Standing in Judgment

It's funny but this is the first year I recall hearing NO resolutions from friends about the new year. I suppose it's good in the respect that many people allow theirs to fall by the wayside after a week or two. I suppose it's bad that people have not made the judgment that they could stand to benefit from some improvement, and had the nerve to state it publicly.

What is certainly bad is that many people think nothing of making disparaging remarks about other people publicly. US national politics has deteriorated into an arena of mudslinging. Celebrities and various others know they can automatically be seen as "newsworthy" by the media by making outrageous negative statements about third parties.

I even see this in my personal life. People who are overweight criticize the looks of others. People whose children have all sorts of issues offer "fix-it" commentary about others' children. People who are broke give financial advice to others. People whose relationships are in shambles point out shortcomings in other people and the way they manage their lives. People who complain about their coworkers don't realize that they are considered to be the difficult people in the office. So many people stand in judgment of others when they are human beings themselves with faults and deficiencies. That's what makes us human and not a bunch of androids. Can we really be honest and take these judgments on the chin when others judge us, or are we merely willing to dish it out?

I would like to see a 2012 that brings people together looking for their strengths -- because even the least capable among us has strengths -- instead of looking to judge them negatively on their weaknesses. And I sure hope I can live up to this lofty goal myself, at least some of the time.

New Year 2012 About to Arrive!

This seems to have crept up very quickly this year. Lots of running around with the three kids in three different schools -- which will change in September when middle son moves up to the high school and youngest moves up to elementary (waaaaah no more cutie pies in elementary, I'm getting ooooold!). Family situations galore. Several of my mother's aunts and uncles passed away, the last one about a week ago, and now the entire previous generation is no more. Hubby's aunt passed away recently too, now rendering one of his parents without siblings and leaving the other with just one sibling left out of four. Both of our own siblings have struggled with large issues: health, emotional, financial.

Luckily, some of these trials have ultimately ended up on the "plus" side of the equation. Let us hope there is lots of happiness and success in 2012, not only in our corner of the globe, but in yours too. That's as religious as I get, so amen and alleluia.

By the Way, Did I Tell You My Relative is a Hoarder?

I'm getting flashbacks from the aftermath of my first miscarriage 16 years ago. We'd just told people I was expecting, and I lost the baby after 13 weeks of pregnancy. I felt very alone, for more than one reason. I recall being amazed when women I'd known for years started coming forth with their own tales of losing pregnancies and the associated heartbreak. Why had the topic never come up before? Because it's not the kind of thing you'd mention in casual conversation, or in deep conversation for that matter, unless it also happens to someone else. Then you have an intense desire to share and commiserate, as quickly as you can get out the information.

After I told the "hoarding" story a girlfriend of mine whom I've known since high school (30+ years ago, ahem, why bother to deny it) came forth with her own, very personal, story about a relative of hers and her own stress in dealing with the situation. I was very grateful for the realization that this is happening to other people in "my world" and that once again I am not alone.

I hope many of us will reach out to others this holiday season, and beyond, so that they too will not feel alone.

Being a Burden

Elder care issues can be tricky. We don't want to go against our loved ones' wishes or encroach too much on their territory or privacy. We want to trust them when they tell us that they're doing fine. It can sometimes be impossible to know when there's a problem brewing, and sometimes when it's obvious there's a problem we can meet with resistance when we try to take steps to solve it.

Here's an example. Recently, we began to notice that a relative of ours had a noticeable mildew smell on his clothing when we would see him. He passed it off as an effect of living in a basement apartment and hand-waved attempts to enter the apartment to check it out. Though this was upsetting, we let it go. A chance series of events led to another relative having to enter the apartment this past weekend. Drum roll please...

Mold and insects and filth everywhere. Dirty laundry. Unusable, rusty appliances and kitchen items. Surfaces that haven't been cleaned in years. Rotting smell, almost intolerable. And yet this must've been something that he gradually got used to, and he refused attempts to help with errands and laundry and grocery shopping because he didn't want to be a burden.

Guess what -- there's been round the clock cleaning all weekend, with no end in sight, and tossing of mounds of stuff that is dangerous to his personal health and safety. Shopping trips to replace a bunch of basic necessities that had to be thrown away. Possibly more trips if a lot of the clothes are not salvageable. But it will steadily improve, and now he will have to be taught to take care of himself and his surroundings again.

What's the answer for the rest of the elders out there who need care that they're not currently getting? Beats me. I think it's going to keep me up at night.

Move It Along, There, You

Shortly after 7:30pm I had stopped into a major chain store to get a few things on the way home from dropping off two of hubby's hockey jerseys to have team captains' names and numbers sewn on professionally (Xmas/Hanukkah present). Naturally, the lines were long because it's holiday shopping season.

As I'd reached the head of line #2, one of the managers made chit chat with the cashier to complain that the customers end up bunched up on one side of the sea of registers or the other. She barked at anyone who was listening: "There's no line on 6! You guys need to move up!"

Really?!?

After she walked away, I remarked to the cashier that the manager should return to management school. The cashier, a lady who looked to be a few years older than I (early fifties), bowed her head and said nothing.

Come to think of it, this would need to be a quality management school. This gal seemed to think she was a lunch aide in an elementary school cafeteria. Or a mess hall sergeant. Imagine the nerve of the customers not being where she "needed" them to be. Sheep, or cattle?

This customer does not wish to be treated as a child or a farm animal. Price is certainly a factor when I decide where to shop, especially for major purchases, but service is a factor too. I have plenty of choices, and will remember this experience.

I did look for a "leave feedback" section on the store's web site, but only found feedback pages for specific situations. I called their toll free feedback line but it had closed for the day. I do plan to call tomorrow, since I believe in giving direct feedback where it has a chance of being useful.

Still, I find that I have a bad taste in my mouth...but thank you for listening.

Who's Behind the Door?

OK I'm not sure why I thought of an old fave band Zebra at this hour of a Monday morning but there ya go. While I was running around with Christmas and Hanukkah related duties yesterday afternoon, hubby quietly went to the basement and brought up the long lost bedroom door and reattached it to the frame of our son's room. I left for work quite early today and didn't get the chance to talk to sonny boy to see how well he slept last night. I'm guessing it was like a rock!

Hubby, true to form, did not fail to remind him that the door can be removed again at any time. It certainly was a lot easier to take it down than to put it back up. The former involved no swearing or muttering sotto voce, but the latter...

I'll Take What's Behind the Curtain

In case you were wondering, after almost a month the door is still off my son's room. I took pity on him and helped him rig one of his spare jungle green bedsheets across the midsection (top to bottom) of the door frame for when he's changing clothes or when he goes to sleep. But there's still no sound barrier. I encourage him to turn the ceiling fan on for white noise at bedtime but he doesn't always. Stay tuned!

At a Loss

My eldest son has had several "reaction paper" assignments to do for his health class this year. In the past, he had trouble coming up with ideas and topics for writing assignments because he is very literal and does not perceive himself as very creative. Lately he's been surprising me, and possibly himself. For instance, a few weeks ago he wrote about his recollection of and his reaction to a diabetic episode his father experienced -- too much insulin, not enough food, brain doesn't work, actions of said diabetic are unpredictable and possibly wild.

Earlier this week, he'd commented that his next reaction paper would describe his anticipation of going to my aunt and uncle's house for Thanksgiving, a tradition that dates back to my own childhood some forty blah blah years ago. All my kids love it. In my own mind, I thought, okay, he's going to describe the yummy food and the board games and the kickoff of holiday cartoons. And then I forgot about it temporarily.

Yesterday he brought it up again as I was visiting him in his room to say goodnight. He mentioned that he's going to describe how he never has felt that things were right again on Thanksgiving since my cousin's daughter passed away four years ago June. Whoa. I felt as though I'd been slapped across the face. He'd never said anything about this. I never knew he'd been thinking about it. He was eleven at the time of her passing.

I told him that he was absolutely correct; things were not "right" at all, and couldn't be. But it hurts a little bit less each year. Still feeling the lump in my throat, I also told him that I've observed his writing topics becoming more meaningful and emotional and real in the grown up sense. Gave him a long look. Didn't say I was exceptionally proud but I think he knew it.

Bare

Our 13 year old son spends a lot of time in his teen cave with the door closed. His bedroom often looks like a tornado touched down in there. Truth be told, he does a lot of stuff which we parents don't appreciate, such as taking the ink refills out of ballpoint pens and shooting them at targets using rubber band catapults...or wolfing down crackers and shoving the wrappers in drawers...or making spears out of paper and masking tape...or downloading inappropriate apps onto his iPod Touch...the list goes on.

We wouldn't much mind if he were doing some reading or homework in there...but unfortunately he seems to have fallen off the homework wagon recently, with parent-teacher conferences looming. Sigh. Things have been a bit tense in the house at times because of that, but last night we reached a crescendo. We'd taken delivery of a new clothes dryer a week ago, and a few days later I found ink all over the inside of it. Why? You guessed it. Two ballpoint pen refills in the lint trap. I'd given my charming son the "do not ever remove the ink from a pen again if you know what's good for you" speech. Well, let's go back to last night. Said charming son was discovered in the basement, pilfering pens from the school supply drawer, and removing the ink refills from them. When asked the reason, he said he had nothing better to do. Uh oh. Enter Robo Dad.

I'd heard tell that my father-in-law had taken the door off the hinges of one of his kids' rooms during my husband's childhood because he had a similar "vein popping out of forehead" moment. Guess what Robo Dad did last night. Son was not happy at all. First he balled up in a corner and took a nap while the rest of us were eating dinner. Then he came out and ate leftovers and stared into his plate or at the floor the entire time. By 10pm he'd sort of turned into a human being again, but he complained that he wasn't comfortable in his bed. Why? He wanted to know which lights we were leaving on in the kitchen at night, and he wanted specific ones to be left on. Huh?

This kid's room is painted jungle green (his request, possibly in part to annoy his grandmother, LOL). It's pretty dark in there at night except for the LED of two alarm clocks and a small night light on the dresser in the far corner of the room. Instead of looking at a dark door, he instead would have been looking into the kitchen/living room areas which have moonlight coming in through the rear windows of the house. More light. Less privacy. Does he feel that he shuts out demons at night when he shuts the bedroom door? Is there safety in knowing that he's all alone under his blanket?

I guess it's uncomfortable on principle alone when routine is forcibly disrupted. I left the house before he got up this morning so I'll have to wait until tonight to see how he's doing. I've no idea how long it will be before the door returns. Stay tuned for the next episode of Robo Dad.

Dig in Those Heels

I'm about 1/3 of the way through Wayne Dyer's audiobook about dumping excuses from your life. Although I don't subscribe to the religious parts, a lot of it does make sense, particularly about taking control of one's own path. It's odd because it completely aligns with the post I wrote about victimhood before I began to listen to this book.

I'm thinking mostly of two people. One is a relative who's in a truly miserable situation but has gotten into a pattern of inertia because the alternative is going to be the equivalent of the jump into the cold, deep pool and the swim against the current. The other is the friend who was recently widowed and must summon her strength and courage to make her way without her partner. Here are some quotes I've recently heard that sum up my feelings on the matter.

I believe that every person is born with talent. Maya Angelou

Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions. Dalai Lama

A man is but the products of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes. Mohandas Gandhi

Be miserable. Or motivate yourself. Whatever has to be done, it's always your choice. Wayne Dyer

The Victim

On Monday, a dear friend will be burying her husband of 10+ years, a sweet sweet man in his young 50's whose body was laid to waste by lymphoma. This was the second marriage for my friend, and I am happy for her that she was able to jump on the merry go round the second time and find joy.

I feel little patience and sympathy at the moment for those people who choose to sit and watch life pass by them, citing many excuses. Too tired, too scared, too sick, too ugly, too fat, not smart enough, not creative enough, too good for the rest of the world, not living in the right place, not educated enough, not experienced enough, too shy, too poor. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Histories of successful people contain countless unsuccessful attempts prior to finding the right stuff. But they were out there doing something, and kept at it. Some people who are not doing anything are lucky enough to be extended a helping hand or to be thrown a life preserver to prevent disaster. Pride takes over and stops some of these people from accepting help. So they stay where they are. But then, in my mind, people who refuse to act are making a plan of action called inertia. So this is what they wanted: nothing more than what they have.

I felt physically ill this morning when I got the news of my friend's husband's passing. He was pursuing a wonderful life with a wonderful woman. And then that life was taken from him. It also makes me physically ill to see others play the victim card. They feel it gives them a valid reason NOT to be pursuing a life because of various fears and anxieties. I hope they don't have major regrets when their lives are taken from them on that future day. It's all a shame.

Go and make your life worth the time it takes to live it.

Sights of the Season

Enjoy these Halloween pix we snapped around the neighborhood while trick or treating!

The first one was a creative assortment of ghoulish treats, or so it seemed. The "brain" was really a head of cauliflower with red food coloring. The "midget fingers" were hot dog halves.

Things I Don't Have

I know we're going to gather together in a month or so and sit around a table and say why we're grateful for what we have. I've had a week full of unexpected happenings, most of which were not pleasant, and I am compelled to write a list of things I'm grateful I DO NOT have.

• cuts, bruises, sprains, broken bones
• offers to be taken in by lottery scams
• fist fights with siblings (or with anyone else, for that matter)
• headaches and other neurological difficulties
• change of season flu or cold
• trouble with the legal system or police department
• trouble on the job
• big debts
• child custody issues
• a shortage of people who love me

Trying to begin the weekend on a positive note. Hope you can too!

Failure, Put into Context

It is incredibly painful to be socialized with fear of failure. It is paralyzing. No logic to it. Something that is ingrained in us since we are very young. We may have been so young that we even forget who or what put it there. Embarrassment, loss of face, inability to go out in public...however you put it into words it can be devastating to experience even minor incidences of what one perceives to be a failure. And it is not enough for us, it seems, to allow our own failures to have this effect upon us. Anyone closely associated, such as a spouse or a sibling, or a child that you've reared, heaven forbid, will reflect upon you if he or she is known to have suffered a failure.

Now how do we define failure? Some examples: loss of a job, breakup of a romantic relationship, dropping out of school, behavior that is publicly deemed immoral, bankruptcy, pregnancy out of wedlock, or maybe even entering into a biracial or bicultural or homosexual partnership. If we find ourselves in such a situation, sometimes it is our own feeling about it that triggers the failure mystique, and very often the "what will people think" factor carries much more impact. Sometimes "what will people think" is the only reason we feel we've failed. How cruel to be comfortable with one's lot in life, but to feel shunned because it is not acceptable to society at large.

What we seem not to have been given, when socialized, is a set of tools to DEAL with a "fail" situation. Hanging our heads in shame, or burying them in the sand, and listening to the reproach of others is what we expect to do. Looking in the mirror and shaking our heads at the pitiful image is not going to help. Saying "I don't care anymore" and letting every other aspect of life go down the tubes is a complete abdication. So then, what WILL help?

It's scary that I hear, way too often, "things just can't get any worse." Of course they can!!! Even if you're homeless, you're still alive. If you're not homeless, you could be. If you have anyone in your life who cares about you, you're ahead of others who don't. If you know where your next meal is coming from, congratulations. If you're not imprisoned or enslaved, take a long walk and celebrate your freedom. Failure of any kind may suggest that life has become desperate, but it needs to be put into context.

Let's see failure for what it really is: an opportunity to take stock and think about things. Should you leave a particular job, relationship, home, activity, circle of friends, etc.? How can you set the stage for improving your life? Just about everyone has room for improvement. It is fairly rare to be minding your own business and be gifted with a major improvement in your life; most of the time we have to do something to make these things happen. But one thing is certain: if we just sit around and don't take any particular action, misfortunes are much more likely to happen to us. Success usually just doesn't "happen to us" as misfortune does.

So many times I hear people place blame for their misfortune elsewhere. Who cares why you're in a bad situation? Will the finger pointing and complaining do anything to drag your butt out of the quicksand? Nope. There has to come a time when you decide that you're going to grab the oars, jump into the lifeboat, and rescue yourself. Doing nothing may mean that you're going down with the ship. This might seem brave when viewed from one angle, but the result is that you'd be the captain of your own demise. Since you own the result either way, why not do better for yourself?

Leaf Me Alone!

Here's a pun to usher in autumn. It was the Cryptoquip in the October 14 edition of our town newspaper.

That guy is oddly obsessed with gathering leaves. It's what he thinks about every raking moment.

Pineapple and Celery

Last night I was lying in bed, catching up on a few magazines before shut-eye. The Turkey Day recipes in one of the mags were all shown pictorially, with the recipes to follow several pages later. They looked yummy! What a letdown. The sweet potato casserole and the carrot cake called for pineapple, which I hate. Too sour, same category of foods for me as grapefruit. Yes I realize that pineapple, with its juices, adds good moistness and texture to recipes. Seems like pineapple is in so much when you hate it. LOL. So of course I find a way to substitute applesauce or mashed banana or pureed pear or plain nonfat yogurt or something else with a milder taste.

Celery is a bit of a poser, though. I find the taste of that off-putting too, although I understand its inclusion in so many soups and casseroles -- and those recipes are in full force now too, with the cold weather upon us and Turkey Day stuffings only a month away. The color and crunchiness, plus the fact that it's actually a vegetable with negligible calorie count...yes, delightfully multipurpose. I could get away with substituting onion for some of the celery, but there usually already IS onion in those recipes. Chopped broccoli stalks? If it's a soup, chunks of cauliflower are sometimes useful. Suggestions?

Anyway, I hope you are having fun with your own fall recipes!

But We Wanted THAT One!

I'm shaking my head. I have a weekly meeting with my group on Friday afternoons after lunch. There isn't much demand for conference rooms on a Friday afternoon at the office, as you can imagine, but it's also the only day of the week when all part time telecommuters in the group are on site, and our evening technician has added two hours a week to her schedule in order to join us on Friday afternoons so we are all together once a week face to face.

This morning the lovely and polite person who handles conference room reservations sent me a note informing me that the management team is having a meeting in "our" room tomorrow afternoon and I can choose any other room in the office to relocate my meeting. Any other one! Why couldn't the mucky mucks have chosen any other room? There are two perfectly good rooms which are just as large, but they had to bump us.

I'm shaking my head and rolling my eyes to the ceiling because it's ridiculous. I'm content to move my powwow into another room, of course -- and actually I'll be happy to move it outside if the weather cooperates. There are people who would go to war over this and say what a horrible place it is to work because management doesn't give a whit for the staff and how morale is in the toilet and blah blah blah. My overarching motivations are different, and I'm not unhappy, but I completely understand why the people who can't easily expel these little irritants are being driven insane.

I'm smiling. Wryly.

Stretching a Buck

This month it's my turn to shop for the local food pantry (we rotate responsibility among a group in my office and we usually each shop once every 12 or 13 months). We generally collect about $120 each month when we pass around an envelope.

I've always shopped at the warehouse clubs, but this time our coordinator told me that the gal who runs the pantry was desperate for peanut butter. The warehouse clubs have the huge jars, and they wanted the smaller jars, so they could give a small quantity to many families. It was recommended to me to go to Walmart, because they have excellent prices on grocery items. I'd never shopped for food there -- and frankly haven't shopped there much at all -- but figured I'd give it a try.

Not only did they have the small jars of peanut butter for around $1.85-2.10 depending on brand, but they had single serve cereal boxes like COSTCO does, and the prices for the store brand really were good. (No idea whether it tastes like the store brand, but if it's the difference between someone getting more food for a hungry family, let's try it.) Going off the list I was given -- very skewed towards school age kids, obviously -- I was able to purchase all of this for $122:

• 22 jars of peanut butter
• 10 jars of pasta sauce
• 18 boxes of various Rice-a-Roni
• 24 boxes of various mac & cheese mixes
• 32 single serve cereal boxes
• 4 trays of single serve snack packs (e.g. peanut butter and cheese)

So I filled a cart with the same amount of money it takes to have a decent (not extravagant) restaurant meal for my family of five. Boy did I feel great walking out of that store, and I'm sure the gal doing the pickup on Wednesday will be pleased.

That was all done with a bunch of coworkers throwing a buck in an envelope. I know the economy is awful, but I've never had to go hungry and am grateful. Ditto on behalf of my kids. Today I clicked on two charity event links my friends had posted (e.g. Alzheimer's Walk) and made small donations. I really can make a difference as a working class schnook. Can you?

Middle School Logic

Last night I attended the open house for Son #2 at the middle school. No red flags, no cranky or flighty teachers. Two things really made me laugh:

1. Bumper sticker on the math classroom door.

4 OUT OF 3 PEOPLE HAVE TROUBLE WITH FRACTIONS

2. Description by the science teacher of the process of reviewing for exams, followed by the conclusion that the kids who don't do well on the tests must deliberately be missing multiple opportunities to get on board with the work. Parting shot:

"When we put the forms through the Scantron and we hear the 'machine gun' sound, we know they blew it."

Let's hope the teachers with the lighthearted perspectives can pass it on to our kids.

Are Ya One, Are Ya Two...

This weekend I will begin practicing a new answer when asked my age. 47. (yes that's the real thing) Is it much different from 46? A straw poll of friends who were born a bit before I was indicates that it may not be. Time will tell!

Comforts of Home

Son #1 and I have returned from our second band camp weekend, four days in rural Pennsylvania. While last year's trip had people in tank tops, shorts, and flip flops praying for a cool refreshing breeze, this year we had high temps in the fifties and low temps in the thirties. Funny, since we went on 9/15 this year and 9/23 last year. We packed according to the forecast, which predicted temps twenty degrees higher than the actual weather. In short, brrr.

Some of the kids, including my son, did not bring long pants. Braving Mother Nature's gifts during the day was enough of a challenge -- although we were grateful it did not rain except for a little while upon arrival. The cabins where campers stayed, and most of the chaperones too, did have electricity, showers, sinks, and toilets, but were not heated. I wondered whether homeless people do what I did: dressed in several layers of clothing to go to sleep when it's that cold out. The first night I was too cold to sleep, except fitfully after 3:30am. The second night I went all out: panty hose, pajama pants, sweat pants, three pairs of socks, three shirts, sweatshirt, jacket, hat, hood, gloves. Inside the sleeping bag with all of that clothing I did sleep soundly the second night, and the third. But boy what a shock having to disrobe to get in the shower. Brrr.

I hope I never again take for granted the industrial world comfort of a heated home.

Memorable Service

Last night hubby and I went out for dinner sans kids to celebrate our wedding anniversary. He chose an excellent Italian place which takes about half and hour to drive to from where we live. By the time we got there, after taking care of various things at home when I arrived from work, it was 6:30. We looked at the menu for a little while -- this place has a fantastic variety -- plus the specials...couldn't decide easily. We hadn't seen our server but it wasn't yet an issue...until I noticed that hubby's blood sugar had started to drop. Insulin Man was getting a little shaky and his eyes seemed to be resting on the appetizer section for way too long.

I caught the attention of a bus boy and asked him if he could help locate our server. We had a visit from a waitress who told us she'd just given our waiter a heads up. When the young man arrived he was quite apologetic; they'd added tables to his section and he hadn't known. I explained that we could use some bread right away and we'd have to wait a little while until hubby was on an even keel before we could order our dinner. Not only did he bring the bread but he promised to pass by and look in on us every few minutes...which he did. He offered to comp us a couple of appetizers, and I agreed to receive a plate of mini meatballs.

About half an hour after I began feeding hubby the bite sized chunks of bread I'd dipped in the herbed oil (which I know he loves) he was fully back on the air. Our waiter came by to shake his hand and apologize again for the initial delay. Hubby gave him the "sometimes it sucks to be a diabetic" response. Hubby had been half conscious when he wolfed down most of the dish of meatballs, in a rich tomato gravy, and had then polished off the rest of the bread after I threw the chunks into the gravy. Waiter offered to bring us a second dish of meatballs, which we accepted.

Naturally, hubby was unable to finish his chicken caesar salad, and I ate only two of my delicious lobster ravioli. Waiter practically insisted that we allow him to comp us a dessert, so hubby figured some chocolate ice cream would go down nice and easy...which it indeed did. The check was only $42 including hubby's beer ("extra carbs") so hubby left the waiter a $30 tip ("I'm assuming that he helped you save a trip to the hospital"). I was pleased since I had suggested we give the waiter a twenty.

I know we often remember the lousy service but I think I will remember this experience.

Cabin Fever

I think I have to do a partial recant of my earlier comments about how teenage boys disdainfully disavow the social habits of females. Last night I heard several updates from my oldest about the frantic texting that was being done by 10th grade guys to try to secure cabin arrangements for next week's band camp trip.

Apparently one of the leaders of their social circle planted himself in the midst of a mostly freshman cabin (possibly to recruit new followers?) and there was a kerfuffle over who else would be able to fit into that cabin (max of 10). Son #1 found himself on the outskirts of the group and therefore seemed to be expendable according to the group. I recommended that he instead lead a few other friends, the consummate shy nice guys, to commandeer their own cabin and go for the sure thing. Less stress, as far as I can tell.

The alternative, waiting around to see whether someone can make room for him as a personal favor, seemed pathetic to me...but then again I'm much more socially secure as I am about to turn 47 and have enough personal supporters in my life that I can comfortably say I don't give a damn about anyone who's out to yank my chain. As a parent, I can say the words, but when all is said and done the teenager's emotional state is paramount and I must watch from my ringside seat while he works it out. Sigh.

I'll have to stay tuned for the outcome of today's episode of Book That Cabin.

A Teenage Boy's Take on Things

I went with my 15-year-old son last night to the high school, where there was a meeting about marching band camp. I decided to be a chaperone again. Next Thursday the 230 or so kids in the symphonic band, wind ensemble, and kick line will head to Greeley, PA to the Pine Forest Camp for four days of intense practice and workout, to learn and perfect their walking, marching, dancing, singing, and whatever else they are going to do on the field during the performance of the four musical numbers for this year's routine. They are supposed to have the actual music memorized already so they can concentrate on the other stuff. They will get the chance to hone their craft at the home football games, and the day of reckoning is October 20: the annual Newsday Marching Band Festival at Hofstra University. Parents sit in the bleachers and whoop it up and usually freeze their extremities off until 11PM or so (we are normally the second to last group to perform).

And so we get ready to do it all again this year. Last time I rode the bus to and from the camp, helping to herd the kids on and off, manage their behavior, entertain them, hand out snacks and water, take attendance, check for contraband, etc. A couple of weeks ago my friend H, mom of one of my son's friends, mentioned that she'd like to drive out instead of take the bus, and asked whether I'd like to keep her company. She's a people person with a really wacky and fun sense of humor, but she's also an intellectual like me, and so the only thing holding me back was to make sure that there were enough bus chaperones...which we confirmed last night at the meeting and celebrated with hugs and smiles.

As we were leaving the school, my son gave me and H a disdainful look (in front of H's daughter, no less) and said that he thought the two of us were carrying on some kind of girl romance. H and I, amused, blew each other kisses, which of course brought other expressions of disgust. H's daughter just kept walking. Did he put on that show for her benefit? Is it a validation of the difference between his budding manhood and his female peers?

Who cares? I'm all set to have a good time. I doubt it'll be Thelma and Louise, but we don't need to go there. And I guess we're at the point where we're supposed to be embarrassing our children. I'm doing my job and doing it well. Hurrah for me!

Alternative Meteorology

You've heard of alternative medicine? Well, now hear this.

As I was getting my hot cocoa in the lunchroom today, a coworker came in for her morning cup and remarked that she was achy. I smiled, and told her that my mother accurately predicts when it will rain, how much we'll get, and how long it will last.

"She has arthritis?"

"OH yeah."

A knowing smile and nod.

Let's have an alternative weather channel, staffed by AARP members and armed with the knowledge that comes from within. Can't you just hear it now? "Listen, Mr. Steve Badabingo on Channel Eight, I don't care how many degrees you have. My sciatica is the worst it's been in three or four years, and we're getting at least eight inches of snow by tomorrow night! Young whipper snappers think they know it all. Humph."

Some of these folks might even volunteer their time or work for salaries that are quite reasonable compared to the usual. This network would really pull its weight in entertainment value. People would tune in so they could debate the veracity of the oldsters' predictions as compared to the classically educated meteorologists on those "other" channels.

C'mon, who's willing to take this on as a startup?

Senior Citizen?

Pshaw, not in my mind's eye or my memory. I'm talking about the great entertainment icon, Freddie Mercury, who would have been 65 years old today -- born Farrokh Bulsara on September 5, 1946 -- if he had not believed in living life to its fullest pleasures. Take this quote:

I always knew I was a star and now the rest of the world seems to agree with me.

I tip my hat to Newsday, our Long Island daily paper, for publishing that as the Cryptoquote in today's puzzle section.

I recall the first time I heard Queen's music. It was at the home of my godmother, the best friend of my mother. Her daughter Francie, a year and some months older than I, had the single (45 rpm) version of Bohemian Rhapsody and played it for me. I had gone to musical heaven! On that fateful day in 1975 I became a lifelong fan of Freddie, his music, and his persona...apparently along with millions upon millions worldwide.

When Freddie came to understand the seriousness of his illness (which we now know as AIDS) and began to attack his bucket list, e.g. the fabulous album he recorded with soprano Montserrat Caballe, there were probably other ideas he had which he didn't have the time or energy to pursue. I mourn the loss of those opportunities along with the memories of how I enjoyed all the music when it was new, and especially the one Queen concert I got to see live. Madison Square Garden, with opener Billy Squier. It was a double header. Billy played for an hour and a half, including a couple of songs joined by Freddie and the boys...then the headliners played for two hours. 30 years ago. I was a kid then.

Thank you, Freddie. And happy birthday.

Ten Year Itch?

Anyone who knows me well knows that I adore babies, and that I would have had more of them. When I had the amniocentesis when pregnant with Son #3 (recommended by OBGYN because of my "advanced" age of 36) and the sono tech told us she knew it was a third boy, right then and there I told hubby that I was prepared to do this again in two years so he could have his little girl. His "I'm sick of little penises around the house" sentiment was balanced by his belief that he was too old, too tired, too poor, too busy, and too impatient to have a fourth kid. Okay, I was content with three.

Today the third child is ten years old. A lot's happened in the past 10 years, beginning with 9/11 which happened when he was a newborn. I'm in my late forties now, amid activities for the older two which require me to be attached to a car constantly...either chauffeuring them someplace or buying them stuff...and I still have my 40 minute commute to work. So free time is rather at a premium, and my energy is not what it once was, even though I'm in good health and good shape.

So, even though this may come as a shock to you, I'm okay with the fact that 1) I last gave birth ten years ago today, and 2) I'm never going to do it again. However...I'm not ready for grandchildren anytime soon!!!

Pair O'Ducks

Last night I did some Sudoku and Cryptoquote pages after I got home from bowling, and after only half an hour my brain decided to wind down so I could think about getting to sleep before 11:45 or so. One of the Cryptoquote puzzles was a delicious paradox.

We have to believe in free will. We have no choice. Isaac Bashevis Singer

I'm thinking of an old Steven Wright stand-up routine now. He got a dog and was having trouble training it. Why? The dog's name was Stay. "C'mere, Stay. C'mere, Stay."

Cherish Your Children

I kind of had the idea for this post percolating, but news I received over the weekend cemented it.

I'd been listening to the audiobook of Hope's Boy during my commute for about the past week. It is a memoir from a former foster child, describing his early years with a grandmother who had trouble scraping by to provide their basic needs and then with his mentally ill mother who had the poor child taken out of her arms by law enforcement to be placed into a brutal group home. His more "stable" later years were spent in a single foster home where his physical needs were mostly met but his emotional needs were left up to him. I agree with one review I read that suggested the book should be required reading for anyone who chooses social work as a career. The author, Andrew Bridge, is a Harvard Law graduate working as an advocate for children in the foster care system.

And now for the event that touched me more personally. An 18 year colleague of mine lost a young grandchild over the weekend, a victim of drowning. This little lady would have begun kindergarten next month and came from a close-knit family full of love and personal attention. To say that the grandparents are heartbroken is a huge understatement.

I am again reminded of the events of 9/11. My youngest was a newborn at that time, and I brought him with me to a medical checkup soon after. One of my physicians had two sons working in the Towers that day. One made it out alive and one did not. I hadn't known this when I'd arrived for my appointment but figured it out quickly enough. After my checkup, I looked my doctor in the face and told him how sorry I was to find out about his son. He thanked me, looked at the baby and said, "Take him home and love him."

With tears streaming down my face as I went to my car, I recalled the other thing the wise M.D. said. We never know how long we have. He was so right. One day in the life of a child is so significant, because they don't have a collection of decades of memories on which to draw, as we do. Whatever we can do to make the most of their days, one at a time, is so worth it.

In a little while, I will head to the funeral for my colleague's granddaughter. I'm trying to amass my strength.

The Power of Suggestion

Unfortunately, the power of suggestion is often used for nefarious purposes. Of course I try to spin things the other way, being a "so Pollyanna you could puke" optimist and sunny side of the street stroller. But it's hard to fight with one's unconscious.

Here's a case in point. A dear friend of mine grew up with a mean mother and mean older sister. Her dad, a real peach of a guy, made excuses for his wife and therefore enabled her behavior. Mean sister died decades ago. Mean mother died months ago. My friend, who grew up with a huge heart, married a man who was mean. Luckily she found the strength to get a divorce after raising two wonderful sons, with love and affection. Her second husband recognizes her for the inner beauty that she is. Her daughter-in-law is about to give birth to Granddaughter Number Three, into a family built on love.

Sounds like a happy ending, doesn't it? Well, mostly. Today my friend confided in me that she still has dreams about herself as a child, being told she's no good or not wanted. What a shame. I have never studied psychology but there's got to be something that this giving, thoughtful, intelligent, funny lady can do to conquer her childhood demons. Regardless, I'm going to keep giving her my unconditional support and try to push her chin up, Up, UP!

Waltz or Fox Trot or Mambo or...

Last night I did a few Cryptoquotes from Newsday as I was lying in bed trying to make myself sleepy enough to drift off. I grab the puzzle page from newspapers whenever I'm tying them up for recycling every couple of weeks, since I normally don't get to read them in a timely fashion. Apparently I also don't whip through puzzles in an even close to timely fashion. This one was dated February 22, 2010!

Opportunity dances with those who are already on the dance floor. -- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Sounds like an invitation to get out and get moving!

Vancouver Wow

This week I got to go to Vancouver for a few days for an industry conference. How I wish the States had some of the things that Canadians accept as the comforts of home. Almost no litter on the city streets, and in the parks. People, for the most part, respect the NO SMOKING signs in public parks and beaches. Parks have two wide lanes for pedestrian travel and bike/roller blade travel. Park benches are mostly sponsored by people in memory of loved ones, so they are not desecrated or destroyed. I only saw one instance of graffiti when walking a 9 km path along the sea wall of the gorgeous Stanley Park. Hope I get to come back here someday when there is more time for sightseeing but I think I made the best of my two evenings here. Tired feet, but worth it!

Flip That Bathroom

When we first bought the house 11 years ago, we only had two kids. The extra room over the garage, plus its attached half bath, were hubby's office and private latrine. The previous occupants, with their three cats and three kids, had left the bathroom in pretty gross condition, but hubby didn't care about that at all...and I had other priorities at the time. When we decided to make Baby #3, the office was moved to the basement. Five year old Son #1 got to move upstairs when his baby brother's arrival was impending. The bathroom was cleaned up so it was sanitary, but no amount of washing could get rid of the rust on the radiator cover or the dingy faded white paint or the gouges in the walls.

Hubby started saying that he would turn the bathroom into a closet -- the room didn't have one -- which elicited horror from the rest of us, and all other homeowners we knew. "You NEVER want to get rid of a bathroom! Everyone is always looking to ADD bathrooms! They increase the value of your home!" Son #1 loves having a private latrine so has resisted.

Anyway, given hubby's laxity with taking on -- and finishing -- home improvement projects, after 11 years in the house we still have a bathroom upstairs. One is being built in the basement too -- a real one with a shower -- but all we have is the frame and the plumbing. Now that Son is working and needs collared shirts and slacks, he and I went to IKEA and got him a free standing wardrobe two weekends ago. I started thinking that I should just redo the gross bathroom already. Then Son #2 said something that made a lot of sense. "Closet or bathroom, you have to paint it."

I started with the spackling during the week, and then the sanding. Sanding rust off the radiator covers was a weird experience but it needed to be done. Bright and early Saturday I began painting walls, blue to match the bedroom. By Sunday morning I was ready to do trims. Sunday afternoon I primed the radiator cover with Rust-Oleum, and last night I gave it one coat of Rust-Oleum flat enamel. Tonight or tomorrow morning I hope to give it the second coat.

Yesterday afternoon we went back to IKEA, and Son chose some lovely artwork and some nice dark blue rugs and towels to finish it off. I found myself thinking that it was really a couple of hundred dollars and some of my time. It looks completely transformed. If there had been anything truly horrifying or disgusting, or if we were homeowners trying to sell the place and conceal something, it would have been a good coverup. How many unscrupulous people do that sort of thing? Oh well, can't stay up at night worrying. I think I'll just be proud of myself.

And I'm definitely Son's favorite person...this week at least...hubby is at most neutral about this whole thing. He doesn't necessarily like that I have the power to proceed with a few home improvement efforts without him...tough darts on this one. Tee hee.

Passability

Recent events make me think of this old joke:

Q: What do you call the guy who graduated dead last in his medical school class?

A: Doctor.

Funny, of course, and sad at the same time. When you interview a physician (if you even do interview a prospective new physician) you probably don't ask him his rank in his medical school graduating class. He's got the certificates of higher learning right there on his wall. You assume the possession of those credentials automatically raises him over a certain bar of excellence. Right?

Maybe.

What about extrapolating downward to lower levels of education? My son passed 7th grade English, with a 66. He is now qualified to go on to the 8th grade English curriculum, and he's happy with that because he got over the bar or under the limbo pole or however he looks at it. And he's plenty smart, but completely unmotivated with these unexciting kinds of challenges. In contrast, my older son, the classic overachiever, wouldn't have been happy with anything under a 95, and wouldn't have settled for the standard curriculum -- he needed to challenge himself in the honors class. Both passed English. Both achieved at least a certain level of competency. Right? But which would you rather see help a struggling ESL pupil? No contest.

Now I must say, in all fairness, that my soon to be 8th grader has creative talents up the ying yang: art, out-of-the-box thinking, uncanny ability to relate to small children, and more. But if he wishes to become an art student, elementary school teacher, Phys Ed instructor, marketing consultant, etc. he will need to attain some level of education beyond high school. And it sure would be nice for him to have his choice of institutions, rather than accept the one semi-awful offer extended to him if he does get the high school diploma but continues to squeak by in his core subjects. (You're right if you were thinking that the grades in math, science, and social studies weren't much better.)

Am I being unnecessarily dramatic? I hope I am. But the first 13 years of the young man's life have gone by at what seems like lightning speed, and the next five: I have no reason to suspect that it won't be more of the same. When I was growing up as a young adult in the early eighties, jobs were plentiful and one could earn a great living if willing to work hard. Not so today. People with great work ethics and multiple college degrees are sweating over who'll be chosen for the opening at the local CVS because they can't pay the mortgage. Why should we think it won't be tougher five years from now?

Little light bulb, shine. Please. Pretty please. We're talking about my kid.

Heavy Metal

Over the next couple of weeks the whole household is having dental checkups. Last night I took Son #3 for the two of ours. The doc said it's time to go and have a consultation with the orthodontist. Even though he's still got two baby teeth, the twelve year molars are on their way in, and it's pretty clear he'll need braces. He has me to thank for his small lower jaw, as does Son #1 who's had his braces for 14 months now.

When we went for the braces for our first born, we went to an orthodontist whose office is down the hall from our dentist -- who's a high school friend of mine -- and he agreed to give us a 10% discount on the part that was not covered by insurance. $6K to begin. Insurance paid a whopping $1K. $500 off for professional association. One grand down payment, and $175 a month for 20 months. Think we can get the ortho to wait another six months before our little darling begins this cycle? Does Murphy's Law of Medical Emergencies have a corollary called Murphy's Law of Medical Expenses? Watch this space for updates.

Murphy's Law of Medical Emergencies

Last night's bowling endeavor was great. I inched slightly over my established average, one of the guys bowled 150 pins over his average for the night, the teammate who pre-bowled went about 75 over average for the night...and we took 11 of 11 points, almost doubling our season total to date. Because we had only three bowlers on each team, we got out of there about 10:45...good...but I didn't get to sleep until around midnight, just because.

It's a bit rude to wake up at 0530 with no interruptions, but I was awakened at 0345 to the sound of hubby thrashing around in the throes of an insulin surplus. Tried to get him to open his mouth for the Snickers bites, but nope he was too far along by then. Fire Dept. ambulance EMT knew the score. Unfortunately the two police officers they sent, though they tried their best to be helpful, weren't that experienced, but at least one of them learned something. By 0430 they were finished, and I put up the load of white laundry that I'd planned to do at 0530. Don't worry; I didn't stay up to put it in the dryer...did that at 0530 when the alarm rang.

Figures that this sort of thing didn't happen on a night when I'd crawled into bed at 9pm. BTW, hubby did get up for work this morning, not sure how he managed it, but I knew better than to try to establish conversation. I think we'll both crash early tonight...

Bowled Over

A few weeks ago, I was preparing to go to Philly, and I knew I would miss my once-a-month Saturday bowling league. So I went over to the bowling alley to prebowl for the league. As I was at the desk receiving my lane assignment, I glanced over at the other side of the house, where a summer league was having its first night meeting. I thought I spotted an old friend from the volleyball era, whom I hadn't seen in years. Sure enough, I went over there, and there he was with his best buddy, like bookends...and I was catapulted back in time. No idea they were still bowling in leagues there, probably because we don't turn up on weeknights anymore.

Making a long story short, they needed another teammate, and hubby didn't want to do it, so I agreed. 8:30pm is late for me to start bowling on a weeknight (recalling that I'm usually up at 0500 or 0530) but what the heck. I've wanted to get back into a better groove -- I used to bowl on a weekly league for many years until I was 8 months pregnant with Son #1 (and I threw my high game that night, 231, with odd center of gravity...another story).

In the two weeks I've been on this league, I've been amazed by the level of skill. Normally a mixed league is just that -- mixed -- but this one has a lot of men compared to women, and a bunch of the ladies are really great bowlers too. One guy rolled a 299 last night. Our opponents had scratch totals of well over 700, and the last game 840 (for four players). I remain in awe! And I could use more sleep. :-)

Workin' for a Living

If you're old enough to recall that Huey Lewis & the News song, start humming or singing it and you may find you can't get it out of your head. I thought of it when my 15-year-old was figuring out his schedule for this week (and the next four). Last week he began a part time job at a legal firm in town, joining a crew of high school students who help create folders, pull files, and keep the attorneys organized for client meetings and court appearances. This week he began a summer theater arts workshop at the high school, which he also did last year and enjoyed. His day today:

• wake at 8am
• leave at 8:45am
• ride bike 3 1/2 miles across town to high school, allowing for traffic situations, to arrive in plenty of time for 9:30 start
• workshop until 1:00
• change into business clothes and ride back across town to the law office
• eat lunch and show up in plenty of time for 2:00 start
• work until 6:00
• arrive home around 6:10

Granted, it isn't my 40 minute commute, but he'll be able to know what it feels like to be an average working class slob. And he'll have to deal with time management, and coping with staying on a schedule when others do their best to make you late (f'rinstance if theater ends later than 1:00). And he'll be a better person for it.

I have to admit I'm taking a perverse pleasure in the fact that I won't be the last one in our household to arrive home after work...heh heh... :-)

Growing and Stretching

Son #1 turned 15 yesterday. Eek that means the mom feels one step away from fossil. :-)

He had the good fortune to be recruited, along with a handful of other ninth grade honors English students, for part time work at a law firm in town, to replace some of their helpers who are graduating from high school this week. We got him a "work wardrobe" consisting of a few pairs of khakis, brown slip-ons, appropriate dress socks, and a handful of short sleeve collared shirts. This Monday was his first training session. He's great on paper -- hence his fantastic grades -- but shy with people, so we were coaching him as to the types of questions to ask (such as how much the job pays!) and to ask questions as a rule.

So off he went. Rode his bike the couple of miles into town and locked the bike to a pole across the sidewalk, on the same side of the street. Training session went great, but I got a call from him when he finished work to say that his bike was gone. Sigh. This wasn't an expensive bike, and he'd kind of outgrown it...but still...he was upset...and what kind of lousy character would steal a kid's bike?

Anyway, I encouraged him to go back in and tell his supervisor about it, and I'd talk to him in a little while. He worked out a better arrangement for a safer place to lock up another bike when he'd gotten one (which we took care of via Craig's List that evening, yippee) and got a very kind offer for a ride home from one of the partners. After dinner I drove him over to the police precinct where he filed a report. Afterwards I explained to him that he'd be looking to get his learner's permit to drive a car in another year, and sooner or later Murphy's Law would dictate that he'd be involved in an accident...so this was good experience.

I hope that, sometime soon, my son will be more comfortable seeking these opportunities to stretch his skill set instead of relying on suggestions from Mama and Papa Bear. In the blink of an eye he'll be entering college, with any luck on scholarship, and he can't be calling us seventeen times a day to ask about trifles. My poor kids don't like it when I tell them that Mom and Dad will be dead someday and they have to start learning to do things themselves. :-)

Off the Food Wagon

Ever been to downtown Philadelphia near the convention center? Yes? Ever visit a place called the Reading Terminal Market? Yes? I hope you have a great exercise plan and a lot of self control.

The terminal market reminds me of Quincy Market in Boston. So many different kinds of food stands, including: cheesesteaks (obviously), Chinese, falafel, seafood, Italian, Cajun, Indian, frankfurters, ice cream, bakeries, Jewish deli, sushi...but also retail meats and fish and groceries and a big produce section in the back. The food orgy began when my coworkers and I arrived on Saturday at lunchtime and hit the hoagie stands towards the front of the market. Mine had meatballs, fresh oregano, and provolone. My two colleagues had corned beef, with homemade potato chips on the side.

Saturday night I was entertained by high school/college friends who live in the 'burbs...and we found a marvelous Mediterranean place that serves small plates like tapas. So we sampled some roasted veggies, chicken, beef, garlic infused gnocchi...mmmmmm. We walked around town for a while longer and then they steered me into a gelato parlor. Gadzooks, all those interesting flavors...I settled on a small scoop of banana chocolate. I can't eat like that under ordinary circumstances though...four or five little meals a day usually...so it was off to the fitness center that night...accessible 24 hours, 7 days a week in the hotel. 20 minutes on each of the elliptical, cycle, and stair stepper.

Sunday's lunch got a bit more creative. I'd walked around the historic section of Philly -- my one large chunk of sightseeing time -- and then wanted to eat before I went back to the hotel for another shower and then to change into work clothes and go over to the convention center. I had really wanted something from the Italian bakery towards the front of the market...so I decided to compromise. My appetizer was a horseshoe pastry with slivered toasted almonds and chocolate. Main course was a yummy shrimp cocktail...homemade sauce...the really large shrimp (yeah, oxymoron, I know). Dessert was a little chocolate cake with hazelnut cream from a bakery all the way in the back called the Flying Monkey. But yes I did go to the gym again that night...because although I did well with dinner (tilapia with roasted zucchini and spaghetti squash) my coworker noticed a Krispy Kreme shop as we were walking back to the hotel.

Monday I figured I had to try a cheesesteak for lunch -- the old "when in Rome" thing -- since we were headed home the next night. I'm not a red meat lover so I chose chicken with spinach, garlic, and provolone. Couldn't finish it, didn't try. That night our wonderful management team took us to an Oriental place -- similar format as the Mediterranean restaurant -- where I did okay with some veggie dumplings and some shrimp Pad Thai -- but sampled other people's desserts (chocolate lava cake and chocolate sorbet). Back on the elliptical and the exercycle after we returned to the hotel that night.

I could just about fit into my clothes after returning home, and back to my usual dietary regimen...but wow that was scary to fall into such habits for a few days and only be balanced by an hour of daily exercise which of course I can't do at home. I have been thinking of joining a gym but haven't yet taken the plunge. I am regarding this as a bullet dodged! We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming...whew...

Un-freakin-believable Elected Officials

What is it with these people??? And what is it with the rules that govern the people who are elected (or appointed) to these governing bodies?

It's pretty clear that people who run for office are going to have their private lives analyzed with a microscope. What do they think? Once they're in, they can rip their moral fiber to shreds?

Maybe some friends and leeches will enjoy associating with the fat cats who have so-called "privileges" that can be fun in extracurricular fashion. But don't these officials know that their enemies and rivals will be watching with a critical eye? Doesn't it stand to reason that they may even pay for surveillance and detective work, call in favors, and/or look for people who are willing to be double agents? Once elected or appointed, all public and private behavior needs to be im-freakin-peccably clean as a whistle and beyond reproach! We're even talking stuff like making sure you tip 25%+ in restaurants in case a reporter talks to the waitstaff after you've been whisked away in your limo, fercryinoutloud.

So, all right, not everyone can live up to the goody-two-shoes image, and many of these guys are taken down on ethics violations because of some fine investigative work. Too bad, game over. But to piss all over your own profile by doing something public, like painting outside the lines on Twitter or elsewhere on the Internet? That's what I call being a well educated idiot.

Now we move on to the agencies or commissions or courts (or whatever) that have authority over the governing bodies and the officials contained therein. Why would it be so wrong, when these people are sworn in, to tell them, "Look, pal, consider yourself to be living in a monastery for the entire duration of your term, because if you do anything that's even remotely unethical -- we won't even mention illegal -- you're bounced out of office, no questions asked, and blacklisted from politics permanently!" And then be prepared to back it up with swift action when they dare to cross the line, or even step on it with a threat of proceeding.

Do this, and let's see who continues to run for office. I'm not talking about political parties now, nor am I opening up a religious can of worms here. There are creeps and slobs in every political and religious group, as there are decent hardworking mensches in each corner. We need the decent ones in office. Please. And then send all the emotional juveniles to a whorehouse or a cockfight or a floating crap game or wherever else they're going to get their jollies...and the rest of us can figure out how best to do what we need to do.

Tradition

Remember the wonderful song from Fiddler on the Roof called Tradition? A childhood friend of mine was married over the weekend to a guy who's made her exceptionally happy over the last several years. She's Jewish and he's Chinese. Their ceremony, performed by a refreshingly outgoing Rabbi, contained the typical elements of a Jewish wedding but also a charming Oriental tea serving tradition which the bride and groom shared with their parents.

The reception, however, was refreshingly not totally traditional. Instead of a best man toast, the bride and groom took to the microphone themselves to impart a few words of wisdom and a short statement of thanks for those who'd gathered in their honor. They did have one expected dance, the hora, apart from their first dance as a married couple, but that was it. The rest of the time they played music that they loved (me too!) which catapulted us back into the 70s and 80s when we were carefree kids with no mortgages or full time jobs or car payments or elder care issues.

If my desires carry any weight, I wish them a long and happy life together.

Music and Passion

When I look back to my childhood, I recall a seemingly endless series of attempts to fight my own emotional demons, and social struggles to become "mainstream" if you will. I wasn't allowed to study a musical instrument because my father traveled a lot and my mother didn't drive; and anyway, my family dynamic was not particularly supportive of kid activities because it was so rooted in the vicious cycle of conflict avoidance and then conflict management etc. But I have always loved music. And I love watching and listening to my own children pursue their music.

Last night I attended one of the spring concerts at our high school. My ninth grader sang in the mixed chorus. The orchestras also performed (chamber and symphony). I was pleasantly shocked by the performance of a soloist on bassoon, with the chamber group in the background. My seventh grader started bassoon this year, and I know it's a difficult instrument to play, but I had no idea that a senior in high school could do all the 32nd notes and the trilling I heard last night. Gorgeous. We also heard a Mendelssohn concerto performed by the first chair violin, accompanied by the full symphony orchestra. The sounds and the bow work were reminiscent of a pro, not a 17-year-old kid. She was dressed in a floor length red dress, which added to her overall appeal. Not surprisingly, she received a standing ovation.

It is amazing to me what some of these children achieve by the time they don the high school graduation cap and gown, particularly in contrast with the lack of achievement of other teens who spend just as much time playing video games and "hanging out" doing nothing focused. How many adults whine that they simply didn't have a chance to complete household projects or work on their stated goals for the month or the year...but watched enough American Idol to participate fully in any water cooler debate about the finalists?

Last night provided some good material for my own reflections about that Eleanor Roosevelt quote: "Life is what you make it." Some of these youngsters really have it going on. Focus, drive, passion...inspiring!

What Is a Life?

Some think that living is just subsisting from day to day. How sad not to have hopes and dreams and goals in mind. I recently saw a Gail Sheehy quote which drove this point home:

If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living.

Effective Advertising

Are you old enough, as I am, to remember the "plop plop fizz fizz" commercials for Alka-Seltzer? And I think it was Ny-Quil for the blah-blah-blah-so-you-can-get-some-rest TV ad, or something like that. The Mucinex cartoon with the green blobs is very cute, and I'd heard the product was very good.

Well, I've been fighting a cold my kids gave me...congestion...bit of a cough, and I took Mucinex DM for the first time last night. Oh...my...stars! Within minutes I could feel like all the mucus inside my sinuses dried up. Only woke up once coughing during the night, and was able to get right back to sleep. I think they should make a commercial where the green blob merely says: "Congested? Coughing? This stuff works!"

What's in a Donut?

Yesterday afternoon, while running errands before dashing home to take a kid to a soccer game, I realized that I hadn't eaten lunch and wouldn't get the chance...so allowed myself the guilty pleasure of stopping in at the donut shop next to the supermarket.

One of the trays had a round chocolate enrobed model with a cutesy name, so I asked the server what was inside. He shrugged and called to his manager. After a long pause, manager said it was like a Boston cream. I agreed to try it. As the server was ringing it up, the manager came back and said that it was jelly (which I hate!). Momentarily repulsed, I asked them to switch it for a real Boston cream variety. Unpleasant taste sensation averted.

At that moment, however, a thought struck me. What if the manager hadn't caught the mistake in time, and I'd had a food allergy? (We do have allergies to certain fruits in my family.) Another thought struck me: the young cashier and his fairly young manager both seemed to be blissfully unaware of how clueless they appeared, being completely unfamiliar with their store's product line. Both of them also seemed not to be bothered at all by this. I wonder whether this is a breach of their responsibility as franchisees of the international enterprise.

I remain completely underwhelmed, and relieved that this was in a completely different neighborhood than my own. In my book it's a double customer service fail! Well, at least the donut was yummy.

And We Thought Women Were Brutal

At the dinner table last night, hubby and two sons went off like a series of bombs because the other son was wearing a pair of shorts that he'd obviously outgrown. Scathing descriptions of the body parts that were bulging (you can just imagine) with vulgar naughty suppositions (recall that I have two teens now, a teen wannabe, and am married to someone who still yearns to reclaim his teen years). By the end of the meal, we were scrambling to get shoes on so we could scamper away to Target and buy some new shorts. Yeesh.

Let's Hear It for CVS!

On Saturday, I took Son #2 to the ears/nose/throat specialist because he'd stayed home from school the previous day due to congestion, coughing, and overall malaise. Sure enough, sinus infection...so we got a prescription for liquid augmentin (the usual). The doctor's assistant was nice enough to call it in, because we had plans to go to the Ducks game in a couple of hours and wanted to maximize our chances of getting a dose of medicine in him beforehand.

Wouldn't you know it, the computer system at our CVS was down, and they took my cell number with the promise to call once the prescription was ready. Well, we went to the ball game and forgot all about the prescription temporarily. About halfway through the game, my cell phone rang. It was Frank, from our CVS. He explained that he was calling me not because the medicine was ready to be picked up, but because CVS was still in a state of corporate wide computer outage and he didn't know when he could promise the medicine. He had seen that we called the prescription in, and he'd tried to get back in touch with our doctor, but hadn't been able to reach the office. He was hoping that we could try again on Monday and was nothing but apologetic.

What Frank didn't know is that I had the script in my possession, so was able to go to another pharmacy and have it filled after the ball game was over. He was relieved that we'd get the prescription filled that evening instead of waiting until Monday. He told me that he hated to lose our business but he would hate even more to see the child go without his medicine. (!)

At this point, I paused and told him that he'd pretty much guaranteed our long term business by taking the time and effort to do all he'd done. He seemed genuinely surprised and grateful to hear that. I thanked him and wished him luck with the computers.

Because I work in customer service, I like to catch people doing it right...and I try to have more of this kind of story than the negative kind. Please feel free to retell this one for me. And I hope you will have plenty of your own "caught someone doing it right" stories.

Nyah Nyah You Can't Make Me

I have to laugh at some people's definition of "professional staff." My definition includes: maturity, intelligence, education, and experience needed to handle a variety of situations in a reasonably high level job with a fair degree of autonomy, doing your level best to advance the company's business goals. Every once in a while I see someone who seems to have the intelligence, education, and experience, but lacks the maturity even though s/he is plenty old enough to have grown it. Granted, a "professional" position means you probably don't punch a clock or account to management for your rest room breaks, but it also means that you have those freedoms because you're expected to exercise good judgment and are expected to cooperate with management's requests without suffering daily threats of being bounced if you step out of line.

That being said, I find it really annoying -- particularly in today's economic situation -- that so-called business professionals pick and choose from the list of management directives in passive-aggressive fashion, deciding which ones they will flat out refuse to do -- AND they actually get away with this nonsense. I have even heard some of them bragging about their refusal to accept direction, in meetings and at the coffee maker. Management's response should be something along the lines of "Are you kidding me? You're collecting a paycheck for this. Now would be an excellent time to wake up, grow up, or both!"

Maybe we wouldn't have so much trouble running our businesses, and, for that matter, our government, if so-called grownups weren't so busy drawing lines in the sand, and spent most of their time trying to figure out how to expand common ground instead. Leave the "nyah nyah" at the nursery school where it belongs.

Now What?

I agree that it is a good thing that the terrorists' leader is no longer alive, and that his associates know their home base will be vulnerable to our country's forces, and that we will never give up defending ourselves. Fine to all of that.

But do we think that their organization is unlike organized crime in other parts of the world? Will their structure crumble like a house of cards, or will there be countless wannabes and second or third fiddles who have been dreaming all their lives of rising to the top of the organization? I believe the latter is true. And I believe that the violence will never end unless methods of negotiation are radically overhauled.

Differences in ideology and economy do not mean that groups have to go to war. But I don't mean to trivialize the huge effort it would take to prevent war. I can't even prevent it in my own family with my three boys. But it takes an immense amount of wisdom, forethought, maturity, and energy to continually reframe every conflict as an opportunity and a challenge to figure out a better future.

And right now we're tired. Tired of war. Tired of political Romper Room nonsense. Tired of struggling in a failing economy. Tired of seeing our culture and our language and our environment polluted. Tired of seeing any remaining good torn down by others who have a different set of priorities and are looking for a fresh conquest. Can we somehow effect a sea change when we're all so tired?

Maybe we will find it in ourselves to take the steering wheel and, in a desperate last-ditch effort akin to an addict who hits rock bottom, yank it in the other direction. Why can't I hang on to a tiny shred of hope that my children will see a better tomorrow? If you've ever prayed for anything in your life, pray for this.

Spinach Shocker

Once every week or two, I make a stupidly easy recipe for spinach croquettes...don't normally use processed foods like this but it's one of only two ways I can get my kids to eat spinach.

Steam one 10 oz. box of frozen chopped spinach. Drain. Add one stick of butter or margarine and stir 'til it melts. Beat in four eggs. Add a handful of onion flakes, some garlic powder, and half a cup of grated Parmesan (or Locatelli or a mixture). Crush the contents of one box of Stove Top stuffing (any flavor you like) and mix well. Shape into croquettes (I use a cookie scoop) and bake at 350 'til outsides get crispy.

Well, this week was Passover so I substituted some matzo meal for the stuffing mix, thinking that it would be passable but not great. I added plenty of extra spices to compensate for the dullness of the matzo and the flavor that the stuffing contains. The croquettes came out more densely packed than they normally would, which was natural. However...what I did not expect was that two of the three kids liked them BETTER! Why? Because the spinach was not loosely hanging out the sides of the croquettes, and it was so tightly wound up with the matzo meal that it was actually hard to discern that there were actual leaves of spinach in there. Go figure.

Maybe next time I'll try half a box of stuffing mix with some matzo meal. Good thing I have always thought that it is possible to teach old dogs new tricks. Oy vey...

Being Mama Bear

Last night I was doing a bit of work in the bedroom with the laptop, and hubby was in the shower. It was after 9:30pm and the three amigos were in the living room (other end of the house) playing "slap ball" which is supposed to be rolling a small rubber ball around among them. What it really turns into after a few minutes is the ball ricocheting off walls and furniture and the three of them screaming like banshees.

At 9:50 with hubby finishing his shower and about to hear the level of noise that had been ratcheted up up up, I tweeted in desperation about how I was not looking forward to going out there and being Mama Bear to enforce the kids' 10pm bedtime (not a school night since spring break is still in full swing). It was really just a small shout out to other parents who would understand, who'd been there themselves. However, my friend Bob replied on Facebook that he applauded me because not all parents understand that "parenting is sometimes about being a parent, NOT a best friend!"

That's very true and, after almost 15 years of being a parent, it has become weirdly automatic. I don't often point it out or specifically consider it. On Wednesday afternoon, when the boys and I were enjoying a leisurely stroll through the nature preserve, we were best friends. When Son #2 and I went ice skating on Tuesday, we were best friends. When we played Rummikub the other day, and the winners were razzing the unlucky, we were all the best of friends. When I tuck them in at night, and we do hugs and kisses and talk about the day, sometimes we're best friends and sometimes I'm a parent...but I don't think about it -- it just happens.

Is It Soup Yet?

This week is Passover week, when the world's Jews remember and celebrate the exodus from slavery to freedom. As a matter of principle it's wonderful to look back to a worse place and reflect on how things are better. One unfortunate consequence of the tradition is that the week is filled with a little too much matzoh!

A bright spot is matzo ball soup, which seems to have many fans among Gentiles as well. This shiksa makes a kick-ass brew, or so I'm told. My 76 year old mother, with her Sicilian taste buds, schleps to my house for her annual "Jewish penicillin" without fail. One of her co-workers asked for the recipe this year, and I'll share.

Matzo ball batter:

Melt 1/2 cup shortening. Whisk in 1/2 cup seltzer and 4 large eggs. Add a few dashes of black pepper. I also add a few dashes of other spices. Season as you like. Stir in 1 cup of matzo meal. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for a few hours. All day, or overnight, is fine too. Make-ahead portions of meals hold great value for me.

Turning it into soup:

Pre-mince one yellow onion and a few cloves of garlic (or more garlic if that's your preference). Pre-shred one small carrot or several baby carrots. Brown veggies in a few tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat in large pot. Add two quarts of chicken broth (or chicken stock) and bring to a boil. Drop teaspoon sized balls of matzo batter into the soup (I use a small scoop) until the entire bowl is used. By then, they'll have all floated to the top and you can serve. If you used broth instead of stock, I recommend roasting chicken that night too, so you can siphon off about half a cup of the pan drippings and add them to the soup.

Enjoy! And happy Easter to all those who are getting ready to celebrate this weekend.

Yeah. And...?

Yesterday my nine-year-old couldn't find his shoes. I was in the kitchen chopping food and couldn't help him look. So we had a conversation across the house.

"I can't find my brown flip flops. Have you seen them?"

"No."

"I really want to wear them."

(Mom then makes an educated guess.)

"Try looking under the couch."

(Paydirt.)

"Thanks for the advice, Mom! Are you psycho or something?"

Of course I am. But I have never been known for my telepathic abilities.

Make the Most of It

Years ago I saw a pin-on button which said SHOWING UP IS 88% OF LIFE. Amusing, but it's black humor because an astounding number of people actually drift around on auto pilot.

While in Dallas on business a couple of weeks ago, I got caught up on puzzles as I often do on trips. Here's a Cryptoquote which I believe expresses it better:

Because of indifference, one dies before one actually dies. -- Elie Wiesel

Why not live a little? Pursue a passion for something. Or someone.

"It" Flows Downhill

I'm definitely mellowing with age. I don't think there's any other plausible explanation for it. Maybe this was aided by my excitement over preparing to leave for a business trip (where I can get rare "alone time") and having arrived home from a rigorous yoga class...but not THAT much. Years ago I would have freaked out about this and would have worn my evil twin on my sweater like a badge of courage. But not last night.

Son #1 went into the basement to use the copier just before bed time, around 9:30, and noticed a small flood. Before I knew what was happening I heard loud noises coming from downstairs...and was then informed that Dad was seeing what could be done about it. To his credit, hubby didn't unleash his inner forest creature either, but of course he was pretty peeved. He'd planned to go back to "light duty" foreman work today but instead would meet the Roto-Rooter guy between 7 and 9 in the morning. He did what he could do to snake the waste line with his tools, but wasn't able to clear the blockage. Edict: no water running down any drain and no flushing of toilets until after the problem is solved. Ugh. We'd have to worry about disinfecting the basement and disposing of the rug in the office after the Roto-Rooter job. Didn't go down there because I didn't need to be grossed out. Yet.

It occurred to me that I could clean up from head to toe with baby wipes and then head into the office early to wash my hair there; luckily they have the high arc faucets in the bathroom. So I packed a towel, shampoo, conditioner, brush, etc. and decided I'd stop at the bagel place for an out-of-the-ordinary treat in lieu of my daily oatmeal. I made all the kids' lunches and my own, and labeled the kids' containers in the fridge -- normally this is all done at 0630, but I'd be gone by then. I wrote notes about the faucets and the toilets and the lunches, plus a schedule for hubby to be aware of the times the kids leave the house -- since he's either not home or not awake at that hour if he IS home. All this kept me up until 2300 which of course cuts into sleep time, but I was still reasonably cheerful about it.

Plan worked this morning, although I could've done without the torrential downpour in the pitch black (blessed early transition to Daylight Saving Time). I do think I'll probably have to wait until I get to Dallas for any quality sleep. Yawn.

The End of an Era

I have been using some form of day care services since the middle of September in 1996, when Son #1 was 13 weeks old and I went back to work full time. Our wonderful full time day care center took us through August 2006 when Son #3 was headed to kindergarten.

Didn't end there though; although we have full day kindergarten in our school district, that term is a misnomer for people who work. How can people work a full time job if they have to put their young children on a school bus at 8:45 and get them off the bus at 3:45? We weren't able to recruit my mother to help, since she works, and the other grandparents were not local to us. Neighbors all worked too.

But our district has a before school/after school program which worked wonderfully for us -- reasonably priced, with a seven or eight week summer session too. Here's the lowdown: the before school program is at one of the four elementary schools. Kids get breakfast at Care and then are bussed to the other three schools as needed. The bus service also accommodates kids who have to show up early for activities such as music. The after school program exists at three of the four schools (not ours) but our kids were bussed back to the Care school and given snack time and homework time and play time before hubby or I would fetch them. Before Care begins at 7:30am. After Care ends at 6PM. Perfect!!!

After the first few months of the fourth grade, Son #3 was getting to that "I'm no longer a little kid" phase and wanted his own house key. Also, the high school and middle school let out way before the elementary school, plus hubby normally arrives home from work before I do, so chances were good that the youngest wouldn't be alone in the house...or wouldn't be alone for long. So we began letting Son #3 come directly home on the bus instead of going to After Care. So far, so good. In February we started letting him go to the bus on his early days (four of five) instead of Before Care.

At this point, Son #3 doesn't want to get up at 7:00 to catch a ride with Mom to Before Care on Tuesdays, when he could sleep 'til 8 and catch an 8:45 bus from home instead. So we're cutting the cord for good at the end of March. WAAAAAAAH!!!!! My baby is growing up!!!!!

I will say this: good day care is worth it weight in gold. We will be forever indebted to the caring, competent teachers at both care centers who nurtured our three priceless treasures over the past 15 years. We miss many of them already and will continue to do so. Thank you from Mom and Dad, and of course from the Three Amigos.

Clang Clang

New Mexico Representative David Chavez has introduced a bill which would require middle school kids (7th & 8th grade) to visit a real live jail. Of course the kids would not interact with those incarcerated there, but they would have the opportunity to understand what the inside of a prison is like. It's not a "scared straight" knock-off, but another tool to keep kids on the up-and-up and keep them in school. News story at http://www.koat.com/r/26880251/detail.html and other places on the Web.

The bill is getting mucho opposition. A HuffPost poll at the moment shows that about 52% of parents would not sign a permission slip for a field trip like that. On the other hand, I think it's a fabulous idea. Why? Not merely on general principle. In the fourth grade Son #1 had a field trip to the Suffolk County courthouse in Islip, as part of a study by the gifted/talented program. All parents who wanted to accompany the kids were allowed to do so, and quite a few of us went.

First we got to sit through about an hour of arraignments. The kids got to hear about drug and alcohol abuse, theft, assault, and various domestic issues. In one case, it was obvious that the parents of two small children were more interested in revenge against each other than the welfare of the youngsters. In another case, a very overweight prisoner, who was cuffed, had the misfortune of her elastic waistband failing to hold her pants up as she was walking back to the bench after her arraignment. She had to wait for a male court officer to walk to the other side of the courtroom (taking his sweet time doing so) to assist her with her pants. The kids already had a big idea that it is no fun to have to go through this. Besides the amusement of the pants situation (and they were NOT allowed to laugh, or make a sound) their compassion was stoked. When they got a private audience with the judge after the arraignments were over, quite a few of them asked whether those two small children were going to be okay. They seemed very relieved when the judge told them that the court would appoint a trustworthy guardian if the parents continued in the current mode.

The other part of the courthouse they got to see was the holding area. We all went into the control booth and met the officer in charge. He was on the job 21 years. He explained that, if not for drugs and alcohol, he would have been OUT of a job. He estimated that 75 to 90 percent of the business was in some way related to drugs and alcohol: abuse, possession, sale of illegal drugs, theft to get money to buy drugs/alcohol, violence associated with any of this, and so on.

He explained that, if you were dumb enough to get arrested and charged with a crime, you had to be held in a large cell before your arraignment...with all the other prisoners of your gender. If you got locked up on Friday night, you would have to stay the weekend to wait for a Monday arraignment. Depending on who was there and how many prisoners there were, it would be possible for teens to be held with career criminals. Sometimes prisoners staged fights that were designed to ambush officers who would go in to try to break it up...so the officers waited a long time before doing so, and prisoners might get pretty badly beaten before the fights were stopped.

The control booth has a good view of the entire holding area. In addition to the cells, we were able to see the "rest room" if you could call it that: a partition that shielded the middle part of the body (torso plus a bit more) with no door and no privacy. Men and women alike had to be subjected to this. Why? Prisoners sometimes say they need to use the bathroom so they can engage in some illegal activity. Don't like that? Don't do anything that might get you locked up. Lunch in jail was two slices of white bread, one slice of cheese, and one slice of bologna. Don't like that? Too bad.

The kids were literally talking about this experience over and over for weeks afterwards. Sometimes I still hear my son mention it, five years later. I know I've personally told the story at least a dozen times (now at least a baker's dozen). I can't imagine a single negative effect on anyone who went on the field trip, parent or child. I hope some NY legislator introduces a similar bill here before my younger two kids make it all the way through the school system.