My name, as you may have guessed is Gretchen.  It wasn’t going to be Gretchen, it was going to be Erica (or Daniel, if I’d been a boy).  My mother was overdue, and they induced her but it wouldn’t take.  In the hospital, the nurses discouraged her from naming me Erica, because of "that bitch" Erica Kane on All My Children.  When I was born, ten days late, my parents looked at me and decided that I wasn’t an Erica after all — I was Gretchen.

The other Gretchen they knew? My great-aunt’s dachsund.  I understand she was a lovely dog.

So, I was Gretchen.  It’s kind of hard to imagine calling a baby "Gretchen," but it aligns with my own belief about names, in that an Adult Name will only sound weird for a short time, while a Cutesy Name might sound weird for all of adulthood.  And, I was named after a dog. A HOT DOG.  (My sister was named after my parents beloved Black Lab that died just two weeks after I was born. I am so not kidding.)

When I was a kid, I only noticed that I had an uncommon name when I checked the racks of personalized pens, barrettes, bicycle license plates, stickers, calculators, and other stuff that every Jennifer and Melissa in my classes had.  When I did find something that said "Gretchen," I hoarded it.  (Even now, I have a set of "Gretchen" stickers in a filing cabinet upstairs, from when I was about nine years old. I know.)  My mom ordered peronalized stuff from Lillian Vernon, and my dad made a sign for my room out of driftwood and washed up rope from the sea, using finishing nails to spell out "Gretchen" in cursive.  Even today, I have to check those racks.  It used to jump from "Gina" to "Heather," but apparently the name Gina has lost momentum, because it’s not there anymore either.  There are very few G names for girls.

I didn’t have many nicknames, as Gretchen is a diminutive, anyway, it’s hard to make it any ‘cuter.’  It did rhyme with "Wretched" and "Retchin’," and as I got older, some kids thought it was in close proximity to "Bitchin’," which could be good or bad.  More dangerous for taunts was the fact that I was wearing glasses by second grade, and FourEyes was my Achilles heel. Or eye, as it was.

I love my name.  Maybe more than I should.  I kept my maiden name for many reasons, but one was that it just goes so well with Gretchen.  My full name, which is German, sounds strong and independent.  If I ever get that book written, it is a great name.  Gretchen Gordon (my married name, had I chosen it)? Sure, it has some alliteration going on, but ew. Not like my maiden name. 

I love having a different name.  I never, ever, needed my last initial as an identifier.  I can tell you who the other four Gretchens were in my county while I was in high school.  We all figured out who the others were, because when we went to games and would be responding to someone calling "Gretchen!" only to find it wasn’t US, but another Gretchen.  When I meet a Gretchen now, we always, without fail, have a conversation about our name.  There’s one at our bank, and there was a four year old when I subbed at the daycare. (I was "Tall Gretchen" there, and it is the only time, ever, that Tall will be used as a descriptor for me.)  One of my classmates in the online course I just took had a daughter named Gretchen.  It’s a damn fine name, as those of us who have it can attest. I’ve never met a Gretchen that hasn’t loved her name.  I am part of the International Sisterhood of Gretchen. It’s a great club.

And, I owe it all to a weiner dog from the sixties. Not bad if I do say so myself.

(PS, thanks for checking in — I knew some of you were here, but I was surprised to see some non-Digsters! Hi, and thanks for reading and stuff. :D)

Just out of curiosity, who are you?

Comment, and let me know. (You don’t have to be specific, of course.  And I’m not a stalker, I SWEAR, even if I did just mail out canned bread to PJ.)

I’m just having one of those "Who reads this, anyway?" moments.

Thanks for humoring me.

Gretchen to Dave:

You will never have scary feet if you continue to hide my keys in the Fargate.

Love gretchen

Dave to Gretchen:

DAMN IT!  I told you to label the lazer!  Now put my eyes back in so I might furrow my brow at you!

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My mom retired from a 35 year career of teaching second-graders two years ago.  Since then, she has been working with my dad, spending more time at the mountain or with friends, and basically, enjoying retirement.  She came up for our housewarming a few weeks ago, and she brought the new studio car, a Toyota Sienna.

She loves this minivan.  She gave Dave and I a tour, pointing out the folding seats, and taking great pride in showing us every. single. compartment.

"And here! I can put my sunglasses or Junior Mints right in here.  And maps fit here, and this one folds down and even comes out!"

Oh, Mom.

See, my mom taught little kids for so long, that sometimes, she acts like one.  She was a great teacher; children loved her.  It’s one of the reasons I can’t wait to have children, because I know that my mother will be an amazing grandmother.  She’s ready, too.  She’s retired, she has the time, and she would just love to have a grandchild at this point in her life.  She is unfailingly happy, even when she’s pissed.  At her retirement party, people kept saying over and over that they would miss her laugh the most.  She is always laughing. Always.  (In the picture I posted a few days ago, I can GUARANTEE that she was smiling as hard as she could behind the mask, not even considering that she was wearing A MASK.)

As she was showing us the rear folding seats of the Sienna, she pointed at a large cardboard box.  "Did I tell you about my new Miracle Chopper? I bought it from tv. Heee!"

I rolled my eyes in my stock "are-you-fucking-kidding-me" manner. 

"Actually, I got two for the price of one, but I’m going to send the other one to your sister for her housewarming."

This was not the last we were to hear of the Miracle Chopper.  True to Mom-Form, it is not even the Miracle Chopper, but in fact, the Ultimate Chopper.  Mom-Form dictates that she will almost always get the product name wrong when describing it.

"It makes ice cream! And you put in regular sugar, push the button, and you have confectionery sugar!"

"But, Mom, do you really need to make your own confectionery sugar? Is it a hardship that you’ve never been able to?"

"On tv, they put in a chunk of granite? And made sand."

By the time I dried my tears from the laughing fit, the conversation was over. Okay, whatever mom, your Miracle/Ultimate Chopper is like the Rock Tumbler I never got when I was a kid.

Tonight, though, my mom called to talk.  She asked the usual things: How is Dave, how was the Incredibles, why do we eat so late, and did I tell you about Cindy’s vertigo and her anti-nausea suppositories? And the time she peed herself?  She finished, though, with a story about her Miracle/Ultimate Chopper.

"Oh! I used the Miracle Chopper and made my own ice cream!!"

"Oh, really? How’d it turn out?"

"Well, I was making apple pie.  And you know what they say, ‘Apple pie without the cheese is like a kiss without the squeeze!’  I love apples and cheese.  Have you ever tried that? Apples and cheese?"

"Mom, I grew up in your house, of course I’ve tried apples and cheese. And apples and honey. And apples baked in the oven with brown sugar and cinnamon. Yes, apples and cheese…"

"So, I put in the cream and the sugar, like the instructions said, and then it said ‘Add your own ingredients for new flavors!‘  And since I was making apple pie, I figured I could just make the a la mode and the cheese one thing!  So, I added a whole bunch of cheddar cheese."

"Oh. My. Fucking. God."

"It tasted pretty good before I froze it, and I was all ready to send off the idea to Ben & Jerry! I was going to name it ‘The Squeeze,’ you know how they have all those funny names."

"Oh, Jesus, Mom . . . ."

"But, when I served it with the apple pie, it was rock hard. And I didn’t tell your father about my new flavor because I wanted it to be a surprise."

"And?"

"And he took one bite and gagged.  I tried it, and it was . . . . . well, it wasn’t good."

"Really mom? Cheese Ice Cream isn’t tasty? Are you SURE?"

"I think something happens when you freeze it.  But I was ready to sell it to Ben & Jerry! I still think it might work. Maybe they can figure out the secret."

Do you SEE why my mother needs grandchildren? She’s making CHEESE ICE CREAM.  Clearly, she needs a new hobby.

(In the 2WW, btw, prepare for your monthly deluge of paranoia, self doubt, hope, and rambling.)

Not a bad day, overall.  Woke up with some GOF* before Dave went off to work, and then I drank tea and stalled around the house for a bit.  Andy was going to the uni, so I decided to hitch a ride with him and –gasp! — actually work on my grad school stuff.

The awkward moment was seeing my friend Jen, who read at the wedding and is/was? dating the best man/Dave’s best friend, but then sort of dropped out of sight (A Too Married, thing, I’m afraid) even though the best man didn’t (he was here last night, even).  That was the worst sentence ever. Anyway, saw her today while with Andy, and eased over the awkwardness by teasing Andy about his Spanish class crush: "Donde este sausage?" It was pretty funny, but maybe you had to be there.

Then, on Stillwater, Andy saved a dog from certain death.  It was running up a hill, full speed, opposing traffic.  He was tagged, so we went to the owner’s house, who was basically indifferent. Grr.

THEN, I hunkered down in the lab and got to work.

I actually hammered out a bunch of work.  I love my Master’s program, and I love being on campus.  My ideal would be to work on campus, in pretty much any job. I love it THAT much.  There’s an energy there that doesn’t occur at most places, and I miss being there full time.

The class I’m taking now is self-paced, as it’s an online course. And, despite my IT major, I HATE online courses.  My big thing with IT is that there is balance, and an all online course isn’t balanced. I want to be part of the bigger conversation, you know?

Regardless, I got to work and got so INTO it. I was going through the databases and reading abstracts and research and reporting out and just WANTING to be a bigger part of the IT world.  I’m lucky, in a sense, and I know it, that I am teaching in the midst of MLTI.  This is what I championed the whole year I was in Americorps, and I’m the only one who is actually IN there, USING it.  I don’t know what everyone did after our service year, but those I do know, aren’t doing anything with tech and education, except for me.  It’s really quite amazing that I went from "Ask me about the laptops!" buttons to actually TEACHING WITH THEM. EVERY DAY.  And now, I’m in graduate school for instructional tech, and it’s all because of Clinton’s idea to create a domestic version of Peace Corps. (It saddens me that our program didn’t get re-funded after 9/11 because more money had to go to ‘Homeland Security,’ and that the Bush administration has been trying to drastically cut Americorps funding and programs.)

So, yes. I need to be focussing in on this more.  I signed up for next semester, I still have more work to do this semester but a bunch is done, and by June I will be about 1/3 done with my M. Ed. Cool.

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Total, total geek.  I’m exhausted from finishing grading 38 science presentations (why yes, report cards DO go out tomorrow) but I had to play with the new TypePad features.

Like color, and size, and oh

oh

oh! is that striking? AND HTML editing? WHEEEEE…..

This is the second Sunday I have spent in my kitchen, making some aromatic treat, and visiting with friends. Only, because I am a huge geek, “visiting with friends” has consisted of having my iBook on the peninsula as I mix and stir and cook and taste. Last week, it was Emma & Jeanne and Oatmeal Scotchies, this week, it’s Emma and Coconut Rice Pudding.

My coteacher is having a housewarming for me, here, the day before Halloween. She felt bad that no one every really acknowledged my wedding, or job, or degree, or house in all the time I’ve been there, so she came up with this. She and some others are doing all of the food, all I have to do is stay home and the party is coming here. It’s pretty cool.

However, the guest list is weird. I don’t want my SILs or MIL or any IL to come, partly because one SIL tried to get my coteacher fired a few years ago, and eww, and if I don’t invite her, I can’t invite the rest. Damn. Heh. But, if it’s not a Family Party, then I’m left with my friends. I have several teachers on the list, because they are my friends now, but when it comes to girlfriends to invite to a housewarming, I’m stumped. I have Jess, who took me to a hockey game last weekend, and who still hasn’t seen my house (three kids are a lot of work!) and would love to come, I’m sure, but that’s it. So, that leaves Jess as my One Friend who knows NOONE ELSE. Amy thinks she might be able to make it, which would be great, because she knows Jess. But it’s not the type of thing that I’d invite, say, Andy, to. And since I haven’t seen Jenne in oh, almost a year, I doubt she’d be interested.

I wish I could invite Emma (“I was about to say, “Have we met? I’m Emma,” and then I remembered, hi, we HAVEN’T!” — Emma, on my perceived level of her California-ism) to the shindig, and all those other Digster-types that have been my friend through all of this stuff, for years. That would be a fun time; Emma could see her carafe in use (it will be used, too!) and Molly could see the Postcard Shrine to Molly on the fridge. Breana would spend most of the time chasing the FatKitty and I would hand off a stash of OPKs to Persephone as she left. It would be cool.

But, it’s not a possibility, so I’m left with the guest list. If Amy can make it, I’m all set. And, of course, I’ve been to plenty of things with/for Jess where I didn’t know anyone, so it’s not that bad of an idea. I’m sure everything will be fine.

Pudding is done, GOF is accomplished, so now, I wait. Sigh. Another long two weeks. I wish I wasn’t as excited for Oprah tomorrow as I am, but it is ALL about BABIES. Two weeks. Two weeks.

Dave and I went to the Airport Mall to get groceries for dinner, and we noticed one of the vacant stores has been taken over by a Dollar Tree. Being that we are old and boring, Dave swung by to see if it was open. I read the yellow sign in the door, or tried to.

“Nope, it’s Optembering, Optemberning, Op, FUUUUCK … No, it’s not open. SEP-TEMBER 21, it opens.”

Dave and I were laughing at my inability to speak as we were getting out of the car and heading to the doors. A car suddenly backed up from a parking space, the driver was about 15, and we had to sort of jump away to keep from getting hit.

Walking into the store, Dave growled. “If that guy had hit you, I would have had to Optembern his skull.”

Thank fucking god it’s almost friday.

The rain today has me feeling tired and nappy.

I had a visit with one of my old clients today. He called two days ago, problems with his MSN (of course) and asked if I would come check it out for him. I got there, and spent 90 minutes fixing it, charged him for 60, and after he wrote my check I spent 45 talking about his travel plans, his new camera, his old camera, coastal real estate, hearing aids, and trains. When I left his apartment, dinner was getting ready to be served in the dining room, and I saw Dilia, my first client from this building. I hadn’t heard form her in awhile, so I went over and said “Hi, Dilia!’

Well, oh my god. She was SO EXCITED.

She’s a cuban immigrant who looks A LOT like Brother Theodore Klopeck from “the Burbs.” She was SO. EXCITED. She skipped dinner! I spent another hour in her apartment, looking at baby pictures of her grand-niece, talking about how to die, and what the best beaches in Florida are.

“I tell my doctor, those people? On zee Concorde? THAT was the way to die! Dey are zeeting on zee COncorde! A glazz of CHam-pain in one hand, bowl of caviar in zee otter, a luxuriouz crooze chip in New York Zeety waiting for them, and BAM! That is zee way to die!”

She wanted me to call dave and have us all go out to dinner, but I said I had “meat thawing” and had to get home. So, I spent more than THREE HOURS at the place, and got one hour of pay, but it’s not about money. They were people who were glad to have someone to talk to.

Of course, when I found Dilia in the dining room, I saw a teacher from school there. Here I was, leaving one man’s apartment, greeting another woman, and heading back upstairs. I can only IMAGINE what he is thinking I do after I leave the school. 😀

And, yoga is back on! It was so, so, good. Like a really good nap, or lucid dream, or something. I missed it so much, all summer, and to go back felt SO. GOOD.

Anyway. Still alive. Friday/Jeans day can’t come fast enough.

First things first. I check the local hospital’s Online Nursery occasionally, looking at names and trends, and once in a while, there’s one that really, really stands out. Read this kid’s name, out loud. What the FUCK were his parents thinking?! Obviously, not much, I mean, they’d used Damian up already.

Anyway.

We headed towards the coast today, thinking the overcastness would make it a quiet day, but by Ellsworth we decided to NOT go on to Bar Harbor, instead we stopped and shopped instead. I totally scored.

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