Life with Son 1

It's been three months, more or less, since Son 1 moved into my apartment — not that he's tied here (he visits Wife from time to time, especially when I travel) but this is his default residence as he looks for work. And it's been long enough I can notice some patterns.

The most obvious one is that he has completely taken over making dinner; this also means that, with only rare exceptions, he has taken over doing the dishes. I know that Wife puts the boys to doing all her housework when they stay there; so at first I resisted this change (to be unlike her), and argued that I was treating the boys like guests by doing things for them. But Son 1 has argued that it only makes sense for him to cook since he has his day free while I'm at work; also, he adds, I pay for all the groceries so it's kind of fair to ask him to do something. A third factor, less often discussed, is that his tastes are more restricted than mine. I'm usually fine with anything he makes, but the reverse is not reliably true. So I figure it's better to let him cook for that reason too. 

Naturally I pay more in groceries for two than for one, not only for simple arithmetical reasons but because we are more likely to have regular meals (at least for dinner) when it is the two of us together. And I buy a lot more beer than I used to, although perhaps a little less in the way of spirits. (And less variety ... but Son 1 likes scotch, so I usually get that.) 

But what I find most striking is the level of conversation. In the past, when he visited only for holidays, we talked endlessly about school, about politics, about funny stories. But now ... it's a little bit like it used to be with my dad, only without the sense of prurient menace that I always felt underlying those conversations. What I mean is that Son 1 is always ready to talk, and I'm not. Of course he spends his day alone, and that starves him of company. (That's why he visits Wife if I'm gone for a week.) So when I get home he is ready to interact, even as I am often looking for refuge from the day. 

Or when I come home from a trip, he asks right away "How was your trip? Did work go well? Any funny stories?" Meanwhile I am going through a very precise and unchanging regimen of unpacking my suitcase and my backpack, putting everything away, emptying my pockets, and then lying down to rest. I'm always having to tell him, "I'll catch up with you in a couple of minutes." 

This morning I mentioned a concert this afternoon that I might like to go to. Well I had to do my laundry first, and I spent way too much time on my phone checking Twitter. By the time mid-afternoon came around I got my hat and got ready to leave — Son 1 asked, "Are you going to the concert now?" — and I just stood there for a minute or two. Finally I decided No. I went back into my room without saying anything, and took a nap instead. Yes, I enjoyed the nap. I probably needed it more than I needed the concert. But what struck me was how hard it was for me to say anything about what I was doing. 

The one time that's really not true is when I've been drinking. I'm much more sociable then, or I think I am. This doesn't necessarily mean that I drink more than when I live alone — you know I drink enough then, too — but I'm aware of the dynamic. 

Time for bed.

Sent from my iPhone

Missing the mark

On the other hand there's one thing Carrie Jenkins got delightfully right recently, which is that this cartoon from the nineteenth century seems to miss its target in a stunning way ... assuming (as looks reasonable) that it was meant to endorse the wife's sentiment and not mock it. Because ... really? That's better?

Sent from my iPhone

Carrie Jenkins and the philosophy of flirting

A while ago I discovered a woman on Twitter who looks like she ought to be interesting ... though in fact I'm not sure she'll pan out. She's Carrie Jenkins, and I first heard of her as the author of a book on the metaphysics of romantic love. Apparently she is out about being poly, and references her own experience in her book. So far, so good.

So I started prowling on the Internet, the way one does, and found she has started something called The Invisible College, which naturally appeals to an academic manque like myself. And hey, ... they even post conversations on line.

So I listened to one.

And you know? I wish it had been more interesting.I think the concept had great promise. Maybe it would have been better if I had been drinking along with them.

Finally I found an essay, on the philosophy of flirting. You can read it here:
http://media.wiley.com/product_data/excerpt/25/14443302/1444330225.pdf.

And, well, ... it's OK and all. But I think my reaction is best summed up by a conversation I had with Marie, after forwarding it to her.

First I forwarded it, remarking simply "Never knew there was such a  thing. Did you?"

Marie replied, "Good god, love. Not only is there a philosophy of flirting, but it's expressed ponderously. Yikes!"

And finally I broke down and said a little more:

Yes, I too was a little disappointed by the article, partly for the very un-flirtatious and un-playful tone of the thing and partly for its sloppy wordiness. I kept wanting to take a blue pencil to it. Pretty sure she never actually said “ due to the fact that” but she might as well have. That’s how it sounded.

Not sure in what odor Strunk and White are received by the academy these days — for all I know they may have been unmasked as hegemonic agents of cis het white guys by now — but I am more than ever a fan of Omitting Needless Words.

Part of the reason I was so disappointed is that the narrative around her — her metadata, so to speak — makes her sound so interesting. She has written a book recently on the metaphysics of (romantic) love, in which she is said to reflect on her own experience in a poly relationship. She and a friend have started something they call “The Invisible College”. She lives in the Pacific Northwest (British Columbia, in this case) and plays the dulcimer. All of this ought to add up to someone who is fascinating and enigmatic. How sad, then, that her writing (at least in in this article) is so flat, pedestrian, and careless. 

Oh well. Too bad and all.

I’m having dinner with wine and then to bed early. Pity you can’t teleport.

Loving you ever,

Your Hosea

  

Inga, again

So a couple months ago I got in touch with an old college friend, Inga, to ask her if she could give Son 1 some advice in job hunting. I talked about it here.

A few weeks later, Son 1 and I called her (and her husband) and talked by phone for maybe an hour or so. Son 1 told her what advice he had already gotten, and she gave him her story while telling him it takes a long time so he shouldn't give up hope. Afterwards he told me the phone call was kind of a good-news/bad-news joke in reverse: the bad news was that all the advice she gave him was stuff he had already heard, but the good news was that it made him believe he was on the right track.

And then time went by and I didn't have much reason to contact her. Ooops ... I recognize this pattern. This is why I have so few friends: I don't put myself out there as much as I should. So I decided to drop her another note, just to keep in touch.

Hi ho! ... or “Happy spring equinox!” or even just “Hello again!” as takes your fancy.

Just a quick note to say Hi. Things are plugging along here. Son 1 continues to send out resumes and to talk to people, but so far the only actual offer he’s gotten (and this was yesterday) was from someone starting a defense-related blog who is looking for content and said he could pay something for articles. Not sure how useful that will be in the long run, but maybe it’s a start ...? Meanwhile he has taken over making dinner on a regular basis, which is getting me spoiled. Gosh, just think when he’s actually hired somewhere and I have to go back to feeding myself. (Sigh.)

Last month I flew to Sticksville for a week to conduct a large project for work, and I learned a very important lesson: Never travel to Sticksville in February. (Maybe this should have been obvious, in retrospect. Better talk to the moron who scheduled it. Oh right, that was me.) Next week I’ll be in the Faraway City for another project [that's where I am right now], and a couple weeks after that in [somewhere else again]. At least it’s not as many as it was a couple years ago, when someone in my home office greeted me one morning with, “Do you still work here?” (I think he was kidding.)

Sounds like dinner is almost done. I hope this finds you well.

Best now and ever,

Hosea

Inga responded shortly after with this:

And "Hi!" back to you! Wow, hard to believe it's Equinox already.

Please let Son 1 know I'm cheering him on. Getting published certainly doesn't hurt and--who knows--just might help. Regardless, It's a slog. It took me more than 100 applications to get back on board in 2010-2011 and my soul sure took a beating in the process. In the end, though, I was able to work out a happy ending. I'm looking forward to hearing what Son 1 works out. It will be something grand, though, I know. That guy's got the right skills and training.

As for me, just buried in writing and researching and grading and writing and researching and grading. Looking forward to going home to hubby come June.

All the best,

Inga  

Just keeping you all up to date ....