My husband would tell you they're caused by living with two women, one on each end of the hormonal flux. It really isn't my own aging that's getting me down. I'm fine. I just wish I could freeze time for everybody else. Gram passed away in October. Yes, she was 100. Yes, she had a good life. Yes, I was probably as prepared as you get for these things. BUT I still miss her every day and I didn't even see her anything like every day.
But what has me dwelling on the fragility of life today rather than back in October? The dog, who I did see every day. I admit that for the last few weeks, he's been a pain in the neck, barking for hours at a time, but I didn't know he was as ill as he was (and I probably still would have begrudged him the lost sleep, just maybe not as much). Jesse was 13 and also had a good life, but I'm still going to miss him, too.
I was there for Gram and for Jesse close to the end and I'm glad I got to say goodbye to both of them. They won't know, but I will.
They're not the only ones we've lost this year and my age peers seem to be going through the same thing now. I know I'm lucky to have had as much time with my loved ones as I have and I'm going to try to come back more often to this page to record some of those stories Gram told when she was with us in September.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Thoughts for the Day
On Customer Service: Every Interaction Matters - even the ones that never happen.
My daughter has a button that says "Question Authority."
I want one that says "Listen to the Answers".
My daughter has a button that says "Question Authority."
I want one that says "Listen to the Answers".
Monday, March 23, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
The ubiquitous BB gun story
This BB gun story happened to my husband and his brother and is a favorite with both of my children. Tony and Joe both had BB guns, but for some reason on this particular day Tony was using Joe's BB gun and he shot at something in the pond. Joe screamed that Tony had shot him in the stomach! Tony denied this hotly, declaring that he had shot the pond, not his brother, and to prove it, he fired again. He must have been an awfully good shot because he hit the exact same spot and the BB ricocheted once more off the surface of the pond and straight into his brother's stomach for the second time.
Note: Joe just had a red stomach, no serious damage. It was, after all, a BB. And the significance to the fact that it was Joe's BB gun is now apparent. Joe never told on his brother because they would have taken away Joe's gun, a fact that was very quickly pointed out to him by his loving brother.
We refer to this incident as "The time your father shot his brother in the stomach - twice!"
Note: Joe just had a red stomach, no serious damage. It was, after all, a BB. And the significance to the fact that it was Joe's BB gun is now apparent. Joe never told on his brother because they would have taken away Joe's gun, a fact that was very quickly pointed out to him by his loving brother.
We refer to this incident as "The time your father shot his brother in the stomach - twice!"
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Rabid Fox Story
After my father swore it was mostly true, I figured I'd better tell the promised Rabid Fox Story. When my father and his brother, Harold, were middle sized boys of indeterminate age, they found a dead fox in the barn at the Old Simon's Place. Well, you can't pass up an opportunity like a dead fox just lying there at your feet, so they quite naturally dragged said fox into the Old Simon's Place itself and arranged it just so behind a door on the second floor. One does have to admire their willingness to work hard for a joke.
Then they went in search of "the girls," otherwise known as Carolyn and Marilyn, and invited them to go with them to explore the aforementioned empty house. Now, one would think the girls should have been highly suspicious of this offer, but they were apparently bored enough to fall for it. As they walked through the fields toward the house, the boys regaled the girls with tales of rabid foxes and the horrible death that would surely befall anyone unlucky enough to come face to face with one (complete with raving madness, horrific pain, and lots of foaming at the mouth, no doubt).
They all entered the house together and climbed the stairs. Once the girls were entirely inside the chosen room, the boys closed the door and screamed "Fox! Fox!" I am told that the girls broke land speed records getting out of the room, the house, and across several acres of fields to get back home while their brothers laughed their asses off.
I'll edit this with appropriate details as the kibbitzers provide them - like whether or not they left the fox there to rot in the room.
Note: Dad read this over and I added "Old Simon's Place". He tells me there may have been more partners in crime, but since he wasn't positive, I allowed them to remain nameless to protect the possibly but not probably innocent.
Then they went in search of "the girls," otherwise known as Carolyn and Marilyn, and invited them to go with them to explore the aforementioned empty house. Now, one would think the girls should have been highly suspicious of this offer, but they were apparently bored enough to fall for it. As they walked through the fields toward the house, the boys regaled the girls with tales of rabid foxes and the horrible death that would surely befall anyone unlucky enough to come face to face with one (complete with raving madness, horrific pain, and lots of foaming at the mouth, no doubt).
They all entered the house together and climbed the stairs. Once the girls were entirely inside the chosen room, the boys closed the door and screamed "Fox! Fox!" I am told that the girls broke land speed records getting out of the room, the house, and across several acres of fields to get back home while their brothers laughed their asses off.
I'll edit this with appropriate details as the kibbitzers provide them - like whether or not they left the fox there to rot in the room.
Note: Dad read this over and I added "Old Simon's Place". He tells me there may have been more partners in crime, but since he wasn't positive, I allowed them to remain nameless to protect the possibly but not probably innocent.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Stories Told in Waiting Rooms - the explanation
Like most mothers, I have spent untold hours in waiting rooms with my small children, trying desperately to entertain them. A prepared mother enters with crayons, coloring pages, toys that are saved just for this occasion, paper and pencil for tictactoe, and still she finds herself at wit's end long before their names are called.
This is when I would resort to story telling. I am actually grateful for these moments in our lives, because this is when I told the family stories passed down to me by my parents and grandparents. The one thing that I can promise you about these stories is this: If you are related to me, they may very well contain names you recognize and you may even find that you figure prominently in the story and you may find yourself wondering who the heck made up this crap because you certainly have no recollection of any of this ever happening to you, or if it does have some vague resemblance to something in your own life, you'll be positive it didn't happen anything like I'm telling it.
You're absolutely right because chances are excellent that I am repeating my own sketchy memories of a tale told to me as a child by a parent who, while an excellent story teller herself, was recounting an event that had happened to someone else many years before she heard about it and she only got the point of view of one individual (most probably my father). If you, then, are a sibling of my father's who was actually there for the "Rabid Fox Adventure," you may find that it has nothing in common with your own memories of the same story.
In this same vein, if you are my Uncle John or my mother's Cousin Joanie, you might find that you have been sadly misrepresented in the "Witch Story." Take it up with my mother. I'm telling it just the way she told it to me, or at least, just the way I remember her telling it 35 years ago.
To be continued. This was just the opening teaser.
This is when I would resort to story telling. I am actually grateful for these moments in our lives, because this is when I told the family stories passed down to me by my parents and grandparents. The one thing that I can promise you about these stories is this: If you are related to me, they may very well contain names you recognize and you may even find that you figure prominently in the story and you may find yourself wondering who the heck made up this crap because you certainly have no recollection of any of this ever happening to you, or if it does have some vague resemblance to something in your own life, you'll be positive it didn't happen anything like I'm telling it.
You're absolutely right because chances are excellent that I am repeating my own sketchy memories of a tale told to me as a child by a parent who, while an excellent story teller herself, was recounting an event that had happened to someone else many years before she heard about it and she only got the point of view of one individual (most probably my father). If you, then, are a sibling of my father's who was actually there for the "Rabid Fox Adventure," you may find that it has nothing in common with your own memories of the same story.
In this same vein, if you are my Uncle John or my mother's Cousin Joanie, you might find that you have been sadly misrepresented in the "Witch Story." Take it up with my mother. I'm telling it just the way she told it to me, or at least, just the way I remember her telling it 35 years ago.
To be continued. This was just the opening teaser.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
"It doesn't look home made!"
What is this world coming to? I spent a week of my free time on this only to discover that it looks like it came from a store and that that is apparently a good thing. You'll remember that I'm trying desperately to hold on to my Pollyanna World View even as it slips away.
I know, I really do, that appearances are very important to teens and that if she is happy and her friends complimented the creation, I should be on top of the world. I do realize how much of an accomplishment that is.
It did inspire me to create more scarves of cashmere and silk for the inlaws and nieces. That's bravery beyond the recognition of anyone who doesn't know them, so you'll have to take my word for it.
I'm quite proud of myself. I figured out how to send pictures directly from my phone to Flickr and from Flickr to Ravelry and to here. I'll have to set this up for the library's blog. Fun Fun....
Now off to knit more. I'm quite pleased with my Elf gift. She'll never suspect a thing. Well, until she sees the postmark, but then she'll go "Oh no, not something home made!" Then she'll squeal. Especially if she opens it after she opens it. This is a hint.
I know, I really do, that appearances are very important to teens and that if she is happy and her friends complimented the creation, I should be on top of the world. I do realize how much of an accomplishment that is.
It did inspire me to create more scarves of cashmere and silk for the inlaws and nieces. That's bravery beyond the recognition of anyone who doesn't know them, so you'll have to take my word for it.
I'm quite proud of myself. I figured out how to send pictures directly from my phone to Flickr and from Flickr to Ravelry and to here. I'll have to set this up for the library's blog. Fun Fun....
Now off to knit more. I'm quite pleased with my Elf gift. She'll never suspect a thing. Well, until she sees the postmark, but then she'll go "Oh no, not something home made!" Then she'll squeal. Especially if she opens it after she opens it. This is a hint.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Siblings
Most children with siblings are pretty sure that they would have been better off as only children. They don't buy into the whole "lonely only" propaganda. I don't actually know very many only children, but I imagine there's a lot of pressure.
I claim that the first is born of ignorance and all subsequent children are born because having the first one killed (or at least numbed) parental brain cells. My daughter and I have another explanation, though. We believe that our parents looked at the first child and said "We can do better than THAT," and had us. They stopped because they had reached perfection. Guess where we are in birth order?
I don't know why parents expect children to be happy about getting a new baby brother or sister. I read something once that really made it all very clear to me. Imagine if your spouse sat down with you one day and said "Honey, I love you so much that I want to have another one just like you. We're going to bring this new member of our family home to live and play with us, all the time. Won't that be wonderful?"
My son thought that was about the funniest thing he'd heard all day. Of course, he's the older child. What does he know?
I claim that the first is born of ignorance and all subsequent children are born because having the first one killed (or at least numbed) parental brain cells. My daughter and I have another explanation, though. We believe that our parents looked at the first child and said "We can do better than THAT," and had us. They stopped because they had reached perfection. Guess where we are in birth order?
I don't know why parents expect children to be happy about getting a new baby brother or sister. I read something once that really made it all very clear to me. Imagine if your spouse sat down with you one day and said "Honey, I love you so much that I want to have another one just like you. We're going to bring this new member of our family home to live and play with us, all the time. Won't that be wonderful?"
My son thought that was about the funniest thing he'd heard all day. Of course, he's the older child. What does he know?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Don't mess with my happy
I think of myself as a doggedly positive person. This is partly a reaction to the classmate who wrote in my yearbook (28 years ago) that she envied my pessimistic life view because that way I never faced disappointment. Not being a gloom and doom teenager anymore also helps.
I work hard at being a Pollyanna. This has taken a lot more effort in the recent months and I'm trying to turn myself back around. My basic philosophy is that you might as well attribute the best possible motives to people and make lots of excuses for their behavior because it will make YOU a better person and let's face it - 99% of the time you're never going to find out you were wrong. I also live in hope that they will do the same for me and truth be told, I need a few allowances now and then, more now than ever, I'm afraid.
I truly believe that most people do not go around trying to be jerks and I have no way of knowing what has been happening in their lives to make them act that way. There's also the argument that when you choose to be really nice to someone who is upset it makes them feel better and that makes them change the way they are treating you. Now you both feel good. Way to go!
Then there's the fact (yes, fact, dammit) that acting happy makes you happier and makes everyone around you happier and the concurrent fact is that the converse is also true and I'd rather be a harbinger of happiness than one of doom. If you're gonna spread something, it might as well be sunshine.
I work hard at being a Pollyanna. This has taken a lot more effort in the recent months and I'm trying to turn myself back around. My basic philosophy is that you might as well attribute the best possible motives to people and make lots of excuses for their behavior because it will make YOU a better person and let's face it - 99% of the time you're never going to find out you were wrong. I also live in hope that they will do the same for me and truth be told, I need a few allowances now and then, more now than ever, I'm afraid.
I truly believe that most people do not go around trying to be jerks and I have no way of knowing what has been happening in their lives to make them act that way. There's also the argument that when you choose to be really nice to someone who is upset it makes them feel better and that makes them change the way they are treating you. Now you both feel good. Way to go!
Then there's the fact (yes, fact, dammit) that acting happy makes you happier and makes everyone around you happier and the concurrent fact is that the converse is also true and I'd rather be a harbinger of happiness than one of doom. If you're gonna spread something, it might as well be sunshine.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
YMMV
There's nothing that illustrates the meaning of those letters, which stand for Your Mileage May Vary, like discussing an interesting book in a group of very different people. This is also what makes our book group a great mix even though there are only about 6 of us.
Last month we read Mutant Message Down Under, by Marlo Morgan. This novel claims to be based on fact, but is presented as fiction to protect the innocent. A little research on the web resulted in a plethora of results, mostly debunking everything she said about the aboriginal tribes of Australia, but that probably wouldn't bother the members of my group who loved it.
They weren't, after all, reading it in order to learn the truth about the lifestyle of a real aboriginal tribe. They bought into this: "The belief of the fictitious tribe is to value people for who they are, to appreciate even the simplest things given to us by nature or others, and to be in harmonious connection with ourselves, others and our environment -- our "divine Oneness". Honesty is a key element as it is the simplest and truest form of communication. Everything in the ecosystem connects to the 'Oneness'. "
The minister in our group loved this message so much that she created an entire sermon centered around it. Most of the others agreed with the basic principles, even if they didn't buy into the whole book. I, contrary person that I am, thought the whole thing was bull hockey. I was supposed to believe that this 50 year old American, dressed in silk and high heels, went without protest as she was shanghaied off to the outback, divested of all her worldly goods, and carted off on a barefoot 4 month trek?
The "message" being shoved down my throat was that as long as we eschew material goods and listen to the earth and each other, they will provide for us. Well sure, if you're happy with worms and termites, you'll never go hungry. I was also supposed to believe in hands on healing and tribal mind speaking, not a "something is not right" feeling, mind you, but a "Hey everybody, I am feeling really sick because of something I ate. Is it okay if I cut off the tail of this kangaroo I caught instead of dragging the whole thing 8 miles?"
Most of the commentary on the web is about the disservice the author did to the native Australian tribes with her fictionalized view of their culture. I don't really have as much of a problem with novels that start with a truth and embellish upon it. That's what historical fiction is, after all, and those novels often prompt people to research facts they might never have gone looking for otherwise.
I don't know, or much care, what it says about me, but I am not interested in oneness with the rest of the world. In fact, I have absolutely no desire to read your mind and would thank you to stay the heck out of mine.
I am, however, fascinated by the fact that books speak to the individual, and not only does each of us react very differently to the same book, but we react differently depending on where we are in our lives when we read them. I would even say that a book that can have that effect is one that is worth reading, and perhaps even rereading, even if I don't happen to agree with it myself, at least not this time around.
Last month we read Mutant Message Down Under, by Marlo Morgan. This novel claims to be based on fact, but is presented as fiction to protect the innocent. A little research on the web resulted in a plethora of results, mostly debunking everything she said about the aboriginal tribes of Australia, but that probably wouldn't bother the members of my group who loved it.
They weren't, after all, reading it in order to learn the truth about the lifestyle of a real aboriginal tribe. They bought into this: "The belief of the fictitious tribe is to value people for who they are, to appreciate even the simplest things given to us by nature or others, and to be in harmonious connection with ourselves, others and our environment -- our "divine Oneness". Honesty is a key element as it is the simplest and truest form of communication. Everything in the ecosystem connects to the 'Oneness'. "
The minister in our group loved this message so much that she created an entire sermon centered around it. Most of the others agreed with the basic principles, even if they didn't buy into the whole book. I, contrary person that I am, thought the whole thing was bull hockey. I was supposed to believe that this 50 year old American, dressed in silk and high heels, went without protest as she was shanghaied off to the outback, divested of all her worldly goods, and carted off on a barefoot 4 month trek?
The "message" being shoved down my throat was that as long as we eschew material goods and listen to the earth and each other, they will provide for us. Well sure, if you're happy with worms and termites, you'll never go hungry. I was also supposed to believe in hands on healing and tribal mind speaking, not a "something is not right" feeling, mind you, but a "Hey everybody, I am feeling really sick because of something I ate. Is it okay if I cut off the tail of this kangaroo I caught instead of dragging the whole thing 8 miles?"
Most of the commentary on the web is about the disservice the author did to the native Australian tribes with her fictionalized view of their culture. I don't really have as much of a problem with novels that start with a truth and embellish upon it. That's what historical fiction is, after all, and those novels often prompt people to research facts they might never have gone looking for otherwise.
I don't know, or much care, what it says about me, but I am not interested in oneness with the rest of the world. In fact, I have absolutely no desire to read your mind and would thank you to stay the heck out of mine.
I am, however, fascinated by the fact that books speak to the individual, and not only does each of us react very differently to the same book, but we react differently depending on where we are in our lives when we read them. I would even say that a book that can have that effect is one that is worth reading, and perhaps even rereading, even if I don't happen to agree with it myself, at least not this time around.
Monday, September 01, 2008
How does that saying go?
The thing about cliches is that there's enough basis in truth to make them worth repeating and sometimes I'm very envious of the fact that someone else already said it so much better than I can. One of the many great things about having children is that you often get to be the first person to introduce a cliche and sometimes they even think it was an original thought. Then they go to kindergarten.
The saying that triggered this post is "The more things change..." You know it is a really old and common cliche when you don't even have to finish it. When my son was a little boy, he fell out of the bunk bed in spite of the railing and fell out of his normal bed once or twice, too. So I'm not sure why I thought it was such a great idea to have his bed lofted at college. Yeah, he really did fall out. So, his father went and picked him up and they went to see grandpa D., who made two L shaped bulletin boards that now tuck under his mattress. Bed rails in disguise. He didn't think I was amusing when I suggested he explain that this is why he doesn't drink.
He has discovered that several of his suitemates believe that Intelligent Design should be taught in schools. What amazes him is that they deny the whole leap of faith part of it. I really and truly find it hard to believe his claim that this was the first time he ever heard me say "Man is a rational being. He can rationalize anything."
Speaking of people who don't listen to me, my father sent out one of his mass emails yesterday to say that his brother finally convinced him that he needs a blog so everyone can sign up to get his really very interesting entries automatically. Sigh. I told him that a year ago, but he's actually listening to his brother.
I'm sure dad would also be surprised to discover that not only have I listened to him on occasion, I even use his cliches on my children. It only seems fair. Yeah, by the way, Dad, that one about life not being fair is not one of the ones I use on my children. I still don't buy into that one. I'm still convinced that's a cop out for not trying. However, I do use "The one sure way of not getting something is not trying for it." You have to apply for the job, try out for the team, ask the boy out, and take the risk. Okay, he never suggested I ask a boy out, but I'm sure it belongs in there.
The saying that triggered this post is "The more things change..." You know it is a really old and common cliche when you don't even have to finish it. When my son was a little boy, he fell out of the bunk bed in spite of the railing and fell out of his normal bed once or twice, too. So I'm not sure why I thought it was such a great idea to have his bed lofted at college. Yeah, he really did fall out. So, his father went and picked him up and they went to see grandpa D., who made two L shaped bulletin boards that now tuck under his mattress. Bed rails in disguise. He didn't think I was amusing when I suggested he explain that this is why he doesn't drink.
He has discovered that several of his suitemates believe that Intelligent Design should be taught in schools. What amazes him is that they deny the whole leap of faith part of it. I really and truly find it hard to believe his claim that this was the first time he ever heard me say "Man is a rational being. He can rationalize anything."
Speaking of people who don't listen to me, my father sent out one of his mass emails yesterday to say that his brother finally convinced him that he needs a blog so everyone can sign up to get his really very interesting entries automatically. Sigh. I told him that a year ago, but he's actually listening to his brother.
I'm sure dad would also be surprised to discover that not only have I listened to him on occasion, I even use his cliches on my children. It only seems fair. Yeah, by the way, Dad, that one about life not being fair is not one of the ones I use on my children. I still don't buy into that one. I'm still convinced that's a cop out for not trying. However, I do use "The one sure way of not getting something is not trying for it." You have to apply for the job, try out for the team, ask the boy out, and take the risk. Okay, he never suggested I ask a boy out, but I'm sure it belongs in there.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Playing your part
I'll save the big philosophical discussion of all the roles we play in life (mother, daughter, wife, director, friend) for another day.
Today I'm talking more about the emotional roles we seem to trade around in our family. My husband is the worrier. I don't usually have to anticipate what might go wrong or stay up waiting for our teens to get home because he does those things so much better than I ever could, but if he doesn't take the job on for some reason, I fill the gap. This would be why he's snoring right now while I await our daughter's return from a concert. I'm the interpreter. I explain possible positive motives of daughter to father and back again, and I'm far too frequently the arbitrator, finding compromises between the same two people. Yes, she should be allowed to go to Europe with friends when she is 17 and a half and yes she should understand when he cross examines her about same proposed trip.
I'm the comic relief and sometimes the scapegoat. He's the organizer. I am perfectly capable of packing a suitcase. At work, I'm the one who spends far too long getting the books to fit just right in the booksale box, but at home he's the one who packs the trunk.
I'm the grand schemer, full of ideas and enthusiasm. He's the reality check but he has also been known to find a way to get it done. I'm the traveler, always ready to go adventuring. He is the steady light shining in the window so we can always find our way back home.
There was no real point to this one, just something I was thinking about while waiting for the return of the prodigal daughter.
Today I'm talking more about the emotional roles we seem to trade around in our family. My husband is the worrier. I don't usually have to anticipate what might go wrong or stay up waiting for our teens to get home because he does those things so much better than I ever could, but if he doesn't take the job on for some reason, I fill the gap. This would be why he's snoring right now while I await our daughter's return from a concert. I'm the interpreter. I explain possible positive motives of daughter to father and back again, and I'm far too frequently the arbitrator, finding compromises between the same two people. Yes, she should be allowed to go to Europe with friends when she is 17 and a half and yes she should understand when he cross examines her about same proposed trip.
I'm the comic relief and sometimes the scapegoat. He's the organizer. I am perfectly capable of packing a suitcase. At work, I'm the one who spends far too long getting the books to fit just right in the booksale box, but at home he's the one who packs the trunk.
I'm the grand schemer, full of ideas and enthusiasm. He's the reality check but he has also been known to find a way to get it done. I'm the traveler, always ready to go adventuring. He is the steady light shining in the window so we can always find our way back home.
There was no real point to this one, just something I was thinking about while waiting for the return of the prodigal daughter.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Time Passages
We celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary this week, my son started his freshman year of college today and this year marks 25 years since I graduated from the same college. This feels like it should be traumatic or momentous or something. Mostly I'm tired. I will say with gratitude that boys bring about half as much stuff as girls, going by casual observation of the piles that formed on the quad as parents and students hustled to get everything out of the cars within the 15 minute time limit.
Another moment worth remembering: My husband later remarked that my idea to get there early and unload then wait for them to arrive was spot on.
The rooms felt even smaller than I remembered. His roommate got there 2 days ago so he was sleeping when we arrived and already had the wall away from the door claimed as his own. Nick did get his bed lofted so his desk and refrigerator are stored underneath it. His dresser is in the closet. I am impressed that they got his bed lofted within a few hours of his request. It feels so much better when you can arrange your stuff.
He called already, sounding quite perky (yes, perky, not a word I use for Nick very often). He was hanging out with another boy from his high school who is also in the Honors College and apparently the professor who is in charge of the Honors College gave a very inspirational welcoming speech. He is probably in his 40's or 50's and lives in an apartment in the same dorm as Nick. What's rather frightening is that I can see Nick doing that and being perfectly happy.
We were actually alone in the house together for several hours. How weird is that? I guess we can start getting used to it. I figure we have another 40 years in us, after all. Well, I do!
Another moment worth remembering: My husband later remarked that my idea to get there early and unload then wait for them to arrive was spot on.
The rooms felt even smaller than I remembered. His roommate got there 2 days ago so he was sleeping when we arrived and already had the wall away from the door claimed as his own. Nick did get his bed lofted so his desk and refrigerator are stored underneath it. His dresser is in the closet. I am impressed that they got his bed lofted within a few hours of his request. It feels so much better when you can arrange your stuff.
He called already, sounding quite perky (yes, perky, not a word I use for Nick very often). He was hanging out with another boy from his high school who is also in the Honors College and apparently the professor who is in charge of the Honors College gave a very inspirational welcoming speech. He is probably in his 40's or 50's and lives in an apartment in the same dorm as Nick. What's rather frightening is that I can see Nick doing that and being perfectly happy.
We were actually alone in the house together for several hours. How weird is that? I guess we can start getting used to it. I figure we have another 40 years in us, after all. Well, I do!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Give me an L
With a son graduating from high school and a daughter going into the 11th grade, my own teen years have been coming up in discussion a lot. I'm probably also just at "that age."
I epitomized the word Loser to the point where it is hilarious (along with being somewhat pathetic). I was "overweight" (at 135, for God's sake), wore glasses, and (the kiss of death) had a really good vocabulary. I was also a bookworm. But wait, it gets better. I lived on a dairy farm and grew up running barefoot through cow manure and our house was across the street from the barn. Every day when I got on or off the bus I had to listen to "Ewww, is that smell coming from your house?" They referred to the farm as Cowshit Corners. We didn't have much money (farmers don't) so I wore hand me downs that were always about 2 years out of date. In the summer, we sat by the side of the road selling sweet corn $1.00 a dozen (but you got a baker's dozen).
I... was an Albany County Dairy Maid. I belonged to a square dancing group called the "Top Teen Twirlers." We performed at fairs in 1976, dressed in "period clothing" from 1776 and 1876. I was on the yearbook committee and in the cross country ski club and chorus and I carried the banner in the school marching band. Is it any wonder I grew up to become a Librarian who knits?
On the bright side, I'm also back on track with weight Loss.
I epitomized the word Loser to the point where it is hilarious (along with being somewhat pathetic). I was "overweight" (at 135, for God's sake), wore glasses, and (the kiss of death) had a really good vocabulary. I was also a bookworm. But wait, it gets better. I lived on a dairy farm and grew up running barefoot through cow manure and our house was across the street from the barn. Every day when I got on or off the bus I had to listen to "Ewww, is that smell coming from your house?" They referred to the farm as Cowshit Corners. We didn't have much money (farmers don't) so I wore hand me downs that were always about 2 years out of date. In the summer, we sat by the side of the road selling sweet corn $1.00 a dozen (but you got a baker's dozen).
I... was an Albany County Dairy Maid. I belonged to a square dancing group called the "Top Teen Twirlers." We performed at fairs in 1976, dressed in "period clothing" from 1776 and 1876. I was on the yearbook committee and in the cross country ski club and chorus and I carried the banner in the school marching band. Is it any wonder I grew up to become a Librarian who knits?
On the bright side, I'm also back on track with weight Loss.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
And your little dog, too
Cultural literacy is, apparently, one of my favorite topics with which to bore my children. Say the words to them and they will groan, roll their eyes, and say "Yeah, yeah, and your little dog, too, we know." I am a Pollyanna and therefore look upon this as living proof that something I've said to them (ten milion times) over the years has actually been heard and retained.
The dictionary definition (you knew that was coming, didn't you?) is "the ability to converse fluently in the idioms, allusions and informal content which creates and constitutes a dominant culture."
I think part of the appeal lies in the ability to convey a lot with a few words. Think about what went through your head when you read the words "and your little dog, too." Did you see the Wicked Witch of the West? Could you hear her voice? Are you looking over your shoulder to see if she's coming to get you? What other expression could I have used that would have invoked such vibrant imagery, complete with sound effects?
It's also fun. There's a joy to be found just in knowing that you got the allusion. Search for the words cultural literacy online and you'll find quizzes, books, blog entries and, of course, the ubiquitous Wikipedia article. And if you don't have a basic level of cultural literacy in whichever country you find yourself, your ignorance will show every time you say "Who?" I myself am sadly lacking in the areas of film and music. Refer to a famous actor or singer and I will inevitably say "Who?" I'm much better if you name a movie or song, however, and if you refer to a book character, I'm Golden.
This is why story is so important. Stories are a vital part of every culture. Mythology, fables, folktales, Tall Tales, classics, and Bible stories all live together at your library. Our children need to know what it means if someone has the golden touch or if something is a real David and Goliath story, and they should know to watch their backs when someone says "And your little dog, too."
The dictionary definition (you knew that was coming, didn't you?) is "the ability to converse fluently in the idioms, allusions and informal content which creates and constitutes a dominant culture."
I think part of the appeal lies in the ability to convey a lot with a few words. Think about what went through your head when you read the words "and your little dog, too." Did you see the Wicked Witch of the West? Could you hear her voice? Are you looking over your shoulder to see if she's coming to get you? What other expression could I have used that would have invoked such vibrant imagery, complete with sound effects?
It's also fun. There's a joy to be found just in knowing that you got the allusion. Search for the words cultural literacy online and you'll find quizzes, books, blog entries and, of course, the ubiquitous Wikipedia article. And if you don't have a basic level of cultural literacy in whichever country you find yourself, your ignorance will show every time you say "Who?" I myself am sadly lacking in the areas of film and music. Refer to a famous actor or singer and I will inevitably say "Who?" I'm much better if you name a movie or song, however, and if you refer to a book character, I'm Golden.
This is why story is so important. Stories are a vital part of every culture. Mythology, fables, folktales, Tall Tales, classics, and Bible stories all live together at your library. Our children need to know what it means if someone has the golden touch or if something is a real David and Goliath story, and they should know to watch their backs when someone says "And your little dog, too."
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
College Orientation
I just attended two days of mandatory parent orientation whilst my older child attended his two days of freshman orientation. May I just say "They didn't have that when I went to college!" My parents helped me unload my stuff on moving in day, hugged me goodbye and never looked back. I found myself surrounded by people happily screaming back at the cruise director style program director. Large groups of people in a frenzied fervor screaming "When I say UA, you say You Know, when I say Purple, you say Gold, when I say Great, you say Dane!" You can just imagine how I loved that.
I learned about all of the services available to my child - counseling, medical, financial, social, and yes, even academic advisement. His ID card is a true sign of big brother watching you - it is his room key and it holds all of the information about his food plan and it acts as a debit card for snacks, the bookstore, copies at the library, etc. I assume that with that card they can access his medical information, his grades, and so forth. I'm happy to say you're allowed to punch a hole in it because that may be the only way he keeps it for more than a day.
I have my very own parent liaison (who I share with thousands of other parental units) whom I can call with any concerns and she will direct me to the correct department. At the health center my child can get treated for colds, strep throat, the flu, chlamydia, and pregnancy. They sell condoms - 175 for six bucks and if they don't work, you can get the morning after pill there, too. Not to worry about cost - they'll put it on his bill and I can pay for it electronically with E-Pay. In fact, I can add money to his account any time from the comfort of my home and he will have instant access to it. Lucky me.
I learned that I can bring him to school on August 22nd no earlier than 9 AM. They recommended NOON, but realized that no one is going to listen to them. At 4:30 there will be a family bar-b-q and at 6:30 they would like to see us all go bye-bye! He'll already know who his suitemates are and will, presumably, have been in contact with his roommate for several weeks, ironing out who will bring what. This is extremely important since their rooms are about 8x10. At least he won't be tripled since he'll be in the Honors Dorms.
Now, I naiively assumed that my son was also getting all of this same information about who to see when and for what, but noooo. He was playing team building games (kill me now, mom), enduring the same mind numbing chants as me, and attending lectures on sexual assault and alcohol abuse. I'm sorry, but he's not going to need that. What he needs to know is where to go when he loses his room key and how to find his classes.
I learned about all of the services available to my child - counseling, medical, financial, social, and yes, even academic advisement. His ID card is a true sign of big brother watching you - it is his room key and it holds all of the information about his food plan and it acts as a debit card for snacks, the bookstore, copies at the library, etc. I assume that with that card they can access his medical information, his grades, and so forth. I'm happy to say you're allowed to punch a hole in it because that may be the only way he keeps it for more than a day.
I have my very own parent liaison (who I share with thousands of other parental units) whom I can call with any concerns and she will direct me to the correct department. At the health center my child can get treated for colds, strep throat, the flu, chlamydia, and pregnancy. They sell condoms - 175 for six bucks and if they don't work, you can get the morning after pill there, too. Not to worry about cost - they'll put it on his bill and I can pay for it electronically with E-Pay. In fact, I can add money to his account any time from the comfort of my home and he will have instant access to it. Lucky me.
I learned that I can bring him to school on August 22nd no earlier than 9 AM. They recommended NOON, but realized that no one is going to listen to them. At 4:30 there will be a family bar-b-q and at 6:30 they would like to see us all go bye-bye! He'll already know who his suitemates are and will, presumably, have been in contact with his roommate for several weeks, ironing out who will bring what. This is extremely important since their rooms are about 8x10. At least he won't be tripled since he'll be in the Honors Dorms.
Now, I naiively assumed that my son was also getting all of this same information about who to see when and for what, but noooo. He was playing team building games (kill me now, mom), enduring the same mind numbing chants as me, and attending lectures on sexual assault and alcohol abuse. I'm sorry, but he's not going to need that. What he needs to know is where to go when he loses his room key and how to find his classes.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Brainwashing that worked
I had to read a lot of short stories in high school and a few of them actually stayed with me ALL this time. There are three in particular that have made lasting impressions and they have all come up in conversations over the years and over the past few days.
The most recently discussed is "The Story of the Five Dollar Lawn." I think the teachers hoped we would be inspired to work harder, go the extra mile, just to prove to ourselves and to others that we could do it. I know that was my goal when I printed it out for my son. This is his take on it "The guy was an idiot. He did an extreme amount of extra work for a one dollar difference. The marginal cost of the 5th dollar was not worth it. Besides, the lawn was just going to be imperfect again the next day. He would have been better off getting another job working for another crazy old lady." I have to wonder if the failure to impress lies somewhere in my presentation of the material. I still need to point out that it was a 20 percent difference, not "just a dollar."
The second one is the one I use when describing Nick as a little boy. I always said I didn't worry about Nick being kidnapped. My boy was just like the kid in "The Ransom of Red Chief." The bad guys would bring him back out of self preservation. Heck, his dad made them pay him before he'd take the kid back. He said the neighbors wouldn't approve.
Last was "The Lottery," by Shirley Jackson. I very carefully avoided rereading it when I looked it up for you and I know they made my son read it, too. This one was, I suspect, intended to teach us not to follow others like sheep. It is the classic anti-peer-pressure story and Damn, did it work on me. Nick didn't need a story to tell him to avoid his peers and crowds. If I did, it was effective. I avoid places where people will get worked up and excited as a group - no rallies or concerts for me. Group think petrifies me because there's no thinking involved. I also tend to instinctively oppose the crowd as a self defense mechanism. I'm not sure Nick needed a story for that, either. He's been oppositional since before he could read.
I'm not sure it's a good sign when all of the short stories you read as a teen are available free on the internet since that means they're all out of copyright.
I have discussed all of them with my son at one time or another. He is particularly on my mind right now because tomorrow he graduates from high school. Sending them off into the big world without us there to protect them is as scary for us as it is for him. I just hope some of the brainwashing worked as well on him as these stories did on me.
The most recently discussed is "The Story of the Five Dollar Lawn." I think the teachers hoped we would be inspired to work harder, go the extra mile, just to prove to ourselves and to others that we could do it. I know that was my goal when I printed it out for my son. This is his take on it "The guy was an idiot. He did an extreme amount of extra work for a one dollar difference. The marginal cost of the 5th dollar was not worth it. Besides, the lawn was just going to be imperfect again the next day. He would have been better off getting another job working for another crazy old lady." I have to wonder if the failure to impress lies somewhere in my presentation of the material. I still need to point out that it was a 20 percent difference, not "just a dollar."
The second one is the one I use when describing Nick as a little boy. I always said I didn't worry about Nick being kidnapped. My boy was just like the kid in "The Ransom of Red Chief." The bad guys would bring him back out of self preservation. Heck, his dad made them pay him before he'd take the kid back. He said the neighbors wouldn't approve.
Last was "The Lottery," by Shirley Jackson. I very carefully avoided rereading it when I looked it up for you and I know they made my son read it, too. This one was, I suspect, intended to teach us not to follow others like sheep. It is the classic anti-peer-pressure story and Damn, did it work on me. Nick didn't need a story to tell him to avoid his peers and crowds. If I did, it was effective. I avoid places where people will get worked up and excited as a group - no rallies or concerts for me. Group think petrifies me because there's no thinking involved. I also tend to instinctively oppose the crowd as a self defense mechanism. I'm not sure Nick needed a story for that, either. He's been oppositional since before he could read.
I'm not sure it's a good sign when all of the short stories you read as a teen are available free on the internet since that means they're all out of copyright.
I have discussed all of them with my son at one time or another. He is particularly on my mind right now because tomorrow he graduates from high school. Sending them off into the big world without us there to protect them is as scary for us as it is for him. I just hope some of the brainwashing worked as well on him as these stories did on me.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Oh, Lighten Up Already
And I don't just mean the fact that I've gained weight and need to get a grip!
If you knit or crochet and have been under a rock for the past year, you need to know about ravelry. It is THE place to be, and I mean that in all seriousness. The hard part is tearing yourself away.
But while I was wallowing in a wonderful thread about ludicrous and strange knitted objects*(knitted digestive tract, dissected frog, willy warmer or purse in the shape of girly parts, to name just a few) I became distracted by a side issue of humor, or lack of same. There are those who don't think it's appropriate to give a knitted womb or breast to a woman who just had hers removed or to her doctor or nurse.
I, sick and twisted and proud, would consider it a perfect gift for me in those situations and I am just sorry my mother isn't a biology teacher anymore because she could have used that digestive tract AND the frog in her classroom.
So, being me, I immediately started searching for quotations about the need for humor in all areas of life (and yes, death). I found far more than I could use on that one little thread, so here I am, locked and loaded and ready to rock and roll. Yes, I do read too many romances about jaded soldiers fighting in the desert, the jungle, and the swamp, often all in one book. Want a list?
OK, here we go:
We'll start with the Man - Bill Cosby said "You can turn painful situations around through laughter. If you can find humor in anything, even poverty, you can survive it. "
Humor is just another defense against the universe. Mel Brooks
This guy likes big words, doesn't he?
There is no defense against adverse fortune which is so effectual as an habitual sense of humor. Thomas W. Higginson
* There was also a costume in the shape of girl parts that someone was actually wearing.
Hee, I'm really looking forward to CC's comments...
If you knit or crochet and have been under a rock for the past year, you need to know about ravelry. It is THE place to be, and I mean that in all seriousness. The hard part is tearing yourself away.
But while I was wallowing in a wonderful thread about ludicrous and strange knitted objects*(knitted digestive tract, dissected frog, willy warmer or purse in the shape of girly parts, to name just a few) I became distracted by a side issue of humor, or lack of same. There are those who don't think it's appropriate to give a knitted womb or breast to a woman who just had hers removed or to her doctor or nurse.
I, sick and twisted and proud, would consider it a perfect gift for me in those situations and I am just sorry my mother isn't a biology teacher anymore because she could have used that digestive tract AND the frog in her classroom.
So, being me, I immediately started searching for quotations about the need for humor in all areas of life (and yes, death). I found far more than I could use on that one little thread, so here I am, locked and loaded and ready to rock and roll. Yes, I do read too many romances about jaded soldiers fighting in the desert, the jungle, and the swamp, often all in one book. Want a list?
OK, here we go:
We'll start with the Man - Bill Cosby said "You can turn painful situations around through laughter. If you can find humor in anything, even poverty, you can survive it. "
Humor is just another defense against the universe. Mel Brooks
This guy likes big words, doesn't he?
There is no defense against adverse fortune which is so effectual as an habitual sense of humor. Thomas W. Higginson
* There was also a costume in the shape of girl parts that someone was actually wearing.
Hee, I'm really looking forward to CC's comments...
Saturday, May 10, 2008
I'm crying because she's crying
There's a story about a goat in a turnip field. The boy starts to cry because the goat is in the turnip field and it won't get out. Fox comes and asks the boy why he's crying. The boy explains that he's crying because the goat is in the turnip field and it won't get out. So Fox starts to cry. Bear comes along and asks Fox why she's crying. Fox says "I'm crying because the boy is crying and the boy is crying because the goat is in the turnip field and it won't get out." So Bear starts to cry. This goes on through several animals until finally bee comes along and asks the same question and gets the same answer. Bee stings the goat and it vacates the turnip field and everybody is happy again (except, presumably, the goat).
I'm sure the point of the story is supposed to be that it is more effective to take action than it is to weep and wail with everyone else, but sometimes empathy is all you can offer. My 16 year old is sobbing upstairs because she and her boyfriend have decided to be friends for awhile. It was a mutual decision, but her life routines are built around the relationship - talking every night on the phone before bed, walking together in the halls, hanging out before and after school.
I know this too shall pass - new routines will be created, old ones re-established, but oh my heart aches for her. So right now I'm crying because she is crying and that is all that I can do.
I'm sure the point of the story is supposed to be that it is more effective to take action than it is to weep and wail with everyone else, but sometimes empathy is all you can offer. My 16 year old is sobbing upstairs because she and her boyfriend have decided to be friends for awhile. It was a mutual decision, but her life routines are built around the relationship - talking every night on the phone before bed, walking together in the halls, hanging out before and after school.
I know this too shall pass - new routines will be created, old ones re-established, but oh my heart aches for her. So right now I'm crying because she is crying and that is all that I can do.
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