List Master

It is a funny experience trying to write a blog that is being viewed (hopefully) by the general public. One tends to self-edit more than one would imagine (well, at least I do. I have read some blogs that seemingly have no concerns). One also learns a fair bit about one's self. I am learning that I am not as politically correct as I thought I was, not as sensitive as I probably should be, am able to navigate fear and pain with sarcasm and embellishment and am convincingly good at getting distracted from the original point I set out to make.

And, sometimes through this elaborate self-editing process, I just flat-out lie in order to protect myself and other's feelings. I don't fictionalize the big stuff. I skew the truth as it relates to minor details. My husband's name is not really Vince. I do not have twin friends named Dolly and Ruby (mostly because I am not 80) and I might have had one or two more meaningless flings than previously divulged. I am sure the average reader isn't shocked. I mean, all of Bridget Jones' life is a giant embellishment (being that she is fictional) and yet she still manages to be literary bosom buddies with a good share of the female population. Readers expect a little fictional liberty unless they are reading a dissertation, right?

The truth, however, is that I am rather uninspired today. The truth is I am having trouble finding a way to make the banal world of a Midwestern woman seem interesting. The truth is that I can't seem to find a way to cover up reality with a little delusional trip to humor-land.

One might suggest that today is perhaps not the best time to write.

I might agree.

But, here is a truth about me. I am one of those people who cannot let things go. I have a self-diagnosed form of OCD that prevents me from "moving on" when something on my list needs crossing out. It can be big things. It can be little things. It can be earth-shattering things and it can be seemingly "nothings". But, regardless of the categorization others would put on them, I am unable to filter levels of importance once something is on my list.

I drive people crazy if they are somehow associated with something on my list.

I am a natural when it comes to list making. Robert Redford (I can't remember his character's name...) had baseball and I have lists. I make lists for work, lists of recipes I want to try, lists of movies I need to see, lists of wine I want to drink, lists of home repairs I need to "discuss" with my husband, lists of places I want to visit, etc... etc... etc... I also have a tendency to apply the "listing" concept to the emotional investments required in my life. These lists are more like levels of distinction; something akin to the way our government categorizes the national threat level. They start with the an "okay, ha, ha" kind of emotional commitment and escalate up to the "seriously, fuck off" level.

Emotional investment categorization has been a life-saver for me because I am convinced it has kept me on the "Prozac level" of life as opposed to the "electro-shock therapy" level. The formula for my categorization is a simple one:

(certain life occurrence+associated emotional response) + (heightened sarcasm - time for sinking in) /coping experience gained from similar life experiences = necessary emotional response level

Now, if you are a math person, just stop. I am not. I never will be. And yes, I made it up with no real formulaic grounding beyond making it look like basic algebra. Sorry.

The formula allows me to laugh off the fact that my new found "nickel allergy" means I am literally allergic to my wedding ring and that my daughter decided to give mommy's expensive make-up a "swim". It somewhat allows me to pass through the continual expansion of my ass (now with non-stop, uninterrupted service from shoulder blades to saddle bags!). The formula also leads me through processing my mom having cancer for the third time, owning a home with negative equity, my father being terminally ill with HD and dealing with a recent miscarriage. The formula saves me (for the most part) from melting down when I think too much about potentially having Huntington's Disease and the fear that is then associated with my daughter being ashamed of me, my family and friends giving up on me and dying alone in a crappy nursing home in spite of my husband's efforts to visit me regularly.

The formula works too because it contains an inherent action plan that one may more familiarly term "coping mechanism". Life may try to strangle my inner child, but, when the inner child starts to stress, the outer adult jumps in to action. Like Pavlov's dog, I have been conditioned. I have learned through experience that I don't like bad or sad stuff and I will do my utmost to avoid it. Or, I will just plain ignore it and forge forward as if there is no doubt that following my action plan, despite all apparent obstacles, will overcome.

List makers also tend to be action takers. Action takers tend to get things done. People who tend to get things done tend to achieve desired results (for the most part anyway. I am still working on my diet "action plan").

Sometimes I think half of my success in life is because I refuse to believe that it won't work out the way I want it to. Sometimes I think I survive on sheer will for things to be different; for life to fall in line with my master plan. That is where HD clouds the picture. I may be able to convince myself that serendipity smiling on me and hard work play a large role in effecting outcomes, but, I am not convinced that it can override genetics. Maybe that is why immigration has become such an important milestone in achieving my personal "famousness". Maybe my inability to control the "threat level red" in my life has forced me in to overdrive on trying to manage all second tier issues in an effort to exercise some semblance of control.

Immigration is larger than life on the stress scale. It is mammoth and overwhelming. It is carefully orchestrated yet offers the average applicant as much control as a person herding cats; it can be done if you are willing bet high stakes on your sanity in the process. It is a challenge. It requires lists. It requires carefully contrived lists. It requires lists of lists. It requires list makers and task masters. Immigration was designed for someone like me. I was born to be famous for immigration capability.

I just can't seem to find the natural "aha" synergy that is supposed to exist between me and immigration.

Ms. Jekyll-Hyde is also a list master. Our first interaction of immigration initiation consisted of six page word document list. The six page list was nothing obnoxious or over-the-top. It wasn't rude. It was simply a list of exactly what to do and exactly how to do it. But, here is the weird thing...my list "juju" only exists if it is my list. Trying to deliver according to someone else's list, especially one that is six pages, it just an invitation for pain.

But, pain or no pain, it needed to be done. It was six pages waiting to be mastered. Mastery was not going to be easy or remotely enjoyable. It was going to be hell. Period.

CC's list of immigration fun:

Aquire and assemble the following:

Form 888: This form revolves around people who know you and your spouse and are willing to swear that you are really, honestly married, and not in a mail-order-bride-sort-of-way. You need at least two of these people. They need to live in Australia. And, they need to happen to know your life story, all about your romantic courtship, your cup size and which way he hangs. And, they need to swear to it. They need to swear to it in front of a notary, their Queen, their country and God. No pressure.

Form 40SP: This form is for the Australian card carrying member of the marriage who is responsible for supporting the bastard part of the equation spouse. The proper title for this form is "So you think you know your spouse? We beg to differ..." form. It could also be called the "If you don't remember every little bloody detail of your entire married life, you may not pass this immigration examination" form.

Form 47SP: See 40SP. This form is for the bastard spouse and asks exactly the same questions in reverse. The trick? One had better have exactly the same answers as the "divine right" spouse or one is clearly not a legitimate, loving and wholesome "Australia-worthy" spouse.
Form 118: This is the "So, you wanna bring your kid too?" form. It requires the paper equivalent to a sperm sample and afterbirth.

Form 80: The title of this form is "Personal Particulars for Character Assessment". That should be enough said. Suffice it to say they will know you better than you know yourself upon completion of the form.

Statutory Declarations: These declarations must be made by both the bastard and the divine right spouse. They are a "for immigration officials" version of your love story that must include how you first met, when you first started living together, any milestones such as children and what you do as hobbies and leisure. They must also match each other (clearly) and be paper first blood relatives to form 47sp and 40sp. Statutory declarations must be signed in front of a notary. Nothing oozes romance like love story, government form and notary.

Laundry List: In addition to all above mentioned paperwork, one must also provide passport photos of applicant spouses and children, passports, proof of joint ownership of real estate or major assets (notarized please), evidence of joint liabilities (notarized, please), evidence of sharing a household (notarized) and evidence of a social life together with friends or relatives (just get the stamp already) including copies of every Hallmark moment (literally, they want your cards), and photos and copies of things you have done together, like airline tickets. Finally they want evidence of the nature of your commitment to each other as husband and wife or, marriage certificates, wedding photos and proof that you have listed each other in places where it really counts, like, life insurance policies. Nothing says "I love you" more than your name on the beneficiary line.
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In the end, I mastered my first immigration "pit stop". It wasn't fun. It wasn't easy. It took months. But, I haven't been eliminated. I am blessed to be touched with a little OCD and an affinity for lists. The journey for immigration famousness continues.

And, interestingly, I have found inspiration in my non-inspiration. I got to cross "posting a new blog entry" off my list.

Posting Recipe
This posting calls for a recipe that requires a fair amount of attention to a fair list of ingredients that are manageable. A list is only as good as it is achievable. This recipe is both achievable and delicious with ingredients mostly found in your pantry.

Cold Sesame Peanut Noodle Salad
6 tbsp soy sauce
4 tbsp rice wine vinegar
2 tsp dried red pepper flakes (more or less pending spiciness desired)
4 tbsp packed dark brown sugar
1 c. peanut butter (I have used both smooth and chunky...it just depends on desired texture)
2 tbsp sesame oil
4 tbsp fresh ginger, finely chopped or grated
1 c. chicken or vegetable broth
Couple shakes of sesame seeds
A package Barilla (yes, I am a Barilla disciple) angel hair or thin spaghetti pasta.
4 to 6 scallions sliced, including green parts
Optional: Diced cucumber and carrot (as much as you want). Chopped fresh cilantro is also very good.

Combine soy sauce through sesame seeds on a saucepan. Allow to simmer, stirring frequently, until is becomes think and smooth, about 15 minutes. Allow to cool.

Meanwhile, cook the noodles al dente. Drain and rise thoroughly with cold water. Wait for the noodles to drain and dry so that the water does not dilute the sauce. Once sauce is cooled enough, fold/toss noodles and scallions together with sauce in a large bowl. You may need to use your hands to evenly distribute the sauce. For best flavor, make one day ahead and store in fridge. Serve cold or at room temperature. Left overs can be saved for several days.

And, kids seem to LOVE this recipe.