicted from "Nickelsville," while million-dollar helicopters hover overhead catching it all on film for the evening news.

And nearby, the Boeing Machinists picket their employer while burning wood fires in old oil barrels, while said employer loses a reported $100 million a day.

Is this September 26th of 2008? Or did I accidentally discover
time-travel?

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

What's the Word, Bird?



"I've got a hunger,

twisting my stomach into knots..."




Every once in a while, you stumble upon a song and find the lyric so eloquent you wish like hell you would have written the poem that became that song. Sometimes, the song resonates so strongly it gets stuck in your head, your psyche and your throat. It becomes the backdrop of your life. At times, it takes over your thinking.

I've had just such a song stuck in my head for weeks now. Oh yes, weeks. Possibly even months; I can't be sure though - for, where this song is concerned, I've lost all track of time. It's in my head when I wake up. It's there humming softly as I make my daughter's lunch. It's there when I drive to work - and at work, shuffling fabric, folding invoices. Cooking dinner? It's there- spinning on some sort of maniacal loop, playing its soft, sweet, haunting self over and over.

Though my efforts have been mighty, I haven't been able to shake this song. No amount of soulful serenades or rocking baselines can exorcise this number.

This song's presence is so constant, maddeningly-so I might add, that I've come to realize it's there for a reason. I am supposed to stop and just listen to it. There is a message I'm supposed to be gleaning. The Universe is trying to tell me something. But What? What. What is the word? Speak up Universe.

Furthermore, I'm not really sure I'm comfortable getting a message from this particular song. Though beautiful, it's one bleak little ditty. Have a look for yourself:

I've got a hunger,
Twisting my stomach into knots
That my tongue has tied off

My brain's repeating
"if you've got an impulse let it out"
But they never make it past my mouth.

Bop Ba, this is the sound of settling

Our youth is fleeting
Old age is just around the bend
And I can't wait to go gray

I'll sit and wonder
Of every love that could've been
If I'd only thought of something charming to say.

Bop Ba, This is the sound of settling.


Who knew the Universe would speak to me through those Death Cab for Cutie cuties?
I feel so special. But hey, what exactly is the message? Why won't this song leave my head? I like the song alright, but I don't want it taking up permanent residence. It reminds me of a day like today; a sunless, autumn day. It makes me feel empty inside; hungry, if you will.
What's worse, if I chose to dwell on it, I could find truth in every line of that lyric. But in a long-ago lifetime- not now, not here. Meanwhile, my stomach is twisting into knots!

So Universe. What are you saying? Are you handing me a proclamation, or just issuing a gentle word of caution. Does this have something to do with my current career situation? Do tell. Whatever it is you're trying to say is lost on me. I need a clearer message. I'm not too bright, ya know.

Kudos (I think)to Death Cab for Cutie for putting this song on their 2003 album Transatlanticism. Want to get The Sound of Settling stuck in your head too? Click on this spot, right here.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Revealing My Inner Sexist


My reaction to John McCain's choice of Sarah Palin as his running mate says a lot more about me than I ever cared to admit publicly - until now.

Deep inside, I subscribe to the June Cleaver model of parenting. While I don't care to wear pearls and A-line skirts, I do believe that serving one's children and husband is the priority. There are certain homemaking (remember that word) chores that, I do believe, should be a top priority in the home of every American family.

I believe that somebody has got to get three square meals on the table everyday. And, at one of those meals, the family should sit down together and talk.

I believe that somebody has to do the grocery shopping on a regular basis so that the cupboards and refrigerator always have something to offer.

I believe that somebody has got to get the laundry done and maintain the appearance of dresser drawers that are, as if by magic, always full.

I believe that somebody has to keep the house clean, organized and running smoothly.

I believe our children require these basic needs in place so that they may grow up happy, healthy and, above all, grounded.

This I believe, but can't quite uphold.

The reality at the house of Bon, and most homes across America, is that both parents must work to pay for said house, home or condo. Sadly too is the reality that, maintaining my inner June Cleaver is impossible while working full time. Mind you, Mr. Bon is no slouch when it comes to helping around the house, but more often than not, we choose hands-on time with the Bonlets over household management.

I'm mostly coping with the cognitive dissonance I'm living.
I'm working on achieving a greater balance of work and home that serves our family better. Though it's a little early to tell, the Bonlets do seem to be fairing pretty well despite my lack of home baked cookies in the cookie jar every afternoon when they come home from school.

I find managing the lives of two children, running a house and managing a small business - although very gratifying - extremely time consuming. So much so that I can't find the time to grab a cup of coffee with a friend. How does Sarah Palin expect to raise her children and help run the country?

She has five children. Five children. They range in age from what, nineteen to two. One's heading to Iraq soon, one's about to become a teen mother, one's a hockey player and one has Downs Syndrome. Sheesh. I thought my plate was full. Is she really at a point in her career where she should even be entertaining the thought of moving her family to Washington, DC and accepting the position of Vice President?
I don't want someone a "heartbeat away from the presidency" who has so much on her personal plate.

I'm not saying that a woman's place is in the home - well actually, I am.
But I do so recognizing that everybody gets to make their own choice. And for some women, it is better not to be at home. I get that. I also get that sometimes, most especially when you've brought a slew of children into the world, you don't necessarily get to do what you want to do. Sometimes, your career has to wait - or at least operate in low gear for awhile.

In the case of the Palin family I believe the thinking is misaligned, the decisions are unwise and a prime example of parenting that isn't, couldn't possibly be, focused on the family.

Maybe I've overlooked something. Maybe... Mr. Palin is the Mack-Daddy of parenting. Maybe... he doesn't need her help with the brood. But of course, how could we know? Mrs. Palin, in her typical fashion, has squelched this man's voice.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Tick Tock


Judging by the title, you might be expecting a post about time slipping through my fingers - you know, like the proverbial sand in the proverbial hour glass? Or, you could think I'm about to go off on the fact that, already (gasp) the leaves are beginning to turn and yes (bigger gasp), my precious children are getting older.



All true, but actually, this is a post about the quest for a cup of coffee.
A simple cup of coffee with a friend.
Two friends really. No, make that three.
Ah geez, probably more - but I'm losing track ... because I don't have enough time!!



Tick Tock. Tick Tock.
The clock keeps ticking and I keep moving.
I get to work every day.
I get the kids to school.
And soccer. And gymnastics.
I get the laundry done (if you're not picky about the folding part).
I attend the soccer meetings and the Open Houses.
Everybody comes home to a delicious, home-cooked dinner most every night.
And by night, I mean night.
We are not a 6:30 supper family.
At The House of Bon , it's Dinner at Eight for us.


We watch movies together.
We play cards and work jigsaw puzzles.
We did the Puyallup. We saw the new Indiana Jones movie.
We grow vegies and Dahlias.


Yet somehow, I just can't wedge in a cup of coffee with my pals.
They're busy too.
Lives are unfolding with drama and joys.
And I watch from afar, as it all passes by.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.