Do As I Say.....

The auditorium was alive with sound. Papers were rustling, people were talking, some on cell phones while others unwrapped or disposed of their food. We had all gathered to attend an annual conference targeting pre-school and elementary teachers and child care providers. We came together on a Saturday to learn, to consider new practices and to connect with each other.  As teachers we are charged with providing excellent care for children in both loving and educational environments while modeling appropriate social behaviors. We are in charge of honing the social skills of the little sponges in our care, and it is a golden opportunity for us to keep trying to get it right. My contention is that you can't teach what you don't know. Lots of people teach what they don't practice, but the kids know you don't do what you are asking them to do.  Why should they do it? After all, you don't.  What I witnessed was a woman on her cell phone in the classroom while the facilitator was facilitating. Some people were talking non-stop throughout the session and some were napping. The nappers aren't so bad; they don't disturb anyone as long as they don't snore. When the auditorium emptied out at the end of the session, there were empty bottles in the aisles and trash on the floor. These are the adults that are teaching our children to be considerate, empathetic and polite. I am terrified. Many of the teachers present were pushy, rude and just generally not in possession of the sort of "good doobie" behavior we all know is so darned important for children to grasp early on. Like I said: "you can't teach it if you don't know it."

One Hot Mamma

So much of the aging process remains a mystery to me which is probably not a bad thing since ignorance is bliss. I have been hearing my girlfriends talk about hot flashes and night sweats for as long as I can remember. Since I have spent most of my life feeling cold I rather looked forward to the random moments of warmth. Hooray. Alas, those moments have yet to appear. But my recent phenomenon of age is the night sweat. This has been going on for awhile. Initially, I blamed it on the two dogs and the cat with which I have the great pleasure of sharing the bed. Part of it is selfish; they generate a lot of heat. Two nights ago, I woke up with sweat in my ears. My face was dripping not to mention my pajamas were soaked as was the bed. I am not too alarmed yet, because I have paid money to sweat like this. This method is a whole lot cheaper than the spa. I always wake up and assume I have lost a pound or two. Of course I have not. I should wrap myself in herbs at bedtime and then I can have the benefit of the full spa treatment sans the Evian misting and silly new age music in the background.

Twelve Things All Children Need to Know

How to read
How to answer the phone politely
How to swim
That they are loved
That saying please and thank you are not optional
How to sew on a button or repair a hem
Basic kitchen skills
How to have a conversation
How to be a good sport
How to have fun
How to count change
How to read a map

Reality- Too Real for T.V.

After we were released from the training on Thursday, I returned to my hotel room, got comfy, grabbed the remote and settled in for a night of uninterrupted cable watching. Since I don't have cable at home and really don't watch network television, it is all pretty new to me. So I stumbled upon Project Runway and was intrigued. They were down to six contestants and this week’s challenge was to create a companion piece to their winning design from last week’s competition. They were all so hopeful and industrious. Contestants were given one hundred bucks and told to go to a fabric store and buy the fabric for their newest creation in no more than thirty minutes. They had until midnight that night to design it, cut it, sew it, have a fitting and then onto the runway. They were impressive. One guy sewed hundreds of leather "leaves" onto a two tiered gown and one woman, a refugee from Bosnia who looked 60 but was only 44, created a longer than usual, gray suit coat with an open, wide, floppy lapel, horizontal darts and tapered sleeves. The "judges" were unmerciful to the designers whose designs were not going to win. They heckled their designs, poked fun at how drab the woman's coat was and were just mean-spirited. Now perhaps this keeps ratings high, and perhaps that makes for interesting television, but I felt so badly for her. She's a refugee for crying out loud! Of course her stuff is bleak. Her whole life is bleak. She should have gotten a prize for mirroring her experience. Some depressed person would have bought it. I clicked over to MTV and although I didn't see one music video, they had a reality show where horribly mannered, ungrateful, entitled, mean adolescents were sent to spend one week with a strict, "square" family.  I had to click over to the Lifetime channel. Those children were so rude and I know some of it was scripted, but that behavior came way too easy for them. It was painful to watch. What kind of freaky voyeurs have we become? Why is watching someone else in pain fun? Whether torture is administered with a chainsaw or a sharp tongue, I think our need to see it says nothing good about us.

Confessions of An Overachiever

Sometime around noon today I had one of those significant personal realizations where you see yourself from someplace else in the room with absolute clarity.  On October 28th one more piece of my personal puzzle fell into place.  Right now I am in Iowa attending a conference to learn how to improve communication and cooperation between parents and their teenaged children.  Partly because the campus here is so large and the town so unfamiliar I got lost on my way to the training.  I drove 350 miles without incident, but managed to get lost between the hotel and the University extension building.  Being lost is an important detail and clue number one for this story because I was more concerned about being late than any other outcome.  Once I got there, I was concerned about not being in the right parking lot.  The number of the lot I parked in did not match the lot number on my parking pass; a problem I corrected at the first break.  I walked in at exactly 8:30 a.m. which is exactly when the training was scheduled to start. I had my blank check in my folder and was concerned about getting it to the facilitator so it didn't appear I was trying to shirk my obligation.  Right there, right then in Iowa it occurred to me:  I am an over-achieving, approval seeking, slightly neurotic woman with perfection as my personal standard!! Right then I should have gotten up, mussed up my neatly arranged materials, belched or something and released my need to color inside the lines.  No one cares that I am obsessively punctual or that I pay my bills on time or that I RSVP and send thank you notes.  What folks notice are the things I don't do well and those become the things for which I am known.  I've got to relax.  I don't get extra credit and noone cares.

It's Getting Hot In Here

Sometimes not disclosing the truth is worse for your reputation than simply coming clean.  Case in point: the officers of the Northwest Airlines jet that flew past their target won't say what was going on in the cockpit that distracted them to the point of embarrassment and painstaking scrutiny by their employer.  What happened in the cockpit continues to baffle me.  What were they doing?  Smoking a joint?  Having sex?  Watching Iron Chef?  Oh come on- they weren't knitting!  You can look up from your knitting.  My problem with the sex and illicit drugs theory is that neither of those activities take an hour for regular people.  (Rumor has it that Sting is the exception.)  The pilots are unwilling to account for an hour.  Maybe they had a similar moment to Jodie Foster's in the movie Contact and were visting with dead relatives. Maybe the boys were texting and checking their Facebook pages.  Oh for Pete's sake tell the truth and that way noone has to write their own ending; and depending on the author that could be a very undesirable outcome.  In my story someone is naked and drunk but they are in a four star hotel with 700 thread count sheets not a 10' x 7' closet with faux leather seats. Besides, we all know closets are for clothes; perhaps they should consider coming out of theirs. 

Harper Valley PTA  written by Tom T. Hall
I want to tell you all a story 'bout a Harper Valley widowed wife
Who had a teenage daughter who attended Harper Valley Junior High
Well her daughter came home one afternoon and didn't even stop to play
She said, "Mom, I got a note here from the Harper Valley P.T.A."
The note said, "Mrs. Johnson, you're wearing your dresses way too high
It's reported you've been drinking and a-runnin' 'round with men and going wild
And we don't believe you ought to be bringing up your little girl this way"
It was signed by the secretary, Harper Valley P.T.A.

Well, it happened that the P.T.A. was gonna meet that very afternoon
They were sure surprised when Mrs. Johnson wore her mini-skirt into the room
And as she walked up to the blackboard, I still recall the words she had to say
She said, "I'd like to address this meeting of the Harper Valley P.T.A."

Well, there's Bobby Taylor sittin' there and seven times he's asked me for a date
Mrs. Taylor sure seems to use a lot of ice whenever he's away
And Mr. Baker, can you tell us why your secretary had to leave this town?
And shouldn't widow Jones be told to keep her window shades all pulled completely down?
Well, Mr. Harper couldn't be here 'cause he stayed too long at Kelly's Bar again
And if you smell Shirley Thompson's breath, you'll find she's had a little nip of gin
Then you have the nerve to tell me you think that as a mother I'm not fit
Well, this is just a little Peyton Place and you're all Harper Valley hypocrites
No I wouldn't put you on because it really did, it happened just this way
The day my Mama socked it to the Harper Valley P.T.A.
The day my Mama socked it to the Harper Valley P.T.A

Franken Child

Saturday I took my protege, a sweet eleven-year old year to the circus; the "greatest show on earth."  If she enjoyed it half as much as me, she had a fantastic time.  It is an ideal outing for anyone with attention challenges.  Three rings of action!  Beautiful ladies twirling and swirling, clowns falling and running, and the ringmaster leading the charge.  The circus is truly an American production- a tribute to our ingenuity and independence.  So when I took my little friend, I had high hopes that the circus would touch her the way it did and still does me.  What caught my attention this time was the inability of parents to say no to their spoiled, rude children and the obscene amounts of cash parents and grandparents spent on ephemeral, flimsy bits of plastic that will soon be forgotten and broken with the other momentary delights in closets and plastic storage bins.  The family in the row in front of us bought thier son the $10.00 cotton candy/wizard hat combo, the elephant mug filled with rainbow sno-cone, smore on a stick and lemonade.  The boy decided he wanted the popcorn in the colorful box and mom finally said "no."  The boy slammed his little body into his seat, crossed his  greedy little arms and screwed his face up.  Dad immediately called the vendor over and bought the child the popcorn.  The interesting thing was that while all of this desiring and purchasing was happening, Jack Russell terriers were doing back flips, poodles were dancing and Maltese dogs were twirling in Kilts.  He missed the parade of ladies in the Siamese attire and the Russian guys flipping off of and onto what appeared to be snow board teeter totters.  The circus was the treat.  The other stuff was not necessary.  My fear is that these children will never accept no and will learn to whine, manipulate and bully their way into what they want.  Saying no doesn't make you the bad guy and they will recover.  We have created monsters.

Four Lessons I Learned Today

You do not need to experience the following in order for the lesson to be more meaningful.  Trust me. Four things I will remember!

1. Drive with a full tumbler of raw cranberry juice between your legs.
2. Don't mail the bills after eating cheese curls.
3. Do not kick what appears to be a strange mushroom with your camel-colored suede shoe. It's dog poop.
4. Always sneeze and squeeze.  The ladies will know of what I speak.

Worth His Salt?

This notion of who is deserving and who is not deserving is a perplexing one. What makes us deserving? More to the point, what makes us qualified to decide who deserves what? Was it some mammoth good deed that merits praise and admiration; or was some walloping injustice done to some unsuspecting, good-natured person who trusted their perpetrator? Bernie Madoff deserves whatever form of hell on earth that can be dished out and Obama doesn't deserve the Nobel. That man who imprisoned the young girl in some hovel in his back yard deserves to die a slow and painful death, while Ronald Reagan is deserving of an amusement park with rides in his likeness. It is interesting that we have a process for sanctioning or elevating people in the court of public opinion: the radio talk show, a Twitter topic, or a fan page on someones Face book. Public opinion is powerful and can influence the malleable. Drop by drop public opinion can turn a swell into a tsunami. We should tread with care, lest we drown. "It is the folly of too many to mistake the echo of a London coffee house for the voice of the kingdom." Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)

He Won Now Get Over It!!

All of this talk about whether or not President Barack Obama deserves the Nobel Peace Prize or not, is becoming a distraction. So few pundits started their remarks with how proud they were of their president. Even my beloved NPR commentators were waxing on about the level of deservedness of the award bestowed upon the 44th President. The committee selected President Obama "for his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between people's" Hasn't he done just that? Why is it necessary to deconstruct the motives behind the award? If I had just been crowned Miss Missouri and the audience, local press and my friends were saying I had been crowned Miss Missouri 'cause the judges were sympathetic (about whatever condition or circumstance it was that made me the likely pity vote), I would be pissed. It is much like the comments overheard when the aging, slightly senile movie star finally gets the academy award they never received but were nominated for half a dozen times. Cut it out. Let President Obama deal with whether or not he feels he deserves it and be proud that the international community has stopped wincing every time the president is mentioned. On Hardball with Chris Matthews, Pat Buchanan called it "ridiculous" that President Obama received the award. Admit it oh pessimistic one, people from other countries like our president. Imagine that. Rush Limbaugh, idiot supreme, said of the Nobel Peace prize winner: "This has created more embarrassment than losing the Olympic bid" Embarrassed that our president received the Nobel? Seriously? Oh go take some Oxycontin or something Rush.

The Little Beagle That Could

It was not that long ago that I proclaimed: "I will never have a beagle!" They howl, dig and run. Not a great combination for a contemplative evening. Then came Edith. Fat, sick and chronically homeless. No home training, no manners, but sweet and smart. Four months and two thousand dollars later, Edith is healthier, and learning how to potty outside. If Edith were a puppy none of this would be that remarkable, but Edith is about seven or eight according to my vet's estimation. I do love my beagle. She is a survivor and in my strange world a metaphor for the permanent damage poverty causes in sentient beings. A lifetime of no medical care, no consistent food or clean water source or affection makes for a neurotic adult. Dog or human.

The good news is that Edith can relax. She is home at last.

Thank You Mr. Allen

Autumn

By: Scott Robert Allen, United Kingdom

As autumn casts its russet veil
Over trees and sun-dappled dale
Golden hues amongst withering leaves
And pine cones strewn randomly as time weaves
Its meandering course, betwixt summer heat
And cold winter nights and snow beneath feet
Heaven azure glimpsed between branches high
Before night conquers day and lays claim to the sky
Myriad stars clad in ebony cloak,
Moonlight casts shadows from willow and oak.
Darkness envelopes all things, plant and beast
'Til crimson and amber return from the east
Restoring the colour to meadow and brook
Returning the gifts that the dark hours took.

How to Cure What Ails You

Remember how when we were kids if you got cranky, uncooperative or threw a tantrum your mom would declare: "you need a nap!" It makes perfect sense. Bad day? Go lie down. When you get up have a cookie. Or three. Life is suddenly better and you can handle what ever crap is flying around in your personal solar system. Moms are so smart. I keep having the same realization over and over: the answers are a lot more simple than you think. Take a nap, wash your hands, don't be rude. Simple stuff.

You Get What You Pay For

We know that when children have strong social skills, by default their academic experience is more productive and positive. When you start with the heart you clear the road to the head. We need children to excel academically so that our future work force is strong and capable. My experience has been that there is less and less money for quality, outcome based after school programming. Just because the kids are in an after school program doesn't mean that the experience impacts them in a way that elicits a positive change. You can't throw a quarter at something that costs two dollars and expect to get two dollars worth. You get a quarter's worth less a nickel for the insult. It may take a village, but when the village is broke, hope moves out of town and despair moves in. No one flourishes in a town called despair except the predators.

Letter to the Postmaster General John Potter

Dear Postmaster Potter:

As a lifelong fan of letter writing and all things postal, the gradual decrease of hand written cards and letters has been a disappointing outcome of the phenomenon of email and Facebook. I realize that like many business' in a changing world, the United States Postal Service has to continually re-invent itself in order to remain relevant and competitive for a generation that doesn't know the necessity of good penmanship or the joy of sending and receiving mail.

Perhaps if the USPS partnered with the schools across the country to launch: READY, SET, WRITE!! a national campaign to encourage pen pals, penmanship and letter writing among school children, a whole new generation of communicators would be excited about getting and sending real mail. READY, SET, WRITE is a win-win situation. R.S.W., would help children practice the art of waiting in a world where instant gratification has become the norm. Educators would appreciate the children's motivation to write and spell and the children would be rewarded with mail! Writing, receiving and opening letters connects you with someone in a personal way. Email can't do that. Postmaster Potter you have the power to create a whole new generation of correspondence enthusiasts; I hope you will take it!

Sincerely,

A life long letter writer

There Is No Moment After Pill

That email you sent to party A was forwarded on to parties B, C & D saved, printed and maybe filed away somewhere. When someone in emotional pain lashes out, we want others to share our “can you believe this shit?” moment so we forward the offending email. This summer on three separate occasions, I have been forwarded emails that weren’t penned to me. These were not your run of the mill emails. Because these emails were so mean and vitriolic they had become entertainment. They will make you cringe in the same way you would cringe while watching episodes of Jackass. I have had some seriously difficult disagreements and fights with people I care about but those fights happened face to face. The yelling, the tears, the confusion, it all happened in person. There seems to be a frightening trend of taking your hurt feelings, misunderstandings, things you-know-you-would never-say-in-person, to email. Of course I have sent emails out of anger or frustration, and let me tell you, I regret it. Blasting someone in an email is a little like sitting in your car with the windows rolled up cursing out the person in the car next to you. It is an act of impulsive cowardice because you are protected by the vehicle whether the “vehicle” is your car or cyberspace. It takes a lot of courage to look someone in the eye and say your piece. It seems that no matter what the message, being eye to eye at least keeps the possibility of forgiveness alive. The emails that were forwarded to me were so hate-filled and mean that there was not a response the receiver could offer that wasn't angry. I love all of our technology but think it is stunting our emotional growth.

It's in Black and White

Most of the kids at my high school wanted to be cheerleaders or football heroes or in Glee club and I was too clumsy, hated athletics and couldn’t carry a note even in a special note carrying Coach bag. So I was a debater. I have always been clever with words and like nothing better than a spirited, well- researched debate, so it was perfect for me. I was good too. My specialty was extemporaneous speaking. You pull a topic out of a box and give a 3 to 4 minute talk about the topic you pulled. I loved it. I took second place at State one year; I was truly in my element. Our debate coach was Ruby Gubitz. Mrs. Gubitz stood about 5’0 and had a beautiful silver shag hair cut with the hair over her forehead dramatically swooped to one side. She was tiny and had a ruddy complexion and an easy smile. Mrs. Gubitz always wore platform shoes. She was saucy, outspoken and could work those shoes like nothing I had ever seen. I adored Mrs. Gubitz. Traveling around the state with everybody was fun. It meant we got to ride in a school issued white van and go all over Kansas debating capital punishment and alternative energy. We each had a metal 3x5 card box that held our 3x5 white note cards with the facts on each well researched subject handwritten or pasted on so we could debate either side of the issue. One of the other things I liked about going on the road was that we got to eat out at interesting places on the road. One afternoon on our way home we stopped at a little diner in the middle of Western Kansas. There weren’t very many people in there and I remember it being dark and quiet. The entire team led by Mrs. Gubitz shuttled in to the restaurant, and like most adolescents we were so busy talking we missed the action. Suddenly Mrs. Gubitz turns to all of us and put her arm around me and says: “We will be eating someplace else team.” I did not hear what happened, but I looked behind the counter and there was a smug, skinny little white man with greasy spectacles watching us leave. I knew that somehow I was responsible. Mrs. Gubitz pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag and said: “screw it kids, we’re going someplace else.” That was all that was said, and I learned that day that little black kids couldn’t walk into any diner in America and expect a cool drink and a sandwich. It didn’t matter that I was a good debater or that I had placed second in extemporaneous speaking, I was Black first.

Georgia On My Mind

Well not really, but like the rest of the country, I have been thinking about race lately. A lot. So rather than me telling you what I think and feel, I thought I would share two stories in two separate blog postings about race. These are my stories. In the seventies, there weren't too many privileges you could look forward to while you were in high school. Sure you could drive, but that was about it. In my house being older did not necessarily mean more freedom, it just meant that you had more responsibilities. Unlike high school where age and class meant status. When you became a senior, you were at the top of the status heap. With that status came one very special privilege. That was that seniors could leave campus and go out to lunch. Because no one had their own car, "out to lunch" really meant you could cross the street and hang out in front of the tiny burger shack eating on the sidewalk. Eating your burger and onion rings standing up in a cloud of adolescent second hand smoke just seemed so very cool. I was so excited about being able to go “out” to lunch. I had a friend, a fellow debater; Eva Goodman-who was very pretty and smart. She was tall with long, thick, straight dark hair and was a clever debater. She was the coolest. We talked everyday and would walk together to our classes planning and plotting our senior lunch. We talked about it for at least a month and then we picked a day. Eva had to get permission from her father. I waited for her response for what seemed like weeks, but was probably only a day or two. One night, the green princess phone in our kitchen rang and it was Eva! I stood there twirling the endless and tangled green spiral cord anxious to hear her father’s decision. That night on the phone, her voice was different; softer or smaller I don’t know which really. Eva spoke softly and said: “My father said I could not go to lunch with you.” I had not a clue why but just knew it was because of all those kids smoking cigarettes on the corner. That wasn’t it. In a very truthful and deliberate way, Eva said, “I can’t go with you because you are black.” Now she may have said Negro or colored or *Schwartza, I don’t remember, but I remember why she couldn’t go. I was devastated. I couldn’t change who I was and on top of that, I wouldn’t get to go out to lunch and eat my burger in a cloud of second hand smoke. We didn’t talk much after that and I have often wondered what happened to Eva Goodman. If the Gods have a sense of humor, perhaps she fell in love with a black man. *Yiddish pejorative for Negro

The Proof Is In The Pudding

Just finished my first raw food class. It was an interesting collection of people and there is more variety in the raw food spectrum of possibilities than you might think. Because being a raw foodist would take an enormous amount of commitment, energy and support from friends and family, my goal is to "raw food" just 3 days a week. You may find this hard to believe, but we made chocolate "pudding" from avocados, cocoa powder, agave, vanilla and cinnamon. You would have never guessed that there was no cream or eggs from the texture. It was very thick and creamy just like the real deal except that the fat sources are different. Really, it was very chocolaty, creamy and thick just like traditional pudding.

Have you ever read The Daily Mail? My kind of newspaper: a bit tawdry, naughty, and you get the U.K. scuttlebutt. However, the Daily Mail may have gone too far this time by showing a snapshot of gorgeous Elle McPherson in a sultry gold banded short dress with her thigh skin fluttering in the wind! That is so hitting below the belt! Skin loses elasticity as you age o.k.?? I don't know any woman who would appreciate their flaws in high pixel color in the national news. Loose thigh skin will be the least of our worries. Who has the luxury of worrying about thigh skin when the value of the average 401K has reached a new low, health care costs are on the rise, and everything is lousy with high fructose corn syrup? Elle, you are gorgeous! Flip those canardious twerps the bird and wear that skirt sister!

Party On Wayne

It's rumored that Saint Louis is about to host some big baseball "All Star" game. Guys are so lucky. Their favorite pastime has a five day party in the summer. I think shoppers should employ that model. In the fall and the spring, the best shoppers in the U.S. would converge on two fabulous malls or outlet malls in small seaside tourist towns and shop for eight hours. You would have a shopping list and a budget of course. If you stayed within your budget and got fabulous deals you would be the All Star. I had cause to go downtown today and was surprised at how efficiently and quietly Saint Louis can close exits and accommodate huge crowds like those expected at the All Star Game. You would never know we had the annual two day 25-year old tradition: Fair Saint Louis on the arch grounds a mere week ago. In our city, we know how to prepare for lots of people. If Saint Louis were one person, you would want to invite her to parties. She would never forget the potato salad.

Coffee Talk

I am certain that all of the conspiracy theorists are all-a titter about Sarah Palin's real reasons for abandoning her office with a year and a half of her term left. I bet she just wants to hike the Appalachian trail and hang out with her near-sighted dwarf lover. Just kidding, I am sure Governor Palin wouldn't date someone nearsighted. Seriously, she probably just wants to shop and hang out with her peeps in Alaska.

Lots of news lately. Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcet, Billy Mayes, Ed Macmahon and Mr. Chatty Pants the Governor of South Carolina. All of that news makes for interesting chat around the conference table.

Summertime and The Living is Easy

What could be bad about butterflies, summer flowers and seasonal fruit? To my tastes, summer is truly too short of a season. Fall has its drawbacks, for example, you definitely can't wear sandals past October. I know, I know. Birkenstocks don't count. I know plenty of folks rockin' Birkenstocks year 'round. However, my toes prefer cover after October. Me appearing in Smartwool with my Birkenstocks on is not going to happen. How is your summer going? Reading anything enjoyable? I've been reading David Kessler's book: The End of Overeating. His book has certainly given me much food for thought. I don't think we can have too many bright people shedding their literary lights on the egregiously selfish behavior of the food industry. Michael Pollen(The Omnivore's Dilemma), Food inc., and now The End of Overeating are encouraging considerably more people to practice a type of mindfulness when they are deciding where to eat and what to eat. I do feel like I want to reconsider my food choices based on what I have learned from these three perspectives. More on that later. Be well.

I Need A Bigger Boat

Actually, I just need a boat. Something bigger than the bathtub. It is so soothing to be on the water and I am feeling the need to be soothed right now. Normally, some fried chicken or Bing cherries would do the trick, but I need to roll out the big guns. Bring on the baked potatoes and the Black Diamond Cheddar. Adulthood has its privileges and it also has its down side. Lately I have had more down side than privileges. Hence the need for a boat. And an outside cabin with a valet. I forgot about the valet. And a stocked bar with premium liquor and organic snacks. I never said I didn't appreciate privilege just that I wasn't in that lane right now.

The Natives are Restless

The babies have hatched. I think the birds are Eurasian Tree Sparrows. It is amazing how hard the parents work to feed the little ones. Both keep a watchful eye on their nestlings in their very dry and safe home. The infant chirping is a beautiful noise. It was crazy hot in Missouri today. I had the windows in the car rolled down and both air vents pointing on snoozing Edith on our way to work. It is summer!! The fireflies and frogs have had a big presence this spring and now summer. It is really fun around here right now. On my Spice bush shrub, I happened upon a very cool caterpillar. Actually, it was the mature larva of the Spice bush Swallowtail, the Papillo troilus. To top it all off, tonight while in the pool there were bats overhead. Life is good.

Tenderness

Yesterday my little protege and I were headed to Circus Flora and we cut through the Central West End. She was napping in the front seat while I drove, listened to NPR and watched the city roll by. I spotted two men standing within arms length of one another and one of them was clearly crying and was very upset. He did not appear hysterical, just heavy with sadness and his friend stepped forward slowly with his arms open and held and hugged his friend. I slowed down to watch in my rear view mirror, because I was so captivated by this truly tender moment between two men. It was so touching to witness the tenderness and emotional openness of the hugger. In a world filled with road rage, paranoia, concealed weapons and date rape drugs, I was reassured and comforted by the unexpected display of sincere kindness.

One of My Favorite Songs

When you're alone
And life is making you lonely,
You can always go downtown
When you've got worries,
All the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know, downtown

Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?

The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares and go
Downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, no finer place for sure,
Downtown, everything's waiting for you
(Downtown)

Don't hang around
And let your problems surround you
There are movie shows downtown
Maybe you know
Some little places to go to
Where they never close downtown

Just listen to the rhythm of a gentle bossanova
You'll be dancing with 'em too before the night is over
Happy again

The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares and go
Downtown where all the lights are bright,
Downtown, waiting for you tonight,
Downtown, you're gonna be alright now
(Downtown downtown)

And you may find somebody kind to help and understand you

Someone who is just like you and needs a gentle hand to
Guide them along

So, maybe I'll see you there
We can forget all our troubles, forget all our cares and go
Downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, don't wait a minute more,
Downtown, everything's waiting for you

Monkey Grinder

In my next job, I'll play a tambourine,

sell pink and blue wildflowers

and serve soup in a glazed terrine.

In my next job, I'll work part-time

and nap all afternoon.

In my next job, I'll take my feinting couch

and perfect a graceful swoon.

But right now my job is this one

and love it I really do

There is no end of people to help

there's always lots to do.

I have sprouted new gray hairs and sleep not so well. But I am so very happy to have a story to tell.

Annoyed In St. Louis

"A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed." No where in there does it state that we have the right to show up in a public institution and open fire on innocent and unarmed people. The man who walked into the Holocaust museum with a shotgun was not a part of the militia except in his mind and had nothing to do with the security of our free state. Part of the reason the military works is because the soldiers work in concert with each other and under the direction of their commanding officer. Renegades, vigilantes and other mercenaries are a liability. Giving handguns to anybody who wants one because it is constitutionally allowed is irresponsible and puts citizens in harms way. I say if you want to join the military to protect our interests, enlist. I understand that you have a right to protect yourself and your property and that no doubt you are a responsible, non-violent human without a vendetta. However, I don't believe for one minute that people buying assault weapons, rocket launchers and armor piercing bullets give a damn about a renegade government.

Not a Real Issue

It has been very interesting to be a witness to all of the dialogue that has ensued following Supreme Court Nominee Sonia Sotomayor's reflection that: "I would hope that a wise Latina woman with the richness of her experiences would more often than not reach a better conclusion than a White male who hasn't lived that life." I did not find her comments offensive or racist and could really empathize with her observation. I believe she just meant she had a set of experiences that gave her a larger view of the world. I think any minority, be they Black, Cuban, Mexican, Jewish, female or disabled has a set of experiences that are uniquely theirs. That experience is often colored by the frequent reminders that we are different and not always valued for that difference. I know that to get through the daily gauntlet of inequality, suspicion and prejudice, minorities build strengths and skills based on our experiences as minorities. I don't read her comment as racist but more as a practical response to the hell I am sure she has experienced for being Latina in a country that has a history of seeing Latinas as interlopers, day laborers and low-riders. I don't think her views about her Latina heritage will diminish her ability to render judicial opinions in a fair manner.

One of the benefits of having made and maintained friendships is the support and insight we gain from each other. But sometimes I wonder if as friends we don't offer too much. Recently we had guests over and we had gathered in the dining room to say our thank yous and goodbyes before our company departed for the night. One of my guests commented on how a piece of artwork was too small for a particular wall. I said nothing. But I thought about it. What I mulled over, was why we feel the compulsion to correct or inform other equally mature and experienced adults. When we give advice we assume the listener is in need of a little education. Maybe not. Last night on NPR I heard an interesting story about a father and daughter. When the daughter was younger, the father incorrectly identified an amphibian as a frog and not a toad which prompted the daughter to launch into a lesson on the difference between toads and frogs. The father went on to illustrate stories for children about toads and frogs and the daughter has given herself credit for illuminating her dad about the differences between toads and frogs. Recently, she uncovered illustrated poems about frogs and toads that predated her precocious adolescence and her lesson on amphibians. She realized he was humoring her. Maybe our only role as friends is to hug, accompany, listen and appreciate life with your friend. I did not move the painting, nor do I plan to move the painting. I like it exactly where it hangs.

I Think She Likes It Here

This is Edith. A dog also formerly known as homeless, hungry and in need of a soft place to sleep. She is a very sweet dog but seems lethargic to me. She is scheduled for her spaying, but I wonder if I shouldn't wait until she is completely healthy. Believe it or not, she does have brief moments where she has a little pep in her step, but mostly when I change spots in the house. There is nothing effusive about Edith. What you see is what you get: napping Beagle. I miss Thelma every day. Edith could never replace Thelma a.k.a. "Flips, Flomma, Flam-Flam." I do think Edith appreciates her new digs. She has learned that she can get on the outside furniture with a boost. She deserves it.

Cherry Season

This is it!  It is almost summer and I can hardly wait. Cherries, peaches, Heirloom tomatoes, suntan lotion and endless barbecues.  Pedicured toes, gazpacho, guacamole and napping in the sun.  Nothing makes me happier than a July in Missouri: humidity, crazy hot days and the endless whirring of the fan. Enjoy it, summer is short.  

Chore Girl

Isn't it funny that on Friday afternoon before a holiday, everyone is excited about the long weekend and leaves early?  We go home, shake off the work vibe, and start doing chores.  We use our holidays and home vacations to work around the house: painting, building decks, fixing doors, replacing screens, filters, gutters, filling bird feeders and refinishing furniture.  This is not a vacation nor a holiday.  I have truly lost my ability to just chill.  I can't swing on the swing, or just nap, or lounge around in my muu muu because I am motivated by what I can accomplish.  

Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

I had a great idea for a piece of fiction: An unpopular President leaves office, rides off into the sunset to farm switch grass. His VP, a disgruntled man with acid reflux bucks both tradition and protocol refusing to relinquish his Vice President role and continues to campaign for his administrations policies in the the public arena. He is convicted of poor judgment and bad taste and is sent to Guantanamo Bay where he disarms a guard and shoots his friend in the face. Probably wouldn't read well as there's no sex.

Doggy Style

Oy Vey! The beagle is sleeping through the night, but like most elderly beings, she has to get up frequently to pee during the night. I can sleep through major storms, alien invasions and appliance malfunctions, but I can hear a dog yawn. Once Edith's paws hit the floor with purpose, I have to get up and supervise her, or she will leave me a present in the dining room if you know what I mean. It is pretty clear she is not potty or otherwise trained. Her saving Grace is that she is smart. We are getting used to Thelma not being around anymore. But around here there isn't much time for quiet reflection. Someone needs meds, a walk, a snuggle, water or to stop annoying the cat. It is anything but quiet, but I have to tell you, I wouldn't have it any other way.

A Very Sad Story

Everyday is a wild card. I suppose it is the unpredictability of each day that keeps us from getting over confident or from operating under the very incorrect assumption that we are in control. As always, I had made sure the gates were closed to prevent the dogs from getting out and that the doors to the house were closed so the cat didn't venture out. It is a beautiful day, so I was outside putzing around trying to figure out which of my wildflowers were weeds. I was on the phone visiting with my friend, and as I meandered by the pool, there was Thelma, my 19 year old schnauzer poodle, at the bottom of the shallow end, not moving. It was horrible. I jumped in immediately and grabbed her, but clearly, it was too late. She had fallen in and was too old, too tired and too sick to figure out how to undo the mistake that would cost her life. I had planned a hundred times how to make the call to our vet to arrange to have her put to sleep when it was clear she was in pain or disinterested in food. That clearly was not the plan. It felt so awful to hold my little office and car companion's lifeless body in my arms and not know how to erase the mistake. I never heard her fall in or saw her wander too close to the pool so I could redirect her. As with all of the pets, I am hyper vigilant and have always tried hard to keep them safe and healthy. The strange part was that Thelma had walked around that pool a hundred times. I didn't know that today would be our last day together in the yard. I am very sad about little Thelma and very sorry I wasn't there to save her.

T-I-R-E-D

What a week. I totally get how couch potatoes are born. I usually am not interested in sitting or being a spectator, but tonight, I feel as though I could sleep standing up. I remember a year or so ago, I had gone on a home enrollment visit for a child in our after school program and while sitting there trying to get through the paperwork, the dad couldn't keep his eyes open. I couldn't believe anyone could be so tired that they couldn't stay alert long enough to complete a 3 page enrollment form that I actually fill out; they just answer the questions. But after this week, I understand. There is a limit to how much psychic energy you can generate on any given day. But it is the weekend and I can refuel!! Right after I walk the dogs, mow the yard, work in the front flower beds, wash the car, get the oil changed, run to Home Depot and write those thank you notes. I guess I will sleep at the home.

Strange Days Stranger Nights

Sometimes I feel like I am living in an episode of Taxi. Just when I think it can't get any stranger, it does. Here I am working in an office that has huge holes in the drywall from the "flood," Edith the foundling geriatric beagle and Thelma the geriatric mutt are snuggled together on their snoozy,while Edith's snores drown out the hum of the space heater. I witnessed a white hot melt down of a co-worker today and there is a mouse that lives in my car. Paul Simon once sang: "I don't want to end up a cartoon in a cartoon grave yard." YabaDabaDoo

Sprint- To Nowhere

After I got into my car and reached for my phone, I realized something was wrong. The screen was white and I could not get the regular screen to pop up even after I turned it off and on repeatedly. I tried for most of the day to get the phone to work, gave in and went to the Sprint store. That place is a circus. The staff must work for popcorn and ride tokens. There were customers everywhere- 19 on the "whose next in line" screen and 4 employees. One flirting with a woman who stood there for 35 minutes and left with nothing. I hope he got her phone number. One staffer went on break and one although obstensibly working, was doing some sports bonding with his buddy who had dropped by to hang out and shoot the breeze about some sports team. No one was the least bit concerned that all these people were standing there in retail pergatory waiting for some clown in a Sprint shirt to tell you they can't repair your phone, but for $100.00 you can get an insurance policy and get a new phone for free. What a racket. I was in that store for almost an hour and 10 minutes and they had to "order" my part. I am convinced they had pallets of my part in back.

Five Birds and A Beagle

Being human is an awesome responsibility.  As I have gotten older I have begun to see myself as a steward of the part of the Eco system I occupy and I am committed to it.  On Saturday after I returned home from my journey to Wichita, I discovered a dead Magnolia Warbler, her injured mate and their flimsy, poorly constructed nest, with three tiny, featherless, nestlings with labored breathing on the ground underneath the conifer where the nest was located.  Of course, I tried to get the babies back in an empty neighboring nest, but am certain my efforts to save the tiny birds  were unsuccessful.  So Monday morning, apparently still in the "animal zone,"  I left the house for an appointment and as I am approaching my destination, I saw a bewildered Beagle trying to cross a very busy and large street by herself.  She got confused and turned around, I started honking hoping she would go back to the sidewalk but she didn't, so I stopped the car, turned on the flashers, and went to pick up the very fat beagle.  She smelled horrible.  I put her in the back seat with Thelma, who seemed annoyed, but non-plussed by the appearance of the smelly interloper.  I waited in the car for my appointment, and she was a no-show, so I took the dogs back home.  The Beagle is very docile, sweet and elderly.  Her muzzle and eyebrows are gray, her nails long, she has a whole crop of warts and her eyes are cloudy.  I gave her a big bath while I waited for the vet's office to open but she still smelled. It is now seven  hours since I dropped "Edith" off.  I did talk to the vet, and although she has some minor problems, she is not doing badly for a neglected, unchipped and collarless dog.  I think we may need a companion dog for Thelma here at the office....

We're Not in Kansas Anymore (Part 1)

On Thursday, I drove six hours and 15 minutes to Wichita to celebrate my mother's 75th birthday. Once I reached the turnpike and started the journey through the Flint Hills, I felt so comforted by the familiar sight of deep fissures spreading dry brown fingers over the verdant swelling landscape dotted with Angus cows lolling about. I have talked with many travelers who report passing through Kansas and found it tedious and boring. I felt anything but bored; I love driving through Kansas. The air is clean and the skies seem bluer. The people are genuine and friendly. Wichita has grown and has spread East. I was shocked to see all of the development and retail where it used to be field. I remember other native Wichitans complaining about all that we didn't have, and now, it looks much like any other Midwest city with its PF Chang's and Gap stores. I liked it the way it was before.

Insomnia

What does it mean when you can't sleep? I am tired and it is bedtime. Actually, it's past bedtime. Sometimes when I can't sleep, I mentally re-write favorite childhood fairy tales, but I can't do that anymore as I have re-worked the biggies many times: Snow White, Jack and the Beanstalk and Cinderella. In my sleepless version Jack and his momma live in the projects and he traded her big screen TV for some magic seeds. I am not one of those people who can get out of bed, and transfer my worries or my ever growing To Do list to paper and hop back into bed into the arms of Morpheus. Once I start the mental gymnastics, I am a goner. I've planned entire menus, worked out project details, re-designed the garden and mentally organized closets. Note that I said mentally organized closets. I know bedtime is the time to release the day and slide into sleep, but that isn't going so well. Thank goodness the cat is nocturnal too.

It's JUST Paint!

A little history for those of you who don't know me: I have never been afraid of a little color. Actually, a lot of color. I like bold colors in rooms of all sizes. My friends teased me and always had a funny story or two about a room in my house that was pink or apple green room so I went against my true nature and decided to tone it down. I went with colors like "fern mist" and sun spot creme and watery, vague colors and yet, have always felt like those colors weren't really me. So today, I went whole hog and picked out a rich, deep, wine color called vintage claret. I am so excited! I had a room-mate once who commented about my orange bathroom: "Charmaine, orange is the color of insanity." Well, that may be, but it's hard to feel melancholy in an orange or lime green room.

I Am All A-Twitter!

Tweet-tweet!  Twitter is the subject of many conversations I have been privy to lately.  Are you Twittering?  I love Twittering.  My favorite part is being concise enough to get your thought into 140 characters.  A challenge that many would not be able to meet.  Brevity is the foe of many but admired by most.  The people I enjoy following the most are Ellen, Paula Poundstone and a little rocker/composer who lives in NYC, Laura Meyer.  She is very positive and perky.  I like that in my coffee too.  This middle aged broad is learning some new tricks!  Facebook, Twitter, texting and Skypeing.  All of these modes of communication don't do much for our interpersonal skills, but our writing skills should be improving don't you think?  

Young and The Restless

Tolerance requires patience and acceptance don't you think?  I was at a half-day conference full to capacity today and about 45 minutes into it, a woman squeezes down the isle and settles into the vacant seat next to me.  She was well prepared:  she had her blue tooth, her Blackberry, cheese danish, bagel, coffee and juice over ice.  In the next two hours she crunched ice, typed into her Blackberry with the long, glamorous nails that made an annoying click-a, click-a, click as she typed what I am sure was an urgent message.  She chomped and smacked on her danish and smeared cream cheese on her bagel and gnawed that into pulp.  She opened and closed her handbag and rustled peppermint paper and laughed at all of the Doctor's really bad jokes.  Part of the problem was that the information really required that I focused and listened and those who know me know how easily I am distracted and truthfully, YES, sometimes I am her.  When required to sit for long periods of time, I am restless, dis-engaged and not aware of how my fidgeting is impacting the others around me.  I could not move because the conference was packed and all of the seats were taken.  People were standing up on the back.  So I figured this was an lesson courtesy of the Universe and an opportunity to practice patience and to reflect on my own fidgeting and how very annoying it is.  

May I Help You? No, Not Really.

I arrived at Bank of America, clutching the documents that had arrived in the mail to verify my new account. I took the documents to the next available teller and asked if she needed my signature and how I would get a special designation on my account so that when I died, the balance of my account would go to my designee.  Now, note, that on the document that I had in my hand, it outlined the procedure.  So I asked if I could give her the completed, and signed document.  "No, I don't think so.  You have to call and talk to someone on the phone."  So let me get this straight- there is a lady greeting people in the bank lobby handing out coffee and directions to the next available teller, and there is a teller, but if I need answers to a question, I have to leave the bank and call a 1-800 number.  This gives a whole new meaning to customer service.  Come on people! For this you need a bailout??  No! For this, you need training.  Bank- schmanck.  I am going to put my money in a band-aid box and forego the fake "customer service."