Christmas this year was a symbolic event with dad and mom gone. Thoughts flitted in and out as preparations were made and invitations extended for our holiday gathering. Family and friends were invited -- I was so excited for it to arrive!
Christmas dishes were unpacked, the collection of Santas decorated shelves and counters, and the Nativity was set up on the table next to the fireplace: we were ready! I held my mother's stocking briefly and then tucked it into the box with the ornaments I no longer display. It made me wonder what other differences this holiday might bring.
A few days shy of Christmas, one of my sons had to rearrange time with his father. On the 24th, the eldest explained he wanted to spend Christmas day with his girlfriend's family and another anxiously watched the clock because his girl expected him later on Christmas eve. My sweetheart planned to spend Christmas afternoon with his grandchildren and my brother had Christmas dinner plans with a friend. And that is how I found myself alone on Christmas afternoon for the first time since ... since ... for the first time!
You know, it wasn't bad. Sophie and I hung around and napped, had some chicken soup and watched TV and napped some more. All I could think about was how much fun we had on Christmas eve! The loud and playful gifting and games and conversations lasted late into the night. When things finally began to wane, people gathered up their holiday spirit and headed back into their lives with a hug and a smile.
After our friends left on Christmas eve, I sat contentedly snuggled against Randy and marveled at change in all of its magnificent forms. Life seems to have arrived on our doorstep this year! It didn't resemble past Christmases, not at all, but I liked it just as well.
Next year, and in the years ahead, I will open the door and enjoy the merry chase!
Dec 26, 2007
Charter Renewal Letter to the Board
Esteemed colleagues,
I am a new employee of this school but have worked in a public high school for fourteen years. Something is going on here that needs to be brought to your attention.
Students are thriving here. There are very few acts of aggression, very few thefts, and very few emotional outbursts. Students smile and walk with purpose through these halls, on their way from and to someplace they are proud to be. Their requests in the front often involve replacement IDs and inquiries about where to sign up for community service. I hear please and thank you all the time.
Attention is paid to these students and it clearly shows. You've witnessed a tiny bit of it at the Board Meetings. It's pretty great to watch parents and grandparents stand up alongside their students, teachers and principals and take time from their busy lives so you can hear first hand what a difference this school has made. Community business people and church leaders have joined the refrain: this school matters. Enthusiasm is high as we embrace the new concept of community culture and personal accountability.
I hope you see with unbiased eyes what is going on here. Teachers work hard and thrive. There is a depth of commitment here among the support staff. We work late and attend weekend events because we realize it isn't just teachers in the front of the room who carry the torch and it doesn't stop with the 4:00 bell.
I define success in terms of developing intelligent, independent thinkers who conduct themselves with integrity and honor. We are walking the walk, right here in the midst of a community where getting a hand up is rare. We listen and learn and dream and do. Isn't that really what Sacramento City Unified wants for all of its students?
Thank you for your time.
(The Charter was renewed for five years by a unanimous vote at the board meeting on Thursday, December 20, 2007.)
I am a new employee of this school but have worked in a public high school for fourteen years. Something is going on here that needs to be brought to your attention.
Students are thriving here. There are very few acts of aggression, very few thefts, and very few emotional outbursts. Students smile and walk with purpose through these halls, on their way from and to someplace they are proud to be. Their requests in the front often involve replacement IDs and inquiries about where to sign up for community service. I hear please and thank you all the time.
Attention is paid to these students and it clearly shows. You've witnessed a tiny bit of it at the Board Meetings. It's pretty great to watch parents and grandparents stand up alongside their students, teachers and principals and take time from their busy lives so you can hear first hand what a difference this school has made. Community business people and church leaders have joined the refrain: this school matters. Enthusiasm is high as we embrace the new concept of community culture and personal accountability.
I hope you see with unbiased eyes what is going on here. Teachers work hard and thrive. There is a depth of commitment here among the support staff. We work late and attend weekend events because we realize it isn't just teachers in the front of the room who carry the torch and it doesn't stop with the 4:00 bell.
I define success in terms of developing intelligent, independent thinkers who conduct themselves with integrity and honor. We are walking the walk, right here in the midst of a community where getting a hand up is rare. We listen and learn and dream and do. Isn't that really what Sacramento City Unified wants for all of its students?
Thank you for your time.
(The Charter was renewed for five years by a unanimous vote at the board meeting on Thursday, December 20, 2007.)
Dec 9, 2007
Trimming the Tree
I have given ornaments to the kids every year, something that represents a milestone or a new interest, places we've been and places we've lived. The original idea was for my sons to someday adorn their own trees with these ornaments that tells their story.
Our tree is a wonderfully large, lively assortment of Baby's First Christmases, ski trips, sports teams, first cars and travels. The ritual begins with an empty tree and boxes stacked on either side. One by one, memories emerge from the tissue: a football star, honor student, ski bum, little truck, Saguaro cactus, Disneyland train, graduation cap, beloved pet, and macaroni angel. Hand painted eggs and crystal snowflakes go high up in Loge, above wagging tails and inquisitive fingers. Darth Vader action figures and Gingerbread men bravely sit below. Box after box empties into our hearts the vivid memories of love that has defined and strengthened us.
I love to hold close these magical moments of the family in full action, and when I do I see again their hair fly in a soccer game or them scramble over a fire truck on a Scout outing. Ornaments have caught a bit of the sweetest and richest moments we have known.
It dawns on me now, as they adorn the tree and vie for attention, that for me the whole story is told in this way, all of it intermixed, my world. But for my sons, these ornaments are their starter pack, a prologue to a wonderful, eventful life ahead.
Merry Christmas, my loves.
Our tree is a wonderfully large, lively assortment of Baby's First Christmases, ski trips, sports teams, first cars and travels. The ritual begins with an empty tree and boxes stacked on either side. One by one, memories emerge from the tissue: a football star, honor student, ski bum, little truck, Saguaro cactus, Disneyland train, graduation cap, beloved pet, and macaroni angel. Hand painted eggs and crystal snowflakes go high up in Loge, above wagging tails and inquisitive fingers. Darth Vader action figures and Gingerbread men bravely sit below. Box after box empties into our hearts the vivid memories of love that has defined and strengthened us.
I love to hold close these magical moments of the family in full action, and when I do I see again their hair fly in a soccer game or them scramble over a fire truck on a Scout outing. Ornaments have caught a bit of the sweetest and richest moments we have known.
It dawns on me now, as they adorn the tree and vie for attention, that for me the whole story is told in this way, all of it intermixed, my world. But for my sons, these ornaments are their starter pack, a prologue to a wonderful, eventful life ahead.
Merry Christmas, my loves.
Dec 1, 2007
AIDS Day
Today is a pretty significant day for anyone who has lost or is losing someone they love to AIDS. It's an insidious disease, hard to diagnose, hard to fight, hard to survive. AIDS deeply touches us at the root of who we are and how we survive.
When frantic AIDS headlines splashed across the news and we thought it was a Gay disease, a friend of mine's father had the misfortune of needing surgery. It was the early 1980s, and during the procedure he needed two pints from the local blood bank. He was an attorney, a heterosexual family man and strong Catholic whose daughter had to call me one day to say he had AIDS.
How is that possible, I demanded? Her explanation was incredible: we hadn't responded quickly enough to protect the blood and it hadn't been screened for AIDS. Her dad: the quiet man who warmly hugged us as we dashed through their lives during our college dorm years; the husband who adopted three children to give them love and a better life. There was not even hope to cling to.
My friend and I had our babies in the mid '80s and often talked. I would cuddle my boys on my lap as she talked of placing hers in her father's arms as he became increasingly too weak to hold them. She was taking pictures.
I was afraid for her, for them, and shared my worries. How she could be sure AIDS wasn't transmitted casually? She told me she had to believe because she needed to see her children with their Grandfather as much as their Grandfather needed to have them there. I was inspired by her love for her father and ashamed for not knowing if I could make the same choice. That was the first face of AIDS I saw.
My best friend in high school was flambuoyantly, enthusiastically, wholly gay. He was warm and tender, smart, good looking, wonderfully funny, and a talented artist. There were months and years we were inseparable, and years after high school when we were not, but our friendship remained strong.
AIDS took him on in the 80s, and began its slow compromising of his immune system but it didn't take him down. A tecchie guy before it was in vogue, he made his living in a variety of ways until poor health got the better of him. He existed the last 10 years or so on Disability, participating in the Gay Olympics in Pool and bettering the lives of others in the ways that mattered. He passed away this year after fighting the good fight for 30 years.
It's nearly Christmas. What I want this year is for the most brilliant minds funded by the most wealthy countries to throw out the political barriers and channel their energies toward an international, results-driven eradication of AIDS and CANCER. All over the world, day by day, we are diminished until then. I Believe.
When frantic AIDS headlines splashed across the news and we thought it was a Gay disease, a friend of mine's father had the misfortune of needing surgery. It was the early 1980s, and during the procedure he needed two pints from the local blood bank. He was an attorney, a heterosexual family man and strong Catholic whose daughter had to call me one day to say he had AIDS.
How is that possible, I demanded? Her explanation was incredible: we hadn't responded quickly enough to protect the blood and it hadn't been screened for AIDS. Her dad: the quiet man who warmly hugged us as we dashed through their lives during our college dorm years; the husband who adopted three children to give them love and a better life. There was not even hope to cling to.
My friend and I had our babies in the mid '80s and often talked. I would cuddle my boys on my lap as she talked of placing hers in her father's arms as he became increasingly too weak to hold them. She was taking pictures.
I was afraid for her, for them, and shared my worries. How she could be sure AIDS wasn't transmitted casually? She told me she had to believe because she needed to see her children with their Grandfather as much as their Grandfather needed to have them there. I was inspired by her love for her father and ashamed for not knowing if I could make the same choice. That was the first face of AIDS I saw.
My best friend in high school was flambuoyantly, enthusiastically, wholly gay. He was warm and tender, smart, good looking, wonderfully funny, and a talented artist. There were months and years we were inseparable, and years after high school when we were not, but our friendship remained strong.
AIDS took him on in the 80s, and began its slow compromising of his immune system but it didn't take him down. A tecchie guy before it was in vogue, he made his living in a variety of ways until poor health got the better of him. He existed the last 10 years or so on Disability, participating in the Gay Olympics in Pool and bettering the lives of others in the ways that mattered. He passed away this year after fighting the good fight for 30 years.
It's nearly Christmas. What I want this year is for the most brilliant minds funded by the most wealthy countries to throw out the political barriers and channel their energies toward an international, results-driven eradication of AIDS and CANCER. All over the world, day by day, we are diminished until then. I Believe.
Nov 27, 2007
Techno-Mousetraps
I was thinking this morning about change and what a mixed bag it is. Good things like indoor plumbing, electricity, automobiles, technology and eradicating diseases like polio have enormous human impact. I suppose change has to stand on the shoulders of the past and use it for fuel, but it makes me sad to know the horse and buggy, Pony Express and slide rule become an asterisk in some history book.
'Follow me', Change says, 'There is a better way.'
Change isn't good by nature, it depends on how we direct it. I don't see it strengthening our society in our beating our best efforts without contemplating the toll. Do we really need this much entertainment-driven technology that isolates the society? If our best minds are focused on Gameboys and Blackberrys, who will carry on the American legacy of being the world's gritty survivors, inventors and innovators?
That bigger and better mousetrap everybody's focused on might just beat us at our own game.
'Follow me', Change says, 'There is a better way.'
Change isn't good by nature, it depends on how we direct it. I don't see it strengthening our society in our beating our best efforts without contemplating the toll. Do we really need this much entertainment-driven technology that isolates the society? If our best minds are focused on Gameboys and Blackberrys, who will carry on the American legacy of being the world's gritty survivors, inventors and innovators?
That bigger and better mousetrap everybody's focused on might just beat us at our own game.
Nov 20, 2007
Still
Sunday curls sunlight into the room as a fire gently plays its song. In pajamas and robes, we tuck into the sofa and laugh over a jumble of old movies, then and now. She loves you, ya ya ya.
The day before we'd been on Potrero Hill admiring The City at night, re-discovering Diego Rivera's frescoes at Coit Tower, reliving the Haight and Apollo Records, savoring steamed clams and Louie at the Clam House, walking the Giant moments at Pac Bell Park, taking the crookedest street that isn't Lombard, and celebrating 'The Thinker' at the Legion of Honor.
His home turf. As am I. This connection we have, these moments, make me forget what life was like before. My heart stands still.
The day before we'd been on Potrero Hill admiring The City at night, re-discovering Diego Rivera's frescoes at Coit Tower, reliving the Haight and Apollo Records, savoring steamed clams and Louie at the Clam House, walking the Giant moments at Pac Bell Park, taking the crookedest street that isn't Lombard, and celebrating 'The Thinker' at the Legion of Honor.
His home turf. As am I. This connection we have, these moments, make me forget what life was like before. My heart stands still.
Nov 12, 2007
Advanced Citizenship
I was surprised to learn a Presidential debate, a school board meeting and a movie raised the same question: Have we quit participating in our own lives?
Television and newspapers are not designed to cull from the herd a qualified Commander in Chief. They set up ratings-driven jousting competitions whose bias is to entertain. Education and enlightenment are byproducts. We already know the modern media takes no moral responsibility in its reporting. Why, then, would we expect it to provide a neutral and meaningful forum for in-depth discussions on significant issues?
It wasn't always that way. In the Nixon/Kennedy debates, television provided an incredible opportunity for the masses to evaluate the two platforms and candidates. Nowadays, it promotes itself. I don't think we should underestimate the impact of Reality shows here, no more than we should underestimate the effect violent video games have on violence. Reality shows have developed in us a taste for entertainment decision-making. These shows often vote off the most capable players, encouraging and empowering us to make snap judgments using superficial criteria. When it comes to picking a President, some of us use other tools to be informed on the issues, but most of us don't.
A school board meeting last week brought to light a concern about a middle school history book which inaccurately teaches about Islam. What is the problem, I wondered to myself, until this intelligent woman questioned the School Board on the disparity of teaching religion in a school that disallows its children the right to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I listened to her voice crack with emotion as she wrestled with understanding the relevance of her son learning why Muslims face East as they kneel in prayer and explained the inaccuracies inherent in the textbook adopted by many of our nation's schools. I listened intently now as she cited passages describing the holy meaning of 'Jihad' without them mentioning the resulting terror that it has come to mean in the modern world. And when she pleaded with parents to listen to their children and become involved in their learning, I understood.
How incredible those words had to be said, that parents don't already actively participate. Education enlightens and promotes tolerance if it is impartial and balanced or it is propaganda. The danger isn't the topic as much as that we aren't paying attention.
I saw the movie Lions for Lambs yesterday. It was an interesting movie but not a comfortable experience. The movie explores the importance of recognizing and excising self-centeredness and complacency through dynamic participation. Whether we succeed or fail, the human experience dares us to engage in our world, to risk ourselves and take a stand.
I believe in education, as most of us do. I believe it is the key to diplomacy and taking the high road wherever possible. If we are to provide an even-handed foundation of philosophical enlightenment for our people, it needs to be taught in the schools. Along with a light dusting of religion where it pertains to human motives for significant historical events, we should teach what Socrates and Aristotle knew about advanced citizenship.
But we need to do more. We must demonstrate the personal responsibility each of us bears as Americans by actively and continually participating in the democratic process toward the goals for which we stand: One God. Indivisible. With Liberty and Justice for All.
It was Hillel who said: 'If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?'
Indeed.
Television and newspapers are not designed to cull from the herd a qualified Commander in Chief. They set up ratings-driven jousting competitions whose bias is to entertain. Education and enlightenment are byproducts. We already know the modern media takes no moral responsibility in its reporting. Why, then, would we expect it to provide a neutral and meaningful forum for in-depth discussions on significant issues?
It wasn't always that way. In the Nixon/Kennedy debates, television provided an incredible opportunity for the masses to evaluate the two platforms and candidates. Nowadays, it promotes itself. I don't think we should underestimate the impact of Reality shows here, no more than we should underestimate the effect violent video games have on violence. Reality shows have developed in us a taste for entertainment decision-making. These shows often vote off the most capable players, encouraging and empowering us to make snap judgments using superficial criteria. When it comes to picking a President, some of us use other tools to be informed on the issues, but most of us don't.
A school board meeting last week brought to light a concern about a middle school history book which inaccurately teaches about Islam. What is the problem, I wondered to myself, until this intelligent woman questioned the School Board on the disparity of teaching religion in a school that disallows its children the right to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I listened to her voice crack with emotion as she wrestled with understanding the relevance of her son learning why Muslims face East as they kneel in prayer and explained the inaccuracies inherent in the textbook adopted by many of our nation's schools. I listened intently now as she cited passages describing the holy meaning of 'Jihad' without them mentioning the resulting terror that it has come to mean in the modern world. And when she pleaded with parents to listen to their children and become involved in their learning, I understood.
How incredible those words had to be said, that parents don't already actively participate. Education enlightens and promotes tolerance if it is impartial and balanced or it is propaganda. The danger isn't the topic as much as that we aren't paying attention.
I saw the movie Lions for Lambs yesterday. It was an interesting movie but not a comfortable experience. The movie explores the importance of recognizing and excising self-centeredness and complacency through dynamic participation. Whether we succeed or fail, the human experience dares us to engage in our world, to risk ourselves and take a stand.
I believe in education, as most of us do. I believe it is the key to diplomacy and taking the high road wherever possible. If we are to provide an even-handed foundation of philosophical enlightenment for our people, it needs to be taught in the schools. Along with a light dusting of religion where it pertains to human motives for significant historical events, we should teach what Socrates and Aristotle knew about advanced citizenship.
But we need to do more. We must demonstrate the personal responsibility each of us bears as Americans by actively and continually participating in the democratic process toward the goals for which we stand: One God. Indivisible. With Liberty and Justice for All.
It was Hillel who said: 'If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?'
Indeed.
Nov 5, 2007
Hallowed Ground
How many people acknowledge schools as organic life forms? Kids breathe life into the mortar and bricks, lawns and desks. It is the skeletal structure for the heart and intellect of those walking its halls, and they count on it.
Schools are an intermediate step to independence. Parents ease children faithfully into the schools, believing in the process, understanding the inherent risks of releasing their grasp. Like a mother bird nudging her chicks toward the edge of the nest, we are readying our children for flight. We know exploring the world educationally and socially is key to their success. We know they can't fly without wings and yet it is no less of a struggle to let go.
Some think schools are a microcosm of the world, but it's more than that. It's an alternate universe, a place where life extends beyond what children know at home. Here they are also known, protected and challenged to explore ideas and be groomed for life.
This is hallowed ground. The relationships and experiences developed in schools are every bit as significant as those at home. Schools take seriously their responsibility in creating an environment of safety and tolerance but they can't do it alone.
When little ones skip off to school, we fret over who they meet, what they learn, and if they are safe. Years pass and parents settle into the routine, skipping more open houses and academic events in middle and high school and relinquishing the chance to know who and what influences their children the most.
There's not much I like about Hillary Clinton but one thing she said is very true: it takes a village to raise a child. Leaving the raising of anyone's child to someone else is foolish. But when a family stands alongside school officials, bus drivers, teachers, ministers, community leaders, friends and neighbors, you've got yourself a winning team.
Schools are an intermediate step to independence. Parents ease children faithfully into the schools, believing in the process, understanding the inherent risks of releasing their grasp. Like a mother bird nudging her chicks toward the edge of the nest, we are readying our children for flight. We know exploring the world educationally and socially is key to their success. We know they can't fly without wings and yet it is no less of a struggle to let go.
Some think schools are a microcosm of the world, but it's more than that. It's an alternate universe, a place where life extends beyond what children know at home. Here they are also known, protected and challenged to explore ideas and be groomed for life.
This is hallowed ground. The relationships and experiences developed in schools are every bit as significant as those at home. Schools take seriously their responsibility in creating an environment of safety and tolerance but they can't do it alone.
When little ones skip off to school, we fret over who they meet, what they learn, and if they are safe. Years pass and parents settle into the routine, skipping more open houses and academic events in middle and high school and relinquishing the chance to know who and what influences their children the most.
There's not much I like about Hillary Clinton but one thing she said is very true: it takes a village to raise a child. Leaving the raising of anyone's child to someone else is foolish. But when a family stands alongside school officials, bus drivers, teachers, ministers, community leaders, friends and neighbors, you've got yourself a winning team.
Oct 25, 2007
Too Tired to Cook
I forgot. I forgot how great it feels to tap into energy sources with an exciting new job. I forgot the passion of a volunteer post. I forgot what being in love is like. I've been taking the hill at a run instead of pacing myself for the long haul.
Oops. One teensy assignment or meeting a month seems like a totally workable plan until it gains momentum and sucks everything into its vortex. That explains why I find myself daydreaming about a free day to rake the leaves and put out fall decorations...
You ever hear the rocks-in-the-jar analogy? According to internet lore, a college professor tries to illustrate a point by filling a wide mouth glass jar with river rocks. He asks his students if the jar is full. Yes, they say. He then adds to the jar a bucket of pea gravel, working it down between the rocks. How about now, he asks? Some students still say yes. Next, he pours sand in the jar which fills the spaces around the rock and gravel. And now? The students have caught on by now and remain silent. Lastly, the professor pours a pitcher of water to the brim.
What does this illustrate, he asks? One student suggests that no matter how full you think your life is, there's always room for more. But the professor answers, 'No. What it illustrates is you have to put the big rocks in first or you'll never get them in.'
Right on. The things we pick for our jars define who we are, the big rocks representing where we focus our energy. As we mature, we reorder our jars and rocks to reflect the changing people we are. I don't spend all my time devoted to the kids anymore, but they'll always be big rocks in my jar.
Lately, though, life has felt a little out of balance. I'll bet during the last reorg, I missed the down time rock. Gotta get back at that jar, as soon as I have time.
Oops. One teensy assignment or meeting a month seems like a totally workable plan until it gains momentum and sucks everything into its vortex. That explains why I find myself daydreaming about a free day to rake the leaves and put out fall decorations...
You ever hear the rocks-in-the-jar analogy? According to internet lore, a college professor tries to illustrate a point by filling a wide mouth glass jar with river rocks. He asks his students if the jar is full. Yes, they say. He then adds to the jar a bucket of pea gravel, working it down between the rocks. How about now, he asks? Some students still say yes. Next, he pours sand in the jar which fills the spaces around the rock and gravel. And now? The students have caught on by now and remain silent. Lastly, the professor pours a pitcher of water to the brim.
What does this illustrate, he asks? One student suggests that no matter how full you think your life is, there's always room for more. But the professor answers, 'No. What it illustrates is you have to put the big rocks in first or you'll never get them in.'
Right on. The things we pick for our jars define who we are, the big rocks representing where we focus our energy. As we mature, we reorder our jars and rocks to reflect the changing people we are. I don't spend all my time devoted to the kids anymore, but they'll always be big rocks in my jar.
Lately, though, life has felt a little out of balance. I'll bet during the last reorg, I missed the down time rock. Gotta get back at that jar, as soon as I have time.
Oct 21, 2007
Night Lights
I love working with clay. Just like life, it's unpredictable, malleable, poignant: that is, until all hell breaks loose.
A six week triple-header with a death, a broken engagement, and three sons in transition made it feel like the chips were truly down. The reckless life of a teen became a fortunate blur. How grateful I was not to be able to imagine the chilling days ahead. Moments strung themselves into an adrenaline-forced heal. I grew accustomed to the dark as we survived it, and don't I know there are lots who can't say the same.
It's empty in that place you never want to be. A support circle can warm the periphery but it's your life, not theirs, and only you can take it on. Probably the best moment I've ever known is seeing a hand reaching down to give me a boost up. It makes a need in me to be that hand for someone else.
Last weekend in the American Cancer Society Relay for Life training class, I sat listening to a mother share her thoughts about facing her daughter's cancer. Yes, yes, I kept thinking, having a child on drugs feels like that, too. She spoke of the shock, the terror, the sense of powerlessness, the anger and reconciliation, the fight of their lives.
They say what doesn't kill you makes you strong. It surely strengthened my faith. These days, I live in hope and gratefulness for this personalized God who turned on the night light during those really long nights. I am forever shaped by it.
A six week triple-header with a death, a broken engagement, and three sons in transition made it feel like the chips were truly down. The reckless life of a teen became a fortunate blur. How grateful I was not to be able to imagine the chilling days ahead. Moments strung themselves into an adrenaline-forced heal. I grew accustomed to the dark as we survived it, and don't I know there are lots who can't say the same.
It's empty in that place you never want to be. A support circle can warm the periphery but it's your life, not theirs, and only you can take it on. Probably the best moment I've ever known is seeing a hand reaching down to give me a boost up. It makes a need in me to be that hand for someone else.
Last weekend in the American Cancer Society Relay for Life training class, I sat listening to a mother share her thoughts about facing her daughter's cancer. Yes, yes, I kept thinking, having a child on drugs feels like that, too. She spoke of the shock, the terror, the sense of powerlessness, the anger and reconciliation, the fight of their lives.
They say what doesn't kill you makes you strong. It surely strengthened my faith. These days, I live in hope and gratefulness for this personalized God who turned on the night light during those really long nights. I am forever shaped by it.
Oct 9, 2007
It's All in the Details
I was thinking today about love and honor. Some of us have this built-in cloaking device when we're called on to make significant decisions that affects those we love. A crossroads seems to drift us in the direction of wondering how they will be impacted. They're not just important to us, they are an integral part of us. We don't always do the right thing, but we always try to make it right.
Or not.
A friend recently separated from his wife and offered to help move some things to her new place. A pretty nice gesture, I thought, and certainly one I wouldn't have made during my divorce. I admired him knowing the importance of maintaining an amicable relationship for the sake of future family functions.
He took great care in boxing up things she had asked for, wrapping and marking them, moving large items into the truck and heading across town. While there, he noticed a decorative stone in her garden inscribed with her name and another man's, dated October '06. Coming face to face with proof of her infidelity must have been a blow, even with a marriage winding down. They had separated in January '07.
That stone was probably a really small thing to her, something she didn't give a second thought about at the time. She's not even considering the impact it will have on her kids and grandkids when they read the inscription and do the math. No cloaking device here!
Fifty something years on this soil and still living life as though she's the only one in it. That just blows my mind.
Or not.
A friend recently separated from his wife and offered to help move some things to her new place. A pretty nice gesture, I thought, and certainly one I wouldn't have made during my divorce. I admired him knowing the importance of maintaining an amicable relationship for the sake of future family functions.
He took great care in boxing up things she had asked for, wrapping and marking them, moving large items into the truck and heading across town. While there, he noticed a decorative stone in her garden inscribed with her name and another man's, dated October '06. Coming face to face with proof of her infidelity must have been a blow, even with a marriage winding down. They had separated in January '07.
That stone was probably a really small thing to her, something she didn't give a second thought about at the time. She's not even considering the impact it will have on her kids and grandkids when they read the inscription and do the math. No cloaking device here!
Fifty something years on this soil and still living life as though she's the only one in it. That just blows my mind.
Oct 7, 2007
Efficient!
Graciously shared from onceuponasmile.blogspot.com
An efficiency expert concluded his lecture with a note of caution: "Don't try these techniques at home."
"Why not?" asked somebody from the audience."I watched my wife's routine at breakfast for years," the expert explained. "She made many separate trips between the fridge, stove, table and cabinets, often carrying only a single item at a time. One day I told her, "You're wasting too much time. Why don't you try carrying several things at once?"
"Did it save time?" the guy in the audience asked.
"Actually, yes," replied the expert. "It used to take her 20 minutes to make breakfast. Now I do it in ten."
Oct 1, 2007
Be of Good Will
Outlets and Superstores are all the rage. In Folsom and Redding and San Jose and Gilroy, they sprout up like garlic. Fremont even turned an unsuccessful car manufacturing plant into a SuperMall. I guess regular old everyday stores are just too banal and unimpressive.
When I walk into an outlet store, I'm on the prowl. There's an opportunity to find one-of-a-kind items, stylish but not big sellers, priced to move. In we trapse with the promise of finding the deal of the day and out we come either disillusioned at not finding dirt-floor pricing or delerious about the leather jacket that was 60% off PLUS on the 50%-off-the-lowest-markdown rack. Woo Hoo.
The concept of a Superstore is one-stop shopping: groceries and fishing tackle and clothing and nursery and photo studio all in one convenient spot.
That said, you can imagine my surprise at discovering a Goodwill Outlet Store and a Goodwill Superstore on my way home from work. That's right: the repository for cast-off home and hearth items has an outlet and superstore. I can't begin to imagine a Superstore Goodwill. Please tell me they don't sell health and beauty items alongside used bedding.
But an Outlet store? Are they in a rush to move last season's items off the shelves for new used items? I don't GET it. Goodwill has an abundance of one of a kind items priced to sell already. What do they have, displays designed to snag impulse buyers with staged used furniture and snappy skirt/jacket combos?
This is a Goodwill store. How ridiculous to feel like they have to dress up what provides a great service to the community. I've gotta admit, though, I got a kick out of the sign proclaiming it is 'Open to the Public.' Whew! For a second there, I thought I'd need a membership card.
When I walk into an outlet store, I'm on the prowl. There's an opportunity to find one-of-a-kind items, stylish but not big sellers, priced to move. In we trapse with the promise of finding the deal of the day and out we come either disillusioned at not finding dirt-floor pricing or delerious about the leather jacket that was 60% off PLUS on the 50%-off-the-lowest-markdown rack. Woo Hoo.
The concept of a Superstore is one-stop shopping: groceries and fishing tackle and clothing and nursery and photo studio all in one convenient spot.
That said, you can imagine my surprise at discovering a Goodwill Outlet Store and a Goodwill Superstore on my way home from work. That's right: the repository for cast-off home and hearth items has an outlet and superstore. I can't begin to imagine a Superstore Goodwill. Please tell me they don't sell health and beauty items alongside used bedding.
But an Outlet store? Are they in a rush to move last season's items off the shelves for new used items? I don't GET it. Goodwill has an abundance of one of a kind items priced to sell already. What do they have, displays designed to snag impulse buyers with staged used furniture and snappy skirt/jacket combos?
This is a Goodwill store. How ridiculous to feel like they have to dress up what provides a great service to the community. I've gotta admit, though, I got a kick out of the sign proclaiming it is 'Open to the Public.' Whew! For a second there, I thought I'd need a membership card.
Sep 23, 2007
Entitlement
There is a fierce debate over what constitutes risk, particularly financial risk, and whether it should be the responsibility of its citizens and government to step in when things unravel. The question I want answered is how lenders could allow greed to supersede their fiduciary responsibility for ensuring we are committing ourselves to a supportable loan.
We all know the needs-vs-wants war. A little child wants a giant double fudge sundae. It's evident the child can't eat it and it's expensive, but the child reeeeaaaalllllly wants it. Do her folks buy it anyway or steer her toward a humble single scoop dressed up with chocolate sauce and sprinkles, realizing the child will be satisfied with that?
America is all about options that are exceeded only by opportunities. The sky is the limit for those who know how to play the money game, and for those who don't there's credit. We play so fast and loose with credit, we've come to believe needs and wants are the same thing. We are conspicuous consumers.
Needs are things basic to survival, like food, shelter, clothing, health and welfare, education, freedom of religion, etc. Wants are everything else. Though we want our own home, we need shelter; though we want a car for school, we can get there by walking or using public transit.
Needs are things basic to survival, like food, shelter, clothing, health and welfare, education, freedom of religion, etc. Wants are everything else. Though we want our own home, we need shelter; though we want a car for school, we can get there by walking or using public transit.
Those who take sensible steps toward increasing financial responsibility are rarely told no. There's no mystique to it, really: they listen to the experts, scale their wants and needs, and establish more achievable goals. They respect the relationship between hard work and responsible spending which garners respect in the financial world.
Borrowers who are in the gotta-get world of materialism snub those cautioning them about risk. They feel a sense of entitlement for a house and you bet they are entitled to everything the rest of us are. They're entitled to take responsibility for the consequences of a loan or understand the terms - variables, negative am, interest only. They're entitled to believe once they're in, they can relieve the financial choke of being overextended by refinancing. But they're also 'entitled' to decide what they're going to do when things don't turn out as planned.
The couples in a $600K house, with a new Suburban and full size truck painted to match the boat in the drive are tenuously balanced on an income that can't sustain their lifestyle. It must be terrifying to lay down at night, knowing an emergency or job loss would plunge them into financial ruin.
My first house was a dump of a place that cost $484 a month, PITI. Sounds like a car payment now, but then it represented sixty percent of my income. It was an enormous struggle to make the payment. Six years of sweat equity later it was a pretty home, but learning to be disciplined on a budget eventually led to afford landscaping, and paint, and other improvements. That experience, and others since, shaped my philosophy of consumerism.
I get the difference between needs and wants. There's times I want want want and there's times I indulge myself, too. But I stop short of hurling myself into a financial chasm I cannot possibly scale. I don't expect people to bail me out if the investment doesn't yield what it expect. So I say, let the chips fall where they may as long as their misery doesn't take down the entire financial structure of our country with 'em.
Life is too short to dance on the point of a pin.
Borrowers who are in the gotta-get world of materialism snub those cautioning them about risk. They feel a sense of entitlement for a house and you bet they are entitled to everything the rest of us are. They're entitled to take responsibility for the consequences of a loan or understand the terms - variables, negative am, interest only. They're entitled to believe once they're in, they can relieve the financial choke of being overextended by refinancing. But they're also 'entitled' to decide what they're going to do when things don't turn out as planned.
The couples in a $600K house, with a new Suburban and full size truck painted to match the boat in the drive are tenuously balanced on an income that can't sustain their lifestyle. It must be terrifying to lay down at night, knowing an emergency or job loss would plunge them into financial ruin.
My first house was a dump of a place that cost $484 a month, PITI. Sounds like a car payment now, but then it represented sixty percent of my income. It was an enormous struggle to make the payment. Six years of sweat equity later it was a pretty home, but learning to be disciplined on a budget eventually led to afford landscaping, and paint, and other improvements. That experience, and others since, shaped my philosophy of consumerism.
I get the difference between needs and wants. There's times I want want want and there's times I indulge myself, too. But I stop short of hurling myself into a financial chasm I cannot possibly scale. I don't expect people to bail me out if the investment doesn't yield what it expect. So I say, let the chips fall where they may as long as their misery doesn't take down the entire financial structure of our country with 'em.
Life is too short to dance on the point of a pin.
Sep 21, 2007
Creating Moral Hazard
Has Fed Risked Creating Moral Hazard?
By David Wessel, 9/20/07, WSJ
Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke and his colleagues clearly explained why they cut interest rates this week by one-half percentage point: "To help forestall some of the adverse effects on the broader economy that might otherwise arise from the disruptions in financial markets."
But a vocal chorus is complaining that Bernanke & Co., instead, just bailed out a bunch of greedy speculators, imprudent lenders and short-sighted homebuyers who got too-good-to-be-true mortgages."This is like adding Jack Daniels to the AA-meeting punch bowl," emailed Rob Brantley, a Washington consultant. "The market's reaction provides proof."
"I plan to now sell my house and upgrade to a $4 million or $5 million home in Highland Park. If I find I can't meet my mortgage payments, will Mr. Bernanke bail me out?" Cheryl Kawalsky emailed from Dallas. "Or, is that type of American socialism reserved for hedge-fund managers, investment bankers, and private-equity moguls? The truth is, in America today, I feel like I'm living in a huge house overrun by children. All the adults have left town."
Some of this skepticism is implicit criticism of the Fed's reading of the economy. If one is convinced the economy will muddle through recession or painfully slow growth, then cutting rates is somewhere between unnecessary and unwise because it risks stoking inflationary embers.
That appears to be a risk Mr. Bernanke was willing to take. The more provocative attacks -- which come both from left and right --accuse the Fed of encouraging people to take foolish risks by cutting rates now to protect them from harm. This is known as creating moral hazard, a notion that dates back more than a century and holds that offering insurance encourages people to take risks they otherwise would avoid.
"With automobile-collision insurance, one is more likely to venture forth on an icy night," Harvard's Richard Zeckhauser puts it in the Concise Encyclopedia of Economics. "Federal deposit insurance made savings and loans more willing to take on risky loans. Federally subsidized flood insurance encourages citizens to build homes on flood plains. ... Products covered under optional warranties tend to get abused, as do autos that are leased with service contracts.
The worries are, in part, practical. "Providing [after-the-fact] insurance for risk behavior ... encourages excessive risk-taking and sows the seeds of a future financial crisis," the governor of the Bank of England, Mervyn King, said with conviction Sept. 12, a few days before he and the British government had to move from the sidelines to fight a bank run.
But there also is an ethical dimension to the criticism, a righteous indignation at speculative excess. "There's a definite feeling, when the crisis comes along, that these un-Christian people are getting their comeuppance," says Brad Delong, an economic historian at the University of California, Berkeley. He cites British thinker Edmund Burke in 1790, bemoaning the ascendance of financiers following the French Revolution, who said, "The age of chivalry is gone; that of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded, and the glory of Europe is extinguished forever."
Lower short-term interest rates do help banks that borrow in the short term and lend for the long term. They help anyone who holds debt securities, since their value increases when interest rates come down. No doubt some speculators, greedy investors and imprudent borrowers profited by the Fed's rate cut. But there are moments -- and this may be one -- where one can worry too much about moral hazard. As Fed officials have quipped: We want to discourage people from smoking in bed, but do we want to prevent the fire department from putting out fires caused by such carelessness?
Or, to paraphrase Charles Kindleberger, the late Massachusetts Institute of Technology economic historian: In a speculative boom, one wants to stir doubt as to whether the lender of last resort will step in. But when the bust comes, one certainly wants him to show up.
At times like these, it is the Fed's job to make sure the financial system functions. The Fed shouldn't cut rates just to protect investors or lenders who made stupid bets they didn't fully understand that only made sense when credit was cheap and rising home prices were thought to be inevitable. But neither should the Fed hesitate to cut rates or otherwise intervene when financial panic imperils otherwise sound investments and businesses; otherwise, people will be reluctant to make such sound investments in the future and the overall economy will suffer.
At times like these, there is a danger that a principled stand to punish the profligate could inflict severe economic pain on millions of innocent bystanders. As Mr. King put it in his Sept. 12 statement: "There must be strong grounds for believing that 'central-bank inaction' would lead to economic costs on a scale sufficient to ignore the moral hazard. When there are such strong grounds, failure to act is wrong, no matter what the critics say."
By David Wessel, 9/20/07, WSJ
Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke and his colleagues clearly explained why they cut interest rates this week by one-half percentage point: "To help forestall some of the adverse effects on the broader economy that might otherwise arise from the disruptions in financial markets."
But a vocal chorus is complaining that Bernanke & Co., instead, just bailed out a bunch of greedy speculators, imprudent lenders and short-sighted homebuyers who got too-good-to-be-true mortgages."This is like adding Jack Daniels to the AA-meeting punch bowl," emailed Rob Brantley, a Washington consultant. "The market's reaction provides proof."
"I plan to now sell my house and upgrade to a $4 million or $5 million home in Highland Park. If I find I can't meet my mortgage payments, will Mr. Bernanke bail me out?" Cheryl Kawalsky emailed from Dallas. "Or, is that type of American socialism reserved for hedge-fund managers, investment bankers, and private-equity moguls? The truth is, in America today, I feel like I'm living in a huge house overrun by children. All the adults have left town."
Some of this skepticism is implicit criticism of the Fed's reading of the economy. If one is convinced the economy will muddle through recession or painfully slow growth, then cutting rates is somewhere between unnecessary and unwise because it risks stoking inflationary embers.
That appears to be a risk Mr. Bernanke was willing to take. The more provocative attacks -- which come both from left and right --accuse the Fed of encouraging people to take foolish risks by cutting rates now to protect them from harm. This is known as creating moral hazard, a notion that dates back more than a century and holds that offering insurance encourages people to take risks they otherwise would avoid.
"With automobile-collision insurance, one is more likely to venture forth on an icy night," Harvard's Richard Zeckhauser puts it in the Concise Encyclopedia of Economics. "Federal deposit insurance made savings and loans more willing to take on risky loans. Federally subsidized flood insurance encourages citizens to build homes on flood plains. ... Products covered under optional warranties tend to get abused, as do autos that are leased with service contracts.
The worries are, in part, practical. "Providing [after-the-fact] insurance for risk behavior ... encourages excessive risk-taking and sows the seeds of a future financial crisis," the governor of the Bank of England, Mervyn King, said with conviction Sept. 12, a few days before he and the British government had to move from the sidelines to fight a bank run.
But there also is an ethical dimension to the criticism, a righteous indignation at speculative excess. "There's a definite feeling, when the crisis comes along, that these un-Christian people are getting their comeuppance," says Brad Delong, an economic historian at the University of California, Berkeley. He cites British thinker Edmund Burke in 1790, bemoaning the ascendance of financiers following the French Revolution, who said, "The age of chivalry is gone; that of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded, and the glory of Europe is extinguished forever."
Lower short-term interest rates do help banks that borrow in the short term and lend for the long term. They help anyone who holds debt securities, since their value increases when interest rates come down. No doubt some speculators, greedy investors and imprudent borrowers profited by the Fed's rate cut. But there are moments -- and this may be one -- where one can worry too much about moral hazard. As Fed officials have quipped: We want to discourage people from smoking in bed, but do we want to prevent the fire department from putting out fires caused by such carelessness?
Or, to paraphrase Charles Kindleberger, the late Massachusetts Institute of Technology economic historian: In a speculative boom, one wants to stir doubt as to whether the lender of last resort will step in. But when the bust comes, one certainly wants him to show up.
At times like these, it is the Fed's job to make sure the financial system functions. The Fed shouldn't cut rates just to protect investors or lenders who made stupid bets they didn't fully understand that only made sense when credit was cheap and rising home prices were thought to be inevitable. But neither should the Fed hesitate to cut rates or otherwise intervene when financial panic imperils otherwise sound investments and businesses; otherwise, people will be reluctant to make such sound investments in the future and the overall economy will suffer.
At times like these, there is a danger that a principled stand to punish the profligate could inflict severe economic pain on millions of innocent bystanders. As Mr. King put it in his Sept. 12 statement: "There must be strong grounds for believing that 'central-bank inaction' would lead to economic costs on a scale sufficient to ignore the moral hazard. When there are such strong grounds, failure to act is wrong, no matter what the critics say."
Sep 17, 2007
Relief
The day is unbearably humid. Moisture trickles down from the place where his arm rests at his side, the cotton shorts damp and clinging to the wicker porch chair. Bangs separate on his sister's forehead as they drink from faded aluminum glasses. There is no condensation: what remains are small bits of lemon valiantly floating pulp side up in a sweet, lemony broth.
Two dusty bronzed faces in tender concentration lean toward the board on the wicker foot stool. She absently clicks together the pieces she has stacked, waiting her turn, studying first the threatened pieces in play and hopes for the chance of a counter attack. The air feels so perfectly still, she slides a glance to the tree, the windmill, the weathervane that wait with her in the gathering silence.
Suddenly he shouts and his red checker hops over the black, click, click, click, as he snatches three black disks from the board. Won't it ever rain? she wonders as her disappointed face begins to cloud. Her thought hangs suspended in the soft rustle of leaves as she feels something cool on the wet tracks on her neck. It's here!
The checkers fly as they dash from the porch, taking the stairs two at a time, and race into the wind. Up and around, over and through, the split rail fence is no match for them now, lightning fast over fallow fields of grazing cattle and prairie dogs. They stare upward at the deepest point of swirling silver and stretch wide their arms in thanksgiving. The weighted air thins in twinkles and twirls as they wonder aloud where it will fall first -- the face? no, the tongue! no! the head or the leg -- and the size of the drops.
And then, like a whisper, something grazes his cheek. He holds his breath, not sure what it is, knowing a false guess forfeits the game. But there again: did you feel that? He turns to his sister and follows her gaze as a drop run down her leg. She excitedly lifts her eyes to his as another hits her nose, and together they laugh and dance its cool arrival.
Two dusty bronzed faces in tender concentration lean toward the board on the wicker foot stool. She absently clicks together the pieces she has stacked, waiting her turn, studying first the threatened pieces in play and hopes for the chance of a counter attack. The air feels so perfectly still, she slides a glance to the tree, the windmill, the weathervane that wait with her in the gathering silence.
Suddenly he shouts and his red checker hops over the black, click, click, click, as he snatches three black disks from the board. Won't it ever rain? she wonders as her disappointed face begins to cloud. Her thought hangs suspended in the soft rustle of leaves as she feels something cool on the wet tracks on her neck. It's here!
The checkers fly as they dash from the porch, taking the stairs two at a time, and race into the wind. Up and around, over and through, the split rail fence is no match for them now, lightning fast over fallow fields of grazing cattle and prairie dogs. They stare upward at the deepest point of swirling silver and stretch wide their arms in thanksgiving. The weighted air thins in twinkles and twirls as they wonder aloud where it will fall first -- the face? no, the tongue! no! the head or the leg -- and the size of the drops.
And then, like a whisper, something grazes his cheek. He holds his breath, not sure what it is, knowing a false guess forfeits the game. But there again: did you feel that? He turns to his sister and follows her gaze as a drop run down her leg. She excitedly lifts her eyes to his as another hits her nose, and together they laugh and dance its cool arrival.
Sep 13, 2007
Christopher Michael
Have you ever thought of someone unexpectedly, someone you don't normally see but can't get out of your head? For the last week, I've been meaning to drop Chris a line.
It's funny how memories grab hold. There was that time we scrounged around on the floor of the car for gas money to get to The City because he'd heard the Geary needed volunteer ushers and we could see the play for free. I can see him now, across the balcony, flamboyantly flipping that ridiculously long black cape over his shoulder to untangle it from the programs. He flashed me a smile as he led folks to their seats, completely oblivious to the fact they narrowly missed stepping on the edge of his cape which would have catapulted him into the orchestra pit.
Ah, Chris! We'd sit shoulder to shoulder, letting our feet dangle over the edge of the pier, eating cold cracked crab and sourdough bread with our fingers. I'll never forget teaching him to drive stick in the City and my tears of laughter as he screamed his way down Lombard Street.
He let me stuff him with Donut Wheel donuts. He pawed through and shared my lunches at school. We practiced the blocking and lyrics for musicals, cut class to hang out on a sunny patch of grass, rode bikes without jackets in the pouring rain. He let me cry on his shoulder and laugh at his skinny legs in those ugly striped pants. I guarded his secrets.
When my dad died, there he was, knowing to come even with thirty years between hugs. So this morning when I opened my email, a little piece of me flaked away at the news that he was gone.
The last day we were together, we laughed about moments like these and how much of a difference our friendship made. The last time we held hands, he was still wearing the engraved bracelet I gave him on Graduation Day, 1973.
As it turns out, he was dropping me a line in passing. Rest in peace, my friend. Some of my very best moments on earth were with you.
 | ||
Sep 12, 2007
The Other Woman
Funny how things stick in your mind.
My folks split up when I was 12. In that lonely and unsettled time, when kids take on full responsibility for it -- and why not throw in Global Warming while we're at it? -- I was faced with knowing that my father was dating a woman the family knew from church.
I sit writing this nearly forty years later, and I can still feel the stab of his apparent disloyalty. Never mind we had known the family in Sunday School and camped with them: I heaped the entire responsibility for the break up on 'the other woman.' It couldn't be my father's fault. I loved my dad. I thought I would still live in the world I deserved if it weren't for her.
And that is how things remained for many years. Through a courtship, engagement and wedding that I did not toast, things eroded into socially disconnected holidays bordering on disrespect. I had clearly pulled free of my moorings with my father and was emotionally adrift. How I resented her for the attention he paid to her children while at the same time recoiling from his outstretched hand for me!
My father stood gently beside his wife, taking it all in, never lashing back in anger, although he would have had every right. And so we faced off in what I'm sure felt to him like an unresolvable game of Tic-Tac-Toe.
Time sailed on, through high school, college, and into marriage while my father's wife gently carried on. I pretended not to notice the love she had for my father, although it was unmistakable, or my father's irrepressible devotion to her. Why, they actually seemed happy!
It is hard now to imagine the faith and patience it must have taken to believe that maturity and curiosity would eventually win the day. Through hundreds of conversations and letters there gently did develop a small crack in the door, which I found the courage to nudge wide in 1985. And when I did, there was no list of transgressions waiting for me as I expected. My father's wife embraced me hungrily with acceptance and love, as if I had not misjudged and underestimated her, as if she had been waiting too long to welcome me home.
I lovingly refer to her now as Wicked Step Mother. Had I not come into womanhood with acceptance and reconciliation, I would have missed appreciating her many gifts. I would have missed witnessing a marriage of soulmates and learning the importance of seeking that for myself.
As I begin fresh, I hope that I will be as insightful and courageous in keeping the home fires burning should I encounter any closed doors. I will have faith that time will heal the wounds, and will patiently wait until whomever is on the other side is ready to step through.
My folks split up when I was 12. In that lonely and unsettled time, when kids take on full responsibility for it -- and why not throw in Global Warming while we're at it? -- I was faced with knowing that my father was dating a woman the family knew from church.
I sit writing this nearly forty years later, and I can still feel the stab of his apparent disloyalty. Never mind we had known the family in Sunday School and camped with them: I heaped the entire responsibility for the break up on 'the other woman.' It couldn't be my father's fault. I loved my dad. I thought I would still live in the world I deserved if it weren't for her.
And that is how things remained for many years. Through a courtship, engagement and wedding that I did not toast, things eroded into socially disconnected holidays bordering on disrespect. I had clearly pulled free of my moorings with my father and was emotionally adrift. How I resented her for the attention he paid to her children while at the same time recoiling from his outstretched hand for me!
My father stood gently beside his wife, taking it all in, never lashing back in anger, although he would have had every right. And so we faced off in what I'm sure felt to him like an unresolvable game of Tic-Tac-Toe.
Time sailed on, through high school, college, and into marriage while my father's wife gently carried on. I pretended not to notice the love she had for my father, although it was unmistakable, or my father's irrepressible devotion to her. Why, they actually seemed happy!
It is hard now to imagine the faith and patience it must have taken to believe that maturity and curiosity would eventually win the day. Through hundreds of conversations and letters there gently did develop a small crack in the door, which I found the courage to nudge wide in 1985. And when I did, there was no list of transgressions waiting for me as I expected. My father's wife embraced me hungrily with acceptance and love, as if I had not misjudged and underestimated her, as if she had been waiting too long to welcome me home.
I lovingly refer to her now as Wicked Step Mother. Had I not come into womanhood with acceptance and reconciliation, I would have missed appreciating her many gifts. I would have missed witnessing a marriage of soulmates and learning the importance of seeking that for myself.
As I begin fresh, I hope that I will be as insightful and courageous in keeping the home fires burning should I encounter any closed doors. I will have faith that time will heal the wounds, and will patiently wait until whomever is on the other side is ready to step through.
Sep 11, 2007
The Oxymoron
A joke worthy of reprint.
Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with those expensive double-pane energy-efficient kind.
Yesterday, I got a call from the contractor who installed them. He was
complaining that the windows had been installed a whole year ago and I hadn't paid for them yet.
Now just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I am automatically stupid. So I told him just exactly what his fast-talking sales guy had told ME last year ... namely, that in just ONE YEAR these windows would pay for themselves!
'Helllooooo,' I told him , 'It's been a year !!! '
There was only silence at the other end of the line, so I finally just hung up. He hasn't called back, probably too embarrassed about forgetting the guarantee they made. Bet he won't underestimate my intelligence again.
Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with those expensive double-pane energy-efficient kind.
Yesterday, I got a call from the contractor who installed them. He was
complaining that the windows had been installed a whole year ago and I hadn't paid for them yet.
Now just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I am automatically stupid. So I told him just exactly what his fast-talking sales guy had told ME last year ... namely, that in just ONE YEAR these windows would pay for themselves!
'Helllooooo,' I told him , 'It's been a year !!! '
There was only silence at the other end of the line, so I finally just hung up. He hasn't called back, probably too embarrassed about forgetting the guarantee they made. Bet he won't underestimate my intelligence again.
Sep 10, 2007
Media Dogs
Watching the Presidential hopefuls scurry through the media making themselves visible has got its risks. On the up side, there's a chance for name recognition at voting time, and on the down side the same is true. Reporters hammer them with questions designed to alienate one group or another if they take a serious stand on any issue, and the group who often screams the loudest isn't the one deciding the vote.I question the motives of media scrounges who dredge up questionnaires filled out years earlier by political hopefuls. Do they think people seeking office shouldn't have the same rights as the rest of us to temper our thoughts by maturity and insight before it becomes political dogma?
My views certainly have changed. Experience usually deepens into a broader, wiser, more temperate view of the world. Folks hang somewhere between the far right and the far left because we eventually learn that life just isn't all one way. We seem to be a complicated blend of independent thoughts strung together: Republicans when we want to protect our earnings, Democrats when others are in need, and Independents when we want a non-partisan thinker to represent us in the White House.
The media delights in criticizing our future leaders for re-examining important issues along the way. Are they kidding?
I want a Thinking-Man's President. I want someone with the character to re-examine important issues in light of a complex, constantly changing and dangerous world. I want someone who thinks on their feet, who can react and respond when it all boils down to a keen mind that can sift through an issue and make an informed decision.What the media is really encouraging is mediocrity and inflexibility in our political leaders. Seems to me that hasn't worked out so well for us in the past.
Fireside Chats
Just at dawn, my father's sleeping bag would rustle as he quietly rose, fumbled for warmer clothes and reached for his shoes. The hollow whirr of the zippers would fill the room, first to open the screened door and then the canvas flap. My mother would follow a few minutes later, stretching up tall into her morning, brushing her hair back with the smallest brush I've ever seen, and straightening the sleeping bags and pillows before slipping on her shoes.
I'd listen to their morning footsteps, the click and pop of the camp stove as the propane caught, their quiet companionable murmers, birds chirping and rustling in the trees, the spit and crackle of bacon as its scent filled the air. Stiff from the air mattress having gone flat during the night, my eyes would drift along the color coded tent poles, along the seams to the little windows with pockets that stored stuff like a flashlight and Kleenex we might need during the night.
My brother would be curled into his dreams and scrunched down so far only the top of his head was visible, and I'd scramble for a sweatshirt and tumble out of the tent, knowing the first one up got a taste of bacon. And that began an exploratory day of hiking trails and fishing and swimming until twilight.
At dusk, a conch shell would sound and everyone would head over to the place where rough-hewn benches and a little stage sat. The Ranger would pick a volunteer to help him light the gigantic bonfire and I'd envy the little badge or magnifying glass or little book on birds he'd give away as a thank you. My folks would laugh as we sang silly camp songs like 'we're going on a bear hunt' and pantomimes as chipmunks or raccoons.
The Fireside Chat always involved an entertaining Ranger who taught us about animals, birds and snakes from their point of view. Each night was a different topic with a different Ranger so we went more than once. And afterwards, with the flashlight leading the way in the dark, I most loved the sounds of walking back together, talking about the chat, knowing we would build a little bonfire of our own and roast marshmallows.
Sep 8, 2007
Alternative Fuel
It's about that time. Yep, the dreaded moment of truth when it's time to get smaller because the clothes in the closet aren't getting any bigger. Let's call it the search for Alternative Fuel.
Ya, ya, I've read the books and seen the videos. Hey, I stand in the check out line, too! I know what to do. The question isn't which diet works as much as which fits my current mood.
The most popular diet is the 'eat-with-total-abandon-notwithstanding -clogging-of-the-arteries' plan. Ya, I'm harpooning my future, but first let's get down to that dress size and THEN I'll stop eating a pound of bacon at every meal. How comforting it must be to know your friends will stand over your casket and exclaim, "I wish I looked that great! What do you think she is, a size 7?"
There's the 'eat-one-thing-for-two-weeks' diet. ANYONE can lose weight if they only eat one thing, even if it's avocadoes. Your kidneys may have a thing or two to say about that.
The 'write-each-thing-down-and-count-points' diet is hot. What, do people have nothing to do with their day other than develop an Excel spreadsheet to keep track of this stuff? This is waaaay too complicated, especially with the exchange thing. They did come up with a nifty game board like the ones you used to play on long trips when you were a kid, but it's still hard to get all the sliding doors closed for the win.
The 'liquid' diet is clever. I did that recently when I had to prep for a colonoscopy. I wouldn't recommend it, even though I did lose three pounds.
There's the 'diabetic' diet but that's for -- um-- diabetics. Non-diabetic dieters on this need to be speed readers for all the labels you have to read. I recommend you hit the frozen aisle last.
The 'better-living-through-modern-chemistry' diet involves a doc giving you B-12 injections and pills so you can down size. While the rest of us are doing the fight-to-the-death struggle with willpower and facing down those fierce moments of temptation and discouragement, they are using enhancements. I'm warning ya: dieters are less kind than baseball fans about stuff like that.
I enjoy TV infomercials about pills that magically capture fat so you can eat anything you want and not gain weight. I wonder how many of those little pills you'd need to take in order to eat a funnel cake at the State Fair. HELLO.
The 'buy-our-food-and-we'll-make-you-thin' diet is in vogue. That combines convenience and small portions but it's expensive. Hey, I've got an idea: if you put small sensible meals in little Tupperware containers in the freezer, you'd lose the same amount of weight AND have money for that new wardrobe you'll need when you thin down. Of course, if any of us were disciplined enough to do that, we wouldn't be having this discussion.
So that brings us to 'the-free-and-easy diet' which doesn't involve a membership fee, a charge for weekly weigh-ins, counting points, or taking shots in the cheek. Eat sensibly, walk more, eat natural foods, slow down at meals, drink more water, plan meals better and not take seconds.
Hey! Let's start a new fad.
Sep 6, 2007
ChoreBoy
Every parent wants their kids to grow up to be productive members of society. Loosely translated, that means: if they are taught to cook some, clean some, work some, save some, love some and laugh some, they'll eventually move out.
The lower-division coursework began at three, with refilling toy boxes and straightening beds. At seven and eight, they helped prepare meals and sweep the garage. Upper division began at ten, with mowing and trimming the yard and rotating through indoor chores. By twelve they had advanced to laundry and money management.
I thought I was on the right track until one evening I observed one of my teenage sons doing laundry. We were companionably standing together in the laundry room, the way you do when you're both busy, and he chatted about practice and school as he turned on the washer, filled it with filthy boy togs and tossed in a capfull of liquid. I waited and watched him close the lid and start down the hall.
Hey wait up, mister. What about soap?
He heaved a weary sigh and returned to the washer, pulling the container down from the shelf to show me what he had added to the water. I opened the storage container from between the appliances and pointed to the granular soap dispenser of Tide.
Now I had his attention! He peered over my shoulder at the dry soap and then lifted the bottle in his hand to read the label. It was Downy.
The lower-division coursework began at three, with refilling toy boxes and straightening beds. At seven and eight, they helped prepare meals and sweep the garage. Upper division began at ten, with mowing and trimming the yard and rotating through indoor chores. By twelve they had advanced to laundry and money management.
I thought I was on the right track until one evening I observed one of my teenage sons doing laundry. We were companionably standing together in the laundry room, the way you do when you're both busy, and he chatted about practice and school as he turned on the washer, filled it with filthy boy togs and tossed in a capfull of liquid. I waited and watched him close the lid and start down the hall.
Hey wait up, mister. What about soap?
He heaved a weary sigh and returned to the washer, pulling the container down from the shelf to show me what he had added to the water. I opened the storage container from between the appliances and pointed to the granular soap dispenser of Tide.
Now I had his attention! He peered over my shoulder at the dry soap and then lifted the bottle in his hand to read the label. It was Downy.
Aug 29, 2007
Advancing Up
I know you're shocked by this disclosure, but I'm stubborn. No, no, really I am! I just love getting wrapped up in making things happen according to my schedule. The weight of the reins feels good now and then, and it's fun to lose track of the fact that individual achievement is only a small part of success.
Like too many Bounce sheets in the towels, stubbornness blocks the absorption rate of life lessons. Tools for our belt, like persistence and empathy, compassion, integrity and humility, are hard to learn because we don't want to -- or can't -- admit we're not the Puppeteer.
Heck, even the Super Mario Brothers illustrated the rewards of pushing forward. By mastering each level, we earn the win to experience the next rung on the ladder, learn new things and encounter new worlds.
And as for those game levels that take a few extra tries -- and you know what I mean -- I like believing there's someone with the alternate routes already mapped out, who knows the hidden passages when we're locked a dungeon, who is standing by.
Aug 28, 2007
The Secret(s)
There's a lot of talk about a little DVD making a splash by that same name. To say it is a short course in empowerment is to underestimate its value and purpose, but let's start there. For me, it was a reaffirmation of the power to redirect your life by practicing conscious thought. God already encourages us to know the participatory joy and rewards of mining for inner strength. The Secret just ratchets it up a notch or two.
I wasn't mulling that over as I approached the task of cleaning up and organizing a big box of photos. Sitting cross legged on the floor, I began sorting by topic and year, thinking of making album piles for my sons, my brother, myself. Midway through the several hundred pictures, the memories suddenly became overwhelming and all organizational hope was lost.
A snapshot of my mother-in-law smiled proudly as she held my eldest on his first birthday. Remember how how hot it was and how the barbecue smoked and we set up that little plastic pool on the lawn so everybody could stick their feet in it? My eyes welled up with tears at the sound of the voice I had not heard in over a decade, the memory was so fresh and sharp.
There were pictures of my husband and me on a catamaran off the coast of Puerta Vallarta and, another time, under a Banyon tree in Hawaii, smiling and carefree. How glad I was to remember moments like that as the marriage now sits in decay.
I moved on, looking at the terrified glee as my kids headed into their first solo roller coaster ride, and seeing their tender expressions on that Christmas morning when Santa gave them pet rats. I laughed aloud at the goofy Halloween costumes and Olympic scoring swim parties, scouting events, neighborhood get-togethers and cheesy sports pictures that stilled a life anything but still.
My folks and in-laws, beloved pets, a few dear friends ... they are gone. But look at how much remains! The years have changed and drawn us along on its timeline, but faces I see in these bent edged, faded photos are still with me: you -- and you -- and you.
There are so many secrets to learn in life. One is that love makes it possible to magically feel again the warmth of a vacant hand around the Christmas table. Another is that a messy box of pictures can be a profound reminder that trust keeps those we love in our lives, timeless and true. Those are pretty big secrets, too.
Aug 21, 2007
Learning To Dance
You want to learn something new about someone, just take them to a picnic. Maybe others pose questions we don't think to ask or that we tend to live our lives as individuals rather than in clusters. It just blows me away that someone I have known for 30 years can invariably pull out a surprise or two.
For a new couple unaccustomed to socializing in each other's world, it's pretty wild. Observing what they say, what they do, and how they share with a large group of friends tells volumes about them. What do you think happens with old married couples sitting together at a picnic? Do they still listen to each other talk, turn in surprise at a reply and companionably join in, or do they turn away in their own conversations, assuming they know the answers already?
I like that we're prisms in the sun, able to simultaneously curse the continuity of life and feel gratitude for the strength it provides. For newbies who don't yet know the quiet of each other's thoughts, we're just starting to know if we hear the same music, let alone if we can dance to it.
A Hole in the Bucket
I'm not sure I like technology. As it infiltrates society and roots itself in our lives, people seem more lonely. It bombards us with instant, effortless entertainment but look at how impatient and intolerant we have become.
We spend most of our time interacting with work people who aren't part of our inner circle. At home, there's so little left of us that we flip on the TV or fire up the PC. Our social skills atrophy because technology fills the gap. Or does it?
It takes effort to plan events with the people we love. That's never been more true than in this day and age of friends living farther away and family schedules with working couples and less time. Perhaps get-togethers have gone by the wayside because we lose track of how wonderful it feels to sit across from people we love over a game of cards on Saturday night. Technology does not satisfy us the way being together does.
One of the best Far Side cartoons is entitled 'Before Television'. It shows a family sitting on two livingroom sofas arranged in an L shape facing a blank wall. That's not that far off.
Technology can be a pretty amazing tool. It provides a connecting link we wouldn't otherwise have. It broadens our global vision and educates and enlightens. But it also has barbs. It indiscriminately delivers whatever we want whenever we want it. It offers up filler rather than protein - a supplement, not a substitute, to life.
I wonder if our kids know the difference.
Aug 19, 2007
Altruism
In this dizzingly fast paced me-me-me world lives a true altruistic friend. Her mother-in-law had been raising her grandson, my friend's nephew, for most of his life. She'd done a good job, but age has a way of necessitating change and they had approached that point.
She was feeling a little discouraged when she phoned. She'd been mulling over the idea of taking him in and her local friends hadn't been all that encouraging. They wondered aloud why she'd risk adding a troubled teen to her well ordered life. What she essentially wanted to know was if I thought she was nuts.
Honestly, a lot of thoughts jumped to mind. Had she considered how it would unbalance her world and the world of her only child? What about the importance of a peaceful home to someone that needs to decompress? How about the educational goals she has in place, about her finances that hover from paycheck to paycheck? What pressures would it put on the marriage? Instead, I asked her what she had to offer.
She told his story first, about a splintered family life and a grandmother out of her league, about his willful spirit that was becoming more pronounced as he approached the teen years, about where a boy heads when he has no anchor.
Then she offered up what a difference she could make, the stable and loving home with ample food and room enough for him. I was struck by her voice cracking just a little as we talked, feeling honored to have her as a friend and believe the passion she felt for her nephew.
Most of us have altruistic moments where we want to help a little and sometimes do. But how many of us would throw ourselves into an open-ended, lifetime commitment with a lot at stake. What a courageous, selfless thing to do! What a shining example of living large. She got my enthusiastic two thumbs up and an offer to help.
It's been over a year since we had that talk. The state of Nebraska called during the background check and has indeed awarded my friend and her husband custody of their nephew. Sure, there have been some bumps in the road. Rules and boundaries have taken a while, respect and family cohesion issues, too. But all in all it's been a great ride.
Now her calls brim with news about 'the boys' and their activities. Her nephew is flourishing but so, too, is her son. My friend is blossoming as a person, a mother, a teacher, an aunt. Every day, she is a reminder that true altruism thrives, even in this world of ours that seems to have forgotten what that is.
She was feeling a little discouraged when she phoned. She'd been mulling over the idea of taking him in and her local friends hadn't been all that encouraging. They wondered aloud why she'd risk adding a troubled teen to her well ordered life. What she essentially wanted to know was if I thought she was nuts.
Honestly, a lot of thoughts jumped to mind. Had she considered how it would unbalance her world and the world of her only child? What about the importance of a peaceful home to someone that needs to decompress? How about the educational goals she has in place, about her finances that hover from paycheck to paycheck? What pressures would it put on the marriage? Instead, I asked her what she had to offer.
She told his story first, about a splintered family life and a grandmother out of her league, about his willful spirit that was becoming more pronounced as he approached the teen years, about where a boy heads when he has no anchor.
Then she offered up what a difference she could make, the stable and loving home with ample food and room enough for him. I was struck by her voice cracking just a little as we talked, feeling honored to have her as a friend and believe the passion she felt for her nephew.
Most of us have altruistic moments where we want to help a little and sometimes do. But how many of us would throw ourselves into an open-ended, lifetime commitment with a lot at stake. What a courageous, selfless thing to do! What a shining example of living large. She got my enthusiastic two thumbs up and an offer to help.
It's been over a year since we had that talk. The state of Nebraska called during the background check and has indeed awarded my friend and her husband custody of their nephew. Sure, there have been some bumps in the road. Rules and boundaries have taken a while, respect and family cohesion issues, too. But all in all it's been a great ride.
Now her calls brim with news about 'the boys' and their activities. Her nephew is flourishing but so, too, is her son. My friend is blossoming as a person, a mother, a teacher, an aunt. Every day, she is a reminder that true altruism thrives, even in this world of ours that seems to have forgotten what that is.
Aug 8, 2007
Talkies
It's pretty weird to be telling you this as a non-media fan, but I've been going to the movies. Three times in the last week, as a matter of fact. I know: I think the last movie I saw was Music and Lyrics with a girlfriend for a mercy cheer up but before that it was probably Lord of the Rings or maybe the first Pirates movie. I really prefer live performances.
What started this kick is that someone I love loves to go to the show. I'm trying to acclimate myself, you know, like immersion therapy, but boy has the movie experience changed. How come previews are inappropriate for some of the audience who have shelled out nearly $10 of their hard earned money to see something else? We're sitting there with our jujubees waiting for a comedy and on comes previews filled with violence and horror. And what's up with the crossover advertising for TV shows? Not cool, people.
We saw Rush Hour 3 first, which was so bad we had to get the taste out of our mouth by going the following night to see No Reservations. That was good. The story line has been over-produced: you know, the professional-woman-turned-mother-unexpectedly-and-has- to-adjust scenario. But I like Catherine Zeta-Jones and the characters showed no immoral behavior or swearing. I liked that people who loved each other struggled to put each other first and I always like happy endings, so that hit the spot. I do wonder how come the theater was empty. I hope it's not because of the very things I found refreshing.
Hairspray was fun. The concession stand even good naturedly let me buy a little kid snack pack which included a few handfuls of over-salted, greasy and stale popcorn, a sour rope and a lemonade which cost less than the admission price. Score!
Hairspray satirizes the zany optimism of the 1950s and the audience was really into it. They clapped and laughed aloud all during the movie, we looked at each other and shared our enjoyment of it. Some nodded in remembrance of life before integration, and some pointed excitedly. We participated. I think the last time a movie felt like a live performance was when we waited in line for four hours to see the first Star Wars movie at the Coronet Theatre in San Francisco in the summer of 1977.
Ok. Maybe I can give this going to the movies idea a shot. But I really wish they'd drop the previews.
What started this kick is that someone I love loves to go to the show. I'm trying to acclimate myself, you know, like immersion therapy, but boy has the movie experience changed. How come previews are inappropriate for some of the audience who have shelled out nearly $10 of their hard earned money to see something else? We're sitting there with our jujubees waiting for a comedy and on comes previews filled with violence and horror. And what's up with the crossover advertising for TV shows? Not cool, people.
We saw Rush Hour 3 first, which was so bad we had to get the taste out of our mouth by going the following night to see No Reservations. That was good. The story line has been over-produced: you know, the professional-woman-turned-mother-unexpectedly-and-has- to-adjust scenario. But I like Catherine Zeta-Jones and the characters showed no immoral behavior or swearing. I liked that people who loved each other struggled to put each other first and I always like happy endings, so that hit the spot. I do wonder how come the theater was empty. I hope it's not because of the very things I found refreshing.
Hairspray was fun. The concession stand even good naturedly let me buy a little kid snack pack which included a few handfuls of over-salted, greasy and stale popcorn, a sour rope and a lemonade which cost less than the admission price. Score!
Hairspray satirizes the zany optimism of the 1950s and the audience was really into it. They clapped and laughed aloud all during the movie, we looked at each other and shared our enjoyment of it. Some nodded in remembrance of life before integration, and some pointed excitedly. We participated. I think the last time a movie felt like a live performance was when we waited in line for four hours to see the first Star Wars movie at the Coronet Theatre in San Francisco in the summer of 1977.
Ok. Maybe I can give this going to the movies idea a shot. But I really wish they'd drop the previews.
Jul 23, 2007
The List
I'm a list maker. Going to the store lists, things to do lists, details for the party lists. It's how I keep myself intact.
Pretty much guys think we're nuts, although I do know one whose inside kitchen cabinets look like a butterfly bush. Everything that keeps him on target is listed on those scraps of fluttering paper taped at the top: who he lent books or DVDs to, when he bought things and when it's time to reorder stuff. It was actually kind of gratifying to see.
Some time ago, I took to heart some advice about partnering. I was told: write down the qualities I love about people in my life, roll them all together, and when I find someone with those qualities, hang on tight. So here goes, from one hopeful visualist to another: my five fingertip match.
Intellect and wit. This is because of dad. Thinking inspires curiosity, challenges us to grow and integrate. Wit is the icing.
Humor. Humor is ballast. I picked this up from everybody in my life. Everything is better with a smile. Laugh lines are proof of a life fully enjoyed.
Spirit. A life of authenticity, founded by love and integrity, that focuses on quietly listening to God with humility and faith. My mom, Aunt, and friends taught me that.
Heart. A heart that expands but not contracts, that's how my children taught me to love: in a criticism-free zone.
Body. Love with all that you are. No bumper guards.
Pretty much guys think we're nuts, although I do know one whose inside kitchen cabinets look like a butterfly bush. Everything that keeps him on target is listed on those scraps of fluttering paper taped at the top: who he lent books or DVDs to, when he bought things and when it's time to reorder stuff. It was actually kind of gratifying to see.
Some time ago, I took to heart some advice about partnering. I was told: write down the qualities I love about people in my life, roll them all together, and when I find someone with those qualities, hang on tight. So here goes, from one hopeful visualist to another: my five fingertip match.
Intellect and wit. This is because of dad. Thinking inspires curiosity, challenges us to grow and integrate. Wit is the icing.
Humor. Humor is ballast. I picked this up from everybody in my life. Everything is better with a smile. Laugh lines are proof of a life fully enjoyed.
Spirit. A life of authenticity, founded by love and integrity, that focuses on quietly listening to God with humility and faith. My mom, Aunt, and friends taught me that.
Heart. A heart that expands but not contracts, that's how my children taught me to love: in a criticism-free zone.
Body. Love with all that you are. No bumper guards.
Jul 19, 2007
Tripping Up
I was nervously walking back to my car from the courthouse in downtown Stockton. The overflow juror parking lot was four blocks away and it was winter so it was nearing dusk at 5pm. It's a rundown part of town, with people hanging around, and trash, and boarded up and barred windows. I was lost in thought and hurried on ahead, alone.
As I crossed a street coming up to a long block with a bus stop and some street people who were hanging around at the corner, I felt conspicuous in my jury duty dress and heels. No one said anything, and I didn't cast my eyes in their direction other than a sideways glance at their feet as I approached. It suddenly felt like all eyes were on me.
Maybe that's what contributed to tripping as I stepped from the street onto the uneven sidewalk. Man, I went flying. My purse opened and the contents spilled, including my wallet holding the credit cards. My stockings split open and I scuffed my shoes and my hands. No one offered to help me up and there was that seizing moment of panic when I scooped up proof of my financial security and double-stepped it back to the car.
A man I know has broken his son because he was unwilling and unable to forgive himself for resenting his little boy. His son was expected to yield to his father's unresolved issues about his own childhood. His son did nothing wrong. The father could not find a way to put his son first or strive to discover new ground to bring them together. Over the years, callouses formed on their hearts. The man's need to control his son mattered more than the soft heart of the little boy desperately wanting his love.
Tripping up is part of our journey. We're clumsy. We make mistakes. We overplay our hand. We struggle through failures and triumphs. God is the stabilizing bar to our humanity. When we let ego rule, we don't feel for an outstretched hand.
I've thought about that day in Stockton. I didn't bother acknowledging the downtrodden people milling around that corner. How many times a day do you think that happens to them? Would one of them have stepped forward, do you think, if I had humanized them with a look or greeting? Me, too.
When life knocks us out of whack, we need a compassionate steadying hand. Maybe if I'd given them the dignity of a nod, they might have helped me up. And when they did, and I brought their faces into focus, perhaps they may have even noticed and mentioned the silver Visa card lying on the sidewalk that I overlooked.
As I crossed a street coming up to a long block with a bus stop and some street people who were hanging around at the corner, I felt conspicuous in my jury duty dress and heels. No one said anything, and I didn't cast my eyes in their direction other than a sideways glance at their feet as I approached. It suddenly felt like all eyes were on me.
Maybe that's what contributed to tripping as I stepped from the street onto the uneven sidewalk. Man, I went flying. My purse opened and the contents spilled, including my wallet holding the credit cards. My stockings split open and I scuffed my shoes and my hands. No one offered to help me up and there was that seizing moment of panic when I scooped up proof of my financial security and double-stepped it back to the car.
A man I know has broken his son because he was unwilling and unable to forgive himself for resenting his little boy. His son was expected to yield to his father's unresolved issues about his own childhood. His son did nothing wrong. The father could not find a way to put his son first or strive to discover new ground to bring them together. Over the years, callouses formed on their hearts. The man's need to control his son mattered more than the soft heart of the little boy desperately wanting his love.
Tripping up is part of our journey. We're clumsy. We make mistakes. We overplay our hand. We struggle through failures and triumphs. God is the stabilizing bar to our humanity. When we let ego rule, we don't feel for an outstretched hand.
I've thought about that day in Stockton. I didn't bother acknowledging the downtrodden people milling around that corner. How many times a day do you think that happens to them? Would one of them have stepped forward, do you think, if I had humanized them with a look or greeting? Me, too.
When life knocks us out of whack, we need a compassionate steadying hand. Maybe if I'd given them the dignity of a nod, they might have helped me up. And when they did, and I brought their faces into focus, perhaps they may have even noticed and mentioned the silver Visa card lying on the sidewalk that I overlooked.
Jul 17, 2007
Buying Dinner
My son is moving into his own place on Saturday. It's a nice place. Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed having him home as an only child for the first time since 1985, but there are clues when it's time.
He settled here after college, for a few months until he found his niche. A few tactical shifts and a slight derailment lengthened his stay to 16 months but he recovered nicely and is now working in his major field with a solid framework as a future. We're at T minus 3 days ... and counting.
There's pluses to the big heave-ho. I get my garage back, for instance, and one of the bedrooms and my dog, who has a love affair going on with him and all but ignores me except at mealtime.
I'm sure my son will appreciate not living here. I've been actively dating for the past year and he watches over me with a mix of concern and dread as the dinner dates and card-playing evenings and hikes have come and gone. He seems caught between wanting to leave me alone and not being able to.
He's coming along, though. He and his girl survived a double date with my sweetheart and I. We had a ball during dinner at a Mexican restaurant but I did catch his assessing expression at times. And when he picked up the tab, WELL ... that was a thrilling moment for me. Hey, I recognize the international symbol of adulthood and appreciate the obvious importance my eldest son placed on the evening with a man I care for.
People ask me how it feels to have him moving out. Like a double cartwheel on soft cool grass, I say. There is important stuff happening here. You bet I remember how exciting it felt to be net free (even if it IS on microfiche).
Living with an adult son has given me something unexpected: an opportunity to glimpse his core self, his heart, and his spirit from the full height of adulthood. I wouldn't have a chance to know some of these things if we hadn't been roomies, and I'm not talking about just learning he is awesome at whipping up a perfectly seasoned stir fry at a moment's notice.
Thanks again for that dinner, and all the others we've shared. You make me proud.
He settled here after college, for a few months until he found his niche. A few tactical shifts and a slight derailment lengthened his stay to 16 months but he recovered nicely and is now working in his major field with a solid framework as a future. We're at T minus 3 days ... and counting.
There's pluses to the big heave-ho. I get my garage back, for instance, and one of the bedrooms and my dog, who has a love affair going on with him and all but ignores me except at mealtime.
I'm sure my son will appreciate not living here. I've been actively dating for the past year and he watches over me with a mix of concern and dread as the dinner dates and card-playing evenings and hikes have come and gone. He seems caught between wanting to leave me alone and not being able to.
He's coming along, though. He and his girl survived a double date with my sweetheart and I. We had a ball during dinner at a Mexican restaurant but I did catch his assessing expression at times. And when he picked up the tab, WELL ... that was a thrilling moment for me. Hey, I recognize the international symbol of adulthood and appreciate the obvious importance my eldest son placed on the evening with a man I care for.
People ask me how it feels to have him moving out. Like a double cartwheel on soft cool grass, I say. There is important stuff happening here. You bet I remember how exciting it felt to be net free (even if it IS on microfiche).
Living with an adult son has given me something unexpected: an opportunity to glimpse his core self, his heart, and his spirit from the full height of adulthood. I wouldn't have a chance to know some of these things if we hadn't been roomies, and I'm not talking about just learning he is awesome at whipping up a perfectly seasoned stir fry at a moment's notice.
Thanks again for that dinner, and all the others we've shared. You make me proud.
Jul 9, 2007
The Odometer Chick
I have another update in the teen-seeks-a-car series. I swear, these stories write themselves.
My son, after the first two fiascos, was undaunted. Immediately he found another Ford Ranger, nice shape, nice price, and called. The woman who answered gave him the rundown on the ex husband and needing to sell it (What IS this with ex's leaving their cars behind? My ex took everything he wanted when he left - including the chain saw). Anyway, she told him the mileage was 120K and could show the truck at 8pm.
No problem! My son re-arranged his evening plans and gave her a call around then to arrange a meeting spot. Eight wasn't good for her now but 9 was, so he bided his time and called just shy of 9. Gee, could they make it Saturday at 11? She didn't realize 9 was so late...
That really should have been his first clue.
On Saturday, boy did eventually meet truck around noon - and the woman behind it. The truck was a beaut and he eagerly looked it over as she chattered on about how it should have been listed for $1K more and what a bargain it was. He had checked the blue and the price was about right for 120K, and he told her so, and was just about ready to arrange for our mechanic to put it up on the rack when he noticed the miles: 205K.
What the heck? He challenged her on the price and miles, and she hedged, and then finally 'admitted' the mileage really is 120K but 'the odometer sticks and that's why it shows 205K'.
She should have paid attention in math. (He passed.)
My son, after the first two fiascos, was undaunted. Immediately he found another Ford Ranger, nice shape, nice price, and called. The woman who answered gave him the rundown on the ex husband and needing to sell it (What IS this with ex's leaving their cars behind? My ex took everything he wanted when he left - including the chain saw). Anyway, she told him the mileage was 120K and could show the truck at 8pm.
No problem! My son re-arranged his evening plans and gave her a call around then to arrange a meeting spot. Eight wasn't good for her now but 9 was, so he bided his time and called just shy of 9. Gee, could they make it Saturday at 11? She didn't realize 9 was so late...
That really should have been his first clue.
On Saturday, boy did eventually meet truck around noon - and the woman behind it. The truck was a beaut and he eagerly looked it over as she chattered on about how it should have been listed for $1K more and what a bargain it was. He had checked the blue and the price was about right for 120K, and he told her so, and was just about ready to arrange for our mechanic to put it up on the rack when he noticed the miles: 205K.
What the heck? He challenged her on the price and miles, and she hedged, and then finally 'admitted' the mileage really is 120K but 'the odometer sticks and that's why it shows 205K'.
She should have paid attention in math. (He passed.)
Jul 8, 2007
This Relationship is Over
This is wonderful -- found anonymously - where else? - on CraigsList. ENJOY!
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Dear Silver Mercedes C280 in front of me on Oak Street,
I'm sorry, but this relationship simply isn't working for me. Among other things, relationships are built on trust and mutual understanding, and frankly I don't see those qualities in you. I
respected your right-of-way when you entered the same lane in front of me on Oak Street from Masonic, but with that right-of-way comes certain responsibilities.
Surely you've been down this road before, Mercedes. Surely you must appreciate the synchronized traffic signals that allow us to glide through town unfettered by the block-by-block stop-and-go of our freewayless city. Yet still you seem oblivious to the appropriate rate of speed necessary to keep pace with the synchronization. Do you not recognize all the other car-on-car relationships around you? They all seem to understand how this whole thing works. Don't think I can't see you sipping your latte up there, and is that the New York Times folded against your steering wheel? I have needs, Mercedes -needs you seem in no rush to fulfill. So help me, if one of these lights turns red before we reach it, I'm not forgetting it any time soon.
Have you any idea how embarrassed and frustrated I am when the other traffic on our little thoroughfare see how you're holding me back? I'll tell you right now, I know what lies in my future -Octavia Boulevard, the Central Skyway and eventually I-80 East to the 4th Street exit. Frankly, I just don't know that you have what it takes to be in front of me through that.
So let's be adults about this. I need this lane for the upcoming turn, so please just quietly change lanes or turn on to a side street, and let's put this all behind us. Don't make me honk.
Regretfully,
The Silver Volvo XC70 behind you
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Dear Silver Mercedes C280 in front of me on Oak Street,
I'm sorry, but this relationship simply isn't working for me. Among other things, relationships are built on trust and mutual understanding, and frankly I don't see those qualities in you. I
respected your right-of-way when you entered the same lane in front of me on Oak Street from Masonic, but with that right-of-way comes certain responsibilities.
Surely you've been down this road before, Mercedes. Surely you must appreciate the synchronized traffic signals that allow us to glide through town unfettered by the block-by-block stop-and-go of our freewayless city. Yet still you seem oblivious to the appropriate rate of speed necessary to keep pace with the synchronization. Do you not recognize all the other car-on-car relationships around you? They all seem to understand how this whole thing works. Don't think I can't see you sipping your latte up there, and is that the New York Times folded against your steering wheel? I have needs, Mercedes -needs you seem in no rush to fulfill. So help me, if one of these lights turns red before we reach it, I'm not forgetting it any time soon.
Have you any idea how embarrassed and frustrated I am when the other traffic on our little thoroughfare see how you're holding me back? I'll tell you right now, I know what lies in my future -Octavia Boulevard, the Central Skyway and eventually I-80 East to the 4th Street exit. Frankly, I just don't know that you have what it takes to be in front of me through that.
So let's be adults about this. I need this lane for the upcoming turn, so please just quietly change lanes or turn on to a side street, and let's put this all behind us. Don't make me honk.
Regretfully,
The Silver Volvo XC70 behind you
Jul 6, 2007
CraigsListforCars
This has been an educational experience watching my son look for a used vehicle online. He has his parameters. It has to run, of course, and have all the hardware like doors and a windshield and a radio antenna. Tires would be good, and brakes, and an engine. And it has to be as cheap as possible.
But there is one more critical component: it has to have 'the cool' factor. For me, cool means air conditioning, in addition to being affordable, reliable, and clean. For him, cool means it is lowered to scrape height, with two mufflers (neither of which seem to work), a great stereo system, no back seats, a souped up engine and painted an electric blue. It has no a/c - meaning, when it's 104 out, the wind blowing at you is just as hot at 25 as it is at 110 when you're chasing an ambulance.
When I declined their very generous - and value priced - sale offer of $4,000, the owner (who was a Sheriff's Deputy) said, 'it's because of his age, huh'. Of course not. It's because it comes with its very own book of tickets and a tshirt bearing a radar gun with the words PICK ME.
Astonishingly, this was a step up from the last vehicle he saw. He found a 2001 Ford Ranger in cherry condition with 50K miles for $2000 ($8000 under fair market price). The woman selling the vehicle had a deadline of Friday before having to hand it over to her ex and wanted to meet any interested parties in an anonymous parking lot at 6pm on the 4th of July. Oh and bring cash.
I'd bring a Rottweiler, too, if I were going ... and back up ... and maybe a gun...
But there is one more critical component: it has to have 'the cool' factor. For me, cool means air conditioning, in addition to being affordable, reliable, and clean. For him, cool means it is lowered to scrape height, with two mufflers (neither of which seem to work), a great stereo system, no back seats, a souped up engine and painted an electric blue. It has no a/c - meaning, when it's 104 out, the wind blowing at you is just as hot at 25 as it is at 110 when you're chasing an ambulance.
When I declined their very generous - and value priced - sale offer of $4,000, the owner (who was a Sheriff's Deputy) said, 'it's because of his age, huh'. Of course not. It's because it comes with its very own book of tickets and a tshirt bearing a radar gun with the words PICK ME.
Astonishingly, this was a step up from the last vehicle he saw. He found a 2001 Ford Ranger in cherry condition with 50K miles for $2000 ($8000 under fair market price). The woman selling the vehicle had a deadline of Friday before having to hand it over to her ex and wanted to meet any interested parties in an anonymous parking lot at 6pm on the 4th of July. Oh and bring cash.
I'd bring a Rottweiler, too, if I were going ... and back up ... and maybe a gun...
Jul 5, 2007
Option E
My son wants to buy another vehicle. He needs one because the truck he didn't license, insure or register was tagged and towed. He bought it from his brother at the bargain price of $500 which, when you take into account it gets 8 mpg and consumes a case of oil a week, was grossly overpriced. It looked like it had been shelled and then survived a Basenji being locked inside.
Before the great 'towing incident of 2007', we had discussed his options: a) register and license the vehicle; b) register and do a non-operational use permit; c) park it in the driveway off a public street; or d) let me donate it to charity for the end of year tax write off.
Apparently he chose Option E. Option E? ...Ah yes, the do-nothing plan. I discovered Option E the day he informed me his truck had been stolen from in front of a friend's house. Stolen? The most valuable part on the truck was the toolbox and that could be unbolted. I recommended he call the city.
Ahhh, Door #E opens up into a black market economy! Once the city takes possession of the vehicle, the towing company can charge anything it wants (per day) until the owner attends to the issue. They have it GOING ON!! So THAT'S how they fund those big fancy tow trucks with all the gadgets.
Towing companies aren't choosy about little things like matching up registered owner names, I guess: they gladly took from a 19 year old the $530 to untangle their fees for a vehicle not technically his. He had no choice but to pay the fees, because his much older, much bigger, and much stronger brother was the registered owner and the lien would be have been in his name.
But wait, there's more!
In the all-or-nothing world of Option E, he also had to bring the registration current before the vehicle, the one he didn't own, would be released. Since the truck wasn't even worth the $530 he had already paid, let alone the additional $239, he left it with them. He probably could have gotten a $15 non operational permit, but at the risk of getting the truck back, I decided not to mention it.
Is anyone in the market for a used toolbox in perfect condition?
Jul 4, 2007
Sitting Still Enough to Listen
We want to be successful communicators to have a life of connections to our friends and family, work and world. But communication is a genuine challenge when how we express ourselves is as unique as our experiences, education, upbringing, and the conclusions we've drawn in life. When we're not 'on the same page', building bridges can be tough.
Being misunderstood is one of the hardest things to solve. What's inside isn't always easy to express. We teeter between being tedious and vague, in a place where what is said is not always what is heard.
Written communication is even worse. Lost is the inflection and conversational rhythm of active communication. Playful sarcasm is wonderfully funny live but loses most of its punch in print. Things can be read literally or misread altogether when you've only got one eye turned to the page.
I've misunderstood and been misunderstood at times and I wonder if the speed of life makes it easy to not take the time to listen and process. Admittedly, I am restless to get to the heart of the topic and sometimes miss the subtleties that tie the bow.
So here's my plan: hone a more focused listening style. That means minimizing distractions like driving, washing dishes, paying bills when I'm actively communicating. It also means being present in the moment with the communication itself, listening to what's being said rather than what I want to hear.
That should keep me busy for a while. What was that? Oh sure, let me know how I do.
Jul 1, 2007
Dollars with Sense
You know, I've had just about as much of Paris Hilton as I can stand. Say it with me: people who take ethical shortcuts in life end up somewhere they don't expect. Even worse than the choices is the lack of remorse other than being caught.
The media barrages us all the time with the lowest common denominator without qualification. Filling our heads with sensational stories of corruption and violence, during family hour, without the insightful parables of goodness coming out of moral decay, is wrong. Whose fault is it all this crap is being shoved down our throats? Ours.
All we seem to be able to manage is idly standing by wringing our hands in despair at the decay of this country when we spoon feed our children these examples to live down to. I resent having to explain to my 8 year old about the Gay Freedom Parade before he is old enough to hear the talk about the birds and the bees, because I had the misfortune of turning on the 6:00 news while making dinner. Where is the national conscience and common sense to put that on the 11:00 news?
Children are sponges and we are their filters -- not just their parents, all of us. Parents struggle to monitor and qualify what is seen and heard, set family boundaries and steadfast values, and the media undermines them, as though they have no moral obligation to its society. Where is the protective cultural framework that gave us our strength, the deep roots in God, Family, Country? This is why our societal fabric is shredding. HELLO?? Everywhere other than church and at the dinner table, we're shown how to take what we want without consequence.
But I was thinking ... what might happen if we only endorsed entertainment and news with values-based story lines? What if we bit the bullet and sacrificed the immediacy of our no-holds-barred entertainment fetish to establish a baseline here? In other words, practice personal restraint by not buying it at the movies, on DVDs or computers or TV. Free or not, we control market share, and that makes the world go round.
I'd like to see the day when PBS, Disney, History, Discovery and HG TV dominate the ratings for 60 consecutive weeks. Watching the media scramble for funding sources would be so entertaining, we probably wouldn't even miss all the murder and treachery. If we play our cards right, we might be able to also jettison all the sexual dysfunction ads...
Social reform is easy in a country driven by greed. Our voices wouldn't be a whisper, they'd be a shout. America would respond in a hurry if we leveraged our dollars with sense. The ball's in our court.
The media barrages us all the time with the lowest common denominator without qualification. Filling our heads with sensational stories of corruption and violence, during family hour, without the insightful parables of goodness coming out of moral decay, is wrong. Whose fault is it all this crap is being shoved down our throats? Ours.
All we seem to be able to manage is idly standing by wringing our hands in despair at the decay of this country when we spoon feed our children these examples to live down to. I resent having to explain to my 8 year old about the Gay Freedom Parade before he is old enough to hear the talk about the birds and the bees, because I had the misfortune of turning on the 6:00 news while making dinner. Where is the national conscience and common sense to put that on the 11:00 news?
Children are sponges and we are their filters -- not just their parents, all of us. Parents struggle to monitor and qualify what is seen and heard, set family boundaries and steadfast values, and the media undermines them, as though they have no moral obligation to its society. Where is the protective cultural framework that gave us our strength, the deep roots in God, Family, Country? This is why our societal fabric is shredding. HELLO?? Everywhere other than church and at the dinner table, we're shown how to take what we want without consequence.
But I was thinking ... what might happen if we only endorsed entertainment and news with values-based story lines? What if we bit the bullet and sacrificed the immediacy of our no-holds-barred entertainment fetish to establish a baseline here? In other words, practice personal restraint by not buying it at the movies, on DVDs or computers or TV. Free or not, we control market share, and that makes the world go round.
I'd like to see the day when PBS, Disney, History, Discovery and HG TV dominate the ratings for 60 consecutive weeks. Watching the media scramble for funding sources would be so entertaining, we probably wouldn't even miss all the murder and treachery. If we play our cards right, we might be able to also jettison all the sexual dysfunction ads...
Social reform is easy in a country driven by greed. Our voices wouldn't be a whisper, they'd be a shout. America would respond in a hurry if we leveraged our dollars with sense. The ball's in our court.
Jun 30, 2007
Insane Mothers
It's tough when a parent has to wait for the learning curve to take root. I feel my foot tap tap tapping out the reprise: what is TAKING so long with the life lessons? Whatever happened to the good old days when you could just stuff them into color-coded Garanimals outfits and get them off to school?
I suppose when my brother and I were doing the broadjump, my mom tamped down her instinct to grab us by the scruff of the neck and shake us silly. From a parent's point of view, that requires some pretty fancy footwork. But even with the teenage speed-of-light immersion plan, the parental levee occasionally has a breach.
I once observed one of those when my mother chased my brother around the pool with a broom because he waited too long to clean the pool before her party and the filter backed up and nobody wanted to swim in water the color of skim milk. Another time a heated exchange -- which I'm SURE didn't involve my inflammatory tone -- resulted in a bag of granola being hurled in my direction. Unfortunately for mom, it fell short of its intended target and landed (and burst) in the open baby grand piano. I'll bet THAT took a while to suck up with a vacuum crevice tool.
WHAT?
I always figured this was subject specific parent insanity (SSPI). And then I became a mother and learned the truth: insane parents are made and not born. Swear! Contrary to popular opinion, mothers start out normal, they DO, as infinitely patient, optimistic, human nurturers, and over hundreds and thousands of interchanges with people-on-the-rise, they erode.
An angel gently nuzzling her newborn in a few short years becomes that shrew you see swinging a bat at the umpire at a little league game because little Johnny's ball SHOULD HAVE BEEN a home run. A 5'7" woman who needs help with the lawn mower can indeed lift a 6' seventeen year old boy off the ground when he is sneaking her daughter home at 4:00 AM. A mother with no money who loves her kid more than anything will figure a way to have his hunk of junk truck towed 100 miles to college if he dares her.
Now that I'm a 'seasoned' mother, I sit on my hands on the sidelines watching them make their own way, wondering if it's the steeper grade that makes the lessons harder or just the fact that each lesson carries more weight.
You bet they see me cheering their progress and learning lessons of my own as I master being a mother of grown ups. I'll be right with you guys, right after I lean a bit more into the curve.
I suppose when my brother and I were doing the broadjump, my mom tamped down her instinct to grab us by the scruff of the neck and shake us silly. From a parent's point of view, that requires some pretty fancy footwork. But even with the teenage speed-of-light immersion plan, the parental levee occasionally has a breach.
I once observed one of those when my mother chased my brother around the pool with a broom because he waited too long to clean the pool before her party and the filter backed up and nobody wanted to swim in water the color of skim milk. Another time a heated exchange -- which I'm SURE didn't involve my inflammatory tone -- resulted in a bag of granola being hurled in my direction. Unfortunately for mom, it fell short of its intended target and landed (and burst) in the open baby grand piano. I'll bet THAT took a while to suck up with a vacuum crevice tool.
WHAT?
I always figured this was subject specific parent insanity (SSPI). And then I became a mother and learned the truth: insane parents are made and not born. Swear! Contrary to popular opinion, mothers start out normal, they DO, as infinitely patient, optimistic, human nurturers, and over hundreds and thousands of interchanges with people-on-the-rise, they erode.
An angel gently nuzzling her newborn in a few short years becomes that shrew you see swinging a bat at the umpire at a little league game because little Johnny's ball SHOULD HAVE BEEN a home run. A 5'7" woman who needs help with the lawn mower can indeed lift a 6' seventeen year old boy off the ground when he is sneaking her daughter home at 4:00 AM. A mother with no money who loves her kid more than anything will figure a way to have his hunk of junk truck towed 100 miles to college if he dares her.
Now that I'm a 'seasoned' mother, I sit on my hands on the sidelines watching them make their own way, wondering if it's the steeper grade that makes the lessons harder or just the fact that each lesson carries more weight.
You bet they see me cheering their progress and learning lessons of my own as I master being a mother of grown ups. I'll be right with you guys, right after I lean a bit more into the curve.
Jun 22, 2007
Foxy Mama, Part I
There is a pretty little community in Longmont, Colorado, with nice folks and no sidewalks and a view of the lake. It's the kind of place where spacious yards spill from one to another and people show a refreshing pride of ownership.And in this quiet little neighborhood, a pair of red foxes came to live. Red foxes are indigenous to most of the United States and live in wooded areas, prairies and farmland. They are known for their cunning and shy dispositions and their adaptability.
Soon after taking up residence, five pups were born. Since reds partner for life, Dad did most of the hunting in the first month while Mom tended the brood. These five little bundles of fluff and their folks eventually emerged to romp on the deck and in the front yard. The mother fox was seen sitting majestically on a large rock helping her mate keep a watchful eye.
AND THEN THERE WERE FOUR
The pups happily tumble bumbled in their impromptu den. About two months after arrival, there was alarm when the male and one of the pups turned up missing and the den was hurriedly abandoned. Had the entire family fallen prey, everyone wondered?
A couple of days passed when mother fox and two of the pups showed up under the front deck of my friends, Scott and Cathy. Close observation of the female showed her surveillance of a home across the street and it was surmised the remaining pups had been stowed there. Although it is common for red foxes to split their dens to protect the generation, this was now a single mother with four pups to raise and no help with the hunting and monitoring. Her choice of homes was well considered: one house had easy access to a wraparound porch with good views of the neighborhood and lake, and the other was nicely situated on a knoll thick with pines and protective underbrush.
Life played on over the next six weeks and my friends, who I can attest are the most considerate of hosts, paid attention to the habits of their new residents and made some significant adaptations on their behalf. Realizing the need for comfortable boundaries, my friends limited their use of the deck and front door, entering the house through the garage. They postponed big yard projects and planned routine outside maintenance during the middle of the day while the foxes slept. Occasionally, when temptation got the better of them, they crept quietly to the edge of the house and peered around the corner to see the goings-on. And in this way, a patient couple and a skittish family of foxes developed trust.
The more stable the environment became, the more visible they were at dusk and dawn. Mama fox was a good and attentive mother. One evening, they watched her teach her pups to hunt by bringing a live bird from across the street and laying it in the street. The pups swarmed forward and joyously fought one another for the prize. One wrestled it free and dashed under the deck with the others in hot pursuit.
She routinely traveled with the pups and moved them from den to den, for socialization as well as safety. They were obedient and smart, and in time she left them for extended periods of time. Their diet consisted of a balance of fruits, grasses, caterpillars and grasshoppers in addition to small live birds and rabbits, and the pups knew how to fend for themselves during her absence.
This little life drama did not escape notice. The fox family became the focus of the community. People on their evening stroll would bring their children on three wheelers and their dogs on leashes to linger at the corner and catch a glimpse of the fox family sitting side by side on Scott and Cathy's deck, as if lording over the neighborhood. The community delighted in them, embraced their presence, and watched the family grow and flourish. But things were about to change.
Part II to follow.
Has Beens
It seems like yesterday we tasted for the first time the sweet, spicy tang of possibilities as life swirled around and drew us in. We confidently drifted with the winds of change, falling to the mat bruised, only to rise again and take a more southwesterly route in our ascent. Life was boundless.
Direction was decided by opportunities and they were in great abundance. Obstacles were frequent, and expected, and met with an urgent willfulness fueled by purpose and optimism. Our canvas had broad strokes of crimson and periwinkle, sunny day yellows and starless black skies.
But gradually, gradually we became accustomed to the sweet nectar of stability. Our once limber and supple minds and bodies, the bold and daring explorers we were, transmuted softly into a more subtle patina of vanilla and rose, taupe and cinnamon. What began as a series of firsts became routines, and then patterns, and finally habits.
The raw fiber of our youth wove itself into family lore as we lost the resemblance. Pictures of us standing at the summit, proudly posing in cap and gown, smiling in front of our first home holding our first born, became historical footprints, faded now but for their impact.
But wait. I feel them churning within, those experiences and feelings. I still taste the salt in my mouth from sweat equity, feel the soft kiss from my first love. In present time they exude intensity and wisdom, humor and strength, eye twinkles and reverent prayers.
Family and faith stand strong and true. The shelter of my life holds those memories thick and dense, decorated with love and success earned the hard way. I am the conservator of the continuity link, feel keenly the need to protect what I know can slip away. Let us linger together as long as we can.
Direction was decided by opportunities and they were in great abundance. Obstacles were frequent, and expected, and met with an urgent willfulness fueled by purpose and optimism. Our canvas had broad strokes of crimson and periwinkle, sunny day yellows and starless black skies.
But gradually, gradually we became accustomed to the sweet nectar of stability. Our once limber and supple minds and bodies, the bold and daring explorers we were, transmuted softly into a more subtle patina of vanilla and rose, taupe and cinnamon. What began as a series of firsts became routines, and then patterns, and finally habits.
The raw fiber of our youth wove itself into family lore as we lost the resemblance. Pictures of us standing at the summit, proudly posing in cap and gown, smiling in front of our first home holding our first born, became historical footprints, faded now but for their impact.
But wait. I feel them churning within, those experiences and feelings. I still taste the salt in my mouth from sweat equity, feel the soft kiss from my first love. In present time they exude intensity and wisdom, humor and strength, eye twinkles and reverent prayers.
Family and faith stand strong and true. The shelter of my life holds those memories thick and dense, decorated with love and success earned the hard way. I am the conservator of the continuity link, feel keenly the need to protect what I know can slip away. Let us linger together as long as we can.
Jun 15, 2007
Fast Food
I was thinking about all these flourishing online dating services. Why is it so hard to meet people out in the wild? Where are all the rich environments for cultivating a date, where we meet at a friend-of-a-friend's barbecue and hit it off? I rarely hear stories like that anymore. EVERYBODY seems to be online.
I'm dating a guy who is quick-witted and kind, successful in life in the ways that count, with good values and heaps of integrity. He's a good man. I think this is online dating at its best, when people gather because social and work environments are a bit stale. Slow and steady, this turtle has it down.
Online meeting is most bleak when it resembles fast food: enticing, quick, plentiful and instantly gratifying. We don't really know what's inside but are pretty sure it's bad as a steady diet. I'm not saying it isn't tasty: I'm saying we're better off if we nibble rather than gulp.
Fast food circumvents our body's natural systems that are designed to earn the nourishment. Healthy natural foods let the sugars and carbs trickle into our system rather than overwhelm us and wreak havoc, as over-processed food can do.
So, too, with online dating. There's an endless supply of people flooding the market, selecting erroneous criteria as a weedblock to relationships. There is no social responsibility here: that has been replaced by an expectation that things should be easy and convenient. If it's a challenge, just go to the next one on the list, is that how it is? How can we learn the valuable lessons of hard work and balance, things that we'll need to develop and maintain physically, spiritually and emotionally healthy relationships?
Aren't those who insist on 'no baggage' really just saying they are unwilling to put in the effort? Who'd want to toss in with someone like that? I've got news for you: Taking on someone new means you're going to have to find room to stow their gear -- because everybody's toting a full luggage cart.
And what about those folks who don't want to chat with someone who indicates they are looking for 'friends'. Are they mad? Friendship is the GO space on the Monopoly board: you aren't going places without it.
The natural selection process has been in place for millions of years where we use all five of our physical senses (plus a couple internal ones) because there's no way to know ahead of time what we're looking for. If onliners are sorting by height, ethnicity and income to save time, they might very well may leave a hand-to-glove partner lying dormant because they can't imagine big enough.
I'm dating a guy who is quick-witted and kind, successful in life in the ways that count, with good values and heaps of integrity. He's a good man. I think this is online dating at its best, when people gather because social and work environments are a bit stale. Slow and steady, this turtle has it down.
Online meeting is most bleak when it resembles fast food: enticing, quick, plentiful and instantly gratifying. We don't really know what's inside but are pretty sure it's bad as a steady diet. I'm not saying it isn't tasty: I'm saying we're better off if we nibble rather than gulp.
Fast food circumvents our body's natural systems that are designed to earn the nourishment. Healthy natural foods let the sugars and carbs trickle into our system rather than overwhelm us and wreak havoc, as over-processed food can do.
So, too, with online dating. There's an endless supply of people flooding the market, selecting erroneous criteria as a weedblock to relationships. There is no social responsibility here: that has been replaced by an expectation that things should be easy and convenient. If it's a challenge, just go to the next one on the list, is that how it is? How can we learn the valuable lessons of hard work and balance, things that we'll need to develop and maintain physically, spiritually and emotionally healthy relationships?
Aren't those who insist on 'no baggage' really just saying they are unwilling to put in the effort? Who'd want to toss in with someone like that? I've got news for you: Taking on someone new means you're going to have to find room to stow their gear -- because everybody's toting a full luggage cart.
And what about those folks who don't want to chat with someone who indicates they are looking for 'friends'. Are they mad? Friendship is the GO space on the Monopoly board: you aren't going places without it.
The natural selection process has been in place for millions of years where we use all five of our physical senses (plus a couple internal ones) because there's no way to know ahead of time what we're looking for. If onliners are sorting by height, ethnicity and income to save time, they might very well may leave a hand-to-glove partner lying dormant because they can't imagine big enough.
May 30, 2007
A REAL Christmas Letter
Ever get tired of all the bragging in Christmas letters? Well, you're in for a treat.
Dear Santa,
Thank you for the many surprises you have provided in the last year. You obviously have a sense of humor.
It was a year of challenges. The two younger boys earned money for two gasoline powered go-peds and they enjoyed some short-lived but exciting adventures. The rear wheels on both vehicles collapsed in the first month and the go-ped dealer asked to display the tires as a cautionary tale for misuse of the equipment. Son #3 was apprehended by the police in August for driving a motorized vehicle without a license on the sidewalk. The fact that he had a passenger might have influenced the stop. All was resolved, but not until the judge had an opportunity to look down his spectacles at me for my son being in Juvenile Court at the tender age of 12. I want you to know he was wearing a helmet. Good news, though: we knew everyone in the audience since I work at the high school. Shortly thereafter, the problem was solved when one go-ped was stolen and the other was sold for the more legal and, I'm sure you will agree, less dangerous sport of SKATEBOARDING. So Santa, if you don't mind, I am hoping for a bubble suit and priority parking space in front of the Emergency Room. Don't worry: they have already red flagged the file and are expecting us.
In July, my eldest bought an '85 Chevy Stepside truck, the vehicle of his dreams, which gets about 8 mpg. While driving it to the coast, since my new Honda CRV was having the driver's door repaired from said boy backing it out of the garage with the door open, I was stopped twice by police. Once it was due to driving 12 miles over the speed limit, apparently due to the oversized tires that affect speedometer accuracy. Tailgating the cop might have contributed to his decision to pull me over. The second stop was due to a mixup in registration tags that didn't match the registration card, a detail my son didn't notice when the DMV gave us a June instead of November sticker. The officer and I spent an hour by the side of the road while he waited for his office to verify this detail, giving him ample time to lecture me on the rules of the road and incidentally making me over an hour late to the Management Retreat in Monterey.
Driving the truck on two 3 hour trips in one month required 6 tanks of gas, not counting rekeying the lock which I accidentally broke off in the driver's door. The fuel pump also gave up the ghost and took two men an entire day to change out. My son's only question to me was, "Are you paying for the fuel pump? After all you were driving it at the time." So Santa, I would appreciate gift certificates for gas and Kragen Auto Parts stores and also a Human Resources class in interpersonal communication.
From August--October, we were consumed by football. My son plays on both the offensive and defensive line, so you can imagine the condition of his uniform after a game. This is where those long barbecue tongs come in handy when you have to get it from the garage floor into a tub of Simple Green. The pads remained in the yard where they doubled as a crime deterrent and pest control device.
My son visited the ER this year due to a self-inflicted injury. In the heat of the moment and on a winning play, my son head-butted a fellow player. Unfortunately for him, the other player was wearing a helmet. But he did win Lineman of the Year clearly awarding his dedication to the sport. All I can say is it's a good thing he took his SAT's in June.
In October, #2 son also bought a car to fill up that big slab of concrete next to the driveway. He wanted to sleep in it the first night but I intercepted him. He has his permit. Always humble, my son is buying his younger brother a bank for Christmas since he infiltrates all known household banks and discovers the combinations. Imagine our surprise at finding the little one's money spread across his bed with his bank open and a smiley face drawn on a scratch pad. The youngest has solved the problem by spending every cent he earns, sometimes before he earns it. A mathematician proof bank would be a good choice this year.
Also in October, I discovered that one of my high schoolers snuck out of the house during Homecoming Week. I discovered his plan when his alarm sounded at 1:30 am. You can't say my children aren't punctual. When he returned and was startled my steady stare over the rim of a teacup at 4:30 am, the best mental calesthenics my honors student could muster was the excuse that he had been at school.
On a recent excursion to the mall, my youngest added cologne to his holiday list called Pimp. He wants only Parent Advisory music and talks an average of 2 hours per day on the phone with a variety of girls. I have learned not to ask their names or offer suggestions like, "Is this Ashley? NO? Oh... " Now I understand why people have houses with basements. I could sure use eyes in the back of my head for Christmas.
In November, we maneuvered through college applications and complex negotiations. An 18 year old with a willful attitude and a steady girl are formidable allies to the put-it-off-at-all-costs senior plan. This has been an emotional time for me: the thought of him remaining at home draped across my sofa like a boneless chicken has me on the brink of tears.
The college selection process seemed to be inversely triggered by well considered recommendations by family and friends: instead of applying to the thoughtful and well regarded schools like San Diego State and ASU, he chose Montana Tech. I don't think any of us knows where in Montana that school is located. Is it a 4 year college?
The youngest is diagramming his brother's room to rearrange the furniture and is sleeping in the hall as college bags are being packed. No pressure, though. The youngest's room will be converted to a broom closet if there's enough space. Son #2 needles the eldest that he had his own car before he even got a license. The eldest is asking for a gun rack for his truck.
I am going to pick up a bottle of brandy before Christmas.
Boy am I looking forward to the new year. Can we just get on with it?
Christmas 2000
Dear Santa,
Thank you for the many surprises you have provided in the last year. You obviously have a sense of humor.
It was a year of challenges. The two younger boys earned money for two gasoline powered go-peds and they enjoyed some short-lived but exciting adventures. The rear wheels on both vehicles collapsed in the first month and the go-ped dealer asked to display the tires as a cautionary tale for misuse of the equipment. Son #3 was apprehended by the police in August for driving a motorized vehicle without a license on the sidewalk. The fact that he had a passenger might have influenced the stop. All was resolved, but not until the judge had an opportunity to look down his spectacles at me for my son being in Juvenile Court at the tender age of 12. I want you to know he was wearing a helmet. Good news, though: we knew everyone in the audience since I work at the high school. Shortly thereafter, the problem was solved when one go-ped was stolen and the other was sold for the more legal and, I'm sure you will agree, less dangerous sport of SKATEBOARDING. So Santa, if you don't mind, I am hoping for a bubble suit and priority parking space in front of the Emergency Room. Don't worry: they have already red flagged the file and are expecting us.
In July, my eldest bought an '85 Chevy Stepside truck, the vehicle of his dreams, which gets about 8 mpg. While driving it to the coast, since my new Honda CRV was having the driver's door repaired from said boy backing it out of the garage with the door open, I was stopped twice by police. Once it was due to driving 12 miles over the speed limit, apparently due to the oversized tires that affect speedometer accuracy. Tailgating the cop might have contributed to his decision to pull me over. The second stop was due to a mixup in registration tags that didn't match the registration card, a detail my son didn't notice when the DMV gave us a June instead of November sticker. The officer and I spent an hour by the side of the road while he waited for his office to verify this detail, giving him ample time to lecture me on the rules of the road and incidentally making me over an hour late to the Management Retreat in Monterey.
Driving the truck on two 3 hour trips in one month required 6 tanks of gas, not counting rekeying the lock which I accidentally broke off in the driver's door. The fuel pump also gave up the ghost and took two men an entire day to change out. My son's only question to me was, "Are you paying for the fuel pump? After all you were driving it at the time." So Santa, I would appreciate gift certificates for gas and Kragen Auto Parts stores and also a Human Resources class in interpersonal communication.
From August--October, we were consumed by football. My son plays on both the offensive and defensive line, so you can imagine the condition of his uniform after a game. This is where those long barbecue tongs come in handy when you have to get it from the garage floor into a tub of Simple Green. The pads remained in the yard where they doubled as a crime deterrent and pest control device.
My son visited the ER this year due to a self-inflicted injury. In the heat of the moment and on a winning play, my son head-butted a fellow player. Unfortunately for him, the other player was wearing a helmet. But he did win Lineman of the Year clearly awarding his dedication to the sport. All I can say is it's a good thing he took his SAT's in June.
In October, #2 son also bought a car to fill up that big slab of concrete next to the driveway. He wanted to sleep in it the first night but I intercepted him. He has his permit. Always humble, my son is buying his younger brother a bank for Christmas since he infiltrates all known household banks and discovers the combinations. Imagine our surprise at finding the little one's money spread across his bed with his bank open and a smiley face drawn on a scratch pad. The youngest has solved the problem by spending every cent he earns, sometimes before he earns it. A mathematician proof bank would be a good choice this year.
Also in October, I discovered that one of my high schoolers snuck out of the house during Homecoming Week. I discovered his plan when his alarm sounded at 1:30 am. You can't say my children aren't punctual. When he returned and was startled my steady stare over the rim of a teacup at 4:30 am, the best mental calesthenics my honors student could muster was the excuse that he had been at school.
On a recent excursion to the mall, my youngest added cologne to his holiday list called Pimp. He wants only Parent Advisory music and talks an average of 2 hours per day on the phone with a variety of girls. I have learned not to ask their names or offer suggestions like, "Is this Ashley? NO? Oh... " Now I understand why people have houses with basements. I could sure use eyes in the back of my head for Christmas.
In November, we maneuvered through college applications and complex negotiations. An 18 year old with a willful attitude and a steady girl are formidable allies to the put-it-off-at-all-costs senior plan. This has been an emotional time for me: the thought of him remaining at home draped across my sofa like a boneless chicken has me on the brink of tears.
The college selection process seemed to be inversely triggered by well considered recommendations by family and friends: instead of applying to the thoughtful and well regarded schools like San Diego State and ASU, he chose Montana Tech. I don't think any of us knows where in Montana that school is located. Is it a 4 year college?
The youngest is diagramming his brother's room to rearrange the furniture and is sleeping in the hall as college bags are being packed. No pressure, though. The youngest's room will be converted to a broom closet if there's enough space. Son #2 needles the eldest that he had his own car before he even got a license. The eldest is asking for a gun rack for his truck.
I am going to pick up a bottle of brandy before Christmas.
Boy am I looking forward to the new year. Can we just get on with it?
Christmas 2000
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