This morning, my clock radio woke me with the unhappy news of the assassination of Benazir Bhutto.
I’m not well-informed about the politics of our "ally" Pakistan. I know
I don’t trust Pervez Musharraf any further than I could throw a tank. I
know I feel a little soiled, a little jaded, every time I hear Dubya go
on about what a great partner Musharraf is in our "War on Terrah." It
doesn’t seem to matter that Musharraf’s government presents only the
flimsiest pretense of democracy, and only when it doesn’t inconvenience
Musharraf.
Benazir Bhutto, as the leader of Musharraf’s chief
opposition, was many things. She was loved and revered, discredited and
exiled, and tainted by corruption. Who can say, entangled as she was in
the political strife inherent to Pakistan, what Bhutto really was. I can
only believe that to have become Prime Minister of an Islamic
nation—even an unsuccessful and ultimately deposed Prime Minister—she
must have been a remarkable woman. I admired her. And I feared for her
life when she decided to end her exile and return to Pakistan. May she
rest in the peace she was fated never to know in this life.
I considered posting a quick tribute to Bhutto this morning, since I thought
I didn’t have to work until 11 am. My life being what it is, however,
half my crew crapped out on me today, so I had to give up any nobler
aspirations and run to the café.
I get to work, and thoughts of Mrs. Bhutto are still
swimming around in my head. I say to my counter girl, "So they killed
Benazir Bhutto…!" And she says, "Who?" I say, "Benazir Bhutto." Totally
blank face. "Do you know who Benazir Bhutto is?" "Uh, noooo…"
Okay. Counter girl is only nineteen. But she is also in her second year of college. What made me think a college student must have somehow heard of Benazir Bhutto?
Toward the end of this exchange with clueless college
student counter girl, my cook walks through the door. Cook is in her
late thirties, never struck me as being particularly well-educated…but I
also know she is a total internet junkie. "P, do you know who Benazir Bhutto is?" "Who?" No surprise there, really. Apparently, cook zaps right past the news blurbs on her home page…
Over the past year and a half, I’ve had such a hard
time letting go of my "old life" and embracing my new life as a
(completely lost-in-the-weeds) entrepreneur. And I’ve been trying to
figure out what my problem is. Though I’m inching closer to the total
immersion I think I need in order to be successful, I really feel like
I’ve been dragged to that place kicking and screaming. After today, I
have a little better idea of why that is.
I work in the freaking Twilight Zone. I’m surrounded
by people who have absolutely no idea what is going on in the world
beyond the ends of their own noses. For someone who has spent much of
the last four years nurturing and immersed in her personal political
identity, this is a particularly bitter pill to swallow. I feel like I’m
finding a life, but losing myself. And I’m not entirely sure that’s a trade I’m willing to make.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Christmas 2007
Around Thanksgiving (was that only last month?) I predicted a hard holiday for my family, and wished for Spring. It did indeed come to pass, that sad and difficult season. Thanksgiving was a non-starter…we were even then in that watching and waiting pattern that establishes itself as a loved one dwindles. Mom passed away on December 3. Her memorial service, and our ability not to tear each other to shreds in the preparation of it, was the single shining moment for the Baldwin family this season. We sent Mom to her rest with love and dignity.
We didn’t feel like celebrating the holidays, but we thought that not celebrating would be too sad and empty. After the funeral, and the unhappy task of cleaning out Mom’s apartment, sifting through her prodigious angel collection and her sixty years’ accumulation of costume jewelry brought us the comfort of fond memories. Each of us chose one or two pieces to hold and remember. By mid-December, that business was mostly concluded, and we tried to scrape together some kind of family holiday. But we just…ran out of gas. Yesterday saw some of the sniping and the anger and the tears that we had worked so hard to avoid.
In the end, maybe it would have been better to just…give Christmas a pass this year. It was so hard not to compare last night’s somber little celebration to "The Good Years" and find it pitiably wanting. No one was really in the mood to count our blessings and put a good face on it. Mostly there was a lot of food that nobody needed, and a few presents that nobody really wanted. Christmas 2007 is just about over now, and nobody in our family is going to miss it, I think.
Hard to believe that the bright spot of my life the last few weeks has been…the café. That thing which has been more inclined to kick my butt than feed my ego for the past nineteen months…
This may be the worst Christmas since the Grinch licked his evil lips over Whoville, but Old Town Café is chugging along at a record pace. Not world record, of course, but record in relation to our own history. The first week of December, while I was in Eugene tending to my sad family business, my crew piloted the good ship OTC to its highest December sales week in its three-year history. And we’ve repeated that performance in each of the last two weeks. As of today, we’re showing a 1% increase in sales over last year’s total December sales, and we still have six sales days remaining. And I haven’t laid out one dime in advertising money all month. I’m having a hard time believing we’re the same restaurant we were one year ago.
Oh, do I remember the goings on of a year ago, though I’d rather forget. 2006—the year of the chronically sick, reliably unreliable and/or disappearing employees, and sales so bad it didn’t really matter whether I had employees or not. The year of no mercy, which threatened to chew me up, spit me out, and grind me into the pavement. The year where the best I could say of it, as it dwindled into its final hours on New Years Eve, was that I had survived. (And yet, I felt giddily victorious to be able to say that much…)
Last year, my family was my life preserver, the thing that kept my head above the waters of my foundering business ship. This year, my business is the thing that my hands are grasping as the waves of grief and loss toss me about. I suppose I should be grateful—and I am—that there is always something to keep me afloat. But I’m still hoping that next year will be a little less tempest-tossed.
We didn’t feel like celebrating the holidays, but we thought that not celebrating would be too sad and empty. After the funeral, and the unhappy task of cleaning out Mom’s apartment, sifting through her prodigious angel collection and her sixty years’ accumulation of costume jewelry brought us the comfort of fond memories. Each of us chose one or two pieces to hold and remember. By mid-December, that business was mostly concluded, and we tried to scrape together some kind of family holiday. But we just…ran out of gas. Yesterday saw some of the sniping and the anger and the tears that we had worked so hard to avoid.
In the end, maybe it would have been better to just…give Christmas a pass this year. It was so hard not to compare last night’s somber little celebration to "The Good Years" and find it pitiably wanting. No one was really in the mood to count our blessings and put a good face on it. Mostly there was a lot of food that nobody needed, and a few presents that nobody really wanted. Christmas 2007 is just about over now, and nobody in our family is going to miss it, I think.
Hard to believe that the bright spot of my life the last few weeks has been…the café. That thing which has been more inclined to kick my butt than feed my ego for the past nineteen months…
This may be the worst Christmas since the Grinch licked his evil lips over Whoville, but Old Town Café is chugging along at a record pace. Not world record, of course, but record in relation to our own history. The first week of December, while I was in Eugene tending to my sad family business, my crew piloted the good ship OTC to its highest December sales week in its three-year history. And we’ve repeated that performance in each of the last two weeks. As of today, we’re showing a 1% increase in sales over last year’s total December sales, and we still have six sales days remaining. And I haven’t laid out one dime in advertising money all month. I’m having a hard time believing we’re the same restaurant we were one year ago.
Oh, do I remember the goings on of a year ago, though I’d rather forget. 2006—the year of the chronically sick, reliably unreliable and/or disappearing employees, and sales so bad it didn’t really matter whether I had employees or not. The year of no mercy, which threatened to chew me up, spit me out, and grind me into the pavement. The year where the best I could say of it, as it dwindled into its final hours on New Years Eve, was that I had survived. (And yet, I felt giddily victorious to be able to say that much…)
Last year, my family was my life preserver, the thing that kept my head above the waters of my foundering business ship. This year, my business is the thing that my hands are grasping as the waves of grief and loss toss me about. I suppose I should be grateful—and I am—that there is always something to keep me afloat. But I’m still hoping that next year will be a little less tempest-tossed.
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