Hard or Soft Tacos? This isn't about Food

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.