thursday thirteen no. 108...13 words to love

1. Quiddity
The essence, nature, or distinctive peculiarity, of a thing; that which answers the question, Quid est? or, What is it?
A trifling nicety; a cavil; a quibble.

A trifling nicety? Wow, have you heard a better word combo?

2. Perfidy
The act of violating faith or allegiance; violation of a promise or vow, or of trust reposed; faithlessness; treachery.

Even better are derivations of this word: perfidious, perfidiously, perfidiousness

3. Apishly
In an apish manner; with servile imitation; foppishly.

Foppishly? See below, Foppish

4. Aplomb
Assurance of manner or of action; self-possession.

My favorite use: You wear your nose-stud with great aplomb...thanks bad mom!

5. Foozle
To bungle; to manage awkwardly; to treat or play unskillfully; as, to foozle a stroke in golf. A stupid fellow; a fogy.

To manage awkwardly...the word awkward is awkward to type. Makes me feel like a foozle.

6. Foppish
Foplike; characteristic of a top in dress or manners; making an ostentatious display of gay clothing; affected in manners.

Love the idea of an ostentacious display of gay clothing. Like Fancy Nancy?

7. Blatherskite
A blustering, talkative fellow.

I suspect this must be a brit-ism, like gobsmacked or knackered.

8. Irascible
Prone to anger; easily provoked or inflamed to anger; choleric; irritable; as, an irascible man; an irascible temper or mood.

Love that they used man instead of woman here.

9. Chortle
A word coined by Lewis Carroll (Charles L. Dodgson), and usually explained as a combination of chuckle and snort.

It's true that I am, at times, when really well provoked, guilty of the snort-laugh.

10. Muchness
Greatness; extent.

So much better than vastness, don't you think?

11. Umbratious
Suspicious; captious; disposed to take umbrage.

Or perhaps, relating to Professor Umbridge?

12. Umbraculiferous
Bearing something like an open umbrella.

I'm trying to think of something one can bear like an umbrella. Besides an umbrella I mean.

13. Lambdacism
A fault in speaking or in composition, which consists in too frequent use of the letter l, or in doubling it erroneously.

Realllly, who is guilllty of this? Only llamas named Lloyd?

More Thursday Thirteens here.

troubled

I am troubled. This morning I was listening to the traffic report on the radio. They reported that traffic was terribly backed up on the Coronado Bridge because of a suicide who had left his car abandoned in the right lane. It was reported in the same helicopter background traffic report tone as “Doughnut truck overturned in the right lane, traffic backed up on the Coronado Bridge”.

This, only two days after hearing, on the same morning program, that Owen Wilson had attempted suicide. The consensus of this genius, comic DJ duo was that it was a publicity stunt, and that guys who are serious use a gun and get the job done. Then they asked listeners who had attempted or committed suicide (really, I’m not kidding about that last) to call in.

Really. Suicide as traffic problem, publicity stunt and sideshow.

So, I am troubled. I can’t get the picture of this man, stopping his car on the bridge, getting out, leaving the car in the middle of the road, driver’s door open, and walking over the side to his end. I don’t believe that suicide is just a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I believe that for these people there isn’t another way. That, for this man, today, there wasn’t another way. There was no other choice he could’ve made. I prayed today, prayed that he found some relief to his pain today. I cried for him, and I hope someone else did too.

vote early...vote often

So I need your help. I need your input fair reader. See that poll, there just to the right of this? Read on, and then vote.

One of the traits of the Libra is indecisiveness. Now, I don’t put much store in the signs of the zodiac and what they mean, except, of course, when it suits me to do so. I am waffling (again) over a decision or the potential of having to make a decision sometime in the near future. Now for Scorpios (like one of my sisters), decisions seem to make themselves and there is no looking back. What’s done is done and it was done quickly. For me, there is angst, turmoil, self-doubt and worry. There are lists of pros and cons, specially weighted and calculated in an Excel spreadsheet, and long, in-depth conversations about the options.

I have accepted a job. It’s a great group of people to work with, doing good things, with a pretty decent paycheck. I’m excited, I’m laying out potential first day of work outfits, I’m cleaning out my briefcase, mapping out the best routes to the office, and breaking in my cute work shoes.

But now…the angst. I’ve gotten a call from another organization that interviewed me a few weeks ago. They want to talk to me again on the day I’m to start my new gig. They are interested, and frankly, I think I have a good shot at the job. Now here’s the kicker. It pays more. Not just a little more, but significantly more. And it’s a better position, Executive Director (read: no boss).

Okay, so what? What do I do? Do I say, no thanks, I can’t meet with you, I’ve accepted another position? Do I go talk to them on the day I’m supposed to start my one job? Can I bring myself to resign a position after what will probably be three days of work if the other is offered? Do I put off starting the one job for an additional week somehow? Please, you Scorpios and Tauruses, tell me what to do! Stop rolling your eyes at the extraordinary indecisiveness of the Libra and tell me…tell me what you think.

i am smitten

Is there a better creature in this world than the pre-teen boy? Now certainly there are days when I will ask the question: Is there a more maddening creature on earth than a pre-teen boy? But not today. Today I am smitten with the lovely boys on our block. These five or six boys, ages ten to thirteen are amalgams of Huck Finn, Jimmy Neutron and the endearing guy in the Mac commercials.

Four weeks ago, while the grown-ups (my fabulous mom and I) unloaded the U-Haul, broke down boxes and arranged and re-arranged couches and ottomans (ottomen?), Dylan wandered the block looking for buddies. He was Butch Cassidy in search of the Sundance Kid, Wayne seeking Garth, Thelma looking for Louise (well, alright, maybe not that last…but you get the idea). His entire life we’d lived in a place where the closest boy of similar age was 13 miles of a long, winding mountain road away. And now, he’d been promised a Mecca of Ron Weasleys, Hardy Boys and Encyclopedia Browns. Where were they? He wandered the neighborhood in perfect boy form, on his bike, on his scooter, with his dogs…where were the boys?

For three long, long days this went on. You can imagine his delight (and my relief, frankly) when we arrived home at dusk on Day Three to see six boys lined up in our driveway. They introduced themselves, made the obligatory small talk with the grown ups and asked my boy to join them for flashlight tag, that quintessential, summertime boy activity! That was the night that I became enamored of these boys.

Yesterday, I bought a lawn mower. Now, because I’m a girl, I bought the kind without an engine (as I wouldn’t know how to get gas from the gas station to the lawn mower, where to buy lawn mower oil, and really hate to pull the rip cord deal that only actually starts the engine after you pull it seventeen times, it seemed like the way to go). Last night, after school, after dinner, I pulled the lawn mower box out of the back of my car and was instantly surrounded by five boys.

“It’s one from the olden days.” Brian says, awestruck that such a thing exists.
“You bought it today? They still sell them?” Austin wonders.
“Can we put it together?” Connor asks.
“Then can we try it?” They all breathe…so hopefully.
“Um…sure.” I say, amazed at how easy it was to get out of two things I dislike as much as assembling something that requires “some assembly” and mowing the lawn.

So I left them to it. They put it together, they mowed, they laughed, they cavorted! Dylan and his friend Austin sat in the back of my car with the hatchback up in the driveway doing math homework, taking breaks to take their turns mowing. When they weren’t mowing they were dragging the moving boxes out of the garage and constructing what ended up being a 20 foot box tunnel on the front lawn. So fun! Such fabulous boys! They were back tonight to mow the back yard and reconstruct the box tunnel.

I am smitten with these resourceful, clever, charming beings.

hyperventilating and disintegrating into a puddle

My sister just left. My first visitor in my new digs. We waved from the curb, Ellie and Owen ran down the street after them trotting happily, bidding them adieu until next time. Dylan couldn’t. He had stoically said his goodbyes to his cousin (read: soulmate) inside. He couldn’t bear to watch them drive away. They were here for three days, four nights. Not nearly long enough. Now four days stretch out before us until our next sister/cousin (again, soulmate)/brother-in-law visit occurs.

I miss my sisters, I have four (one is a sister-in-law, but that is merely a technicality). I miss my niece, who is 21 and full of all of the angst and enthusiasm that comes with being 21. I miss my mom being next door. I miss her sneaking into my house while I'm at work to water my plants or put the clean dishes away, not because I didn’t want to do it (honestly, I didn’t, but still…) but because it’s just so remarkable to have someone who will. Someone who knows that your life is so insane right at that moment that you won't even notice that she's done it. I miss my nephews who think I’m pretty cool because I can text message and because I have the Clash and the Red Hot Chili Peppers on my iPod. I miss my dad for reasons that can’t be put into words, they don’t fit in an arial 8 point font.

When I filled out the first of the forms for school here in California, I buzzed through them as usual, name, address, phone number, date of birth, emergency contact…. That’s where I got stuck, where a lump formed in my throat that couldn’t be swallowed or ahem’d away. In Colorado, I had more emergency contacts than anyone I knew, I had to flip the forms over and use the back to list them all, because what if they couldn’t reach the first four? I had parents, sisters, neighbors and friends to list. I happily agreed to be the emergency contact for friends who had no family around, and I admit, I felt a bit smug about my extensive support network.

Ok, so here I am in California, and I have no one to list. I don’t know a soul in this city of more than a million people. My closest acquaintance is the cashier who works Monday-Thursday afternoons at Nordstrom Rack. I felt like I had a vague connection with Dolores, the secretary at the elementary school. But really, I couldn’t list “Nordstrom Rack, cashier working register 3”, could I? And I was pretty sure Dolores would think it a pretty stalker-y move to list her as my emergency contact.

Ohmygod, I had to just write something down before I hyperventilated or disintegrated into a puddle. In the end, I fell back on my sisters and my mom. I scrawled their names and phone numbers on the form and hoped no one looked at it and asked “Where is this area code?” To which I would have to explain that it is an out-of-state relative and that I have no one local who I can list. I decided that at least they could make any emergency decisions over the phone until I could be reached.

Now, don’t misunderstand, I know I’ve done the right thing. I am more peaceful here and now than I have been in years. I feel surer of myself, more connected to my children, more in control and less stressed than I can remember. But I miss my sisters. And my mom. I miss my Dad and my brother. I miss my sweet niece and my hormone-charged teenage nephews.

i've been flipped the cyber-bird

I have come to a startling realization about myself. I am unreasonably, absurdly sensitive. Ridiculously susceptible to self-doubt and emotional blackmail.

Last night, I was playing trivia online, and was flipped the cyber-bird. You may think this is a difficult feat in an online trivia game, to flip someone off, but Dancer123 did it. She flipped me the bird. While I was blogging and playing trivia at the same time, that most nerdy of multitasking combos, I glanced over at the question, a line from a song:

Your love's like a slow train coming (slow train coming)
And I feel it coming down the track (woh)

The first clue was displayed: w*** t** g**** g*** t**** b**** o****

So immediately and excitedly I typed the answer. The usual round of kudos in the form of vg, wd, nj, gj's scrolled onscreen, and then, from Dancer123, "way to steal". I scrolled back up to see that Dancer123 had, in fact, tried to answer the question, but had misspelled "tough". Oops, I'd swooped her. Now, online trivia etiquette deems that if someone has misspelled the seemingly correct answer, for another player to then spell the answer correctly is to "swoop", to steal the answer. I am a devout non-swooper.

I apologized, "so sorry, dancer, i didn't see yours”. Dancer's response? "yeah, right". *gasp* So now I start fretting that this new player might think I'm a swooper. So I try again. "really dancer, so sorry". Response: "whatever, thief". Okay, that hurt. Me: “how about we relax, it's online trivia”. Dancer123: “how about you kiss my ass?”

Now instead of bursting into tears, I decide to let it go and play trivia. Something like ten minutes pass, with me troubling the entire time over this last exchange, and Dancer123 finally decides to exit the game, with her departing message "Dancer123 flips mollysays (my online identity) the bird and slams the door on her way out".

Ouch. Why do I care? Why does this bother me?

When I resigned my position as Director of Finance at Aspen Public Radio. I sent an email to the Executive Director who then forwarded my letter to the entire Board of Directors. Of course, some part of me wanted to believe that the station would have to fold without me on staff, and that there wasn’t another soul on earth capable of crunching this particular set of numbers. A day or so later, I received an email from one of the Judiths on the board (there were three). Judie S. had mistakenly clicked “Reply All” and included me in the list of recipients: “Perhaps this isn’t the end of the world, onward we go.”

Wait…it is the end of the world. You need me. You can’t just go blithely on ignoring the fact that I am the magic thread holding this place together! Love me, beg me to stay, offer me more money, cry a little, something, please….For days, I was bothered by her flippant dismissal of my years of dedicated effort (ok, it was only two years, and a year and a half of that was part-time contract work).

Yesterday, Owen told me, with great fervor and conviction, that I am, in fact, the worst mom ever. Then just as a way to raise my hopes in order to further dash them, he added, “Mommy, you’re the best mom, and it’s Opposite Day”. Oh, they get me every time with the Opposite Day, I never see it coming.

“Am I?” I think. “Am I really the best mom only on Opposite Day?”

Instead of chalking these statements up to the fact that he is a five-year-old boy, I start examining every parenting decision I’ve made in the last four months. I think that I shouldn’t have moved to California, I shouldn’t have switched his school after four days of kindergarten, I should immediately call a qualified child psychologist. And I fret. While he sits in the back seat calming extolling all the ways that I am worse than Cinderella's wicked stepmother, I agonize. I puzzle over what I can do differently, I rebuke myself for not reading more parenting books intead of Nora Roberts, I wonder, does he really, at this moment, believe he has the worst mom on earth?

Clearly, I need help. Really, is there some sort of 12-step program for this?



Answer to trivia question: When the Going Gets Tough, Billy Ocean

oh, well, sure. that's fantastic! really, just terrific!

As I picked my son up from Boys and Girls Club at 5:55 last Tuesday night, a full five minutes prior to the $55/per minute late fee kicks in, I puzzled at the full-to-capacity parking lot of the middle school. Shit. Back to School Night, I’d forgotten. The kids were tired, hadn’t done homework, hadn’t eaten dinner, and were fairly dirty from a day of school and serious after school play. My decision: be a good mom, take them home, bath them, feed them, help with homework, and read stories or be a bad mom but look like a good mom and go to Back to School Night. Now, honestly, I don’t know why, but when it comes to anything school-related, I become a brown-noser, an ass-kisser, I become, in so many ways, Eddie Haskell.

So I gave in to my inner Eddie, pulled a fabulously illegal U-turn (illegal even in SoCal), and started negotiating for respectable behavior. I promised soda and brownies with what would be a late dinner, if they would behave well, be very quiet and sit still during Back to School Night. You must understand, the flyer that went home the day before reminding everyone about Back to School Night, had firmly commanded in bold italics, please only bring children if absolutely necessary. Apparently, it was absolutely necessary for me to look like a good mom, so I asked Owen to turn his shirt inside out to hide the stains and macaroni stuck to his shirt, and dragged them in, whispering under my breath, “remember, brownies and soda, even soda with caffeine….”

Rushing toward the cafetorium, I was waylaid by Denise, President, PTO and Cheryl, Library Representative, PTO. As I was in full Eddie Haskell mode, I smiled. They hadn’t yet seen my children, who were scampering behind me trying to help Owen get his shirt back on. The PTO mommies greeted me warmly with enthusiastic smiles. They were appropriately coifed and made up, as was I, having just come from a meeting for my new gig. I even had good shoes that clacked pleasingly on the concrete. They introduced themselves, pointing Vanna White style toward their plastic name badges.

Here’s how the conversation went:

Kate: So what sort of help do you need in the PTO?
Denise: You mean you want to volunteer?
Kate: Yes, I’d love to help.
Cheryl: Oh, hooray, *clapping enthusiastically* most parents don’t want to be involved at all, for some reason it’s always just me and Denise at every meeting.
Denise: *craning her neck to see behind me* Are those your children there?
Kate: Yes
Cheryl: All of them?
Kate: Yes
Denise: Oh, well, sure. That’s fantastic!
Cheryl: Really, just terrific!
Denise: Looks like that little guy needs some help with his shirt.
Kate: Right. *helps Ellie pull Owen’s shirt back over his head*
Ellie: Mommy, Owen says the macaroni he glued on his shirt bugs him this way.
Kate: *quietly* Brownies….soda….
Kate: *back to the PTO mommies* So, how can I help with the PTO?
Cheryl: You know, most families choose to leave one parent at home with the kids on Back to School Night.
Kate: Well, I’m single, so here we are.
Denise: Oh, well, sure. That’s fantastic!
Cheryl: Really, just terrific!
Kate: So then, what kind of help did you need on the PTO?
Ellie: Mommy, Nicole says her mom home schools them, why can’t we home school?
Kate: Well, Ellie, I have a job, I have to go to work during the day, so I can’t home school you.
Ellie: Nicole’s mom says if it was a priority you could. Nicole’s mom’s says her job is home schooling them, and that’s the most important job.
Kate: Right, well, fine. *not bitterly, or sarcastically* It’s not a priority I suppose. Groceries and rent are my priorities.
Denise: *clears throat* So you, um, work?
Kate: Yes.
Denise: Oh, well, sure. That’s fantastic!
Cheryl: Really, just terrific!
Ellie: Mommy, when’s dinner, I’m starving, you forgot to put money on my lunch card again and I had to have a cheese and raisin sandwich. I’m staaarrrvvvinng.
Kate: I know, we’ll have dinner as soon as we’re done here.
Denise: Oh, no dinner, that’s tough.
Kate: Yes, I came straight from a meeting.
Cheryl: So they go, um, somewhere? After school?
Kate: Yes, Boys and Girls Club.
Denise: Oh, well, sure. That’s fantastic!
Cheryl: Really, just terrific!
Owen: *reaching in his shirt, plucking off a piece of macaroni* Mommy, can we go now?
Dylan: Mommy, they said I have to take all the songs with bad words off my iPod for school.
Ellie: I’m staaarrvviiing.
Owen: *eating the macaroni from his shirt* Mommy, can we go now?
Ellie: *now sitting on the concrete, clutching stomach dramatically* I’m staarrrvviing, I think I’m going to faint.
Owen: *rolling around under the PTO mommies table* Mommy, can we go now???
Dylan: *loudly as earbuds are in* I have to take Girlfriend off because it says motherf***ing princess.
Denise: Oh, well, sure. That’s fantastic!
Cheryl: Really, just terrific.

wordless wednesday

In summer, the song sings itself.

~William Carlos Williams








More wordless fun here.

a much better list

Cleaning out my son's backpack this morning, I found his list of favorites. His class was asked to write a few of their favorite things, and then they all put them in a hat, drew one out and had to try to guess who it belonged to.

Here's his:

My favorite food: french toast
My favorite country: U.S.A.
My favorite person: grandpa
My favorite animal: dolphin
My favorite color: blue

Lucky Papa. I will send it to him, and he will put it in the band on the inside of his cowboy hat where it will stay forever, because Dylan is Papa's favorite person too.

red patent-leather, peep-toe, wedge-sole sandals

Bad Mom, Stephanie, posted her to do list on her blog the other day wondering what it might say about her if it was ever found. At the risk of revealing far too much about myself, here’s mine:

For Kate to do today
*as if I had to put my name on it, lest I think it was someone else’s to do list?*

1. buy sheets for kate’s bed, high thread count
*apparently I speak about myself in the third person in lists, perhaps I think there is more chance of my getting it done if it sounds like someone else is asking? and I might forget that I like good sheets?*

2. maybe sheets for dylan’s bed, fewer threads? but kate has to sleep in them while sisters are here
*again, the third person, and yes, I know, poor Dylan*

3. towels

4. food shopping, healthy snacks for lunches and java chip for kate, water, dog food, something for the ants
*The something for the ants is not for them to eat, but something to kill them*

5. breakdown boxes for recycling, MUST DO, tomorrow trash day and rafferty arriving!!!

6. clean garage, rafferty!!!
*Rafferty=very organized brother-in-law who will be appalled if the garage is in its current condition, not sure why I care, but I think it’s nice that I do*

7. clean laundry room, maybe do laundry
*Maybe?!?*

8.. fax dad BEFORE HE CALLS
*I did not, he called first…sigh*

9. clean out pantry

10. buy trash can impervious to tiny ants or whatever they are

and finally…scrawled hastily at the bottom of the list, at the end of the day, when I revisited the list to see what I could cross off…

11. buy supercute red patent-leather, peep-toe, wedge-sole sandals for kate

pack up the moon

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

On Sunday, our neighbor and friend had a massive heart attack and died in his wife’s arms. Today was his memorial service. His family has had to endure more grief than I can imagine; they have lived through the wreckage of a young wife passing when her daughter was an infant, the ruins left after the too-soon, too-violent death of one of his brothers, and the devastation of his other brother’s battle against brain cancer. He was a husband, a son, a father and just recently a grandfather. He stood at the helm of his large family, and he will be missed every moment, every day. There aren’t words that carry enough sorrow, enough anguish or enough heartbreak to capture the grief that his family feels tonight after saying goodbye to him today. I pray that they may feel some peace sometime soon.

"The song is ended, but the melody lingers on..." ~Irving Berlin

photo friday...when the children are quiet

When the children are quiet...


the dog might be in the hot tub with them...







or...


they might be trying to catch a racoon...




or...


maybe, just maybe, if your karmic stars align, they might actually be asleep.













For more try Crazy Hip Blog Mamas.

suburban soccer mom of a different kind

This is fun. I'm completely becoming a suburban soccer mom. There are still a few kinks in some of the key soccer mom areas, but we’re working on it.

My kids are overjoyed to live somewhere with pavement. Last night all three were on their bikes, I was in my cool running gear, iPod in place, dogs on leashes, jogging happily behind them. A couple of issues: first, I have to carry an epi-pen in my running bra in case I stop breathing (if ever there were a good excuse not to exercise, then physical activity induced anaphylactic shock is it) and the pen doesn't much like to stay put so I spent half my time reaching down into the bra putting it back in place. Second, one of my dogs is a mini-dachshund, and she's not particularly fit, so after the first few blocks we had to put her in my son's backpack (head hanging out happily). Last, apparently this activity is a little bit pied-pipery, because as we went, neighborhood kids joined us so that by the end I was running with my three kids on bikes, twin 7-year-old boys on scooters who live two streets over, the 12 year old neighbor who has a pool in his back yard (be nice to him!), my two dogs and two stray dogs.

This morning, I decided to walk Ellie to school after dropping off the boys at their schools. Apparently, one is supposed to "dress" for the walk to school. I made the mistake of walking her to school in flip-flops, plaid pajama pants, and a white t-shirt, hair piled haphazzardly on top of my head, sunglasses and iPod in place. Apparently this outfit has opposite effects on children than on adults. While the moms, who were all dressed in khaki walking shorts, white canvas tennis shoes and Izod or Polo shirts (not a Fountains of Wayne concert tee among them) were sending furtive, worried glances in my direction, wondering if I was hungover, or worse, a single mom. Conversely, the kids all wanted to talk to me. I guess I just have that, relate-to-eight-year-olds vibe because although I tried turning the volume on my iPod up to ear-splitting level, to indicate the desire not to speak, still the kids wanted to know where we'd come from, what I was listening to, why we had so many pairs of skis, and what kind of dogs those are. Ugh, I need coffee.

Which leads to me spending my day sitting at Starbucks trying to find a new way of complicating my order. It's fun! Right now I'm enjoying a venti, half-caf, double-foam, triple shot, skim caramel Americano with a sprinkle of cinnamon, a shot of raspberry flavoring and whipped cream. It's gross, but I'm drinking it because I want to order something else next. I'm trying to trip up my barista, Monica, so that she stops with her Sharpie in mid-stroke and looks up astounded to say, "Huh, that's the first time I've ever heard of that." Do you think they'll blend lettuce into my Mocchiato if I ask?

susan b. anthony and sacagawea

There are some things that I'm for and honestly don't know why.

Here's one: I'm all about encouraging the use of dollar coins. I'm sad that the Susan B. Anthony didn't catch on. When they announced the issuance of the Sacagawea dollar coin, I was excited and felt sure that we Americans would finally jump on the international bandwagon and really, truly understand the value of the one dollar coin.

What's more, I was sure that I was the one woman who could spur the collective embrace of the dollar coin for all Americans. I asked for my change in dollar coins at the 7Eleven and Gap. I requested that any cash I received from a bank deposit included the golden dollars and paid my children's allowance (when I remembered to pay them at all) in these weighty coins. Alas, poor Sacagawea has gone the way of Susan B. Anthony. Ladies, it was a valiant effort and does not reflect poorly on your contributions to our society.

The "silver dollar", the Eisenhower dollar, faired better than the ladies did, which sort of makes me wonder. The Anthony and Sacagawea dollars seemed so much more substantial, so much more ready to take the place of the ever-faithful and sturdy paper GW's. But, for whatever reason, Eisenhower had more staying power, if not more purchase power.

I'm game for this latest attempt at the dollar coin, and I have already been heard requesting my change in Washingtons, Adams, Madisons and Jeffersons (all issued or to be issued in 2007). That said, if it finally catches on, and we Americans relinquish our sweaty hold on the crumpled George Washingtons in our pockets to replace them with the dignified heads of former presidents, then I'll always wonder if it was just another way the Americans really are the most sexist group of people on Earth.

Honestly, I sort of hope they don't make it to the final scheduled issuance of the presidential dollars: Nixon, 2016. Egad!

If you need another reason to embrace this movement, other than my own unreasonable commitment, then here are a few: 87% of dollar bills have bacteria that can make the weak sick, 6% have bacteria that can make anyone sick, 94% of bills carry some bacteria, and almost 80% of dollar bills have traces of cocaine on them. Ick..Purell, anyone?

the horse guy goes in an L

Last night at 10:30 Pacific Time all I knew about chess was that the horse guy goes in an L. This morning at 2:30am, I knew enough to get thoroughly trounced but sort of understand why. I was finally able to convince someone to teach me. For my cyber friend, striker_, who was likely wondering, for a while, how I did so well in trivia when I am so obviously dense (chess is hard!), thanks for being my tutor. For all of you who have been unwilling to teach me, I sort of understand why, but still...come on! I'll be practicing so that I can re-pay my debt to cyber-friend striker_ by becoming a worthy adversary.

I knew I'd love chess, but wasn't sure why. When I was 17, and in the gifted and talented program (I was so...shut up), my friend Diane and I wanted to learn how to play chess. We told our teacher, Mr. Tesmer (known adoringly as Mr. Potato Head, for good reason), that we'd like to try to learn to play chess from books on the subject. He encouraged our clever way of getting out of reading Dostoevsky (I looked up the spelling, it's right, and now maybe I'll be able to answer that trivia question), but told us that he suspected we would find it difficult. In the end, he approved the project and our abysmal results were well-documented. Diane and I ended up just moving our knights around the board and talking about boys (she was dating the lead guitarist from the high school garage band, Riff Raff, and I was agonizing over the unrequited love of the lead singer). But I digress.

To show you the amazing strides I made last night, I went from asking "What's the castle guy called, and how does he move?" to thinking four or five moves ahead (but still missing the fact that I'd just sacrificed my queen to capture a pawn). I won one game (match? set? what?) last night. Reality check: striker_ beat himself, because he was very generous in letting me undo moves, and typing an urgent, "No, not that one!" fairly often. I enjoyed the encouraging "Nice!", when I did something right, and appreciated "Undo, or you'll lose that bishop" (why??) or the less cryptic "move your rook to c8, you'll see why".

"Chess is ruthless; you've got to be willing to kill people." ~Nigel Short

striker_, thanks for not being ruthless.

Update on the unrequited love of the lead vocalist: we did end up together for a bit, it was everything I hoped for. As it turns out, he was gay, which I'm pretty sure wasn't my fault.

Cheerier note: Diane and the lead guitarist are married.

worth his words

"To begin, begin."

"We have within ourselves
Enough to fill the present day with joy,
And overspread the future years with hope."

"Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origins from emotion recollected in tranquility."

~William Wordsworth

bread and pickles

I was interviewed last Monday afternoon by a team of five women who work together at the University of California San Diego. They were a smart, inventive, dynamic, professional team that I would be honored to be a part of. I left the interview thinking of all the times I've heard women extoll the virtues of working with mostly men because women are so catty (incidentally, that seems like a fairly catty thing to say, no?). I also left wondering what sort of business culture could produce such a team. Was it a fluke? Did these five particular women just happen to end up on the same team and working well together by accident? I wasn't sure, but I was pretty sure that I wanted to be a part of it.

Yesterday, I went back for a final interview with the head of development at UCSD, the woman in charge of them all, Harrie. As I was led through the maze of perhaps thirty or forty offices by Harrie's assistant, I peeked in each of them as I went by. All housed women, nary a man to be found. In fact, the only man I'd seen thus far was Jared, who works the reception desk. Intriguing, yes? Harrie's assistant took me to the last office, the corner office, as appropriate.

She was dressed entirely in purple, lavender slacks, lavender suit jacket, a white shirt with violet stripes topped by a darker plum colored sweater vest. Honestly, she couldn't have looked more professional; her bearing allowed her to pull it off perfectly.

I immediately thought of the poem that begins "When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple..." Please understand, Harrie is by no means an old woman, she looked to be in her 50s or 60s, but the poem, I think (cyber bff, literature guru, Stephanie, please correct me if needed), is about doing the right things now, and later being able to do whatever pleases you (like "eat only bread and pickles for a week").

It seems to me that Harrie must've done all the right things in her career. Granted, there had to have been mistakes, as any woman who can pull off a lavender suit would surely have been brave and daring enough to have tried something new and failed miserably. I suspect that she's done the right things, and now she is doing what pleases her: wearing purple to work and creating an amazing culture for women in the workplace.

Dressed in purple, I think, would clearly indicate that she loves being a woman, a sharp, professional woman. Surrounding herself with other women, mentoring them and pushing them, seems to also stand her in good stead with all the women out there who believe it is their obligation to be a woman for other women.

To work for a woman who wears purple the way she does would, I think, be grand.

traffic laws...optional

After an entire week in SoCal, I've learned that the overriding principle in traffic laws is: if it won't definitely kill you or someone in the immediate vicinity, then go ahead.

1. Motorcycles: I am seriously considering buying a motorcycle or one of the those lollipop-colored scooters. In Cali, apparently, motorcyclists are welcome to zip through traffic between lanes! They are allowed to dart right up between six stalled lanes of traffic, or careen wildly in between cars when traffic's moving at a swift 90 miles per hour. Now, if it weren't for the lane changing (see no. 2) this wouldn't be quite so exciting a proposition. There only seems to be one restriction on motorcycles...they must drive between two lanes of traffic, not on the shoulder where they would only have cars on one side to possibly crash into.

2. Lane Changing: The goal here is to change lanes as many times and as quickly as possible on all commutes. A device is installed on all vehicles entering California at the Argricultural Check Point at the border, that signals California State Patrol if any vehicle stays in one lane for more than two miles or three minutes, whichever comes first. Additionally, drivers must disable all indicator lights on the vehicles so as not to distract other drivers from their own lane changing activities.

3. Interstates: Things do get complicated on the interstate highways, beginning with what they are called. A true Californian will never refer to the interstate as I-15 or I-5, but rather "The Five", "The Fifteen" and "The Eight-Oh-Five". I learned this one the hard way. I asked a clerk in Sprouts (read as: the most expensive grocery store on earth, where my children cannot find any Cap'n Crunch or Chips Ahoy! cookies, but instead Good Earth Peanut Butter Puffins, and gluten-free carob cream sandwich cookies(not sure what gluten is, but let me tell you now, it matters)) how to get to I-5, she looked at me with a puzzled expression for a moment and then told me to look under Optometrists in the yellow pages for "Eye-Five".

4. Freeway Exits: Apparently, it is against regulations to be in the exit lane any sooner than fifteen feet from said exit. One must instead, careen across at least three lanes of traffic once one can see the bolts that hold the exit sign onto the post.

5. Bumpers: This was a pleasant surprise! Apparently running into someone's vehicle from behind in California is not known as "rear-ending" them as it is in other states. In Cali, this is simply a friendly reminder from another commuter to close the ten inches of space between you and the car immediately ahead of you. I learned this not by being on the receiving end of such a reminder, but by mistakenly bumping into the vehicle in front of me on The Five yesterday. When I accidently rammed into his bummer, I gave him a little wave indicating that I knew that I was at fault, and that I'd happily follow him to a place of his choosing so that he may let loose his tirade on me. He waved back with what I assumed was the usual, "OK, woman, who clearly doesn't know how to drive, you better have insurance and I'm going to get every scratch and ding on this 1982 Honda Accord fixed out of this deal" sort of wave. I followed obediantly, resigning myself to being late to my job interview while we worked out the insurance details. However, after following for several miles, exchanging a few more waves, I realized that I'd just conveniently reminded him to close that gap, and the wave was just the obliging, "Thanks for the heads-up on the eleven inch gap between this crappy 1982 Honda I'm driving and the Mercedes in front of me." If you know me at all, you will understand my delight in this.

6. U-Turns: Anywhere, anytime, even Mapquest says so.

7. Airbags: The general rule of thumb in California is if the airbag hasn't deployed, keep driving.

The most delightful surprise in all of this has been the general feeling of comraderie among commuters in Southern California. I haven't seen road rage or tense, white-knuckled grasping of the wheel; middle fingers aren't played and no one honks their horns. We're all in this together, and if we miss the appointment we're heading to, well, just go West and hit the beach instead.

lucky pants

"...develop and implement persuasive cultivation ideas and techniques for prospects...."

"...provide critical analysis, using sound judgment with realistic expectations for prospects and donors...."

"...developing and implementing strategic solicitation fundraising plans that incorporate a concise definition of goals, targeted audiences, and strategies in line with institutional goals...."

These are excerpts from a job description for a position for which I'm actually being considered: Associate Director of Development (ADoD) for Annual Giving (ADoD-AG) at the University of California San Diego (UCSD).

The interview panel was particularly impressed with my functional reciprocal capability (FRC) as demonstrated by my work in the area of responsive transitional projections (RTPs) as well as my extensive experience in managing functional third-generation contingency plans (FTGCPs), and my attention to and administration of strategic planning for internal client-focused constituencies (SP for ICFC).

I was able to clearly explain my intention to be proactive in maintaining and inspiring a synergistic, dynamic management team committed to benchmarking specific knowledge-based outcome options. Of particular importance to my game-plan is to facilitate a best-practice, results-driven, bottom-line environment conducive to creating a gap-analysis based on system-focused results.

Now I wait…in what is commonly know as the intuitive, time-phased architecture of the world of professional development.

All that aside, I think it may have the fantastic new light blue, wide-leg dress pants that I found at Nordstrom Rack for only $16.98! They’re my lucky pants (fortune synchronized trousers, or FSRs).

For more on the electrifying universe of multi-layered bureaucratic organizational lingo, please visit: http://www.acronymfinder.com/buzzgen.asp?Num=489, http://misterharold.net/cgi-bin/bingogen.pl, http://www.english-zone.com/index.php?page=1089&pid=81, http://www.phundria.org.uk/old/miscellany/buzzwords.html#NONTECH.

quote for today

"I'm a woman delighted with her disasters. They give me something to do. A profession of sorts. Keeps me industrious. And of some serviceable use." (Sandra Cisneros)

child care options

I'm looking into after school and child care options for my children. A neighbor recommended "Le Petite Academy" for my kindergartener. Needless to say, she hasn't met Owen. For him, we'll need a sturdy place with washable surfaces, a large maintenance staff, and teachers named Olaf and Hilda.

the suburbs will never recover

We've arrived...finally! We're home in San Marcos, part of the greater San Diego metro area.

We came from a small town (read: our house, Grandma's house, the post office, general store, Betty Lou and Larry's house, four other dwellings, and forty three dogs). None of us know quite how to behave in a city.

For those of you who know our dog, Dandy, who we lovingly call "Houdandi" in honor of her outstanding ability to escape any confinement, you will not be surprised to learn that she found a way to escape the six-foot high privacy fence that encloses the back yard of our new house. I have a theory on how she did it and it involves an old excercycle, weight machine and stairstepper in the side yard along with Dandy's leash and and precariously hung bird-feeder. I believe that Daisy (the cunning dachshund) and Camilla (a cleverer cat, I've not met) were her accomplices. I have installed security cameras to try to discover the exact method of escape.

Upon learning that there may be uniforms required at their new school, Ellie was delighted and asked, "like Hogwarts?" On seeing the office of the elementary school, Dylan marveled at how smooth all the surfaces were, "no splinters at this school." (For those of you not in the know...their old school was in a building that cannot be described without employing euphemisms like "charming" or "rustic" or "natural", a public charter school where 8th graders are nice, teachers are called by first names and the principal dances in the school plays, all set in an old log structure in the middle of a meadow.) Dylan is excited to hear that he will be getting "textbooks" this year and a photo ID at school.

During our first couple of days in the neighborhood we had to have a conversation about subdivisions, what cannot be left on the front lawn (socks...backpacks...wooden spoons...cinder blocks...umbrellas and wellies) and that we now have real neighbors and the same etiquette does not apply to these neighbors as to Grandma's house or Uncle Jack's house (our only neighbors up to this point). While it's ok to flop on the couch at Grandma's and demand chicken noodle soup, and it's ok to go to Uncle Jack and Aunt Steph's house to raid the freezer for ice cream when they are away, the same cannot be said for all neighbors. (And for our new neighbors two doors down, on the right, sorry, we're working on it!)

Last, of course, is me. Curtains, Kate, remember to shut the curtains!

fun things from a 17 week car ride

On our recent journey from Meredith, to our new home in San Marcos, California, we saw and heard some things that you might enjoy:

1. Grandma confessed that when Owen misbehaves at her house, the cartoons go off and he has to watch Dr. Phil.
2. Ellie revealed that Owen pulled her dolly apart, but she wasn't sure why. Owen clarified that he needed to use the dolly's leg as a weapon.
3. Bumper sticker seen on car in San Bernardino: "Republicans for Voldemort"
4. Overheard: "Owen, stop biting the car."
5. By the time we hit Barstow, California, even Grandma was asking, "How much longer is it?" Upon hearing the answer, she said she was going to call her lawyer.
6. If you feed Owen chocolate bars and soda, he can talk non-stop from Richfield, Utah to Barstow, California, stopping only to perform opera.

the incredible journey

Dear Mapquest:

From Meredith, Colorado to San Marcos, California you said "Total Est. Time: 12 hours 41 minutes". I use your services frequently and have found them quite reliable and accurate. However, I have discovered a glitch in the system. It would be helpful to have the option of checking items that may speed up or slow down drive time, in order to offer your users a more accurate picture of the journey being undertaken.

Some suggestions:

How many children under 12 are traveling (check one)
c 1
c 2
c 3 or more, because 3 is that magic number

Are any of these children Owen Wheeler Vanderburg? Yes/No

How many animals are traveling? (be sure to count any untrained dogs twice)
c 1
c 2
c 3 or more

If any animals to be transported are cats, how will the cat be contained?
c In an approved pet kennel, with appropriate travel tranquilizers
c In a cardboard box with holes in the top
c In the cab of the truck, where the demon cat will scratch all the children and the driver and will escape on all interstate highways and border checkpoints (see below)

How many outdoor flowering plants will need to be unceremoniously ripped out of their pots and incinerated by the California Border Guards? (check whichever applies)
c I would not bring such things to California, I've actually researched the state I'm moving to.
c Two or three well-concealed plants put in the front of the truck where they will not be discovered
c 29 flowering plants, planted in the heaviest cement planters ever made, stacked precariously at the very back of the truck, where they are sure to fall out and crush the border guard's toes, further endearing you to him, topped by the dirty laundry that did not get finished before leaving your home state

Please choose the answer that best describes the driver's abilities:
c A professional driver will be manning the wheel.
c The driver has been appropriately trained and briefed on the 26-foot U-Haul to be driven.
c The driver has trouble driving her own small vehicle, is lucky to still be insurable, and will require more than one lane for this particular vehicle.

Perhaps you see where I'm going with this. Our total drive time from point A to point B in this circumstance was 14 years, 2 months, and 6 days. We left Owen in Nevada.

Sincerely,

Kate Wheeler