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.
Dec 9, 2007
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.
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