Thank you Soldiers, Sailors, Pilots, Thank you all

This amazing video was shared on Hiccups in Time today http://hiccup-in-time.blogspot.com/

It is too moving to not continue to share with others.

The message accompanying the video was:

3,000 vets on motorcycles from across the nation paraded in D.C. the Sunday before Memorial Day, while a solitary, saluting Marine greeted them out on Constitution Avenue. The Marine stood at salute for three straight hours while the parade of roaring bikes kept on coming. The parade is held in remembrance of those who have fallen in the military. The event is called Rolling Thunder. President George W. Bush used to greet the bikers before they paraded. No such courtesy or respect is shown now.

The camera is on the Marine a lot. Watch as he struggles with his emotions and struggles with holding his salute. The way he salutes is very touching; head lowered and eyes down in reverence for the fallen. I am an ex-Army Master Sergeant and I know what he was feeling. As I watched him, I could feel it too. It got to be overwhelming for him and the tears started flowing. Watch what he says when he finally breaks, but keeps right on holding that salute.

We are indebted to so many for so much. Appreciating our freedom and embracing our lives and each other is the best repayment I can think of ...

The Firehouse

Today was the firehouse hoagie sale. One Saturday every June our firemen drive up and down the streets of Stone Harbor in their engines shouting "Hoagies! Hoagies!" to the myriad vacationers running, walking, jogging, blading, or biking (like me) up Second Avenue.

By the time I got back from my ride, showered, and headed over to the firehouse, the hoagies were all gone. 2000 hoagies sold in two hours. Pretty good little fundraiser. Stone Harbor's firehouse is impressive for a town that's only 3 square miles. I remember when they built it; the year after the big fire at Hoy's 5 & 10.

It must have been the summer of 1968 or '69...and we were all fast asleep in my parents' yellow house on 100th Street. Because my aunt, uncle and cousins were visiting, along with the requisite babysitter, my cousin Laura and I were sleeping on cots in the upstairs living area, with a funny folding divider propped at the foot of the beds to give us "privacy". The windows were all open looking for relief from a heat wave, that had suddenly whipped itself into the wild wind that accompanies extreme weather changes.

The fire siren of our little one truck station began to wail. The only other time we ever heard the siren was when the daily noon "whistle" blew. The town is so small, the siren's sound can be heard from one end to the other. That night it was relentless. Can you picture five sleepy children rubbing their eyes and crying, a teenaged babysitter mortified to be seen in her pjs, three bewildered parents trying to wake the fourth...as police cars with loudspeakers crawled down each of the three avenues alerting homeowners to hose down their roofs. It was quite a sight. Our beloved 5 & 10 was burning, along with several other shops on 96th Street, generally referred to just as "downtown". While Hoy's was only four blocks north and one block west of the house, the wind was carrying huge embers to our roof and beyond.

My dad, always a deep sleeper was the last one to rouse. He and Uncle Curt took turns trying to reach the roof with the spray of our garden hose. It was a long, loud, sleepless night.

The next day, I remember us walking into town to see the devastation. The paperback book rack stood inside the glassless front window of Hoys. It was hard to tell what had caused the most damage, the fire or the water. But, one thing was for sure, it was the worst thing that had ever happened in this family resort town.

When we arrived the following summer to find a 6-bay firehouse, it was the first of many times I've seen tragedy lead to overkill. Hoy's was rebuilt as well, along with a whole string of shops, some old, some new, and they all still stand today. I have to admit, I was glad. Knowing that this town still looks much the way it did when my mom was my age, and that it has a good chance of looking the same when my daughter is too, has a certain comfort. So maybe it's not the worst thing that the town has a bigger firehouse than most towns ten times it's size.

Last January the volunteer department fought a huge fire on 94th Street , and a few weeks later, after two vicious storms hit the East Coast back-to-back knocking out power for several days, the guys evacuated many of the seniors that live here year-round. They also showed up the summer we opened our front door to the smell of gas. Every Monday evening the town hosts Family Night at the firehouse, and for years they have shared their space with our local kids' theatre group, Seven Mile Island Stars.

It's hard to be anything but thankful for our men in uniform; I just wish I hadn't missed the hoagies...

God Bless WaWa!

Driving three (eventually four and a half) hours home from Baltimore on Wednesday, I faced a universal problem which is much tougher to solve on the East Coast than it is in Colorado. One of the first things I had noticed (when you're potty-training a toddler this is one of the first things you'd notice too!) when we moved to Denver, is how ubiquitous public restrooms are. Not just available, but usually well-maintained. (For some more detailed reading on this check out http://www.midchix.com/pg/pages/view/6007/). Better yet, the stores, restaurants, gas stations etc. that freely offered up the use of their facilities were frequently staffed by nice folks! And, to put the icing on the cake, the sinks have warm water!

As a poor, young, career gal living in NYC, knowing where to find public restrooms you could use without buying something was a skill I had to develop pretty darn quickly...along with a bladder that could battle with the best. Then, as a young mother with double stroller and baby in a backpack, I developed PTSD after being refused a bathroom at the Tarrytown Baskin-Robbins when the runs hit during a mid-morning walk.

Crouching over a public john to either avoid those germs that mom put the fear of god into me about or, while holding a toddler, is responsible for my unusually strong thighs (and probably my chronic back pain). So I have truly come to appreciate the public service provided when potties are free, clean, and equipped.

Back to Wednesday. It was 95 degrees, and so after my requisite 5 cups of morning coffee, I had downed 4 bottles of water on the drive to and from the WBENC http://www.wbenc.org/ conference and now, I was not only up the proverbial creek...I was close to creating my own right there in the car. Still forty minutes from home, I spotted a gas station and quickmart and screeched in only to find a sign saying "restrooms by the filling tanks"- so back in the car...quick over to the little building by the filling tanks where the door proclaimed:"no public restrooms". Really??? You realize all of that maneuvering in and out of the car was only making things worse. So it was with tears of relief, or perhaps things had backed up all the way to my eyeballs, when I spotted a WaWa http://www.wawa.com/WawaWeb/

For you non-Mid-Atlantic staters, WaWa is like a 7-Eleven...only better! Imagine this: Their Core Purpose (as stated on their website) is "To Simplify Our Customers Daily Lives" -

You really can't beat that. I love it so much I have to share the core values as well: "Value People, Delight Customers, Embrace Change, Do the Right Thing, Do Things Right, Passion for Winning." And to top it off - "WaWa" is a Native American word for the Canada Goose that was found in Delaware Valley, and that's why they use a goose on WaWa's corporate logo! How's that for Chick-friendly!

So very long story short, I dashed into WaWa, did my business, and headed home. But I swore I'd say thank you so -Thanks WaWa!

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First Day of Summer-Good time for Life Instructions!

Not sure who was the original source of these, though many of them have been attributed to the Dalai Lama. Regardless, I have had them printed out in color on my fridge ever since a friend forwarded them to me last summer. The first day of summer seems like the perfect time to share them. Like a mid-year musing on New Year's resolutions past and future...

1. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.
2. Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other.
3. Don’t believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.
4. When you say, “I love you”, mean it.
5. When you say, “I’m sorry”, look the person in the eye.
6. Be engaged at least six months before you get married.
7. Believe in love at first sight.
8. Never laugh at anyone’s dreams. People who don’t have dreams don’t have much.
9. Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt, but it’s the only way to live life completely.
10. In disagreements, fight fairly. No name calling.
11. Don’t judge people by their relatives.
12. Talk slowly, but think quickly.
13. When someone asks you a question you don’t want to answer, smile and ask, “Why do you want to know?”
14. Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
15. Say “bless you” when you hear someone sneeze.
16. When you lose, don’t lose the lesson.
17. Remember the three R’s: Respect for self; Respect for others; Responsibility for all your actions.
18. Don’t let a little dispute injure a great friendship.
19. When you realize you’ve made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
20. Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice.
21. Spend some time alone.
22. Open your arms to change, but don’t let go of your values.
23. Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.
24. Read more books and watch less TV.
25. Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you’ll get to enjoy it a second time.
26. Trust in God, but lock your car.
27. Create a loving atmosphere in your home is so important. Do all you can to create a tranquil harmonious home.
28. In disagreements with loved ones, deal with the current situation. Don’t bring up the past.
29. Read between the lines.
30. Share your knowledge. It’s a way to achieve immortality.
31. Be gentle with the earth.
32. Pray. There’s immeasurable power in it.
33. Never interrupt when you are being flattered.
34. Mind your own business.
35. Don’t trust a man/woman who doesn’t close his/her eyes when you kiss.
36. Once a year, go someplace you’ve never been before.
37. If you make a lot of money, put it to use helping others while you are living. That is wealth’s greatest satisfaction.
38. Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a stroke of luck.
39. Learn the rules then break some.
40. Remember that the best relationship is one where your love for each other is greater than your need for each other.
41. Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.
42. Remember that your character is your destiny.

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Getting to Know You Monday!

Yikes hope I'm doing this right!

1. How many brother and sisters do you have?

I have one brother, 16 months older than me- and he still likes to make sure I remember that he knows more than I do!

2. What is your favorite thing to do?

Read & Write!

3. What countries have you visited?

Japan, Italy, France, England, Mexico

4. Are you a morning or a night person?

Night Owl... though used to be more of a Morning chick. Hard to sleep when there's so much to do, say, read, learn, think about, share!


5. What's your favorite cereal?

Oatmeal-steel cut with agave and sliced almonds! yum!

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Not a Phone Person

Why, oh why, do I dread the ring of the phone? Or, maybe the better question is, why do people keep calling me? I, now understand my parents' ire when my brother and I were teens and the phone would ring incessantly. It was such an intrusion to them, such a possibility for us.

I guess I should be thankful that the era of cell phones, and texting mean that my irritation over a ringing phone is primarily directed at my own.

If only I could emulate my friend, Laura, whose phone manner I greatly envy. Every time she answers, there is that thrill and trill in her "Hello?" that makes the caller feel like the most important person in the world. What a gift. My pal Sarah has the right idea, she just doesn't answer. She calls when it works for her.

I do remember earlier years when I would rely heavily, way too heavily, on the phone to connect me with someone, anyone, who would empathize with me about whatever situation had triggered my self-pity. It took a long while for me to realize that if you're having a bad day, calling someone for empathy could seriously backfire-making your bad day even worse. I guess this was when I began discovering that sometimes solitude tops empathy.

I love my family all the way down to my toes and back again; and my friends as well...but I have discovered in this magical middle age, that really, at the end of the day, all you have is yourself. Nobody else is going to make you feel better. Sure the warmth of love and friendship help buoy us all...and relationships ARE the icing in life-but we, as individuals, are still the cake and if we always rely on someone else to cheer, distract, entertain, validate, and fill the empty airwaves for us...then we are in for disappointment.

Enough philosophy. Chances are my dread of the phone is leftover from when the kids were small and a phone conversation was an exercise in futility and frustration. Or maybe it's because I stumble over words unless I'm writing them. What if we could edit our phone conversations before they actually aired? Or perhaps it's PTSD from being forced as a boy-crazy teenager to have every phone conversation in front of anyone and everyone in our little shore house when cordless phones, much less cells, weren't even a glimmer in some geek's eye.

With that said, I hope to make amends for barking at both my husband and daughter this evening, when they were thoughtful enough to give me a call. Kris suggested (strongly) that I go take that little white pill which I had toyed with giving up after a brief externally-imposed hiatus waiting for the doctor and pharmacy to make nice. I decided to take her suggestion.

Who knows, maybe if you call me in a day or so, I'll sound like an eager potential lottery winner when I say "hello?"...or maybe I just won't answer.

Something In the Water

I crossed the bridge into Stone Harbor and it happened just like it has every time since I first started coming here at the age of one or two. My heart soared but my heart rate slowed. My body relaxed as if it recognized home. When I'm here, my brain teems with ideas, but rejects tension. It's magical.

My husband started commenting on my yearly transformation after his first few summers here with me. In the beginning he had compared this quaint town to the upscale Hamptons where he'd worked as a teen. (Frankly, he was rather elitist-sounding, given that his time in the Hamptons had been spent cooking hotdogs and sleeping at the golf club's halfway house)!

Our beaches aren't long, private affairs. They come and go depending on the years' storms. But they are inviting and they are where I've walked with my folks, my friends, my loves, my children, as well as my many selves for close to 50 years.

When I was little, we rented a house on 104th St. It was just one house from the beach. I remember its garage had been converted into a small guest suite connected to the house by a breezeway. That's where my great-grandmother, Nana, stayed. I was sitting there with her the time my brother somehow "cracked his head open" at the miniature golf course.

When I was six, we went down one January weekend to find a rental for the coming summer. It was freezing in the house, and mom must have taken us back to sit in the car to stay warm. My father came back outside with the realtor to ask if she liked that house. When she confirmed, he replied " I just bought it". Good thing she said yes.

There were only a few times in his life that my dad made big spontaneous decisions. He was a careful, methodical, practical man who prided himself on both his Scottish heritage and approach to spending. Yet, once in a while he would do something bold that seemed out of character and I think that half the motivation must have been the sheer glee he took in surprising us. Funny, as I look back, even those seemingly impulsive investments ended up paying off big time.

I have this sneaking suspicion that despite his deliberateness, my Dad had a bit of intuition. Maybe that's where I get mine. He must have known that his $30,000 investment in 1967 would pay dividends far beyond just financial gains. My happiest memories are from the shore. From doing handstands on the beach, playing Harriet the Spy in town, earning my Copper Kettle Fudge money via a carefully mapped public pay phone change-receptacle route, landing my first job at 14 at The Black-Eyed Susan Shop where I learned the hard lessons of paycheck versus pay for layaway. Stone Harbor was also the site of my first dance, first date, first boyfriend, first hangover, first apartment, first roommate, first broken heart.

As I walked the beach today, and thought about it all, I realized how many stories I have from this one seven mile island. This looks to be the first of many. Hope you'll bear with me.

Road Trip

Lessons Learned on a 4-day, 3-night, 8-state Extravaganza:

When making hotel reservations for the inaugural night, be sure the clerk who you will need to call after taking a wrong turn, doesn’t claim Tongues as his primary language.

Marriott VS. Hilton? Marriott- half the price/ queen beds instead of double/ free wi-fi/ free breakfast/ unlocked room fridge. The Hilton failed to mention that although they are pet-friendly, if you have a pet, you have to ride in the service elevator. But yes, the help was friendly to our dog.

Days Inn is called that because you should only stay there in the daytime.

It is always raining on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. (Mind you, I grew up there).
Weather really does affect your mood. Ask my children. (And maybe my mother).

Don’t plan a cross-country trip during a year when the Federal Government has ordered construction on every interstate road as part of a massive training program teaching men wearing orange how to hold SLOW signs.
Chevy Chevettes are not extinct.

There should be a Taser junior available over-the-counter to use on leering men in tattoos and wife-beaters that frequent the aforementioned Days Inns.

Triple AAA TRIP- TIK is great except that the implied “this won’t take long” drive times are comparable to the labor nurse’s “this won’t hurt” as she shoves the epidural needle in between your vertebrae.

Contents of our imaginary suitcase packed for our imaginary trip to Japan, as we imagined that we were passing the time in Iowa: apples, baloney, curlers, dead stuff, egg rolls, Francine from Arthur, guts, handy-dandy notebook, illegal drugs, Jewish rye, Kevin, lame mutt, mahogany buttocks statues, nutella, Orion, poop in a pot, questionable cheese, relish, seashells, tranquilizers, underwear, vodka, wet ones... Just before Y is when I began shrieking at the man from the Comfort Inn who kept insisting on giving directions in Tongues.

Apparently there are franchise opportunities available in Lion’s Den Adult Stores.

The cheapest motels sport bathroom fans strong enough to clean the attached room with a simple flick of the light switch, but blow dryers so weak, you have to stay an extra day if you want dry hair when you leave.
`
Fancy hotels don’t bother with a bathroom fan. Obviously the wealthy don’t need background noise to do their business; stage fright is not a problem when you have enough jack to go 5 -Star.

The moderate hotel is the best of both worlds… not only a light switch and separate fan switch (so you don’t HAVE to listen to the fan unless you are experiencing stage fright). And a much-appreciated curved shower curtain rod ensuring that washing away the day’s grime does not also include wearing the previous guests’ grime.

We believe that children (and dogs) should learn swear words in their own home. They are much less likely to be traumatized when hearing mom use the F-word while behind the wheel.

I take pride in the fact that my 10-year announced (while eating yet another burger at another rest stop) that there’s only ONE swear word that he doesn’t know the meaning to. I cringe when recalling that I then actually asked him what it was. “Ho” he says. Well, last year he had come home from school and told his dad he’d learned a new bad word but didn’t know what it meant and didn’t want to say it. After my hubby suggested he spell it… it was tough to keep a straight face when he whispered H-O-R.

I guess his Dad must have explained it in a "fatherly" kind of way, because when I told Cam that Ho was slang for “H-O-R”, and asked if he understood what that meant now…he winked and replied “oh yeah, when someone is havin’ a “little too much fun” for pay !

Eating Healthy-Learning the Lingo

On Friday I had my second meeting with the wonderful new nutritionist we have found to help our family with finding food solutions that will work for all of us: one vegetarian, one semi-vegetarian, 2 sugarholics, 2 protein-crazed body-builders, and one gluten-intolerant (yet pizza-loving) teen. Lisa (http://www.lisagroves.com) is that rare wellness expert who refrains from judgement and teaches with humor, samples, simple recipes, and viable suggestions. I am so excited to have the summer descending and the chance to experiment with new foods!

One thing that I've realized is that changing our shopping, cooking, and eating habits is a PROCESS. So far I have been successful with turning my family on to roasted root vegetables, and sweet potato fries. My double recipe of chili, though delicious, was deadly to olfactory senses Denver-wide. Now I know to rinse the beans after soaking, wait to add salt til the end (and cumin or fennel help too). Or try adding kombu or kelp seaweed... just be sure to take it out before serving or you'll scare off the entire family!

So, now I know, and will be cooking up a new batch of chili this week; but, having been brought up by depression-era parents, I can't bear the thought of just tossing the 3 huge rubbermaid containers of the first delicious, but dangerous, chili in my freezer. Perhaps I should drop-ship to Iraq as our own American-made WMD...or maybe one of you has a big gathering of in-laws coming up?

This weekend I tried out my new rice cooker for Lisa's yummy Quinoa & Pecan Salad with Dried Cranberries. How did I go through 21 years of cooking for kids without one? (Granted, we only had rice every other Thursday night as knew if the cleaning lady was not coming the next day, I would be screwed). Anyway, I share this delish summer recipe here. Quinoa is high in protein, expands when cooked and makes a great substitute for rice or couscous.

3 and a half cups water/ one and a half cups quinoa/1 bunch green onions-finely sliced/1/2 cup dried cranberries-diced/ one-third cup cilantro-finely chopped/three-quarters a cup celery-finely diced, three-quarters cup chopped pecans/1 T extra-virgin olive oil/2 T lemon juice/1 T rice wine vinegar/half T sesame oil/one-quarter t Celtic salt/one-eighth t ground pepper/pinch of cayenne.

Cook quinoa. Combine onions, cranberries, cilantro and celery in large salad bowl. Toast and add pecans. Add oil, juice, vinegar, sesame oil, s&p. Stir then add slightly cooled quinoa and set aside for an hour or more. Serve at room temp.

This hearty recipe makes 10 servings and has a zesty combination of textures and flavors. Plus it's loaded with fiber and nutrients. And get this, it's gluten-free, vegetarian, full of protein, and has sweet flavor from the cranberries. Something all 5 kids will eat! That is a miracle in itself. The perfect dish for a Memorial Day weekend picnic- and some leftovers for tomorrow... Hurray and many thanks to Lisa from the whole fam!

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Graduation! 3 down 2 to go...

My middle kiddo graduated on Friday. Must have been just last week that I took this photo of him when he was a super hero of some sort. He really is a super hero in my eyes despite the fact that he calls me Ma as if we were The Beverly Hillbillies. This is the same kid who refused my friendship on Facebook, and then took all the credit when I created MidChix.

He is one of those quietly caring people whose primary goal seems to be hiding those tender feelings from prying eyes-especially his family's. But I have had little glimpses of the real him. Fiercely loyal, painfully honest, fanatically informed. With a brain that computes quicker than his T3 calculator, he can intimidate with his command of numbers and concepts. But that same brain can empathize with the frustration of a three year old whose brain works in a unique and mysterious way. http://www.midchix.com/pg/pages/view/6012/

I am blessed to have him in my life...even if he would never let me say that to his face. So I'll whisper it here-don't tell though.

Speaking of family and friends.......

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I'm a Liar

They say that the first step to recovery is acknowledging that you have a problem. Maybe it's a result of my distant relationship to George Washington. True! He's my Great-great-great-great-great etc Uncle or some such thing. Actually, we're just related by marriage. His wife Martha Custis was related to my dad. Boy was I proud of that as a kid. ( Even though all my classmates would accuse me of lying). But I just thought of it as embellishing. And I still do. Oh come on, they're not big lies, just little ones that I tell when I'm worried that if I tell the truth someone will get mad. Like when I cancel a doctor's appointment and pretend I have a flat tire because the notion of fasting through my sacred coffee hour just didn't compute.

I never really thought much about the motivation for lying until my oldest daughter turned 13 and began to bend the truth in that way that 13 year-olds do. I was apopleptic the first time I caught her telling a whopper. Then I read Anthony Wolf's Get Out Of My Life, But First Could You Drive Cheryl And Me To The Mall? He sums up the lying phenomenon pretty succinctly; and of course, it makes total sense. Kids lie to stay out of trouble. Me too!

Even though I consider myself an extremely upright and solid citizen, in the past week I have told bald-faced lies to the Department of Motor Vehicles (really, can you blame me?), my new neighbor, the children's dentist, an overly-solicitous bank teller, and an inquisitive barista (see my blog post: Say it Again, Sam).

So when my ten year-old confirms that he brushed and flossed when I know darn well he left his toothbrush at his friend's house last Saturday night, I really can't take issue. I may be a liar, but I'll be damned if I'm a hypocrite!

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Nailed

Saturday night we were caught checking into our local Marriott. It had been a tough few months, with both of us in start-ups, children applying to college and middle school, a new dog, and several weeks of summer separation looming. Not to mention the fact that both of our moms arrive next week. So in the interest of "keeping the love alive" and under the pretext of "checking out the beds" (did you know Marriott sells beds?), we booked a night at a hotel not half a mile from our front door.

As P signed the credit card slip and I juggled the bag with the wine and a handful of Baby Bels, I heard a little giggle behind me. There were Betsy and John, dressed for the evening, and doing what most respectable couples do on a Saturday night, going to a party. They looked at us and laughed. We looked at them and blushed.

Oh well. We grinned and headed to the elevator and our 8th floor escape. When the doors opened on the second floor to disgorge some other riders, another couple who are good friends of ours happened to glance up from a Bar Mitzvah celebration inside the ballroom across the hall and spotted us before we could duck behind the elevator doors. My cell phone rang 8 seconds later. Caller ID: Jenny B. Busted again!

It may seem strange that the best we can manage is a hotel quickie a few blocks from home, but we've been using this strategy for over 15 years. With a husband who worked 80 hours a week (and golfed 10), 4 kids under the age of 6 including one with severe asthma, and a debilitating fear of flying, the only way to actually get away was to book a room in the next town. Although not nearly as exotic as Bali, Maui, or Capri, it's doable. All we had to throw in our bag was a change of clothes, bottle of wine (ok, two), corkscrew, apple, and deodorant. All told we were gone @ 16 hours...but it was just what the doctor ordered. Just bracing for the ribbing we'll get from our pals at the next soiree.

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The Public Restroom

While it must have been a woman who conceived it, some misogynist bloke must have been charged with designing it. From my early years when Mom warned me to hover over the seat less I catch some nasty disease to today's automatic toilets that treat me to a bidet experience when they prematurely flush, I have long cringed at the necessity of urination off location!

When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my fourth baby (in five and a half years), I had the opposite of a religious experience in a stall at a rest stop along the Garden State Parkway. I tried to master the hover while holding my two year old (who was fascinated by the puddle from the leaky commode) and instructing the four and five year olds to not lean on our wobbly door - which was equally threatening to pop open or take down the entire row of attached stalls. It was half an hour later as I raced up the Parkway that I realized that effort of multi-tasking had nudged me into early labor.

I don't hover or squat anymore. I wipe the seat, curse under my breath the gal that did the hovering right before me, and muse that if we all sat, there would be no reason to wipe!

Another public restroom peeve is the paper. While I do often wonder why Charmin and the rest even produce the small roll-I mean is anyone ever going to not need more-I'd like to get my hands on that guy who came up with those gigantic rolls that are stacked on top of one another in a "cleverly" designed industrial strength paper holder. Problem is that the half-ply paper is so thin that it can't handle the weight of its own roll. Reminds me of the folks that are in wheelchairs not because their legs aren't working, but because they're so obese their legs can't hold them.

Both really bug me. Bigger is not always better.

Special Friends Day

Friday would have been my Dad's 80th birthday. It was weird to think about as April neared an end, as that's usually the time when I start rooting around for a good book, movie, or cd to send him. Unlike a lot of people, Dad would actually read or watch or listen to whatever I gave him. I talked to my mom last week as she was tearfully trying to decide what to do on his birthday and it struck me how hard holidays are when, no matter how mundane, the rest of the world is celebrating them whether you are or not. With the hoopla that has grown (thanks to Hallmark) with every holiday, it seems that there are monthly reminders of loss. As I reflected with relief on her getting through the birthday, suddenly I realized Fathers' Day would be right around the corner.

My across the street neighbor died pretty suddenly about 3 months ago. Although I never really knew her all that well, I've had the good fortune of recently getting to know one of her daughters. At 19, she's just two years younger than my oldest. No matter how independent my daughter is, I can't begin to imagine her devastation if she were to lose me. Tonight T is going to her boyfriend's prom. Her next-door-neighbor took her shopping for her dress and is going to be there to take photos. So that's good. But next week is Mother's Day. Now I've never been a big fan of Mother's Day, as my husband's favorite line is "But you're not my mother..." as he puts his clubs in the car. And although I cherish the burnt toast and cheerios that my kids have delivered to my bed over the years...the cold coffee just doesn't do it for me. To be perfectly honest, my idea of the perfect Mother's Day is having the kids and hubby disappear for several hours so I can take a brief break from motherhood. I'm not positive, but I think there's a majority of moms who might relish the same mode of celebration...

It was a Friday in April fifteen years ago that one of my dearest friends, the recently separated mother of two beautiful little boys, laid the legal paperwork out on the kitchen counter, scissored her image out of every photograph, told me she was going to Boston to visit a girlfriend, closed the garage door, and turned on her Volvo. It was Palm Sunday when Joe pulled into the driveway with the kids strapped in their car seats and opened the garage to get their bikes. I will never forget that week. And of course, neither will they.

Mother's Day dawned barely a month later... preceded by a week of mom-centered crafts and crayoning of cards at our kids' preschool. How horrific for those boys and the legions of other kids who are without a mom.

When a father of three from our school in Denver was killed in a car crash, the school had the forethought to re-imagine and rename their annual "Mothers Day" and "Fathers Day" events to "Parents and Special Friends Day". Maybe we should take a page from their book. If DayLight Savings Time can be changed, why can't Mothers and Fathers Day?

I have several friends who if asked about their families will declare "my friends are my family". Whether you are separated from your family by death, divorce, or dysfunction, that doesn't mean you aren't unconditionally loved by someone or lots of someones. How 'bout we just have a Friends' Day? Then everyone can celebrate.

Speaking of friends.......

MidChix Friending Contest
Beginning June 1st, the chick who has the most friends register and fill out their profile (this is how they let us know they heard about MidChix from you) and the chick with the most total friends as of September 1st 2010

each

wins

a

$250 Visa gift card!

Go HERE

and join the fun at

MIDCHIX

I'm Linking

up

to

I'm Lovin It Fridays

Linky Loves Friday

Follow Me Friday

Friday Follow

Suddenly Single

Today I was chatting with a new friend about ideas for MidChix. We ran the gamut from PR people, to nonprofits, to smart folks who I should meet. But the topics that we kept coming back to all happened to involve stories about women who have had their lives unravel in the tick of a New York minute. The fact is that all of our lives, no matter how filled with family, friends, appointments, belongings, obligations, or routines, have the potential to crumble before our very eyes.

Whether your husband walks in the door the day after the in-vitro finally takes and tells you he's in love with someone else, or you pick up the phone and hear the news that your high school sweetheart and spouse of 50 years just collapsed at work, or the father of your children accuses you of negligence, and because he's a lawyer, wins custody...you are blindsided.

There are more and more women facing these kinds of circumstances. It occurs to me that the chances of any of us being in the same boat are increasing even as I type. What can or should we do to prepare for these potentialities?

A long time ago, an acquaintance advised me to make a personal savings account a priority. At the time, she was going through a divorce. Her oldest daughter was our beloved babysitter, her youngest was in my daughter's Brownie Troop, and the whole family belonged to our small town church. I had often thought her husband was a little high on his horse, but figured "oh well, to each his own". Yet while we were preparing the Troop's snack one afternoon, she gave me a tiny glimpse into her life, and told me how long she had been saving so that she could leave. On an elementary school teacher's salary, it had been a long time. At that stage of my life, I had smugly thought "oh, I'll never have to worry about that..."

It is with amazement that I reflect on the past fifteen years and the trials and tribulations they held for my husband and me. The fact that we have emerged from that time warp intact, does not at all imply unscathed. While we have such good fortune (along with the painfully acquired skill of tongue-biting) to still be together, so many friends of mine have fared with less fortune. It is their experiences,the anecdotes of so many like them, and the realization that I too, could find myself in those shoes, that motivates me to insist on some solutions.

Recently I met a particularly admirable woman- a realtor- who, having gone through her own divorce, had an intimate understanding of the challenges that so many of her clients were facing as they navigated their own divorces, or in many cases early widowhood. The Wildflower Group was created by Joan Rogliano to help women in transition. The Wildflower Women's Foundation is the only program that specifically matches women of all ages with a referral network which empowers and guides women to make life-affirming decisions about major financial, career, self-care, family and housing issues following divorce and widowhood.

Wow. This is a good idea. And it's free.

Now what we need are some other forward-thinking women with expertise to offer who self-congregate for the greater good of sisters everywhere. First stop...women lawyers for women. If you are one and are interested in working with others ... let me know and I will be sure to create a connection! Just think of the possibilities...

Away, Away... is There a Way to Embrace It?

My least favorite activities all seem to involve the verb "putting away". Does anybody relish putting away laundry, dishes, groceries, shoes, coats, silverware, linens, toys? Don't get me wrong. I like when they are away. I just hate taking the time to do it. I keep reading about embracing the present and enjoying every moment while in it. Yet, just like driving, telemarketers, junk email, filling ice trays, and the required emissions tests, putting things away seems like such an extraordinary squandering of time.

There must be a way to take pleasure in the process. I just started reading the book Drive by Daniel Pink and, surprise, apparently we are not motivated by money. So I guess paying myself to unpack the groceries is not the answer. If the three elements of true motivation are like Pink says, autonomy, mastery, and purpose... then I should celebrate the fact that I can do these things "all by myself", that after so many years of practice-I'm pretty damn good at them (anyone care to have a dishwasher emptying contest?), and remind myself that the reason I do them is that I like it when they are done.

I'll keep you posted as I work on appreciating the process. Suggestions welcome!

Off with Her Head!

Join me for a boycott of Starbucks. This week I happened to schedule four different meetings at a Starbucks half way between my office (kitchen counter) and my meeting partners offices (kitchen tables). Never again. Not only is the coffee overrated and overpriced, but the overly-complicated WI-FI is not free. In a country where there are over 11,000 Starbucks outlets with revenues in the billions, there is no excuse for customers having to pay for internet access AND having to figure out how to access it.

This was just one of several “big company” and “big government” policies that earned my ire this week.

On Monday, I deposited a sizable check in my business checking account at Wells Fargo. The check was from a Fidelity account. They put a 10-day hold on the funds. Ten days. When I asked why, it was because I had had four overdrafts during the life of my account. Maybe the overdrafts are a result of banks putting a 10-day hold on my funds (and then charging me exorbitant amounts in penalties which then causes more overdrafts).

Those fake-friendly Wells Fargo folks (with the grating, scripted spiel every time a customer walks up to the window “Good morning, how’s your day going so far? What do you have planned for the day? Is there anything else I can help you with? Have a great day!” GAG!) told me that it was for my own protection. Hmm. Thanks big brother.

On Wednesday, I had another run-in with a behemoth. Qwest shut down our internet service for the third time this year. Under the guise of consumer protection, Qwest uses a system that shuts down your internet service if it detects a possible virus on one of the computers in the house. The first time this happened, we had my son’s hand-me down computer cleaned up. Well, despite our warnings he must have opened one of those goofy forwards that 10 year-olds like to send to each other, and so once again, the whole rest of the house had our internet shut down. So we unplugged that laptop, gave him his sister’s old Mac…and went about our business. But that particular morning I plugged the old computer in to find a document that was on it….and the ubiquitous Qwest sniffed out our sorry little laptop and shut us all down again. UGH. And I run an internet business. I feel like this is how quarantining used to be handled when my mom was a kid. If your second cousin once removed had a suspicious rash, everyone was sequestered.

The Denver parking police are also on my list. Yesterday while at a doctor’s appointment for this crummy sinus infection (maybe that’s what has me on such a rant ?), I got a parking ticket. Huh? I had just fed the meter for an hour’s worth of time and was gone 20 minutes. So, I double-checked to see if I had fed the wrong meter. Nope. It was because I had turned into a slanted spot from the other direction and left my back left tire on the white line. No one was parked next to me on either side…and even if they had been, the spaces were sized like most Americans. But apparently, the parking Nazis decided that they had nothing better to do than give me a $25 ticket. And on tax day for goodness sakes.

My real-life big brother used to wield his power in much the same way. There was never much rhyme, reason, or rationale to these occasions; they would occur willy-nilly as the whim struck him. Like Wonderland's irrational Queen of Hearts, he'd suddenly decide it was time for a reminder..."and off with her head!"

Although I have always been an incessant rule follower (see last blog post http://midchix.blogspot.com/2010/04/goody-goody-do-gooder.html), the rules and the rule-makers are starting to piss me off. Isn’t life stressful enough as it is? Haven’t they proven that stress causes disease? Maybe if our new healthcare plan just outlawed overdraft fees, parking tickets, extraneous charges, (and how ‘bout homework too?) all of us would be healthy, wealthy, and wise.

Goody-Goody Do-Gooder

When I was little, other kids called me a goody-goody. And I was. Afraid of getting in trouble... I did my best to be good. Trouble was, teachers and parents may like good little girls, but other little girls don't!

I've come a long way since then and am no longer an incessant rule follower...but I still am a shameless do-gooder and constantly search for the balance between caring too much and letting that caring take over my life. But now, instead of worrying about whether people might not like me for being debbie do-good, I wonder what the hell is wrong with them if they aren't.

Seth Godin's recent blog post "Fear of Philanthropy" ponders one of the biggest obstacles for do-gooders and their causes: too many folks avert their eyes from people and problems that make them uncomfortable.

I first realized the depth of this problem as a board member of The Kempe Foundation for The Prevention and Treatment of Child Abuse and Neglect. Despite the fact that the statistics about child abuse are stunning, getting people to listen, act, or give is a huge challenge. No one wants to hear that nearly a million children are victims of child abuse every year.

Sexual abuse is a taboo topic too. Yesterday I met with two women from Prax(us). Prax(us) is the only organization in Colorado serving individuals, particularly homeless youth, in domestic human trafficking situations. Eighteen months ago, I had no idea of the breadth of both international and domestic human trafficking. But in October 2008, my friend Molly and her neighbor, Kendis, organized a Human Trafficking Awareness Conference in Colorado and I learned that victims of sex trafficking are everywhere, even right here in my fair city. What I learned yesterday is that like in the case of domestic violence, the stigma and shame of their predicament make it both insidious and almost impossible to escape.

It's the people who can't meet their minimal survival needs of food and shelter that are most vulnerable to domestic human trafficking... immigrants, (especially undocumented), single women with children, and homeless youth.

Did you know that every single night there are more than a thousand youths 14-18 sleeping on the streets of metro Denver? How about in your city? To complicate matters, these youth are targeted by law enforcement for ticketing for petty violations that are a result of their homelessness, and those very tickets have the potential to disqualify them from ever getting housing! How senseless can our society get?

The more I learn about the plight of so many people, in so many places, the more determined I am that we must not avert our eyes but rather open them wide and use our vision to do good.

My Heroine has a Scent Allergy and I Wore Perfume

Kathy Kinney and Cindy Ratzlaff shared their wisdom and wit with a whole bunch of admirers last night at the Tattered Cover in LoDo. You will never meet two more authentic and admirable women. Admirable in their authenticity. I loved how they shared not just their successes, but their obstacles as well, which happen to be the very same ones that we all have to face down on a regular basis: fear and self-doubt.

When we walked in they gave us big smiles and welcomes. These two famous women. Authors, actresses, executives, icons. They smiled at us and talked to us. I got that warm fuzzy feeling that we all want but rarely admit. And they gave us a pretty pink raffle ticket for a some fun give-aways at the end of the event. One must have included perfume. That's when Kathy mentioned her scent allergy, and I thought, "oh no!". Why did I double back to my vanity (that word should be a good clue) for a squirt of Jo Malone before dashing out the door?

Now I was afraid to go near her, lest I set off an allergic reaction and she discover the error of my ways! How could I schmooze with my heroine if she was having a sneezing attack? So I took a step back, sat in the second row, and just smiled real big, so she'd know how much I liked her.

I am not a girly girl; I barely spend 5 minutes on hair and make-up, well, maybe 7 if it's black-tie. So what possesses me to give into random impulses like cutting my own hair, going on a tweezing tirade, or buying a two-hour teeth whitening kit which flummoxes me when I discover you can't drink wine with whitening trays in your mouth.

My oldest pal Betsy and I used to plan these extravagant makeovers for ourselves every summer break. We would get tan, thin, blonde, and grow our nails. Then we'd show up the first day of school and even if we had succeeded (which we never did), no one would even mention it, because they would all have been doing the same thing themselves! So there we would all be waiting for everyone to exclaim, "Oh, you look so good"! Isn't vanity a mysterious thing?

Bittersweet Easter

When my ten year old asked "so what are the plans for Easter?", I guess I gave him a blank stare. "Um, well we don't really have anything big planned..." I said as I searched my brain for some clue as to when Easter was arriving. "Well, but what time should I come downstairs?" he tried again. Aha. He's thinking about the baskets of candy and gifts. Phew. That I could manage.

Poor kid. Being the youngest in a big family, he not only experienced several years of tradition-building while the older kids were still at home, but has watched countless reruns of family movies that captured the huge hoopla around holidays. We have hours of video featuring 3, 4 or 5 kids perched on the stairs decked out in Christmas or Easter jammies while their video-camera -wielding dad teased that Santa or the Bunny hadn't shown up that year.

With the older three kids away at school, and his fifteen year old sister more interested in sleep than sweets, Cam was kind of screwed. We had just returned from a 5 day trip to NY to see his college sibs and my mom. Just getting his other brother's birthday card in the mail a day after the event was a challenge...so Easter was the last thing on my mind.

When the older kids were Cam's age, we would celebrate the day for at least a week in advance what with decorating the house, dying hard-boiled eggs, stuffing plastic ones with jelly beans, hosting or attending several Easter Egg hunts, buying nice new clothes for church, and having family or friends over for an elaborate holiday supper.

This year, I stumbled to the storage room at 11pm Saturday night after doing the dishes from an impromptu dinner party. Carrying up one rubber maid container with a few sorry-looking paper mache bunnies and 12 year old baskets, I congratulated myself for the early morning dash to the store. I quickly stuffed the kids' baskets with the required M&Ms, jelly beans, and 2 for 1 sale items from Target's desecrated Easter aisle. Then prepared a basket for our newly-acquired mutt...

That was it. Easy, but not really Easter.