What am I Worth?

My first husband insisted on taking over our financial planning, and on being responsible for the bills. Within three years, my credit was trashed. When creditors started calling me at work because the bills weren't being paid, despite the fact that we were both making good money and our checking account balance was always adequate to meet our needs, I started looking over his shoulder.

Some bills had large credit balances (they had been paid more than once monthly) while others were long past due. He had no system to tell him when things were due or how much he had paid on a given bill last month. He would pay things electronically and not record payments and not detach the pay stub, so he had no record of having paid something.
When we split up, he didn't have a job (hadn't had one for nearly a year) so I gave him my car because it was already paid off. I took the truck, which would be more useful to me. The credit union told him that I could just open a new account and transfer the loan to the new account in only my name. They lied. When I went down there this past February, they told me I would have to reapply for this loan. I filled in the paperwork and was turned down because my credit was not good enough. This was cause for much bitter fuming on my part.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, I got a credit card offer in the mail. It was for a Working Assets card, and I like Working Assets. I have my long distance and my cell phone through them and they've always been very good to me. The rate was good, the interest was good, it all looked good. I decided to apply. The worst they could do was confirm what the credit union told me - my credit sucks and they'd rather not risk it. I was totally prepared for that news.

I applied over the phone. When you do this, you have the option of receiving an answer immediately and if you qualify, being told what your credit limit will be. I gave them my application and not only did they approve me, the woman I spoke to told me my credit was "great," and they gave me an obscene credit limit. I was, and still am, in shock. The cards came last night, and the credit limit is even higher than the astronomical figure I was originally given.

Okay, I know that it's only money. I know that these people don't know anything about what kind of person I am or the kinds of choices I make that are not financial. I've never particularly valued stuff more than, say, family or friends. But I just have to say that it feels really damn good to know that all the hard work I've put into getting back on track financially has been recognized.

Oh well. Call me shallow.

Only in My Life

We had a little tuxedo cat named Fox. About three months ago, Fox abandoned us. She'd taken off before. Sometimes a week, sometimes two. And then she'd come back looking contrite and hungry and very flea-ridden.
This time was different. She was just gone. We saw her once about a month ago, sitting on the lap of another kid, looking pretty happy. We gave her up in our hearts. What can you do? It's not for me to say what makes her happy.
We gave up and got another cat. This one is totally different. An indoor-only cat. A big he-man tomcat. A big, redheaded roughhouser. He's been at our house a couple of weeks now and it was high time he was caught up on his shots. I made an appointment at the vet, and this morning (with no small difficulty) loaded him into his crate. I was walking back up the driveway when I saw Fox. She was sitting in the driveway looking as guilty as someone who's been away for three months without calling and who then shows up hungry at your doorstep looks.
I picked her up (she let me!) and brought her inside. She ate like she hadn't eaten the entire time she'd been gone. She talked the entire time she was wolfing down the kitty food. As I drove to work, I thought about what was going to happen when I got these two crazy kids together.
I picked up the redhead and the vet said "He's groggy and will likely be very grouchy. Do you have any other animals in the house?" My instant reaction was "Another cat." "Well, keep them apart. He's going to smell like strange cats, and the one at home won't like it."
But wait. He is a strange cat to the one at home. I didn't say anything to the vet because it just sounded so far-fetched and lame.
So, we've been going back and forth between him and her, petting one, petting the other. So that when they finally lay eyes on each other, it's not like it'll be a surprise.
Still waiting for his sedation to wear off...

Martha Stewart Got Nothing On Me

Made pumpkin empanadas with jalapeño jelly. The pumpkin came from our yard, the jalapeño jelly from last year's preserves.
Strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert.
This after having completed two kid's books that I had written with my girls and having sent them down to an illustrator. We'll see how far those go.
Gosh. Next I might crochet a cozy for my motorcycle.

It's Getting Cold

This is a soup that the Pirate and I created together out of the things we love best. It's different every time I make it because I always have different stuff coming out of the garden, but below is the basic recipe that never changes.

Co-Prosperity Sphere Sweet Potato and Hominy Soup
(The Taste of Prosperity!)
1 large sweet potato, cut into 3/4" cubes
1 large onion, cubed
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 T. olive oil
2 large cans whole peeled tomatoes
1 can white hominy
1 can green enchilada sauce
2 cans chopped green chiles (NOT jalapenos)
1 can red kidney beans
1 can sweet corn
1 T. oregano

Open all the cans and have them ready. In a large stock pot (and I mean large - at least 4 gallons), lightly saute the onion and garlic for about a minute. They onions do not have to be translucent. Dump everything else into the pot (pour the juice in with the veggies) and cook over medium heat until the sweet potatoes are soft. Add more water if it's not soupy enough. Cook longer if it's too soupy. Makes a shitload.

Fresh ingredients (tomatoes, corn, beans, oregano, homemade sauce) can be substituted for any of the canned ingredients. Other lovely additions: chickpeas or black beans, zucchini, ground meat, chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, carrots, white potatoes, TVP, cilantro, cumin, persimmons, winter squash. The proportions are inexact and can be played with at will.

Serve with hot, fresh corn bread and be very happy.

Eye of the Hurricane

The Pirate and I were inventorying the preserves last night, seeing what more we can make now to put up for winter. We'll have pumpkins soon, and I'll cook and puree them and freeze the meat for soup and stuff during the cold.
I started reflecting on the fact that three years ago, my life was constantly on fire. I had a new baby, a husband who was an active force of entropy in my life, a foster son who was bound and determined to make me pay for his family's sins, a job that was under near-constant threat and an ex-husband whose new wife hated me for ever having known him, let alone having had a kid with him. Ninety percent of my time was spent putting out fires of one kind or another, and the other ten percent was spent looking with longing at all of my friends and thinking "they're not this messed up. They don't have these problems."
Three years later I have a stable, secure job, two beautiful children, a new husband who's an active and capable life partner and nobody whose crises directly impact my life in a negative way. I'm finally looking up from my own life and thinking "My friends are a lot more messed up than I had ever realized."
The whole thing makes me a little sad. I wish that everyone could feel about their lives the way that I feel about mine - that their lives mean something, that they're moving in a good direction, that if you close your eyes and breathe for a minute, nothing bad will happen to you.
I want that for all my friends.

But What Does It Mean?

Yesterday, I took my riding suit into the ladies' room as I do every day. I went into the giant handicapped stall and was busy swapping my jeans for my riding pants when I realized that there were footprints.
I felt almost Robinson Crusoe-like staring at them. Footprints. In the ladies' room.

The footprints were tiny and indistinct, as though they had been made either by someone on tiptoe or a tiny little uncoordinated kid. The commode itself was clean, with a couple of drops of water on the seat (it's no surprise, as the toilets here flush with a Shakespearean vehemence - full of sound and fury and signifying nothing), but the footprints were muddy. And they were only around the commode itself, the furthest being perhaps 18 inches away. They didn't go out the door, or anywhere, really.

The only thing that keeps me from asking someone here who might be in a position to know is that I'm afraid that the truth will be much less interesting than the horrors that my mind is imagining.

Some Surpirse Love

Moved the cat from the baby's room into the living room.

This operation involved cleaning out one of the cat carriers and putting the cat's towel into it, then going into the Baby's room with a long plastic stick and gently poking the cat until he realized that the carrier was a good alternative. No, I'm not dumb enough to actually reach my hand under the bedside table after him.

Put the carrier next to the television in the living room, where he has access to the secluded kingdom of "Behind the TV." It's quiet there, since the tv is freaking huge and nobody can get to that five or six square feet of space, and the tv is never on. Opened the carrier door, put a dish of food and one of water near him and a blanket over the carrier so he'd feel safe and left him alone.

When the Baby came home, of course she wanted to meet the new kitty, but the Pirate came out of the kitchen and showed her his battle-damaged hand (trust me, it looks positively gruesome). I warned her that he wasn't ready to play just yet, and she was convinced by the Pirate's wounds that it would be wise to leave well enough alone. The Pirate mentioned that he was happy to be an object lesson for the children.

Once we were all firmly ensconced in our beds with the bedroom doors closed, the cat was on the move. A couple of times I could hear him digging at the carpet but a quick warning made him stop. He had been trying to get into the Baby's room and was outraged at being unable to do so. This morning when I got up, he was outside my bedroom door, and the minute I opened it he came in and was all over me as though I were his long-lost best friend. He allowed himself to be loved and petted, although he did make himself scarce once the girls were up.

Honestly, I hadn't expected him to make a public appearance for a week or more. I was ready to wait. I think this is a good sign.

One of Those Days

Wow. I woke up in the best mood. Woke up at about the time I'm normally pulling into the office, snuggled up closer to the Pirate, went back to sleep for another hour.
Got up and ran a couple of errands before Peaches had to be at a noon birthday party. Walked her over to the birthday party in the beautiful sunshine, walked back with the Pirate, holding hands and laughing.
Went to the Gem Show in San Mateo to replace the emerald in my wedding ring with something less brittle. Emeralds are very hard, but because all natural emeralds have inclusions, they are brittle, and because this particular emerald is huge, it's scary to think of wearing it all the time. We found a stone that's birefringent (or doubly refractive - they mean the same thing) and so is both a deep emerald green and a brilliant amethyst purple. And occasionally deep blue. Then we rode our motorcycles home, giving the sign to all the other bikers on the road - and there seemed to be zillions. It was a gorgeous day for it.
We came home and made amazing salsa and hung out with Peaches eating chips, watching a terrible movie and grooving on the family thing.
The only down side is that the Pirate couldn't leave well enough alone. We are lucky enough to have been blessed with a new addition to the family. He's a fully grown marmalade cat, formerly belonging to the lovely and talented . He was a frisky boy to begin with, apparently, but the Pirate decided to try giving him the tour of the house before he was really ready for it. He was still pretty attached to being in the baby's closet. It's gonna be a few days, I think, before he's really thoroughly toured the inside of the baby's closet and is ready to broaden his horizons to, say, behind the desk in my office. The upshot is that the Pirate tried picking him up, and this is a cat who does not take being picked up lightly. The Pirate came out the loser on this deal, I think.

The Long and Winding Weekend

The weekend was supposedly a day longer. I never felt it.
As I get older, it seems like time isn't just slipping by me. It's running away, faster than I can possibly catch it. Everything takes longer than I anticipate. I stop by the office for an hour, and leave four hours later. I sit down to write for 15 minutes, and an hour later I realize that I haven't started the next chore I was supposed to do. And the only time things stand still is when something bad happens, and the bad thing seems to last forever.