Julie Hanson of The New Hampshire Union-Leader has written a great article on this. How wonderful that Marvel heard about someone in trouble, and did something about it.
Artwork by Manny Mederos
Susan
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Blue Ear
Four-year-old Anthony Smith didn't want to wear his hearing aid anymore. He said superheroes don't wear blue ears. His mother emailed Marvel Comics, and in short order received this back.
Julie Hanson of The New Hampshire Union-Leader has written a great article on this. How wonderful that Marvel heard about someone in trouble, and did something about it.
Artwork by Manny Mederos
Susan
Julie Hanson of The New Hampshire Union-Leader has written a great article on this. How wonderful that Marvel heard about someone in trouble, and did something about it.
Artwork by Manny Mederos
Susan
Brian Banks and the NFL
Brian Banks will be trying out for the NFL Seattle Seahawks next week, Sports Illustrated reported today. While he was in high school, Banks made a verbal commitment to USC when Pete Carroll was the coach. Carroll now coaches the Seahawks. My original post on Banks is here.
Nice!
Susan
Nice!
Susan
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Change
"Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become." Mahatma Gandhi
Susan
No Woman No Cry
No Woman No Cry
by Chris Ofili
Chris Ofili is an artist from the United Kingdom. He was unknown to me, then I drew his name at random for an oral presentation in my Art class. The professor told me I would love him, and I do. He acknowledges his Nigerian heritage by using elephant dung in his work. He doesn't splatter it on, as his critics claim. It is an ancient art form in Africa, and it is built up and dried and used as the base for the work. His work "The Holy Virgin Mary" caused a ruckus when it was on display in New York City. Americans thought it pornographic, and while I understand there is a legal definition for porn, I tend to think pornography is in the eye of the beholder. Rudy Giuliani, who was mayor of the city at the time, said that freedom of speech doesn't cover things that are "disgusting." I guess disgusting is in the eye of the beholder as well.
The Holy Virgin Mary
by Chris Ofili
Ofili said he was shocked and unprepared for what he called "American rage" over his work, because being from the UK, he wasn't accustomed to that. Ofili lives and works in Trinidad. He has done a poster for the upcoming Olympic games this summer in London.
Susan
"No Woman No Cry" written by Vincent Ford
Monday, May 28, 2012
Touch
A customer walked up to my cash register, and all of a sudden I had time traveled back to when I was sixteen. This man smelled just like my first love; apparently he was wearing the same scent that young man used to wear. It was interesting that I immediately recognized that smell. The olfactory bulb that gives us our sense of smell is part of the limbic system of the brain, associated with memory and emotion. That's the scientific reason why smells evoke such strong emotions. My boyfriend and I really didn't have what it took for a long term relationship, and I broke up with him and it didn't end well. But more than thirty years later, I smell his cologne and it brings back a flood of everything good about who we were back then.
There is nothing like a first love. Do you remember yours? That very first time when we fall madly, passionately, head-over-heels in love and we are absolutely sure no one has ever felt this way before. I can close my eyes and remember what it felt like to rest my head on his shoulder. The way the lightly starched shirts he wore to work felt on my cheek. The way he smelled.
I recently took another online quiz here that told me my love language is physical touch. Twenty years ago Gary Chapman wrote a book, "The Five Love Languages." I've never read it, but Chapman says that there is a primary way we both feel and express love:
words of affirmation
receiving gifts
acts of service
quality time
physical touch
The problems arise when, say, a woman whose love language is acts of service is with a man whose language is words of affirmation. She runs around picking up his prescription at the pharmacy, making him delicious meals and taking his car in for servicing, but while he may appreciate it, he doesn't feel all that loved because he needs to hear the words. And while he tells her he loves her often and praises her verbally, what would really make her feel loved would be if he would get out the vacuum cleaner or help her do her taxes.
For all that we lacked otherwise, this first love and I spoke the same language. I love to touch and be touched, in what might appear to some, to be needy. He never made me feel that way, and only occasionally would shift me around when I sat on his lap. I suppose after a while his one leg would get numb and he'd just need me to move. He was only human, after all.
Physical touch is something that is missing more and more in American life. We are not a hugging kind of culture to begin with, and then there's the fear of touch being thought of as inappropriate or even as sexual harassment. Maybe that's why we are so wild about our pets, furry cats and dogs we can lavish affection on without feeling self-conscious.
I don't know about you, but sometimes my inner two-year-old just wants to run up to all the people she feels affectionate toward, and hug them really, really hard around their legs.
Susan
There is nothing like a first love. Do you remember yours? That very first time when we fall madly, passionately, head-over-heels in love and we are absolutely sure no one has ever felt this way before. I can close my eyes and remember what it felt like to rest my head on his shoulder. The way the lightly starched shirts he wore to work felt on my cheek. The way he smelled.
I recently took another online quiz here that told me my love language is physical touch. Twenty years ago Gary Chapman wrote a book, "The Five Love Languages." I've never read it, but Chapman says that there is a primary way we both feel and express love:
words of affirmation
receiving gifts
acts of service
quality time
physical touch
The problems arise when, say, a woman whose love language is acts of service is with a man whose language is words of affirmation. She runs around picking up his prescription at the pharmacy, making him delicious meals and taking his car in for servicing, but while he may appreciate it, he doesn't feel all that loved because he needs to hear the words. And while he tells her he loves her often and praises her verbally, what would really make her feel loved would be if he would get out the vacuum cleaner or help her do her taxes.
For all that we lacked otherwise, this first love and I spoke the same language. I love to touch and be touched, in what might appear to some, to be needy. He never made me feel that way, and only occasionally would shift me around when I sat on his lap. I suppose after a while his one leg would get numb and he'd just need me to move. He was only human, after all.
Physical touch is something that is missing more and more in American life. We are not a hugging kind of culture to begin with, and then there's the fear of touch being thought of as inappropriate or even as sexual harassment. Maybe that's why we are so wild about our pets, furry cats and dogs we can lavish affection on without feeling self-conscious.
I don't know about you, but sometimes my inner two-year-old just wants to run up to all the people she feels affectionate toward, and hug them really, really hard around their legs.
Susan
Need
"If I'd asked customers what they wanted, they would have said a faster horse." Henry Ford
In my post Asking For It, I wrote about my bold new way of asking for what I want and getting more. On the last day of class this semester, a professor for whom I have a great deal of respect, said some very complimentary things to me. It was not until after he was done speaking that I realized I needed to hear that. How about that? A need filled before I even realized I had the need. Very cool.
It dovetails with my post Everything I Need, about how I have everything I need, when I need it. It also causes me to take it a step further. Maybe I have everything I need before I need it.
Susan
In my post Asking For It, I wrote about my bold new way of asking for what I want and getting more. On the last day of class this semester, a professor for whom I have a great deal of respect, said some very complimentary things to me. It was not until after he was done speaking that I realized I needed to hear that. How about that? A need filled before I even realized I had the need. Very cool.
It dovetails with my post Everything I Need, about how I have everything I need, when I need it. It also causes me to take it a step further. Maybe I have everything I need before I need it.
Susan
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Brian Banks
"The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury." Marcus Aurelius
Brian Banks and Wanetta Gibson, both minors, had consensual sex. Then Gibson accused Banks of kidnapping and rape. His attorney, an adult woman, told him he was a "big black teenager" and a jury would never believe him. So instead of going to trial, which was his right, he pled no contest and lost precious years of his life in jail. Gibson and her family, adults, won a large judgment in a civil lawsuit against the school district. She recently reached out to Banks on Facebook and has admitted she lied. With the help of the Innocence Project, he has been exonerated and is claiming monetary damages from the state of California, which is his right. This is all a huge failure on the part of the many adults involved.
Every time a woman falsely accuses a man of rape, it is a disservice to the women who truly are raped. I had conversations with both my sons when they were very young teenagers, about their vulnerability as young men. I told them that even if the girl consents, yes even if the encounter appears to be her idea, later she could say she was raped and it could possibly be her word against his. I took no pleasure in having these talks with my sons, but I had to prepare them for reality.
Brian Banks seems ready to get on with his life. At this point, he has chosen not to go after Gibson, although I think she needs to be held accountable in some way. Nina Mandell in The New York Daily News quotes him as saying, "I know it's best for me to try and move forward in a positive manner for the betterment of me. It hurts no one but myself to hang on to the type of negative energy." Wow.
Susan
Brian Banks and Wanetta Gibson, both minors, had consensual sex. Then Gibson accused Banks of kidnapping and rape. His attorney, an adult woman, told him he was a "big black teenager" and a jury would never believe him. So instead of going to trial, which was his right, he pled no contest and lost precious years of his life in jail. Gibson and her family, adults, won a large judgment in a civil lawsuit against the school district. She recently reached out to Banks on Facebook and has admitted she lied. With the help of the Innocence Project, he has been exonerated and is claiming monetary damages from the state of California, which is his right. This is all a huge failure on the part of the many adults involved.
Every time a woman falsely accuses a man of rape, it is a disservice to the women who truly are raped. I had conversations with both my sons when they were very young teenagers, about their vulnerability as young men. I told them that even if the girl consents, yes even if the encounter appears to be her idea, later she could say she was raped and it could possibly be her word against his. I took no pleasure in having these talks with my sons, but I had to prepare them for reality.
Brian Banks seems ready to get on with his life. At this point, he has chosen not to go after Gibson, although I think she needs to be held accountable in some way. Nina Mandell in The New York Daily News quotes him as saying, "I know it's best for me to try and move forward in a positive manner for the betterment of me. It hurts no one but myself to hang on to the type of negative energy." Wow.
Susan
Not On My Watch
"Life has a certain flavor for those who have fought and risked all that the sheltered and protected can never experience." John Stuart Mill
Monday is Memorial Day, a day in America where we remember those who died in the service of our country. I think we can honor those brave men and women, and support our active military and veterans, without agreeing with every military engagement our country undertakes. In my mind at least, they are two separate things. My older son and his wife both served in the military, and both came home safe and sound. Not every parent is that fortunate. All gave some, and some gave all.
I am thankful.
Susan
Monday is Memorial Day, a day in America where we remember those who died in the service of our country. I think we can honor those brave men and women, and support our active military and veterans, without agreeing with every military engagement our country undertakes. In my mind at least, they are two separate things. My older son and his wife both served in the military, and both came home safe and sound. Not every parent is that fortunate. All gave some, and some gave all.
I am thankful.
Susan
Am I Blue?
Yes. I am, according to Taylor Hartman's Color Code. It's a fun, free personality test you can take here.
Are you a red, yellow, white or a blue like me?
Susan
Are you a red, yellow, white or a blue like me?
Susan
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
People, I Am Going To Tahrir Square
I love Facebook. I first joined so I could stay connected with two of my nieces who live in other parts of the country. And it worked. I feel more a part of their lives since we are Facebook friends. I have maybe 40-50 friends, not a lot. My privacy settings are as private as possible, but still I never post anything I wouldn't want the whole world to eventually see. It just makes sense.
Facebook is fun. Facebook is also a very powerful tool. I thought of this today as Egypt is having its first democratic election for a president. It all started on Facebook; remember that? In February of 2011, a 26-year-old woman called Asmaa Mahfouz posted this:
People, I am going to Tahrir Square
And with that she started a revolution. With that, she changed her world. Right now is simply the most wonderful time to be alive.
Susan
Facebook is fun. Facebook is also a very powerful tool. I thought of this today as Egypt is having its first democratic election for a president. It all started on Facebook; remember that? In February of 2011, a 26-year-old woman called Asmaa Mahfouz posted this:
People, I am going to Tahrir Square
And with that she started a revolution. With that, she changed her world. Right now is simply the most wonderful time to be alive.
Susan
Super Ryan
Once upon a time, in the land called California, there was the small hamlet of Del Ray Oaks. In that place, there was a market called Safeway, and inside the market at the meat counter, a mild-mannered clerk called Ryan Young. His secret identity had never been revealed. Day after day people shopped in that store, getting their pork chops and chicken breasts and briskets from this man, never even suspecting that he was SUPER RYAN!
One day a pregnant woman in the store was being physically assaulted by her boyfriend, and Super Ryan came to the rescue of the baby and its mother. When the man refused to back down, Super Ryan hit him. Local law enforcement, who arrested the man, commended our hero. Kate Moser of The Monterey County Herald quoted a bystander as saying that Super Ryan deserved a medal. He doesn't have a medal and he doesn't have a cape and he hasn't had a paycheck for a month, because Safeway has suspended him without pay. This is obviously a hardship to him and his wife, who also happens to be pregnant. Modest and unassuming as most super heroes, Super Ryan says he just wants his job back. The store and the union say they are trying to resolve this as quickly as possible, rules and laws and all that sort of stuff.
Shoppers have boycotted and picketed the store, and the city has lost sales tax revenues over it. Change.org has a petition here. Safeway also owns the Vons supermarket chain.
A shopper at the nearby Carmel Safeway said "he did something that any sentient being would believe to be an act of heroism." Yes. He did, because that's what superheroes do.
Susan
One day a pregnant woman in the store was being physically assaulted by her boyfriend, and Super Ryan came to the rescue of the baby and its mother. When the man refused to back down, Super Ryan hit him. Local law enforcement, who arrested the man, commended our hero. Kate Moser of The Monterey County Herald quoted a bystander as saying that Super Ryan deserved a medal. He doesn't have a medal and he doesn't have a cape and he hasn't had a paycheck for a month, because Safeway has suspended him without pay. This is obviously a hardship to him and his wife, who also happens to be pregnant. Modest and unassuming as most super heroes, Super Ryan says he just wants his job back. The store and the union say they are trying to resolve this as quickly as possible, rules and laws and all that sort of stuff.
Shoppers have boycotted and picketed the store, and the city has lost sales tax revenues over it. Change.org has a petition here. Safeway also owns the Vons supermarket chain.
A shopper at the nearby Carmel Safeway said "he did something that any sentient being would believe to be an act of heroism." Yes. He did, because that's what superheroes do.
Susan
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
The Rose
"The truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering the more you suffer because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you in proportion to your fear of being hurt." Thomas Merton
I have lived in southern California now for more than half my life. One of the things I love about it is the warm weather and I am very spoiled now. We don't have four distinct seasons. We don't have the rust and gold of autumn, the bare trees and snow of winter, the spring when things begin to thaw and trees blossom, summer when the flowers are in full bloom, only to being that cycle all over again. But no matter where we live, life has seasons. I can remember living in Pennsylvania where the cold, bleak winter seemed to go on forever. Yet spring always came, even if it was later than what I wanted.
A few days ago, I heard this old song for the first time in years. I used to think it was about romantic love, and it is, I guess. But this time it struck me with its simple lyrics, to just be about life and the living of it.
Susan
"The Rose" written by Amanda McBroom
I have lived in southern California now for more than half my life. One of the things I love about it is the warm weather and I am very spoiled now. We don't have four distinct seasons. We don't have the rust and gold of autumn, the bare trees and snow of winter, the spring when things begin to thaw and trees blossom, summer when the flowers are in full bloom, only to being that cycle all over again. But no matter where we live, life has seasons. I can remember living in Pennsylvania where the cold, bleak winter seemed to go on forever. Yet spring always came, even if it was later than what I wanted.
A few days ago, I heard this old song for the first time in years. I used to think it was about romantic love, and it is, I guess. But this time it struck me with its simple lyrics, to just be about life and the living of it.
Susan
"The Rose" written by Amanda McBroom
Monday, May 21, 2012
Who Would Jesus Electrocute?
"Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities." Voltaire
Last fall, Herman Cain said we should have an electrical fence at our border, so that anyone trying to cross would be electrocuted and killed. He later said it wasn't a serious plan to deal with immigration problems; it was a joke. Really? Because I don't think it's funny at all. Last week we had Charles Worley, a North Carolina minister, saying that gay people should be confined to an area surrounded by an electric fence. A concentration camp, apparently. It wasn't that long ago that we did have interment camps in our country for the Japanese, during World War II. We still have people alive today who were in concentration camps set up by Adolf Hitler. Unlike Cain, Worley has not said he was joking.
Cain and Worley have more in common than electric fences. They are both Baptists. While there are some very nice people who are Baptists, the collective arrogance of a group of people who believe they have a personal relationship with the son of god boggles the mind. And while many would not be so stupid as to publicly state what Worley said, make no mistake, many would silently agree with him. There is a very real hatred of gays among this group. I know. I used to be a Baptist myself. I was employed as a church secretary and I got a unique view from the inside that the average person in the pew never gets.
Some wonder how people who profess to follow Jesus, who say they love god, could be so cruel.The problem begins with their view of god. The Baptist religion is a weird mixture of Old and New Testament scripture, with verses taken out of context and completely twisted to serve their own purposes. Their god is not at all like the healer Jesus, the loving Jesus of the gospels. They downplay him and play up the judgemental god of the Old Testament. They believe in a literal hell, an actual place of fire and brimstone, a lake of fire, where unbelievers are tortured forever. Their heavenly father is the ultimate abusive parent, and they emulate him.
If you ask them if god loves gay people, they would say yes, god loves everyone, but he hates sin, and homosexuality is a sin, an abomination, a perversion. They say "love the sinner but hate the sin," but in reality they are all about the hatred. Now not everyone who attends a Baptist church is like this; it is a collective belief and a very real part of the clergy. Not everyone is a hater, but the official stance is that homosexuality is a sin.
The reason they are arrogant is because they think they know the mind of god. They have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, you see. They have a book that they purport to be the inspired, literal word of god (Worley's church goes so far as to say that only the King James Version from 1611 is inspired.) Not a book about god written by men, but a book breathed by god and penned by men. They are saved. Those who don't believe as they do are lost.
I watched the video of Worley, and he's not at all a good speaker. But some men (women are not permitted to be ministers) in this group are very smooth, very persuasive and very charismatic. It's easy, once you have people believing, to get them to act. While it might be tempting to laugh it off and think that people who make comments like Cain and Worley are just idiots, because to thinking people it sounds so absurd. But some people actually believe the absurdities, so we are just one small step away from the atrocities.
Susan
"Personal Jesus" written by Martin Gore
Last fall, Herman Cain said we should have an electrical fence at our border, so that anyone trying to cross would be electrocuted and killed. He later said it wasn't a serious plan to deal with immigration problems; it was a joke. Really? Because I don't think it's funny at all. Last week we had Charles Worley, a North Carolina minister, saying that gay people should be confined to an area surrounded by an electric fence. A concentration camp, apparently. It wasn't that long ago that we did have interment camps in our country for the Japanese, during World War II. We still have people alive today who were in concentration camps set up by Adolf Hitler. Unlike Cain, Worley has not said he was joking.
Cain and Worley have more in common than electric fences. They are both Baptists. While there are some very nice people who are Baptists, the collective arrogance of a group of people who believe they have a personal relationship with the son of god boggles the mind. And while many would not be so stupid as to publicly state what Worley said, make no mistake, many would silently agree with him. There is a very real hatred of gays among this group. I know. I used to be a Baptist myself. I was employed as a church secretary and I got a unique view from the inside that the average person in the pew never gets.
Some wonder how people who profess to follow Jesus, who say they love god, could be so cruel.The problem begins with their view of god. The Baptist religion is a weird mixture of Old and New Testament scripture, with verses taken out of context and completely twisted to serve their own purposes. Their god is not at all like the healer Jesus, the loving Jesus of the gospels. They downplay him and play up the judgemental god of the Old Testament. They believe in a literal hell, an actual place of fire and brimstone, a lake of fire, where unbelievers are tortured forever. Their heavenly father is the ultimate abusive parent, and they emulate him.
If you ask them if god loves gay people, they would say yes, god loves everyone, but he hates sin, and homosexuality is a sin, an abomination, a perversion. They say "love the sinner but hate the sin," but in reality they are all about the hatred. Now not everyone who attends a Baptist church is like this; it is a collective belief and a very real part of the clergy. Not everyone is a hater, but the official stance is that homosexuality is a sin.
The reason they are arrogant is because they think they know the mind of god. They have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, you see. They have a book that they purport to be the inspired, literal word of god (Worley's church goes so far as to say that only the King James Version from 1611 is inspired.) Not a book about god written by men, but a book breathed by god and penned by men. They are saved. Those who don't believe as they do are lost.
I watched the video of Worley, and he's not at all a good speaker. But some men (women are not permitted to be ministers) in this group are very smooth, very persuasive and very charismatic. It's easy, once you have people believing, to get them to act. While it might be tempting to laugh it off and think that people who make comments like Cain and Worley are just idiots, because to thinking people it sounds so absurd. But some people actually believe the absurdities, so we are just one small step away from the atrocities.
Susan
"Personal Jesus" written by Martin Gore
Time
This is fun and fascinating, definitely worth ten minutes of your day. Philip Zimbardo is Professor Emeritus of Psychology at Stanford University.
Susan
Susan
Final Exams
Art Imitates Food
The most important meal of the day
Is called breakfast, or so they say
A yogurt sky of vanilla and blackberry
Flowers made of orange and of cherry
Stems of lime and granola dirt
This is one final that doesn't hurt
Susan
Tribute
"I think people should be a little more honored before they go. It gets to a point where we don't always give them what they need." Lisa Marie Presley
This really has me thinking. Presley is talking about the death of Robin Gibb of the Bee Gees. The Belfast Telegraph (author of the article not credited) quotes Presley as saying we pay tribute to artists after they die, but not while they are still with us.
I find myself taking inventory of the people in my life who have made such a difference to me. Who is it today that I should be paying tribute to?
Susan
"Heartbreaker" written by Robin Gibb, Maurice Gibb and Barry Gibb
This really has me thinking. Presley is talking about the death of Robin Gibb of the Bee Gees. The Belfast Telegraph (author of the article not credited) quotes Presley as saying we pay tribute to artists after they die, but not while they are still with us.
I find myself taking inventory of the people in my life who have made such a difference to me. Who is it today that I should be paying tribute to?
Susan
"Heartbreaker" written by Robin Gibb, Maurice Gibb and Barry Gibb
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Sisters
Former CNN reporter Campbell Brown has a piece in The New York Times in which she says the President is condescending toward women. Her husband (Dan Senor) is a Mitt Romney advisor. While it is entirely possible that has nothing to do with the price of tea in China (as my grandma would say) it does give me cause to pause. Or maybe, there is a job opening at Fox News (where her husband is a contributor) and she's ready to go back to work?
I am thankful I live in a country where the President can be freely and openly criticized, and Brown's high profile gives her a platform from which to do it that most of us other Americans don't have. Go for it. I think the President can handle it.
It's funny how candidates fight over us women like high school kids at the prom, wanting to dance with the homecoming queen. Thinking female people have the same concerns that thinking male people have, and we have some very serious problems in our country that all of us should be working on together.
Yesterday at work a customer, a gentleman old enough to be my father, called me "Sweetheart" and told me I was smart. I didn't feel patronized, because frankly I am both sweet and smart, and I think he was a very wise man to recognize this right away. Or maybe he was hitting on me, which is concerning because he was 80 if he was a day...
Seriously now. Men sometimes feel like they just can't win with us women, that they have to watch what they say so carefully because we are overly sensitive. All Brown did was reinforce that old stereotype. And while she may have done her husband a favor, and while she may have done Romney a favor, she didn't help a sister out at all.
Susan
I am thankful I live in a country where the President can be freely and openly criticized, and Brown's high profile gives her a platform from which to do it that most of us other Americans don't have. Go for it. I think the President can handle it.
It's funny how candidates fight over us women like high school kids at the prom, wanting to dance with the homecoming queen. Thinking female people have the same concerns that thinking male people have, and we have some very serious problems in our country that all of us should be working on together.
Yesterday at work a customer, a gentleman old enough to be my father, called me "Sweetheart" and told me I was smart. I didn't feel patronized, because frankly I am both sweet and smart, and I think he was a very wise man to recognize this right away. Or maybe he was hitting on me, which is concerning because he was 80 if he was a day...
Seriously now. Men sometimes feel like they just can't win with us women, that they have to watch what they say so carefully because we are overly sensitive. All Brown did was reinforce that old stereotype. And while she may have done her husband a favor, and while she may have done Romney a favor, she didn't help a sister out at all.
Susan
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Done
In the ladies' room of the department store, there were these little cards that told us love should not hurt. The card encouraged the reader to get help if in an abusive relationship. I hope the men's room had these cards, too, because men are victims of abuse as really as women are.
Domestic abuse is a complicated subject with no easy solutions. Why we choose people who hurt us and why we stay. It can be tricky to get out, because it's been proven that the most dangerous time is when we leave.
We seem to have this notion that romantic love is so difficult to find, that we must look for that one perfect person, and then stick it out when we discover it's far from perfection. The reality is, there are many great people out there who would love us and never hurt us. Never. hurt. us.
A young woman was asked, "Has he ever hit you?" She said no. "He loves me and would never hurt me." Yet she was hurting. She was in so much pain, I could feel it radiating off of her. I could feel her pain.
But we aren't done until we're done, and this girl just isn't done yet. And you know what? Her boyfriend may love her, but he doesn't love her like another man could, if given the chance.
Susan
"Kiss Him Goodbye" written by Gary DeCarlo, Dale Frashuer and Paul Leka
Domestic abuse is a complicated subject with no easy solutions. Why we choose people who hurt us and why we stay. It can be tricky to get out, because it's been proven that the most dangerous time is when we leave.
We seem to have this notion that romantic love is so difficult to find, that we must look for that one perfect person, and then stick it out when we discover it's far from perfection. The reality is, there are many great people out there who would love us and never hurt us. Never. hurt. us.
A young woman was asked, "Has he ever hit you?" She said no. "He loves me and would never hurt me." Yet she was hurting. She was in so much pain, I could feel it radiating off of her. I could feel her pain.
But we aren't done until we're done, and this girl just isn't done yet. And you know what? Her boyfriend may love her, but he doesn't love her like another man could, if given the chance.
Susan
"Kiss Him Goodbye" written by Gary DeCarlo, Dale Frashuer and Paul Leka
Inspiration 101
I'm studying for finals. You may be thinking, uh, actually, you're not cuz you're blogging. OK, you have a point there. Let's just say I'm on a break. Anyway, I am getting inspiration from a Maryland man, Jack Andraka, who has developed a screening tool for early stage pancreatic cancer. The thing that really inspires me about Andraka is that he is only 15. He took first place at the Intel Engineering and Science Fair held in Washington, DC. The runners-up are Ari Dychovsky, 18, who did an analysis of quantum teleportation (I had to Google that) and Nicholas Schiefer, 17, who did a study on microsearch in the computer science category. The Kansas City Star (article not credited to a writer) has more information, just in case you need to be inspired today.
That's all for now. Gotta go study for my final in Astronomy 101.
Susan
That's all for now. Gotta go study for my final in Astronomy 101.
Susan
Thursday, May 17, 2012
She Always Brought a Gift
Donna Summer always brought a gift when she visited her publicist's office, Alan Duke of CNN writes. This tells me that not only did the world lose a talented artist today, but we also lost a very nice lady. We as humans thrive on acknowledgment and appreciation. Miss Summer knew how to show it.
Susan
"MacArthur Park" written by Jimmy Webb
Susan
"MacArthur Park" written by Jimmy Webb
Perspective
You can read about my older brother here. At seventy, he defies what getting older is supposed to be like, with his amazing level of physical activity, his outlook on life and his great sense of humor. We have been emailing back and forth here recently, and in my email to him yesterday I used the word "egalitarian."
This morning, he gave me some of his wisdom and it's too good not to share. Here is, in part, what he told me. "Go with your gut. Be impulsive. Lash out at people. Watch lots of TV. Tamp down your intellect. Don't worry, be happy! Don't use words like egalitarian. Think shallow thoughts."
Then he added, "Ain't it great to have an older brother who can put things in perspective!" Yes. It sure is.
Susan
This morning, he gave me some of his wisdom and it's too good not to share. Here is, in part, what he told me. "Go with your gut. Be impulsive. Lash out at people. Watch lots of TV. Tamp down your intellect. Don't worry, be happy! Don't use words like egalitarian. Think shallow thoughts."
Then he added, "Ain't it great to have an older brother who can put things in perspective!" Yes. It sure is.
Susan
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
The Godfather
"I'm not retired because I'm not tired. I'm still getting hired, and I'm still inspired." Chuck Brown
Charles Lewis Brown, the Godfather of Go-Go, died today at the age of 75. He had a concert scheduled in Washington, DC for next month, and another one coming up in August. The next time I think I am too old to do something, I'm going to crank up one of his songs and be inspired.
Susan
"People Make the World Go Round" written by Thom Bell and Linda Creed
Charles Lewis Brown, the Godfather of Go-Go, died today at the age of 75. He had a concert scheduled in Washington, DC for next month, and another one coming up in August. The next time I think I am too old to do something, I'm going to crank up one of his songs and be inspired.
Susan
"People Make the World Go Round" written by Thom Bell and Linda Creed
Up and Down
"Fall seven times and stand up eight." Japanese proverb
Good Morning. It's morning where I am anyway, as I write this. I had my coffee, strong and hot and delicious. My godchildren, an Australian shepherd and yellow Labrador who belong to my dear roommate/friend, gave me a beautiful mug for Mother's Day. It is blue, has flowers and butterflies and ladybugs on it, and it definitely makes the coffee taste even better. I had some cinnamon toast, so I'm all fueled up and ready to go take on another day. I brushed my teeth, so my breath is minty-fresh.
Yesterday in the late afternoon, I felt a little blue and discouraged, nothing bad, just the down in the everyday up-and-down of life. I didn't analyze how I felt (well, maybe just a little) and I didn't try to fix it (I did have some chocolate, but not too much) and I didn't give myself a pep talk (I started to, but I interrupted myself after a few words.) This is really good for me, to just feel an emotion, to allow it to come in one door and walk out the other. I find that it's okay to be down, because I know that I can always get back up again. I am thankful that my happiness is pretty much a consistent straight line, that the ups are not up really high, and the lows are not down really low. I have dodged a major bullet in life. There is a family history of bipolar disorder (manic depression) but I don't have it. I feel blessed, because I know it is a tough disease to deal with successfully. I am one lucky girl.
Today is a good day for me. I hope it is a good day for you, too. Thank you for reading what I write.
Susan
"Tubthumping" written by Duncan Bruce, Nigel Hunter, Alice Nutter, Louise Watts
Good Morning. It's morning where I am anyway, as I write this. I had my coffee, strong and hot and delicious. My godchildren, an Australian shepherd and yellow Labrador who belong to my dear roommate/friend, gave me a beautiful mug for Mother's Day. It is blue, has flowers and butterflies and ladybugs on it, and it definitely makes the coffee taste even better. I had some cinnamon toast, so I'm all fueled up and ready to go take on another day. I brushed my teeth, so my breath is minty-fresh.
Yesterday in the late afternoon, I felt a little blue and discouraged, nothing bad, just the down in the everyday up-and-down of life. I didn't analyze how I felt (well, maybe just a little) and I didn't try to fix it (I did have some chocolate, but not too much) and I didn't give myself a pep talk (I started to, but I interrupted myself after a few words.) This is really good for me, to just feel an emotion, to allow it to come in one door and walk out the other. I find that it's okay to be down, because I know that I can always get back up again. I am thankful that my happiness is pretty much a consistent straight line, that the ups are not up really high, and the lows are not down really low. I have dodged a major bullet in life. There is a family history of bipolar disorder (manic depression) but I don't have it. I feel blessed, because I know it is a tough disease to deal with successfully. I am one lucky girl.
Today is a good day for me. I hope it is a good day for you, too. Thank you for reading what I write.
Susan
"Tubthumping" written by Duncan Bruce, Nigel Hunter, Alice Nutter, Louise Watts
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Hungry
The bulletin board in our break room has flyers that tell us we might be eligible for the earned income credit, food stamps or energy assistance from the local utility company. There is a toll-free number employees can call if they need help in determining what kind of assistance they might be eligible for, or help in navigating the system. There is a real need for this, because starting employees earn $8 an hour, which is the California minimum wage. Many of my co-workers have two jobs, some of them three.
Overall, the company has 150,000 employees, over 80% of which are part-time with no benefits. One of my colleagues is a full-time employee, meaning she works 30 hours each week, and can be a part of a pretty good health care plan. Her take home pay is around $40 a week. The rest of it is payroll deducted to cover the cost of health insurance for herself, her husband and two children.
Our CEO earned $19 million last year. I have never met her, but I see her name and signature on a letter that appears near our time clock about four times a year, announcing an upcoming weekend where employees can get a 20% discount on purchases instead of the usual 10%.
I did some calculations, and if she works 40 hours a week, she earns $9,000 an hour. If she works a 60 hour week like many high level executives do, she earns $6,000 an hour. If she is a complete workaholic at 80 hours a week, she earns $4,500 an hour. I am not a math major, but there is a huge disparity between $8 an hour and $4,500 an hour.
I am thankful to have a job in this economy. I am a good employee and take pride in the kind of job I do. And make no mistake, I take full responsibility for the choices I have made throughout my lifetime that have brought me to this place. One of the reasons I am in college is so that I can better myself. I know that we need rich people, because they stimulate the economy in ways that people of lesser means cannot. I don't lie awake at night worrying about money, because as I shared with you here, I know that I will be fine. But sometimes I do lie awake and think about this huge gulf between the rich and the poor in America. I think about the difference between $8 and $4,500, and it boggles my mind.
Susan
"Hunger Strike" written by Chris Cornell
Overall, the company has 150,000 employees, over 80% of which are part-time with no benefits. One of my colleagues is a full-time employee, meaning she works 30 hours each week, and can be a part of a pretty good health care plan. Her take home pay is around $40 a week. The rest of it is payroll deducted to cover the cost of health insurance for herself, her husband and two children.
Our CEO earned $19 million last year. I have never met her, but I see her name and signature on a letter that appears near our time clock about four times a year, announcing an upcoming weekend where employees can get a 20% discount on purchases instead of the usual 10%.
I did some calculations, and if she works 40 hours a week, she earns $9,000 an hour. If she works a 60 hour week like many high level executives do, she earns $6,000 an hour. If she is a complete workaholic at 80 hours a week, she earns $4,500 an hour. I am not a math major, but there is a huge disparity between $8 an hour and $4,500 an hour.
I am thankful to have a job in this economy. I am a good employee and take pride in the kind of job I do. And make no mistake, I take full responsibility for the choices I have made throughout my lifetime that have brought me to this place. One of the reasons I am in college is so that I can better myself. I know that we need rich people, because they stimulate the economy in ways that people of lesser means cannot. I don't lie awake at night worrying about money, because as I shared with you here, I know that I will be fine. But sometimes I do lie awake and think about this huge gulf between the rich and the poor in America. I think about the difference between $8 and $4,500, and it boggles my mind.
Susan
"Hunger Strike" written by Chris Cornell
Normal
Early this morning a Florida woman shot and killed her four children, and then herself. Suicide is a tragedy, but these situations we read about from time to time where the one committing suicide takes out other people, usually loved ones, are especially disturbing.
The children's father had recently moved out of the home. The neighbors knew this was a troubled family, with allegations of domestic violence, Mom against Dad, Dad against Mom, and teenage Son against Mom. A couple of the kids had threatened to burn down a neighbor's home. On one occasion, they shot a BB gun at it.
Kyle Hightower of the Associated Press reported on this tragedy, and it's early so all the details are not out yet. Certainly the kids' father is suffering terribly right now. The family's pastor, Jarvis Wash of The Real Church in Rockledge, Florida, spoke about the teenage son. He said he was involved in "normal stuff, I think he was punching walls or something like that." Normal?!
My immediate thought was, punching walls is not normal. Not normal. If your teenage son is punching walls, that is a big red flag that your family is in trouble and needs immediate help. I hope it's a misprint or a misquote. I hope Wash didn't really mean that punching walls is normal. It's not.
Except when it is. Whatever dysfunction children must live with, becomes in a way their normal. All we know is all we know.
The daily violence that takes place in America is horrific. When it is so prevalent that we become accustomed to it, when it is just part of the normal routine, when it becomes our normal, we must start to do something about it before it consumes us.
Susan
The children's father had recently moved out of the home. The neighbors knew this was a troubled family, with allegations of domestic violence, Mom against Dad, Dad against Mom, and teenage Son against Mom. A couple of the kids had threatened to burn down a neighbor's home. On one occasion, they shot a BB gun at it.
Kyle Hightower of the Associated Press reported on this tragedy, and it's early so all the details are not out yet. Certainly the kids' father is suffering terribly right now. The family's pastor, Jarvis Wash of The Real Church in Rockledge, Florida, spoke about the teenage son. He said he was involved in "normal stuff, I think he was punching walls or something like that." Normal?!
My immediate thought was, punching walls is not normal. Not normal. If your teenage son is punching walls, that is a big red flag that your family is in trouble and needs immediate help. I hope it's a misprint or a misquote. I hope Wash didn't really mean that punching walls is normal. It's not.
Except when it is. Whatever dysfunction children must live with, becomes in a way their normal. All we know is all we know.
The daily violence that takes place in America is horrific. When it is so prevalent that we become accustomed to it, when it is just part of the normal routine, when it becomes our normal, we must start to do something about it before it consumes us.
Susan
Monday, May 14, 2012
Two
"Two are better than one, because they have a reward for their labour. For if they fall the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him who is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up. Again, if two lie together, they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?" Ecclesiastes 4:9-11, King James Version Bible
I am greatly encouraged by the public stands that the President and the Vice-President have made recently, that they both support gay marriage. It is a small, but very significant step toward righting what I believe to be a terrible injustice. I remember as a little girl learning that once African-American people were slaves to white people in our country, and that women at one time were not allowed to vote. How bizarre that seemed to me, as I wondered what kind of a world that was. One day in the future, children will learn American history and will have the same sense of bewilderment, that there was once a time when gay people were denied equal rights.
It is probably possible that some can live a completely fulfilled life without a significant other. Close friends and family can meet many of our needs for emotional intimacy and ultimate self-actualization, I suppose. Some people want to be alone, and that is their choice. But it would seem to me that most of us have the need for one special person in our lives, and we should all, gay or straight, have the right to choose whether we want to be married to that person, or not. Two are better than one, because one and one equals more than two, doesn't it? It is a wonderful sort of math that everyone should have the right to experience.
How can we ever be all that we could be, without that one person who knows us better than anyone else does? That one person with whom we are emotionally naked, who has seen all the parts of us, even the parts we think aren't pretty, and loves us unconditionally? That one person who can call us out like no one else would dare to, and we can hear whatever they have to say, because the trust is there? That one person who knows when we need to be challenged, who says, yes I see that you have fallen down, come on now, get back up here. That one person who, when the world seems cold, says come on now, get over here and I will keep you warm.
Every one of us should have an equal shot at that.
Susan
I am greatly encouraged by the public stands that the President and the Vice-President have made recently, that they both support gay marriage. It is a small, but very significant step toward righting what I believe to be a terrible injustice. I remember as a little girl learning that once African-American people were slaves to white people in our country, and that women at one time were not allowed to vote. How bizarre that seemed to me, as I wondered what kind of a world that was. One day in the future, children will learn American history and will have the same sense of bewilderment, that there was once a time when gay people were denied equal rights.
It is probably possible that some can live a completely fulfilled life without a significant other. Close friends and family can meet many of our needs for emotional intimacy and ultimate self-actualization, I suppose. Some people want to be alone, and that is their choice. But it would seem to me that most of us have the need for one special person in our lives, and we should all, gay or straight, have the right to choose whether we want to be married to that person, or not. Two are better than one, because one and one equals more than two, doesn't it? It is a wonderful sort of math that everyone should have the right to experience.
How can we ever be all that we could be, without that one person who knows us better than anyone else does? That one person with whom we are emotionally naked, who has seen all the parts of us, even the parts we think aren't pretty, and loves us unconditionally? That one person who can call us out like no one else would dare to, and we can hear whatever they have to say, because the trust is there? That one person who knows when we need to be challenged, who says, yes I see that you have fallen down, come on now, get back up here. That one person who, when the world seems cold, says come on now, get over here and I will keep you warm.
Every one of us should have an equal shot at that.
Susan
Faith
"You need one person to believe in you. You just need one." Lady Gaga
We were in small groups in my health class. The subject was aging. I was the only woman in a group of all very young men. When we came to the assigned topic of menopause, one of the guys looked at me and said, "You'll have to help us with this one." It was funny.
When we were discussing death, one of them talked of his struggles with the Roman Catholic faith in which he was raised. He asked me if I was religious, and I said I wasn't, that I used to be a Baptist but that really didn't work for me. I arrived at a place where the narrow worldview of black and white, right and wrong, good and evil, devil and god, heaven and hell just didn't make sense. I had embraced my beliefs with my usual enthusiasm and earnestness, but had to turn off the critical thinking part of my brain to be able to do that.I couldn't do that anymore. He asked me what was I now, and I said maybe an agnostic, because I just don't know. Years ago I lost my faith, or so I thought at the time. It was a painful experience, and it seemed like the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I see now that I never lost my faith. I am still a believer. I believe that today is the best day, and that tomorrow will be even better. I believe in the inherent goodness of humanity, that while there is pain and suffering, the human spirit is amazingly resilient and can emerge triumphant. I believe in myself, in my ability to overcome obstacles, and to not let the many mistakes I've made in the past keep me from finding a better way for myself going forward. I believe that if I want things to be better, for myself, for those close to me, for the world in general, I will need to do something about that.
This faith extends to other people. Have you ever been at a time in your life when you just didn't think you were going to succeed, but knowing that someone else believed in you helped you get over the next hurdle? Knowing that someone else, even just one person, as Gaga says, can make all the difference in the world.
Who is it that you believe in? Who is it, that when they finally reach their goal, you will smile, nod and say, "I knew it all along"? Do they know how much you believe in them? Would it help them for you to tell them that today?
Susan
"Lean on Me" written by Bill Withers
We were in small groups in my health class. The subject was aging. I was the only woman in a group of all very young men. When we came to the assigned topic of menopause, one of the guys looked at me and said, "You'll have to help us with this one." It was funny.
When we were discussing death, one of them talked of his struggles with the Roman Catholic faith in which he was raised. He asked me if I was religious, and I said I wasn't, that I used to be a Baptist but that really didn't work for me. I arrived at a place where the narrow worldview of black and white, right and wrong, good and evil, devil and god, heaven and hell just didn't make sense. I had embraced my beliefs with my usual enthusiasm and earnestness, but had to turn off the critical thinking part of my brain to be able to do that.I couldn't do that anymore. He asked me what was I now, and I said maybe an agnostic, because I just don't know. Years ago I lost my faith, or so I thought at the time. It was a painful experience, and it seemed like the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I see now that I never lost my faith. I am still a believer. I believe that today is the best day, and that tomorrow will be even better. I believe in the inherent goodness of humanity, that while there is pain and suffering, the human spirit is amazingly resilient and can emerge triumphant. I believe in myself, in my ability to overcome obstacles, and to not let the many mistakes I've made in the past keep me from finding a better way for myself going forward. I believe that if I want things to be better, for myself, for those close to me, for the world in general, I will need to do something about that.
This faith extends to other people. Have you ever been at a time in your life when you just didn't think you were going to succeed, but knowing that someone else believed in you helped you get over the next hurdle? Knowing that someone else, even just one person, as Gaga says, can make all the difference in the world.
Who is it that you believe in? Who is it, that when they finally reach their goal, you will smile, nod and say, "I knew it all along"? Do they know how much you believe in them? Would it help them for you to tell them that today?
Susan
"Lean on Me" written by Bill Withers
Sunday, May 13, 2012
E.T. Phone Home
She was my favorite boss ever, because she was someone I really respected. She worked harder than any of us. She was there when we came in at 8:00. She was there when we went home at 5:00. She knew the workings of our department inside and out. She never asked any of us to do anything she would not do herself. She didn't suffer fools. She didn't tolerate tardiness or slacking off. She often bustled about visiting us in our cubicles, which meant all was good. But being summoned to her office was usually not a good thing. She was the cause of some of the crying that went on in the ladies' room. She was called the "b word," but not to her face. She actually had a lot of empathy and compassion under her tough exterior. Some never looked close enough to realize that. Her age was anywhere from 40 to 70. I was at that point in youth where people were either young like me, or they were old. She had a scary smoker's cough, and when she laughed it sounded like a dog barking.
Back when we were called secretaries, I typed letters and memos for her, and she would initial them "E.T." Everyone called her by her first name. Back before voice mail, I took her phone messages down on a pink pad that said, "while you were out." Her husband was retired and called often. She had a great love for him under her impatient exterior. No one really joked around with her much, but one day I felt bold, so when her husband called, I wrote on the pink pad, "E.T. Phone Home." She laughed so hard she started coughing and barking and I ran to get her some water.
One of my responsibilities was ordering office supplies for our department. Company policy was that a secretary like me could order normal items, but the more expensive items needed supervisor approval. Some amazing yellow sticky things called Post-It notes had just come on the market, and E.T. refused to approve my order for them. The girls in our department were up in arms. All the other departments were enjoying this new technology, but not us. E.T. said they were unnecessary, and she wasn't having yellow stickers all over files and desks and such. So some people began to buy them with their own money at the store, and smuggled them in. She soon found out, and issued a department-wide ban on them. Things became very tense.
I worked for her a couple years, then I was moving out of the area, and on my last day of work E.T. took me out to lunch. We went somewhere very expensive, with white tablecloths and fancy waiters. I ate with my usual gusto and she said, "You can really eat. I'm surprised you're not obese." I knew she meant it as a compliment, so we both laughed and she barked. Over dessert, she said in her gruff voice, "I don't know what I'll do without you" and I saw that she had tears in her eyes. It was strange to see the one who was so famous for making other people cry, get a little teary.
Years later I heard from a friend that she had taken an early retirement package the company offered her, so she could spend more time golfing with her husband. (Turns out she was a lot closer to 40 than 70 when I was her secretary.) Just the other day someone emailed me a cute photo of a car completely covered with Post-It notes. Of course, I immediately thought of E.T.
Susan
Back when we were called secretaries, I typed letters and memos for her, and she would initial them "E.T." Everyone called her by her first name. Back before voice mail, I took her phone messages down on a pink pad that said, "while you were out." Her husband was retired and called often. She had a great love for him under her impatient exterior. No one really joked around with her much, but one day I felt bold, so when her husband called, I wrote on the pink pad, "E.T. Phone Home." She laughed so hard she started coughing and barking and I ran to get her some water.
One of my responsibilities was ordering office supplies for our department. Company policy was that a secretary like me could order normal items, but the more expensive items needed supervisor approval. Some amazing yellow sticky things called Post-It notes had just come on the market, and E.T. refused to approve my order for them. The girls in our department were up in arms. All the other departments were enjoying this new technology, but not us. E.T. said they were unnecessary, and she wasn't having yellow stickers all over files and desks and such. So some people began to buy them with their own money at the store, and smuggled them in. She soon found out, and issued a department-wide ban on them. Things became very tense.
I worked for her a couple years, then I was moving out of the area, and on my last day of work E.T. took me out to lunch. We went somewhere very expensive, with white tablecloths and fancy waiters. I ate with my usual gusto and she said, "You can really eat. I'm surprised you're not obese." I knew she meant it as a compliment, so we both laughed and she barked. Over dessert, she said in her gruff voice, "I don't know what I'll do without you" and I saw that she had tears in her eyes. It was strange to see the one who was so famous for making other people cry, get a little teary.
Years later I heard from a friend that she had taken an early retirement package the company offered her, so she could spend more time golfing with her husband. (Turns out she was a lot closer to 40 than 70 when I was her secretary.) Just the other day someone emailed me a cute photo of a car completely covered with Post-It notes. Of course, I immediately thought of E.T.
Susan
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Losing Ground
Marissa Alexander fired a gun at her abusive husband with the belief that she was protected under Florida's Stand Your Ground Law. She is now going to prison for twenty years, the minimum mandatory sentence for her crime, after rejecting a plea bargain in the hope that a trial would vindicate her. Trymaine Lee of The Huffington Post gives more detail about this rather complicated case in an insightful article.
While I take no pleasure in Alexander's circumstances, it is heartening to me that Stand Your Ground just lost some ground. It will be a big part of George Zimmerman's defense when he goes on trial for killing Trayvon Martin. I hope this latest development will help get justice for Trayvon.
Susan
While I take no pleasure in Alexander's circumstances, it is heartening to me that Stand Your Ground just lost some ground. It will be a big part of George Zimmerman's defense when he goes on trial for killing Trayvon Martin. I hope this latest development will help get justice for Trayvon.
Susan
Trial and Error
When I was in junior high, boys took Shop and girls took Home Economics. Required classes, strictly segregated by gender. It seemed to me that most of the other girls came into the classes already having some experience, being taught to a greater or lesser degree to sew and cook by their mothers. I came in with no experience. Sewing class was the first class I ever failed, because I didn't complete my apron in the allotted time. For a "good" student like me to fail a class, oh my goodness, I was crushed. Perhaps I had a natural talent for cooking and baking, because I did really well in Cooking class. It was an exciting mixture of Art and Science, where creativity met chemistry to make something delicious.
Graham Smith of National Public Radio has written an article (complete with gorgeous photographs) on Thomas Jefferson the farmer. I visited his Virginia home, Monticello, when I was a child but I don't really remember it. I would love to go back now and take another tour. Jefferson had 130 different varieties of fruit trees, and over 300 varieties of 90 different plants. He experimented with exotics unknown to that area at the time, like kale, sesame, eggplant and tomatoes.
A meticulous record keeper, Jefferson kept track of his successes and his many, many failures. He wrote that if he failed 99 times out of 100, that one success was worth the 99 failures. Trial and error. I can still remember my angst and frustration trying to make that apron, knowing that it was not okay to fail. I remember the sewing machine being a completely foreign object. New words like "bobbin" and "selvage." Trying to wrap my brain around what the teacher explained to the class. I can remember her seeming impatience with me as I asked again and again how to do it, while the other girls seemingly zipped through sewing, the machines whirling around me. My dread as the deadline approached, when it became increasingly evident that I was not going to be done with that apron. It was not okay to fail. Not okay. And the more pressure I put on myself, the less able I was to perform. I can remember when I got that failing grade, when I saw that "E" (we didn't have "F" as a grade; failing was an "E") on paper. I cried buckets.
It was actually perfectly okay for me to fail seventh grade Sewing. Now while it is true they used to say to us, "This will go down on your permanent record," my inability to get an apron finished on time has not held me back from doing anything I wanted to do with my life these past forty years. I went on to eighth and ninth grade Sewing, and I did all right. It was okay to fail. I just didn't know it. To me, getting anything less than a B in any class was not acceptable. This is not something my parents put on me. It was all me and my strong identification with being a good student and a good girl.
Smith tells us that many times Jefferson wrote the word "failed" in his journals. Failed due to bad weather. Failed due to a bug. Failed. Failed. Failed. Jefferson was a very accomplished adult, but he seemed to take his hobby of being what was called back then a "gentleman farmer" seriously. But not so seriously that he was paralyzed by a fear of failure.
One of the wonderful things that has happened to me throughout my life is that I have become much less of a perfectionist. I have learned to be kind and gentle with myself, to strike a delicate balance between challenging myself and being too hard on myself. I fail and it's okay. I'm not perfect, and that's perfectly fine.
And you know what? I don't even own an apron.
Susan
Graham Smith of National Public Radio has written an article (complete with gorgeous photographs) on Thomas Jefferson the farmer. I visited his Virginia home, Monticello, when I was a child but I don't really remember it. I would love to go back now and take another tour. Jefferson had 130 different varieties of fruit trees, and over 300 varieties of 90 different plants. He experimented with exotics unknown to that area at the time, like kale, sesame, eggplant and tomatoes.
A meticulous record keeper, Jefferson kept track of his successes and his many, many failures. He wrote that if he failed 99 times out of 100, that one success was worth the 99 failures. Trial and error. I can still remember my angst and frustration trying to make that apron, knowing that it was not okay to fail. I remember the sewing machine being a completely foreign object. New words like "bobbin" and "selvage." Trying to wrap my brain around what the teacher explained to the class. I can remember her seeming impatience with me as I asked again and again how to do it, while the other girls seemingly zipped through sewing, the machines whirling around me. My dread as the deadline approached, when it became increasingly evident that I was not going to be done with that apron. It was not okay to fail. Not okay. And the more pressure I put on myself, the less able I was to perform. I can remember when I got that failing grade, when I saw that "E" (we didn't have "F" as a grade; failing was an "E") on paper. I cried buckets.
It was actually perfectly okay for me to fail seventh grade Sewing. Now while it is true they used to say to us, "This will go down on your permanent record," my inability to get an apron finished on time has not held me back from doing anything I wanted to do with my life these past forty years. I went on to eighth and ninth grade Sewing, and I did all right. It was okay to fail. I just didn't know it. To me, getting anything less than a B in any class was not acceptable. This is not something my parents put on me. It was all me and my strong identification with being a good student and a good girl.
Smith tells us that many times Jefferson wrote the word "failed" in his journals. Failed due to bad weather. Failed due to a bug. Failed. Failed. Failed. Jefferson was a very accomplished adult, but he seemed to take his hobby of being what was called back then a "gentleman farmer" seriously. But not so seriously that he was paralyzed by a fear of failure.
One of the wonderful things that has happened to me throughout my life is that I have become much less of a perfectionist. I have learned to be kind and gentle with myself, to strike a delicate balance between challenging myself and being too hard on myself. I fail and it's okay. I'm not perfect, and that's perfectly fine.
And you know what? I don't even own an apron.
Susan
Friday, May 11, 2012
The Ugly American
Playing in the kitchen is the most fun. My kids got me some great kitchen appliances for Christmas. A blender, a food processor and a red mixer. Most of my concoctions have been yummy. The homemade peanut butter? Well, I'll have to keep trying. I buy natural peanut butter at my local healthy store. They make it there and sell it in little tubs. I looked at the ingredients and found one word: peanuts. I looked at some recipes online and made some peanut butter which turned out to be more like ground peanuts than peanut butter.
I know a young woman from Peru who said she doesn't understand the American fascination with peanut butter. She doesn't like it. I asked her if she had it growing up, and she told me she had not. The first time she tasted it was when she moved to the United States. I shared with her my theory, that whatever our parents put on our high chair tray translates as deliciousness to us, which is why many of us in America love peanut butter and she does not.
Rachel Pannett wrote a piece in The Wall Street Journal about Vegemite and its decline in popularity with Australian toddlers and their young parents. Vegemite has been for generations, the peanut butter of Australia. Folks spread it on their bread. Just imagine beef boullion in a pasty, spreadable form and that's the best way to describe it. I was blessed to visit Australia, and the first morning at breakfast in our hotel, I ordered some hot tea instead of coffee. Tea is the breakfast drink of choice in Australia, no doubt due to that country's British influence. I spread some Vegemite on my toast, and the waitress smiled kindly at me as I tried not to grimace as I chewed and swallowed. I am an adventurous eater, and part of the reason to try native foods when we travel is to show respect and regard for the place we are visiting. She told me that some Americans would not even try it. This is one of the reasons we get the reputation of the "ugly American" when we travel. We resist new foods or new ways of doing things, and I have even seen other Americans poke fun.
Years ago, I was a travel agent. I would try to gently educate my clients before they traveled somewhere unfamiliar. I look at visiting another place as being a guest there. I am sure when I have traveled, I have made a misstep here and there, but I hope I would never behave like a cranky toddler, knocking the Vegemite off her high chair tray in a fit of petulance.
Susan
I know a young woman from Peru who said she doesn't understand the American fascination with peanut butter. She doesn't like it. I asked her if she had it growing up, and she told me she had not. The first time she tasted it was when she moved to the United States. I shared with her my theory, that whatever our parents put on our high chair tray translates as deliciousness to us, which is why many of us in America love peanut butter and she does not.
Rachel Pannett wrote a piece in The Wall Street Journal about Vegemite and its decline in popularity with Australian toddlers and their young parents. Vegemite has been for generations, the peanut butter of Australia. Folks spread it on their bread. Just imagine beef boullion in a pasty, spreadable form and that's the best way to describe it. I was blessed to visit Australia, and the first morning at breakfast in our hotel, I ordered some hot tea instead of coffee. Tea is the breakfast drink of choice in Australia, no doubt due to that country's British influence. I spread some Vegemite on my toast, and the waitress smiled kindly at me as I tried not to grimace as I chewed and swallowed. I am an adventurous eater, and part of the reason to try native foods when we travel is to show respect and regard for the place we are visiting. She told me that some Americans would not even try it. This is one of the reasons we get the reputation of the "ugly American" when we travel. We resist new foods or new ways of doing things, and I have even seen other Americans poke fun.
Years ago, I was a travel agent. I would try to gently educate my clients before they traveled somewhere unfamiliar. I look at visiting another place as being a guest there. I am sure when I have traveled, I have made a misstep here and there, but I hope I would never behave like a cranky toddler, knocking the Vegemite off her high chair tray in a fit of petulance.
Susan
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Artistic Temperament
Hans Christian Andersen, Charles Dickens, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Henrick Ibsen, Sylvia Plath, Robert Lewis Stevenson, Hunter Thompson, Mark Twain, Virginia Woolf.
This is only a short, partial list of writers who struggled with psychiatric disorders such as depression and bipolar disorder. There are many artists, writers and composers who suffered from mental illness. Some committed suicide. In her book Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament, Kay Redfield Jamison tackles the subject at length.
I have loved to read for as long as I can remember. I don't read as much for pleasure as I used to, but still this year I have read Walter Isaacson's excellent book Steve Jobs, E.L. James' Fifty Shades of Grey, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, and I'm halfway through Fair Maiden by Joyce Carol Oates. I also have been reading some poetry online by the brilliant Anaïs Nin.
It makes me sad that those who gave me so much were themselves so troubled. That those who gave me so many hours of happy reading were not happy themselves. That those who enriched my life, in some cases made the choice to end theirs.
Today we understand diseases of the mind much better, and there are interventions and medication available now that were not back in the day when some of these brilliant artists lived. The ability to create and express oneself is a priceless gift. It should never come at such a high cost.
Susan
"What the Water Gave Me" written by Florence Welch and Francis White
This is only a short, partial list of writers who struggled with psychiatric disorders such as depression and bipolar disorder. There are many artists, writers and composers who suffered from mental illness. Some committed suicide. In her book Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament, Kay Redfield Jamison tackles the subject at length.
I have loved to read for as long as I can remember. I don't read as much for pleasure as I used to, but still this year I have read Walter Isaacson's excellent book Steve Jobs, E.L. James' Fifty Shades of Grey, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, and I'm halfway through Fair Maiden by Joyce Carol Oates. I also have been reading some poetry online by the brilliant Anaïs Nin.
It makes me sad that those who gave me so much were themselves so troubled. That those who gave me so many hours of happy reading were not happy themselves. That those who enriched my life, in some cases made the choice to end theirs.
Today we understand diseases of the mind much better, and there are interventions and medication available now that were not back in the day when some of these brilliant artists lived. The ability to create and express oneself is a priceless gift. It should never come at such a high cost.
Susan
"What the Water Gave Me" written by Florence Welch and Francis White
Lollipop
My bank has lollipops. I rarely go inside the bank anymore. There really isn't much need to, with direct deposit paychecks, online banking and 24/7 ATMs. The lollipops are a big draw for me. Now don't get me wrong. I don't just randomly go into the bank to get a lollipop. I wait until I have official bank business to transact. And I never take more than one.
Mallory Kievman has invented a new kind of lollipop, the hiccupop. John Farrier of Neato Bambino wrote about this amazing thirteen-year-old. She had a bad case of the hiccups. She did some kitchen chemistry with apple cider vinegar and invented the hiccupop, which tastes delicious and also stops those pesky hiccups. How does it work? "It triggers a set of nerves in your throat and mouth that are responsible for the hiccup reflex arc," she explained. Hiccups are an unpleasant side effect of chemotherapy, and Kievman thinks her start-up company could carve out a niche in this way.
Mallory Kievman. We should all remember that name. She wants to be a doctor someday. But for now, inventor and entrepreneur will have to do.
Susan
"Lollipop" written by Julius Dixson and Beverly Ross
Mallory Kievman has invented a new kind of lollipop, the hiccupop. John Farrier of Neato Bambino wrote about this amazing thirteen-year-old. She had a bad case of the hiccups. She did some kitchen chemistry with apple cider vinegar and invented the hiccupop, which tastes delicious and also stops those pesky hiccups. How does it work? "It triggers a set of nerves in your throat and mouth that are responsible for the hiccup reflex arc," she explained. Hiccups are an unpleasant side effect of chemotherapy, and Kievman thinks her start-up company could carve out a niche in this way.
Mallory Kievman. We should all remember that name. She wants to be a doctor someday. But for now, inventor and entrepreneur will have to do.
Susan
"Lollipop" written by Julius Dixson and Beverly Ross
Soft and Strong
It's one of the most controversial subjects in America today, with citizens taking sides. Toilet paper: soft or strong? Go down to your local store and stand in the toilet paper aisle you and will see exactly what I mean. Some of the packages say SOFT! Soft is the only way to go, right? But wait. Some of the packages say STRONG! Well, strong is important, too, I suppose. Then there are those wafflers, those centrists, those middle of the roaders who can't seem to take a stand on anything. SOFT AND STRONG!
Soft and strong. Which brings me to mothers, since Sunday is Mother's Day here in the United States. The ideal mom is a combination of soft and strong. When you get hurt and you're bleeding and you're scared, you want to run to Mom and have her hug you all soft and squishy like. But you also need her to be strong, because you could be bleeding to death and if she starts to freak and fall apart, well where would you be? Moms should always be that soft place to land, a place where everything is good in your world, where you feel all loved and cared for and warm and fuzzy. But the soft place you landed in needs to be strong underneath all that softness, to hold you up and support you.
Are you lucky enough to have a mom like that? Not everyone does. Mother's Day can be a tough holiday for those who perhaps have lost a mom, who are estranged from mom, who perhaps really never had a mom.
No matter how old we get, we never outgrow our need for a soft place to land. I know we may look all competent and confident on the outside, carrying our briefcases and wearing our suits, driving around going to important places, but inside each of us still lives a child who sometimes just needs that warm and fuzzy, soft and strong place.
Are you lucky enough to have someone in your life (doesn't need to be your mom) who is your soft place to land? And more important, are YOU that soft place for anyone?
Susan
Soft and strong. Which brings me to mothers, since Sunday is Mother's Day here in the United States. The ideal mom is a combination of soft and strong. When you get hurt and you're bleeding and you're scared, you want to run to Mom and have her hug you all soft and squishy like. But you also need her to be strong, because you could be bleeding to death and if she starts to freak and fall apart, well where would you be? Moms should always be that soft place to land, a place where everything is good in your world, where you feel all loved and cared for and warm and fuzzy. But the soft place you landed in needs to be strong underneath all that softness, to hold you up and support you.
Are you lucky enough to have a mom like that? Not everyone does. Mother's Day can be a tough holiday for those who perhaps have lost a mom, who are estranged from mom, who perhaps really never had a mom.
No matter how old we get, we never outgrow our need for a soft place to land. I know we may look all competent and confident on the outside, carrying our briefcases and wearing our suits, driving around going to important places, but inside each of us still lives a child who sometimes just needs that warm and fuzzy, soft and strong place.
Are you lucky enough to have someone in your life (doesn't need to be your mom) who is your soft place to land? And more important, are YOU that soft place for anyone?
Susan
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Girl Power
I was fourteen when I had my first professional haircut. I visited a hair stylist in our tiny little town, and he was a man. He took my long, straight, parted in the middle hair and cut it in a really cute shoulder length bob with bangs. He took me from looking like every other girl in the 9th grade to an individual. It cost $4, which was a large sum of money back in 1972. It was a great cut with awesome structure, and I could step out of the shower and dry it and I was good to go. It might have been inspired by a great man who passed away today, Vidal Sassoon. A revolutionary, he took us from teased, sprayed beehives to wash and wear hair. If you have a really good cut, you can shake your head around as much as you want, and your hair just falls back into place.
I am a girly girl. I like nail polish and trying out different hair colors and styles and pretty clothes and well, I even wrote a post called High Heels. I tell myself this story, that I look pretty good for 53, but the other day I was washing my hands in the restroom at school and looked up in the mirror and got a flash of my paternal grandmother. I look a lot like her, and it was scary for a minute. I think every woman should feel good about herself. Hair, makeup, cosmetic surgery, whatever makes you feel like you can go out and set the world on fire. The sad thing is, some women spend a lot of money on all that stuff and still feel bad about themselves.
Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's photograph is all over the place this week. Her hair is unstyled, she's wearing glasses and her only makeup is a little lipstick. It doesn't seem that earth shattering to me, but it has lots of people talking. She actually looks relaxed and happy in the picture, and I am just glad we have a smart woman like her going to places like Bangladesh and India. I hope I get to see a woman president before I die, and I hope it's Clinton.
Julia Bluhm is a fourteen-year-old young woman who got a bunch of signatures on a petition and went to Seventeen magazine with a simple request. She wanted them to have one photograph in each issue of their magazine that was not photoshopped. The big cheese at the magazine met with Bluhm, they denied her request, but they said some very nice things about her. Bluhm's concern is quite valid, that teenage girls see unrealistic images in magazines and feel bad about themselves. They see super skinny models and develop eating disorders trying to get themselves down to that weight.
Sassoon was a genius. Clinton is brilliant. But Bluhm? Girls like her are going to change the world.
Susan
I am a girly girl. I like nail polish and trying out different hair colors and styles and pretty clothes and well, I even wrote a post called High Heels. I tell myself this story, that I look pretty good for 53, but the other day I was washing my hands in the restroom at school and looked up in the mirror and got a flash of my paternal grandmother. I look a lot like her, and it was scary for a minute. I think every woman should feel good about herself. Hair, makeup, cosmetic surgery, whatever makes you feel like you can go out and set the world on fire. The sad thing is, some women spend a lot of money on all that stuff and still feel bad about themselves.
Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's photograph is all over the place this week. Her hair is unstyled, she's wearing glasses and her only makeup is a little lipstick. It doesn't seem that earth shattering to me, but it has lots of people talking. She actually looks relaxed and happy in the picture, and I am just glad we have a smart woman like her going to places like Bangladesh and India. I hope I get to see a woman president before I die, and I hope it's Clinton.
Julia Bluhm is a fourteen-year-old young woman who got a bunch of signatures on a petition and went to Seventeen magazine with a simple request. She wanted them to have one photograph in each issue of their magazine that was not photoshopped. The big cheese at the magazine met with Bluhm, they denied her request, but they said some very nice things about her. Bluhm's concern is quite valid, that teenage girls see unrealistic images in magazines and feel bad about themselves. They see super skinny models and develop eating disorders trying to get themselves down to that weight.
Sassoon was a genius. Clinton is brilliant. But Bluhm? Girls like her are going to change the world.
Susan
Monday, May 7, 2012
No More Pink Crosses
On a daily basis, I go about my business pretty much free from fear. My roommate and I keep our door locked, I lock my car, and I try to be aware of my surroundings especially if I am out alone at night. Nothing apart from what would be simple normal precautions. My sisters across the border in Mexico should be so lucky. There is an epidemic of female deaths there. Alejandro Martinez-Cabrera and Lourdes Cardenas of The El Paso Times wrote a good article on the subject. Call it femicide, when we as women are killed simply because we are women. It's like a hate crime involving race, but it involves gender. The term was first coined in 1801 in England.
It's not just in Mexico. It's a worldwide problem with misogynistic roots. The women are usually raped, tortured and/or mutilated before they are actually killed. A serial killer that targets females only, a man who in the throes of domestic violence, kills his partner. In Mexico, the women post-NAFTA are out and about trying to earn money for their families and are easy targets.
If you want to learn more about it, I'd suggest www.stopfemicide.com. Those pink crosses? Es una lastima. (It is a shame.)
Susan
It's not just in Mexico. It's a worldwide problem with misogynistic roots. The women are usually raped, tortured and/or mutilated before they are actually killed. A serial killer that targets females only, a man who in the throes of domestic violence, kills his partner. In Mexico, the women post-NAFTA are out and about trying to earn money for their families and are easy targets.
If you want to learn more about it, I'd suggest www.stopfemicide.com. Those pink crosses? Es una lastima. (It is a shame.)
Susan
Taking One for the Team
"Little League baseball is a very good thing, because it keeps the parents off the street." Yogi Berra
My older son was a pitcher in Little League, and he was good. Very good. One of his fears was that he would hit the batter with the ball when he was pitching. It might have happened a time or two, but it was uncommon because he was exceptionally accurate. My son was and is a gentle person. Hitters on the opposing teams feared him, but it was not because he was mean and might hit them with the ball. They were mostly concerned about striking out.
Baseball has a rule that if you are up to bat and are hit by the ball being pitched, you automatically get on first base. Taking one for the team. It happens. Accidentally and sometimes sort of, kind of, on purpose. Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Cole Hamels admits to hitting Washington Nationals player Bryce Harper on purpose, in the small of the back, with his 93 mph fast ball. He has been suspended for five games, and has been fined an unknown amount of money. Well. He's honest. I'll give him that.
Twenty-eight-year-old Hamels says it's an old school way of welcoming the nineteen-year-old rookie to baseball. I checked out Hamels' website (www.colehamels.com.) Last year he held a pitching clinic for children. Each child was promised one-on-one time with Hamels, and the kids were taught "pitching techniques, nutrition, and the 'mental toughness' of pitching."
The website doesn't say if he's holding a clinic this year. As a mom, I would have to think twice about sending my kid there. I am all for mental toughness, in sports and in life. I think that mental toughness suggests good character, something Cole Hamels is sadly lacking.
Susan
My older son was a pitcher in Little League, and he was good. Very good. One of his fears was that he would hit the batter with the ball when he was pitching. It might have happened a time or two, but it was uncommon because he was exceptionally accurate. My son was and is a gentle person. Hitters on the opposing teams feared him, but it was not because he was mean and might hit them with the ball. They were mostly concerned about striking out.
Baseball has a rule that if you are up to bat and are hit by the ball being pitched, you automatically get on first base. Taking one for the team. It happens. Accidentally and sometimes sort of, kind of, on purpose. Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Cole Hamels admits to hitting Washington Nationals player Bryce Harper on purpose, in the small of the back, with his 93 mph fast ball. He has been suspended for five games, and has been fined an unknown amount of money. Well. He's honest. I'll give him that.
Twenty-eight-year-old Hamels says it's an old school way of welcoming the nineteen-year-old rookie to baseball. I checked out Hamels' website (www.colehamels.com.) Last year he held a pitching clinic for children. Each child was promised one-on-one time with Hamels, and the kids were taught "pitching techniques, nutrition, and the 'mental toughness' of pitching."
The website doesn't say if he's holding a clinic this year. As a mom, I would have to think twice about sending my kid there. I am all for mental toughness, in sports and in life. I think that mental toughness suggests good character, something Cole Hamels is sadly lacking.
Susan
Try to Love Again
"We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never understanding the necessary plan." Irving Townsend
One of the best parts of my job is that I work in a store where customers are allowed to bring their pets in to shop. You know that woman that talks baby talk to the dogs? The one with the high pitched voice? Yeah. That would be me. We have our regulars, a big, gorgeous English bulldog, and the three Yorkshire Terriers I call the triplets.
A customer was purchasing a dog bed, dog bowls, dog collar, dog leash, dog toys, dog treats and dog poop bags. I brilliantly came to the conclusion that she must be getting a new dog. I asked her, and she said she was.
Her: Our sixteen-year-old dog died last year.
Me: Oh. That is really hard. I'm sorry.
Her: It was terrible, losing her. I said I'd never get another dog.
Me: And look at you now!
Her: Yeah. (kind of sheepish look) My daughter found this sweet little rescue...
I smiled and she smiled, and she knew that I knew that it wasn't just her daughter. This woman was ready to try to love again. I think it is the most wonderful testament to our furry friends who have passed away, that when the time is right, we do it all over again.
Me: Good for you! That is wonderful.
Her: Yes. I guess I am pretty excited about it!
Me: It's just the way we dog lovers are. We love again.
Susan
"The First Cut is the Deepest" written by Yusuf Islam
One of the best parts of my job is that I work in a store where customers are allowed to bring their pets in to shop. You know that woman that talks baby talk to the dogs? The one with the high pitched voice? Yeah. That would be me. We have our regulars, a big, gorgeous English bulldog, and the three Yorkshire Terriers I call the triplets.
A customer was purchasing a dog bed, dog bowls, dog collar, dog leash, dog toys, dog treats and dog poop bags. I brilliantly came to the conclusion that she must be getting a new dog. I asked her, and she said she was.
Her: Our sixteen-year-old dog died last year.
Me: Oh. That is really hard. I'm sorry.
Her: It was terrible, losing her. I said I'd never get another dog.
Me: And look at you now!
Her: Yeah. (kind of sheepish look) My daughter found this sweet little rescue...
I smiled and she smiled, and she knew that I knew that it wasn't just her daughter. This woman was ready to try to love again. I think it is the most wonderful testament to our furry friends who have passed away, that when the time is right, we do it all over again.
Me: Good for you! That is wonderful.
Her: Yes. I guess I am pretty excited about it!
Me: It's just the way we dog lovers are. We love again.
Susan
"The First Cut is the Deepest" written by Yusuf Islam
Sunday, May 6, 2012
High Heels
"I think the best feeling in the world is leaving the house absolutely feeling so good about what you're wearing. It almost makes you feel like you have armor on." Tallulah Willis
My closet has a nice collection of high heels. Purple animal print, red cloth with a fake jewel, teal with a bow, and the beaded silver shoes I wore to my older son's wedding. Lately I have been wearing flat shoes. Red sneakers, black ballet type shoes with sparkles on them, and black, white and gray flats with a little bow. Very cute, but flat. They fit my life nicely. My employer dictates what we can wear for footwear, for safety reasons. And as a college student, I dress casually so wearing high heels would be a little over the top.
High heels, to me, have always represented power. I used to wear them a lot, and they shored up my confidence by making me feel powerful. No doubt today if I dressed in a suit, I would add high heels. If I was going out for the evening, I would put on a pair of high heels. But I think the every day flat shoes I wear right now reflect where I am, sort of vulnerable and not in need of any armor. We wear armor to go into battle, and I guess currently I have no wars to wage.
The title of this song is "The Way You Make Me Feel," by the late, great Michael Jackson. When my younger son was two or three, it was one of his favorite songs. We'd ask what song he wanted to hear, and he'd yell out, "High Heels!" See if you can figure out why he called it that.
Susan
"The Way You Make Me Feel" written by Michael Jackson
My closet has a nice collection of high heels. Purple animal print, red cloth with a fake jewel, teal with a bow, and the beaded silver shoes I wore to my older son's wedding. Lately I have been wearing flat shoes. Red sneakers, black ballet type shoes with sparkles on them, and black, white and gray flats with a little bow. Very cute, but flat. They fit my life nicely. My employer dictates what we can wear for footwear, for safety reasons. And as a college student, I dress casually so wearing high heels would be a little over the top.
High heels, to me, have always represented power. I used to wear them a lot, and they shored up my confidence by making me feel powerful. No doubt today if I dressed in a suit, I would add high heels. If I was going out for the evening, I would put on a pair of high heels. But I think the every day flat shoes I wear right now reflect where I am, sort of vulnerable and not in need of any armor. We wear armor to go into battle, and I guess currently I have no wars to wage.
The title of this song is "The Way You Make Me Feel," by the late, great Michael Jackson. When my younger son was two or three, it was one of his favorite songs. We'd ask what song he wanted to hear, and he'd yell out, "High Heels!" See if you can figure out why he called it that.
Susan
"The Way You Make Me Feel" written by Michael Jackson
The Power of Pain
"What we must do is turn pain into power. We must teach conflict resolution. We must not recycle pain." Jesse Jackson
Jackson marched with Martin Luther King, Jr., and I admire him for still going strong, not giving up hope that we can somehow work together to make America a different place for all people. His comments were quoted by Joe Piasecki and Adolfo Flores of The Pasadena Sun. Jackson was speaking at a local high school after the shooting death of an unarmed 19-year-old African-American man by the police.
My older son was military police when he spent eight years in the Air Force. He briefly kicked around the idea of becoming a police officer when he returned to civilian life, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he decided not to. Police work is scary. I respect those in law enforcement who put themself in harm's way to keep the peace, those who act with integrity. In the case of Kendric McDade, they did not.
All of us Americans need to feel the pain of the racial strife that continues on in our country, twenty years after Rodney King, almost fifty years after King told us that he had a dream. It's sad that we are still recycling all that pain.
At a personal level, chances are you have had someone recycle pain with you. They are having a bad day, it's nothing to do with you, but you feel some of their anger. Perhaps you've been in a relationship where the other person had some unresolved issues, and without meaning to, they made you hurt like they hurt. The recycling of pain. I once knew someone like this, and my sister made the insightful comment that "some people just need to have a dog to kick."
Pain is inevitable. We are all going to feel it at some point in life. Sometimes we are innocent victims, but even then we have a choice. What will we do with our pain? Will we recycle it by passing it on to other people, or will we turn it into power? It is always a choice.
Pain is powerful. It can bring us to our knees. It can cripple us, if we allow it. It can make us mean, so mean that we lash out at other people. We can nurse it all our lives, until we become bitter old people. Or we can decide to take it and turn it into power. Have you ever noticed that some of the best, kindest and most empathic people are those who know what it is to hurt? It's as if they have harnessed the power of pain and turned it into something healing, for themselves first, and then for those around them.
Susan
Jackson marched with Martin Luther King, Jr., and I admire him for still going strong, not giving up hope that we can somehow work together to make America a different place for all people. His comments were quoted by Joe Piasecki and Adolfo Flores of The Pasadena Sun. Jackson was speaking at a local high school after the shooting death of an unarmed 19-year-old African-American man by the police.
My older son was military police when he spent eight years in the Air Force. He briefly kicked around the idea of becoming a police officer when he returned to civilian life, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he decided not to. Police work is scary. I respect those in law enforcement who put themself in harm's way to keep the peace, those who act with integrity. In the case of Kendric McDade, they did not.
All of us Americans need to feel the pain of the racial strife that continues on in our country, twenty years after Rodney King, almost fifty years after King told us that he had a dream. It's sad that we are still recycling all that pain.
At a personal level, chances are you have had someone recycle pain with you. They are having a bad day, it's nothing to do with you, but you feel some of their anger. Perhaps you've been in a relationship where the other person had some unresolved issues, and without meaning to, they made you hurt like they hurt. The recycling of pain. I once knew someone like this, and my sister made the insightful comment that "some people just need to have a dog to kick."
Pain is inevitable. We are all going to feel it at some point in life. Sometimes we are innocent victims, but even then we have a choice. What will we do with our pain? Will we recycle it by passing it on to other people, or will we turn it into power? It is always a choice.
Pain is powerful. It can bring us to our knees. It can cripple us, if we allow it. It can make us mean, so mean that we lash out at other people. We can nurse it all our lives, until we become bitter old people. Or we can decide to take it and turn it into power. Have you ever noticed that some of the best, kindest and most empathic people are those who know what it is to hurt? It's as if they have harnessed the power of pain and turned it into something healing, for themselves first, and then for those around them.
Susan
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Play to Win
My younger son played high school football, and it was a great experience for him. He loved it. I loved watching him. As a freshman and junior varsity player, he was a tight end. As a varsity player, he was the fullback. I heard the announcer say, "Touchdown!" and then my son's name on many occasions.
Football is a violent sport, even with pads and helmets, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I sometimes cringed as I sat there in the bleachers. He had some injuries. A broken thumb, a torn labrum in his shoulder, a concussion.
It seemed there was a lull in the game and the ideal time for me to go to the restroom. Walking back to the bleachers, a mom from our team looked at me with terror on her face and said, "Oh my god! Is he okay?" I had no idea what she was talking about. I had missed the whole thing. In retrospect, that was probably good. His dad told me that he had gotten hit pretty hard, and the trainer said he had a mild concussion. I wanted to run down to check on him, but that would not have been okay with him, and in fact his dad had already done that while I was in the restroom. It was okay for dads to do that, not okay for moms. So I stayed away. The quarterback's dad saw that I was about to cry, and he patted my hand and said, "He's okay. He just got his bell rung."
He had the mildest concussion possible. He never lost consciousness. He didn't vomit. I was so upset that I almost did. He had a mild headache. My head throbbed. His dad and I took turns checking on him throughout the night. I was afraid he would go to sleep and never wake up. Visions of him paralyzed for life flashed through my head. On the outside, I was calm and reassuring and very much together. In private, I cried. I was torn between wanting him to have fun and do what he loved to do, and my mother's fear that something terrible would happen to this most precious person. I spent a lot of time online educating myself on head injuries, and with more knowledge, I calmed down. He sat out practice that week and didn't play the next game, which he hated. Doctor's and trainer's orders. Then things were back to normal, he was playing again, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Former professional football player Junior Seau took his own life this past week. His family has asked that his brain be studied, because it could be that repeated head injuries played a role in his state of mind. It has been going on with other players. We Americans love our football, and it is big business. High school football is as American as apple pie. But I don't think our brains were designed to be slammed into over and over with no bad results.
Seau was only 43. This week we also lost musician Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys at age 47. He had cancer. Such young men. Or young to me, because I guess young is a relative term. I'm rambling now, aren't I? So I'll stop and just leave you with this song.
Susan
"Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win" written by Adam Yauch, Michael Diamond, Santi White and Adam Horovitz
Football is a violent sport, even with pads and helmets, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I sometimes cringed as I sat there in the bleachers. He had some injuries. A broken thumb, a torn labrum in his shoulder, a concussion.
It seemed there was a lull in the game and the ideal time for me to go to the restroom. Walking back to the bleachers, a mom from our team looked at me with terror on her face and said, "Oh my god! Is he okay?" I had no idea what she was talking about. I had missed the whole thing. In retrospect, that was probably good. His dad told me that he had gotten hit pretty hard, and the trainer said he had a mild concussion. I wanted to run down to check on him, but that would not have been okay with him, and in fact his dad had already done that while I was in the restroom. It was okay for dads to do that, not okay for moms. So I stayed away. The quarterback's dad saw that I was about to cry, and he patted my hand and said, "He's okay. He just got his bell rung."
He had the mildest concussion possible. He never lost consciousness. He didn't vomit. I was so upset that I almost did. He had a mild headache. My head throbbed. His dad and I took turns checking on him throughout the night. I was afraid he would go to sleep and never wake up. Visions of him paralyzed for life flashed through my head. On the outside, I was calm and reassuring and very much together. In private, I cried. I was torn between wanting him to have fun and do what he loved to do, and my mother's fear that something terrible would happen to this most precious person. I spent a lot of time online educating myself on head injuries, and with more knowledge, I calmed down. He sat out practice that week and didn't play the next game, which he hated. Doctor's and trainer's orders. Then things were back to normal, he was playing again, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Former professional football player Junior Seau took his own life this past week. His family has asked that his brain be studied, because it could be that repeated head injuries played a role in his state of mind. It has been going on with other players. We Americans love our football, and it is big business. High school football is as American as apple pie. But I don't think our brains were designed to be slammed into over and over with no bad results.
Seau was only 43. This week we also lost musician Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys at age 47. He had cancer. Such young men. Or young to me, because I guess young is a relative term. I'm rambling now, aren't I? So I'll stop and just leave you with this song.
Susan
"Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win" written by Adam Yauch, Michael Diamond, Santi White and Adam Horovitz
Best Friend Forever
David was the young boy who killed the giant Goliath with just a slingshot. This handsome young man played the harp and was a singer and songwriter. It is believed that many, if not most, of the Psalms were written by David. He lived in Israel under the reign of King Saul, whose eldest son and heir to the throne, Jonathan, was David's best friend. Jonathan and David had what David would later say was a love that surpassed even the love of women. Bro's before ho's, I guess the kids would call it.
The prophet Samuel was dispatched by God to anoint the next king of Israel. God was fed up with Saul and his transgressions, so Saul and his family would not be ruling Israel for much longer. Samuel went to the home of Jesse, who had several sons, David being the youngest. David was anointed as future king of Israel. It would be many years before he became king.
Saul hated David for this very reason, which is not at all surprising. He tried on any number of occasions to kill him or have him killed, but that didn't happen. Jonathan should have been envious of David and hated him, too, for after all David was going to take the place that was rightfully his. But he didn't hate him. As the years went by, they stuck together as best friends. BFF's, I guess the kids would call it. Jonathan even protected David from being killed by Saul many times. David had many opportunities to kill Saul, but he never did that, instead waiting for things to run their natural course. David was a great warrior, and the young women fell all over themselves as he walked down the street. They even wrote a song about him, "Saul has slain his thousands, but David his tens of thousands." This blatant hero worship enraged Saul.
David and Jonathan were each married to women, many women in fact, because polygamy was the norm back then. They each had children as well. Fundamentalist and evangelical Christians who purport that homosexuality is a sinful choice tell us that their relationship was strictly platonic. Others speculate that it had homoerotic overtones, without any sex involved. There are those who believe that Jonathan and David were, in fact, the Bible's most visible gay couple. The writer Oscar Wilde stated this categorically. Who knows? Really, should any of us care?
It makes me sad that even today, men have to be careful with their men friends lest anyone think they are gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I believe people are born with a sexual orientation, that it is not a choice, and that gay people should be afforded all the rights and privileges that we straight people have always enjoyed. But really, are we so homophobic in our country that men must be hypervigilant to make sure they don't show too much affection to their guy friends? We women must be careful as well, but I think we have a little more leeway with hugging, kissing and touching than males do.
We seem to want to put all of our relationships in neat little compartments, when in fact many times there are blurred lines between our closest relationships. We also want to make love a competition, where we must choose who we love best and who we love most. I think when it's all said and done, love is love, no matter who we love or how we love them.
David became king when Saul was killed in battle. It was a great day for Israel, and it should have been a great day for David, too. But it was bittersweet, because his best friend Jonathan died on the battlefield that day beside his father. Jonathan had a disabled son whom David adopted after his friend's death, a way in which he could honor his fallen BFF. Here is what David wrote about Jonathan.
O how the mighty heroes have fallen in battle
Jonathan lies dead on the hills
How I weep for you, my brother Jonathan!
O how much I loved you!
And your love for me was deep,
Deeper than the love of women
O how the mighty heroes have fallen!
Stripped of their weapons, they lie dead.
II Samuel 1:25-27, New Living Translation Bible
Susan
The prophet Samuel was dispatched by God to anoint the next king of Israel. God was fed up with Saul and his transgressions, so Saul and his family would not be ruling Israel for much longer. Samuel went to the home of Jesse, who had several sons, David being the youngest. David was anointed as future king of Israel. It would be many years before he became king.
Saul hated David for this very reason, which is not at all surprising. He tried on any number of occasions to kill him or have him killed, but that didn't happen. Jonathan should have been envious of David and hated him, too, for after all David was going to take the place that was rightfully his. But he didn't hate him. As the years went by, they stuck together as best friends. BFF's, I guess the kids would call it. Jonathan even protected David from being killed by Saul many times. David had many opportunities to kill Saul, but he never did that, instead waiting for things to run their natural course. David was a great warrior, and the young women fell all over themselves as he walked down the street. They even wrote a song about him, "Saul has slain his thousands, but David his tens of thousands." This blatant hero worship enraged Saul.
David and Jonathan were each married to women, many women in fact, because polygamy was the norm back then. They each had children as well. Fundamentalist and evangelical Christians who purport that homosexuality is a sinful choice tell us that their relationship was strictly platonic. Others speculate that it had homoerotic overtones, without any sex involved. There are those who believe that Jonathan and David were, in fact, the Bible's most visible gay couple. The writer Oscar Wilde stated this categorically. Who knows? Really, should any of us care?
It makes me sad that even today, men have to be careful with their men friends lest anyone think they are gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I believe people are born with a sexual orientation, that it is not a choice, and that gay people should be afforded all the rights and privileges that we straight people have always enjoyed. But really, are we so homophobic in our country that men must be hypervigilant to make sure they don't show too much affection to their guy friends? We women must be careful as well, but I think we have a little more leeway with hugging, kissing and touching than males do.
We seem to want to put all of our relationships in neat little compartments, when in fact many times there are blurred lines between our closest relationships. We also want to make love a competition, where we must choose who we love best and who we love most. I think when it's all said and done, love is love, no matter who we love or how we love them.
David became king when Saul was killed in battle. It was a great day for Israel, and it should have been a great day for David, too. But it was bittersweet, because his best friend Jonathan died on the battlefield that day beside his father. Jonathan had a disabled son whom David adopted after his friend's death, a way in which he could honor his fallen BFF. Here is what David wrote about Jonathan.
O how the mighty heroes have fallen in battle
Jonathan lies dead on the hills
How I weep for you, my brother Jonathan!
O how much I loved you!
And your love for me was deep,
Deeper than the love of women
O how the mighty heroes have fallen!
Stripped of their weapons, they lie dead.
II Samuel 1:25-27, New Living Translation Bible
Susan
Friday, May 4, 2012
Dancing in the Light of Luna
Our moon's name is Luna, which is also the Spanish word for moon. Tomorrow will be a supermoon, the biggest full moon of the year. Some say that we humans act a little crazier during a full moon. What about you? Will you go outside and check it out? Will you get a little crazy and dance in the moonlight?
Susan
"Dancing in the Moonlight" by Sherman Kelly
Susan
"Dancing in the Moonlight" by Sherman Kelly
Let Them Eat Cake
One of the great things about being an American is that we are a mixture of many nationalities and religions. I celebrate Easter and Christmas without being Christian. I celebrate St. Patrick's Day without being Irish. Tomorrow I will celebrate Cinco de Mayo without being Mexican. Cinco de Mayo (the fifth of May) is a holiday which commemorates the Battle of Puebla. For those of us who live in southern California, it is big. We drink cervezas and margaritas, and eat delicious Mexican food. Even before I became a vegetarian, when in a Mexican restaurant, I would often order refried beans, rice and tortillas for a meal. The rice and beans are usually side dishes for entrees like enchiladas or chile rellano, but I think the beans and rice are the very best part. They are nutritious. Combined they also form a complete protein, important when meat is not a part of the diet.
One of the great things about being an American is that we have freedom of speech. The vast majority of people in the world do not enjoy this privilege, of saying whatever we want. Sean Hannity, an American media personality, recently commented that no one needs to go to bed hungry if they have some beans and rice. It is his right as an American to voice his opinion.
One of the great things about being an American is that we have a free market. That means that theoretically it is possible for any little child to grow up to amass a net worth of $35 million, which happens to be what Mr. Hannity's net worth is thought to be. It is his right to be wealthy, and anyone who is able to prosper financially in an honest way has my blessing. Go for it. There is nothing wrong with that.
One of the great things about being an American is that we have a lot of choices when it comes to food. Not long ago I heard a comment that many poor Americans are fat so obviously they aren't hungry. It is entirely possible to be overweight or even obese and be malnourished. That's because processed foods and fast foods are cheap and readily available. If money is tight, getting the $1 item at a fast food restaurant is actually cheaper than finding a supermarket with good deals on fruits and vegetables. Not that you can't be poor and still have a good diet, but it is challenge. If you're a child, you depend on what your parents provide for your meals. So while it is true that kids in our country don't have the bloated stomachs of children in third world countries who are literally dying of starvation, the problem of both kids and adults not having enough of the right kinds of food to not just survive, but thrive, is very real. To be fair, Mr. Hannity did say later on that rice and beans were not enough; fruits and vegetables need to be included as well.
One of the great things about being an American is that we are a land of plenty. Many of us thrive. The sad thing is, some of us just survive.
Susan
One of the great things about being an American is that we have freedom of speech. The vast majority of people in the world do not enjoy this privilege, of saying whatever we want. Sean Hannity, an American media personality, recently commented that no one needs to go to bed hungry if they have some beans and rice. It is his right as an American to voice his opinion.
One of the great things about being an American is that we have a free market. That means that theoretically it is possible for any little child to grow up to amass a net worth of $35 million, which happens to be what Mr. Hannity's net worth is thought to be. It is his right to be wealthy, and anyone who is able to prosper financially in an honest way has my blessing. Go for it. There is nothing wrong with that.
One of the great things about being an American is that we have a lot of choices when it comes to food. Not long ago I heard a comment that many poor Americans are fat so obviously they aren't hungry. It is entirely possible to be overweight or even obese and be malnourished. That's because processed foods and fast foods are cheap and readily available. If money is tight, getting the $1 item at a fast food restaurant is actually cheaper than finding a supermarket with good deals on fruits and vegetables. Not that you can't be poor and still have a good diet, but it is challenge. If you're a child, you depend on what your parents provide for your meals. So while it is true that kids in our country don't have the bloated stomachs of children in third world countries who are literally dying of starvation, the problem of both kids and adults not having enough of the right kinds of food to not just survive, but thrive, is very real. To be fair, Mr. Hannity did say later on that rice and beans were not enough; fruits and vegetables need to be included as well.
One of the great things about being an American is that we are a land of plenty. Many of us thrive. The sad thing is, some of us just survive.
Susan
Thursday, May 3, 2012
She Has Done What She Could
Essential oils from plants have been around for a long time. Spikenard is a flowering plant commonly found today in the hills of the Himalayas. It has little pink bell-shaped flowers, and the underground stems of the plant can be ground to make oil. Back in ancient times, oil of spikenard was used in the incense burned in the temples. Very precious and very expensive.
During that time, other essential oils and perfumes were used to prepare bodies for burial. This was carried out by female family members or very close friends of the deceased. The women carefully washed the body, anointed it with perfumes and oils and wrapped it in clean cloth. It was the last act of compassion a woman could perform for someone she loved.
Just a couple of days before the Passover, the powers that be were strategizing on how to eliminate this radical known as Jesus of Nazareth. He was still alive and well and having dinner at the home of his friend Simon. A woman appeared at the door carrying an alabaster box. The box itself was quite expensive, but what she had inside was of even more value. Oil of spikenard.
Wordlessly, she walked over to Jesus. She broke the box and lavishly poured all the oil on his head and gently rubbed it in. The people around her were shocked at such a reckless act and they began to tell her so. One person said it could be sold and all the money obtained for it would buy a lot of food for the poor. The box itself was costly, the oil in it even more so. Such a waste.
Jesus told them to leave her alone, and he went on to explain that she was preparing him for his death. Some of those close to Jesus were in denial about his upcoming death. The woman was not. He said, "She has done what she could."
She had a gift, and she used it. All of it. Jesus understood and appreciated what she was doing, but the others? Not so much. How would it feel to know that one of the dearest friends in the world to you was headed for an unfair, gruesome, and excruciatingly painful death? I think I would feel sad and angry and frustrated, but mostly impotent. Women in those days had very little power; in fact, we don't even know the name of this woman. But she did what she could, which was at once an act of loving devotion, and an act of significant rebellion. Those in power might kill her friend, but not before she had shown him the honor he deserved. She used her gift to make a statement. She did what she could.
It seems to me that we sometimes hide our gifts from the world and don't use them to the fullest. Or maybe not at all. The truth is, not everyone will want what we have to give. Some might refuse our gift, or criticize us for the way we use it. Not everyone will understand. Not everyone will praise us. But that should never stop us from doing what we can.
Susan
During that time, other essential oils and perfumes were used to prepare bodies for burial. This was carried out by female family members or very close friends of the deceased. The women carefully washed the body, anointed it with perfumes and oils and wrapped it in clean cloth. It was the last act of compassion a woman could perform for someone she loved.
Just a couple of days before the Passover, the powers that be were strategizing on how to eliminate this radical known as Jesus of Nazareth. He was still alive and well and having dinner at the home of his friend Simon. A woman appeared at the door carrying an alabaster box. The box itself was quite expensive, but what she had inside was of even more value. Oil of spikenard.
Wordlessly, she walked over to Jesus. She broke the box and lavishly poured all the oil on his head and gently rubbed it in. The people around her were shocked at such a reckless act and they began to tell her so. One person said it could be sold and all the money obtained for it would buy a lot of food for the poor. The box itself was costly, the oil in it even more so. Such a waste.
Jesus told them to leave her alone, and he went on to explain that she was preparing him for his death. Some of those close to Jesus were in denial about his upcoming death. The woman was not. He said, "She has done what she could."
She had a gift, and she used it. All of it. Jesus understood and appreciated what she was doing, but the others? Not so much. How would it feel to know that one of the dearest friends in the world to you was headed for an unfair, gruesome, and excruciatingly painful death? I think I would feel sad and angry and frustrated, but mostly impotent. Women in those days had very little power; in fact, we don't even know the name of this woman. But she did what she could, which was at once an act of loving devotion, and an act of significant rebellion. Those in power might kill her friend, but not before she had shown him the honor he deserved. She used her gift to make a statement. She did what she could.
It seems to me that we sometimes hide our gifts from the world and don't use them to the fullest. Or maybe not at all. The truth is, not everyone will want what we have to give. Some might refuse our gift, or criticize us for the way we use it. Not everyone will understand. Not everyone will praise us. But that should never stop us from doing what we can.
Susan
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Grow Up
Rick Santorum sat behind me in homeroom in high school. I'm not a fan, being the bleeding heart liberal that I am. But it is disconcerting to think that my high school class might be running the country. President Obama is, in fact, a few years younger than me. Do you ever feel like you're not really a grown up?
My grandchildren's birthday parties are a mixture of kids and adults, and while I always spend some time visiting with all the other grown-ups, I would much prefer hanging out with the kids. The last party was at a bowling alley, and my 7-year-old granddaughter urged me to put on some bowling shoes and join her on the wood floor for some tap dancing. Now, that girl knows how to have fun!
I was 36 when I became the owner of a small business. I knew all the people at the local bank by name, and was in there almost on a daily basis. One day the teller, as she was taking my deposit, asked me, "So, are they nice people to work for?" I asked her, "Who?" She answered, "The owners of the travel agency." I told her I was the owner and her jaw dropped.
When I was married, we would occasionally entertain my ex-husband's clients when a deal closed. I remember distinctly one evening when we were at one of the most expensive restaurants in our city. You know the kind, where they ask if you would like spring or sparkling water and you just feel tacky making your guests drink tap water. There were two clients, one woman and her husband, and one man and his wife. They were all at least ten years younger than me. The men all had on dress slacks and sweaters, and the two women were very conservatively dressed, both in black. Like grown-up ladies. I had on a pink and purple dress and purple animal print high heels. It was the first time they all had met me. During dinner, everyone was talking business in general terms, and the ups and downs of the deal in specifics. I would chime in the conversation when it seemed appropriate. At one point, I made some comment, and I noticed everyone looking at me and smiling. I wasn't quite sure why they were, because I wasn't making a joke, and then both women almost simultaneously said, "Ahhhh!" and one of them looked at my ex-husband and said, "Your wife is so cute!" I wasn't trying to be cute. Cute is just not something on my to-do list. I sort of felt like a bunny or a kitten, then I decided to simply take it as a compliment.
The food was excellent and the service superb, and the clients were sufficiently impressed. No one else had room for dessert, but I always do. That is because I save room for it as I am eating my dinner. Always save room for dessert. And tap dance in bowling shoes any chance you get.
Susan
My grandchildren's birthday parties are a mixture of kids and adults, and while I always spend some time visiting with all the other grown-ups, I would much prefer hanging out with the kids. The last party was at a bowling alley, and my 7-year-old granddaughter urged me to put on some bowling shoes and join her on the wood floor for some tap dancing. Now, that girl knows how to have fun!
I was 36 when I became the owner of a small business. I knew all the people at the local bank by name, and was in there almost on a daily basis. One day the teller, as she was taking my deposit, asked me, "So, are they nice people to work for?" I asked her, "Who?" She answered, "The owners of the travel agency." I told her I was the owner and her jaw dropped.
When I was married, we would occasionally entertain my ex-husband's clients when a deal closed. I remember distinctly one evening when we were at one of the most expensive restaurants in our city. You know the kind, where they ask if you would like spring or sparkling water and you just feel tacky making your guests drink tap water. There were two clients, one woman and her husband, and one man and his wife. They were all at least ten years younger than me. The men all had on dress slacks and sweaters, and the two women were very conservatively dressed, both in black. Like grown-up ladies. I had on a pink and purple dress and purple animal print high heels. It was the first time they all had met me. During dinner, everyone was talking business in general terms, and the ups and downs of the deal in specifics. I would chime in the conversation when it seemed appropriate. At one point, I made some comment, and I noticed everyone looking at me and smiling. I wasn't quite sure why they were, because I wasn't making a joke, and then both women almost simultaneously said, "Ahhhh!" and one of them looked at my ex-husband and said, "Your wife is so cute!" I wasn't trying to be cute. Cute is just not something on my to-do list. I sort of felt like a bunny or a kitten, then I decided to simply take it as a compliment.
The food was excellent and the service superb, and the clients were sufficiently impressed. No one else had room for dessert, but I always do. That is because I save room for it as I am eating my dinner. Always save room for dessert. And tap dance in bowling shoes any chance you get.
Susan
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
What Not To Do: A Guide for Grandparents
You can call me Grandma Susie, if you want. Being a grandparent is the most fun ever. It's exciting! It's adventurous! Floridians Grandpa Tom and Grandma Belinda are the funnest grandparents ever. Still in their 40's, they have enough energy and enthusiasm to match that of their 7-year-old granddaughter. Imagine her joy as she sat in her Hot Wheels car, zipping along at speeds of 10 mph as they towed her with dog leashes hooked up to their SUV. Grandpa at the wheel, Grandma cheering her on from the back. Whee! They both admitted they just might have had a little too much to drink. The little girl was not hurt, but her daddy (Belinda's son) was not amused. The nice police officer took Grandma and Grandpa away for a while.
Just a few guidelines so we grandmas and grandpas don't find ourselves in such a pickle. Let's learn a lesson from Grandpa Tom and Grandma Belinda. We need to respect the way in which our children are raising our grandkids. Sure, they may seem a little strict and uptight, but let's get with the program and give them our support. If they limit sugar intake, please do not put Dr. Pepper in the sippy cup. No smoking around the grandkids, and make sure when you step outside to light up, you are watching them through a window at all times. A closed window. And smoke nothing but tobacco, please. I know you feel sorry for the teething baby, because he's in pain and frankly, so are you, listening to him scream. But no whiskey on his gums, and none for you either, until he goes home. Please watch your language around the grandchildren. Find suitable substitutes for your usual curse words. Some grandparents have expanded their vocabularies to include "crap," "fricken" and "son of a gun." And when your granddaughter asks you to pull her around in her little car, just grab the dog leash with your hand and skip down the sidewalk.
Susan
Just a few guidelines so we grandmas and grandpas don't find ourselves in such a pickle. Let's learn a lesson from Grandpa Tom and Grandma Belinda. We need to respect the way in which our children are raising our grandkids. Sure, they may seem a little strict and uptight, but let's get with the program and give them our support. If they limit sugar intake, please do not put Dr. Pepper in the sippy cup. No smoking around the grandkids, and make sure when you step outside to light up, you are watching them through a window at all times. A closed window. And smoke nothing but tobacco, please. I know you feel sorry for the teething baby, because he's in pain and frankly, so are you, listening to him scream. But no whiskey on his gums, and none for you either, until he goes home. Please watch your language around the grandchildren. Find suitable substitutes for your usual curse words. Some grandparents have expanded their vocabularies to include "crap," "fricken" and "son of a gun." And when your granddaughter asks you to pull her around in her little car, just grab the dog leash with your hand and skip down the sidewalk.
Susan
Be a Man
I wrote a little about my father here. One hot summer night when I was 15, we went out for ice cream, just the two of us. I sensed he had a serious talk in mind as we sat on a picnic bench. "Susie," he began, "your mother is sick." He went on to tell me that the abuse she dished out to me was not my fault. My head understood that, but my heart felt differently. By the time you tell a kid "it's not your fault," a lot of damage has already been done.
I asked him why they had not divorced. They disliked each other a lot; hate would not be too strong a word. He replied that then he would have had to divorce me and my little brother, because men just did not get custody of kids. I thought back to the times I lay in bed at night, listening to them fight, and on several occasions I had heard my mother tell him that he would never take us away from her, that she would not have people in our little town gossip about her being a bad mother. It would have been difficult to have her deemed unfit, because I had no scars or broken bones, she was not an alcoholic or drug addict. I cringed to think about a life completely at my mother's mercy. I knew what it was like when he was at work, but she knew he was around and would be coming home. It was bad enough, but it would have been scary terrible to be alone with her. He went on to explain about how he felt he had failed with my much older sister, and tried to do better with me. I was quite aware of the ways in which he tried to mitigate the abuse, and I think to some extent he was successful. As we talked, I felt sorry for him as I saw things from his perspective. Looking back, I think I should have been sorrier for Susie.
My dad was the first man I ever loved. He died many years ago, but I love him still. Always will. I'll admit I am envious of people my age who still have their parents around. But you know what? If he was still living, I would be taking him out for ice cream and a serious talk. Because as much as I appreciate all he did for me, the sacrifices he made for me, and as much as I understand that he did the best he could with the tools he had, it was not enough. As all of us women do, I evaluate men based on the first man in my life, my father. What does it mean to be a man? My mother ran the show in our home, controlling all of us with her rages and venomous words. My father was definitely not the leader in our home. He protected me by trying to manage all the dysfunction, and I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but he was not the protector that a father should be for his children. He should have gotten me and my brother out of there. He should have just put us in the car and driven away, courts and custody and such be damned. Fast forward many years later, and when my marriage had gone from bad to worse, I put myself and my dog Jake in the car and drove away. If I could do that for me, why couldn't he do that for me?
Susan
"Father Figure" written by George Michael
I asked him why they had not divorced. They disliked each other a lot; hate would not be too strong a word. He replied that then he would have had to divorce me and my little brother, because men just did not get custody of kids. I thought back to the times I lay in bed at night, listening to them fight, and on several occasions I had heard my mother tell him that he would never take us away from her, that she would not have people in our little town gossip about her being a bad mother. It would have been difficult to have her deemed unfit, because I had no scars or broken bones, she was not an alcoholic or drug addict. I cringed to think about a life completely at my mother's mercy. I knew what it was like when he was at work, but she knew he was around and would be coming home. It was bad enough, but it would have been scary terrible to be alone with her. He went on to explain about how he felt he had failed with my much older sister, and tried to do better with me. I was quite aware of the ways in which he tried to mitigate the abuse, and I think to some extent he was successful. As we talked, I felt sorry for him as I saw things from his perspective. Looking back, I think I should have been sorrier for Susie.
My dad was the first man I ever loved. He died many years ago, but I love him still. Always will. I'll admit I am envious of people my age who still have their parents around. But you know what? If he was still living, I would be taking him out for ice cream and a serious talk. Because as much as I appreciate all he did for me, the sacrifices he made for me, and as much as I understand that he did the best he could with the tools he had, it was not enough. As all of us women do, I evaluate men based on the first man in my life, my father. What does it mean to be a man? My mother ran the show in our home, controlling all of us with her rages and venomous words. My father was definitely not the leader in our home. He protected me by trying to manage all the dysfunction, and I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but he was not the protector that a father should be for his children. He should have gotten me and my brother out of there. He should have just put us in the car and driven away, courts and custody and such be damned. Fast forward many years later, and when my marriage had gone from bad to worse, I put myself and my dog Jake in the car and drove away. If I could do that for me, why couldn't he do that for me?
Susan
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