Family

I sometimes compare my family to that of the fictional movie "The Royal Tenenbaums." This isn't intended to be insulting in any way.  There are just so many shades/varieties of family involved in my extended Super-Blend.  It may sound strange, but I enjoy this Super-Blend even when things are difficult to navigate.

It is easy to lose touch with even the closest family members as an adult.  Further, I have found that you learn a lot about things in the past the more you listen to family as an adult.  With this combination of familial dynamics (a truly full awareness of my own role as an active family listener), discretion finally becomes the better part of being a daughter, grand-daughter, niece, cousin, step, and shirttail relative.  The responsibility on my part to actively connect becomes the priority.  Connection requires work, and therefore, keeping my own counsel remains the best way to work smarter in this regard, and not harder.

Quite a lot of home-grown wisdom exists to the affect of "Be still." Being in the moment and receptive to that moment creates the maximum opportunity to connect--to learn--to understand.

An introvert rarely needs to be told to be still.  But Being in the Moment can be difficult.  So many socially difficult situations are made worse by existing expectations. Examining the assumptions we travel with (and see the world through) is easier suggested than done.

"The Royal Tenenbaums" shows such an artistic, clean-cut set of complicated familial/emotional patterns of interaction.  Since the movie is stylized in a manner similar to a play, the examples are shown from multiple angles without slowing the rhythm of the piece.  The beautifully sad moments run counterpoint to little notes of happiness and hope.  The anger of a sibling or of offspring underlines the overall message that everyone in and around the family wants to be accepted and loved.  Everyone wishes to be heard, to be understood.

I see my family in clearer definition now more than ever, but still through the lens of my own assumptions.  It is the way that I love and appreciate each and every one of them.  I have many thoughts that are ultimately not worth the potential damage to communicate.  The beauty of having such a Super-Blend is that most times, I don't have to communicate verbally when our shared history is (by its very nature) so self-explanatory.

Life is complex, but love is simple.

Hamster Hands

When it comes to being excited and happy, most people have some form of "tell." The spouse of a dear college friend chews on his lip.  One of my stepsons flaps his arms.  I get "hamster hands."

What are hamster hands?  I'll tell you. 

When I was little, my sister and I had a number of rodent pets.  I noticed that when rodents checked things out or got excited, they would put their little paws together and perch on two legs.  Their little eyes would check out the situation, the little whiskers and nose would twitch in the air.  In my estimation, that was the coolest expression of excitement.  Rabbits do something similar.  Cats use their tails and ears to express excitement, but I have neither rotating ears nor extended spine.

What started as a childhood affectation (a rudimentary way to get quick acknowledgment in a very busy family) became second nature.  There are photos from my wedding where you can clearly see me doing the Hamster-Hand-Thing.  Trust me when I say that it's no longer a conscious movement.


I get excited = I grin widely and put up my little paws.

This week I have to fight hard *not* to put my paws up.  I'm excited.  I'm super excited.  I'm over the moon!  I get to see Brady (my older stepson) this weekend.  I get to see my mom and my stepdad.  I've accepted a new job with a fancy new title. 

I'm quietly letting go of the sheer amount of pressure that I felt not two weeks ago.

Be well, fellow Introverts.

Enchanted World Books

Due to a variety of fun medical issues, I spent a great deal of my formative years in a fog of medication.  Although it is fair to say that this is not a blanket excuse for some markedly interesting social behavior during those years, it certainly goes a fair distance in explaining quite a few things.  My comment to a close family member in regards to the impact of this time period:  "Imagine being on a bad trip (or simply blotto) for ten years.  You remember things, but aren't sure whether some of them actually happened."

Not all of the impact of the fog was "bad." This cloud or fog of medication during my youth provided a unique opportunity to develop a very rich internal life.  Poetry, art, and all things philosophical have been a mainstay of my existence since I was around six years old.

When I'm working on analysis of a new budget, or when I'm cooking a feast for extended family, I will sometimes vacation in my rich Internal Life.  My mother recently laughed after listening to me mutter and sing to myself in the kitchen.  She shared a distant memory of me singing a song about how I would never know all the things in the world (a travesty!).  My husband Romeyn knows that I like to be left to my own devices when I'm "vacationing" like this--he's extremely Introvert Friendly!

With this in mind, my family's acquisition of the Time/Life "Enchanted World" books led to an intense obsession with fairy tales and mythology when I was young.  I loved every minute reading these books--even the ones that were super scary.  I was very, very good at "reliving" or "replaying" things in my mind (stories, experiences, music).  I would imagine myself as a fairy secreted away in a tree.  Blades of grass became huge forests in which little people sang, and danced.  I peered into "Jack in the Pulpit" flowers and imagined hiding away, vouchsafed within the plant with one petal as a tiny roof overhead.  Children today have iPods and toys that interact directly with them.  I had simple toys, my imagination, books, and the great outdoors.

The immensity of what the "Enchanted World" books provided for me during such an interesting time of my life is exactly what prevents me from donating them individually or selling them off to be read by someone else.  I've reached out to our public library and offered to donate them as a unit, to be kept and read as a group until they fall apart.

We'll see whether this is an option.  I sincerely hope so!

To Donna Karan, et al:

Under-dressing does not constitute implied consent.

I don't recommend walking around in your skivvies, ladies.  However, it is curious to me that someone female walking around in their skivvies is seen as "asking for it" whereas someone in a two piece at the beach (sometimes even less fabric than the former) is not.

I like to shop conservative clothing sites (because most of it is darn comfortable), but it should be socially acceptable for me to wear whatever I want.  My clothing should not automatically reflect my preferences, politics, or desires.  It is clothing.  It's simply something to wear.

A few college friends of mine completed their senior choreography concert in the nude as a method of proving the non-sexuality of nakedness for the sake of nakedness.  I thoroughly agree with the concept.  There is some highly personal sharing going on when you walk around in the nude, but to automatically sexualize it seems perverse.

Around 2005, an elderly man was found in downtown Seattle, walking completely in the nude.  I don't believe that it made the news...folks helped him out pretty quickly.  I was there...and worried like the people around me.  The man required assistance, but no one seemed to sexualize his nudity as a matter of course.

The hyper-sexualization of female nudity must be responsible for the ridiculous double-standard regarding nipples. I'm a huge fan of the breast.  They're awesome from stem to stern.  But WHY is it unacceptable for a woman to bare her breast to feed an infant in public?  Odds are, you were breastfed too.  Aside from the biological purpose of the breast, the primary (outwardly) physical difference between male and female breasts is simply a matter of average fat surrounding the mammary gland.  Neither of these factors is objectively sexual.  The determining factor in whether a breast is provocative resides in societal norms.

Now, I am a fan of dressing appropriately for the occasion (for example, I like to leave revealing shirts at home when I'm expected to run a business meeting).  However, consider the double standard in play when it is hot outside.  A man wears what is basically a tank top and short shorts...he's dressing comfortably for a casual jog in the park.  A woman wears what is basically a tank top and short shorts, she's usually considered under-dressed for that same jog.

I repeat:  Under-dressing does not constitute implied consent.

The argument that any woman who is under-dressed is "asking for it" assumes that men cannot control themselves and would likely copulate with anything whatsoever so long as they could get away with it.  That type of mentality takes the double standard of "Boys will be boys" to a point of absurdity.  Further, the concept is universally sexist.

I don't pretend to be the authority on what all *might* constitute consent under different circumstances.  However, to me, it is fairly obvious that we need to take a sharp look at our societal norms and what these norms communicate about self-value.  Violence is not an acceptable response to nudity.

What's Wrong

The simple question "What's Wrong?" can indicate an entire world of meaning--the tone can mean "What the (blank) is wrong with you????!!!!" all the way up to "I want to know why you're sad/angry/etc. so that I can help!"

When we ask people or when people ask us how they're doing ("How ya doing?"  "How are you?" "What's new?"), a true answer is rarely expected and rarely given.

When I ask you what's wrong or what's new, I want you to know that as an Introvert, I'm really interested in the answer.  I rarely just ask...because frankly, the social convention of "just asking" turns my stomach.  (Really???  Asking a question of another human being when you don't have to do so?????)

Be well, fellow Introverts.

Day Nine of Nine Was Just Fine

I often wonder how anyone manages to stay relaxed after a vacation.  Yesterday, I had my feet up and my book out.  I finished a few more projects around the house and I did the shopping for the week.

I returned today with an inbox of 176 messages, a project left on my chair and another one in the works.  Last night, I woke in the middle of the night in the middle of a panic attack--night-sweats, palpitations, pain--the works.

I'm not complaining--my body is malfunctioning, which I already knew prior to my vacation.  I just need to regain that sense of Zen and move forward with the good work that I actually do enjoy (contrary to what may be believed...).

Ohhhmmmmmmmm...

Day Eight of Nine: Homestead

Today, I completed several projects around the house. Two kitties pitched in where they could (or at least successfully distracted their human).  I am blissed out on Home.

Day Seven of Nine: (Insert DS9 Reference Here)

It is my last day at camp for this trip, and I am fairly relaxed.   I'm planning on going home after dinner this evening.  I'm leaving two days in advance of Kyle and Romeyn so that I can get settled in, do the cleaning, the grocery shopping, and spend some time with the kitties before the work week.

Romeyn and I are getting a few things set up at our lawyer's office today.  I'm not a huge fan of thinking about the worst case scenario, but it is necessary to plan just in case.  We are making sure that our wills are up to date, et cetera.

It is a gorgeous day outside.  Here's hoping for a nice boat ride later this afternoon!

Day Six of Nine: There's Paint, And Then There's Paint

I completed a portrait of the Best Cat (Tobey the Wondercat) today.  It is destined for my mother's house.  Before you rail at me for ruining the surprise, please note that I already had sent a photo of the completed project to my mother (minus some minor cosmetic changes and my initials in the corner) at around 4PM today.

Tobey was this amazing creature who could sulk at you and still inspire great loving gestures from all of the humans in his life.  He died recently.  Like most of the recent departures in my life, it was due to cancer.  I am a part of Relay for Life every year as a result of the continued impact of cancer on my loved ones, near and far and large and small.

On a completely separate note, I have received my starter kit for Avon.  I'm now a representative for the "other" type of paint.  I figured it out recently--I order from Avon near-monthly, I should be an online representative at the very least.  My mother in law and sister in law have been looking through the sample case that arrived by post and the brochures for the most current "campaign" (16, ends around 7/17/17).  The samples are wonderful.  I splurged on the most expansive set of samples and full sizes due to my own druthers (if I'm going to try this, might as well exploit the discount I receive and maximize my own benefit).

If you're actually interested, the site is: amandaprescott.avonrepresentatives.com.  Yes, I will deliver to you.

I am the lady of paints.  I don't particularly care how that sentence is interpreted, because I love dealing in both makeup and paint.

Be well, fellow Introverts.

Day Five of Nine: Party Like a Prescott

As an Introvert, it is difficult sometimes to mingle with others (even in familial situations).

Tonight was a singularly memorable party at Diana and Greg's house out on what can only be referred to as a Prescott estate (parsed out over time to joint usage, but historically kept in the family).  We ate excellent food and chatted with people who weren't just interested in discussion of the weather.  They were fascinating!

It wasn't a distinct lack of small talk that made my evening so wonderful.  It was, in fact, a complete and utter absence of small talk!  

I mingled with impunity.

Day Four of Nine: The Long Dark Search for Seltzer

Romeyn and I are huge consumers of seltzer.  Yes, yes--it's bad for your teeth over a long enough timeline of heavy consumption.  We are not bathing in it...we just like the taste (and for zero calories, we'll take it).

My mother in law and I did some laundry up at the house while my father in law and Romeyn checked out the newest malfunction in my poor beleaguered station wagon ("Millie" for "The Millennium Falcon").  Meanwhile, I went on several unfruitful forays (Seltzer-Seeking) into town on foot, hoping madly to run into that coveted beastie, the multi-pack of seltzer.

During these forays, I learned several interesting things:
1. Pepsi now has a "fireball" flavor variant.
2. Fanta comes in a blue "berry" flavor of which I was previously unaware.
3. Vendors are particularly personable on major holidays.  I'd imagine that having a customer come in breaks up the monotony of being alone behind the till when other stores are closed.

Eventually, I gave up and settled upon a mass-purchase of individually sold bottles of Perrier.  Now, back to my quiet day of reading by the lake...

Day Three of Nine: The Long Walk

Port Douglass Road is a winding thoroughfare with many houses dotted along the sidelines.  Walking its entire length from camp to town and then from town to camp is one of the joys of my summer.  Eight miles and three albums of walking music later, my feet are sore but my watch is very happy (1,030 calories out of a 500 calorie activity goal for today).

Day Two of Nine: Don't Panic, Sleep

I awoke at 3AM with heart pounding, unable to calm down.  I read a little and attempted to slow my breathing, to no avail.   At 3:30, I sat downstairs listening to the waves.  At 3:45, I finally gave up and tried my new on the spot panic attack medicine.  Almost eight hours later, I woke from the most restful sleep I have had in weeks.  Well played, modern medicine.  Well played.

Day One of Nine: Lake Champlain

The quiet, steady susurrating waves of Lake Champlain are our welcoming committee to Camp.  A delicate scent tinges them - the bouquet of lake life (both flora and fauna).

I've brought my ukulele and myriads of art supplies.  Today is Canada Day, and nature has decided to celebrate with additional rumblings of thunder and flashes of light.

I am grateful for the moment.  I am here with the waves.  I am celebrating with the thunder.  I am present at Camp.

Sometimes Home is On The Road

Romeyn and I are on the road to Westerville, Ohio.  Quintin and Darren have agreed to watch the cats for us, and give them not only food and water, but quality attention.  I have set the extended-absence response in my work email account.  My black dresses and black shoes are packed up.  We've been on the road since seven in the morning, and we're not due to arrive for another few hours.

I've spent the last few weeks coping with a great number of changes in my life, up to and including the enormous Uncle Jim shaped hole in the world.  He and I were like oil and water when I was little--past-me, a tiny liberal--him, not so much.  Romeyn is more or less the reason why we got along so well over the past almost-decade.  Nothing gives you a better appreciation for your family like the relatively unbiased viewpoint of someone meeting them for the first time.  Romeyn and I had only been going out for a month or so before he met most of my extended family on my mom's side.

Uncle Jim was a good man.  He was skilled in metal-work, he was well-read and outspoken in his views in a uniquely Uncle-Jim kind of way.  He reminded me of my Grandfather Houf (Waldo Emerson Houf, or "Popie") in more than a few ways.  The expectations of gender-roles prevalent during his childhood did not bar him from self-expression, and I admired that greatly.

I'm reading a book right now about how to care less about everything, but I won't care less about Uncle Jim. 

Rest in peace, old man.  You are missed forever.

A Silver Lining in a Storm Cloud

Memories are such an integral part of who we are because they are the underlying filters through which we view the world.  My choices are informed by my experiences.  If I can't remember those experiences, it is as if the experiences did not exist. 

I firmly believe that this is why ailments such as Alzheimer's are so devastating.  The person that you knew disappears in part, or parts.  The person that you were changes, becomes childlike, innocent, but unaware of current events and past formative experiences.

There are entire sections of my life that I do not remember because of the amount of Epilepsy medications and the combinations/types of those medications that were prescribed.  I am not ungrateful for the medical assistance.  My life was dependent on those medications.  I was lucky enough to see the disappearance of Epileptic activity in my brain by the age of 15.

There are times now when I remember bits and pieces of the truths of those years (six to fifteen years of age), including some bad things that I did, or were done to me, or both.  It is tempting to spiral into contemplation of those things, even though the meds gave me so many years of unsuspecting and admittedly blissful unawareness.

As an adult, with a balanced worldview including time spent far, far away from home--I'm glad that I did not remember these things as a child, or a young adult.   I was not ready to handle the shift of worldview.  Knowing what I know now, I am able to navigate some of the fallout of harder times and move through those recovered memories in a way that is healthy. 

Most of this type of navigation - moving through the events and dynamics of our pasts in order to get to a healthier present - is not precisely about "getting over it." Working through any part of our histories is about getting through the new data, using it to inform our choices in a way that is also new.

I work with data every day - some has positive impacts and some has negative impacts.  The important thing is to keep working, no matter the implication of the subject matter at hand.  Be present in the moment, and give your best effort to living a life of integrity.

Be well, fellow Introverts.

An Open Letter to Donald Trump

Dear Mr. President-Elect,

                Unlike many of my colleagues, family members and friends, I do not challenge your right to assume the role of President, as the Electoral College did cast the majority of their votes for you.

                As a patriot and a government-worker myself, I hold the office of the President in the highest regard.  I have even argued that every President of The United States has done at least one good thing for policy and for the public good during their tenure.  I have been called a bad liberal for believing such things, but when you are in the thick of public service, you get a much different perspective than the lobbyists on both sides of the aisle have the luxury of maintaining.

                With this in mind, and retaining the highest of respect for the office of the Commander in Chief, I implore you be vigilant, concerned, patient, and kind.  Please do not start wars during your tenure as President.  Please do not make birth control prohibitively expensive.  Please try your best to encourage the public’s esteem.  Do good works.  Assuming that we only have this one life to do the best that we possibly can—do the best that you can and be the best President that you possibly can be.  Whether Republican or Democrat, Liberal or Conservative, there is an expectation (a reasonable one) that while one is President, one should try their best to be above reproach.

                I work with finances, and so almost every day my numbers are subject to discussion—base assumptions change, expectations change.  If I took challenges, corrections, or opposition to my work personally and vented any number of reactions to these on Twitter, my job would be in jeopardy.   This is as it should be.  Public administration (whether protected by Civil Service laws or not) is the art of working with others to arrive at solutions to public problems.  Working with others is key.  I can do irreparable damage to my reputation if I do not keep that in mind.  A measure of decorum is necessary, and it is a sacrifice to provide that decorum.  Maintenance of decorum attributable to your position is the sacrifice that you are (at least minimally) agreeing to make when you step into The Office of The President of The United States.

                I can completely understand the drive to go the opposite direction – after all, your persona during the election season was a brash and outspoken candidate who breaks the rules and comes close to throwing out the rule-book.

                I have faith that you can find a middle ground to soldier ahead in the role of President without needling your public on Twitter.  We as a country need to know that you will work for all of us, not punish us for exercising the right to free speech.  Not everyone is destined to be a President.  The rules that will now apply to you are so much stricter than the rules for the rest of America.  Be worthy of the office.  Be my President, too.

Best regards,

Amanda C. Prescott, MPA

Simplify, Part III

Sometimes, I am told that I am a quiet person.  Now, as an Introvert, it's no secret that quiet-time is WONDERFUL for my mental health and overall sense of well-being.  However, most of the time, I have the capability to be loud, strange, and fun.  Just ask my stepsons...many is the time that they've blinked at me in horror and amusement while I invented new dance steps to peppy classical music or (the absolute horror!!!) pop songs.

In a fabulously globalized and connected world, there are times when it's simply best to keep "Shields at 100%, Captain!" Publicly (specifically in mixed company instead of with close friends), a more subdued (but still open and honest) persona emerges.  Shields are a boon to an Introvert.  It's become so socially acceptable to be in a state of constant and personal offense.  An offended state of mind is very exhausting to maintain, especially for an Introvert.

Triggers abound, trust me.  I've made no secret of the fact that I have PTSD from a time in my life that was very, very, very difficult.  I just don't publicly discuss the details (no one really needs that, and it's my business to discuss).  However, I'm hardly alone in the PTSD boat.  My Introvert Shields help with the challenges associated with sensitivity to triggers, as do the medication and counseling that constitute Part II of my PTSD-related Introvert self-care.

The simplest solution is best for me.  If I am quiet, it doesn't mean I'm offended or even unfriendly.  Sometimes, the shields go up so that I can maintain and thrive in an Extroverted world that has not been and should not be censored for my protection.

Be well, fellow Introverts.

Simplify, Part II

This morning, due to the wonderful (simpler) new 'do, I had a bit more time with kitties and books.  After reading time was over, I also had a bit of a quandary...all of my "greatest hits" clothing was in the laundry bin.  We've all been there.   Clothing, clothing, everywhere...but not an outfit to be had.

I decided to jump into the fray with a simpler attitude--I went shopping in my own closet.  Since not everything fits (some too big, some too small), it was frustrating but ultimately fun to find the little surprises in the corners of our walk-in closet.  I wound up with a daisy cut-out skirt, a bright teal sweater (with matching necklace), and suede boots.  It feels fantastic, fits well, and I even got a compliment on the outfit on my way to work today. 

This is all part of my effort to SIMPLIFY so that I can keep the Introvert Time flowing...

Simplify

This past month, I realized that my long hair took about an hour and a half to air-dry.  Blow-dryers are terribly noisy and uncomfortable, but the air-drying was becoming onerous--one shower, and suddenly I was "grounded" in this lovely wintry weather.

Of course, the next thought I had was, "Maybe it's time to go short again."  The difficulty with really short hair is that when you are overweight, it highlights lovely things like a mini-roll of fat on the back of the neck.  So...I needed comfort, simplicity (to air dry, perchance to avoid hair products!!), and volume.  Google was the answer.

Google Search Term:  "Short hairstyles for fat faces."
Results:  Soooooooooooo many results!

I even found a lovely website where you could upload your chubby visage and superimpose different hairstyles on top of your particular face.  That was wicked amounts of fun, because the highs were high, and the lows were...well...disturbingly Trump-like (hilarious).

I took the best results to Sarah Tebo.  Sarah, the best hairstylist I've found in Potsdam to date, executed a lovely cut that is part bob, and part pixie.  It's a bixie!

All I have to do is wash, towel-dry, and get moving.  The more tousled it gets, the more voluminous (and pretty) the style gets.  This is particularly wonderful at the gym, where I used to cuss quietly at the little bobby-pins that fell out while I used the elliptical.  For fancy occasions, a headband, perhaps with a flower on the side.

This movement towards simplicity is something I've attempted in the name of keeping my sanity during a time of extreme transitions.  My mentor has retired after a long, illustrious career.  I have reached the sandwich generation (in which you worry about the kiddos AND your parents).  I'm using reading glasses (dubbed "cheaters" if you're unfamiliar with the lingo).  Simplification allows for fewer worries and a faster morning routine...which enables me to have wonderful Introvert Time with my books and my kitties before hitting the road.

Be well, fellow Introverts.