I've Decided to Become a Babe

 Yes!  All because of cataract surgery, which I had yesterday and which was no walk in the park, all you friends who told me how easy it was.

First, they weighed me at 6 am in Outpatient Surgery--awful, depressing numbers.  Then I had to lie down on a very narrow eye-surgery gurney for two hours while a nurse prepped me, which included starting an IV of what she called "your breakfast," which was freezing cold electrolytes and God knows what else.  It felt like ice water shooting  up my arm. More awful.

View from the gurney during the endless prelims

Finally,  an anesthesiologist wheeled the gurney and me into a freezing cold operating room where--the best part--he popped something very soothing into my IV.  The doctor appeared, the same taciturn guy I've been consulting for years, but I didn't recognize him because he seemed to have dimples.  I thought he was in the wrong operating room, but then he spoke, and I recognized his voice, and besides, at that point I didn't care. 

Then--I do not exaggerate--he began doing battle with my right eye,  a lot of rough pushing and pulling, painless but very active, not the delicate maneuvering you might expect.  Twice he called for towels.  I began to wish the anesthesiologist would pop some more of that soothing stuff into my IV.

Then Dr. Gladiator said, "Perfect!" and taped something over my eye, and I was wheeled to Recovery.  Ginger ale, soothing talk from a nurse, Jerry appearing with my handbag, and it was over.  I could walk, hurray!

But when I got home, I took off the bandage, per instructions, and saw double.  Not only double, but everything I could see out of the surgical eye was blurred and tipping. I had three hours of wondering why in the hell I'd let myself be mauled like that, only to end up half-blind and seasick.

Then all that passed, the doctor called and reassured me, and I began to see as I haven't seen since I was a kid.  Wow!  I can see a crisp rendition of my face without glasses, and it's a revelation.  I'm no longer a Girl Who Wears Glasses.  Maybe I could be a babe after all.    I gave up on all that when I was 10 and the school nurse tested and re-tested my eyes and decided I was near-sighted.  But now--glamor, elusive for decades, feels within reach.  Sort of.

Is this how Caitlyn Jenner feels?  She's reveling in it.  Too bad we're both 65, although she has enough money to buy her way to semi-youth, and I do not.  But I actually look better than I expected when surveyed with my new sharpened vision.  All things considered.

Here's a picture of the pre-babe me at the hairdresser's last week:

And here's a picture of me today, post-surgery and two short nights:

Sans glasses:  With a little concealer and some eye make-up?  Definitely babe material?

 In the meantime, it's all about eye drops:

Distinctly unglamorous.

Entertained and Educated by Anna Deavere Smith

Several years ago I noticed a police car parked outside Berkeley High School.  I thought, "What the hell?  Is there a riot or something?"

Daily at Berkeley High

Soon afterward, I saw one parked at Albany High School and another at El Cerrito High, and it slowly dawned on me that it's now routine in many American high schools to have a cop on campus during school hours.  But why?

Anna Deavere Smith, that remarkable actress/social commentator, whom I LOVE (have seen"Twilight Los Angeles, 1992," and "Let Me Down Easy" several times), has a work in progress at Berkeley Repertory Theater called, "Notes from the Field: Doing Time in Education,"  in which she explores what's going on with cops in schools.

Not good.  

It goes like this:  a kid acts up in high school (or middle school or even elementary school).   This could involve truancy, swearing at a teacher, scuffling with another student, excessive noise, loitering, or the catch-all  "disruptive behavior and willful defiance."  The kid is no longer sent to see the equivalent of Mr. Cunningham or Miss Williams, the Dean of Boys and Dean of Girls, respectively, when I was in high school, for a stern talking-to and perhaps a phone call to the parents.

Mr. Cunningham and Miss Williams, Del Mar High School, 1966
No encounter with them was good news, starting with skirt- and hair-lengths

In many schools, Mr. Cunningham/Miss Williams have been  replaced by police or armed "school resource officers"  who enforce zero-tolerance policies meant to keep schools free of violent crime (think Columbine).  Given that climate, the kid might be suspended, expelled, endure an involuntary transfer to another school, or be ticketed for a misdemeanor.  Some kids are arrested at school.  Many end up in court.


Of all the times I've seen Anna Deavere Smith perform, this is the work that brought me to tears.
African American children are now three times more likely to be suspended or expelled. Students with disabilities and LGBTQ kids are also suspended at higher rates.  Ditto Latino children and other children of color.

Acting out has become criminalized.  What are school administrators thinking?

Well.  There's no evidence that school safety has improved, even though many of these kids are shunted off to disciplinary alternative schools, to court,  to juvenile hall,  down the pipeline to jail for so many of them.

In  Act 1, Ms. Smith explores the school-to-prison pipeline that ends hope and opportunity for so many of these kids.  She interviewed educators, students, ex-students, prisoners, and politicians in Northern California, Baltimore, and Philadelphia, and she's woven those interviews into a heart-wrenching, damning exploration of how society has so often failed poor children of color.

Act 2 consists of audience groups meeting to discuss these issues.  My friend Suzanne and I were tempted to weenie-out and leave early (public speaking!), but we stuck with it.  My group was facilitated by an ultra-sensitive,  heavily tattooed young woman named "SK." 

We were given pads of paper, pens, Whole Foods animal cookies, and asked to express ourselves on two topics:  What we'd like the situation in schools to look like in ten years, and what we could do personally to help.  I said nothing, but I scribbled like mad.

Question 1:   First of all, no police on campus as a matter of course.  Schools  would become full-service facilities focussed on helping children and their families in a multitude of way, including mental health services, medical screening, food, and even clothing.  Society would recognize the limits of what teachers can do (oh, please!) and provide counselors and social workers and school nurses who would be assigned to children and their families.  Schools would become an all-purpose resource for the school community.

Question 2: Then SK asked what we could do personally to help, and all I could think of was getting out of my comfort zone and exposing myself to communities and cultures other than my own.   

Did I know about the school-to-prison pipeline before this performance?  No.  My volunteer work at the food pantry has helped me to see some of the  issues that face poor people who are not Caucasian or middle class.  It's been enlightening, chastening, and sad, but I could do more, and I hope I do.

Coming up:  There's hope!  Some school districts have come up with innovative solutions to combat this tendency to criminalize adolescent behavior, Oakland Unified  School District among them.

  

What Happened?

 Spotted on a telephone pole near my house on Saturday:

Black Lingerie, Glammy Armpits, & Quilt Update

Quilt finds new home!  Claudia M. put in the winning bid of $400 and wins the quilt.  It lives across the back of her new cream-colored (pale butter?) leather sofa.  Congratulations!  And the Berkeley Food Pantry thanks her, too.

 * * * * *

Yesterday Val, Anne, and I trekked over to Pt. Reyes/Inverness to celebrate Anne's 82nd birthday.   We went there for her last birthday, too, but the weather that day was vastly different--cold, windy, wear-fleece weather.

LAST YEAR

Chilly but we had a good time

THIS YEAR

The weather was perfect--warm, with a cooling breeze.

 The basking birthday girl

We ate lunch at Chicken Ranch Beach and marveled at how many off-leash dogs there were considering that there's a front-and-center sign saying that dogs must be on leash. Teeny dogs, big masterful dogs, and everything in between.  But that's beside the point.  Mostly, we chatted and watched people wade out into the calm waters of Tomales Bay.

Val, pondering and browning

After while, we hied ourselves up, carted our beach chairs to the car, and drove up a nearby hill to my friend Elisabeth's house, where we sat on her deck and gazed at the hypnotic view:

Well, not gazing right at that moment

I brought cupcakes from "Love at First Bite" in Berkeley.  (You don't think 8 cupcakes for 4 women are too many, do you?)

My gift to Anne: 100% cotton BLACK granny panties, which she insists on calling "lingerie."  Generally, she wears the Hanes 3-pack variety.  (The shop that sold me the new pair is "Beauty and Attitude."  Berkeley shop names.)

My dear pool compadres, Val and Anne

We drank iced Earl Grey tea with lemon and mint, more perfection.

Afterward, Elisabeth e-mailed me and said, "Such lovely ladies...It was so nice meeting Anne and Val today. They're so different from each other, but I love the friendly joshing and camaraderie among all of you."

Friendly joshing and camaraderie! Perfect description.

* * * * *

In today's New York Times Style Section, brought to my attention by Val:

No, those are not ink smudges in her armpits.  That's dyed hair.  Oh, yes. (Don't you feel old?  Do you even have enough available hair to do this?  I don't.)

The color above is "Voodoo Blue" by Manic Panic, in case you were wondering.  The model, Destiny Moreno, sees this as a feminist statement.

"Nobody questions when a guy wearing a tank top does a selfie that shows his armpit hair," she says. "But if I happen to show my armpit hair in a selfie, it's like, 'Whoa, feminist witch asking for attention.' "

You can go to a "pit-in" for group dyeing sessions in Seattle and Pensacola, or you can pay $65 in a salon. Or you can go to the "Free Your Pits" website and learn how to do it yourself.

There are lots of ways to make fun of this trend, but, honestly, I think these young women have a point.  Shaving your legs and armpits is a form of tyranny.  Erasing part of your body to make your appearance more mainstream, more acceptable per social norms, is not appealing in theory, although everyone I know goes with it in some way (haircuts? make-up? nail polish?)  Why not  "broaden the standard of beauty?" I get that.  But I'm too old.

I showed the picture to Jerry.

"I don't imagine you're thinking of doing that," he said. Nervously?  Warily?

It was almost enough to make me consider it.  In the abstract.  If I could.

Dept. of Domestic Chaos & Quilt Update

Quilt update:  Bidding stands at $400.  You have until noon tomorrow to bid.  More bids most welcome and  for a good cause (tax deductible contribution to the Berkeley Food Pantry).

* * * * *

Jerry's study on Sunday afternoon

This weekend was dedicated to a massive re-shuffling of STUFF.  As I mentioned earlier Jerry has to vacate his campus office (note: took possession in 1967), and guess what?  His study at home is not going to absorb it all.  No way.  Not even close.

We've cleaned out the basement so that some of it can go there.  I've come up with a handful of things I'm ready to part with via Craigslist, and on Saturday we lugged those items upstairs so I could photograph them against something more attractive than basement chaos:

 Now parked in the entryway: Relics from my Chintz Period, before I took up quilting and had no room for them in my studio.

Clutter in the living room:  Amish Nursing Rocker (left), a rust-colored chair of indeterminate period (center), and floor lamp with substitute (teetering) shade.  Destination:  Craigslist and then to the curb.

After two days of work, this is what the basement looks like:

 

Won't last:  Center of the room is destined to become a parking place for file cabinets

 

These seem to proliferate.  How many do we need?

 Jerry's getting his mind around dispensing with his "logo golf ball collection."  Similar collections for sale on e-bay, would you believe?

Ordinarily, I stay out of Jerry's professional life, all aspects--including organization.  But this move threatens to take over the house.

On the other hand, look what I've done to the dining table:

 Asian porcelain that my dad collected, which my sister and I are hoping to sell at auction.

My goal this week:  To get rid of some of this stuff, somehow, somewhere.

Still Married



 

July 9, 1977

March 31, 2015
Bored witless on a cruise ship in the Gulf of Mexico

Received at breakfast this morning


* * * * *

Update:  Quilt bidding now stands at $400.  Bidding ends next Tuesday at noon.

Quilt bid now: $400
Thank you~!

A Quilt, Anyone?

 

I just finished stitching the binding on this quilt and debating whether to keep it for myself (fits the couch!).  But no, it's up for auction and ready for a new home.  The colors are richer than either of two cameras manage to convey.  Here's another try:

Over the banister--still a tad over-exposed

As in the past, proceeds will benefit the Berkeley Food Pantry.  The winner will make out a check directly to the Pantry and get the tax deduction.

The quilt is 51" x 72", ideal for someone lying on a couch.  Here's how it fits on my own:

Lengthwise on an 84" sofa

The fabrics are 100% cotton and machine-washable; all are pre-washed.

Here's the back:

 

And some detail of Angie Woolman's machine-quilting:

Waves (above) and boxes (below)

 

It's a larger quilt than I've auctioned off in the past, so how about an opening bid of $100?  You can bid on Facebook, in the Comments Box here, or by e-mail.  Winner to be announced July 14.

Since 2013, blog readers have contributed $1200 to the Pantry in these auctions.  Yay for us!

Next Stop: The Curb

Can I interest anyone in a mirror?  Completely, one hundred percent FREE:

Stats:  27" wide
          31-1/4" high
          1-3/4" deep
          18 pounds (hangs on a sturdy picture hook)

Finish:  Gold, distressed

If you're interested, let me know.