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There’s something about Sunday night
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Saturday, March 31, 2007

Family resemblance

It doesn't occur to me that often that I resemble my family. When asked, I remember that Katie and I have the same smile, and the same body movements. I know I share skinny little chicken legs with my dad, but I don't know what else.

Once in college, a girl on my floor told me my mom had been by to see me earlier, when I was out. I asked how she knew the woman was my mother, and my friend said, "She walked like you." And though I had never given much thought to my gait, I knew instantly the stride she was talking about, for it was a characteristic very much my mother.

This week, I was in a restaurant restroom, washing my hands after lunch, and I looked in the mirror. Coming off an overnight at the shelter, I was tired, and I sighed deeply and ran my hand across my face. Immediately I saw my mother's face looking back at me. I think the hand gesture was her as well, and that's what caught my eye, but I looked so much like her, more than I've ever realized.

I don't think we ever know what we truly look like except in relation to others. And my measurement has always been "not." Not dark haired like my dad and sister. Not tall like my parents. It takes a whole reconfiguration of my consciousness to think of myself as looking like my mother.

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Quiet Riot

Sometimes the only music to clean to has to be heavy metal. Since I haven't had a tape player in about 5 years, that's about as long as it's been since I've been able to listen to my favorite: Quiet Riot's Metal Health album. So I downloaded it from online today, and now I'm jamming out to "Love's a Bitch" as I straighten the living room. Perfect!

That reminds me how I found Quiet Riot, anyway. When I was taking guitar lessons from Old Town School of Folk Music, one of the jam sessions included "Cum on Feel the Noize," and I loved it. Of course, learning it in that context made me think it was a folky song. So I was pretty surprised to request it at kareoke some time later and discover it rocked harder than I ever imagined.

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Thursday, March 29, 2007

Finally

The past month and a half has been so stressful. I felt like I was suspended in limbo, waiting to hear back on internships, and it didn't even dawn on me until after that it took so long. My whole body was clenched tight the entire time.

And then I found out that none of them wanted me. What a big blow to my self-esteem. It seemed like a waste of an excuse, saying, "well, that's what happens when you apply for the most competitive ones." I started to mistrust my gut, which had told me at least two of the three interviews I went on were really fabulous. In fact, one of them, I just knew I nailed it. I went really quickly into the anger stage of grief with that one. How couldn't they pick me? They must not be the quality agency I thought, if they could turn down someone so obviously perfect for them.

Though I really hate it when people say, "everything happens for a reason," and I generally felt like punching Tim throughout the past six weeks when he did say that, now everything has fallen into place and has seemed like a lead-up for the internship I did finally get.

I think I had focused so heavily on the first three that I didn't allow room in my brain for not getting them, or for considering others. So when I had to, I felt like I was striking out blindly, just randomly picking places to look into because there's no getting around having to do a second-year internship. I randomly called a woman at the Evanston Police Department and she said, "I just offered the spot to someone yesterday. But I haven't heard from her yet. If she doesn't take it, I'll call you back." And an hour later she called me and we set up an interview. Then in the interview, they said, "What do you think of this place? Think about it and call us tomorrow." I wasn't sure, since I'm ignoring my gut right now, but that didn't sound like the other closers to interviews that I've heard lately, which is: "We'll let you know."

I might be back to trusting my instincts, though, because when I called back this morning and said, "I'm very interested in your placement. What's the next step?" the response was, "Well, you just accepted the internship!"

I'm not jumping up and down, I'm just chill. Which of course makes me think that this isn't the right thing for me. But maybe I just burnt out too much emotion with the earlier options, only to have them snatched from reach?

Throughout this whole process, I've been torn. Should I go back to working with adults, or stick with adolescents? I thought internships were for choosing your whim, and getting to do something you might not ever be able to be hired for, but it seemed like most of the places I interviewed needed me to choose firmly. I had so much adult experience, why did I want to/was qualified to work with teens, the youth services organization wanted to know. And with the adult counseling center, I thought, "Now I can get back to my first love, working with women," but felt a pang at the thought of no more teens.

I just couldn't decide, I couldn't pin myself down, and probably that's why, in the end, none of my first choices worked out. But in the end, I can't believe my luck.

I'm going to be working through the police department, with youths aged 12-15 and their families, primarily doing family therapy. What I didn't realize as I started the selection process earlier in the semester was how much I like working with families. Back then I had barely done any family work at the hospital, and now, a few families later, it's striking me as the most difficult, yet most interesting part of therapy. And this program I'll be in is a phenomenally progressive idea. Prevention and intervention work with youth and families in a police department? It really strikes me as working on change from within the system. I love that the police department is supportive of the idea, which really puts the focus on positive interaction between youth (potential) offenders and the police, rather than punitive, "afterwards" interaction. And there are no mandated clients. Everyone is there voluntarily.

Hmm . . . come to think of it, I am pretty damn excited about it! I can't wait for next fall!

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Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Relaxation

Yesterday it was near 80. I went out to see the in-laws. After a big mistake of going to Brookfield Zoo (massively busy), we went to Portillo's, got cheeseburgers, fries, and malts, and sat in the backyard enjoying the weather. In addition to the delicious bad-for-me meal, I also got word that I scored an interview at a new internship placement this week.

Later, I took a movie up to the attic, turned on a fan, and laid down on the futon with a kitty, and blissed out. It didn't take very long for me to attempt to identify what was going on.

Relaxation? I felt perfectly at peace, restful, and relaxed.

In the evening, I made a birthday meal of grilled chicken pesto pasta for my sister-in-law, with coconut cupcakes for dessert--melted truffles drizzled over. Sauvignon blanc and lexia flowed freely. We ended the evening in the backyard again, where Tim lit a fire in the chiminia and we were hypnotized by the glowing coals.

I had almost forgotten what relaxation feels like.

I had many plans of working head on schoolwork, and a to-do list a mile long for this spring break. I think, though, that I need to just unwind and not worry about anything. God knows the stress lately has been fixing to kill me.

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Friday, March 23, 2007

No touching

There's a no-touching policy at the hospital. I can understand it. Once a boy snuck into a girl's room and they had sex without the staff knowing and DCFS threatened to yank all their wards for good (which is not a bad idea, because it's a freaking hassle and a half dealing with DCFS kids and their slow-ass bureaucracy).

But there's a girl there--and she's not alone in this--who radiates the need to be touched. You can see it emanate from her in waves. She's crumbling inside with her desperate need for affection. She'll try to hug the staff, and with varying degrees of kindness, they'll remind her of the rule. When she approaches me, I don't have the heart to discourage her, so I let her rest her head on my shoulder, and put one arm around her to guide her back to whatever she should be doing. Her thin body pulls all the warmth from my fingertips.

I remember, way back in the days of being a camp counselor and blanketing the chapel with inspirational messages, one said that you need four hugs a day for survival, eight for maintenance, and twelve for growth. To be missing that most basic of human touches, my heart hurts for those kids.

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Monday, March 19, 2007

Projects, projects, projects

One down, one to go, then spring break! I think it's pretty ridiculous that professors at the same school don't discuss when they're going to assign their big projects and come to some sort of agreement that they won't all be due at the same time. I know it's grad school, but still. If you want our best work, don't spread us so thin. My prof for Wednesday expressed some worry that we weren't going to do all of our reading, and I thought, "are you fucking kidding me? Get over it! Of course I'm not going to do any of the 400 pages you assigned us, because I also have to do a group project that day!" Let's be realistic here, people!

Anyway, my group on Wednesday is presenting some mind-numbingly dull stuff about the Safe and Timely Interstate Transport of Foster Children Act of 2006, and because I was the one who wrote up the presentation, I turned it into a script for a talk-show, and I am the host. It includes gems like, "welcome to Policy Hour, your number-one rated show on cable-access television about social policy! And now a word from our corporate sponsors . . ." and "thank you for your poignant and informative perspective! It's important to hear how this bill is affecting real people!" and "As a special thank-you for our studio audience, I will be passing out a handout summarizing this law and its pros and cons! You too can become an expert on the safe and timely interstate transport of foster children!"

I'm currently searching for an empty cardboard tube for toilet paper that I can turn into a mock microphone.

Sometimes I crack myself up so much, I can barely type out my next thought.

Oh well. I figure at least the class will die of laughter, and it's more entertaining for us to present than a PowerPoint.

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Sunday, March 11, 2007

Springtime

It's here, it's here, it's here!

For this weekend, anyway. Hannah and I biked to the Bongo Room for breakfast, and browsed a used record store. She got a Tori Amos album I had never heard of, so I loaded it onto my computer, and now I'm listening to it.

I'm ready for this season. It's windows flung open to a slight chill, green buds on the trees, candles flickering in a dark, clean apartment, Tori Amos singing on the stereo. Salads for dinner, and white wine. It's a season I like to spend alone. This evening Tim is with old friends, playing music at a bar, and I'm revelling in having the apartment to myself. The cats are still asleep in the window sill. It's not too chilly for them, though I'll need to close the windows soon.

I'll go to bed, a new crossword puzzle in my lap, and I'll fall asleep in the quiet dark, and tomorrow the spell will be ruined, for it will be schoolwork and stress, papers to write and the wait for internship offers. But for now it's perfectly still, perfectly cool, and perfectly spring.

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I must confess

That I love reading people's blogs in a way that is slightly obsessive. Slightly obsessive? Try "to a stalker-ish degree." Like if you have a statcounter, you've probably contemplated getting a restraining order against my IP address.

I really wish everyone would post on a daily basis, because that's about how often (if not more) I check them. It's so fascinating to me to get to read everyone's thoughts. It's also a good way to keep track of old friends.

So get to posting, people!

Also, can you see a vertical black line separating the left and the right columns? I was feeling up for a change, and I do so love these new colors, but I think the middle black has disappeared. Oh well.

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Thursday, March 08, 2007

Happy International Women's Day!

I am celebrating (if you can call it that) today by preparing for my internship interview tomorrow with an agency that specializes in working with sexual trauma. I am beyond nervous. I wrote up possible questions and role played with Tim to practice. He pulled out all the stops and acted like it was a real interview, and I don't know if it was that or what, but I got so nervous and tense that my body actually started spasming. Sometimes I feel awkward talking shop in a pretend way, with people I know. It just doesn't feel natural. I hope that's what it is, and not a preview of how the real interview is going to go. I am simultaneously 100% terrified of this internship and committed to having it for my very own.

Ack.

Edited to say: wow. The potentially most nerve-wracking interview ever, and I left there bouncing up and down and couldn't stop smiling! There was a group Q&A period (seven of us), and then we each took turns interviewing with two different people. They really were racing through it, so I had to make sure to really put as much of myself into each answer, and add things when they didn't ask. I'm glad this wasn't my first interview--I've learned a few things since I've started this process.

I interviewed first with a woman, and it seemed to go well, but when I interviewed with the man, I knew that things were soaring. He had lived in Mississippi, so we bonded over the south, and when I asked what he was looking for in an intern, pretty much everything he said fit exactly who I was. Also, he said that when he and the woman were looking over resumes, they'd put either a check plus or a check minus on each one (for whether they wanted to interview the person), and rarely did they have the same opinion. Then he showed me my resume, which had their checks plus plus on it!

(It occurs to me later that if, like they said, they had 50+ applicants and only interviewed 12, probably all of us twelve were the check plus pluses, but in the moment, it gave me great confidence, and I settled down and felt very comfortable in the interview.)

Everything their agency does is amazing and terrifying, and I want to work there so badly. It would position me incredibly for finding a job after graduation. I would learn SO MUCH there.

There's just one issue I have, and I wasn't sure whether or not to bring it up, but I was feeling so comfortable with the man that when he asked if I'd seen their web site and was there anything on there I was nervous or uncomfortable with, I was honest. I told him it was the fact that their agency seemed like a private practice, and since they essentially were, and the interns exist mostly to help the DCFS-mandated clients, Public Aid, and others who can't afford it, do they feel like they're doing a disservice to the underpriviledged?

I worded it better than that, though, and he wrote down my question before answering, so I think he was impressed I brought it up. He said yes, and it was a struggle the agency was constantly dealing with, and I can appreciate that.

I don't want to help people who can afford to pay me a lot of money. I want to work with those who can't afford it. It makes me uneasy to think about working in a private practice, but the place also really excites me for the therapy opportunities it presents. No way could I turn that down.

At any rate, I left feeling on top of the world. I was only with six of the other eleven people they interviewed, but out of that group, I felt very confident that I was the perfect fit for the internship.

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Wednesday, March 07, 2007

How to make your own olives

Start here:


First, order fresh olives online. Make sure they go to your in-laws' house so that you don't miss three consecutive deliveries and have to trek out to Lombard, Illinois, during rush hour on a Friday night to the FedEx handling facility.

Twenty pounds should be good.






Put them in a big-ass plastic bucket (not metal or any other business like that).

Pick out the ones that have obviously gone bad.


Mix a lye solution to pour over olives. Be careful. Lye is serious caustic!





Fill the bucket, covering the olives with the lye, and use a towel to push down on the floaters, making sure each olive is completely submerged in liquid. Let the mixture sit for at least 24 hours, until the lye has been absorbed by the olives, changing the color from spring green to olive. Open a side of the bucket, and pour out the lye liquid.


Take out the towel and rue the day you decided to use a formerly celery-colored, nice bathroom towel to tamp down the lye and olives.


Refill the bucket with clean water.


Do this once a day until the water runs clear (usually 3-5 days).

Refill the bucket with a salt water mixture, and let the olives sit for a few days. Remove a bunch of them to marinate. Pick over them first to make sure they are ok. A lot of them (probably at least 1/8) will be soft or swollen with rot. Get rid of those. Put the good ones in a vinegar/olive salt water bath. Add as much garlic as you can stand, and other herbs like rosemary, thyme, red pepper flakes, lemon zest. The more the better. Let it all marinate for 3-4 days. At that point, add as much olive oil (or slightly less) as you have marinade. This will mellow the flavor and slow the marination process.

Eat. Or give to many grateful, salivating people as gifts.

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Thursday, March 01, 2007

Working with families

In my interview last week for an internship at a youth-services agency, they asked me what I liked about teenagers, and what the challenges working with them were. I love teenagers because they're living through possibly the most formative time of life. They can still have the innocence of children (wellll, not so much the ones I work with), and some of the wisdom of adulthood (ditto). And I remember what a glorious yet angst-filled time that was for me. Plus, some of them respond really well to my sarcasm, and others to my sympathetic side, so we just really get along.

What I don't like about working with them is their parents. So many of the kids are in the hospital and diagnosed with bipolar disorder or intermittant explosive disorder because their families are just pretty fucked up. So rarely do I actually believe their mental health diagnosis is actually a chemical inbalance and not the response to a difficult, traumatic upbringing.

But today I led a family session that went so well. The mom was upset but still willing to support her son. First I asked her how she wanted to see his behavior change when he got home, and she listed a bunch of things. We talked about the supportive services he was already receiving. Then I brought him into the room and asked him to tell his mom what he had been working on while in the hospital. He said his anger issues and coping skills; and I asked him to elaborate and give examples about what skills he's learning. Then I gave both of them a copy of a poem called The Meanest Mother in the World. (It's pretty cheesy but it's a good way for kids to reflect on why their parents do things like impose curfews, make them do chores, etc.) I had him read it outloud and then explain what he thought it meant, and how it applied to his mom.

Then I brought out a art project the son had done during a therapy group about suicide. It was a funeral program. He read it to his mom and explained how he created it and why he included the things he did. It was a really amazing program. I said, "What do you think it would be like for your mom, if this were a real program for your funeral?" which generated good discussion.

I wasn't planning on the next part, but the conversation led up to it really well, so I asked the two of them to do a reverse role play of mom and son. The mother really got into it, acting like her son wanting to go out and hang with friends. I think the son was irritated by the exercise, but he responded as his mom would, and afterwards, was able to articulate some good thoughts about the activity.

Then we made up a contract of behaviors, what the son would work on when he went home, what the mom would do, and some things I'd be able to help them with. The son was able to come up with his own ideas of how his behavior should change that mirrored what his mom said, and she was agreeable to the things he asked her to do, like being there for him when he needed to talk and to not blame him for things before asking first if he caused them.

Finally, I gave each of them a saying about attitude and had the son read it. Then it was over, and the family hugged. One of the nurses asked me a little later what had happened, because evidently the kid came back to group with a really bad attitude. So maybe he didn't get as much out of it as it seemed, but I don't really care. The mom was pleased with how it went, and she's very supportive of him, and will allow him to come back into the home, so that's the important part. And it made me feel really good about my (slowly but surely) improving skills.

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