The doctor's waiting room is normally not very interesting. There is just me and other people waiting for our names to be called to wait, once again, in a treatment room. Today the first 15 minutes of my wait was entertaining. A young woman on her phone was answering questions about her business. "Oh yes, you would like to book an event? Well, as you know Fabio is very busy. I'm in LA, but will be in New York on Monday. My email? Sure. The restaurant? It's fabulous." Blah Blah Blah.com.
I was listening to my trusty talk radio for awhile and checking out the book on writing a screenplay that I brought, so I lost track for a minute of the red headed mover and shaker who lithely lounged across the chair in a beige, long summer dress, glued to her Blackberry. Then suddenly she was at it again, talking about paying a bill and ready to give her credit card number without hesitation. "Hold on," she told the person on the line. "Hello, Mom, let me call you back." I was a little disappointed it was her mom. I was hoping for a glittering New York celebrity like Heidi Klum telling her the date of her next baby shower so she could book her fabulous event in that fabulous restaurant.
After she left, I apparently missed the entire credit card number she gave over the phone in a crowded doctor's waiting room, but the lady 2 seats down from me didn't. We unashamedly started talking about our entertaining co-waiter until the poor man between us finally got up and found another seat. The kind lady I was talking to felt we had been a little rude, but I felt that he could have moved at any moment if we were annoying him. I told her this is such a colorful event, I just might write about it in my blog. "Oh, what's your blog?" she asked. I love that question.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Why I like KFI
Bill Handel could be my cousin: grew up in the San Fernando Valley, Jewish, loudmouth, loves to make fun of his parents, politically incorrect, loves to talk, has an excellent crew on his morning show, his voice is so annoying it gets my husband out of bed when he oversleeps.
Rush Limbaugh: He hated school but became a self made multi-millionaire, loves this country, backs up his arguments, gives good explanations of what the government should be involved in and what it shouldn't be involved in, gives clever, funny nicknames to all sorts of people, he is pretty biased as far as the Republicans go, he is opinionated to the nth degree, but all talk show hosts have to be, he is really fair with callers.
Dr. Laura: Is staunch in her belief that kids need their moms and not daycare, thinks marriage is sacred and men need lots of sex and affection, thinks women control the relationship and have all the power to make their marriages perfect, (as long as they picked correctly) believes in being brave and strong and you need to listen to your own intuition, has an incredible sense of humor, she knows how to use a gun, is a little neurotic about people being in shape and it makes me nervous because I think universal health care will control what people eat and how much they weigh and if they exercise, and I think she's OK with that.
John and Ken: You have to be in the mood for John's brash passion. He can really screech. They're a really good balance, though, Ken interrupts John a lot. Ken gives a fairly good movie review on Fridays, but watch out, he tells too much!
They are passionate about politicians doing the right thing and are incredibly energetic activists who can gather a fantastic crowd. When John shares his Daddy stories, I just love it.
Kennedy and Suits: Bryan Suits knows everything military. He's incredibly descriptive and passionate about our troops. I believe he is decorated for his service. He's funny. Kennedy is really funny and perceptive. They start to imitate the same kind of voices while they're doing a show, but it's kind of cute.
Rush Limbaugh: He hated school but became a self made multi-millionaire, loves this country, backs up his arguments, gives good explanations of what the government should be involved in and what it shouldn't be involved in, gives clever, funny nicknames to all sorts of people, he is pretty biased as far as the Republicans go, he is opinionated to the nth degree, but all talk show hosts have to be, he is really fair with callers.
Dr. Laura: Is staunch in her belief that kids need their moms and not daycare, thinks marriage is sacred and men need lots of sex and affection, thinks women control the relationship and have all the power to make their marriages perfect, (as long as they picked correctly) believes in being brave and strong and you need to listen to your own intuition, has an incredible sense of humor, she knows how to use a gun, is a little neurotic about people being in shape and it makes me nervous because I think universal health care will control what people eat and how much they weigh and if they exercise, and I think she's OK with that.
John and Ken: You have to be in the mood for John's brash passion. He can really screech. They're a really good balance, though, Ken interrupts John a lot. Ken gives a fairly good movie review on Fridays, but watch out, he tells too much!
They are passionate about politicians doing the right thing and are incredibly energetic activists who can gather a fantastic crowd. When John shares his Daddy stories, I just love it.
Kennedy and Suits: Bryan Suits knows everything military. He's incredibly descriptive and passionate about our troops. I believe he is decorated for his service. He's funny. Kennedy is really funny and perceptive. They start to imitate the same kind of voices while they're doing a show, but it's kind of cute.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Gosh Darn Dreams
Dreams are confounding. I couldn't escape my dream this morning. I would wake up and go straight back to it, like the interruption was a commercial. So the dream plot centered around the fact that I took a painting from the museum. Horrors. It was one that was on a sort of sampler rack, and all the administration was deciding which paintings were going on auction. It was an abstract of a city, I think, you know how pliable the edges of dreams are. I have no idea how I could just pick up a painting three feet by four feet and walk out with it, but I did. I brought it home, which was a woodsy backyard in a canyon, not my real life house by any shot, and set it on a tiny easel outside. I continued my life of shopping and visiting and had sort of an amnesiac's respite of what I had done until news broke that a painting was missing. Then I realize I had taken that painting, put it on an easel that was so small it poked its hard wooden edges into the canvas, and to top it off, left it outside in the weather. When I ran to see it, it was distorted and stretched. What was I going to do? Who should I call? Am I going to jail? In the meantime, I'm driving down steep cobblestone streets and a cousin of mine, who is a real artist, gives me a painting to take to the museum for the auction, and the dream spins off into the whole story behind her painting. With me waking from the dream, being relieved for a split second, then going back to sleep where I'm a criminal docent. When I finally woke for the last time, really relieved I hadn't stolen a painting, I got up and realized I have to finish painting the hallway today.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday Afternoon
Ah, the sigalert.com page showed the north side of the 405 moving at real freeway speeds. Not so good on the south side, but we wouldn't need it until later. So we sped up the traffic lanes and entered Westwood Village and a parking garage to see a matinee at the Geffen.
We followed some folks to what I thought was a stairway to the street, but instead, it was to a bank of elevators with only one working car for the garage to the street. No stairway? The doors opened at the blink of the light and the slight metallic sounding ding. All 10 of us got on. It took way too long of a second getting started, but we only had 2 floors to go, so my claustrophobia was in check. When it stopped, I thought we were there, but it was only at the next floor and two people were waiting. I said, "It's a little full." Someone in the back says, "We can get 2 more on." Thankfully, the people waiting begged off. As the doors slowly closed and I waited that agonizing second before the elevator started again, I heard a nasty rattle in my head about it being hot in there, and what if the elevator gets stuck. A few seconds later, we gratefully got to our floor without incident. Am I normally this neurotic? Not always, but when the conditions are ripe, watch out. Because when these feelings start forging in my head, it's like lava rolling from my innards waiting to explode at the surface of my skin. Yucky.
Crisis averted, so we walk a short half block to the ivy covered brick opening of the Geffen and see lots of people sitting in the sun and shade surrounding the fountain and talking leisurely, looking to see who is there. Me, too. Imagine, a county of 10 million people and I don't recognize anyone. (Later my hubby tells me he saw Gina Davis) We stand in line at the bar and I'm debating on a boozy drink or ice tea. I hear a woman's voice behind me say, "oh champagne." And I say, "oh champagne." I turn to her and tell her what a good idea. She is a pretty blond wearing a tangerine colored dress with lace cut outs around the neck and shoulders. She tells me, "with champagne there is always a celebration."
We ordered 2.
Our seats were in the center, just like I like it, and the play began. I got tickets to this play because of Chris Noth, but later found out a newly discovered (for me) actress named Olivia Thirlby was in it, too. I love her. She did not disappoint. It was about behind the scenes politicking during a campaign as it follows conniving politicos and upstarts as they rally with sex, trust, and betrayal. The usual fun, Saturday afternoon kind of thing.
I love seeing a play that hubby and I can talk about for a least a day or two after we've seen it. I mean that in a good way, not the kind of "man, what a waste of money that was." Hubby talked to someone who used to have season tickets, but then found out there were too many stinkers. The last play we saw at the Geffen had us talking for quite awhile, and I hope we go back soon.
We followed some folks to what I thought was a stairway to the street, but instead, it was to a bank of elevators with only one working car for the garage to the street. No stairway? The doors opened at the blink of the light and the slight metallic sounding ding. All 10 of us got on. It took way too long of a second getting started, but we only had 2 floors to go, so my claustrophobia was in check. When it stopped, I thought we were there, but it was only at the next floor and two people were waiting. I said, "It's a little full." Someone in the back says, "We can get 2 more on." Thankfully, the people waiting begged off. As the doors slowly closed and I waited that agonizing second before the elevator started again, I heard a nasty rattle in my head about it being hot in there, and what if the elevator gets stuck. A few seconds later, we gratefully got to our floor without incident. Am I normally this neurotic? Not always, but when the conditions are ripe, watch out. Because when these feelings start forging in my head, it's like lava rolling from my innards waiting to explode at the surface of my skin. Yucky.
Crisis averted, so we walk a short half block to the ivy covered brick opening of the Geffen and see lots of people sitting in the sun and shade surrounding the fountain and talking leisurely, looking to see who is there. Me, too. Imagine, a county of 10 million people and I don't recognize anyone. (Later my hubby tells me he saw Gina Davis) We stand in line at the bar and I'm debating on a boozy drink or ice tea. I hear a woman's voice behind me say, "oh champagne." And I say, "oh champagne." I turn to her and tell her what a good idea. She is a pretty blond wearing a tangerine colored dress with lace cut outs around the neck and shoulders. She tells me, "with champagne there is always a celebration."
We ordered 2.
Our seats were in the center, just like I like it, and the play began. I got tickets to this play because of Chris Noth, but later found out a newly discovered (for me) actress named Olivia Thirlby was in it, too. I love her. She did not disappoint. It was about behind the scenes politicking during a campaign as it follows conniving politicos and upstarts as they rally with sex, trust, and betrayal. The usual fun, Saturday afternoon kind of thing.
I love seeing a play that hubby and I can talk about for a least a day or two after we've seen it. I mean that in a good way, not the kind of "man, what a waste of money that was." Hubby talked to someone who used to have season tickets, but then found out there were too many stinkers. The last play we saw at the Geffen had us talking for quite awhile, and I hope we go back soon.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Claire's Wine Tasting
Last night we went to Claire's for wine tasting and hor dourves. It's happening every Thursday night for the summer. Claire's is the cafe on the bluff over-looking the water, the Long Beach Harbor and the man made islands named after our long lost astronauts.
The cafe is embedded in the center of the Long Beach Art Museum, and as we sat watching the sunset, the swimmers frolicking in the waveless sea, and the runners, bikers, and skateboarders, we sipped a delicious variety of red and white wines. It was a perfect date night. It smoothed the feathers of my hubby's tense day, and it let me look at him in the golden orange light, laughing at his great one-liners.
For a while we tried to figure out a plot line and climax to a story I want to write, but it got too hard, so we talked about the tasty cabernet and syrah that sat before us.
I liked the little place mat with the wine descriptions. Each glass had deliriously luscious adjectives like cherries, plum, smoke, crisp, ginger. Smooth wines, 2 of which we can't even buy because only 200 bottles were made, and Claire's was the lucky recipient of the gift of 40 bottles.
There were four generously poured tasting glasses, and after the first flight (the four samples) we got to choose either another flight, or one glass of our favorite. Hubby chose the dessert wine and then ordered the chocolate mousse, my favorite!
The cafe is embedded in the center of the Long Beach Art Museum, and as we sat watching the sunset, the swimmers frolicking in the waveless sea, and the runners, bikers, and skateboarders, we sipped a delicious variety of red and white wines. It was a perfect date night. It smoothed the feathers of my hubby's tense day, and it let me look at him in the golden orange light, laughing at his great one-liners.
For a while we tried to figure out a plot line and climax to a story I want to write, but it got too hard, so we talked about the tasty cabernet and syrah that sat before us.
I liked the little place mat with the wine descriptions. Each glass had deliriously luscious adjectives like cherries, plum, smoke, crisp, ginger. Smooth wines, 2 of which we can't even buy because only 200 bottles were made, and Claire's was the lucky recipient of the gift of 40 bottles.
There were four generously poured tasting glasses, and after the first flight (the four samples) we got to choose either another flight, or one glass of our favorite. Hubby chose the dessert wine and then ordered the chocolate mousse, my favorite!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Diamonds are Forever?
Since I wrote about the crematory urn and its return to the man who threw it into the ocean, it made me revisit my wishes to be turned into a diamond after I die. Do I have the courage to actually have my family do it? I need to put it in my will. Both my hubby and son have heard me talk about it. Not that I want anyone to wear me as jewelry. I just want to be put in a little glass case, like the heart shaped one I have of my auntie's who passed away a year and a half ago, and be set on a window sill somewhere. My little diamond, probably far from perfect, would sit soaking up the sun, like a satisfied cat watching the world go by.
I don't think I have an aversion to having a grave site. I had just heard about the ashes to diamond technique and it struck me as unique and interesting. I actually think cemeteries make a nice greenbelt in our crowded cities. I know where my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents are buried could be like a serious kind of park where my family members and I could go and spend the day stopping at all our departed ones, spending time pondering their lives. We could bring our lunches and make a sincere effort at connecting to the past. Though I have considered doing it, I never have. We just make brief stops here and there when there is a funeral and we bid farewell to another family member or friend.
I hear now that some of your ashes can be turned into an orb. Not like the Orb in the Woody Allen film, Sleeper. But an orb as in gazing globe. I would be afraid it would break in an earthquake. Of course a diamond could be lost or sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. It's still an intriguing thought.
I don't think I have an aversion to having a grave site. I had just heard about the ashes to diamond technique and it struck me as unique and interesting. I actually think cemeteries make a nice greenbelt in our crowded cities. I know where my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents are buried could be like a serious kind of park where my family members and I could go and spend the day stopping at all our departed ones, spending time pondering their lives. We could bring our lunches and make a sincere effort at connecting to the past. Though I have considered doing it, I never have. We just make brief stops here and there when there is a funeral and we bid farewell to another family member or friend.
I hear now that some of your ashes can be turned into an orb. Not like the Orb in the Woody Allen film, Sleeper. But an orb as in gazing globe. I would be afraid it would break in an earthquake. Of course a diamond could be lost or sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. It's still an intriguing thought.
Monday, July 20, 2009
2nd Hand Urn Story
This is not my story, but I'm telling it anyway because it's one of my favorites, and it comes from my cousins and my uncle. Reading about the Farmer's Market's 75th anniversary reminded me of it because of the LA location and the images I get when I think of the Farmer's Market in the early days. I may not have all the names, dates and places perfectly correct, but it's the concept that gets me every time!
My uncle, AC Black was one of the first developers of the Marina Del Rey. He built condos and 1200 boat slips there in the late 60's. On his first day of dredging, up comes a crematory urn. It was inscribed with the name of a young woman, Anna Painter, who died in 1932. As my uncle was wont to do, he took out his trusty labeler, and punched out Marina Del Rey, First Day of Dredging, and the date. He kept it at his office until he retired, then brought it to his various home offices. AC Black passed away Christmas, 1999.
When his daughters were packing up his personal effects and wondering what to do with all the various and sundry items, there stood the urn. My cousin Susan thought it would be a mitzvah to find a family member of this urn and return it. She took the fat LA phone book and turned to the page with Painter as the last name. She found "Otto Painter" listed and decided that sounded old fashioned enough to go with the urn. It was her first call, and sure enough, he was the man responsible for the urn going into the Pacific Ocean.
His young sister died of consumption in 1932, and she wanted her ashes spread over the ocean. Otto could not spread the ashes right after the cremation. He kept them with him from their original home state, New York, brought them with him to his move to Florida and finally to California, where he moved into an apartment in West Los Angeles, not far from Farmer's Market. In the early 1950's, he finally felt ready to keep his promise to his dying sister, and decided to spread her ashes in the Pacific. He drove down Washington Blvd. to Bologna Creek. As he waded into the water, holding the urn and pouring his sister's ashes on the waves, he was overcome with grief and in a moment of catharsis, sacrificed the urn to the ocean. Twenty years later my uncle recovered the urn, and twenty years after that, my cousins returned the urn to Otto. She said as he took it from her hands, he kissed it.
My uncle, AC Black was one of the first developers of the Marina Del Rey. He built condos and 1200 boat slips there in the late 60's. On his first day of dredging, up comes a crematory urn. It was inscribed with the name of a young woman, Anna Painter, who died in 1932. As my uncle was wont to do, he took out his trusty labeler, and punched out Marina Del Rey, First Day of Dredging, and the date. He kept it at his office until he retired, then brought it to his various home offices. AC Black passed away Christmas, 1999.
When his daughters were packing up his personal effects and wondering what to do with all the various and sundry items, there stood the urn. My cousin Susan thought it would be a mitzvah to find a family member of this urn and return it. She took the fat LA phone book and turned to the page with Painter as the last name. She found "Otto Painter" listed and decided that sounded old fashioned enough to go with the urn. It was her first call, and sure enough, he was the man responsible for the urn going into the Pacific Ocean.
His young sister died of consumption in 1932, and she wanted her ashes spread over the ocean. Otto could not spread the ashes right after the cremation. He kept them with him from their original home state, New York, brought them with him to his move to Florida and finally to California, where he moved into an apartment in West Los Angeles, not far from Farmer's Market. In the early 1950's, he finally felt ready to keep his promise to his dying sister, and decided to spread her ashes in the Pacific. He drove down Washington Blvd. to Bologna Creek. As he waded into the water, holding the urn and pouring his sister's ashes on the waves, he was overcome with grief and in a moment of catharsis, sacrificed the urn to the ocean. Twenty years later my uncle recovered the urn, and twenty years after that, my cousins returned the urn to Otto. She said as he took it from her hands, he kissed it.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Not Funny, Really.
So I'm listening to a financial guy on the radio today and he's talking about the US deficit. It is so huge that the United States has to borrow money from the countries we've already borrowed money from just to service the interest on the loans. Billions and billions and billions of dollars are owed to China, Russia, Japan and Brazil. This cannot be right. I don't mean his information is wrong. I mean our government agreeing to get we the people of the United States into so much debt. I could never even dream of maxing out my credit cards and pay hundreds of dollars a month just on interest, and now, from being a good citizen, me and my family who are not even born yet, will be thrust into debt. Our deficit has doubled since the inauguration. It's at 1 trillion dollars.
When I took a fabulous Regional Geography class about 15 years ago, my teacher talked about how countries owed us money. What a turn around. "Never a lender or a borrower be?" It feels so bad to me, I look at pictures of new babies or hear about new born babies, or someone is pregnant, and all I can think about is the tax burden that will be on their heads when they are wage earners. And there doesn't seem to be an end to this borrowing since our dear beloved vice president said the other day, "if we don't keep spending, we will become bankrupt." What a concept.
If you happen to read this, and it touches you in any way, call your congressman and your senator and tell them to stop this spending. It's future spending and oppression on business and entrepreneurship that will destroy us. The cap and trade bill that has passed through the House and is on the way to the Senate is filled with financial burdens on everyone, not just the rich. The "clean energy" that everyone wants so badly is costing unbelievable taxes on everyone. Why? Because as it stands now, all of it is subsidized by your taxes. The new federal plan for health care will tax everyone, except maybe the homeless. And don't think it doesn't have a very slippery slope. You weigh too much, you eat too much salt, you sit on your couch too much, you don't exercise enough, you're in your car too much, you eat too much butter and sugar and you're too old for a hip replacement or a transplant. If the government is big enough to give you everything, it is a government that can take everything away. Barry Goldwater said that. I think he was right. We have a chance to change these policies. Take it!
When I took a fabulous Regional Geography class about 15 years ago, my teacher talked about how countries owed us money. What a turn around. "Never a lender or a borrower be?" It feels so bad to me, I look at pictures of new babies or hear about new born babies, or someone is pregnant, and all I can think about is the tax burden that will be on their heads when they are wage earners. And there doesn't seem to be an end to this borrowing since our dear beloved vice president said the other day, "if we don't keep spending, we will become bankrupt." What a concept.
If you happen to read this, and it touches you in any way, call your congressman and your senator and tell them to stop this spending. It's future spending and oppression on business and entrepreneurship that will destroy us. The cap and trade bill that has passed through the House and is on the way to the Senate is filled with financial burdens on everyone, not just the rich. The "clean energy" that everyone wants so badly is costing unbelievable taxes on everyone. Why? Because as it stands now, all of it is subsidized by your taxes. The new federal plan for health care will tax everyone, except maybe the homeless. And don't think it doesn't have a very slippery slope. You weigh too much, you eat too much salt, you sit on your couch too much, you don't exercise enough, you're in your car too much, you eat too much butter and sugar and you're too old for a hip replacement or a transplant. If the government is big enough to give you everything, it is a government that can take everything away. Barry Goldwater said that. I think he was right. We have a chance to change these policies. Take it!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Zac Made It.
Congratulations to Zac Sunderland, the 17 year old who sailed solo around the world. What a feat.
I am in awe. I wish I'd planned my day better to go see him arrive at Marina Del Rey. I heard sound bites of his mom, and she sounds young, enthusiastic and faithful. She said she and her husband prayed for Zac to find his passion. Her prayers were answered.
I don't have the kind of strength that it would take be ok in my head and heart for my son to take such an adventurous and dangerous trip. I feel really brave that he is half the state away. I could take a lesson from Mrs. Sunderland.
I felt offended this morning when my favorite radio talk show host said "am I the only one not interested in this?" He continued, "he should be in school." Of course, this talk show host makes a living offending people, why should I be immune? But my response to him would be, "yeah, he could be so proud to be in school now and pass an 8th grade math test just so he can "exit" high school with a diploma. Yeah, he should be here partying and experimenting with drugs and alcohol instead of braving the oceans of the world and pushing his stamina and problem solving skills to the extreme edge. He should be in school turning in terms papers that he'll never even remember he wrote instead of being welcomed in foreign countries where the cultures are so different than ours that it opens his eyes to the vast opportunities in the United States.
God Bless You, Zac. You attained your lofty, amazingly physical, brilliantly skilled goal! Amen.
I am in awe. I wish I'd planned my day better to go see him arrive at Marina Del Rey. I heard sound bites of his mom, and she sounds young, enthusiastic and faithful. She said she and her husband prayed for Zac to find his passion. Her prayers were answered.
I don't have the kind of strength that it would take be ok in my head and heart for my son to take such an adventurous and dangerous trip. I feel really brave that he is half the state away. I could take a lesson from Mrs. Sunderland.
I felt offended this morning when my favorite radio talk show host said "am I the only one not interested in this?" He continued, "he should be in school." Of course, this talk show host makes a living offending people, why should I be immune? But my response to him would be, "yeah, he could be so proud to be in school now and pass an 8th grade math test just so he can "exit" high school with a diploma. Yeah, he should be here partying and experimenting with drugs and alcohol instead of braving the oceans of the world and pushing his stamina and problem solving skills to the extreme edge. He should be in school turning in terms papers that he'll never even remember he wrote instead of being welcomed in foreign countries where the cultures are so different than ours that it opens his eyes to the vast opportunities in the United States.
God Bless You, Zac. You attained your lofty, amazingly physical, brilliantly skilled goal! Amen.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Love and Accountability
On today's MSN page there is a report about how love is just not enough for a marriage to last, and then listed all the factors that can screw up a marriage. It's funny, there is not one mention of choosing the right person. Isn't that the most important part of keeping a marriage together? One has to choose the right person, duh? I think I can say this with authority having chosen the wrong person the first time around. Which, according to this article, makes me an easy target for another divorce; I've been married once before.
Well, anyway, I did chose the wrong person the first time, but I didn't want to admit it. I ignored the warning signs. Never do that. Of course, we're human, and we make mistakes. So, I believe I learned from my mistakes and chose very carefully this second time. I made it my responsibility to choose correctly.
Maybe the point of the article is to help people make the right decision by putting down all the facts and statistics: You'll be less likely to divorce if you don't blend families, either you both smoke, or you don't, you have steady income and not much unemployment, and your less than 9 years in age difference. Use all of these tips and you'll never have to take personal accountability for getting divorced. After all, personal accountability is a concept that is completely absent, invisible, irrelevant in our lives. I suppose this article does give a road map to smart decisions, but it really seemed to avoid any references to people using their brains to make the right choices.
I think a huge reason our economic woes are here is because there is never any accountability for living beyond one's means because there is always "credit." And all the people who spend money they don't have and need to get out of "credit card debt" can blame the credit card companies and the banks for leading them there, not their burning desire to have something they can't afford. No personal accountability...it's everywhere.
It's the government's job to take care of me. It's the school's job to teach my child sex education and morals and values. It's the rich who need to pay for everything. It's always someone or something else that needs to fix this problem for me. Yikes.
Personal accountability is the key to a successful life. Take it.
Well, anyway, I did chose the wrong person the first time, but I didn't want to admit it. I ignored the warning signs. Never do that. Of course, we're human, and we make mistakes. So, I believe I learned from my mistakes and chose very carefully this second time. I made it my responsibility to choose correctly.
Maybe the point of the article is to help people make the right decision by putting down all the facts and statistics: You'll be less likely to divorce if you don't blend families, either you both smoke, or you don't, you have steady income and not much unemployment, and your less than 9 years in age difference. Use all of these tips and you'll never have to take personal accountability for getting divorced. After all, personal accountability is a concept that is completely absent, invisible, irrelevant in our lives. I suppose this article does give a road map to smart decisions, but it really seemed to avoid any references to people using their brains to make the right choices.
I think a huge reason our economic woes are here is because there is never any accountability for living beyond one's means because there is always "credit." And all the people who spend money they don't have and need to get out of "credit card debt" can blame the credit card companies and the banks for leading them there, not their burning desire to have something they can't afford. No personal accountability...it's everywhere.
It's the government's job to take care of me. It's the school's job to teach my child sex education and morals and values. It's the rich who need to pay for everything. It's always someone or something else that needs to fix this problem for me. Yikes.
Personal accountability is the key to a successful life. Take it.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Docent Days
Today was touring day at the art museum, Long Beach Museum of Art. I have been a docent for a little less than a month. Training began in mid January, '09 and we graduated as a class on June 25. I have given about 4 tours to 5th graders in groups of 10 or so. We have 2 forty minute tours of the museum and the time goes by so quickly, I feel sad when I hear the chiming bell to tell us time's up.
This morning I started at our beautiful Claire Falkenstein fountain that sits on the patio of the restaurant named "Claire's." It was a perfect morning and my first group of kids were attentive, polite and extremely bright. They said the twists and turns and jagged edges of the sculpture made them feel happy, wet, comforted. We walked back into the museum and stopped at the first monumental book at the exhibit, Novel Constructions. One student told me that she thought it meant that we should all read books because of how much information you can find in them. Mind you, we're standing at a book that is layed out horizontally and is about 4 feet high and eight feet wide. There are no words, the pages are in black and white with mysterious figures painted on a canvas of ads from newspapers and magazines that have been affixed to burlap and barely peek through a white base. At that moment, I knew these students would listen to what I had to say, and I better be pretty sharp! They expressed sadness at the large 3 dimensional cell with the cell bars made of pages of Marie Antoinette's Diary. They knew the meaning of Metamorphosis.
One of the other docent's told me her group had read Metamorphosis in 4th grade!
It is a joy to show the student's the peace and beauty and inspiration of the museum, and to tell them that they can return and bring their families.
At a painting called "Left hand turn, late afternoon," a student said, "I think the arrow is telling you to make the turn that will be the best way to lead your life."
Whoa. This young lady had some serious upbringing!
I will return in a couple of days to teach a workshop. I think that group will be second graders. What surprises will they have in store for me?
This morning I started at our beautiful Claire Falkenstein fountain that sits on the patio of the restaurant named "Claire's." It was a perfect morning and my first group of kids were attentive, polite and extremely bright. They said the twists and turns and jagged edges of the sculpture made them feel happy, wet, comforted. We walked back into the museum and stopped at the first monumental book at the exhibit, Novel Constructions. One student told me that she thought it meant that we should all read books because of how much information you can find in them. Mind you, we're standing at a book that is layed out horizontally and is about 4 feet high and eight feet wide. There are no words, the pages are in black and white with mysterious figures painted on a canvas of ads from newspapers and magazines that have been affixed to burlap and barely peek through a white base. At that moment, I knew these students would listen to what I had to say, and I better be pretty sharp! They expressed sadness at the large 3 dimensional cell with the cell bars made of pages of Marie Antoinette's Diary. They knew the meaning of Metamorphosis.
One of the other docent's told me her group had read Metamorphosis in 4th grade!
It is a joy to show the student's the peace and beauty and inspiration of the museum, and to tell them that they can return and bring their families.
At a painting called "Left hand turn, late afternoon," a student said, "I think the arrow is telling you to make the turn that will be the best way to lead your life."
Whoa. This young lady had some serious upbringing!
I will return in a couple of days to teach a workshop. I think that group will be second graders. What surprises will they have in store for me?
Monday, July 13, 2009
Some Funny Things
On our first official travel weekend as empty-nesters we went to a family reunion. Go figure. It was in Sequoia and we arrived Saturday early afternoon. There had been a brief snow storm the night before and when we got to our location, there were just a smattering of beautiful snow mounds here and there. The air was cool and crisp and smelled clean and fresh. We met family from the other side of mine, in other words, cousins of cousins but not my cousins.
When I was signing in at the desk a cute little boy came running up to me with a hug and said how happy he was to see me. I didn't know him, so I told him I was sorry I didn't remember him. His dad stood by and watched this sweet little drama then introduced himself and his son. We had been to a lot of the same family occasions, but had never met. (Their side is HUGE)
We all played games and hiked and had meals together. Some brave hubbies even watched a sports game or two. We met the mom of the little boy who had hugged me, and had several little chats over the next several hours. The next evening, we were all playing Scrabble and the mom told me how pretty my necklace was. I thanked her and said, "my boyfriend gave it to me." She said, "I thought he was your husband." I told her ever since the TV show Cheers when Diane got engaged to Sam and he said to her, "nice ring," she responded,"my boyfriend gave it to me," I have loved saying that. And I like feeling it. My husband is my boyfriend, and I've gone with him longer than any other guy! I think it is the secret to a happily married couple...keep being your husband's girlfriend. I like to be in a nice outfit when he comes home, have a little perfume on and some lipstick. It's nice. He gives me a big kiss and hug when he enters the house from a hard day's work, and he says it's the best part of his day, coming home. I love that about him.
So back at the reunion and the cold crisp starry night. Around the lodge there were a lot of bright lights, but beyond, I could tell the stars would look magnificent at that altitude if we got out of the lights. My boyfriend and I stroll down the road and I point to a line of trees that seem to create their own shadow from the lights. I couldn't tell how far away, maybe a city block away? So we start walking towards the trees. We're about 2 minutes into the walk and I say to my boyfriend, "Are bears nocturnal?" Now, I have heard of this saying, but had never seen it with my own eyes, my boyfriend stopped DEAD IN HIS TRACKS. It was so funny. His shoulders rounded up around his head and he just froze. Then he said, "Well, I think we've seen lots of stars; lets head back." Sadly, I was a chicken, too. And I never found out if bears are nocturnal.
When I was signing in at the desk a cute little boy came running up to me with a hug and said how happy he was to see me. I didn't know him, so I told him I was sorry I didn't remember him. His dad stood by and watched this sweet little drama then introduced himself and his son. We had been to a lot of the same family occasions, but had never met. (Their side is HUGE)
We all played games and hiked and had meals together. Some brave hubbies even watched a sports game or two. We met the mom of the little boy who had hugged me, and had several little chats over the next several hours. The next evening, we were all playing Scrabble and the mom told me how pretty my necklace was. I thanked her and said, "my boyfriend gave it to me." She said, "I thought he was your husband." I told her ever since the TV show Cheers when Diane got engaged to Sam and he said to her, "nice ring," she responded,"my boyfriend gave it to me," I have loved saying that. And I like feeling it. My husband is my boyfriend, and I've gone with him longer than any other guy! I think it is the secret to a happily married couple...keep being your husband's girlfriend. I like to be in a nice outfit when he comes home, have a little perfume on and some lipstick. It's nice. He gives me a big kiss and hug when he enters the house from a hard day's work, and he says it's the best part of his day, coming home. I love that about him.
So back at the reunion and the cold crisp starry night. Around the lodge there were a lot of bright lights, but beyond, I could tell the stars would look magnificent at that altitude if we got out of the lights. My boyfriend and I stroll down the road and I point to a line of trees that seem to create their own shadow from the lights. I couldn't tell how far away, maybe a city block away? So we start walking towards the trees. We're about 2 minutes into the walk and I say to my boyfriend, "Are bears nocturnal?" Now, I have heard of this saying, but had never seen it with my own eyes, my boyfriend stopped DEAD IN HIS TRACKS. It was so funny. His shoulders rounded up around his head and he just froze. Then he said, "Well, I think we've seen lots of stars; lets head back." Sadly, I was a chicken, too. And I never found out if bears are nocturnal.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Time Flies
When we first became empty-nesters I was working about 30 hours a week for the local school district. The hours were perfect because I was home when my kid was home. I was available for any and all issues, i.e., sports, appointments, illness, vacations, supervision. The hours were great, the job really sucked. I never enjoyed my job for the 9 years I held it. But because I had a pretty good salary, benefits and great hours, I stayed with it. I hardly ever complained. LOL.
Three months after sonny boy flew the coop, that damn job just went south. I virtually said, "take this job and shove it." What a relief.
So, no job, no son to take care of, lots of free time. What now? As it happens, the day after I quit, I heard Captain Charles Moore speak about the garbage patch in the north Pacific gyre. There's an area in the Pacific ocean at least the size of Texas that is practically a plastic soup. I went to the web site, www.Algalita.org, and read up, then volunteered. That took up a couple of days a week for about 2 months. I did busy office work that was appreciated and very boring, and would have gone undone for who knows how long had I not, at the very moment, volunteered. Good for me. I am a member, that means, I've donated to the cause, and still fill in when they need a body for handing out information at health shows and environmental conventions.
Still had lots of free time on my hands because I didn't want to start shopping as a daily hobby, not that I couldn't! So one night before I fell asleep, I asked myself deeply, "What am I really interested in?" I answered myself, "Art." In the morning I logged on to the Long Beach Museum of Art web page and applied as a docent. Six months of training, and I can proudly say, I am a docent.
Three months after sonny boy flew the coop, that damn job just went south. I virtually said, "take this job and shove it." What a relief.
So, no job, no son to take care of, lots of free time. What now? As it happens, the day after I quit, I heard Captain Charles Moore speak about the garbage patch in the north Pacific gyre. There's an area in the Pacific ocean at least the size of Texas that is practically a plastic soup. I went to the web site, www.Algalita.org, and read up, then volunteered. That took up a couple of days a week for about 2 months. I did busy office work that was appreciated and very boring, and would have gone undone for who knows how long had I not, at the very moment, volunteered. Good for me. I am a member, that means, I've donated to the cause, and still fill in when they need a body for handing out information at health shows and environmental conventions.
Still had lots of free time on my hands because I didn't want to start shopping as a daily hobby, not that I couldn't! So one night before I fell asleep, I asked myself deeply, "What am I really interested in?" I answered myself, "Art." In the morning I logged on to the Long Beach Museum of Art web page and applied as a docent. Six months of training, and I can proudly say, I am a docent.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
When Empty Nest is a Pain
When I get a call from our son in the middle of the day, it's usually not good news. So in the last 2 weeks there were 2 such calls. Oy! One he chipped a tooth biting into a sandwich. It turned out to be minor, so that was nothing to feel bad about. The next came with "my neck is killing me, I think I need to see a doctor." That one hurts. I say "go to a doctor." He doesn't. I give him all sorts of techniques of heating and icing and what to rest on so the muscles relax. He took the heat advice, but it didn't help. Next is the ice advice. He didn't do it, didn't go to the doctor, nada, zilch. When I text him a few days later he says it's getting better. When we call him a day later to talk about football tickets and e waste, he tells me it's killing him again. Oy!
How I want to jump on a plane and fly there to sooth his aching neck. The impulse is so strong I can see myself doing it. I won't. But 18 years of being a discriminating "doter," makes this an impossible feeling. Hubby seems to just laugh it off. I'm worried. It builds in my mind, "he's slipped a disc," "he has meningitis," "he's alone in his room crying for help and no one is there to help him." This is when the empty nest is no fun at all.
How I want to jump on a plane and fly there to sooth his aching neck. The impulse is so strong I can see myself doing it. I won't. But 18 years of being a discriminating "doter," makes this an impossible feeling. Hubby seems to just laugh it off. I'm worried. It builds in my mind, "he's slipped a disc," "he has meningitis," "he's alone in his room crying for help and no one is there to help him." This is when the empty nest is no fun at all.
Friday, July 10, 2009
In the Beginning
The first thing we did was to set sail for two weeks on a luxury cruise ship to take a sampling of the western Mediterranean countries. Our son was still at home, but had a job and, and being a responsible kid, we knew we could leave him and life would be good.
Hubby had never been to Europe and being cradled in the lap of luxury while floating on the blue sea was the perfect ticket. We were in Spain, Italy, France and Corsica. It was the kick off to the empty nest and an early celebration of our 20th anniversary. We savored every minute and took a thousand photos. Our son met us with a huge smile at the airport two weeks later, and the house was intact on our arrival home. It was discovered later that he had had several parties, of course, but in a month he would be off to college where the shenanigans can be mind boggling. We still stuck to the premise that our kid is responsible and smart. At least that's what I told him to be as I squeaked out a tear saying goodbye to him on the street corner of his dorm 400 miles from our empty nest.
Looking at his somewhat empty room was a little startling. He wouldn't be sitting at his desk glaring at the computer screen where I would come and give him a little squeeze around his shoulders and sit on his bed to chat for a few minutes. I wouldn't hear him bound through the house and asking what's for dinner, or trying to slide across the kitchen floor in his socks, or watch him throw himself onto the couch reaching for the clicker then surfing the channels in that maddening way. No music coming from his room, no clothes on the floor, no wet towels in the bathroom, no one to mock my technical skills. I wouldn't have to wait to hear him come into the house at 1 in the morning, relieved he made it home safely, which was a plus. I kept looking for those pluses.
Cooking for 2 was a plus.
Waking only myself in the morning for work and not having to nudge a sleeping body to get up and go to school
This is a short list of pluses. By the time a kid is 18, he has his own life anyway. Hubby and I did pretty much what we wanted by the time sonny boy went off to college. So, except for being in my birthday suit to make the coffee, what else had changed?
Hubby had never been to Europe and being cradled in the lap of luxury while floating on the blue sea was the perfect ticket. We were in Spain, Italy, France and Corsica. It was the kick off to the empty nest and an early celebration of our 20th anniversary. We savored every minute and took a thousand photos. Our son met us with a huge smile at the airport two weeks later, and the house was intact on our arrival home. It was discovered later that he had had several parties, of course, but in a month he would be off to college where the shenanigans can be mind boggling. We still stuck to the premise that our kid is responsible and smart. At least that's what I told him to be as I squeaked out a tear saying goodbye to him on the street corner of his dorm 400 miles from our empty nest.
Looking at his somewhat empty room was a little startling. He wouldn't be sitting at his desk glaring at the computer screen where I would come and give him a little squeeze around his shoulders and sit on his bed to chat for a few minutes. I wouldn't hear him bound through the house and asking what's for dinner, or trying to slide across the kitchen floor in his socks, or watch him throw himself onto the couch reaching for the clicker then surfing the channels in that maddening way. No music coming from his room, no clothes on the floor, no wet towels in the bathroom, no one to mock my technical skills. I wouldn't have to wait to hear him come into the house at 1 in the morning, relieved he made it home safely, which was a plus. I kept looking for those pluses.
Cooking for 2 was a plus.
Waking only myself in the morning for work and not having to nudge a sleeping body to get up and go to school
This is a short list of pluses. By the time a kid is 18, he has his own life anyway. Hubby and I did pretty much what we wanted by the time sonny boy went off to college. So, except for being in my birthday suit to make the coffee, what else had changed?
Thursday, July 9, 2009
When did this all happen?
A little late on the uptake, but here we are, 2 years into the empty nest. When it first happened, a cousin called and said, "So, are you running around naked?" "It's too cold here for that," was my response, but it had happened many a time then, and now. Some folks, I suppose walk around naked with their kids home, no matter what the age. Hubby and I, no, never when our one and only son was around. He is also modest. When he was home for a month in January, we traveled to Hawaii for my 60th birthday. On a little trek to a well known coastal spot, a band of joyous, naked young men and women were playing bongos and enjoying the tide pools created by the red lava and blue ocean. Our son, many feet ahead of us on the trek from the highway to the ocean, saw all the nakedness from a distance, and stopped. He was not comfortable. So we stood at a distance and watched a whale go by, which was a very nice experience. Anyway, back to running around our empty nest naked. What can I say, we accepted the challenge with ease after a few moments of realizing our son had flown away.
About a month before he left for college, my hubby sat in front of the TV and mumbled, "It's like he's not even our son anymore." I knew exactly how he felt. We are the "older" parents, though it's in vogue now, 20 years ago, the trend was just inching forward. We had gotten married a month after I turned 39. My hubby really insisted we have a baby before I turned 40. It was very important to him. So, 10 months to the day of our wedding, out pops our baby boy. It was all baby all the time. For 18 years.
So after the first few weeks of missing him, we realized we were single and dating again. It was an excellent prospect.
About a month before he left for college, my hubby sat in front of the TV and mumbled, "It's like he's not even our son anymore." I knew exactly how he felt. We are the "older" parents, though it's in vogue now, 20 years ago, the trend was just inching forward. We had gotten married a month after I turned 39. My hubby really insisted we have a baby before I turned 40. It was very important to him. So, 10 months to the day of our wedding, out pops our baby boy. It was all baby all the time. For 18 years.
So after the first few weeks of missing him, we realized we were single and dating again. It was an excellent prospect.
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