I had a funny conversation with one of my teenagers yesterday about mental toughness. He asked: should you be a hard taco shell or a soft one? We agreed that the goal is a "tough" exterior. And most folks/coaches suggest being a hard shell. But, as he pointed out, hard shells crack and crumble easily, where as the soft ones are more malleable (my word not his) and survive better.
Food for thought perhaps.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Christmakkuh, Kwanzadan and Other Holidays
When a friend recently described her family holiday tradition as "Christmakkuh," I couldn't help but think of all the ways our local community tries to be inclusive. In preschool, my children sang a song (I don't recall the name or tune) with four verses: one each for Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanza and Ramadan, lest anyone be offended to be left out.
The best, however, remains Festivus, "a holiday for the rest of us." Don't know that one? Surely you remember Seinfeld - the show about nothing that keeps coming up in my daily life nearly a decade later. To George Costanza's chagrin, his family had Festivus. Watch here and enjoy: Seinfeld and Festivus
Happy Whatever!
The best, however, remains Festivus, "a holiday for the rest of us." Don't know that one? Surely you remember Seinfeld - the show about nothing that keeps coming up in my daily life nearly a decade later. To George Costanza's chagrin, his family had Festivus. Watch here and enjoy: Seinfeld and Festivus
Happy Whatever!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Let There Be Light
Winter. It's dark in the morning. It's dark in the afternoon. It's even dark in my house.
Why, you ask? It's those damn CFL bulbs! Trying to be ecological and economical, I've converted to the compact fluorescent lights where possible (not all of my fixtures accept them). We typically burn through bulbs at an extraordinarily fast pace, so anything that lasts longer would be a positive. And I think the CFLs do - though not the ten times longer promised.
From my research, CFL bulbs are supposed to provide the same amount of power (light) with less energy. In my experience, however, they provide less light more slowly. It takes time for them to fire up - no immediate lights on, lights off. Forget the clapper.
Even worse, the CFLs don't hit full power. They operate on dim . . . always. There's never enough light. Nowadays, there aren't even enough regular light bulbs to buy, as stores push the CFLs. It's especially hard to find high wattage indoor flood lights.
This seems particularly odd since, as we hear constantly, the baby boomers are graying . . . and losing their eyesight. They need more light, not less. . . .
I'm in the dark.
Why, you ask? It's those damn CFL bulbs! Trying to be ecological and economical, I've converted to the compact fluorescent lights where possible (not all of my fixtures accept them). We typically burn through bulbs at an extraordinarily fast pace, so anything that lasts longer would be a positive. And I think the CFLs do - though not the ten times longer promised.
From my research, CFL bulbs are supposed to provide the same amount of power (light) with less energy. In my experience, however, they provide less light more slowly. It takes time for them to fire up - no immediate lights on, lights off. Forget the clapper.
Even worse, the CFLs don't hit full power. They operate on dim . . . always. There's never enough light. Nowadays, there aren't even enough regular light bulbs to buy, as stores push the CFLs. It's especially hard to find high wattage indoor flood lights.
This seems particularly odd since, as we hear constantly, the baby boomers are graying . . . and losing their eyesight. They need more light, not less. . . .
I'm in the dark.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Phone Talk
Mid-afternoon on a workday, my home phone rang. It was my husband. "What's wrong?" I asked. Nothing, he responded. He had just called to chat. I was shocked.
Most of my friends speak to their spouses several times daily. They check in, chit chat, say hi. Not us. My hubby and I don't usually talk during the day, unless there's an "issue," usually regarding the kids. Don't misunderstand . . . we email. But, telephone calls, not so much.
I don't like talking on the phone . . . to anyone. I'm thrilled to talk in person. Happy to email or text. The phone, however, bothers me. For starters, telephone talk allows for my distraction; I can do many other things while cordless on speakerphone. As a result, I don't give full attention to the conversation. That probably explains why I've also experienced more misunderstandings by phone than any other communication method.
The mere sound of a ringing phone, landline or mobile, irritates me. But retrieving messages is worse, so I answer. Just don't expect me to talk. Or listen.
Most of my friends speak to their spouses several times daily. They check in, chit chat, say hi. Not us. My hubby and I don't usually talk during the day, unless there's an "issue," usually regarding the kids. Don't misunderstand . . . we email. But, telephone calls, not so much.
I don't like talking on the phone . . . to anyone. I'm thrilled to talk in person. Happy to email or text. The phone, however, bothers me. For starters, telephone talk allows for my distraction; I can do many other things while cordless on speakerphone. As a result, I don't give full attention to the conversation. That probably explains why I've also experienced more misunderstandings by phone than any other communication method.
The mere sound of a ringing phone, landline or mobile, irritates me. But retrieving messages is worse, so I answer. Just don't expect me to talk. Or listen.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Passings
I am saddened by the death of Elizabeth Edwards. Her illness always seemed to me unnecessary and unnecessarily hastened by, what I deemed, a reckless failure to have annual mammograms.
Her grace in living with the disease, however, was impressive. She fought and accepted, something difficult to accomplish simultaneously. The news reports highlight that, in her last days, she was surrounded by her family, including ex-husband John Edwards; she spent years writing letters to her children and preparing them as well as making sure they had paternal support in the dark days; and stage three breast cancer can be hard to beat and she not only survived for six years but truly lived. But never do they mention the incredible toll John's wanton life choices and consequences had on the progression of her disease.
I suspect that Elizabeth's death was quickened by John's reckless conduct. During those last six years, in addition to the stresses of everyday life and presidential campaigns, she had to deal with her husband's betrayal, humiliation, out-of-wedlock child and, ultimately, divorce. Any one of these life crises could facilitate illness, exhaustion, depression and so on. But all at once; and while fighting cancer. That seems cruel. And I hold John Edwards accountable. Elizabeth may have forgiven him, but I have not.
Speaking of death, it is the 30th anniversary of John Lennon's passing. That day, I had worked the early morning news shift at WVBR-FM, Cornell University's radio station, when word of his death came in (it took a bit of time for the news to make it to Ithaca). I ran off to my class, a discussion group from the big lecture class taught by the reknown historian Walter LaFeber. Unlike most sections taught by grad students, or TAs, mine was taught by a full-fledged professor. I ran into the class, blurting the news of Lennon's demise and turned to the professor to explain that "Lennon was one of the Beatles." He was quite insulted that I thought he wouldn't be familiar. Fortunately, my grade didn't suffer.
Her grace in living with the disease, however, was impressive. She fought and accepted, something difficult to accomplish simultaneously. The news reports highlight that, in her last days, she was surrounded by her family, including ex-husband John Edwards; she spent years writing letters to her children and preparing them as well as making sure they had paternal support in the dark days; and stage three breast cancer can be hard to beat and she not only survived for six years but truly lived. But never do they mention the incredible toll John's wanton life choices and consequences had on the progression of her disease.
I suspect that Elizabeth's death was quickened by John's reckless conduct. During those last six years, in addition to the stresses of everyday life and presidential campaigns, she had to deal with her husband's betrayal, humiliation, out-of-wedlock child and, ultimately, divorce. Any one of these life crises could facilitate illness, exhaustion, depression and so on. But all at once; and while fighting cancer. That seems cruel. And I hold John Edwards accountable. Elizabeth may have forgiven him, but I have not.
Speaking of death, it is the 30th anniversary of John Lennon's passing. That day, I had worked the early morning news shift at WVBR-FM, Cornell University's radio station, when word of his death came in (it took a bit of time for the news to make it to Ithaca). I ran off to my class, a discussion group from the big lecture class taught by the reknown historian Walter LaFeber. Unlike most sections taught by grad students, or TAs, mine was taught by a full-fledged professor. I ran into the class, blurting the news of Lennon's demise and turned to the professor to explain that "Lennon was one of the Beatles." He was quite insulted that I thought he wouldn't be familiar. Fortunately, my grade didn't suffer.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
BFFs . . . Not
I'll be your best friend . . . well, not any more. At least not on facebook . . .
I witnessed a "defriending" between two women I knew as girls in high school. Like many of us, they reconnected, caught up, chatted etc . . . Until the break-up . . .
Unlike high school, it was not about a boy. Or gossip. Or fashion. The issue was at the core of who we are, or who we have become since our youth.
Politics makes strange bedfellows and, in this case, social media enemies. One woman was offended by the other's post that a certain political persuasion was a form of insanity. She dealt with it head on: She wrote a simple heartfelt note explaining that, although she had enjoyed the renewed friend status, she was disturbed by the political comments and felt it was time to separate.
The recipient posted her own notice about the defriending, saying that while she disagrees with many of her "friends" she loves them anyway.
It appears some friendships were not meant to be. And maybe that's why they never stayed in touch.
Or, they simply broke the cardinal social rule not to discuss religion, politics or money.
I witnessed a "defriending" between two women I knew as girls in high school. Like many of us, they reconnected, caught up, chatted etc . . . Until the break-up . . .
Unlike high school, it was not about a boy. Or gossip. Or fashion. The issue was at the core of who we are, or who we have become since our youth.
Politics makes strange bedfellows and, in this case, social media enemies. One woman was offended by the other's post that a certain political persuasion was a form of insanity. She dealt with it head on: She wrote a simple heartfelt note explaining that, although she had enjoyed the renewed friend status, she was disturbed by the political comments and felt it was time to separate.
The recipient posted her own notice about the defriending, saying that while she disagrees with many of her "friends" she loves them anyway.
It appears some friendships were not meant to be. And maybe that's why they never stayed in touch.
Or, they simply broke the cardinal social rule not to discuss religion, politics or money.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Snow Joy
Really, it's no joy . . . First snowflakes today. Yes, it's pretty. Each flake an individual, like no other. But, it's winter. It's cold. And the worst is yet to come.
Winter makes me sleepy. It makes me sad.
Winter makes me sleepy. It makes me sad.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
LegoFester
I took my youngest to LegoKidsFest in Hartford CT today, during which we attended a "Lego Club" meeting. Looking around the room of 20 kids and their accompanying adults, many or most of the grownups were clearly the grandparents. I say "clearly" because I heard them called "nana" or "grandpa" and the like.
Two women seated near me while the children built droid ships, chatted amiably about their troubling children and progeny. They were grandmothers, though probably not that much older than I. One commented "look at the number of grandparents who brought children to this event . . ." And then as an afterthought said "parents too."
I wondered and hoped they knew I was the latter. And that no one was shocked when I was addressed as "mom."
PS Just learned source of "lego" name. It's a contraction of two Danish words - "leg godt" which means play well. Also learned you really can have a career as a lego master builder or developer.
Two women seated near me while the children built droid ships, chatted amiably about their troubling children and progeny. They were grandmothers, though probably not that much older than I. One commented "look at the number of grandparents who brought children to this event . . ." And then as an afterthought said "parents too."
I wondered and hoped they knew I was the latter. And that no one was shocked when I was addressed as "mom."
PS Just learned source of "lego" name. It's a contraction of two Danish words - "leg godt" which means play well. Also learned you really can have a career as a lego master builder or developer.
Friday, December 3, 2010
ReCycle, ReUse, ReWrap, ReRead
I try to be "green" but sometimes it's just the unintentional result of being cheap and lazy. That's especially true at this time of year. With the holidays comes lots of gift-wrapping, if the store doesn't do it for me gratis. But, in what?
I rarely have sufficient wrapping paper on hand, and what I do have are remnants from Odd Lot or fundraisers. It hardly seems worth buying decorated paper that will be torn off without so much as a glance. Ecological friends use their kids' artwork as a festive cover. Others use brown paper decorated with stencils and the like. That's too much work for me.
Nor do I carefully unwrap gifts and save the paper for reuse. Again, too much work and it requires storage (I do, however, save pretty ribbon to re-use). Also, visions of grandpa saving every piece of paper and string haunt me; I can't be like that.
I use . . . newspaper. Perhaps that's not surprising, given that I'm a journalist. And it's readily available in my home (except on Wednesdays after the recycling is collected). But I am selective. I don't pick any old page.
My thought and effort goes into the selection. For kids, I try to use comics, pictures or something amusing. For "girly" gifts, I search out haute couture ads like Chanel and Tiffany. For the artistic types, I use the arts pages. In other words, I'm not just recycling and reusing; I'm encouraging re-reading!
Whether any gift recipient actually notices the carefully chosen leafs, is debatable. My children certainly do not. As with even the fanciest covers, they care only about the inside offerings. From adults I've received neither complaints nor praise, except with respect to the actual present.
It appears that when it comes to presents, the cover is no accurate judge of the interior. In that case, let my green save green.
I rarely have sufficient wrapping paper on hand, and what I do have are remnants from Odd Lot or fundraisers. It hardly seems worth buying decorated paper that will be torn off without so much as a glance. Ecological friends use their kids' artwork as a festive cover. Others use brown paper decorated with stencils and the like. That's too much work for me.
Nor do I carefully unwrap gifts and save the paper for reuse. Again, too much work and it requires storage (I do, however, save pretty ribbon to re-use). Also, visions of grandpa saving every piece of paper and string haunt me; I can't be like that.
I use . . . newspaper. Perhaps that's not surprising, given that I'm a journalist. And it's readily available in my home (except on Wednesdays after the recycling is collected). But I am selective. I don't pick any old page.
My thought and effort goes into the selection. For kids, I try to use comics, pictures or something amusing. For "girly" gifts, I search out haute couture ads like Chanel and Tiffany. For the artistic types, I use the arts pages. In other words, I'm not just recycling and reusing; I'm encouraging re-reading!
Whether any gift recipient actually notices the carefully chosen leafs, is debatable. My children certainly do not. As with even the fanciest covers, they care only about the inside offerings. From adults I've received neither complaints nor praise, except with respect to the actual present.
It appears that when it comes to presents, the cover is no accurate judge of the interior. In that case, let my green save green.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The Female Condition
Pondering my lateness, I said "I'm either pregnant, PMSing or menopausal."
My husband replied "isn't that pretty much true of all women?" Yes, indeed. I couldn't have said it better.
My husband replied "isn't that pretty much true of all women?" Yes, indeed. I couldn't have said it better.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Pucker Up, Not
Mom always told me to wear lipstick. Actually, her words were more like: "why don't you put on some lipstick." This from a woman who had relatively no interest in beauty or fashion. Nor did she (or anyone else) think my mouth was one of my finer points. Mascara would have been a better choice.
So, given the source, I took her advice as a euphemism for "how about doing something to make yourself attractive to men."
And I was right: she never suggested lipstick after I married.
Here's the irony though: my husband doesn't like it when I wear lipstick. Nor do the kids. No one will kiss me.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Charmed, I'm Sure
He held the door open for a woman, without being prompted or asked. One of my boys did that yesterday. I was proud.
That night the same boy heard his father coughing and when dad didn't respond to "are you okay," he sprinted down the stairs to check on dad. Again, I was proud. And pleased.
I am charmed by manners and chivalry. I like it when men remove their hats indoors (except, of course, in temple). I am touched when they place those same hats over their hearts during the Pledge of Allegiance or Star Spangled Banner. Or when I am ushered through a door first, even though it means that I will have the first place in line (and, in kindness, I always offer that position to the door holder). I have asked my boys to stand when I enter a room; not to worry, they don't - they laugh at me, especially my husband.
I was not always this way. Indeed, I refused to say the Pledge in sixth grade (though I stood quietly and pretended, in lieu of protesting) because I didn't think that there was "liberty and justice for all." In my younger years, I infuriated quite a few men by insisting on opening my own door or paying my own way. Now, however, I find it charming. Perhaps I always did.
One of my favorite memories is my high school boyfriend pushing me to the side while walking down the street. After several shoves, I asked what he was doing. He said he was supposed to walk on the outside, nearer the street, to protect me. I likely objected on some radical feminist principle (though I don't actually recall doing so), but that moment has always made me smile.
Maybe, just maybe, my boys are on the road to chivalry themselves . . . After all, yesterday's woman did smile. And it wasn't me.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Logophile Oenology
What's that, you wonder. Sit down and pour yourself a glass of wine and I'll explain. Logophile Oenology is my new method (and self-created catch phrase) for selecting wines: strictly translated, it should mean a word lover's study of wine; in practice, it means that I now buy wine by the name.
For last week's book club meeting to discuss Jonathan Franzen's latest tome entitled Freedom, I searched high and low for wines by Mad Housewife Cellars. If you've read the book, it's apropos. Unfortunately, Mad Housewife is a west coast supermarket label, virtually impossible to find here. So I settled on Menage à Trois, arguably fitting as well. Our book critics gave the wine a thumbs up.
My first introduction to cool-named wines began a year ago in Chicago visiting friends who introduced me to a wonderful wine with the appellation "Prisoner". I thought that was cool and distinctive and a darn good (pricey) wine as well.
And then I found "Bitch". The perfect beverage for gifting - an easily affordable tasty conversation piece with sufficient alcohol content to take the edge off any bitch. Friends and family were amused, even when sober.
My search for Mad Housewife, however, schooled me in a whole case of cutely named wines, just waiting to be uncorked: Fat Bastard, The Italian Job, Ass Kisser, just to name a few. Australia and New Zealand are the source of many a funny title.
To paraphrase Shakespeare, although a rosé by any name would taste as sweet, it's just not as amusing.
For last week's book club meeting to discuss Jonathan Franzen's latest tome entitled Freedom, I searched high and low for wines by Mad Housewife Cellars. If you've read the book, it's apropos. Unfortunately, Mad Housewife is a west coast supermarket label, virtually impossible to find here. So I settled on Menage à Trois, arguably fitting as well. Our book critics gave the wine a thumbs up.
My first introduction to cool-named wines began a year ago in Chicago visiting friends who introduced me to a wonderful wine with the appellation "Prisoner". I thought that was cool and distinctive and a darn good (pricey) wine as well.
And then I found "Bitch". The perfect beverage for gifting - an easily affordable tasty conversation piece with sufficient alcohol content to take the edge off any bitch. Friends and family were amused, even when sober.
My search for Mad Housewife, however, schooled me in a whole case of cutely named wines, just waiting to be uncorked: Fat Bastard, The Italian Job, Ass Kisser, just to name a few. Australia and New Zealand are the source of many a funny title.
To paraphrase Shakespeare, although a rosé by any name would taste as sweet, it's just not as amusing.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Eden-Like Temptation
Da da da . . .dadadeda . . . You surely can't tell (and wouldn't be able to in my voice either) but that's the enticing (and aptly named) tune of Apple's ipod commercials, Never Stop, which you can download free here chillygonzales-neverstop.mp3
But that's not really my point. The catchy tune invariably catches my attention and makes me look up and watch the ipad promo. And then, I want one. Look at the cool big screen, the fade-ins, the rotation, and so on. Hence, the biblical temptation of the apple.
Never mind that I don't know how or why I would or could use an ipad; after all, I have an iphone 4, a desktop and a (very old) laptop. As best I can tell, my wired and wireless needs are met and exceeded. I use the laptop to run my P90X workout CDs. I do most of my writing, shopping, emailing and research on the desktop. And my iphone fulfills the mobile and cool app requirements. I passed on a Kindle (last year's cool device) because the iphone has a free kindle app AND I prefer to read an actual paper book. We bought an ipad as a father's day gift for my husband in June, but he returned it as too expensive. My eldest declined an ipad as a high school graduation gift. Apparently, he too doesn't think it's needed.
And still, I'm tempted. The ipad looks cool. Everyone I know who owns one, loves it. Top retail analyst and family friend Dana Telsey today on NBC declared the ipad to be THE holiday gift of 2010. Not for my family . . . but maybe, one day . . . if we can find a reason to need one . . .
And for more on unnecessary necessaries, enjoy this video (but not in front of little kids) courtesy of my friend (and follower?) Linda. http://www.theonion.com/video/sony-releases-new-stupid-piece-of-shit-that-doesnt,14309/
But that's not really my point. The catchy tune invariably catches my attention and makes me look up and watch the ipad promo. And then, I want one. Look at the cool big screen, the fade-ins, the rotation, and so on. Hence, the biblical temptation of the apple.
Never mind that I don't know how or why I would or could use an ipad; after all, I have an iphone 4, a desktop and a (very old) laptop. As best I can tell, my wired and wireless needs are met and exceeded. I use the laptop to run my P90X workout CDs. I do most of my writing, shopping, emailing and research on the desktop. And my iphone fulfills the mobile and cool app requirements. I passed on a Kindle (last year's cool device) because the iphone has a free kindle app AND I prefer to read an actual paper book. We bought an ipad as a father's day gift for my husband in June, but he returned it as too expensive. My eldest declined an ipad as a high school graduation gift. Apparently, he too doesn't think it's needed.
And still, I'm tempted. The ipad looks cool. Everyone I know who owns one, loves it. Top retail analyst and family friend Dana Telsey today on NBC declared the ipad to be THE holiday gift of 2010. Not for my family . . . but maybe, one day . . . if we can find a reason to need one . . .
And for more on unnecessary necessaries, enjoy this video (but not in front of little kids) courtesy of my friend (and follower?) Linda. http://www.theonion.com/video/sony-releases-new-stupid-piece-of-shit-that-doesnt,14309/
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Magic Number
. . . And the magic number is . . . four. It took four days home before the visiting college student became demanding, annoying and combative with his brothers. But I still love having him home. :)
Welcome
Welcome to my blog . . . my new way of sharing my amusing thoughts . . . ergo MauraMusing or, if you play with the letters MaurAmusing . . . I hope my anecdotes of daily life inspire smiles and musings of your own.
I've debated about my first musing, with many in mind, and have decided to go with the "out of the mouths of babes" story:
Just this morning, from my eight-year old son, "mom, is that a pimple near your lip? . . . aren't you too old for pimples?" For me, for today, that kind of says it all.
I've debated about my first musing, with many in mind, and have decided to go with the "out of the mouths of babes" story:
Just this morning, from my eight-year old son, "mom, is that a pimple near your lip? . . . aren't you too old for pimples?" For me, for today, that kind of says it all.
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