Wash 'n' Dri

This week I spent a few days in Pittsburgh at an industry conference (CESSE), which went very well. CESSE stands for the Council of Engineering and Scientific Society Executives. Not that I'm an executive, but I work with some of 'em... I have to thank my friend Tom who originally asked me to moderate a session at this meeting. I met some great colleagues who work for other publishers and vendors...and have probably roped myself into moderating (at least) next year. But next year the conference is in Vancouver, where I've never been, and where the weather is probably delightful in July. But that's not exactly what motivated me to blog today.

In the hotel (the Omni William Penn, which was lovely) my room had a regular manual flush toilet, but the commodes in all the common areas were the automatic kind. And I sampled the rest rooms on quite a few floors: the lobby, the fitness center, the Conference Level, the William Penn level, and the 17th floor where they served the meals. I'd say that, at least half the time during the week, the toilet flushed as soon as I sat down initially, which means I would get sprayed with (hopefully somewhat clean) water before I conducted my personal business there. So I'd have to wipe for the usual reasons and then to dry myself off from the spray. A minor inconvenience, made slightly worse because this was a panty hose, skirt, and slip week for the poster child for blue jeans and sneakers. I chalked it up to the way the electronic sensors were tuned at the hotel.

So, around 5:30PM I arrived at Pittsburgh International Airport and decided to make a potty break before waiting on the security line. You guessed it. As soon as I sat down, I felt the flushing mechanism engage. Sigh. What does it say about my humdrum existence if I'm looking forward to flushing my toilet at home?

Filling in the Blank

Last night we had a bunch of friends over the house, and after dessert we got a big game of Apples to Apples going.

In case you've never played Apples to Apples, here's how it works. There are hundreds of red apple cards, each with a noun or phrase (e.g. Eleanor Roosevelt, Top of the Roller Coaster, My Family, Skinning Your Knee, Green Beans) or a blank apple which gives you an opportunity to make up your own answer. There are maybe one quarter as many green apple cards, each containing an adjective (e.g. slimy, tempestuous, unforgettable, arrogant, fantastic). Each player receives five red cards. During each round, one player gets to be the judge. The judge reads the adjective on the green card. The other players each choose the red card that matches the green card the best, and put them in the middle of the table. The judge turns all the red cards face up, reads them, and decides which fits the best (completely subjective so no fair arguing the point later). The person whose card was chosen gets to keep the green card. All who played during the round get a replacement red card. First player to collect ten green cards wins. The judging rotates around the table.

This game can be a real load of laughs. There are always rounds where the adjectives are hard to match (such as feathery, terrifying, or appetizing) and then it can turn into "which red card is the most outrageous." It also helps if you know something about your fellow players. For instance, most people love peanut butter, but I know that I can win in the category "disgusting" with one of my boys if I submit a red card that says "peanut butter and jelly sandwich." One round last night was the green card Industrious. The red cards in the middle of the table included Marie Curie, Joan of Arc, Eyes, and Stephen King. The twelve year old judge selected Eyes as the winner. Remember I said no fair arguing? Well, two of the players got a little peeved at that and asked the judge 1) whether he knew who all of those people really were and 2) to explain his rationale. After a short quiz we determined that yes he did understand the choices. He chose Eyes because they are constantly on the job from the moment a person wakes up in the morning until bedtime, from birth until death. Not bad for a preteen analysis, eh?

The game had one poignant moment. In order to understand, you'll need a bit of background info. My cousin's daughter, Mia, lost her battle with a rare and incurable childhood cancer (rhabdomyosarcoma) three years ago, just after her ninth birthday. My family is not a large one, and my children have cherished the few second cousins they have (no first cousins on that side). They obviously continue to hold Mia in their hearts, as evidenced by what happened here. It was my turn to be the judge. The green card said Magical. As I was reading all the red cards in the middle of the table, the last one was blank. Son #1 had put in that one. I asked him what his answer was. He said, "Mia." Through the mix of happy and sad tears that started streaming down my face, I lost sight and memory of all the other red apples, and silently pushed the green card towards my son. Because our friends knew the story, no explanation was necessary. We continued the game as I took a few minutes to regain my composure.

For all the difficulties we have had with Son #1 embracing his brothers as more than mere thorns in his side, he does have his endearing moments such as this one. His apple really didn't fall that far from my tree after all.

Blue Mood?

Last night we had a quick pizza dinner because the kids wanted to go to the community pool afterwards. When we arrived at the park, the place was crawling with cars, and there were security people and parking attendants. We hadn't known that there was a free band concert to begin at 8:00. We managed to find a spot, and the attendant assured us that we'd be able to get the car out if we left before the concert finished. So we headed on into the pool area.

Son #3 gets frustrated sometimes because he's not a strong swimmer. We've been trying to coach him, but he's also stubborn about thinking he can't do something. The walls he builds in his own way are higher than anyone else could ever build for him. Sigh. Anyway, one of his "I can't do this and I never will" rants turned into a comedic moment for a change.

The concert started promptly, and they launched into a big band medley. I was thrilled to hear one of my favorite tunes and said excitedly to the kids, "Listen! They're playing In the Mood!" Little Determined Chin scowled, and growled, "Yeah, well I'm really in a mood." The rest of us looked at each other, and went from smirk to big belly laugh in no time. Even the little crank case finally started cracking up.

I personally never underestimate the power of humor.

How Did the Geese Cross the Road?

Well, I guess it's no surprise that geese traveling on foot have chutzpah. Long Island culture screams chutzpah! I've seen groups crossing side streets and even secondary roads seemingly without regard to the vehicle traffic, even as if they had priority over cars, trucks, etc. This morning was the first time I've seen the geese crossing a road where traffic moves at 55+ miles per hour.

I was heading east on the Sunrise Highway, by Station Road in Bellport, when I saw them a short distance up the road. A few cars had slowed down -- luckily, traffic was light -- and the geese were just about across the right lane, heading for the left. By the time I got to them I'd been able to safely go to the right lane to avoid them. However, they did appear to be hurrying, as if they'd finally grasped the grim reality of highway traffic: either a driver refuses to stop for an animal on principle (sad, but true) or a driver cannot stop safely in time to avoid the animal. I wonder whether the flock has been thinned during highway crossing expeditions.

At any rate, all five of 'em made it to the median. I didn't stick around to see whether they were attempting to cross the westbound lanes as well.

Fun?!? Duh! Mental.

Those of us over 40 who grew up in the States used to see those adorable "Reading is Fundamental" TV commercials. The RIF acronym only acquired that other meaning (Reduction in Force) in the late eighties. As my own childhood was, in politically correct terms, unsatisfying, books were most of my best friends until my later teens. However, the Three Amigos have different ideas.

All three have school district recommended summer reading lists for their grade level (9, 7, and 4). The oldest has an assignment to read a novel and write about it before the beginning of the fall term. Still...last night, when I casually mentioned that we would go to the public library tonight to get summer reading material, I might as well have said that I was sending all three kids off to training camp for suicide bombers. Sheesh. What an outcry.

I'm holding the cards, though. If they want to go to the pool after dinner, they'll have to be quick about choosing their books. No moping around the library and whining about having to read over the summer. For example, last night Son #2 threw up his hands and moaned, "Mom, I already know how to read." Sigh, good thing I'm committed to this parenting thing. Or else I'd really be committed.

Pedaling It All Around Town

Son #1 is enrolled in a theatre arts workshop at the local high school for the five weeks of July. Being that it's during the day, and no one is home to drive him, on Monday morning he made his first two and a half mile bike ride to the high school (mostly southeast). He was fine navigating the main roads, and he worked up a good sweat.

After the second day, he tells me that he's going to catch a ride with his friend L to and from the high school from here on in (fantastic, since she's one of his best buddies). Where does L live? About two miles east of where we live! Oh well, at least there's the companionship factor...a third friend is carpooling with them too. Maybe he'll go somewhere for lunch with them afterwards sometimes, etc. I told him that he just needs to pick up the phone and let his brother and either Mom or Dad know that he won't be home 'til later.

I know I used to be a teenager, and I do remember some of it, but it's a new era. Scary.

This Happened to My Husband

I'm perpetually in catch-up mode with my Sudokus, crosswords, cryptoquotes, etc. This was the cryptoquote in our local Long Island paper (Newsday) on Saturday June 19 -- the day before Father's Day. My husband has actually called his dad several times over the past several years (since he became a father himself) to say "I'm sorry" or "You were right."

"By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong." Charles Wadsworth