Atomic Testing, Rings and Big Hotels (with Casinos)

There's an Atomic Testing Museum in Las Vegas.

Bizarre to think of such a sombre subject for a museum in Vegas, maybe, but true. Weird to think of Vegas having museums at all, except maybe for the defunct Elvis memorabilia museum. But Las Vegas and the desert around it has historically been a busy place for atomic testing.

The museum had a simulated bomb shelter which they'd set up with sound and air and movement to give an idea of what it would be like if an atomic bomb went off at a good distance away, and they had a film to go with it. It was sobering and rather scary, which made going through the rest of the museum more meaningful and real to the boys. There were museum bombs, films that could be run at varying speeds back and forth that showed the effects of test bombs, and a lot of other things that gave a feel for what a nuclear bomb can do.

Their generation has not grown up with the same fears of nuclear war that my generation were raised with, and I found myself appalled at the idea that our younger people wouldn't have the same instinct drilled into them that nuclear war must not happen. I think the museum helped; it educated them a bit and gave them some visceral things to think about.

We actually went to Las Vegas last weekend for a big nation-wide gymnastics meet which Casey and his teammates were competing in. The meet was the Winter Cup/Blackjack meet for mens gymnastics and a lot of college teams were there as well as the US Mens Olympic team, so we saw a lot of gymnastics.

It was good to get to see Olympic gymnasts in action, as well as the college teams. Stanford has a stand-out team, as does UC Berkeley. I guess they've managed to get funding for now, at least. Casey's section of the meet was very early on Sunday. He and his teammate and best bud Griffin competed together, making the whole experience a lot more fun and a little less stressful.

The stress levels were higher at this meet; it was an Olympic style meet with traditional warm-up before actual competition, with double sets of each apparatus and gymnasts competing at the same time on both sets. Chaotic, busy and very hard to keep track of what was happening. The floor especially was stressful, with competitors running two at a time parallel on the the floor instead of the usual one at a time. Casey had a handstand fail on his floor routine because his hands happened to fall in a crack in the floor padding, so there were some serious disadvantages to the set-up.

It was good for the boys to see other gymnasts at their level from all over the country and Canada as well, as there were some real differences in their routines and skill sets. Both boys did well, however, and Casey ended up coming in first for his level on rings, while Griffin came in fourth on rings.

Their coach was quite happy with how they did, since taking a good team to this particular big national level meet has been on his bucket list for a while. So they were all pretty happy with how it went.

After the meet, we had time to look around. Las Vegas is an odd place to take kids, since it's really not oriented towards kid entertainment. It's more kid friendly than it used to be, certainly; we stayed at Circus Circus, which is much more family oriented and has clearly delineated areas for adults vs. kids. Very handy, actually. We took in a Penn & Teller show, which we all liked a lot, and Riley got his picture taken with both Penn and Teller, though I can't show you those since they were taken on his iPod. :) He was very impressed with Teller. And they led to a discussion about Libertarians (which both Penn & Teller are) and how they're different from Republicans and politics in general and why you need to really listen and examine the facts and think for yourself before you decide on your position on issues.

It's nearly impossible to avoid adult themes in Las Vegas, which led to several other very interesting discussions about why there was so much stuff about sex and why the women in the huge video displays everywhere were so scantily clad, and why there were 'hobos' on street corners handing out 'prostitute trading cards' as the boys put it. And talks about the differences between showgirls and strippers and prostitutes happened as well. Turns out it's kind of hard for boys their age (or perhaps boys of any age) to tell the difference. A lot of the gender role stuff going on in Las Vegas really didn't fit with how they've been raised; we saw the free Treasure Island outdoor show, which used to be all pirates and was pretty cool, but has now been 'sexed up' to be Sirens vs. Pirates, and man, did the Sirens and all the pseudo-sexy stuff going on seem stupid to the boys. Why would women want to act like that, they asked. Why indeed.

There are a lot of huge hotel/casinos in Vegas, especially along the Strip, and the size and grandeur of them is really boggling. They're fancy outside and in, but all of them start looking the same inside, with their slot machines and blackjack tables, and they aren't very interesting if you're not into gambling, or simply too young to play. Casey was annoyed that he wasn't allowed to play, since to him they just looked like games, many of them video based. He probably could have done quite well at most of the games, with his aptitude for math and his great memory. We had to explain why gambling was illegal for underage kids, and that of course led to why it needed to be illegal, and that led into gambling addictions and losing money and all the rest. Welcome to being 12, guys.

We walked down the Strip at night, just to see all the lights and to try to let the boys ride the roller coaster at New York New York at night.

We ended up going into Caesar's Palace, which is immensely huge and confusing; we got lost trying to find our way out several times. I will admit that it made me just want to flee, it was so fancy, so ornate, so adult and so formal. Fortunately the boys were along to help keep things around us informal...

It just really wasn't my style at all, and I couldn't wait to escape. We ran across the street into Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville, which felt so much more welcoming and friendly to all of us, and the food was good. Pirates on stilts made balloon hats for the boys and we sang along to the music and felt much more at home.

We never did make it to the roller coaster that night, though we did go the next night, right before we left Las Vegas. Which turned out to be exactly the sort of loopy silliness we needed to end the trip.

Decluttering in the wake of passing time

I'm trying to declutter the place. This is a major challenge since all of us seem to be incorrigible pack rats. Every so often I go into a cleaning and purging frenzy, but it's been awhile. Going through the boys' toys is one of the hardest things to deal with; other stuff I can easily get into a mind space where I can be ruthless and chuck stuff or give it away, but this is harder. I know I'll feel much better about this place once things are cleaned up, but I'm running up against this wall of resistance from everyone in the house, myself included, to letting go. Time just keeps racing by and all these material things are strewn in its wake. I feel kind of helpless against the flow of time; the things I'd like to hold onto the most are often the most fleeting of all.

With the boy toys I have to sort them and figure whether the boys are done with those toys forever. Really, forever. I think it's probably harder for me to let go than for them. There is some stealth chucking involved, since toys they haven't played with for over a year are ones they're probably done with, but if they realize I'm going to give them away then nostalgia sets in and they want to keep them, mostly.

I tried to let go of Riley's Mission model, and put it in the recycle. I found it later that day miraculously rescued and restored to its place on top of the shelf. Though it hasn't been played with or used much since 4th grade. (And yes, they are in 6th grade now, so what does that say about my lack of ruthlessness and my housekeeping abilities?) And do I donate the dinosaurs? They are very cool; they roar and move their heads in a quite startlingly realistic way. I like them too, but the boys haven't been playing with toys much in the last year or so. How am I supposed to deal with all of these toys that they have sentimental attachment to, but no longer play with? Out of sight, out of mind? Stealth chucking? I like to think that I would respect their wishes, and not just ruthlessly get rid of toys they love, but the bald truth is we can't keep everything, forever.

I have intentions of reclaiming the space in the living room that is now filled with toy shelves, and re-hanging the green hanging chair and restore a bookshelf or two to that spot, since the boys aren't using it for playing. When they have other kids come over, it's still a very popular hang out, though, so I'm a bit torn.

A lot of their toys are really cool, too, which makes it harder to know whether to let them go or not. Some are easier; all the Thomas trains we can let go to a good home, I know, so if you could use a huge amount of Thomas and friends trains and track, give me a shout out. We have several plastic bins of them...

I think I am too susceptible to melancholy, honestly. It's hard to go through all these drawings and the writing they did when they were little and realize that very likely they won't become very good artists; they don't have enough interest. I did try to encourage that part, along with a lot of other abilities, but I don't think that particular one took; I know I was drawing all the time and my abilities were much further along when I was the same age. They're much better at different things, like math and science and analytical thinking, though their writing ability seems well developed. I am left with a bunch of kid art supplies that will never get used, though I know I can give those to friends and others who can use them with other kids. I have to believe, though, that none of the time and effort was wasted; they will have those experiences drawing and telling stories with pictures back there deep inside, even if it doesn't get used right now.

There are other things, too. Wind, the horse, that I lovingly painted for the boys from a plain reclaimed wreck of a spring horse, is (obviously) something that needs to be let go of; he takes up a lot of room and it must seem faintly ridiculous to still have him in the house when the boys will be going into 7th grade next year. Maybe most people would pass him along with a sense of relief to be getting the big cumbersome thing out of their house, but I'm finding it surprisingly hard to let go. It's silly, of course, but I know I'm too sentimental already, so don't laugh too hard at me. It's just too symbolic of all that's passing away.

Gah. Wish me luck with all this de-cluttering; I'm having a hard time of it.

Doing it all. Or not.

I've been thinking about career lately. As in, my career. I do freelance art, freelance photography, freelance graphic design, freelance crafting for my Etsy shop, etc. You get the idea. Freelance to me is a word that has the odd pleasure of sounding artsy and cool while conveying the notion of rootlessness. These days for me, if I say I freelance, it means the work is sporadic, unplanned, I am my own boss and I have nobody else to blame if I don't have work coming in. I am a freelancer by choice, of course; few become a freelancer out of necessity. It's always seemed to me that people are rarely forced into freelancing, unless it's a 'freelance' job to tide them over while they are actually looking for a 'real' job. People who choose freelancing long term have made a conscious choice to stay freelance. It doesn't offer good job security, obviously.

 I've certainly held down 'regular' jobs. I've had research assistant jobs where I worked with ground squirrels and rattlesnakes, Rhesus monkeys, worked in a horse stable, worked in a dairy barn, worked as a pre-school teacher. I worked in a small printer's shop where I learned to run the big press, I worked for a big scale printer doing paste-up and color cutting (before the advent of computers- boy does that date me). I've worked in computer games back when it was 4 and 16 color with pixels the size of your head, on through the advent of 3-D software. Those were all regular paid jobs. I was freelance as well throughout many of those, but the past 15 years or so I've been just freelance. I am my own boss.

It's meant a lot of scrambling, to be honest. The past two decades have not been a great time to be an artist. Well, okay, throughout history it's rarely been a great time to be an artist; that's why there are so many stereotypes about the starving artist. But I have mainly made my living by making art of one sort or another, and I really like that. I guess if I didn't I wouldn't still be trying to do it; I have many friends who are very talented artists who don't do it for a living anymore. It's just too hard to get by unless you get regular (paying) gigs. Being an artist tends to be one of those professions that people don't think deserves pay, and they tend to offer free publicity in lieu of money and crap like that. I am not the best artist out there and I am not driven and ambitious enough to be a wild success. Being a huge success takes a lot of work, and the successful ones usually have someone else behind the scenes who has a great head for business and marketing while they do the art itself. I don't have those. I just like to draw and make things.

Career is this weird thing that gets held out to women as a carrot, I think. My generation of women grew up with the notion that you could have it all: the brilliant career, the smart successful kids, the loving successful relationship with a spouse, the clean, well kept house and yard. You could do it all if you were just... good enough at everything. Well organized, efficient, driven, ambitious, energetic, yet also loving, supportive, giving, self-sacrificing... Oh wait, some of those things really cancel out some of the other things, don't they? How can you have an ambitious, successful career while putting your own needs after everyone else?

We're supposed to do it all somehow. But beware if you appear to be too strong, too assertive, for then you are a Bitch. And if you choose to have a family, and then you put your family above all and are too self-sacrificing, then you are relapsing back to times when women couldn't Do It All and you are throwing away all that has been gained for women over the last 150 years, and by god you are a traitor to all women everywhere. And oh by the way, you must be beautiful while you're doing everything too, of course. You're supposed to look like a model, not a fat, tired old cow. Live the dream, advance your fabulous career, while also driving your kids to their team practices and oh yeah, bring home baked goodies for all the kids and of course make fabulous home cooked nutritious meals for the family every night and keep a beautiful designer-y home that's welcoming and warm and a joy to live in. Wrinkles and cellulite are your enemies and if you get fat you are obviously Not Trying.

Yeah, right. I've picked up these expectations from other moms, actually, as well as the mainstream media, and while I can shake most of it off and marvel at the ludicrous nature of it all, some of it still creeps in and twines around my brain.

At least in my experience, women only talk about these impossible expectations with their closest friends, and carefully at that. We don't talk about it openly, not really. Even if we acknowledge to each other privately that the whole thing is really impossible and it's ridiculous to expect us to do it all, we still keep trying, or at least put up some sort of front. It's strange and weird and disheartening on so many levels. It's much worse since I had kids, honestly; when I was just a regular person without kids, I worked, and that was okay. I could work crazy hours and nobody said much about the state of the house or the yard; I was a career woman working crazy hours. I encountered some sexism in the workplace, but if I worked harder and better, I could overcome most of that. Mostly, though I eventually backed away from doing art for games. I got tired of drawing big boobs that defied anatomy and gravity, and realistic female characters with some backbone weren't welcome, either in the games or in real life.

When I had the boys, they took all my time and energy, and to be honest, they still do, though their needs have changed dramatically. They still need me, or at least some responsible parent at home who can provide the kind of support they need to excel in school and everything else. I'm fortunate enough that Paul is willing and able to earn a good wage at a regular job to keep us all fed and clothed with a house to live in and we get health care benefits through his job. We're not rich, but we're not starving and homeless either. I bring in some money but there's no way it would support us, living here in the Bay Area. It's a freelance income, if you will, worked for in the spare moments between other family needs. It gets last priority over the boys' needs or the family as a whole. So I must acknowledge the fact that my main job is taking care of the family we have, and my artwork takes a lower priority. I have a hard time reconciling that with my long-held self-identification as a freelance artist. Can a person be a mom and still be a successful artist? How many well known artists who were also moms and the main caregiver can you name? Can you name more than ten? More than five? Success and being the main caregiver seem almost mutually exclusive. One of my teachers in art school who was a well respected teacher and illustrator, and female, told me privately that successful women illustrators were rare, and the ones who did well were almost never mothers. She advised me to let the housework go, and seriously consider which I wanted more, a career as an illustrator or having kids.

It seems very clear that moms or dads who stay home with the kids, get almost no respect in this society I live in. Respect and identity ("And what do you do?") is almost exclusively based on what you do for a living, and staying home with kids isn't even regarded as a valid job, much less a desirable career. And yet anybody who tries to be even a half-assed parent knows that it's the hardest job on the planet. I have had to admit to myself that I have held that same prejudice myself, when I was not a parent, and secretly in my own head even after. I hate being labeled as a stay at home mom, because I know the stigma that goes with it, and of course I have to admit that it's been not only in others' eyes, but in my own painful estimation. And so I have clung desperately to the self-identifier that I am a 'freelancer' even though it is not my primary job. I do actually respect a lot of other parents for the awesome job they do as the primary caregivers, the stay-at-home parents, but I don't seem to allow myself the same respect.

Why is it so hard to own up to and take some pride in the main job I've been doing for the last 12 years, since the boys were born? I work damned hard at that job, despite the fact that I fail miserably at many aspects we're 'supposed' to have conquered effortlessly: clean house, tidy yard, happy social parental involvement with all the kid activities (still hate those expectations). I can look semi-objectively at the boys, though, and they're doing well; they're honors students, they like the sports they're doing and they're honest and decent people.

I like them as people. I enjoy their company, and not just because I'm their mom. I like their sense of humor, their choice of books, their questions about the world. I hope that they'll turn out all right and go on to be a force for good in their world. Which is really what raising children is supposed to do, right? Raise the next generation to do good things and make the world a better place than we have? Why in the world is that not considered a valued job worthy of respect? Why is it not considered one of the most important jobs on the freakin' planet? It's so obvious that I need to dump all of those amorphous societal expectations and judgements. It's just harder to do in practice when confronted with those outside judgements every single day. Bucking societal pressures is really hard, especially when you're already worn down and tired.

At least for now, I'm going to be making a concerted effort to cut myself some slack on the whole career/success fantasy. For now, being a mom is enough. And if I can still bring in some freelance work, that's great. If I get a chance now and then to draw or take pictures just for myself, that will keep me sane. For now, my main job is raising decent human beings. And that should be worthy of my own respect. If others don't respect that, well, that's their problem, not mine.

Christmas is for...

 Little kids, first.

These are little first graders from Casey and Riley's school, performing a song at the holiday concert last week. They were led by my friend Tracy, who has been teaching them music in the Music For Minors program. They did an amazingly good job of their three songs, and I was really impressed with them, and with Tracy's teaching. They also kind of broke my heart. They were so enthusiastic, so happy. And of course all of us were thinking of the little first graders from the school in Connecticut who are gone, or the ones still alive, who are traumatized by what happened in their school. Kids are resilient, there's no doubt, but to have something like that happen to your community or your family, even if you didn't even directly witness it, leaves permanent, altering marks on your psyche. The kids left will be different people now than they would have been before this happened. They've lost that innocent joy that these kids you see in this picture still have. And that is a tragedy of a less easily seen nature, and not something that can be given back to them no matter how much therapy or aid they're given.

The Holiday Concert was fun, happy, and bittersweet all at the same time, at least for me. My guys are in sixth grade now and they've grown out of a lot of the spontaneous gestures that the little kids have. They've become much more conscious of what others might think of them and it inhibits them in some ways, while it also makes them say and do really stupid things in vain attempts to be cool. I suppose it's a natural part of growing up, after all we look at adults weirdly if they shriek and jump up and down and do flips all over the furniture. So maybe they do have to learn to be conscious of what others think. But I miss that uninhibited joy. Okay, with my guys the flips over the furniture are still happening, but they're learning to control everything else a little more. And it's a little sad when the Christmas stuff is colored with them not wanting to do some things anymore because they're too silly or babyish now.

Holidays are so hard for many of us; there's so much expectation of happiness, and you're supposed to spend it with family and be loving and perfect and all. And it's never a perfect thing, really; even if you have a great family there's still friction and arguments and over-tired kids who melt down and things like that. If you manage to have a near perfect Christmas with kids, that's a Christmas miracle, really. If you don't have family or you're estranged from what family you have, you're faced with what you don't or can't have. It's hard in so many ways. Holidays bring up all of those things and people we've lost, or never had.

It's hard to go on after losing a loved one. My wise friend Annette told me a while back that holidays were especially hard, and that one had to find ways to make new traditions for holidays, make complete breaks with the old traditions that were Before. And that makes so much sense. But as she said, it takes time. What she didn't dwell upon, but is a great example of, is that it takes a ton of courage, perseverance, and determination to keep going, one small step at a time, to rebuild a life from the ashes of the loss. I wish for all of those parents in Connecticut the strength to go on, and the perseverance to find a pathway through the dark times they're going through now.

The Christmas season has always been a bittersweet time for me, and it can be hard for me to stay 'up' during it. I think with increased age, however, I'm coming to accept that melancholy is a part of the holidays for me; I need time to mourn people and things lost, as well as to savor the goodness in my life. I need a balance where both sides are acknowledged and recognized and felt, rather than trying to stuff the sad parts down and deny them. Christmas is not all about happy-happy all the time, not for me, not anymore. I used to love Christmas and all the implied magic surrounding the winter holidays. I felt that magic in a very real way, but it became harder and harder to feel, to rediscover that magic as the years went by. Life experiences tend to change us from those innocently joyous little kids we used to be. But bittersweet can be a good thing; it makes me savor the good parts, remember the parts that are irrevocably in the past and do some mourning if it's needed, and be able to see and recognize the good parts happening now that are fleeting in their own way. There's a lot to be said for enjoying the moment.

I am so incredibly fortunate with all my family and friends, and this Christmas especially it seems appropriate to appreciate all of the wonderful people in my life and to say thank you for being part of my life, though many of you are scattered all over the globe. I am a lucky person and you all make my life richer. Merry Christmas, all of you. Hope you can find some of the magic, too. I'm sending out virtual *hugs* to you all. 

My Little Car

I had this car.

This was my first car; we bought it new just for me about twenty years ago. I looked at a lot of cars and this one, this little Honda CRX, with it's Celestial Blue color and special wheels, was my dream car. It has been a staunch and reliable friend for all these years. It's been my freedom.

It has no radio and it's a manual transmission; nothing is automatic, there are no frills. It sits low to the ground and hugs the road and it's as agile as a cat. I've always loved jumping in my car and driving off into the redwoods or out to the coast and just enjoying the drive, the wind, the smells, the feel of the car on the road, the shadows and the scenery going by. I've explored all over California in this car.

I love this car. Note the present tense. It has been nearly, oh so nearly, past tense, and my car has been in limbo for many months, waiting to be rescued. Today we got it back from limbo, and I have begun the arduous paperwork process of re-adopting it. Because you see, when you have a twenty year old car and it gets in even a minor fender bender, your insurance company will insist that it's not worth fixing, that it's worthless junk, they will total it out, tow it off to a junkyard to be scrapped. Well, they can just kiss my tailpipe, because today I got my little car back and it looks like new. It runs as great as it ever did and it is one sweet ride, let me tell you.

Our lives changed a lot when we had the boys; we got the van and my little car became the one Paul drove to work while I hauled kids around in the van. He was hit from behind while at a stoplight about a year ago, and the left taillight and bumper were damaged. The insurance company wouldn't pay to have it fixed and called it totaled. They left us feeling like we had no choice but to let it get taken away, even though the engine was still great and there was only the damage to the light and bumper. I was trying so hard to be sensible and practical but the whole thing was eating away at me. They sent a tow truck to take my car, and the driver hooked it up and hoisted the front wheels off the ground and I stood there with tears running down my face as I let him drive it away.

So I called Paul after it disappeared around the corner and he knew I was crying and he knew how upset I was about giving up that little car and damned if he didn't just up and call the insurance company and insist that we get our car back from the scrap yard. They very reluctantly and rather grumpily told him we should have gotten our act together and decided to keep it before it was towed away (which we weren't told was an option) and it might be too late, but they'd give us the tow yard's number and let us see if we could get it back, though they didn't hold out much hope. And yeah, we'd have to pay the monetary difference between the cost of the car if it were totaled out vs. the cost if we'd kept it despite it's non-operable status, so we ended up returning their money to get our car back. The money they grudgingly gave us sure didn't come close to anywhere near all the money we've paid them over the years, but then I tend to think of insurance as a gambling game anyway. The house always wins. (Bastards.)

We drove out to the junk yard and waited our turn among a number of men who were salvaging vehicles to fix up to sell again, and they found my car and drove it up to the front, with yellow numbers written large on the cracked windshield in grease marker. I climbed in and drove it home with the numbers there in front of me, and it made me cry again because I was so glad to have it back. It wasn't legal to drive, however, and it was now classified as a salvage vehicle. In order to get it legal again, we had to get bodywork done, have it pass all the inspections for a salvage vehicle and go through all the paperwork associated with that. And we didn't have the money to fix it up since Paul was unemployed for much of that time. It sat in our driveway waiting until we could save up for the bodywork for about a year.

We finally took it in to get fixed up about three months ago, and we brought it home today, with a new bumper, new windshield, new brake lights and a new paint job to boot. It looks so beautiful to me, my dear old friend all fixed up.

We nearly let it go, and I'm sure that people who have even a lick of financial sense would tell us that we should have let it get scrapped, because it cost much more to fix it back up than it's worth on paper. Financially speaking, we should have used that money to fix up other things that need it as much or more, like house repairs. We've been told before that we are not the most sensible people, and that is true. If we were fiscally responsible Paul would have gotten out of games and into a more stable sort of programming, and I wouldn't be an artist at all. God knows what I'd be, though, since this is all I've really done as a career.

But.  It would take more to get a decent used car to replace it than to fix it up (probably, unless we went with a complete clunker), and we couldn't possibly have replaced it with another car that came close to this one: a sturdy, reliable little sports car that's really fun to drive on winding little mountain roads and sticks to the road like a cat. We can't afford such a luxury item: a two-seater manual transmission sports car. If we are honest, we may never be able to afford one again. This one is the only sports car I am ever likely to own. I am the only owner it's ever had and I hope it lasts for a good long time to come. I am still in love with my little car and I am damned glad to have it again. All I need to do is slog through the paperwork now. And once I do I'm taking it for a long drive through the redwoods and driving on out to the coast to listen to the waves. Anybody want to ride along?