The Year in Quiz.

Try this one for size.

It Takes a Village

I resisted the urge to post a different point the first time my DS2 posted "It does not take a village."

I resisted the urge the second time he said it.

Before I disagree, I hasten to comfort all my readers, well, both of them, well, I hasten to comfort myself, that DS2 and I have reached a higher plain on disagreeing. We have discussed it. We both understand that we can gently disagree and the other will shrug, and say, well, that's my boy. ..Or in his case, well, that's my crazy mom.

In our case it does take a village. I am older as a pseudo-mom for our 13-year-old granddaughter, and I wish I had had this perspective when I was a younger mom to my own children.

I was so anxious to be the perfect mom, all self-sufficient, I would not let anyone help. Hardly let anyone enjoy holding the babies. Felt I would be imposing.

Nowadays I impose all over the danged place. I have agreements with two other moms of girls in LO's circle: if you hear anything dangerous about my child, call me. If I hear anything, I will call you. In the meanwhile, we have called each other on occasion when we thought something was going on, but were not sure. Example. One mom called me, concerned her child was not socializing adequately. She asked me to discreetly ask LO how the girl was getting along.

It does take a village.

An adult advisor in LO's Sunday School let on that LO is texting during Confirmation Class. Very un-cool.

Another adult had a talk with me about LO's behavior. I won't share what sort of behavior it was, as it's our private business. But the tipoff allowed me to have a meaningful chat with LO. Not a wrath of God chat, but a, how's-it-going-how-does-this-feel, chat that led to responses, behaviors, and greater understanding on both sides.

LO's band director has had great influence in both her musical development and her self-esteem. He has encouraged her, praised her, and taught her a ton that we aren't qualified to teach.

Her principal has given her a new way to look at things. He named a room for her. Talk about self-esteem.

Her music teacher talks with her about friendships and her thoughts in addition to showing her how to play the piano.

Our neighbors all watch out for each other's kids. I myself have ratted kids out before for riding without a helmet, and their parents appreciated it. The kids had helmets on the next time, I sure noticed.

Her Confirmation sponsor spent 2 hours on a hot afternoon with a broken leg watching LO play, and win, a tennis match.

The mom of another tennis player spent 5 afternoons a week, 3 hours an afternoon, coaching the top 6 players on the team. For free. The tennis team this year was huge. This freed up the tennis coach to teach the other 14 girls how to play. LO loves her and runs to kiss her when she sees her. She worked hard on her tennis this year, paid greater attention, chatted less, practiced more. At first I think she wanted to please the tennis mom. Through it she learned discipline, and actually saw great improvement in her game. It all turned into wanting to do better, for herself.

Her demanding, strict, AG English teacher scared her to death in the 6th grade. LO resented her in the 7th grade. This year, she has grown to love her and appreciate all she has learned from her. She has mentioned to me that this teacher is preparing her for high school with her high demands.

Other positive adults have lots of influence on LO, and we encourage it. We keep an eye on it, but we encourage it.

In our home, it does take a village.

NY Times Year in Photos

I haven't blogged for a few days... mostly because I haven't been doing anything interesting. DH had a terrible cold and then LO got it. She has been sort of slugging about the house, reading or listening to a book on tape.

She has a major English project due upon her return to school: a scrapbook compiled of items from a historical novel. She is working hard on it. Of course my dear printer quit working over the weekend so I spent 2 hours on the phone with Dell last night to get it going again. That's a story for another day.

Please take a look at the NY Times' 'Year in Photos' that came out today. Click on the first picture and you will get the slide show of all 160 photos. They are amazing; some of them actually took my breath. You'll see why.

Merry Christmas

We had a lovely Christmas with lots of trips but we are home, home, home, even if it is the day after.

Please notice my new photo to your left there on the screen. The bowl was our Christmas gift to MIL and FIL, a large piece made by a local potter. We bought it at a local gallery. MIL applied her magic touch to it and sent me a great pic of it. I cropped the photo a tad and there it is on my blog.

DH has had a cold for a week. That didn't keep us from going to see dear MIL and FIL. The day after we returned, we spent a day at Big Mall in Nearby City. We love to go shopping as a family for 1 day at Christmastime, walking through the stores, looking at the decorations, people-watching, and buying last minute stocking stuffers. This is my favorite mall around here, offering Macy's, Sephora (aka heaven), Abercrombies, all the biggies. Quite the contrast to local small-town mall where the anchor stores used to be Belk's and Goodies, but alas, we couldn't even keep a Goodies up so it is now vacant. As you walk through the little mall, vacant storefronts alternate with filled ones. But I digress. On our Big Mall trip, LO spent time alternately with DH and me, so she could spend her hard-earned dog-sitting bucks on secret gifts for each of us.

Some people have the gift of selecting The Perfect Gift, and LO is one of those people. For me she purchased a delightful book on writing the novel. DH reported she purposefully drug him through the book store, declaring her intention for my gift. When they found the books for writers, they laid them side-by-side on the floor, perused them all, and returned them one-by-one to the shelf as they were ruled out. The one she gave me is perfect and I know I will enjoy reading it. For DH she bought a cordless razor. Perhaps she has tired of his rubbing his nubbly face on hers and laughing when she squeals at the roughness.

Alas, we found we needed to run to Target the next day, and the half-hour travel expanded to almost an hour in the ribbon of headlights down I-85. We knew what we needed, though, and made our selections in short accord. Our shopping took less time than the actual commute to the nearby town.

That takes us to Christmas Day. One of our relatives is a sweet young man who was deployed to Iraq and returned home to find no one waiting at the plane for him. In his absence his wife had taken up with another serviceman. Gee, don't people do things tastelessly? We traveled yesterday to spend Christmas Day with him and his precious little girls, who were visiting for the holiday.

So DH returns to work tonight after driving us out of town each and every day of his short time off. He still has a cold but has not yet run a fever.

I did not mention that all the trips were carefully timed so as to fit in between church, work, baking, and all the thousand things that had to be done. You have them in your holiday, too.

I am off to work this morning but will spend the afternoon in my continued efforts to Learn To Draw. The NY Times has a neat article on how light in the City provides opportunities for artists. I plan to print off one or two of the accompanying photos and give it a try.

LO was given a 'credit card' for Christmas, pre-loaded with $50. On Christmas Eve, she finished book 3 of the Twilight series, (thank you, Gramma and Grandpa) and just couldn't live without #4. With the book stores closed for the holiday, she resourcefully went to iTunes and bought the audio version with her little credit card. She spent the 5 hours in the car yesterday blissfully enjoying her "book." I hope she finishes it up today as she has two major projects due when she returns to school.

I am pleased to say we got mostly good, old fashioned gifts this year. I got drawing pencils and pens, books, and jewelry. DH commissioned an artist friend to do a picture of "The Writer." The framed drawing was one of my gifts. We have 2 of her works already; this one is the same style. It is delightful and certainly a gift to cherish.

DH got a new chinrest for his violin. His old one clipped to the side of the violin's end. He wanted a new one designed to clip to the exact end of the violin, directing his gaze straight up the neck. There are all sorts of chinrests out there -- it's a very complicated process to select one -- and his violin teacher advised me to pick a wood that matches the keys of his violin. So I picked a lovely rosewood one. The wood is smooth and satiny, and seemed to please him.

LO predictably got clothing and makeup. We had a ring made for her with her birthstone and white gold, which should never go out of style. Her first piece of grown up jewelry.

So that's the report. I hope you all had a meaningful and happy Christmas. I look forward to the New Year.

Observations on Crime

As some of you may know, I have recently been helping in the local paper's newsroom, completing the most mundane of tasks: writing the local crime blotter. It goes like this: the captain faxes or emails in a summary of crimes. We print it off and I try to make heads or tails of it, keeping it succinct but interesting.
Example.
Jones, John (WM31) 10.28.1977, 413 Easy Street: DWLR, DWI, PI, DLC. $500.
....becomes:
John Henry Jones, 31, 413 Easy St. was arrested on charges of driving while license revoked, driving while impaired, parole infractions, and driving left of center; $500 bond, Dec. 17.
I get the middle name from the police website while grabbing John Henry's mug shot. I translate the infractions from memory; there does not exist a table of definitions, not in our newsroom, anyway, and I get the date from the header on the police sheet.

BTW, it's amazing how many people who are arrested live on Easy Street.

I have written about 4 zillion of these in only 7 weeks. I sit in the newsroom among the remaining journalists and listen to them or tune them out. I listen to the police scanner in the background or tune it out. I type like the wind and think about these poor sad people and what their lives must be like.

The 17 year old who was arrested for shoplifting a pregnancy test from Wal-Mart. Her troubles have only just begun.

The 17 year old who was arrested for driving after consuming alcohol with only a provisional license. I hope his parents grounded him for a year.

The hapless drug salesman who was found to have 17 bags of marijuana, a pipe and scales on his person when he was questioned for shoplifting. I hope he gets a brain transplant.

The 100 various people who have stolen a beer, or two, or three, or a case, or two, or three from a certain gas station in town: wow. Steal beer? Doesn't that sort of suck the fun out of drinking it? Or does it add to it?

The folks who broke into a small, make that very small, grocery on the edge of a college campus and stole beer, canned items, chips, cigarettes, and gum. Hope the party was fun.

The men who beat up on women. Grr.

As you can see, I think of each one. In some cases I pray for the criminals and in some cases, I pray for their victims. I am in a privileged position to see it all.

We do not print crimes involving minors, arrests for failure to appear in court (they are too numerous to run), bad checks less than $25, traffic infractions unless they involve other infractions, and many others. I do have a list of these.

They say in the newsroom the list has more than doubled this fall. I get paid to write it all. Lucky me. Really: lucky me.

Christmas with Girlfriends

Tonight was the annual Christmas party with girlfriends. My two friends, M and M, and I have gotten together with the spouses and children for the past several years. However many years it's been since Hurricane Katrina, that's how many years we have been getting together, as M came to town as a Kat refugee. She swooped into town and took it by storm, enchanting everyone she met. A neighbor asked me to give her a call as she thought we would hit it off, so I did. We made a coffee date and I lugged along M as I thought the three of us would make a good trio. We did -- met for coffee every week for a year, then transitioned to weekly evening wine when one or the other of us had a job. 

We meet at M's house, the M with two Asian girls, and we all bring in food and wine. We bring gifties for the other gfs and for the children. We have wine, the kids have Jones soda, and we chat and eat while the kids flip and play and make tunes on the piano. Then we eat, and then at the end, we all open gifts. The husbands eat and observe. One of the M's does not have a husband and fortunately M's husband and mine get along well. They are both the sorts who could get along with anyone. M's husband. R.  is a copyright attorney, and works mostly with musicians; his own father was a professional musician in NYC as R was growing up. R himself is a bit of a musician, so of course he and DH have much in common. 

Tonight due to scheduling we had h'ors deuvres instead of dinner, and M had to leave early. Our fam stayed on and we all talked and laughed. It got late and M made pasta and garlic and we ate like starving people. DH and R made music, DH alternating between violin, guitar and harmonica, and R alternating betw piano and guitar. Oh, it was grand. M actually said her home has never been so alive. The men played blues and rock & roll and R&B. I never knew they could sound so great together. 

M is a writer as well, and I gave her "The Courage to Write" by Ralph Keyes. She gave me a gift basket from Dean & Deluca including a great apron to wear on photography days. 

At 9 we said our goodbyes and stepped into the quiet outdoors.  Her gay Chinese lanterns in the front yard lighted our way out her picket fence and we headed home. 

The Visit

We just returned from a great visit with dear MIL and FIL in lovely Tennessee. The drive was great, the weather, well, was ok, could have been worse. The folks were wonderful, so happy to see us, as we were happy to see them. Little Dog was spoiled only a wee bit less than Little One was and we all were so, so, content to be with each other.

No one knows how to decorate for Christmas like MIL. It's truly worthy of a spread in Southern Living. She has such a touch! to add this bit here, and that bit there. Even the ram statue on the sofa table in the family room has a French horn about his neck with just a bit of holly.

Alas, our visit was short due to DH's very inconvenient but very much appreciated job. We buzzed in, ate the parents out of house and home, exchanged gifts, hugs and tears, and buzzed out again.

We made use of a rental car as our own aging cars need to save their miles for about town. I requested a car with an iPod jack and downloaded lots of stories to my iPod for us to listen to. It's 6 hours each way, so we had plenty of time to converse, tire of each other, and then get lost in the stories drifting to us in the dark.

LO had watched one of the Harry Potter movies on the way up. I must say I by far prefer the audio stories. There is something so magical, and so old-fashioned, about listening to the spoken word. I appreciate the writing more. I appreciate the sounds more. And I understand nuances more.

The stories were wonderful. They are all podcasts, free, that I downloaded from iTunes. Here are a few of our favorites.

1. The Moth. This is a highly-rated podcast that features non-professionals sharing 5 minute-long stories from their lives. I only got one of these, a story called, "Elna Baker: The Funny One." As I said, it's only 5 minutes long. We laughed out loud on this one. I will definitely subscribe to the Moth.

2. Hearing Voices. This podcast spins non-fiction stories that always include the recorded voices of the people featured; hence the name. We listened to two of these. One is called, "Paintbrush." It is a mini-biography and features the voice of his second wife reading from her book, "Living with Picasso." The second is called, "Soapbox," and includes recordings of presidents' inaugural addresses, from Coolidge to W. This was great. Not to be missed is the song entitled, "WMD Waltz."

3. Youth Radio. These are shorties -- 3 to 5 minutes each. We listened to several of these. Always interesting.

4. PRI: Selected Shorts. For the uninitiated, it's Public Radio International. By far and away, these were our favorites. We listened to them late in the trip, as we returned to Little Town, NC. The sun was setting over the mountains and then it was dark. We sat wordlessly as the stories wound from the speakers. We smiled, we frowned, we laughed, as each of us sat with our thoughts and the magical stories in the air. Each is about an hour long. Here are the ones we heard tonight.

Tales? Short, long, folk, fairy and fierce. Included the following stories: "A Pair of Silk Stockings," by Kate Chopin, "The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveros County," by Mark Twain, the classic fairy tale called, "Pudducky," two funny letters from Truman Capote, and a dark tale called, "Soul Murder," by David Mamet.

Afterglow: More Christmas Memories. This selection included three stories: "One Christmas," written by Truman Capote, George Shephard's "Occurrence on the Six-Seventeen," and "Homecoming," by William Maxwell. The Capote story made us laugh out loud. Poignant, angry, wistful, and heartbreakingly real. LO enjoyed them all and we dare not tell her they are literature.

The trip was highly anticipated and I sometimes fear that it can never meet our expectations. It always does, though, and as always it was hard to leave. DH has promised he will not wait so long to visit again.

Tomatoes in December

DH picked the last of the tomatoes from the garden in October and put them in the basement to ripen. He brought them upstairs today so we can have mater sammies for lunch. I made the homemade bread just yesterday.

The Big Day

I am a bit tardy in posting The Big Day. It occurred last week, after two years of high anticipation. Here are the Before and After.

The Ikea Orgasm

The first time DH and I visited Ikea, we were in northern VA visiting DS2 and his little family. For me, t was love at first sight. For LO, it was love at first sight. Amazingly, for DH, it was love at first sight.

The first time we saw an Ikea orgasm, a lady was standing in the middle of kitchenwares. "I LOVE IKEA!" She yelled it over and over. Her gf stood by and laughed.

Needless to say, we were quite excited 18 months ago when a blue-and-yellow billboard appeared beside the interstate 32 miles away from our home: IKEA Coming Soon.

We waited anxiously for the opening date. Occasionally I googled, "Charlotte Ikea open date."

At first the open date was announced for Spring, 2009. Then it became, March, 2009. It must have been about September when we saw a news item that the open date had been moved up to Feb. 18, 2009.

I began studying Ikeaware online. I was especially interested in a new desk: I have been using DH's gramma's kitchen table, a charming little wooden table with porcelain top. DH has fond memories of making sugar cookies with his paternal grandmother, now deceased, at this little table.

While charming, it is not practical for a desk. For one thing, it has one teensy drawer. Just big enough for pens and scissors.

The tabletop is about 24x40". With my laptop and a light on it, there is absolutely NO ROOM to spread out papers. I had to research on the guest bed, or at the dining room table 2 rooms away, then return to the laptop to write. Or take the laptop to the dining room. Hence, why do I have a little desk at all?

When using the DR table, I had to complete all the work in one sitting or have papers strewn on the table for several days. Not pretty.

As Feb. 18 got closer and closer, I studied more and more. While Ikea does offer traditional desks, I was interested in the separate desktops that you can match to the base of your dreams. Sort of a mix-and-match setup.

The desktop I selected is called a shadowbox desktop. It's actually two desktops in one: a wooden desktop with a piece of glass suspended 2 inches above it. This would allow me to keep my paperclips, pens, stamps, etc. at hand while keeping my worktop (the glass) free and clear so I can spread my work out when I need to. When I don't have work spread out, voila! the desk is clean. No clutter.

The base I had selected was a metal bank of drawers. One on each side, supporting the desktop, would create the optimal desk.

The day drew nearer and nearer...

Breakfast

I hate to admit it publicly, but I usually eat my breakfast while I look at the computer. Bowl of cereal in one hand, mouse in the other. I hunch over the keyboard and bowl, alternately clicking and spooning. Usually. Make that, if I eat breakfast, that's how I eat it. If I'm in a rush, I grab a piece of fruit on the way to the car.

Today LO was on the computer with the gf who slept over last night. They are working together on their science fair project this year, and needed to do some research together.

It was my breakfast time.

Having the computer occupado made me stop and think. I had the option to use the laptop, as I am now, but, hey, I thought, eating while computing might not be the best habit. I started to get the newspaper so I could do the crossword and Sudoku. Then I stopped. Had a radical idea. Hmm. I think I will just. eat. breakfast. Consider it an experiment.

So I did. I learned a lot about myself.

First of all, I noticed I was wolfing my cereal down, hunched over my bowl, like a doggone animal. Hm. So I straightened up and took my time.

The cat came in and drank her water. I actually watched her, and listened to that lovely little sound. I looked around. I saw a lot of dirt from this vantage point that I never notice when I breeze in to throw together a meal. The birds sang. My plant needs watering.

It really was interesting. I think I'll do it again -- soon.

Another Viewpoint

A 13-year-old's take on Christmas.

"Ok, so I get the whole thing about dressing up and trying to make little kids happy. But, really, who wants a bunch of strange kids sitting on their lap? Is that not a little creepy?? Like, Michael Jackson??

And what about that song? 'He sees you when you're sleeping; he knows when you're awake'? Is Santa my own personal stalker?

The whole thing creeps me out -- just like the Chik-Fil-A cow. Creepy." (Shudder)

Regrets

I cannot see this word without having that very annoying song echo somewhere in the back of my brain. "Regrets, I've had a few...." It's a barroom song popular in the 60's and not a good one at all. Andy Williams? Lorne Greene? Cannot recall. DH suggests Frank Sinatra; I believe he is correct.

I read a captivating editorial today that held this line:

"No one can reach my age with their eyes even partly open and not have hundreds of regrets."

How true is that.

Withdrawal

A gf mentioned to me recently that she is having withdrawal from the political season; she finds herself still toggling between CNN and MSNBC. I have to admit I am guilty on both counts, as well.
I did not realize how depressed I was at the state of our nation until I saw a ray of Hope. Only then did I realize how deep my valley was. I have come to realize that that's often the case. When I have been in bad times, I sometimes didn't realize just how bad they were, til I began to pull out of them.
Our Man will be on Meet the Press this Sunday. We've already programmed the TiVo as we will be at church.

You're Not Down a Mine

Every now and then, writing affords me to see life with a new perspective. That's why I love it so: it's not the gerunds or the self-expression or even the flexible schedule. It's the life experiences I get to have.
I swear to this day the best day I ever had was the day I emptied garbage.
Today I had another eye-opening experience.
On the surface, it seemed simple enough. The editor of our small-town paper emailed me a day or two ago and asked if I might cover a speaker at the local Parkinson's Support Group. Sure, I said.
At this point it might be helpful if I explain my relationship with the paper has changed a bit in recent days. Four years ago, I started by writing, for free, features on the zillion book groups in this tiny town, for the Sunday book page. I had pitched the idea to the book page editor and she went for it, but had no budget money for freelancers. I just wanted my foot in the door. ...and I wanted to write. So I did it.
After a few months, the Lifestyles editor asked if I'd be interested in doing some things for her -- for pay. She had no idea I had been comping the articles for books. She had assumed I was paid for them. I jumped at the chance, and have been writing features for her for the past 3 years or so. She's great to work with and I get to meet the nicest people.
Recently our paper, like all others, is having a bit of a downturn. It seems the bigger advertisers are the car dealers. They aren't making money. Gone are the full-page spreads, because there's no money for loans at the banks.
So our local paper is not replacing people when they leave. They offered early retirement to their staff and several took it. Those who remain are now like jugglers -- but having been deft at juggling 3 or 4 balls, now they have 6 or 8 in the air at any given time.
It's prime time for contractors. So I am helping out onsite 2 or 3 days a week and now am picking up the occasional news article, in addition to the features and food pages I have been doing.
My favorite articles to write are profiles of people. Like the bank president who delivered milk as a kid. The sanitation worker who never took a day off, in twenty-five years. The mayor, daughter of a mayor, who became mayor overnight, literally, by accident, and has served this town, served it well, for ten years. The pastor who, at 70, is still running foot races. Trains with a high school coach and sets records through the state.
I always, always learn something from these people. It's sort of intimate to sit with them and get their stories. People love to talk about themselves, and I love to be in on it. It's a privilege. Who else gets this opportunity?
So today I went to the thing for Parkinson's. I was a tad irritated. The meeting was from 1 to 2. The people hosting the speaker invited me to lunch (btw at a restaurant that offers NO veggie food. Yes, they still do that, around here, anyway. ). I had to shoot photos of the speaker afterward, so what might have been a 1-hour assignment somehow turned into a 3 1/2 hour assignment, 11:30 to 3pm. After that I had to listen to the tapes and write the story.
So I went.
The folks hosting the speaker are struggling with living with Parkinson's. The husband, a retired dentist, has been diagnosed for a year or so now. His tremor was only noticable when he folded his hands on the table and all the water glasses jingled. He's quite self-effacing, takes no credit for the absolute class he has shown through this ordeal. He has volunteered his time and dental talents at the local free medical clinic for the poor, only stopped this month when he became concerned for his precision in someone's mouth. He was a pilot -- just quit that, too. He handled it all with grace and humor. He wonders if his exposure to Agent Orange in VietNam years ago set this disease in his system.
The speaker is a social worker from Duke University who helps patients and caregivers figure the whole thing out. How to afford medications. How to convince a husband a walker is not a sign of weakness. What to do for the wife with osteoperosis who has to lift her larger husband out of the chair. How to understand Medicare, Social Security. How Parkinson's affects the 45-year-old differently than the 65-year-old. She's seen it all.
After lunch, we walked over to the church where the meeting was held. The social worker involved all the group members in discussion about living with Parkinson's. I got a first-hand glimpse of the challenges, the discouragement, and the love between husband and wife. It's hard to watch him button his shirt; it takes him 20 minutes, one wife said. It's hard to see her do things I should be doing for her, one husband said.
I felt almost voyeur-like as I peeked into their lives and frustrations. I don't mind that it took over 3 hours. It was time well spent. I learned so much in that time.

Oh, and the title? Last night the guest on James Lipton's Inside the Actor's Studio was Daniel Radcliffe, who played Harry Potter in all the movies. When he complains, his father tells him, "Oh, buck up. You're not down a mine." I couldn't help notice the irony in the timing: last night's show and today's meeting. Things happen like that for me.

It will be a long time before I complain again. I'm not down a mine.