Celebrating life transitions

This is a week of contrasting transitions in my family.

My oldest granddaughter Addie Mae started kindergarten yesterday.  Later this week my mom Shirley moves to Texas from Montana.

I've been thinking about these two events.  How serendipitous they should occur together, reminding us of the beautiful order of our lives.  Sunrise and sunset.

These two will experience many of the same feelings this week including excitement, anxiety and even sadness.  They also will share tons of support and encouragement from loving family members.

        

Happy Anniversary, Paulie!

Tomorrow, August 19, Paul and I celebrate our 37th wedding anniversary.  Go figure.

So I didn't know what to get him as there's nothing traditional listed for year 37.  Year one is paper, year two is cotton and so on through year 15.  Then it jumps by five years after year 15, which is crystal by the way.  If we make it to 40, Paul gets that ruby he's always wanted.

We recently were discussing these traditions attached to anniversaries.  Our oldest daughter and her husband celebrated their seventh anniversary last month.  Paul and I cautioned them about the seven year itch.  Neither knew what we were talking about.  Paul pointed out it was the title and subject of a Marilyn Monroe movie.  Still not a clue. 

The discussion turns to stages of anniversaries/partnerships in general and my daughter asks what happens at year 15.  I say it's the I Hate Your Guts stage. She laughed.  I hope she's still amused in another eight years.

Back to Paul's gift.  I came up with the perfect idea and found it on Amazon: Nature's Miracle Jaw Scoop!  Photo below.  Yes, a pooper scooper.  I know my man and he is going to love it. It wasn't cheap, either.  It should still be working in three years when he can use it to scoop up our rubies.

                

    

old dogs barking

Is there anything more precious than an old dog?  Maybe an old dog barking.

Mika the border collie, almost 12, and Baxter the beagle, 13, have slowed down in many ways.  They are not as fast as they used to be.  They sleep even more now.  Mika's eye sight is so bad she's only catching the tennis ball about 50 percent of the time.  Bax is limping from arthritis of the neck. 

One activity that most certainly has not declined: barking.  These dogs have not let old age hamper in any way their long held job of protecting the house.  Mail/UPS/FedEx people dropping off stuff.  Barking.  Doorbell or knocks.  Barking.  Dogs walking by the house.  Barking.  Car doors slamming shut nearby.  Barking.

And now it appears they have upped their protection.  Relying on experience in the absence of good eyesight and fast reflexes, they are barking at everything.  I close my closet door.  Barking.  The other border collie Sami, age 3, moves unexpectedly and makes a noise.  Barking.  Paul drops something.  Barking. 

Old dogs barking just in case.  Adorable.  

Big Sister is watching

I am a little scared of the power of my smart phone, a Samsung Galaxy S5.  It's the overreach that concerns me.  I get that some sites glom onto your cookies and then suddenly a kid in China knows your every move.  Certain ads appear seemingly out of nowhere.  Some even embarrassing.  Never mind which ones.  Although annoying and frustrating, I get how my phone becomes my stalker.

Then there are other behaviors of my phone that I don't get.  At all.  Such as the times I open the screen after it's been resting and a random page appears. 

Take this morning.  I awake my phone by swiping across the lovely faces of my daughter Jenny and granddaughter Jodi, and up pops the screen with the voice activated browser asking me to "Search Bonobo apes."  I kid you not.

Initially, I am confused.  Then intrigued, leaving only one course of action: obey the "S Voice." 

Here's what I found:
 
Bonobo Apes are one of humankind’s closest living relatives, yet most people are not even aware that bonobos exist. These great apes are complex beings with profound intelligence, emotional expression, and sensitivity. The most unusual and compelling feature of bonobos is their society–matriarchal, egalitarian, and peaceful. Bonobos are also well-known for their creative and abundant sexual activity. Their gentle and amorous nature has led some people to call them the “Make Love, Not War” primate. The last great ape species discovered, bonobos could be the first to become extinct unless concerted action is taken now to protect them and their rainforest home.

Get outta town.  So interesting.  But so very, very random. 

Oh well.  I always wanted a Big Sister. 

Copy that, Mr. Trump

Years ago my aunt described a guy in Fort Worth as, "too rich to be ignored."  That stuck with me.  At the time I thought it was funny.  She was right.  You know, money talks.

Donald Trump has a lot of money and lately he has been doing a lot of talking.

Last presidential election cycle he was given the role of kingmaker - or queenmaker.  Remember all the candidates making a seemingly obligatory pilgrimage to Trump Towers?  This time around he is a candidate.  Or so he pronounced last week before a cheering throng of paid supporters and tourists grabbed off the street.

Out of the gate he reveals his true self and it wasn't flattering. His adlib comments about the low character of Mexicans coming to America certainly spoke volumes.

The response seemed to be a collective "Copy that, Mr. Trump."  First Univision dropped his Miss Universe Show, then NBC and both hosts of the show bowed out.  Then Macy's severed ties.  I haven't checked lately what other dominoes have fallen. 

Of course there also was a surge in his popularity in parts of the country as well.  Iowa, specifically.  Just enough salve to sooth a bruised ego, if Mr. Trump's ego is capable of bruising.

Yes, Mr. Trump is too rich to be ignored, but all the money in the world couldn't buy him the presidency of our great country.

No question about motive

As we search for understanding about the motive for the recent mass shooting in Charleston, SC, maybe this time we don't have to think so hard.

It was racism in its most pure and uncut form. 

Now, what do we do about prevention?

Avalanche Trail, Glacier National Park

 Roaring Avalanche Creek

 Soaring cedars

 Avalanche Lake

Paul and I hit the trail early last Wednesday morning.  We had forgotten, somehow, that it was all uphill.  Just two miles.  It helps that one is distracted by sights, smells, sounds, etc. In the beginning we got a little spooked at being the only people on the trail.  It didn't help that a sign at the trail head warned: "You are entering Grizzly country."  The sign also displayed a picture of bear spray, which we didn't have. We relaxed a bit after meeting up with a recent college graduate, laden with geological equipment.  She, too, was headed to the lake. She assured us the trail likely was safe as it has about the most human traffic of any trail in the park. She described encountering a grizzly bear the day before on another less traveled trail.  She called that experience "sketchy." I would use a different, less nice word. Turns out the only wild animal we encountered was a chipmunk begging for food while we sat on a log on the shore of Avalanche Lake. By the time we return to the trail, dozens of hikers are heading up.  "Is the lake close?" many ask.  We always offer words of encouragement.  "Almost there."  We pledge to do this hike again.

  

Frank and Shirley

Photos from recent visit to Missoula, Mt.  Frank no longer knows Shirley.  Every visit she introduces herself.  "Frank, I'm Shirley.  Your wife."  She kisses him on the lips.  Usually he kisses her back and chuckles.  His attention is aimed elsewhere through most visits.  He likes to read words in the newspaper, spelling out the ones he can no longer pronounce.  He also likes to  move and match  dominoes and playing cards.  "I miss him," Shirley says.

Hello, Montana

Leaving Billings on I90, heading west to Missoula.  Pretty nice drive if you like an expansive view, winding rivers, buttes and mountains.  What is a butte anyway? 

Wide open spaces

My favorite stretch of the trip: Wyoming.  See you again in a few days!

Hello, Day 2

Not much to report about Day 1.  Beautiful day to drive 600 miles.  New Mexico begs a return.  On my bucket list.  A little more than a third of the way to my final destination.

Speaking of which, there's a sniper working the area of interstate I am set to travel today.  Northern Colorado, I25, Fort Collins area.  Not sure how one prepares for that.  I know many would say pray, but that doesn't work for me.  Instead of praying that the force be with me, I will acknowledge the odds are with me.

My heart does go out to the poor family who lost a son, brother and father last week, gunned down by this sniper as he rode his motorcycle.  He has broken many car windows and also hit, but did not hurt, a 20 year old woman. 

My best hope is the poor soul - the shooter - has gotten help.  He/she has realized that living out a demented dream has become more a personal nightmare. 

It's called the First Amendment!

It is happening again.


Last night I noticed my bumper sticker is missing.  It likely happened in the last 48 hours.  I know it's not a life threatening situation, but dammit, it's starting to piss me off because this is far from the first time it's happened.


The bumper sticker in question is the iconic World War II Rosie the Riveter image.  You know the blue collar woman, bandana holding her hair, arm bent to show off her biceps.   The message: Women are strong.  Only the face in this image that used to be on my car is of Hillary.  Twist on the original message.  This woman is strong.


Same thing happened last summer with the sticker supporting gubernatorial candidate Wendy Davis.  One day there, next day gone.  And, a small square sticker pledging allegiance to Texas Dems vanished without a trace years ago from the back of my car.


My hunch is it is someone in my neighborhood.  Just a hunch.  Maybe the Huckabee supporters who live just a rock's throw, which I would never do by the way.  Strange their yard sign expressing love for the former Arkansas governor is never molested.   For the record, I would not do that to anyone's yard sign or bumper sticker.  It's called the First Amendment.


Or maybe it's the weirdo a few houses down who I feel sometimes is keeping his partner against her will. Why else would she be with him?  I make an extra effort every time I see her in their yard to ask, "You ok?"  Her confusion at the question just reinforces my suspicions.  He for sure would not appreciate a message about strong women.


People, including family members, have tried to tell me it's not safe to display such liberal communique in the land of faithful conservatives.  That is exactly the reason I do it. All views have value and this is America where there is freedom of expression, for crying out loud.


We red state liberals already have much practice suppressing our views in the workplace, in social settings, in public.  I don't think it's too much to ask that a person be allowed to express even an unpopular view in this most tiny of a venue, the backside of a car.  Yet, I constantly am being denied this very right every time someone steals a bumper sticker.


Free expression for me has a price, literally.  I pay for my little stickers - and always order multiples as I am NOT going to be dissuaded from exercising my right to express a view that is contrary to views held by most people I live among.


The iconic sticker with Hillary's face is back on my car, thanks to my replacement stash.  I really hope that's where it stays.

Road trip!!

I am heading up north again to visit family in Montana.  Driving 3,000 plus miles there and back.  It's a route I've done several times and it gets easier, not harder, as I age.  Why?  Technology. 

This trip will be the first in my new Jeep.  The options for entertainment are a thousand times improved from my previous car and a million times improved from the old days when cassette tapes were considered a remarkable and appreciated companion on long trips.  I hit the road later this week with Bluetooth, satellite radio, and plugin/chargers for all kinds of gadgets.  No need even for an old school CD player, which my new car doesn't have anyway.   

The trip will likely begin with the soundtrack from Guardians of the Galaxy by way of an app on my car's entertainment system.  I will at some time switch to talk radio on Sirius XM, then more music from one of my Pandora stations, followed by a podcast, maybe a segment of NPR's Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. I haven't picked out an audio book yet for the trip, but that also is in the works. 

There also will be moments of silence.  During which I likely will contemplate what to listen to next.

Where have all the old folks gone? And does anyone care?

Our society, in general, does not care much for old people. And by old people, I mean those who are in their late 70s and older.  That's the age psychologists view as old relative to behavioral and developmental stages.  Of course if you ask a 30 year old, well, old age likely begins at 40.
What evidence is there that we kinda dislike old people?


Consider the stereotypes on TV and in movies. Madison Avenue and Hollywood must have some law that says oldies can only be silly, feeble, out-of-touch, unable to work any tech gadget, cranky, smelly, and bad drivers.  That last one might have some validity. 


More evidence of discrimination is the lack of older people included in anyone's social circle if you don't count older family members. When's the last time you called up good ole' Madge or Carl and invited them to a barbecue?  How about never. 


But perhaps the most glaring evidence of society's contempt is the fact that one does not see old people anywhere outside a church, synagogue or mosque.  Of course there's the rare sighting at Walmart or a pharmacy. But it's like they're hiding.  Well, in fact they are.


Around the 1970s large chunks of our older population began a mass exodus to their own lands called independent living centers and assisted living centers.  Both these places continue to this day to serve this population as a nice way station on to their final destination, the nursing home.  Something that began as an experiment has become routine transition for older people.


It may have been ok for awhile, but now this out of sight, out of mind removal policy needs some serious tweaking.  Thankfully, there is a growing movement working to change our views and values on aging.  Dr. Bill Thomas heads a group called ChangingAging and this year is traveling the country speaking about the need for change.  I get to see him when his Distrupt Aging Tour comes to Dallas in the fall. He sums up the mission:


"Our society needs an engaged and engaging elderhood because such a life stage offers the best possible refutation of the doctrine of youth's perfection. Most of us will need to see, with our own eyes, that a valued and valuable elderhood truly exists before we voluntarily surrender our adulthood. As a society, we, perhaps more than any other people who have ever lived, need elders. We need a renewed elderhood that can help older adults become the elders they were meant to be."


Old age as a life stage that offers value to society.  I love that concept.  If you do too, check out these sites: ChangingAging - changingaging.org; Eden Alternative - edenalt.org; Pioneer Network - pioneernetwork.net.

 

Mother's Day: Bah Humbug!

I am republishing my post from last year because nothing has changed.  Almost nothing.  Jenny celebrates her second year as a mother, not first, and I am happy to report she made the grade.  She is the real thing.  My mother is getting another shipment from Collin Street and I, too, am getting a gift.  As a matter of fact, I am typing on that gift right now.  Thanks, Paul. 

Mother's Day: Bah Humbug!

Come on.  We all know that Mother's Day is a fake holiday.  I've written about this before.  About not really being a fan, even as the mother of 3 adult kids who I love dearly and believe they love me.  But could this year be different as I think about my daughter Jenny who will celebrate her first Mother's Day as a mother?  Will that soften my view?


Hell no.


I still am not a fan.  I am a jaded social worker for sure.  Maybe if we called it Good Mothers Day.  Or call it Mothers Who are Just So-So Day.  Or even Mothers Who Did The Best They Could Day might work.  All moms are not created equal and there are many who have not earned this special day.  It's tough on their kids to be reminded every second Sunday in May that they were cheated out of good childhood.


For the record, I am not talking about my own mother.  She gets a gigantic package from Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana, Tx.


Mother's Day started out as a real holiday in 1908.  Young Anna Jarvis so loved and honored her own mother she began the process for setting aside an official day for "the person who has done more for you than anyone in the world."  Her mother, Ann Jarvis, cared for soldiers in the Civil War - from both sides of the conflict.  Ann Jarvis also advocated for public health issues.

The idea in the beginning was to simply communicate to your mother the reasons she is important.  Sadly, it didn't take long before Hallmark and others (candy makers, florists) hijacked poor Anna's .tribute to her mother.  She began protesting the idea of profiting from Mother's Day, even getting herself jailed.  Hmm.  She really loved her mother, I think, who by that time had died.  In the end, she lost her fight to keep it real.  Sad fact.


Paul will be glad to know I'm not that invested in a Mother's Day protest.  In fact, I am part of the problem as I will be receiving gifts (I am told) and have (as previously mentioned) purchased a gift.  But NO Hallmark card!  Gotta draw the line somewhere.

Full circle

My kids were pretty good at hiding stuff from their mother.  Jenny, for example, used to climb out her second-story bedroom window onto the gable roof.  She'd just sit there, she says.  It was her fort or space or whatever.  I was just informed of this a couple of months ago.  She started this practice when she was 10; she's now 30.  That's 20 years in the dark.


At the age of 12 Andrea hid a can of beer in her backpack on her way to a waterpark.  Her friend was bringing the lemon juice to mix with the beer to use as a hair bleach. If her little brother hadn't ratted on her, man, that coulda been an interesting day.


Speaking of little brother.  When John was 5, he shimmied up an aluminum street lamp. To the very top!  I missed that one, too. The neighbor lady didn't.  Well, it wasn't entirely his fault.  His older sister, daredevil Jenny, had preceded him up the pole.  It simply had been his turn. 


Of course these are but a fraction of the things my kids tried to hide from me. Lies of omission. They were good at it, too.  I say that with a certain amount of pride because I believe too much transparency between child and parent is unhealthy. My kids lied to protect their mom.  They understood, even at such a young age, the aggravation their actions induced. They lived by that motto, "What mom doesn't know won't hurt her."  I call that thoughtful. Which is why I may find myself needing to return the favor.  


This weekend I am the sole guardian of two of my grandchildren, ages 3 and 5.  I am wondering what kind of adventure we could have and how much information about said adventure will need to be kept from the parents.


How does that song from the Lying King go?


Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of (crashing drums) Lies

Blind devotion

You know how some days kinda have a theme?  For me, today is charisma day. 


First this morning Paulie and I entertained the delusional idea that we wanted to check out recreational vehicles.  How convenient that just 30 minutes from our house is the regions' biggest and baddest seller of RV's.  Big ones that go for a million dollars.  Little ones, too, but even they cost more than what we paid for our first house. 


Enter Jimmy.  Tall and handsome; over-groomed for my personal style.  Western attire, shades tucked into his button-up shirt.  Make that unbuttoned up and showing a little skin.  And lots of cologne. I mean a lot, but a pleasant scent.


Jimmy has charisma.  The kind that lulls you into agreeing with everything he says. His office walls are filled with memorabilia from his days in Vegas working with all kinds of fancy people.  He even has a picture with Mohammad Ali.  That is impressive. Thirty minutes in and he and Paul were speaking the same language, practically answering each other's sentences. Good thing we had a time limit on the visit or we might have caught a horrible case of buyer's remorse. We escaped. 


Later in the day I run over to our neighborhood Walgreens to pick up a script. While there, I wander into the cosmetic aisle, and minding my own business, I hear, "How are you doing?"  Crap.  I know that voice.  It belongs to the Walgreen's cosmetic lady who always gets me to buy stuff I don't need or want. How? Charisma.  But it's not like you can compare a 70 grand RV to a $15 bottle of foundation.  Like she said, I could use the extra SPF and she gave me a coupon for it, too.  Man she's good. 


Unfortunately today I also had the displeasure of reading in one of the local newspapers, the Dallas Morning News (4.18.2015, front page),about a charismatic leader of a tiny religious cult. The leader, a 49-year-old woman, convinced parents their 2-year-old son was demon possessed and they should not feed him.  He starved to death.  It's mind blowing.


Charismatic people, by definition, "exercise a compelling charm that inspires devotion in others."  This sick leader apparently oozed with compelling charm and used it against a small following. 


That leaves me to rethink today's theme. If charisma requires participation from another, maybe a better word theme for today is gullible, as in one who is trusting, naïve, innocent, simple and green. I  understand how easy it is to cave in to others, as in buying stuff you don't need.  However, I really need to better understand how parents can stand back and watch their child starve to death.  Certainly they were trusting and naïve and blindly devoted.  And scared and uneducated and likely selfish.  The perfect gullible storm.


In this case, the ghastly imperfect gullible storm.


















    

Free-range kids vs scheduled kids

Free-range parenting.  I hate that name.  It just sounds too weird for me.  However, the sentiment behind it I like. 


Let kids roam outside within boundaries set by parents.  Let them come up with their own activities, create their own adventures.  As opposed to having their days fully scheduled, one parent or the other hovering and deciding every tiny detail of a child's life.  Do this, not that.  Go here, not there.   I show my bias.


So much has happened in the last 20 to 30 years causing parents to become stalkers of their own children.  It was about the time my kids, now in their early 30s, were playing organized sports that the practice of putting kids' names on jerseys was banned.  Why?  It would give the perverts an advantage.


It also was about the same time cable launched 24/7 news coverage.  Local stories became national stories.  Fear became the measure of a good story.  Scaring parents grew into a cottage industry.


Is the world a more dangerous place than it was 30 years ago?  Tough one to call.  For sure we have more information than we did 30 years ago.  We know what CAN happen to our children because it happened to someone else's child.  Even when that child lived thousands of miles away, but also when that child lived close by.  The national Amber Alert is based on a nightmare that happened in the city where I raised my kids.  Amber was around my kids' age.  So maybe fear is a valid reason to reject free-ranging.


Another problem with letting your kids roam is who are they going to roam with?  Depends I guess on where you live.  In many places and neighborhoods, there just aren't other kids to hook up with.  Sure, you can plan play dates for your children.  But there you go, taking away any possible way of the child creating their own adventure in the great outdoors. 


Texas, by the way, appears to be a free-range parenting state as there's no statute limiting the age for children running loose. Of course if you point that fact out to Child Protective Services after your 3 year old is picked up toddling alone through the neighborhood, they likely will not be impressed. There also is no statute limiting the age of children left home alone.  Again, not advisable to leave tiny minors alone to change their own diapers.  Texas does have a statute that says you can't leave a child under 7 alone in a car for longer than 5 minutes.  Whew.


What's the takeaway?  Free-range parenting sounds weird and scary but has good points.  Scheduling children's outdoor activity can stunt creativity and problem-solving skills but has good points.  


Can we meet in the middle?  Let's start play dates for free-ranging!! 

Coach Andrea Scott: A true role model

My daughter Andrea Scott coaches varsity soccer at the high school level.  She's just finished her ninth year.  Three times she's been voted Coach of the Year by her colleagues.  She is a mentor to many on and off the field.  I know this because I have read many letters and emails and texts from current and former students. 


Here's what one former student recently said to her in a letter regarding an assignment in a college literature class:


"Our assignment was to write down a true role model and discuss. ... I chose to write about my hometown high school soccer coach.  Looking over the criteria used to define a role model, without a doubt, you hit every mark.  I feel I needed to write all of my thoughts down because I think it's a rare thing for someone to truly change the course of someone's life.  ... In high school, I was a mediocre soccer player at best.  Everyone knew this.  However, that wasn't the point.  In my four years playing for you, I learned more about life than I ever did soccer - which is the point.  No one ever goes pro from high school soccer, and I think that's what a lot of people miss.  If they would take in the moments and lessons that you give, they will be a better person for it."


I couldn't agree more because my daughter is my role model, too.

Defending hearth and home

The quiet of the cold night was shattered by barking dogs.  One bark was low pitched and assertive.  Another produced high pitched staccato yelps.  And yet a third was definitely hound.  I was thinking in my sleepy haze they needed to work on their harmony.  Until I realized.  Those are my dogs!


I looked at my watch: 4:45 a.m.  Sorry neighbors, I'm on it.  Believing in speed over comfort, I leapt out of bed (always wanted to put that in a sentence) and headed for the backyard without shoes and eye glasses.  My attempt to turn off the nocturnal noise failed.  Only one of three dogs obeyed my order to come inside.  I would need to get closer to the distraction to get the dogs' attention. 


I retreat back inside the house to get shoes and glasses.  By this time, back outside the sun's impending arrival cast just enough light to make out the object of my dogs' scorn: a cat-sized rat sitting frozen atop the fence.  Make that a possum.  In low light its profile looks like a mutant giant rat.  Shiver. 


My presence appeared to have spooked the animal.  I watch from a distance as it tightrope walked across the top of our backyard fence.  Away from the house. 


My darlings come running inside oh so satisfied with their performance.  I couldn't help but be proud of them. Of course they all get treats! 


I settle back into bed and not 10 minutes later, the chorus is back outside. By this time my husband has been briefed on the matter and he bursts into action.  I listen from my warm bed.  A short few minutes later, the barking stops.  Mission accomplished!


Sure enough, the possum had come back, likely hoping to sneak home before the sun completely rises.  Where is that home? We don't know but we really don't want it to be OUR house.


Paul returns from the battlefield.  Tell me what you did, I implore my brilliant and brave husband.  "Um," he is slow to report. Typical. He's so humble.  "I threw a soccer ball at it."


Fortunately his maneuver did not fell the poor animal.  In fact the possum, says Paul, didn't budge. The dogs - or as I like to call them, the treat sluts - eagerly followed Paul back inside assured of another reward. They have trained us well.


While I can appreciate that it took some guts on my husband's part to attempt to knock the possum off the fence, I just wish he had the same guts to ask our neighbor for the soccer ball back. 

A little mud won't stop Hillary

Last night Hillary Clinton attended an Emily's List fundraiser where she asked the question, "Isn't it time for a woman to be president of the United States?"


Well.  Past time really. 


According to Rutgers Institute for Women's Leadership, of all the self-governing countries in the world, women are either a president or a prime minister in 11 percent of these countries.  That's not  much to brag about, but it is something we haven't been able to accomplish here in the US. 


Yet.


2016 is the year it will become a reality.  Already the mud is thickening, but Hillary's got her boots ready.  I imagine multiple pairs. "Hey Bill, can you fetch my shit kickers from the back of the closet?  The purple ones." 


In the absence of a primary challenger, these faux scandals will have to do.  Expect the opposition to revisit and revise past stories of sex, lies and now missing emails.  That's all they got. 


I admire Hillary and trust she is the leader for our country and the world in this moment in time.  Because she's a woman?  Hell, yes!


 

The Oscar for Most Cherished Friend goes to: Marilyn Revier

My friend Marilyn in South Dakota and I have watched the Oscars together for about 30 years.  It didn't stop when I moved to Texas 25 years ago.  Now our evening starts with a phone call before the show and then more calls during commercials. 


Watching the Oscars with Marilyn is one of the highlights of my year.  Certainly the show itself is nothing to write home about.  This year was no exception: a great opening and closing with a drawn out and punishing middle.  Marilyn is definitely the best part of the show each year.


I feel it is a privilege that this great woman still wants to spend the evening with me.  Her days are filled with friends and family, in and out of her home. I mean she is busy caring for children and grandchildren and neighbors and friends.   Of course the daily traffic is not as heavy as it used to be when she shared her home with Ray, beloved husband and devoted father and grandfather who died a few years back.  As busy as she is, she still sets aside time for an old friend.


Marilyn holds and will always hold a special place in my heart.  I believe she is the reason my family works.   


Paul and I had only each other when our first child was born July 4,1982.  After four years of marriage, we had broken our promise to each other not to have children.   By December 1985, we had broken our promise two more times.  We were now parents to three little ones.


I had some practice with babies, what with babysitting other people's children and younger family members.  Paul had zero practice.  Nada. Bupkis.  And we had no immediate family to turn to for guidance. 


Enter Marilyn.  Our guardian angel ran a home daycare.  She invited us to bring our two week old baby to her home for a meet and greet and then we could make the decision whether this would be where Andrea spent her days.


I am tearing up as I recall first seeing this marvel of a woman.  Mostly I remember how enthusiastic she was about our baby, pointing out this and that, stuff that no one else had noticed.  I hadn't noticed.  She knew all the baby parts and what they were for.  She was amazing.


As I look back, I understand how much I needed someone to show me how to love and care for my children.  That person was Marilyn.  I learned everything about how I wanted my family to be from her.  Not just how and what to feed a toddler or when a rash is serious enough to call the doctor, but the other real stuff of families.  I wanted closeness and conflict and laughter and tears.   I wanted to embrace this entity we had produced and hold onto it and to never let go.  Was that even possible?


Turns out it was.  We are strong as a family today because of Marilyn.  Even though it feels like a lot to pin on one person, I most certainly credit her for showing us the way.  I saw her love her own family almost as much as she loved mine.  Or it felt that way.  We weren't the only family she cared about.  Far from it.  There were hundreds over the years.  So much heart in one single person.  


I love our Oscar nights.  I cherish my dear friend Marilyn.

Words without meaning

My father is 90 years old.  He has dementia and lives in a facility in Missoula, Montana, that specializes in caring for such people.  He has no memory of his life, including the woman he shared it with. 


His wife of almost 70 years, my mom, cared for him in their home until she had heart bypass surgery in the fall of 2013.  The strain of witnessing her partner's decline most certainly contributed to her weakening heart.


Now she visits him in the nearby facility.  Last week she says he had a small seizure during one visit.  Seated on the edge of his bed, he suddenly slumped over, nearly falling.  Staff responded immediately and placed him safely in his bed. There is no need to seek medical care. Specific instructions stating what not to do in a medical emergency are posted on his door. 


My mom, who is 87 by the way, tells the story without emotion, just as one would expect from a second generation Norwegian-American. She says the next morning she finds him in the community dining area at the table awaiting breakfast.  He is reading from some pamphlet.  Actually reading the words but not comprehending the meaning. 


Words without meaning.  That's what my father's life has come to.  I want to complete the thought, but I have taken this too far as it is.  I really don't have the right to make any more observations out of respect for my mom and dad.


As a couple, my parents were always a force.  I guess they still are.

Mary from Texas calling

I got a new car in December, and with it, a year of SiriusXM free.  I had totally forgotten how great this service is.  And, turns out one of the talk radio shows is hosted by one of my favorite comedians and actors, John Fugelsang.


So yesterday work takes me to Kemp, Tx., which gives me about two hours of radio time, one of those with Fugelsang's show.  I am excited as I tap the preloaded station on the fancy touch screen of my new Jeep Cherokee, wondering what new stuff I am going to learn.  You can't blame me for being deflated as a Brady football when I hear my host and others talking about Sarah Palin and her most recent garbled speech.


Ah, shit!


It then occurs to me to call in and argue that her 15 minutes of fame is up, which I do, and in less than five minutes I am on air talking to John.


For sure I lost the argument.  I said something about it being too easy to take shots at her; yes, it was ok to criticize McCain for his continued support.  Yada, yada.  Then John points out the gazillions of followers she has and makes the case that she still wields a hefty political sword.


After the brief exchange, I was left to think about what I should have said, just like in the Seinfeld episode where George can't think of a good comeback until later.


Here's paraphrasing the host and what I should have said:


John: Her massive support means she deserves our attention.
Me: Two wrongs don't make a right.
or
Me: Maybe if we stopped giving her attention, she wouldn't have such massive support. 
or
Me:  The Jerk Store called and they're running out of Sarah Palin.


No mind.  It gave me something to talk about with my buddy Diane in Des Moines while John wrapped up the Palin bit.  Seriously, I have reached my threshold on the woman.  Diane agrees - and includes Newt Gingrich in the Jerk Store category.


Ok. Wait.  I just thought of one very last thing worth mentioning about SP.  Bill Maher had the best line regarding her ridiculous speech.  "If Sarah Palin suffers a stroke, how will we know?"




Me: She is that rare comedic gift that keeps on giving.  My threshold just expanded.


xxx

I told you so

Last year Democratic candidates distanced themselves from President Obama, some not even admitting they had voted for him.  Today, with his approval rating now at 50 percent and still climbing, it's a different story.

Damn. They should have listened to the legion of loyal supporters who saw and felt what was happening.  But they ignored the growing chant, "wait for it, wait for it ... ."

Their loss.

Nostalgic

I miss Point-Counterpoint.  Journalists Shana Alexander and James Kilpatrick used to debate an issue for a few minutes at the close of 60 Minutes.  It was the 1970s and people were adjusting to civil rights and women's rights.  Every week millions of viewers looked forward to their lively back and forth on the major issues. Dan Akroyd and Jane Curtain would go on to parody the TV segment on Saturday Night Live.  Akroyd's best and most famous line, "Jane, you ignorant slut," still kills.


Of course I rooted for Alexander.  Kilpatrick's positions were easy to argue against because he was always wrong.  Context.  He had supported states allowing segregation before he opposed it.  He even debated his position with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  


Maybe it's the simplicity of the format that I miss.  It didn't go on and on and on.  It had a beginning and an end.  Nothing today exists like it.  Just the opposite. 


I am nostalgic today because tonight is the State of the Union speech. I will watch the speech and the rebuttal by Iowa Senator Joni Ernst. The never-ending commentary?  I will take a pass, at the same time desperately missing a shorter and sweeter point-counterpoint on the night's festivities. 






    

Welcome, 2015

I like our odds in 2015.

2015 is the year our son-in-law will graduate nursing school.  That will be nothing less than transformative for him, my daughter and their two children.


2015 is the year our son will find his personal and professional momentum.  He ended the previous year in a new job that is worthy of his skills and principles and ambition.


2015 is the year my youngest granddaughter will likely find out she is going to be a big sister.  I understand this is risky to predict, but I feel it's going to happen.


2015 is the year my husband will enjoy more out of life thanks to hip replacement surgery in late September.  The full benefits of it will be realized in the new year.


2015 is the year I, too, enjoy more out of life.  Just because.