Yesterday I sent out a photo reel highlighting the summer's activities to my family. It was filled with joyous moments: Picnics, barbecues, fireworks, swimming,family weddings, parades and lots and lots of ice-cream. Except for the black bear that made an unwarranted trek across our backyard, it looked like a summer well-spent.
My youngest son, the only unmarried one who just started law school a couple weeks ago sent back a five- word reply: That made me so sad.
I completely got what he meant because I teared up too, looking at those memories. But being three decades older than him, I see the changes up ahead, most of them welcome and some of them uncertain. At twenty-two, he has his entire future ahead of him, yet he shares the same melancholy as me. I guess that's why we've always said he has an old soul.
Two weeks ago marked the last first day of school I will experience as a mother. Just before my husband loaded up the car for the drive into Manhattan for his law school drop-off, we replicated the exact position of him standing beneath
the (now larger) tree in front of the house, backpack over his shoulders, where he had stood as a kindergartener eighteen years ago. I swallowed the tears and smiled broadly.
As the youngest, he had the most quality time and undivided attention and that did not escape his siblings' observations.
Oldest daughter: Ma, you're not really making him lunch? He's in eighth grade. I made myself lunch in fourth grade.
Me: Because you wanted to...boys are different. And besides, you know he will just starve.
I enabled his need because I needed it too. We spent a lot of quality time together during his 'gap year' between college and law school, and I know as thrilled as he is to embrace the challenge of his future, I also know he won't turn down the leftovers I send back to school with him after the next visit.
I've spent some time wondering why there is so much lead-up to summer. We have Memorial Day as the introduction, sanctioning the cleaning of our grills left grimy from the barbecues of the previous year. Then we have July Fourth reminding us that indeed, for those who haven't yet had their first hot dog, now would be the ideal time while watching fireworks emblazon the sky.
Then we have a scant eight weeks until the closing bell of Labor Day. It's the last chance to catch the rays of sun as it rises later in the morning and sets earlier in the evening. Beaches close, even though temperatures in New York still hover in the 80 and 90 degree range as children ride airless yellow buses.
Everyone is back from vacation and the serious business of fall and winter loom just out of sight. The Jewish calendar marks this time as the beginning of the year and I think they got it right. We are indeed shedding our frolicking at the pool and the balmy evenings as we hunker down to the serious business of getting back to real life.
Nine months until the start of next summer....And counting...
Tuesday, September 6, 2016
Friday, May 6, 2016
Happy Mothers Day
Sunday is Mothers Day; let the guilt begin.
There is no way we can really thank our mothers for their unyielding love in the face of everything we've subjected them to, but that's no excuse to not even try.
The ABC's of motherhood can be broken down into phases:
The First Phase is keeping their children alive. Watching a baby try to climb a set of stairs and then subsequently hurtle itself off them into the air while subconsciously knowing mommy will be there to catch them is evidence of that. Toddlers are a challenge, too. They eat things that aren't actually food and then they don't eat food that actually is. I see the creative ways they try to off themselves daily and am grateful for my daughters' ever-present hand and patience and skill at keeping my grandchildren alive.
The Second Phase is that mothers lavish their children with attention, showing us the nurturing effects of unconditional love, true kindness and how to pick our battles. That last lesson is something that gets us through life in all its varied forms.
The Third Phase is realizing that our mothers are always there for us, no matter what time we call or want to pop in, ready with a good piece of advice or a great piece cake. I take extra comfort when my children repeat back advice I've doled out when I thought they weren't listening, but actually were.
And last,even though the list is endless, they taught us the fine art of negotiation.
A good negotiator has everyone leaving the table feeling like a winner. I've pulled out these tactics with my own children, grandchildren and the occasional, difficult client who questions and prods and seeks the upper hand at every step. I smile as I think to myself, You have no idea what you're up against--I can handle you because I was raised by the best.
To my Mom and all those other women who are fortunate enough to have become mothers and to the women who are loved and influence others, I salute you.
Hugs and kisses to all of you.
Enjoy your special day.
There is no way we can really thank our mothers for their unyielding love in the face of everything we've subjected them to, but that's no excuse to not even try.
The ABC's of motherhood can be broken down into phases:
The First Phase is keeping their children alive. Watching a baby try to climb a set of stairs and then subsequently hurtle itself off them into the air while subconsciously knowing mommy will be there to catch them is evidence of that. Toddlers are a challenge, too. They eat things that aren't actually food and then they don't eat food that actually is. I see the creative ways they try to off themselves daily and am grateful for my daughters' ever-present hand and patience and skill at keeping my grandchildren alive.
The Second Phase is that mothers lavish their children with attention, showing us the nurturing effects of unconditional love, true kindness and how to pick our battles. That last lesson is something that gets us through life in all its varied forms.
The Third Phase is realizing that our mothers are always there for us, no matter what time we call or want to pop in, ready with a good piece of advice or a great piece cake. I take extra comfort when my children repeat back advice I've doled out when I thought they weren't listening, but actually were.
And last,even though the list is endless, they taught us the fine art of negotiation.
A good negotiator has everyone leaving the table feeling like a winner. I've pulled out these tactics with my own children, grandchildren and the occasional, difficult client who questions and prods and seeks the upper hand at every step. I smile as I think to myself, You have no idea what you're up against--I can handle you because I was raised by the best.
To my Mom and all those other women who are fortunate enough to have become mothers and to the women who are loved and influence others, I salute you.
Hugs and kisses to all of you.
Enjoy your special day.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Are You Good At Making Decisions?
...Which is an entirely different thing than making good decisions.
I'm not trying to parse words (well, maybe a little) but it seems as if some people have a difficult time doing just that...making decisions, good or bad, hasty or considered.
And one person in particular, Madeline Albright, the first woman Secretary of State thinks women voters have no need to make any decision at all. She thinks a knee-jerk reaction would be the way to vote for the only female running for President--duh, no decision necessary. Of course Ms. Albright, having literally paved Hillary's way would have her back. But since we are enough decades distanced from the feminist movement, why is she reducing us to the sum total of our female organs? Isn't the very premise of feminism that we be treated equal? Let the more qualified candidate whose issues ally best with our own get our vote. Leave the admonishments for misbehaving children and Presidential candidates acting like misbehaving children.
That's not to say it isn't a proud moment to have a woman running for President much in the same way as many black voters supported Barack Obama back in 2008 and 2012. However, it would insulting to assume that every single black voter cast their ballot for Obama just as it would be for women to blindly back the current female candidate.
I find myself truly annoyed when someone dithers over making a decision. Unless it's life and death, things have a way of righting themselves, I've always found. Get some backbone and confidence, I say. Just look at Donald Trump, one of the most decisive people I've ever witnessed in front of a microphone. Good, bad, or foolish, he lobs off authoritative missives with elan while Jeb Bush is still trying to decide if he should use his last name in his campaign ads. Really....
Years ago a good friend had been wrestling with a life-altering decision. She decided to take a leap into an unknown venture, which has since paid off amazingly well. At the time she had said to me 'There's something liberating about making a decision.'
Having always been a decisive person, I hadn't really ever wrestled with making a decision, which again, is not to be confused with making good decisions. So here we are back to where we started, and collectively wary as a nation of making a bad decision after years of disappointment at the last one we made.
And I find myself, a formerly decisive person, with her hands to her head in disbelief at the political landscape I am facing. Come November 2016, I'm sure I will have made up my mind when I cast my ballot. But until that time, I will continue to be entertained and dismayed and alarmed and undecided.
It isn't a good feeling, but then again, nothing about the process so far has felt good at all.
I'm not trying to parse words (well, maybe a little) but it seems as if some people have a difficult time doing just that...making decisions, good or bad, hasty or considered.
And one person in particular, Madeline Albright, the first woman Secretary of State thinks women voters have no need to make any decision at all. She thinks a knee-jerk reaction would be the way to vote for the only female running for President--duh, no decision necessary. Of course Ms. Albright, having literally paved Hillary's way would have her back. But since we are enough decades distanced from the feminist movement, why is she reducing us to the sum total of our female organs? Isn't the very premise of feminism that we be treated equal? Let the more qualified candidate whose issues ally best with our own get our vote. Leave the admonishments for misbehaving children and Presidential candidates acting like misbehaving children.
That's not to say it isn't a proud moment to have a woman running for President much in the same way as many black voters supported Barack Obama back in 2008 and 2012. However, it would insulting to assume that every single black voter cast their ballot for Obama just as it would be for women to blindly back the current female candidate.
I find myself truly annoyed when someone dithers over making a decision. Unless it's life and death, things have a way of righting themselves, I've always found. Get some backbone and confidence, I say. Just look at Donald Trump, one of the most decisive people I've ever witnessed in front of a microphone. Good, bad, or foolish, he lobs off authoritative missives with elan while Jeb Bush is still trying to decide if he should use his last name in his campaign ads. Really....
Years ago a good friend had been wrestling with a life-altering decision. She decided to take a leap into an unknown venture, which has since paid off amazingly well. At the time she had said to me 'There's something liberating about making a decision.'
Having always been a decisive person, I hadn't really ever wrestled with making a decision, which again, is not to be confused with making good decisions. So here we are back to where we started, and collectively wary as a nation of making a bad decision after years of disappointment at the last one we made.
And I find myself, a formerly decisive person, with her hands to her head in disbelief at the political landscape I am facing. Come November 2016, I'm sure I will have made up my mind when I cast my ballot. But until that time, I will continue to be entertained and dismayed and alarmed and undecided.
It isn't a good feeling, but then again, nothing about the process so far has felt good at all.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
What's Your Value?
Today I had an interesting dovetailing of events.
I was making a design presentation for the lobby of a commercial space. The owners are a married couple and they loved everything I showed them until it came to the price.
I had gone slightly over budget, but the gist of it seemed that they had wanted a lot more 'stuff' for the money.
I countered with the fact that they were getting quality goods that would hold up to the traffic the space would surely encounter. They countered by offering to take the custom window treatment I designed and hang it themselves.
At least that was what they said to me. There were parts of the conversation conducted in their native language over the top of my head with 'dollars' being the only word left untranslated.
I felt like Elaine in the Seinfeld episode where she gets a manicure and is convinced the workers are speaking about her and laughing at her while they chatter in Korean.
On Sunday I picked up Mika Brzezinski's book, Grow Your Value from the library. There's a female in my life who I thought could benefit from her advice on how a woman could evaluate her work contribution and learn how to ask for commensurate compensation. Little did I realize that I would be needing the lessons in the book just as much.
If Mika's last name sounds familiar, then you are 'of a certain age.' Her father Zbigniew Brzezinski was National Security Advisor to Jimmy Carter. Her mother, Emilie, is a sculptor, and she is the cohost of MSNBC's Morning Joe, a political news show. In short, she is well-pedigreed and newsflash...she doesn't have all the answers.
Back to my couple. I stayed firm on my price, offering them the option of doing the project in two phases and left. I didn't tell them speaking about someone in another language while they're standing in front of you is rude, but I did tell them good work deserves fair recompense.
I'm still waiting for their decision to go ahead with the project, but either way I feel my design would add value to their space--and whether they recognize that too is up to them.
Monday, December 21, 2015
...And the New Miss Universe Is...
Okay, let's just get it out there, we've all made mistakes. But this kind, the live T.V. moment on par with John Travolta's mangling of Idina Menzel's name at the Oscars, wouldn't have had much traction if not for our schadenfreude delight at other's failures.And the free-publicity for the Miss Universe contest has been priceless.
As far as I can parse things, the two women who got dragged into Steve Harvey's mega-sized gaffe when he erroneously announced Miss Colombia as the winner of the Miss Universe contest instead of Miss Philippines, have both come out well served. As an aside, does anyone else think that Miss Colombia is a dead ringer for Sofia Vergara?
Anyway, the benefit of this mistake is that we all now realize that silly things like beauty contests still exist. I guess you can say that the Miss Universe contest has now been re-energized and maybe Donald Trump, who had recently sold it for 'lots and lots of money' is now the only loser here because even with his name attached to the brand he couldn't manage to bring in this kind of attention.
And just to put the proper perspective on things, even though all three principal characters here were humiliated, demoted, and elevated in breathtaking speed, at least we can look forward to the quick 'get' by the morning shows who have probably already booked both 'Miss' contestants, thereby extending their fifteen minutes.
So yes, Miss Colombia, you might have been 'robbed' but let me say you are exquisite, as is Miss Philippines. I only wish all the 'news' shows who reported the mix-up had at least shared your names to have truly made the misery worthwhile.
And on another note, you guys have just squeezed onto the Years' End List of whoever makes decisions about the inane year-end lists, so Happy Holidays!!
As far as I can parse things, the two women who got dragged into Steve Harvey's mega-sized gaffe when he erroneously announced Miss Colombia as the winner of the Miss Universe contest instead of Miss Philippines, have both come out well served. As an aside, does anyone else think that Miss Colombia is a dead ringer for Sofia Vergara?
Anyway, the benefit of this mistake is that we all now realize that silly things like beauty contests still exist. I guess you can say that the Miss Universe contest has now been re-energized and maybe Donald Trump, who had recently sold it for 'lots and lots of money' is now the only loser here because even with his name attached to the brand he couldn't manage to bring in this kind of attention.
And just to put the proper perspective on things, even though all three principal characters here were humiliated, demoted, and elevated in breathtaking speed, at least we can look forward to the quick 'get' by the morning shows who have probably already booked both 'Miss' contestants, thereby extending their fifteen minutes.
So yes, Miss Colombia, you might have been 'robbed' but let me say you are exquisite, as is Miss Philippines. I only wish all the 'news' shows who reported the mix-up had at least shared your names to have truly made the misery worthwhile.
And on another note, you guys have just squeezed onto the Years' End List of whoever makes decisions about the inane year-end lists, so Happy Holidays!!
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Does a Female Protagonist Need to be Likable?
Recently I sent my book, The Art of Stealing out to an agent. Although she said she found it well-written and an enjoyable read, she was going to pass on it because the main character,Valentina, wasn't always likable. To which I thought...who is?
Literature has shown that flawed characters are much more intriguing and last longer in our memories. So what exactly was her issue? When Blanche DuBois enters the stage, the scenery practically catches fire from the electric currents she casually beams out toward anyone within her radius. She's a train wreck and we hold our breath in anticipation as she self-immolates.
The lead character, Karen Bixen, in Out of Africa, is based on author Isak Dinesen's years running a coffee plantation in Africa. She is complex, intriguing and so unlike the other white women of her upper class status that she is looked upon with great distaste by her peers. She views them the same way with little care about winning them over. Those of you who are unfamiliar with the book's character or the steely portrayal of her by Meryl Streep, do yourselves a favor and check it out.
If anyone is a fan of Shonda Rhimes, then they know she mostly writes outrageous female characters that pull off all kinds of crazy, raising the stakes with each successive week: Meredith Grey--self-described as dark and twisty
Olivia Pope--claiming to wear a white hat who isn't above taking part in a murder plot or deceiving the entire continent of North America to save her wussy lover from political doom, Annalise Keating--possibly the most bizarre, practically bi-polar type character to ever bloom from the fertile mind of Ms. Rhimes who defies the law with aplomb even though she is a principal of the court. And speaking of bi-polar? Carrie Mathison, anyone? Enough said.
These women are strong and unerringly put their own needs first.
Sounds like a flaw whose time has come.
So I'm going to take another hard look at my female protagonist, Esmeralda, in the book I am currently writing and I think I'm going to get her crazy on. 'Cause I'll take moxie over mousy any day.
Flaws can be beautiful too.
Literature has shown that flawed characters are much more intriguing and last longer in our memories. So what exactly was her issue? When Blanche DuBois enters the stage, the scenery practically catches fire from the electric currents she casually beams out toward anyone within her radius. She's a train wreck and we hold our breath in anticipation as she self-immolates.
The lead character, Karen Bixen, in Out of Africa, is based on author Isak Dinesen's years running a coffee plantation in Africa. She is complex, intriguing and so unlike the other white women of her upper class status that she is looked upon with great distaste by her peers. She views them the same way with little care about winning them over. Those of you who are unfamiliar with the book's character or the steely portrayal of her by Meryl Streep, do yourselves a favor and check it out.
If anyone is a fan of Shonda Rhimes, then they know she mostly writes outrageous female characters that pull off all kinds of crazy, raising the stakes with each successive week: Meredith Grey--self-described as dark and twisty
Olivia Pope--claiming to wear a white hat who isn't above taking part in a murder plot or deceiving the entire continent of North America to save her wussy lover from political doom, Annalise Keating--possibly the most bizarre, practically bi-polar type character to ever bloom from the fertile mind of Ms. Rhimes who defies the law with aplomb even though she is a principal of the court. And speaking of bi-polar? Carrie Mathison, anyone? Enough said.
These women are strong and unerringly put their own needs first.
Sounds like a flaw whose time has come.
So I'm going to take another hard look at my female protagonist, Esmeralda, in the book I am currently writing and I think I'm going to get her crazy on. 'Cause I'll take moxie over mousy any day.
Flaws can be beautiful too.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Where is the Mystery?
In this era of transparency, what would happen if we didn't pull back the curtain and see that the Wizard was just a man?
In this past week's Sunday Times magazine http://nyti.ms/1Pmxdy4 writer Jenna Wortham highlights visual artist Madelyn Beckles and other self-promoters of her ilk as they pull back the curtain on their internet searches revealing the dark data of who they really are when no one is looking. Is this a new concept? Teenage boys have been doing things when they thought no one was looking for centuries. And there are lots and lots of people who still do.
It's called Privacy.
The same way we don't say every thought that comes to mind, most of us relish the fact that we have our own silent Walter Mitty-like fantasies that get us through the slog of the day.
I find this 'share all conceit' off-putting to the say the least and probably bordering on dangerous narcissistic behavior. But the curtain of anonymity allows for all to be revealed without really revealing it all. Everyone is aware that 'reality TV' is no more real than a scripted show, and UnReal, Lifetime's brilliant, insider skewering of reality TV blazingly illuminated that.
But to all of these revealers I have one thought: Who cares? Apparently lots of people do, so I guess I'm in the minority on that because these screen shots of their haphazard and seemingly random searches will be displayed in a Toronto gallery and have been bound into an art book entitled "Babe."
The fascination here, other than the obvious one being that these internet searchers love themselves a bit too much is the dichotomy of what we project to the world and the down and dirty version of who we really are. We may think of ourselves as designer clothing and pearls, but our internet searches reveals bustiers and silk handcuffs is who we really are.
Again, sorry if I'm repeating myself but Who Cares? In the twitter-sphere of celebrity catfights and social admonishments by Lena Dunham and other peolpe with large numbers of followers weighing in on everything political or social, the whiny self-absorbed generation of relentless self-promotion is gauche and exhausting.
For those who think every one of their thoughts is worth sharing because they subsisted on reality TV growing up, I say stop...I beg of you, just stop. Of course it's childlike to wish for the naive days of believing in the tooth fairy but how about allowing for that natural process of discovery...that air of mystery?
Isn't the most thrilling part of meeting someone new discovering the layers and facets of all of them? How interesting would it be if we all just handed each other screenshots of our internet searches and said Here's All of Me...um, yuck.
Why don't we think that some things can be special or scared? Aren't we allowed to hold something dear? The best part about a crush is the secret of it...the delicious knowledge that the unreality of it will be way better than the actualization of it.
The best movie stars of yore...Lauren Bacall, Rita Hayworth...promised boundless possibilities with the raise of an eyebrow, a sway of a hip...call me old fashioned, but allow me a shred of my imagination to take me through the grimy subway rides and reality of life....sometimes the best way to get through a tough day is imagining you're someone else doing something completely different. The Wizard did more good before the curtain was pulled back, staying in the background as he allowed us to discover ourselves.
So please, indulge in your fantasies out of the glare of the public eye, and do us all a favor, and don't tell anyone about it.
Please!
Monday, May 4, 2015
Toya Graham--Mother of the Year?! Perhaps Not....
Much has been made of Toya Graham, single mother of six, who first came to attention as 'Mother in Yellow' (before reporters were able to uncover her identity) who stormed out of her house upon seeing her sixteen-year-old partake in the violence and mayhem on the streets in Baltimore last week.
She slapped him 'upside the head' in terminology I am now familiar with due to the incessant coverage of the incident, and in turn has found herself an unwitting participant in the humanization of the riots there that sells newspapers and advertising on national morning shows.
How we love our ten-second sound bites and headlines that tell only half the story.
They make us feel as if we are current, can participate in trending twitter feeds with a certain alacrity, and allow us to tuck our guilty conscience into bed at night before blindly following the newer hashtag and fresher soundbite.
I have a big problem with Ms. Graham--is that her maiden name, by the way, or the name of her first or second husband? Was she ever married...widowed...divorced...? I don't have the answers to those questions, and they aren't beside the point, because she's being lauded as the 'single mother of six' who dashed out of her house, unflinchingly in the face of camera phones and disciplined her son for all of us to revere.
The New York Post's headlines screamed: Toya Graham--MOTHER OF THE YEAR.
I would write a different one, how about: Toya Graham--MOTHER AND FATHER OF THE YEAR, because there's been no mention of Michael's father, or any of his siblings father's and even if they share the same father. I'm sorry if I'm being direct here, but anecdotally, black mothers in poor urban areas raise their children, not alone, according to Ylonda Gault Caviness, in Sundays Op-Ed at The New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/03/opinion/sunday/what-black-moms-know.html?ref=opinion
but with a cadre of other black women from the neighborhood with the occasional grandfather pitching in. There is no mention of fathers in her piece.
I applaud Ms. Graham, but only with one hand. I'm happy her slaps to her son's head were the 'slaps heard 'round the world.' I'm not condoning the slaps or the four-letter words she used to get him in line--doubtless he's heard it all from her before and yet he was still out on the streets rioting.
And truly I fear her actions will have any real effect except for the moment, because until she is off the interview circuit and has to go back to work to feed and clothe the six children she apparently had through sperm-donor fathers, because the mark of a true father is one who sticks around to take responsibility and raises his family.
I am clapping only one hand, because Ms. Graham perpetuated her family's cycle of poverty by allowing herself to mother her children alone, either by poor choices, or lack of understanding that A+B=Child. That excuse can really only fly for a fourteen or fifteen year-old, and truly, that pass is afforded only once, if at all.
I have a dozen more points I'd like to make, but there's little reason to because our collective attention has moved on. I would like to know about Ms. Graham's other children and what they're up to. I would like to have a follow-up report in a year to see if Michael has graduated high school and is making plans for a solid future. But I won't get to hear any of that because the media reaches for low-hanging fruit and we enjoy munching on it.
Sunday is Mother's Day. I'm applauding and giving a standing ovation for the mothers who chose their husbands and the fathers of the children well and are toiling day-to-day under challenging circumstances, whether financially, or due to illness, or widowhood to raise their children to grow up to be contributing members of society who can then in turn make considered choices about their futures. We are desperate for mothers like those.
Our society depends upon the health of family unit, let's not take the easy route and applaud a woman who after the fact, has finally done the right thing.
She slapped him 'upside the head' in terminology I am now familiar with due to the incessant coverage of the incident, and in turn has found herself an unwitting participant in the humanization of the riots there that sells newspapers and advertising on national morning shows.
How we love our ten-second sound bites and headlines that tell only half the story.
They make us feel as if we are current, can participate in trending twitter feeds with a certain alacrity, and allow us to tuck our guilty conscience into bed at night before blindly following the newer hashtag and fresher soundbite.
I have a big problem with Ms. Graham--is that her maiden name, by the way, or the name of her first or second husband? Was she ever married...widowed...divorced...? I don't have the answers to those questions, and they aren't beside the point, because she's being lauded as the 'single mother of six' who dashed out of her house, unflinchingly in the face of camera phones and disciplined her son for all of us to revere.
The New York Post's headlines screamed: Toya Graham--MOTHER OF THE YEAR.
I would write a different one, how about: Toya Graham--MOTHER AND FATHER OF THE YEAR, because there's been no mention of Michael's father, or any of his siblings father's and even if they share the same father. I'm sorry if I'm being direct here, but anecdotally, black mothers in poor urban areas raise their children, not alone, according to Ylonda Gault Caviness, in Sundays Op-Ed at The New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/03/opinion/sunday/what-black-moms-know.html?ref=opinion
but with a cadre of other black women from the neighborhood with the occasional grandfather pitching in. There is no mention of fathers in her piece.
I applaud Ms. Graham, but only with one hand. I'm happy her slaps to her son's head were the 'slaps heard 'round the world.' I'm not condoning the slaps or the four-letter words she used to get him in line--doubtless he's heard it all from her before and yet he was still out on the streets rioting.
And truly I fear her actions will have any real effect except for the moment, because until she is off the interview circuit and has to go back to work to feed and clothe the six children she apparently had through sperm-donor fathers, because the mark of a true father is one who sticks around to take responsibility and raises his family.
I am clapping only one hand, because Ms. Graham perpetuated her family's cycle of poverty by allowing herself to mother her children alone, either by poor choices, or lack of understanding that A+B=Child. That excuse can really only fly for a fourteen or fifteen year-old, and truly, that pass is afforded only once, if at all.
I have a dozen more points I'd like to make, but there's little reason to because our collective attention has moved on. I would like to know about Ms. Graham's other children and what they're up to. I would like to have a follow-up report in a year to see if Michael has graduated high school and is making plans for a solid future. But I won't get to hear any of that because the media reaches for low-hanging fruit and we enjoy munching on it.
Sunday is Mother's Day. I'm applauding and giving a standing ovation for the mothers who chose their husbands and the fathers of the children well and are toiling day-to-day under challenging circumstances, whether financially, or due to illness, or widowhood to raise their children to grow up to be contributing members of society who can then in turn make considered choices about their futures. We are desperate for mothers like those.
Our society depends upon the health of family unit, let's not take the easy route and applaud a woman who after the fact, has finally done the right thing.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Angelina Jolie's Tough Road Ahead
Here's my question: Why did Angelina Jolie write an Op-ed piece for The New York Times chronicling in great detail her very personal and heart-wrenching account of her recent surgery and the decisions leading up to it?
In the event you're just re-entering the earth's atmosphere, Ms. Jolie had preventative surgery last week to remove her fallopian tubes and ovaries in order to remove the key organs where cancer could set up shop. She had surgery in 2013 to remove her breasts to forestall cancer there as well. She will no longer be able to bear children and is thrust into immediate and full menopause (something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy--well, maybe). Luckily, she has six children, three adopted, and hopes to see them grow up. Sounds like a perfect motivation for surgery.
Maybe I've watched too many episodes of Scandal, where the message is always: Get ahead of the story, Spin it your way. If that was the case here, if Ms. Jolie did write the piece (if she did indeed write it) a mere week after her surgery so she could own the moment before the media unearthed it, then I feel even sadder for our society than I already do. If she did it because she has an important message, and as newly-minted public ambassador for women's health and atrocities around the world (really, don't act like you don't remember when she and then husband Billy Bob Thornton wore matching vials of blood around their necks), then I'm wondering why she had to write it Right Now, when she is just recovering and has a difficult re-adjustment ahead.
I am not here to judge her, I simply want to throw out the question.
She appears to be a person of ethics and high moral ground. I believe she believes she now has an important message to share and is using her very public platform to do so. To be honest, I find her decision brave, as I'm sure many women do, but I'm not sure the motivation behind it is entirely so.
However, if her story raises awareness and saves lives for those women whose reproductive organs and mammary glands that have given rise to life and the sustaining of that life within their bodies and outside of them, have turned into weapons then I'm all for getting the message out.
But if she wasn't a celebrity closely identified with being a gorgeous sex symbol (in a twist of irony one could never get away with in fiction) would we care as much?
And what would that say about us as a society as a whole?
In the event you're just re-entering the earth's atmosphere, Ms. Jolie had preventative surgery last week to remove her fallopian tubes and ovaries in order to remove the key organs where cancer could set up shop. She had surgery in 2013 to remove her breasts to forestall cancer there as well. She will no longer be able to bear children and is thrust into immediate and full menopause (something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy--well, maybe). Luckily, she has six children, three adopted, and hopes to see them grow up. Sounds like a perfect motivation for surgery.
Maybe I've watched too many episodes of Scandal, where the message is always: Get ahead of the story, Spin it your way. If that was the case here, if Ms. Jolie did write the piece (if she did indeed write it) a mere week after her surgery so she could own the moment before the media unearthed it, then I feel even sadder for our society than I already do. If she did it because she has an important message, and as newly-minted public ambassador for women's health and atrocities around the world (really, don't act like you don't remember when she and then husband Billy Bob Thornton wore matching vials of blood around their necks), then I'm wondering why she had to write it Right Now, when she is just recovering and has a difficult re-adjustment ahead.
I am not here to judge her, I simply want to throw out the question.
She appears to be a person of ethics and high moral ground. I believe she believes she now has an important message to share and is using her very public platform to do so. To be honest, I find her decision brave, as I'm sure many women do, but I'm not sure the motivation behind it is entirely so.
However, if her story raises awareness and saves lives for those women whose reproductive organs and mammary glands that have given rise to life and the sustaining of that life within their bodies and outside of them, have turned into weapons then I'm all for getting the message out.
But if she wasn't a celebrity closely identified with being a gorgeous sex symbol (in a twist of irony one could never get away with in fiction) would we care as much?
And what would that say about us as a society as a whole?
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Wherein Lies Success?
As I've stated in previous posts, I'm a part-time matchmaker, happily sticking my nose in other people's business in their pursuit of love. I had a strange conversation with a girl's mother yesterday that I haven't been able to get out of my mind. Generally I set up busy, young Modern Orthodox professionals who are marriage-minded. Sometimes I arrange singles events and allow for the free flow of conversation with some gentle directional nudging when I think a couple might suit one another. On a rare occasion, I will interact with a mother who is seeking a match for her child because in the highly religious circles she finds herself in, suggestions are pursued exclusively through a facilitator aka matchmaker.
The mother, who had gotten my number from someone I vaguely knew spent fifteen minutes extolling the virtues of her daughter's abilities--she could play any instrument (with no formal study), had been the star of the school play, could sew and design gorgeous clothing (with minimal training), was beautiful, incredibly accomplished and tremendously popular. The only problem with this list of qualities this stupendous girl seemed to possess was that she had never finished high school, choosing instead to study abroad in a vocational school (of sorts) and she was barely eighteen. And this mother had allowed all of this.
After I gasped and caught myself from shouting: Are you out of your mind? I was able to interrupt this mother's breathless praise and ask: But Why does she want to get married? What I didn't ask was: Why would you let her?
Her response: She's the kind of child who has wanted to get married since she was five years old, surely you've met girls like that?
Well, I've met five-year-olds who want to be princesses and ballerinas and lots of little girls who play dress-up, my granddaughters, among them, and then they mature and realize Life isn't all make-believe. After asking several pointed questions that she responded to with more renewed affirmations and a healthy dose of blinders, I hung up as quickly as I could without seeming too rude. I knew I'd only heard half of the story and had zero interest in hearing the rest.
As parents we skate the thin line between indulging our child's wishes and acting as reality checker. This mother sounded batty to me and there were many layers of wrong with what she was allowing her child to pursue. I wanted to screech, Why Don't You Be A Parent? rather than indulge your child's every whim, from quitting school to making a life decision while still a teenager.
At what point during our child's journey to mature, functioning adult do we switch from the confidence-building cheering squad and steer them to where we believe they can achieve realistic success?
How many times have I seen a young actor win a coveted award in their field and thank their parents for encouraging them to fulfill their dream and never give up. I wonder if I could be that kind of parent when the odds are so stacked against success. I am all about pursuing dreams and passions, but at some point, it simply doesn't make sense. Sure, there are doctors and firemen and astronauts who glommed onto that dream as five-year-olds and saw it through to fruition, but how many weren't capable of seeing that dream through? And as parents, how do we gently nudge their aspirations into a viable effort that yields real results rather than standing by and watching our child throw away years of life pursuing something too elusive?
One of the phrases that really drives me crazy is: "You can be anything you want to be." Um, not true, it simply isn't true. Malcolm Gladwell's ten-thousand hour rule exists after there is a certain establishment of raw talent that needs the man hours to polish and hone it. I would hate to see a tone deaf person practice trumpet for that many hours and never achieve his goal.
As parents, I feel our job is to manage expectations, cheer the victories, feel the defeats in our gut, and give our children coping skills for when life throws them a curve, which is bound to happen at least once or twice.
Yes, we get to sit in the front row of graduations, walk by their side down the aisle at their weddings, and get a VIP tour of their first major purchase: car/business/home. But in this culture where children on opposing teams are both told they're winners, the problem with going overboard trying to protect them from the big bad world is that they can't face losing and don't understand the word No.
My father used to joke that when he grew up he walked to school uphill--both ways.
Grit and true determination are vital keys to success. And so is failure. Defeat builds character and makes success all that more precious. We need to teach our kids that failures can and will happen, and as long as they get up each time, brush themselves off and try again, they will ultimately succeed.
The mother, who had gotten my number from someone I vaguely knew spent fifteen minutes extolling the virtues of her daughter's abilities--she could play any instrument (with no formal study), had been the star of the school play, could sew and design gorgeous clothing (with minimal training), was beautiful, incredibly accomplished and tremendously popular. The only problem with this list of qualities this stupendous girl seemed to possess was that she had never finished high school, choosing instead to study abroad in a vocational school (of sorts) and she was barely eighteen. And this mother had allowed all of this.
After I gasped and caught myself from shouting: Are you out of your mind? I was able to interrupt this mother's breathless praise and ask: But Why does she want to get married? What I didn't ask was: Why would you let her?
Her response: She's the kind of child who has wanted to get married since she was five years old, surely you've met girls like that?
Well, I've met five-year-olds who want to be princesses and ballerinas and lots of little girls who play dress-up, my granddaughters, among them, and then they mature and realize Life isn't all make-believe. After asking several pointed questions that she responded to with more renewed affirmations and a healthy dose of blinders, I hung up as quickly as I could without seeming too rude. I knew I'd only heard half of the story and had zero interest in hearing the rest.
As parents we skate the thin line between indulging our child's wishes and acting as reality checker. This mother sounded batty to me and there were many layers of wrong with what she was allowing her child to pursue. I wanted to screech, Why Don't You Be A Parent? rather than indulge your child's every whim, from quitting school to making a life decision while still a teenager.
At what point during our child's journey to mature, functioning adult do we switch from the confidence-building cheering squad and steer them to where we believe they can achieve realistic success?
How many times have I seen a young actor win a coveted award in their field and thank their parents for encouraging them to fulfill their dream and never give up. I wonder if I could be that kind of parent when the odds are so stacked against success. I am all about pursuing dreams and passions, but at some point, it simply doesn't make sense. Sure, there are doctors and firemen and astronauts who glommed onto that dream as five-year-olds and saw it through to fruition, but how many weren't capable of seeing that dream through? And as parents, how do we gently nudge their aspirations into a viable effort that yields real results rather than standing by and watching our child throw away years of life pursuing something too elusive?
One of the phrases that really drives me crazy is: "You can be anything you want to be." Um, not true, it simply isn't true. Malcolm Gladwell's ten-thousand hour rule exists after there is a certain establishment of raw talent that needs the man hours to polish and hone it. I would hate to see a tone deaf person practice trumpet for that many hours and never achieve his goal.
As parents, I feel our job is to manage expectations, cheer the victories, feel the defeats in our gut, and give our children coping skills for when life throws them a curve, which is bound to happen at least once or twice.
Yes, we get to sit in the front row of graduations, walk by their side down the aisle at their weddings, and get a VIP tour of their first major purchase: car/business/home. But in this culture where children on opposing teams are both told they're winners, the problem with going overboard trying to protect them from the big bad world is that they can't face losing and don't understand the word No.
My father used to joke that when he grew up he walked to school uphill--both ways.
Grit and true determination are vital keys to success. And so is failure. Defeat builds character and makes success all that more precious. We need to teach our kids that failures can and will happen, and as long as they get up each time, brush themselves off and try again, they will ultimately succeed.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Fifty Shades of Nonsense
Ahead of the impending blizzard about to pound those of us foolish enough to live on the east coast, I went to the bookstore to pick up a couple of beach-ready books for my Florida trip next week. I glanced at the Romance section and was fairly surprised at the absence of any notion of romance there. Yes, there were plenty of books on bondage, men objectifying women and treating them poorly, but no romance. At least not the kind of romantic and chivalrous gestures and language I would imagine any sane woman would welcome.
It's been many years since feminism took hold and it is actually considered social suicide to label one's self a feminist. The concept of Fifty Shades of Grey, an erotic depiction of exquisite sexual torture masquerading as 'what women really want' makes me gag. And in a marketing campaign that I would like to believe was thought up by a team of men, the movie version is being released on Valentine's Day. And there are now shelves and shelves of books, hastily written and barely edited (because good writing is besides the point) that exalt this new genre of Adult-Romance.
I haven't read any of these novels, and I don't intend to. Perhaps I would feel differently if I had, although I doubt it, but I'll skip the wasted afternoon. Now don't get me wrong. I lapped up Kathleen E. Woodiwiss' bodice-ripping books as a high-schooler, and although the Duke/Captain/Earl was sometimes a laconic,widowed bastard, he always got reformed at the hands of the Governess/Orphan/Widow into something worthy of her love.
My point is: What the hell is wrong with us women?
I know, I'm sounding harsh and preachy when what I'm really feeling is disappointment. And fear, for a whole generation of women that are equating sexual satisfaction with mistreatment. Wouldn't you encourage your own daughter to run like the devil from a man who treated her with dagger-tipped gloves rather than kid gloves? Wouldn't you tell your daughter that anyone who wants to control her isn't a safe bet and to make sure to keep the exit door clearly in sight?
Call me old-fashioned, call me a prude, I don't care. Female empowerment isn't something for males to grant. It comes from a sense of self, of true confidence and being told we are worth being treated well. My new daughter-in-law bought me a plaque that reads: "A man who treats his woman like a princess is a proof that he has been born and raised in the arms of a queen." She appreciates my son and he appreciates her, as he witnessed his parents treat one another. When did that become something so easily dismissed?
Our little girls idolize Disney princesses who are brave and confident, our tweens idolize Taylor Swift, a talented and bright young woman, and as grown women we welcome men who abuse us under the guise of pleasure?
Let's change the narrative and by all means, enjoy sex, but with someone who doesn't mistreat or seek to own you.
Please, embrace your power as women and as enforcers of your own destiny.
And for goodness sakes, put down the silly books and think of your daughters.
It's been many years since feminism took hold and it is actually considered social suicide to label one's self a feminist. The concept of Fifty Shades of Grey, an erotic depiction of exquisite sexual torture masquerading as 'what women really want' makes me gag. And in a marketing campaign that I would like to believe was thought up by a team of men, the movie version is being released on Valentine's Day. And there are now shelves and shelves of books, hastily written and barely edited (because good writing is besides the point) that exalt this new genre of Adult-Romance.
I haven't read any of these novels, and I don't intend to. Perhaps I would feel differently if I had, although I doubt it, but I'll skip the wasted afternoon. Now don't get me wrong. I lapped up Kathleen E. Woodiwiss' bodice-ripping books as a high-schooler, and although the Duke/Captain/Earl was sometimes a laconic,widowed bastard, he always got reformed at the hands of the Governess/Orphan/Widow into something worthy of her love.
My point is: What the hell is wrong with us women?
I know, I'm sounding harsh and preachy when what I'm really feeling is disappointment. And fear, for a whole generation of women that are equating sexual satisfaction with mistreatment. Wouldn't you encourage your own daughter to run like the devil from a man who treated her with dagger-tipped gloves rather than kid gloves? Wouldn't you tell your daughter that anyone who wants to control her isn't a safe bet and to make sure to keep the exit door clearly in sight?
Call me old-fashioned, call me a prude, I don't care. Female empowerment isn't something for males to grant. It comes from a sense of self, of true confidence and being told we are worth being treated well. My new daughter-in-law bought me a plaque that reads: "A man who treats his woman like a princess is a proof that he has been born and raised in the arms of a queen." She appreciates my son and he appreciates her, as he witnessed his parents treat one another. When did that become something so easily dismissed?
Our little girls idolize Disney princesses who are brave and confident, our tweens idolize Taylor Swift, a talented and bright young woman, and as grown women we welcome men who abuse us under the guise of pleasure?
Let's change the narrative and by all means, enjoy sex, but with someone who doesn't mistreat or seek to own you.
Please, embrace your power as women and as enforcers of your own destiny.
And for goodness sakes, put down the silly books and think of your daughters.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Prince William and Tiffany?
There was much ado about our royal visitors from over the pond. Oh, look how down to earth they are!! They attended a basketball game (from halftime only) went to the 9-11 Memorial Museum (laid a wreath) went to a school reunion (at The Met) etc, etc, etc. They even flew commercial!!
I'm not buying into it and I'll tell you why. Who gets court-side seats after they've missed the first half of a game? Who voluntarily goes to a school reunion and forks over $10,000 for the privilege? And speaking of ten grand, that's how much their suite cost per night at The Carlyle. Being whisked through Midtown traffic (not even a whiff of protesters in sight) is reserved for IMPORTANT people who have to be somewhere because there are other people already at these places that have been Waiting for them to arrive.
Don't tell me that the clothes the Duchess wore were off the rack--even if they weren't designer duds, it isn't as if she went into a store and shopped (or got knocked over trying to get the last Frozen playhouse) No, no, I'm certain they were brought to her at a deep discount aka free, so her appearance in them would trigger a website search for the item.
Yes, she is demure, our Kate, and some say its because she doesn't want to make the mistake of eclipsing her husband, as did the mother-in-law she never had the opportunity to meet. She's graceful, no doubt, she's a lady even though she's a commoner, but really Lebron, even if she is 'just like you and me' next time take a shower first before touching!!
I enjoyed the tidbits the news wrangled out of the thirty second appearances we were privy to, but I'm left with a lingering question as I noticed the New York Times referred to her as Catherine on a couple of occasions. Would she have been allowed to marry William if her name was Lola or Lacey, popular British girls names?
Can we all say it's just coincidence that Kate's full name, Catherine graced the throne six times since The Plantagenets ruled in the early 1200's? Henry VIII even married three women named Catherine!
So, say what you want, they're warm, approachable, engaging, but I have a feeling if William had brought home a Tiffany from college for Christmas break she would've been sent packing, because the truth is, he is second in line for the throne and nothing less than a properly named woman who exhibits the kind of class that Kate does, would be allowed to sit by his side.
I'm not buying into it and I'll tell you why. Who gets court-side seats after they've missed the first half of a game? Who voluntarily goes to a school reunion and forks over $10,000 for the privilege? And speaking of ten grand, that's how much their suite cost per night at The Carlyle. Being whisked through Midtown traffic (not even a whiff of protesters in sight) is reserved for IMPORTANT people who have to be somewhere because there are other people already at these places that have been Waiting for them to arrive.
Don't tell me that the clothes the Duchess wore were off the rack--even if they weren't designer duds, it isn't as if she went into a store and shopped (or got knocked over trying to get the last Frozen playhouse) No, no, I'm certain they were brought to her at a deep discount aka free, so her appearance in them would trigger a website search for the item.
Yes, she is demure, our Kate, and some say its because she doesn't want to make the mistake of eclipsing her husband, as did the mother-in-law she never had the opportunity to meet. She's graceful, no doubt, she's a lady even though she's a commoner, but really Lebron, even if she is 'just like you and me' next time take a shower first before touching!!
I enjoyed the tidbits the news wrangled out of the thirty second appearances we were privy to, but I'm left with a lingering question as I noticed the New York Times referred to her as Catherine on a couple of occasions. Would she have been allowed to marry William if her name was Lola or Lacey, popular British girls names?
Can we all say it's just coincidence that Kate's full name, Catherine graced the throne six times since The Plantagenets ruled in the early 1200's? Henry VIII even married three women named Catherine!
So, say what you want, they're warm, approachable, engaging, but I have a feeling if William had brought home a Tiffany from college for Christmas break she would've been sent packing, because the truth is, he is second in line for the throne and nothing less than a properly named woman who exhibits the kind of class that Kate does, would be allowed to sit by his side.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
When Did I Become Adorable?
Apparently I've become adorable.
I'm not quite sure when the transition occurred, but I'd been told this quite a few times this past weekend when my youngest came home from college.
I remember when I realized my grandmother was adorable. She was of the older generation when speaking loudly and colorfully, having politically incorrect opinions about everything ranging from the neighbors to the mayor to the inept postal service (pre-email days) was normative and quite entertaining, I might add. With her bouffant of done-up white hair and slash of red lipstick, we would hang on her juicy tidbits borne of conversations at the local watering hole, aka the beauty parlor.
Have I become that, I wonder? An amusing fount of harmless regurgitated gossip with little value and contribution except as the outrageous anecdote-telling Grandma that rips everyone a new one? I had more respect for my elders, and I think my child does as well, so what exactly has earned me my newly, somewhat questionable descriptor?
I think the answer lays in the fact that I still regard my offspring as a child and he is about to turn twenty-one in a couple of weeks. I do my level best not to treat him as my youngest, although his siblings roll their eyes when he dumps his laundry bag in the middle of the kitchen with the implicit understanding that everything in it will miraculously appear cleaned and folded by the time he has to leave again. I send back carefully wrapped packages of homemade food to tide him over until his next visit and laugh at the right points when he relates some of his missteps away at school and cluck sympathetically when he feels he's been undermined by a teacher or classmate.
I'm not doing anything differently than I've done over the past few years since he's begun shaving and driving. The difference is how he views me. Yes, he sees me as supportive, always having his back, but calling him out on his nonsense as I see it, but now I'm the link between him and his siblings, nieces and nephews, and grandparents, when he doesn't have the time to connect with each of them. I'm the one he relies on to tell him who is doing what when he is knee deep in law school applications and is starving for some entertaining morsel that reminds him of his goals and why he is pushing forward at breakneck speed when others might be slacking off. I am less the disciplinarian and rule maker now, because truly, he's heard it all for the past almost twenty-one years. If our family values haven't seeped in and been seared into his brain: Treat others with respect, Make a good impression, Be kind, Look for the positive...well, then there would be little point now.
I've become adorable because he now views us as equals in our adult status and this is his gentle way of letting me know that. He's told me he really likes my company and enjoys hearing what I have to say. He respects me as his mother, I know that, and my new job is to remember that he is truly an adult, as he's been for some time. Even the DMV regards him as one, switching out his Under 21 status, and of course, he's allowed to drink, duh.
When I ask him why he wants me to weigh in on decisions about his future, or on hot news topics or on a girl he's dating, he'll say, "Because you're my mommy," sounding almost child-like in his belief in my ability to miraculously fix scraped knees with a kiss.
Yes, I am. So I'll keep doing what I'm doing because of all the hats I wear: author, designer, matchmaker, wife, the one I put on over thirty-two years ago still fits very well.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Free Time?
Well, it depends on who you ask.
The two week period between when camp ends and school starts strikes fear into many a parent's heart. These weeks are a hodge-podge of frantic school preparations, last licks of swimming, and a melancholy good-bye to a season where ice-cream and a solid blast of AC cures most woes. As children, we remember that familiar gut clench accompanying those school preparations as we said so long to our summer friendships, some fleeting, others remarkably resilient, and looked ahead in reticent anticipation of the upcoming year that would bring us one step closer to real life.
There was an opinion piece in the NYTimes a couple of days ago discussing a concept called unschooling,not to be confused with home schooling. http://op-talk.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/08/24/children-need-free-play-but-are-unschoolers-giving-them-too-much/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0
In this concept of unschooling, children are free to establish much of the ground rules, relying on nature walks and other organic settings in which to learn math, social sciences, even astronomy, allowing for their natural curiosity to propel them forward. The article goes on to say that these children when integrated into disciplined, traditional settings such as college, do very well. As a mother who very clearly remembers her own children finding friends of varying ages at bungalow colonies, and allowing them the freedom to explore endlessly throughout the summer, I think there is a major distinction between summertime and all year round. Yes, the idea has merit--but up to a point.
That point being the parents' sanity. Following on the heels of all that free play comes the boredom monster. This monster has been known to rear its head when siblings are getting on each others nerves, during rainy days, and on long road trips or cramped airplane cabins.
For the child who is free-spirited, lack of structure is a gift from heaven; but even the most stalwart anti-establishment types can agree that structure is simply the way the world turns and the sooner children learn deadlines and accountability the better. Children crave a schedule. Sure, they will whine about bedtimes and rules, but it shows them deep down that someone else is in charge and doing the worrying and that in turn allows them the opportunity to concentrate on schoolwork and extra-curricular activities.
As any frazzled parent who is braving back-to-school sales in the summer heat that finally decided to show up, this period of time gives pause for reflecting on how fleeting these days are as we mentally check off a year closer to graduation and our children's future.
So long summer...now that you finally showed up, we will surely miss you!!
The two week period between when camp ends and school starts strikes fear into many a parent's heart. These weeks are a hodge-podge of frantic school preparations, last licks of swimming, and a melancholy good-bye to a season where ice-cream and a solid blast of AC cures most woes. As children, we remember that familiar gut clench accompanying those school preparations as we said so long to our summer friendships, some fleeting, others remarkably resilient, and looked ahead in reticent anticipation of the upcoming year that would bring us one step closer to real life.
There was an opinion piece in the NYTimes a couple of days ago discussing a concept called unschooling,not to be confused with home schooling. http://op-talk.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/08/24/children-need-free-play-but-are-unschoolers-giving-them-too-much/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0
In this concept of unschooling, children are free to establish much of the ground rules, relying on nature walks and other organic settings in which to learn math, social sciences, even astronomy, allowing for their natural curiosity to propel them forward. The article goes on to say that these children when integrated into disciplined, traditional settings such as college, do very well. As a mother who very clearly remembers her own children finding friends of varying ages at bungalow colonies, and allowing them the freedom to explore endlessly throughout the summer, I think there is a major distinction between summertime and all year round. Yes, the idea has merit--but up to a point.
That point being the parents' sanity. Following on the heels of all that free play comes the boredom monster. This monster has been known to rear its head when siblings are getting on each others nerves, during rainy days, and on long road trips or cramped airplane cabins.
For the child who is free-spirited, lack of structure is a gift from heaven; but even the most stalwart anti-establishment types can agree that structure is simply the way the world turns and the sooner children learn deadlines and accountability the better. Children crave a schedule. Sure, they will whine about bedtimes and rules, but it shows them deep down that someone else is in charge and doing the worrying and that in turn allows them the opportunity to concentrate on schoolwork and extra-curricular activities.
As any frazzled parent who is braving back-to-school sales in the summer heat that finally decided to show up, this period of time gives pause for reflecting on how fleeting these days are as we mentally check off a year closer to graduation and our children's future.
So long summer...now that you finally showed up, we will surely miss you!!
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Trigger Warnings
Recently much has been made about select universities' attempts at establishing trigger warnings, or alerts about course material that may contain sexual content, violence, racism, or anything that might affect someone who has been a victim of a crime, assault or has post-traumatic stress disorder.
Reaction has been swift and primarily negative. Robert and Araz Shibley claim that 18 year olds are legally adults and should suck-it-up. Enough with coddling they say in their article, Campus Trigger Warnings Threaten Free Speech And Treat Students Like Children, http://reason.com/archives/2014/05/27/trigger-warnings-on-campus-arent-just-fu
This pair of writers is really, really upset about the continued coddling going on. They assert anything can be a trigger: a sound, a song, a smell, how exactly can professors become mind-readers? If someone has a mental health issue, they should be under a doctor's care, a university can't take responsibility for students' reactions to everything. That's about the only point I agree with, and judging by the strident tone they take, I venture to say these two have probably not suffered any life-altering trauma.
The Holocaust Museum in Washington is a trigger place, and on a recent visit there, swarms of school-age children were present. Interestingly enough, two teenagers were laughing near one of the exhibits. I doubt their laughter had anything to do with the actual material being shown, but a museum docent approached them and offered them the opportuniy to speak with a Holocaust survivor they had on staff. They stopped laughing.
Maybe those critical of the need for trigger warnings at universities have an issue with the set-up of the new 9-11 Memorial museum? It is most certainly a trigger place, and warnings abound. Maybe they think the whole museum shouldn't even exist? Or perhaps the small areas set near key points to allow visitors overcome by emotion to gracefully step away from the crowds and have a few private moments of grief should be eliminated?
I have not suffered a life-altering trauma, but I have people close to me that have. A friend told me her grandson was playing with a teddy bear her late husband had purchased for him. Her husband had died suddenly, barely fifty, and the sight of the stuffed toy, five years after his death brought her to her knees. Her reaction frightened her young grandchild, but no one is suggesting that teddy bears come with warning labels.
We are warned about the after effects of riding on roller coasters, spilling hot beverages, and airbags. These warnings alert us (adults, Robert and Araz) to possible danger. They are meant as precautions so we can be prepared. A trigger warning is simply a device for preparation, no one is playing around with our free speech, so relax everyone, please.
Angela Lee Duckworth gives an interesting TED talk about raising kids with grit. In it she states that the secret to success is determined as much by intellect as grit--the ability to persevere in one's goals, long term. Anyone who is a survivor of a traumatic event and still wakes up every day to start anew and has the wherewithal to attend college and make something of themselves has grit. Allowing these people the chance to prepare themselves in the best way that they can so as not to be overcome by emotion in front of their peers is only fair and decent.
Reaction has been swift and primarily negative. Robert and Araz Shibley claim that 18 year olds are legally adults and should suck-it-up. Enough with coddling they say in their article, Campus Trigger Warnings Threaten Free Speech And Treat Students Like Children, http://reason.com/archives/2014/05/27/trigger-warnings-on-campus-arent-just-fu
This pair of writers is really, really upset about the continued coddling going on. They assert anything can be a trigger: a sound, a song, a smell, how exactly can professors become mind-readers? If someone has a mental health issue, they should be under a doctor's care, a university can't take responsibility for students' reactions to everything. That's about the only point I agree with, and judging by the strident tone they take, I venture to say these two have probably not suffered any life-altering trauma.
The Holocaust Museum in Washington is a trigger place, and on a recent visit there, swarms of school-age children were present. Interestingly enough, two teenagers were laughing near one of the exhibits. I doubt their laughter had anything to do with the actual material being shown, but a museum docent approached them and offered them the opportuniy to speak with a Holocaust survivor they had on staff. They stopped laughing.
Maybe those critical of the need for trigger warnings at universities have an issue with the set-up of the new 9-11 Memorial museum? It is most certainly a trigger place, and warnings abound. Maybe they think the whole museum shouldn't even exist? Or perhaps the small areas set near key points to allow visitors overcome by emotion to gracefully step away from the crowds and have a few private moments of grief should be eliminated?
I have not suffered a life-altering trauma, but I have people close to me that have. A friend told me her grandson was playing with a teddy bear her late husband had purchased for him. Her husband had died suddenly, barely fifty, and the sight of the stuffed toy, five years after his death brought her to her knees. Her reaction frightened her young grandchild, but no one is suggesting that teddy bears come with warning labels.
We are warned about the after effects of riding on roller coasters, spilling hot beverages, and airbags. These warnings alert us (adults, Robert and Araz) to possible danger. They are meant as precautions so we can be prepared. A trigger warning is simply a device for preparation, no one is playing around with our free speech, so relax everyone, please.
Angela Lee Duckworth gives an interesting TED talk about raising kids with grit. In it she states that the secret to success is determined as much by intellect as grit--the ability to persevere in one's goals, long term. Anyone who is a survivor of a traumatic event and still wakes up every day to start anew and has the wherewithal to attend college and make something of themselves has grit. Allowing these people the chance to prepare themselves in the best way that they can so as not to be overcome by emotion in front of their peers is only fair and decent.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Sailboats and Toddlers...Did Anyone Think This Through?
Here are my thoughts in response to the ridiculous sea journey undertaken unsuccessfully (duh) by Eric and Charlotte Kaufman:
It isn't about you anymore.
When you decide to have kids, their needs trump your needs. Period.
If you have a hard time internalizing that message then don't have kids. I know it sounds harsh, but it's how I feel. However, if you do decide to have kids, put their needs first. It's the most basic rule of parenting. It is an inverse principle that ebbs and flows depending on the circumstances at any given time and the age of the child, but it is the underlying theme a good parent understands...it's called sacrifice. You may need a good night's sleep, but if your two year is up with a stomach bug, I dare you to sleep through it. This push and pull, this dynamic of your child's needs versus your own will inform many decisions you will make regarding your child and the kind of relationship you would like to have with him/her...and that is truly a personal decision. But I think we can all agree that the very basic instinct of a parent is to keep their child safe.
If you feel the burning need to sail from Mexico to New Zealand, get it out of your system before your kids are born, because frankly, no one buys that crap that this was intended to be an adventure for a one and a three year old. Adventure to them means wandering away from their parents in a busy mall or being released from the confines of their stroller to be allowed to toddle unhampered down a street stopping to peruse...well, just about anything and everything within their line of vision. So this sailboat nonsense was a wholly selfish, self-indulgent conceit and let's not sugar coat it.
Very young children love to explore, yes that's true, but there isn't much to explore looking out over miles of ocean day after day, and I doubt the workings of the jib and pulleys and whatever goes into sailing could have held any interest to them whatsoever. This stunt more likely stunted their interaction with their environment far more than it enriched it. A young child needs to run and touch, I would venture to say running and touching would have been minimized in the confines of a sailboat. Yes, if they were teenagers and they had this experience of sailing the sea for a week and learned valuable life skills and plucky tidbits about themselves previously undiscovered then score one for intrepid parenting. But with two toddlers it is just plain foolish, dangerous and bordering on abuse.
It isn't about you anymore.
If you're a frustrated adventurer who never scaled Mt. Everest that doesn't give you license to drag your kids out to the Himalayas, and if you are an unfulfilled pianist that doesn't give you the right to force your child to take piano lessons when they'd rather read. Yes, please allow for lots of different experiences and expose your children to various lifestyles and new ideas, but first, keep them safe.
An adventure can be rewarding and stimulating in ways that a classroom can't be and I'm all for getting kids out there. There isn't only one way to raise children, and those that are raised in other cultures in other lands might be subject to things at a young age that would raise a few eyebrows here, but the underlying point to keep in mind that the safety of children beats all. What seems like a great idea might best be left for when children are older and can willingly participate in them.
Children aren't props or pawns...they have rights too.
It isn't about you anymore.
When you decide to have kids, their needs trump your needs. Period.
If you have a hard time internalizing that message then don't have kids. I know it sounds harsh, but it's how I feel. However, if you do decide to have kids, put their needs first. It's the most basic rule of parenting. It is an inverse principle that ebbs and flows depending on the circumstances at any given time and the age of the child, but it is the underlying theme a good parent understands...it's called sacrifice. You may need a good night's sleep, but if your two year is up with a stomach bug, I dare you to sleep through it. This push and pull, this dynamic of your child's needs versus your own will inform many decisions you will make regarding your child and the kind of relationship you would like to have with him/her...and that is truly a personal decision. But I think we can all agree that the very basic instinct of a parent is to keep their child safe.
If you feel the burning need to sail from Mexico to New Zealand, get it out of your system before your kids are born, because frankly, no one buys that crap that this was intended to be an adventure for a one and a three year old. Adventure to them means wandering away from their parents in a busy mall or being released from the confines of their stroller to be allowed to toddle unhampered down a street stopping to peruse...well, just about anything and everything within their line of vision. So this sailboat nonsense was a wholly selfish, self-indulgent conceit and let's not sugar coat it.
Very young children love to explore, yes that's true, but there isn't much to explore looking out over miles of ocean day after day, and I doubt the workings of the jib and pulleys and whatever goes into sailing could have held any interest to them whatsoever. This stunt more likely stunted their interaction with their environment far more than it enriched it. A young child needs to run and touch, I would venture to say running and touching would have been minimized in the confines of a sailboat. Yes, if they were teenagers and they had this experience of sailing the sea for a week and learned valuable life skills and plucky tidbits about themselves previously undiscovered then score one for intrepid parenting. But with two toddlers it is just plain foolish, dangerous and bordering on abuse.
It isn't about you anymore.
If you're a frustrated adventurer who never scaled Mt. Everest that doesn't give you license to drag your kids out to the Himalayas, and if you are an unfulfilled pianist that doesn't give you the right to force your child to take piano lessons when they'd rather read. Yes, please allow for lots of different experiences and expose your children to various lifestyles and new ideas, but first, keep them safe.
An adventure can be rewarding and stimulating in ways that a classroom can't be and I'm all for getting kids out there. There isn't only one way to raise children, and those that are raised in other cultures in other lands might be subject to things at a young age that would raise a few eyebrows here, but the underlying point to keep in mind that the safety of children beats all. What seems like a great idea might best be left for when children are older and can willingly participate in them.
Children aren't props or pawns...they have rights too.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Pleased To Make Your Acquaintance
I have some very good friends and I cherish them, but only recently did I come to appreciate the value of a good acquaintance. Yes, with friendship comes comfort, a shorthand developed over years of shared dramas and good times, but it also brings with it some measure of expectation. You can't hide, create another persona, or act irresponsibly. Your friends are counting on you to be...well, you. They know all your secrets, and can predict with a level of certainty how you're going to react to most anything. You can let it all out with a good friend, you won't be judged and your actions will not be held up to microscopic analysis, but you might just fear disappointing them. You might not want them to think less of you because what they think of you matters.
I have made a fair number of acquaintances recently, mostly through my writing workshops. I'm fond of them in the same way as if I had chanced upon a fellow New Yorker while exploring a foreign city who turned out to be refreshingly wise and fun. I am Facebook friends with many of them and we cheer each other on from afar. It is a relaxing and enervating way to keep in touch and up-to-date. And best of all, it's pressure free.
There's a scene that I love in "Pretty Woman" where Julia Roberts finds Richard Gere playing classical piano in the breakfast room at 5:00 AM. She asks him if he performs because he's so good, and he replies: "I only play for strangers."
I so get that.
I am often asked what my husband and children think of my writing and am met with surprised looks when I say I don't let them read my books. As writers, we pour our souls into our work. We may be writing about characters but make no mistake, there are shades of ourselves hidden in there, and sometimes not so hidden. The freedom to expose part of ourselves and our innermost thoughts is best achieved in anonymity. It is easier to send our words out into the atmosphere and have them fall on strangers...strangers who can't nod knowingly or smirk in recognition of an idea they've heard before.
Many well-known authors write under different pen names because once they've established themselves in a genre it might be hard for readers to shift gears with them. They want to be taken seriously in the new role they're playing, i.e. J.K. Rowling writing as Robert Galbraith when she elected to try her hand at a hard-boiled detective novel.
But the illusion of anonymity coats both ways. Interestingly enough, not that many readers were interested in Ms. Rowling's attempted anonymity, she only sold 1500 books until news leaked that she was the author. After that revelation the book hit the bestseller's list.
A past or a present with someone, friends or family colors our relationship and this shared history carries with it a lot of baggage. Very often it is positive and sometimes, not so much. At that point a chance encounter with an acquaintance is just the ticket for a fresh perspective and renewed spirits.
Start a conversation with a fellow commuter you see everyday on the 7:52 train...she just might have something very interesting to say.
I have made a fair number of acquaintances recently, mostly through my writing workshops. I'm fond of them in the same way as if I had chanced upon a fellow New Yorker while exploring a foreign city who turned out to be refreshingly wise and fun. I am Facebook friends with many of them and we cheer each other on from afar. It is a relaxing and enervating way to keep in touch and up-to-date. And best of all, it's pressure free.
There's a scene that I love in "Pretty Woman" where Julia Roberts finds Richard Gere playing classical piano in the breakfast room at 5:00 AM. She asks him if he performs because he's so good, and he replies: "I only play for strangers."
I so get that.
I am often asked what my husband and children think of my writing and am met with surprised looks when I say I don't let them read my books. As writers, we pour our souls into our work. We may be writing about characters but make no mistake, there are shades of ourselves hidden in there, and sometimes not so hidden. The freedom to expose part of ourselves and our innermost thoughts is best achieved in anonymity. It is easier to send our words out into the atmosphere and have them fall on strangers...strangers who can't nod knowingly or smirk in recognition of an idea they've heard before.
Many well-known authors write under different pen names because once they've established themselves in a genre it might be hard for readers to shift gears with them. They want to be taken seriously in the new role they're playing, i.e. J.K. Rowling writing as Robert Galbraith when she elected to try her hand at a hard-boiled detective novel.
But the illusion of anonymity coats both ways. Interestingly enough, not that many readers were interested in Ms. Rowling's attempted anonymity, she only sold 1500 books until news leaked that she was the author. After that revelation the book hit the bestseller's list.
A past or a present with someone, friends or family colors our relationship and this shared history carries with it a lot of baggage. Very often it is positive and sometimes, not so much. At that point a chance encounter with an acquaintance is just the ticket for a fresh perspective and renewed spirits.
Start a conversation with a fellow commuter you see everyday on the 7:52 train...she just might have something very interesting to say.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Is A Soul Mate A Real Thing?
...And How Many Years Should Someone Sacrifice in Search of Theirs?
Yes, it is a long heading, and before you have EROS or CUPID sling their poison tipped arrows my way let me say: I'm only trying to help.
I'll address the first part of the question...it depends on the person.
If you've been playing dress-up bride since you turned nine, saw meaning in every meaningless gesture sent your way by whoever you happened to be dating, and you've elevated Valentine's Day to a national holiday, then you deserve to get whatever it is you're hoping for. Or think you're hoping for...just make sure it actually exists in nature and isn't a figment of your imagination. Because if it is, unfortunately there will be many lonely Valentine's Days in your future.
Waiting breathlessly for proof positive that the guy you're with is 'the one' can be soul-sucking and a needless waste of energy. Rather, spend your time looking for someone who has qualities you admire and respect. There is no absolute when it comes to love. There are no guarantees that you will find your soul mate and no guarantees that if you do find him/her, you'll be pleased with the selection the universe has sent your way. Take it from me, I'm a matchmaker that attends many singles events as a facilitator hoping to match up couples for a lifetime of long-lasting happiness and respect, except they often put obstacles in my way. And those obstacles are mostly themselves...armed with unrealistic expectations.
I know I'm sounding tough and I intend to because I'm frustrated with singles looking for love decade after decade while fruitlessly searching for something out of their grasp, all while a fantastic mate stands somewhere within shouting distance. And while these singles have been rejecting possible mates by the handfuls, their friends are getting married and creating beautiful families and lives.
I am a matchmaker, at least I try to be when a single will listen to me. My hero is Patti Stanger, The Millionaire Matchmaker, because I wish I could be as politically incorrect as she is and pull off the tough love she delivers in her signature no-nonsense manner.
I also wish I had a roster of millionaires as clients and her plastic surgeon...she's lookin' mighty fine... but I digress.
So here is what I really want to say to my singles: PLEASE GET REAL.
Is it about the hunt, or is it truly about finding a spouse who will be loving and supportive and make you happy? Are you truly looking to make things work with someone or are you spinning a fantasy in your mind that no human could possibly fulfill?
You need to become honest about your expectations. You're shaking your heads...what does she know, she's making it sound so easy.
But it can be. Please forgive me if I'm overstepping, by no means do I intend to minimize your pain, but it is precisely because I see the pain in your eyes and hear it in your voice that I can't be an enabler any more.
I feel your fear, I feel your frustration, but I am urging you to leap.
Trust yourself and your instincts and grab your life. Don't look for excuses, look for possibilities. Choose to embrace a future that will bring you joy, and a love that will be real and sustaining. Seeing stars and hearing bells ring are also signs of a concussion, so please don't rely on those to make a major life decision.
I think this is sound advice unless you truly enjoy the hunt...unless you've convinced yourself there is always someone more enticing around the bend. To those of you have used the 'looking for my soul mate' excuse well past its expiration date, I guess the only thing you can do is to keep on looking and prove me wrong. But please take a moment to think of all the wonderful years you've given up and all the lonely nights you've endured during your hunt. Please take a moment to envision what a spectacular life you could still have if only you relaxed that death grip you have on your list of ideals for the perfect spouse.
What works for you? Be honest. What can you change about yourself...yes I'm talking to you, oh perfect candidate who has evaded the marital net all these years, what can YOU change to move forward and find love?
It begins and ends with you. You've waited long enough for love, why don't you give it a chance?
Yes, it is a long heading, and before you have EROS or CUPID sling their poison tipped arrows my way let me say: I'm only trying to help.
I'll address the first part of the question...it depends on the person.
If you've been playing dress-up bride since you turned nine, saw meaning in every meaningless gesture sent your way by whoever you happened to be dating, and you've elevated Valentine's Day to a national holiday, then you deserve to get whatever it is you're hoping for. Or think you're hoping for...just make sure it actually exists in nature and isn't a figment of your imagination. Because if it is, unfortunately there will be many lonely Valentine's Days in your future.
Waiting breathlessly for proof positive that the guy you're with is 'the one' can be soul-sucking and a needless waste of energy. Rather, spend your time looking for someone who has qualities you admire and respect. There is no absolute when it comes to love. There are no guarantees that you will find your soul mate and no guarantees that if you do find him/her, you'll be pleased with the selection the universe has sent your way. Take it from me, I'm a matchmaker that attends many singles events as a facilitator hoping to match up couples for a lifetime of long-lasting happiness and respect, except they often put obstacles in my way. And those obstacles are mostly themselves...armed with unrealistic expectations.
I know I'm sounding tough and I intend to because I'm frustrated with singles looking for love decade after decade while fruitlessly searching for something out of their grasp, all while a fantastic mate stands somewhere within shouting distance. And while these singles have been rejecting possible mates by the handfuls, their friends are getting married and creating beautiful families and lives.
I am a matchmaker, at least I try to be when a single will listen to me. My hero is Patti Stanger, The Millionaire Matchmaker, because I wish I could be as politically incorrect as she is and pull off the tough love she delivers in her signature no-nonsense manner.
I also wish I had a roster of millionaires as clients and her plastic surgeon...she's lookin' mighty fine... but I digress.
So here is what I really want to say to my singles: PLEASE GET REAL.
Is it about the hunt, or is it truly about finding a spouse who will be loving and supportive and make you happy? Are you truly looking to make things work with someone or are you spinning a fantasy in your mind that no human could possibly fulfill?
You need to become honest about your expectations. You're shaking your heads...what does she know, she's making it sound so easy.
But it can be. Please forgive me if I'm overstepping, by no means do I intend to minimize your pain, but it is precisely because I see the pain in your eyes and hear it in your voice that I can't be an enabler any more.
I feel your fear, I feel your frustration, but I am urging you to leap.
Trust yourself and your instincts and grab your life. Don't look for excuses, look for possibilities. Choose to embrace a future that will bring you joy, and a love that will be real and sustaining. Seeing stars and hearing bells ring are also signs of a concussion, so please don't rely on those to make a major life decision.
I think this is sound advice unless you truly enjoy the hunt...unless you've convinced yourself there is always someone more enticing around the bend. To those of you have used the 'looking for my soul mate' excuse well past its expiration date, I guess the only thing you can do is to keep on looking and prove me wrong. But please take a moment to think of all the wonderful years you've given up and all the lonely nights you've endured during your hunt. Please take a moment to envision what a spectacular life you could still have if only you relaxed that death grip you have on your list of ideals for the perfect spouse.
What works for you? Be honest. What can you change about yourself...yes I'm talking to you, oh perfect candidate who has evaded the marital net all these years, what can YOU change to move forward and find love?
It begins and ends with you. You've waited long enough for love, why don't you give it a chance?
Thursday, January 16, 2014
What Surface?
"My husband and the boys got me the Surface for Hanukkah," I tell a good friend.
"What's that?" she asks.
Exactly....
At least I know what it is.
And now I know why it's called the Surface. It spends much of its time being moved from one to another, its sleek visage dark with unopened promise. My stress and frustration of how to wrangle it into submission informs my morning as I give up and open my iPad to check my emails and read the NY Times.
"Why aren't you using our gift?" My older son asks one morning.
I'm a Jewish mother--I'm the one whose supposed to be doing the guilting. Apparently I've taught him well.
"I'm working on it," I say, looking at my morning image reflected back at me in the black glossy surface--reason enough to turn the darn thing on.
With a flick of the on button, the screen transmorphs into a graceful sky dotted with moving cubed images that pop up in a motion-sickness inducing dance.
All I want is to read the paper with my coffee, but I can't seem to click fast enough on the NY Times icon before it graphically disappears like a teasing game of floating carnival ducks.
If I only had a pop-gun.
The inherent stress of new technology is the pressing need to master the latest device before it is made obsolete by the newest iteration on the market. This is a thrill that resonates with a lot of geeks and some everyday people. But for those of us who have been clinging desperately to our BlackBerry and only recently agreed that an iPhone is a MUST, this race to technology has me breaking out in hives.
As a child of parents who have used the same brand of toothpaste and coffee for well over fifty years, let's just say change comes slowly.
To my devoted husband and wonderful sons who so thoughtfully want to make my writing more mobile with a surface that has a keyboard that's three inches big instead of the twelve inches I've grown accustomed to on my laptop, I respectfully say I just need some time. And by any chance did you momentarily confuse me with the mother/wife you want me to be? Because I'm pretty sure I bake the best chocolate-chip cookies and marble loaf you've ever had, and fairly certain that Geek Mom does not.
My next son, home from college on winter break walks into the kitchen, rolls up his sleeves and grabs the Surface. "C'mon, Ma, let's do this thing."
I burst out laughing.
Have I mentioned that this son knows even less about technology than I do and has managed to crash two computers, one of them an Apple, which is something I've been told is pretty much impossible to do?
I look at my Kafka-reading, technologically-impaired son who loves Beethoven and Sinatra and tell him to move aside.
I look the Surface square in the eye and say, "Come to Mama. It's time."
"What's that?" she asks.
Exactly....
At least I know what it is.
And now I know why it's called the Surface. It spends much of its time being moved from one to another, its sleek visage dark with unopened promise. My stress and frustration of how to wrangle it into submission informs my morning as I give up and open my iPad to check my emails and read the NY Times.
"Why aren't you using our gift?" My older son asks one morning.
I'm a Jewish mother--I'm the one whose supposed to be doing the guilting. Apparently I've taught him well.
"I'm working on it," I say, looking at my morning image reflected back at me in the black glossy surface--reason enough to turn the darn thing on.
With a flick of the on button, the screen transmorphs into a graceful sky dotted with moving cubed images that pop up in a motion-sickness inducing dance.
All I want is to read the paper with my coffee, but I can't seem to click fast enough on the NY Times icon before it graphically disappears like a teasing game of floating carnival ducks.
If I only had a pop-gun.
The inherent stress of new technology is the pressing need to master the latest device before it is made obsolete by the newest iteration on the market. This is a thrill that resonates with a lot of geeks and some everyday people. But for those of us who have been clinging desperately to our BlackBerry and only recently agreed that an iPhone is a MUST, this race to technology has me breaking out in hives.
As a child of parents who have used the same brand of toothpaste and coffee for well over fifty years, let's just say change comes slowly.
To my devoted husband and wonderful sons who so thoughtfully want to make my writing more mobile with a surface that has a keyboard that's three inches big instead of the twelve inches I've grown accustomed to on my laptop, I respectfully say I just need some time. And by any chance did you momentarily confuse me with the mother/wife you want me to be? Because I'm pretty sure I bake the best chocolate-chip cookies and marble loaf you've ever had, and fairly certain that Geek Mom does not.
My next son, home from college on winter break walks into the kitchen, rolls up his sleeves and grabs the Surface. "C'mon, Ma, let's do this thing."
I burst out laughing.
Have I mentioned that this son knows even less about technology than I do and has managed to crash two computers, one of them an Apple, which is something I've been told is pretty much impossible to do?
I look at my Kafka-reading, technologically-impaired son who loves Beethoven and Sinatra and tell him to move aside.
I look the Surface square in the eye and say, "Come to Mama. It's time."
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Start Here...
Would you start something if you knew there was a high likelihood you wouldn't finish it? Could you get halfway through a seven hundred page book, put it down, but still feel satisfied? Could you knit half a sweater, put it away in a drawer and still smile that your stitching was neat and even? If you're a commitment phobe that might be the very definition of ecstasy, but if you grew up in a generation that was the iteration of 'finish your plate,' then starting and not finishing is equivalent to blasphemy.
I had lunch with a friend last week and we were wondering if the journey was enough. Was the journey only valid if you reached your goal, or was it O.K. to do something just for the hell of it? We decided that starting three different projects, even if none of them got finished was fine because at our stage in life the very act of starting something new was the goal.
Let me just put it out there that I grew up with the mindset that you never quit anything. Ever. Oh, you hate guitar lessons? But you signed up for the year. Sleep away camp not for you? You'll come home when the summer is over. Yes, I was a dogged finisher of things. I stayed with boring books, friends whose friendships were less than satisfying, and slogged through my last semester of college highly pregnant for fear if I took off a semester, I might never finish.
I encouraged my children to complete their projects, give their piano, saxophone, and ballet lessons a chance, and to think carefully before undertaking something new that had failure built-in. But I did let them quit their music lessons when they felt they had enough, and we did bring one child home from sleep away camp a week early. Yes, we made certain all our children finished school and they are responsible adults who hold down jobs, but sadly, none of them play instruments or can draw or perform ballet. But at least they had the opportunity to try those activities out and decide for themselves.
And we have a half-painted shed in the backyard that is a victim of some apparent miscommunication. Every time I look at the shed, drunk in its slapdash coloration it annoys and amuses me, much like the child who was a supreme starter of things.
In economics, throwing bad money after good is called sunk cost. Having been an economics major in college, a really long time ago, it was an idea that had never resonated with me. Until now. I had always figured I just needed to stick with it and magic would happen. Having spent most of my adult life finishing things, I have now embraced the not finishing of them. It is incredibly freeing and fertile for the creative mind to allow the process to serve as satisfaction. Yes, it's hard to walk away from a project that has consumed you and taken a part of your sanity with it, but it can be energizing too.
Now, I find myself sometimes reading two books at a time, and depending on my mood, I might or might not finish them. I took a screenwriting course because it seemed a fresh way to work on my book and attended only the first eight sessions. I thoroughly enjoyed them and got as much out of them as I thought I would. An old advertising slogan motto comes to mind, "Try it--you'll like it." And if you don't like it, that's fine too. At least you gave it a chance.
I had lunch with a friend last week and we were wondering if the journey was enough. Was the journey only valid if you reached your goal, or was it O.K. to do something just for the hell of it? We decided that starting three different projects, even if none of them got finished was fine because at our stage in life the very act of starting something new was the goal.
Let me just put it out there that I grew up with the mindset that you never quit anything. Ever. Oh, you hate guitar lessons? But you signed up for the year. Sleep away camp not for you? You'll come home when the summer is over. Yes, I was a dogged finisher of things. I stayed with boring books, friends whose friendships were less than satisfying, and slogged through my last semester of college highly pregnant for fear if I took off a semester, I might never finish.
I encouraged my children to complete their projects, give their piano, saxophone, and ballet lessons a chance, and to think carefully before undertaking something new that had failure built-in. But I did let them quit their music lessons when they felt they had enough, and we did bring one child home from sleep away camp a week early. Yes, we made certain all our children finished school and they are responsible adults who hold down jobs, but sadly, none of them play instruments or can draw or perform ballet. But at least they had the opportunity to try those activities out and decide for themselves.
And we have a half-painted shed in the backyard that is a victim of some apparent miscommunication. Every time I look at the shed, drunk in its slapdash coloration it annoys and amuses me, much like the child who was a supreme starter of things.
In economics, throwing bad money after good is called sunk cost. Having been an economics major in college, a really long time ago, it was an idea that had never resonated with me. Until now. I had always figured I just needed to stick with it and magic would happen. Having spent most of my adult life finishing things, I have now embraced the not finishing of them. It is incredibly freeing and fertile for the creative mind to allow the process to serve as satisfaction. Yes, it's hard to walk away from a project that has consumed you and taken a part of your sanity with it, but it can be energizing too.
Now, I find myself sometimes reading two books at a time, and depending on my mood, I might or might not finish them. I took a screenwriting course because it seemed a fresh way to work on my book and attended only the first eight sessions. I thoroughly enjoyed them and got as much out of them as I thought I would. An old advertising slogan motto comes to mind, "Try it--you'll like it." And if you don't like it, that's fine too. At least you gave it a chance.
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