Month: December 2012

  • A Night With My Daughter

    I wasn’t supposed to see her again til January.

    I had the surgery…she had finals…so much to do…so little time.

    Then…Sandy Hook.

    Sorry world…I am a mom.

    Yes, my child is 21…legally an adult.

    Yes, she can take care of herself.

    But as the news rolled in, and death toll went up, there was a crazy anguish building in my heart, that only actually seeing her would stop.

     

    So I called…no answer.

    No surprise…she has a student observation to do—the last of the semester. But I know my daughter…and I know how her heart works. When she came back to her room after spending the day in a school, and caught this news…well…lets just say I had a feeling it would get to her.

    In less than five minutes, she called.

    “You heard?” she said.

    “Yes.”

    We talked for a few minutes…and then we both came to the same conclusion. We needed to see each other.  In a world gone mad, where someone could actually murder children like that…we needed a few hours of calm and quiet with someone we loved. I went to get her.

    She was waiting for me in the parking lot…tears in her eyes.

    “MOM…I was working with kids…the SAME AGE…”

    Hugs…tears for both of us. The ride was catharsis. We spoke about what we had heard…and my oh-so-perceptive daughter voiced something I had thought—but not yet said aloud.

    “The parents…their houses have trees up already. They probably already wrapped the presents—for kids that they will never hold again.”

    Yes.

    I glanced at her half a dozen times…and tried to find some wisdom to offer…tried to give her hope. My daughter wants to teach, you see. This wasn’t about her being afraid for herself…Desiree is a lioness. But her heart was breaking about those kids…those teachers…and how many lives were destroyed by what happened in minutes. I wish I could say I came up with something brilliant, and stirring. I wish I could say I gave my sweet, loving daughter something to hold to her aching heart…but all I could do was BE THERE. All I could do was hold her…share a meal with her…spend time with her in a safe place.

    We did normal stuff this morning. Ran to the grocer, so she would not be eating Lo Mein for the next six days of finals. We talked about everything, and nothing. And I took her back to Salem (Shut up…it needed done.) and on the way back to my place, thanked the universe that she was well and whole. I am grateful that my daughter has so large a heart. I am thrilled that someday, she will teach. I am not in the mood for politics, or bumper sticker logic. I am not feeling able to stomach platitudes. Those kids should be HOME with their parents. Their parents should be telling them that Santa will know if they are naughty. And I should not have had to hold my daughter, as if somehow I could actually protect her from the aforementioned world gone mad.

    God Bless us…everyone.

  • How Do You Say “I Really Wish You Wouldn’t” Politely?

     

     

     A few days back, I had surgery on my ankle—which seems to be doing the trick.

    Getting to the surgery was a nightmare…but one of my neighbors very kindly drove me, and got me home after.  As favors go, it was a biggie. I feel like I owe her a serious debt, and I intend to find a way to repay the kindness.

    Now…the problem.

    I am private about my spiritual beliefs.

    I don’t engage in conversations with ANYONE about them, nor do I consider them suitable material for a discussion, lively or otherwise. I consider such things personal…as personal in fact as one’s sexual practices. (You may have noted I don’t talk about THOSE either?) I try not to insult, or degrade anyone for their beliefs…but it drives me up the wall when I get cornered by someone who feels they MUST share them with me. In short, I find it offensive. I have tried over the years to convey that, sometimes gently…other times more emphatically when a person simply refuses to get the point.

    I don’t believe you can bully, strong arm, or harass a person into sharing your beliefs…period.

    I don’t think God approves of that sort of thing…but that’s just my opinion.

     

    Which brings me back to my neighbor. I really don’t want to be curt, and offend her…but tonight she showed up with a whole LOT of religious materials for me to “consider” while I am healing. There was no gentle way to tell her how offended I was…or how pushy I consider the action, so I said nothing. But I am very sure she will have “questions” for me, and I consider it wretched to be trapped like that. (Remember…I can’t exactly run away.)

     

    So I am asking you, Kindly Xanga folks…do you have any suggestions about how to gently but FIRMLY make the lady understand that I can’t “that sort of friend” to her?

     

    She is very sweet…but that is one issue that truly drives me insane…and silence will not work for long.

  • Dear Idiot College Guys…

    If you are not an idiot, don’t get your Calvins in a bunch.

    If you are, sit down, shut up, and listen…I might just be saving your life.

     

    Perhaps you would like to explain to me after “friend zoning” young women on a regular basis, you WHINE when it happens to you?

    Nah…too easy.

    How about this…WHY would you even think of asking someone’s best friend out, when you know the girl likes you? Are you actually that clueless? Does it not occur to you that such an action will mess all sorts of things up? And if you don’t “know” it will make an issue, WHY do you ask the girl who likes you if it would “MAKES THINGS WEIRD?” Of course it will, you DOLT. The best case scenario is that the friend will shoot you down…instead of tearing your miserable sack off like a roll of paper towels, as you obviously deserve.

     

    Stop saying that you “don’t understand girls”.

    You damned well do. You just don’t like that actions have consequences…and you don’t want to be bothered.

    GROW a pair, for god’s sake…and stop acting like the victim.

  • Loretta’s Poinsettia

    Everyone pretty much knows what the Poinsettia looks like, I think—originally it was a red plant—than white became chic, and now there is a weird array of available shades for any taste but for me? The darned thing should be RED.

    Now I honestly don’t love them. Not the plant’s fault really—just a memory of a long ago Christmas…

    It was my first year in college, my second Christmas without my father, and I felt the need to make it a decent holiday. Dad had died the week before Thanksgiving the year before and the last Christmas had been heartbreaking. I had begun a new life—so it was time for something different.

    I baked cookies in the Dorm Kitchen the week before school ended, and I had saved my “wild” money for the week I would spend home. There was something called “Intersession” in January—where I could take courses for credits, so I knew my holiday break would be brief. But I had one hundred dollars to spend—and THAT was big money in 1978—at least to me.

    Twenty went to cover my Amtrak ticket…but I still had 80 dollars, less ten for travel back—buses, etc. I got home around 4 o’clock—to find my brother waiting with coffee. In our house, we started drinking coffee at about five, so it was THE beverage of choice. We made small talk—and then Brian dropped his bomb….

    “I bought Beverly a ring—so there’s no Christmas presents this year.”

    I looked at him.

    Presents from Brian could be a scary thing…he had some odd ideas about employment. One year he gave us all checks…but we knew better than to cash them. It was not worth the charges and fees when they bounced like a Spaulding pink all over the place. But I knew one thing. I could live without a present…but Loretta? Our mother?

    I could have presented her with the Hope Diamond—my sister could have given her the deed to San Simeon in California—and the present Loretta would always love best would be the coffee mug Brian bought her as an after thought in a local Quickee Mart. He did buy her nice things sometimes—but in general, you knew that no matter how well thought the present, Brian would win…because he was Brian.

    Parents claim not to play favorites. Some may even try. But in our house, Brian was it. I knew that Loretta would go apeshit if Brian did nothing for her for Christmas…and it boded badly for me and my holiday.

    “Oh yeah…and Bev and I are going away the day after Christmas.”

    Oh ****.

    So he was not only going to make my mother nuts—he was going to leave her alone with me after he did. Ho ho ho—MERRY CHRISTMAS! This called for drastic action—but Brian got up, grabbed his keys and left…discussion over.

    Oh ****.

    Now in 1978, owning a credit card was a far off distant dream.
    I had a checkbook—but the checks were an out of town bank—and it was after 3pm, the day before Christmas Eve.
    Back then, that meant no money…not that I had any extra in my account at school. I tapped it for my holiday money. There were also no cash machines, and no way to get any. I worked my way through college—and sent my mother a check every month to help out. It wasn’t lot…but I knew she had no extra either…and even if she did—I couldn’t ask her for this.

    I went into planning mode. How to come up with a present from Brian—something suitably flashy that i could obtain at the last minute, without a car? My mother had also left me a long list of last minute chores. The next day we would all gather for the “Family Holiday”, and I had my work cut out for me.

    Understand—this was seriously weird. Mom not only loved Brian, she HATED his girlfriend. He had made it clear that the ring he bought was not for an engagement—the only silver lining in the deal. When she heard he spent ALL his Christmas dough on THAT WOMAN? I shuddered. Don’t even go there…Now in Hallmark cards, and nifty fiction, parents don’t get mad at everyone for the actions of one child.

    Sadly, my life came from another place. So I had to “fix” this one. So with a heavy heart, i dedicated 25 dollars of my vacation cash to the “secret gift fund” I would still have 50—so it was not dire…and I decided to call a florist. They DELIVERED. So with that plot in mind, I made some dinner for mom and I, determined to call first thing in the morning Case solved.

    The best laid plans of desperate daughters…

    The next morning, I woke…to find my mother in tears over a cup of cold coffee. Brian strikes again. The litany lasted ten minutes—about Bev, her nasty habits, the fact that it was ALL HER FAULT, the slut…. but Mom had to get to work, so she dried her eyes, put on makeup, and left for the branch. I now knew what I had only feared…my holiday was in red light danger of turning to ****.

    No sooner was she out the door, when I grabbed the yellow pages. The first florist just laughed at me. All their stock was bought and paid for. The second suggested that if at the end of the day, anything was left MAYBE they could rube goldberg something. Could I risk a week with Loretta in wild woman mode on a maybe? I could not.

    Finally one must have heard the desperation in my voice…he said “Well, we have one thing left…but it’s expensive…and rather large.”

    “How expensive?”

    “Fifty dollars.” he said.
    OUCH.
    CRINGE.
    and at last…”Ok. Can you bring it—I will pay the man cash at the door?”

    The florist agreed.

    Three hours later, I was throwing garland on the tree when the knock came at the door.

    The man was not kidding.

    I have NEVER seen a plant that big in my life. Even wrapped in florist paper, it filled the Hallway. I could not even see the delivery guy behind it—who was trying hard to hold on to that monster…I paid him, and added three dollars for a tip…what did it matter now? My holiday wild money was down to 20 bucks….and it was going to be a QUIET holiday indeed. But at least Loretta would not be nuts.

    It took me five minutes to manuever that monster up the stairs…it was HEAVY. I knew under the paper, there was a huge bow—and a card that read…

    “I could not forget you for Christmas…Much Love, Brian”

    I had briefly thought of making it from both of us…but you would have to know my mother to understand it. Unless it was from Brian alone, it would not count. Whole hog or none…

    My mother dragged up the stairs about an hour later…I smiled when I heard the intake of breath in the dining room. The pot was in the center of the table, and as I walked in, she was very carefully unwinding the plant.

    JESUS.

    There were TEN good sized Poinsetta in that pot…and they spread beautifully when freed of the floral wrap. Mom found the card, and undid it with shaking fingers—-then she stood there and wept…Brian had come through after all. I wanted to strangle him, actually…but I had done this for my sake as well.

    When my brother arrived for Christmas Eve, I grabbed him before he got upstairs.. and whispered…

    “JUST GO ALONG WITH IT you *******, or I will strangle you with the Holly rope…I swear I will.”

    (Not quite a Hallmark Christmas wish…but I was under the gun.)

    I will give him credit…Aside from being shocked with the size of the thing, you would never have known Brian had nothing to do with it. Mom cried all over him, thanked him, then made a bee line for the phone to call the sisters. He never thanked me—since he had not asked me to do a damned thing. That was ok.

    I had done it for me I guess—but I also did it for Loretta. I might not have understood why she had such a connection to my brother—and I still do not. But I selfish aside, I could not stand to see her holiday ruined by the one person with the power to make it shine.

    The visit was ok. I saw my friends for coffee in the village, and when the holiday was over, made my way back to school.
    The last thing I saw was mom sitting at the table—with a cup of coffee and a smile…looking at the Poinsettia. And for years after, it was her boasting story…the huge plant Brian had thought to get her.

    I never told her where it really came from. She would not have believed me anyway. And I do not decorate with poinsettias. Something about them makes me sad. This year I will see my mother for the first Christmas in five years. She is 80…and living with Brian and his family. We have lost the acid that so long etched the glass between us, and that’s a good thing.

    But I never will forget the Christmas of Loretta’s Poinsettia…

  • Why We Need The EPA…A Primer for Idiots

    During the election, I noticed a sickening number of posts about the EPA, that opined how “wasteful” and useless it was, and how it “needed to go”. Admittedly, these posts and replies tended to come from the “Small government twinks”, who refuse to admit how much of their lives are actually made possible by “government interference”. Today, the EPA is down in Paulsboro NJ, scene of a train derailleur that sent something called Vinyl Chloride into the air, causing dozens of people from an area three towns wide to be hospitalized.

    A few cogent facts. Vinyl Chloride is severely toxic. It can kill you, and not slowly. The bridge that caused the train to fall into the water is owned by Conrail. A few yahoos are opining that this is not a “tax payer” issue…but a matter of “private property”. That’s nice…but since the gas LEFT the property in the PUBLIC air, it makes a sticky problem. Should the locals just HOLD THEIR BREATH til the toxins dissipate? What about the chemicals that made their way into the creek? The aquifer in South Jersey is sand…any chemicals will leech into the ground water…effecting millions, not to mention the local flora, fauna, and farms.  Gee…I wonder when the last major company cheerfully took on an environmental clean up? I wonder which one didn’t drag their feet, and FORCE the government to take them to court for YEARS…while they debated liability? (And don’t even start with BP…we will not know the full cost of that disaster for a decade…they did the BARE minimum.)

    Conrail will not just ante up.

    SOMEONE will have to force their hand…but in the mean time, the mess MUST be cleared.  This isn’t one of those “Let’s wait until the cut the check” moments. This is like Katrina, 9-11, or Sandy…it NEEDS immediate attention. Now NJ is still absorbing the impact of Sandy…which they are now estimating at 30 BILLION in damages, including lost revenues. I’m pretty sure the local municipalities are going to have a helluva time collecting taxes on the Mc Mansions the storm destroyed. FEMA doesn’t cover “vacation homes”, and the insurance industry stopped writing policies on that side of the Parkway a few years ago. That’s not an opinion…it’s fact. So NJ doesn’t have the resources to deal with an environmental accident of this level.

    Pretty sure Clark Kent isn’t going to fly in and suck the toxins from the air, the ground water, and the soil. SO…we need something BIGGER, and stronger than a local governmental entity to cope with it. “Well I don’t live in NJ.” Nice for you…but I assume your state has a railroad going through it somewhere? Meaning the same thing could happen to you. And maybe you have a smaller population…so less people will be effected…but you need only look at the town of Libby Montana to see what an industry can do to a small town.

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Libby,_Montana

     

    And yeah, the EPA stuck their FAT NOSES into that one too…because the mining company had no intention of correcting a thing.

     

    The election is over. People need to understand connections.

    Clear air and water are no longer happy accidents. Observe the air quality over in China, where there is NO regulation. A lot of the same people I know who favored “small government” are now DEMANDING that “someone” fix the Jersey Shore.  “Someone” usually means the Government, the same one they claim to detest. The town of Camden is struggling to police it’s streets, and is being told by the Governor to take a hike. Now I am not being snide…but I wonder if the attitude of “FIX THE SHORE NO MATTER WHAT” is accompanied by the knowledge that the cost of doing so will be IMMENSE? They want “no new taxes”, but they want Seaside back. I would add that some of the shore communities were rather elite. Just how many tax dollars should be spent to repair a recreation area that tended to exclude the public from access to the beach? Vacations are optional. But police coverage is a necessary evil, and I am wondering why no one is talking about that.

     

    Yes, I know people LIVED at the shore. They built their homes there. Funny thing. I live in  New England now. Most of the “beach houses” of 100 years ago are actually quite away from the beach. I guess they actually NOTICED that if you built too close to the water, you could lose it all in a big storm. They also did a MUCH better job of maintaining the dune plants that stabilized fragile shore areas, and protected the beaches. Those prickly burr things that hurt your feet do a dynamite job of keeping sand in place. The growth that is home to nasty green heads helps KEEP the beach where it is. But this is really about the EPA…and if we really need the protection.

    A few years back, the families at Camp LeJuene in North Carolina (you know MILITARY families?) started turning up with a record number of childhood cancers…nasty ones. Lots of miscarriages too. That usually means an environmental issue…and sure enough it was. Turns out the base dry cleaning plant was leeching chemicals into the ground water…and had been for a while. They didn’t call Ghost Busters…They called the EPA.  They tested…made suggestions to correct the situation…and left quietly. What a HORRIBLE, invasive, EVIL governmental agency.

     

    You get the gist. But if you really think you don’t need the EPA, plug your state’s name into a search engine, followed by the words “Super Fund Sites”. And when you read about what they had to clean up, REMIND yourself that the Superfund no longer exists. They “de-funded” it over a decade ago. Oh…and most of THOSE sites were messes from decades before. That toxic stuff has the half life of Radium, or worse…it doesn’t “go away”. Any midnight dumps done since then are not slated for clean up…now…tell me again how WE DON’T NEED THE EPA?