Black Friday (or Have I Lost My Mind?)

After a surprise Thanksgiving (more on that later), I arose at an unholy and other-worldly hour that is known only as 4:00 a.m. - to experience for the first (and last) time, "Black Friday".

According to Wikkipedia, the term "Black Friday" was coined in 1966 by the police of Philadelphia to describe the mess of pre-Christmas madness that descended upon the city the day after Thanksgiving, and brought forth traffic jams, crowded sidewalks and jammed malls.

I can tell you that there was no such activity at my mall. A modest number of well-behaved, albeit half-dead, people showed up for it but let me tell you, it is still "black". If for no reason other than the fact that everyone there appears so painfully exhausted and strung out from the previous evening's feasts that the mall looked like a quarantined facility for black plague.

Both Amanda and Grace got up to go with me (Amanda to shop; Grace for bragging rights at school on Monday). We tried to get the early hour sales-on-sales and we were successful. From Pennys, to Macy's, to Urban Outfitters, to Brookstone, to Best Buy, ALL shopping is done and we got away with unbelievable and ridiculous savings (really!) but - at a price. The three of us are in a coma from which we may never fully emerge.

I cannot tell you what great deals I came away with because my girls sometimes read this but I sent Amanda and Grace off by themselves so that I could gather gifts for all the girls without them seeing. When I was done buying for Bob and the girls I had five bags, so bulky (mostly due to size and/or weight of gift and not quantity) that I could have used a fork lift to get to the car but alas - not a forklift to be found. So there I was, a lone woman, half dead, lifting, dragging, dropping, re-adjusting, swearing, gathering, huffing, puffing, dropping again, re-adjusting again, trying not to cry in frustration and drawing a tremendous amount of attention from everyone I passed, bumped into, or came in radius of 100 feet of, slowly making my calamitous way through the festively decorated hallways of the mall, through the parking lot and finally, to the trunk of the Volvo. I was surely the morning's entertainment: a virtual one-woman show illustrating everything awful and horrendous about Black Friday - the person everyone looks at, shaking their heads and whispering to their companions: "promise to shoot me if I ever look like that".

But in the end I was victorious - I am DONE! I do not have to buy one more thing. Nor will I. And BEST of all, I just finished wrapping all of it!! I am feeling your envy...

And now, I am hungry but there are no leftovers because (and I told you I'd get to this), there was a little misunderstanding about an invitation made last month to a friend to "drop by" on Thanksgiving, and about an hour before we were to sit down, he and his girlfriend showed up for dinner. Out came the extra leaf of the table, two more place settings and at the last minute, we made room. I was thankful, mostly, that they hadn't arrived mid-dinner which would have been so embarrassing for everyone.

In spite of the surprise, the change in plans, the unspeakable hour I woke to get my shopping done - I am extremely happy. I have the entire rest of the season to relax and enjoy. Further, I spent - on the whole family - less that what I typically spent for one person in previous years. Christmas will be small but unemployment has forced me into letting it be what it should have been all along. Christmas will be about what it is supposed to be about.

And to all a good night!

Thanksgiving Eve

I am happy to report that I have that holiday eve excitement going, even though this day is much like the last (meaning it isn't "special" that I'm not going back to work on Monday). What that means is that holidays truly are special in my heart and are not special(in my cynical old age) only because they mark time off from my job.

It feels different and sparkly - even if all we're doing is watching a National Geographic program on King Tut (which we are). Christine is at work and Amanda is either in class or at her boyfriend's house. Jennifer is on her computer, Grace is grooming her feet, the dogs are lazily roaming around, Bob is stretched out absorbing his beloved history programming and I am just collecting my thoughts.

One of our traditions is to set the holiday table the day before - which we did - and I get a great deal of pleasure looking at a beautiful table. And as I look at the table, I cannot help but think

back to a year ago and what a different life I had.

A year ago, I had a house full of people. My dad was visiting from Copenhagen, my sister Linda and her youngest son were here, and our friends the Barrett's had come with their two sons as well. We had gone to "Lister Party Rentals" to rent a table, chairs, and linens to accommodate all 13 of us. We had to set it up in the living room. And it was all very exciting.

The reason that we had such a large gathering last year was not so much about Thanksgiving but because Christine and Jennifer had their debutante ball on the following Saturday. Now before you roll your eyes and think "oh puh-leeze!", let me tell you that while it was a traditional ball, it was not a "coming out" or an "introduction to society" like they used to do. It was a ball given by the National Charity League to commemorate 6 years of community service given by my girls and their "class"through membership in the organization. Granted, you can easily say that to throw a lavish ball in order to recognize and celebrate young women for doing something they should be doing anyway is a bit over-doing it at least. Obscene at worst. But in fairness to all the debutantes, while they all enjoyed themselves, I don't think a one of them cared if they debbed or not. In my view, the ball was for the moms - myself included - for our six years of service and at least four years of fighting with our daughters to fulfill a commitment they made before they were old enough to know better (age 12).

But it was a sensational evening - as it had been the year before at Amanda's ball. And I have to confess that it may have meant more to me than anyone else there. Dressing in a beautiful ball gown with my entire family dressed to the nines looking exquisite and Bob in white tie and tails, dancing to a superb orchestra, being treated to a superlative dinner in a breathtakingly beautifully decorated ballroom at a fine hotel and retiring late in the night to a comfortable and elegantly appointed suite was a dream come true for me. It is the stuff of my girlhood fantasies. As a young girl and well into early adulthood, I was fascinated with the history of "Old Hollywood", with all its spectacular and royal-like, red carpet events and often wished I had been born at that time in history. A traditional debutant ball is as close as you get to that kind of glamorous night. And for me, it was worth all 463 collective battles I had with my girls to get there. And while I fully recognize now that this ball was something we could not afford to do in view of being laid off two months later, I am glad that I didn't know it then, because it was wonderful.

So this year is much different. Everything in our lives has changed, And for Thanksgiving this year, it's just the Smiths - which is nice. All the food was bought on sale (we've had the turkey in the freezer for three weeks). Missing are the gourmet chocolates and beautiful floral arrangements I had last year. No trips are being planned for the holidays. I am contemplating being at the mall at 5:00 a.m. to catch the massive Christmas sale prices on the very few items Bob and I have agreed to get the girls this year.

And I am so grateful! Because in spite of this being the scariest year of our lives, God has provided for us in so many ways. Bob's business has picked up enough to keep us comfortably above water during my unemployment, I have enjoyed having some time off after 34 years of full time work, I have given more of myself this year than ever before, and I can honestly say that I love my family more than I did a year ago (yes, my darling Amanda, even you).

And I have my beautiful table.

My Dinner With Marsha.

Courtesy of Facebook, I reconnected with another old friend, Marsha. She and her husband, John, were in town from New York for a few days and hosted a dinner party at this great little Italian restaurant in Toluca Lake I used to eat at a lot when I worked at Disney. (Prosecco's on Riverside Drive if you're local.)

Marsha is an actress. I met her a million years ago in 1977 when she and I did Fiddler on the Roof with the very talented but personally awful Theodore Bikel up in San Jose. I played the eldest daughter. Marsha, in spite of being slightly older than me, played my younger sister - the one who falls in love with an idealist and chooses to follow him to the abyss to freeze her butt off in some hovel, in poverty, in Siberia - all for love (I would love to see that sequel!) But this isn't about Fiddler. This is about dinner.

Marsha is extremely talented. Acts, sings dances - she's got the full package. Plus she's pretty smart. PLUS she understands, pursues, and enjoys the evidence of her own personal growth which she has always taken very seriously, unlike, say, me who is all for personal growth so long as it doesn't require a lot of self examination. And I think by nature, it does. So there you go. Anyway, she's very impressive.

It had been about 15 years since I last saw Marsha. I found her on Facebook about a year ago. Her photo looked like it must be very old because she still looked about 35 and assuming that she was still slightly older than me, that youthful look was impossible (unless of course there had been airbrushing - which was entirely possible) . Imagine my horror as I walked into the restaurant - with my glasses on - and saw Marsha, now at least 15 years younger than I am. We hugged for a long time which was good because I needed some time to recover. I cannot tell you about the first couple of minutes of our conversation because I was busy scrutinizing her face for signs of any surgery. None whatsoever. She is an anomaly of nature. (No, it isn't fair but be happy for her freakishly youthful appearance, Valri. The grass probably looks greener from her side of the fence as well. Surely she admires your cool cell phone.)

It was wonderful to see her again. She is in a long-running, off Broadway show, doing voice work, and doing what she has always wanted to do. John had a successful acting school in San Francisco and is now teaching in NY - while still working in TV and writing books. They clearly love one another, the connection between them is palpable. There is respect.

Anyway, they had several friends come to Prosecco's - a couple of whom I knew from long ago (that was fun!) and two in particular who sat next to Bob and me and were fabulous people. (One was 62 and looked no older than me - I need to hook into what ever time warp these people have found!) and a really lovely time was had by all. John and Marsha were perfect hosts, moving expertly up and down the table to visit everyone. Forget about fine wine complimenting the food - they compliment the fine wine. And I couldn't figure out what made this dinner so different from others I have attended. Until now. And I think it has to do with that personal growth thing. The commitment to improving themselves: learning, experiencing, focusing on the positive, loving, refining. They are the fine wine. After 15 years of absence I can see that they have grown better with age.

Or in Marsha's case, with youth.

It's Official. I Am a Hillbilly.

I swear it is not my fault. Months of unemployment will do this to you. But I drove my daughter to school this morning in my pajamas and a sweater. And sunglasses - so no one could possibly recognize me in my car.

For years, it has driven me insane that my girls sleep till noon or later on any given day off and then don't get dressed until 9:00 p.m. when they want to go out. Or conversely, they would come home from school at 3:00 and having no where to go, would put their pajamas on. My mother had a word for this: Hillbilly. It was the supreme insult (no offense to real hillbillies - if there really are real hillbillies.) But what it meant in my mother's eyes was slothfulness and a lack of social graces and/or acceptability so extreme as to be visible to those around you. The first evidence of Hillbilly? Pajamas in the daytime. (Second evidence? Chomping on a wad of gum with your mouth open.) It was ingrained in my brain and to see my girls actively engage in visible hillbilly-ism was torturous. So I had rules. If the sun is out you cannot be in pajamas. Period.

Well, the sun has been out for hours. I have come home from dropping my daughter off from school. I am sitting on the couch - still with pajamas and sweater. And the only reason I have to get dressed is that I need to be at a friend's at 11:00. Were that she were only blind.

Getting dressed has become a daily obstacle to overcome. I mean, I do it. I just hate it. Looking through a closet of work clothes collecting dust on the shoulders is such a bore. I do not need to get dressed to get on the internet to look for work. I do not need to get dressed to make phone calls. I do not need to get dressed to eat. Or to make the bed. And I don't have to get dressed for Bob. Bob sleeps dressed. (You think I joke - but if he is wearing a polo shirt on Wednesday, it doesn't come off until Thursday morning when he showers - which makes him the biggest Hillbilly of all - in a backward kind of way. But that's Bob so I give up!)

So here's the deal: one MUST get dressed to retain a modicum of self respect. And so the fact that I actually drove in pajamas this morning is a little alarming. I do , in fact remember back in elementary school, I often saw moms in bathrobes and curlers dropping their kids off. And Mrs. Hansen down the street, drove in a penoir and winked at the Principal. But no one does that today. Women drive their kids to school in work out clothes - ready to practice health and fitness before whatever else it is they do that does not include looking for a job because they don't have to.

But I have to. And in talking to other people in similar circumstances I am learning that pajamas seem to have become the uniform of choice for those working at finding work. And this just seems big time wrong since the rule of thumb is: "Dress for Success". Success is not going to find me in my pajamas. Because if it does, it will excuse itself for having made a mistake and walk away without leaving its card. Perhaps I should do what I make Grace do. Lay out my clothes the night before. Because it is dawning on me that a pair of comfy, old flannel jammies that are "pilling" with time are a really easy place for depression to hide and grow.

At least I'm not chomping on gum.

This One is Important. For Real.

I have been fooling with a way to open this post. Can't find one so I am just gong to say it: My twins have a disease. Currently there is no real treatment and no cure. It is called Vascular Ehlers Danlos, or VEDs and it took the life of their birth mother. It is not going to take their lives and the reason I know this is because when we learned that they had it, 10 years ago, I felt strongly that God was telling me He had it covered for them. But that doesn't mean that there isn't work to be done.

The night Anne died, I told her doctor that Anne's mother had died, at a young age, under strange circumstances. I knew that she had an aunt who had died at a young age too. It wasn't until we lost Anne that the puzzle pieces started to fit together and there was a clear diagnosis. Initial tests for the children gave false negative reads but after Anne's brother, who had also tested negative for the disease, died in his 30's 8 years later, the girls were tested again and we learned that Christine and Jennifer had the gene. They had the disease.

There were certain indications. People with VEDs often have large eyes, small noses and translucent skin. In truth, they are often very beautiful as was Anne; as are my girls. They often are born with club feet. Anne, her brother and her sister had this condition. My girls do not. We have been very careful with the girls.

In the most basic of terms, VEDs attacks the collagen in their bodies, making it brittle and unable to hold together their organs. What occurs most often in VEDs patients is spontaneous arterial rupture. All of their organs are vulnerable so excellent health is key. Once we learned of their condition, they did not participate in sports. We watched them carefully. We avoided things that could be hard on their bodies.

We had been counseled not to tell the girls until they were young adults so it wasn't until two years ago that we told them. It has been a very difficult thing for all of us, especially them to live under. Amanda was inconsolable for a time - trying to reconcile how her darling sisters should have this horrible thing and she does not. But they have done extremely well; it hasn't slowed them at all - I believe because they too have faith that they will be taken care of. I am immeasurably proud of them. And we have had so many people praying for them for so many years. If you need evidence of the power in prayer - please leave me a comment and I will get back to you.

Interestingly, Grace has a form of Ehlers Danlos as well. This is such a bizarre coincidence that it defies all earthly explanation. Grace had to have inherited this gene from either me or Bob. Which tells me that Ehlers Danlos is a lot more common than originally thought. Grace's form is not life threatening but it can be debilitating. Her joints are loose, also a connective tissue (or collagen) disorder. In a nutshell, her joints can fall out of place easily and the threat to her is similar to severe arthritis as she ages. We work hard to build the muscles around her joints. She too, is excused from sports.

But what does it all mean? Well it means that I am supposed to do something about it. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm going to start here. Recent research in France has given some very promising news about the use of beta blockers in VEDs patients. It appears that they help protect against arterial rupture. More research needs to be done. Funding is desperately needed.

There is an organization called Ehlers Danlos Cares at www.ehlersdanlosnetwork.org. If you go

to this site and click on "Donations", you will see that we are trying to raise $75,000 to begin funding more research in Maryland. Perhaps you can contribute something, anything. Next, if you are my Facebook friend, go to my page and click on the "Chase Community Giving/Ehlers Danlos Network Cares" icon and vote and then add the app to your FB wall and ask your friends to vote and add it to their wall, and so on.

I believe that God has my girls covered - and it could easily be an out and out miracle that saves them. But maybe the miracle is that you will read this and pass it on.

And God bless you!

Oh That Bob!

I haven't written much about Prince Bob, the husband, because frankly I don't know where to begin. Suffice it to say he is a really good egg - a person that always gives the benefit of the doubt, loves unconditionally, and lets stuff roll off his back. He often acts before he thinks which can be very funny but sometimes very awkward. The exact antithesis of me. Often, he drives me insane but he also offers some really good stories. Always in retrospect. Here is one of them - I was reminded of it by Christine today.

When Christine was in 5th grade, she attended a Christian Elementary School. The fifth graders there always attend "outdoor school" for a week, where they learn about science and stuff, always from a Christian perspective (and while I am a Christian, I am not always in agreement, but that is another story...) SO this particular year, I went along with the class as one of the parent chaperones. This one morning, I'm sitting in the cafeteria with Christine's teacher (whom I really liked) having coffee and breakfast and we were in some conversation when she refers to "the incident" with Bob. I asked her what she meant and she replied "you know, with the police?" I'm sure I turned into a ghost. "What?!?" I asked. To which she replied: "didn't he tell you?? "Tell me what??" "Oh my", she said. "Oh I figured he had told you. I don't feel like it should come from me but I guess I have to tell you. But its all okay now, really." Which is a nice way of saying: "Don't have a heart attack, okay?" Here it is.

Christine has always been a rather soft-spoken girl and when she was young she was a little shy and insecure, which made her a target for mean kids. Well, there was one boy in her class who really bullied her. Bob dropped her off and picked her up from school everyday and one afternoon, Christine pointed the bully out to him on the playground. As Bob drove by, he rolled down his window and said to the boy: "I'm gonna get you." Well there is NO EXCUSE for that. That was a horrible thing to say to any person - let alone a child - but Christine was in the car with him so Bob figured the boy knew why he said what he did. And like I said earlier, Bob often acts before he thinks. So anyway, I guess the boy was terrified. He evidently didn't recognize Christine in the car with Bob. But the next morning, when Christine got to school, everyone was talking about the old man who had threatened the boy. Christine and others were questioned by teachers as to whether or not they had seen anyone matching the description of the man and the car at the school. Christine knew immediately and didn't know what to do. Apparently the boy had told the school (and police) that an old man in a blue Windstar had threatened to "get him" and that he had "his girlfriend" in the seat next to him. (Christine was his classmate and only 10 at the time). Anyway, an announcement went out to the entire school via the P.A. system so everyone was on alert for this "criminal". And my poor little Christine knew all the while that they were talking about her daddy and she was terrified. The whole school was abuzz with this drama and Christine spent her recess and lunch trying to hide. She prayed that no one would figure it out. Next morning, Bob's car was seen pulling out of the school driveway (after dropping Christine off), and someone went to the Principal's office with the license plate number and called the police. The school notified the teacher that the police had been called. Once the bell rang and all the students, including the bully and my daughter, were sitting in their seats, the teacher led the class in a prayer:

"Heavenly Father, as you know there was a man at our school recently who threatened one of our students. Today we were blessed to have gotten the license plate from his car. Lord we pray that the police are able to find and apprehend this man and take him off the streets so all the children in this community can be safe. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen."

Poor Christine, she started sweating and her heart was beating really fast and she nearly fainted. Can you imagine sitting in class with a bowed head and folded hands, listening to an entire class praying that the police would catch your dad and throw him in jail? I could just die thinking about it a full 9 years later. Of course the police showed up to our door - and within an hour the entire episode was resolved. Bob explained to the police, apologized to the family - it was a non-incident. It was over. And the entire family agreed not to ever tell me. Which is always a mistake because I always find out.

And this story, along with oh so many others, lives on in infamy as part of our family lore.

This first photo is a picture of the extremely old, unmatched socks he wore on our wedding day. The second is Bob at an elegant white tie affair we attended. By now you get it. He's just that kind of guy.

Optimistic Voices

I didn't think I could ever watch "The Wizard of Oz" again. But tonight, surfing through the channels, Grace spotted it and said she wanted to watch (for the hundredth time). Jennifer was
also home and agreed - so we tuned in just as Dorothy was going to meet the Scarecrow. Somehow - unbelievably, I got hooked. And I was 7 years old again, sitting on the floor of our house on Sawleaf Street and watching it on our ancient Zenith TV set - in black and white.

It was on annually, with Danny Kaye as the host, and every kid in the neighborhood got excited about it. As a child, you prepared for these special evenings of entertainment. They were something to look forward to for a whole week and the day of the airing, the entire street of kids was planning for the viewing! Moms bought "Jiffy Pop" and it was like a holiday.

My sister and I would be bathed and in pajamas by the time the show started. My mom would walk us through what it looked like when Dorothy opens the door onto Munchkinland and the flowers were "every color of the rainbow". Even in black and white you could see that something had changed. It was wonderful to finally see it color but I don't think that anything beat having my mother describe it to us. And it was this scene that I remembered this evening. My mother making it magic for us - even in black and white.

And my very favorite song from the movie - "Optimistic Voices" as the four friends leave the field of poisoned poppies and dance toward the Emerald City - clearly in view:

You're out of the woods

You're out of the dark

You're out of the night

Step into the sun

Step into the light

Keep straight ahead for the most glorious place

On the face of the earth or the sky

Hold on to your breath

Hold on to your heart

Hold on to your hope

March up to the gate and bid it open

Isn't that the most perfect lyric?

Breakfast at "The News Room"

I had breakfast in Beverly Hills this morning with two friends from my Disney days. Meryl started working for the company one month after I did (and is still there) and Jennifer had been my marketing director for years. Jen doesn't work for Disney anymore but she was out from New York to attend an event hosted by her current employer. Both of them looked great (Meryl had a great pashima! and Jennifer looks slimmer) and it is very easy to "fall back into place" with people you have known for so long.

We ate at the "News Room" on Robertson - a very cute little place that serves healthy food - which means there wasn't anything on the menu that excited me at all. I had scrambled eggs. They made a point of saying in the menu that they were cooked with no butter or oil. I was afraid I might get a "naughty girl" look if I asked them to go ahead and throw some butter in the pan - I mean, I would be deliberately missing the point entirely, so I had them throw some cheese in there instead. Not bad. Just eggs. For $9.50. (And thanks ladies for treating me!)

It was fun to talk about how everyone was doing and what was new. Meryl has a big personality and she is always entertaining to be around - great laugh. Jennifer is very insightful. And she seems to have a pulse on everything that is going on. Both are really smart. But it was interesting to be on the outside of it. At times, I felt mildly out of place - that sort of third wheel feeling you sometimes get when you feel like you're only peripherally "in the game". As though we were all talking about a movie that I hadn't seen yet. I found that feeling fascinating because I was only so recently in the thick of it. And then, both Meryl and Jennifer spoke of the vacation time they were taking before the year end and it was so weird because while they were telling me how many weeks they were taking at the holidays, combining paid company holidays with earned vacation time, I, for a nano-second felt a tinge of jealousy and thought: "man, why wasn't I that strategic in requesting my time off?" And then, a nano-second later, I remembered: "oh yeah. I have time off in permanence." Still very weird. I don't know what it's like at other companies, but we really were a family. And this whole layoff thing feels like I'm a victim of divorce.

What else? Our waitress was adorable but she was an actress, poor thing. Seeing her reminded me how glad I am to be out of my twenties. Extremely out of my twenties. But when she asked us if we were all headed off to work, I didn't answer. I worried that if I answered, my face might cry again.

Wow. Am I whining? I shouldn't be. It's not like I am holding a tattered old coat around my shoulders, looking longingly into restaurant windows. (Well I might have looked longingly into the window of "The Ivy Restaurant" across the street from the "News Room" - but only because they offered savory fare cooked in butter.) We are doing fine, thanks to Prince Bob and a lot of business he has generated through his work in a commercials and real estate. And God has timed those checks to the day that we need them - unbelievable. We're fine. But still. Indeed.

But still --- it was wonderful to see these women again. And I know that I will see them again. And I am so glad for that. They are, after all, part of my family.

I drove back to the 405 via Sunset Boulevard - through Beverly Hills - passing grand and beautiful old homes, The Beverly Hills Hotel, both east and west Bel Air gates, UCLA, and uncountable, gorgeous, lush landscapes of rich green lawn, manicured hedges and shrubs, splashes of color from flower beds, cascading bougainvillea, and endless mature trees of every kind and color - reaching across the boulevard so that you can drive under a canopy - I love that!! And it reminded me of visiting Great Grandma in Sacramento when I was a little girl. Back then, it looked a lot what I was seeing on this drive - only the houses were smaller. At night, from my Grandmother's street, you could see the lit dome of the Capitol building and it was beautiful. I felt like all was right with the world back then. Driving the boulevard, it felt like that again.

Perhaps it is. I love my friends. Nice visit. And fewer calories!

Phone as Appendage

Okay, so in church this morning, standing in line to get communion, is a teenage girl. Text messaging. I'm...I'm...I'm at a loss.

When I was a little girl, back in the 19-fabulous-60's, we had one phone in the house. It hung on the wall of our kitchen. We had no area codes and if you wanted to call someone outside your town you had to "dial 'O' for operator". It had a rotary dial and it made a te-te-te-te-te-te sound when you let go. For a while, we even had a party line - which meant you had to pick up and listen before you dialed because someone else, living at a completely different address, might be using the shared phone line. There were phone booths everywhere around town and to make a call from them it cost 5 cents. There was only one telephone company - Bell. And guess what? We lived to tell the tale.

And if we were in the mood for correspondence but had nothing more to say than "Hey!", we waited until we had just a bit more on our minds and then we wrote letters, stamped envelops and mailed them (without the "e"). And getting a letter was always really great!

And, in fact we did this through the 60s, through the 70's, through the 1980's and into the 1990's.

Now it is 2009 and I just got my phone bill covering 5 phones. We have a "plan". I assure you, we have spent a lot of time making sure that we have the best possible rate for our use (it is still ridiculous) and it includes "unlimited texting". But one of our phones has 4,792 text messages on it in one month. One month. ONE. I did the math averages. Assuming 30 days with 12 waking hour per day, someone in my family is texting, on average, 13 times an hour. That works out to 1.083 texts every 5 minutes. Who, I BEG tell, has that much to say to anyone?

I'll be the first to admit that I cannot imagine life without my blackberry. But with that said, I am still trying to come to terms with the idea of "phone as appendage". I am all for communication. Cell phones and email and the internet have made life, in many ways easier. But I swear, I would happily give it all up to return to a life with one phone on the wall and a heavily used mailbox outside the front door.

I have spent a little time thinking about why the rampant use of all this communication technology is so offensive to me. And I think I have put my finger on it. The idea that life in general is so unimportant that any moment in life - a quiet moment, a joyful moment, a moment of brilliance, a moment of intensity, of reverence, of intimacy, of importance can and will be interrupted by the buzz of a vibrating cell phone with brain dead messages from any number of several hundred installed "friends" like: "You're hot!" or "whazzup?"or "I'm bored but XOXOXO!!!" is something that makes me want to start slapping people really hard. Then, as if swimming in a sea of stupid, the recipient will invariably and immediately respond to said text, allowing it to take precedence over whatever else might be going on ("I <3 U 2") or some other coded or misspelled message. And I have seen bone heads galore driving around town or on the freeway - one hand on the wheel, the other expertly punching the phone pad to say something that is more important, at that second, than being safe. I have sat in movie theatres and seen the glow of the a multitude of phone pads while people are texting madly. And then, someone at church cannot even focus long enough to free herself from whatever irrelevant conversation she has going. And you may think - "oh c'mon. It's nice to be able to keep in touch so easily." Yes but the arrogance and conceit that one must have to believe that any random thought they think up is worthy of being read, worthy being sent through time and space to satellite and back to earth, worthy being shared at all - astounds me. It's akin to being constantly interrupted by an annoying child - with no one taking a firm had with him. I want to beat the hell out kids like that.

There is some hypocrisy here. I have called people while I am shopping, or I'm in the car (hands free, of course). I couldn't write this blog if not for the same technology that I loathe. But at least I'm not sending it to you. Sadly I have to admit that I am not unlike anyone else in this world of technology and if we're not texting from our cells, we're talking on our cells or we're on Facebook or Skype or iChat and Lord in Heaven !! - does anyone EVER SHUT UP? There is no doubt in my mind that in another hundred years one of our hands will evolve into an iPhone. With apps.

My Face Betrays Me

Today was interesting. I went to Grace's school earlier than I normally do to pick her up so that I could go into the office and pay her monthly tuition. I went into the office and sat down to write my check and the secretary there, knowing I have been unemployed, asked me how it was going. I began to tell her how we have had to make a lot of adjustments but how really okay we were and how I am still looking but how difficult it has been due to my age and lack of college degree and how I still felt very hopeful because I know that there is something new for me out there and while I don't know what it is I am excited because I know that it's coming. And while I was talking I could feel the muscles in my face involuntarily moving into "crying position". I didn't cry. I didn't even feel like crying. But my face, I could tell, cried. And I know the secretary saw it and I felt so embarrassed. Like she thought I was putting up a brave front. You know, I can sort of deal with not having a job. But it is very hard to deal the the feeling you get after months of unsuccessful searching that you are not, for some unknown reason, desirable in the job market. I long to feel "on top of the world" again. Most days I really do feel fine and hopeful for whatever the future holds, but there is clearly something going on deep inside, something I'm not even consciously feeling, that is still not over being laid off. Whatever it is, my face knows it.

Jennifer

Last night Jenny's boyfriend was over. I like him because whatever else may be wrong with him, he will at least sit down and talk to me and not act like its some sort of medieval torture. So last night, instead of dragging out all the naked baby pictures, I drug out all the stories. The bad ones. Because they are funny. Jennifer was irritated with me and asked me why I never tell good stories about her. And I felt a little badly about that so I thought it would be a good idea to post a little something on each of my girls to tell the world how great they are and how proud I am of them and how much I love them. And I promise to get to that part. But first I have to tell you the bad stories. Because they are funny. (And Jenny is going to be soooooooooo mad at me!) Hi honey!

Jennifer was born pissed off. She didn't just cry - she screamed and she'd scream at you. It

wasn't just about wanting something. She was mad as hell, and as such, usually got attention right away. This first photo catches her just before she was about to have a fit.

She was also the most beautiful baby I had ever seen in my life. To this day, I have yet to see a baby that rivals her beauty. (Lori Kish came close). People literally stopped us wherever we were to look with amazement at her. I remember taking her to the mall with me once and I was trying on a dress in a dressing room. The sales girl came in to assist me and when she saw Jenny laying there in her little carry seat, she called all the other sales girls in to look at her.

When Jenny was a baby, she used to bite her twin, Christine. We'd put them in a playpen together and after a little while, we'd hear Christine start a mournful cry. Invariably, we'd go in and there was Christine with a circle of big red teeth marks on her little arms or legs or back. We'd admonish Jennifer: "No! That is very bad. No biting!" and we'd pick Christine up to comfort her which would just make Jennifer mad so her face would turn 16 shades of red and she'd just stare at us and let out a banshee holler. So one day I heard this now familiar cry for help from Christine and I ran in to see the familiar teeth marks and there sat Jennifer with a "well my job is done" look on her face. Having had enough, I picked Jennifer up and oh so slowly and gently I started to bite Jennifer until I could get a little squeal from her. Once she felt it - she let out a blood curdling scream and I looked at her and her eyes had filled with crocodile tears and she looked at me with a "I thought you loved me, why would you do that to me" look and I thought I would die. Obviously, she, at the ripe old age of 1 year, had not made the connection I was trying to impress on her. Why had I done that? Remember - I was an insta-mom. What the hell did I know? From then on, we separated them into two playpens if they had to be left alone for a little while. Having lost her teething toy, she moved on to biting my shoulder whenever I held her.

When Jenny was between 3 and 4, we were enjoying a picnic on the beach. After a couple of bites, Jennifer set her sandwich down on the blanket next to her, a seagull hurried over and stole it from her. Jennifer was LIVID! She was so mad it made me laugh - but what came next topped it all. Shaking her little fist and as loud as she could manage she yelled at that bird: "Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack!!!" Clearly she believed she was yelling at him fluently in his own tongue.

Jennifer was never one to just embrace what she didn't didn't want to.

She was often disappointed by experiences she had thought would be fun and for a while, she

showed no interest in anything at all so we sort of had to force her. We put Jenny and her sisters into dance. Here she is, posing to commemorate her first dance recital. She was never a girlie girl.

Similarly, even when it was seemingly in her best interest, she would go kicking and screaming. She didn't mind telling Santa what she wanted for Christmas but she didn't like having her picture taken. And she'd clearly take even Santa DOWN, if she had to.

When she was 7, she was adamant about dressing herself. One cold winter day when we had our friends the Barretts visiting, we were all dressed in sweaters and thermals and she decided to dress for the beach - mid July. I insisted she put on warmer clothes, and as always, it was a looooooooong battle (Moooooom! Its not even cold!!)but finally she relented because I was the mom. Once she returned, dressed properly, I told all the kids to go into the bedroom and find a game to play. Dragging her knuckles and lower lip on the ground with her, she muttered "What are we supposed to do? Have a sweating contest?" Ah, that's my little smart ass!

Her Girl Scout leader regularly asked me if I was sure I wanted Jennifer to stay in Scouts. She refused to wear her uniform and never stayed with her troop - but Jenny liked Girl Scout Snow Camp so she stuck it out - much to her leader's dismay.

She was intimidating to most kids. She never learned to edit herself so she would just be frank, at a time when most little kids want only to please. Jenny would get in your face. She was the shortest kid in her class but you better not mess with her or Christine cause she'd eat you for lunch. She went to Christian elementary school and would throw pencils during chapel. She was exasperating and I worried she would wind up with a million tattoos, riding on the back of a Hell's Angels bike.

What happened instead is that she took her lack of tolerance and turned it toward injustice. She cannot abide unkindness or neglect and will always stake a claim for the underdog. She has decided to go into nursing and she will likely end up in the Peace Corps or something like that after graduation because she wants to help the most unfortunate.

She doesn't care a wit about money (though she likes to spend it) and is embarrassed by extravagant consumption. She is the most well read 19 year old I know. She has the style of Audry Hepburn and Grace Kelly and has the talent for original fashion like Diane Keaton. She is equally comfortable dressed down or being glamorous. She is a Christian and when others acted like that was not cool, she let it roll off her back. She has a strong moral compass.

She can also still be a big pain in the ass. She can whine, and yell, and swear like a sailor, and pout, and have a tantrum - sort of like me. But she is also the only one of the four girls who will just see that the house needs cleaning and do it, without being asked. And she does a good job.

And she really wants me to love her. And I really, really do.

A Soap Box Speech - Apologies in Advance

So the government is extending and expanding its $8,000 tax credit to first time home buyers. Initially, it was to be available through November. Now you can get that credit through June. Additionally, they are now offering homeowners who have lived in their homes 5+ years a $6,500 tax credit for new home purchase. And there is a stipulation that as a married couple making $225,000, (because they really need help) you can buy a home for up to $800,000 before they start phasing this credit out. This is a good thing for Bob and I since Bob is a real estate agent. But I have to wonder, what is it really about?

Seems to me that we as citizens should be fed up about now with all the smoke and mirror tactics of our government (past and present) and its economy. The idea is clearly to get the housing market moving. If the media has nothing but good news of gains to report about the housing market, we must be in a recovery, right? And then we can all start buying again. Which, I understand is what stimulates the economy. I get it. Except that while the housing market shows gains, unemployment still rises at record levels and they are actually calling this a "jobless recovery" - which makes absolutely no sense at all since if you don't have a job, you can't recover (unless a truck pulls up to your door and hands you a check for $10,000,000 from Publisher's Clearing House - oh and by the way, new, legalized gambling casinos are springing up all over the country. Now there's hope for us!). So they have extended unemployment benefits again - which I am truly grateful for at this point because this is really getting scary - but I'd rather have a job.

The plan is to fund these extensions and credits through business tax (as though they can take the hit) but they are also refunding taxes paid by business in previous years to businesses who are losing money this year. And all of this sounds so helpful. And there is no doubt that all of us who benefit are undeniably grateful. But it is a bit like giving morphine to a dying person. It feels better for now, but you're still gonna die. It seems to me that we must start looking this gift horse in the mouth. Because on closer look, that horse has all the markings of being Trojan.

And for the record, I am a registered democrat.

Interesting to me as well is that I hear absolutely nothing about what is being offered to the truly poor. Those people who couldn't get by even when things were great. Most disturbing of all though is the endless waste. A couple of weeks ago 60 Minutes reported on a $60 billion crime industry in Medicare insurance fraud! In Florida, it has far surpassed drug trafficking as the number one crime industry. And I'm pretty sure that Florida gets top billing over the rest of us in drug trafficking. They explained how incredibly simple it is for literally thousands of criminals currently involved in this scam (in Florida alone) to set up a phony business (pharmacy, doctor office, etc.), buy a list of medicare patients, and just start billing medicare for huge bogus services - each operation stealing up to $100,000+ a month. The policy of medicare is to "pay now, investigate later". So by the time an investigation begins, the criminals have moved out - lock, phantom stock, and barrel - to set up shop somewhere else. Further, in the area of Miami, there are only 3 medicare employees whose job it is to investigate fraud. This against what is reported to be thousands of fraud cases monthly. They interviewed one woman who says she has been calling medicare for 6 years to report fake charges being paid out by medicare on her behalf - for wheelchairs, prosthetics, services that she has not received and has never needed. For 6 years the only response she has received back from Medicare is a form letter stating "thank you for bringing this to our attention, we are investigating it." When asked why this hasn't had more attention before, the answer from Medicare is, "well we just didn't realize that this was such a problem". And then, my next thought is, are these the same people who are wanting to set in motion a government sponsored health care program? Uh - let's back up a little okay? I'm not sure we should give the baby the matches.

If the government took some of the trillions of dollars they have given away (with no accountability) and created thousands of jobs across the country in meaningful, real, effective insurance fraud investigation and prosecution, the $60 million they would save in payments to criminals would not only pay for the thousands of new employees, it would increase the funds available to medicare. And maybe I could get trained in this new job and go to work again.

And I understand that government benefits are killer!

Job Dreams

It is never a good thing to get excited about job opportunities. The whole counting the chicken before it has hatched theory. To say nothing of how depressed bursted bubbles can make you feel. Let me tell you, I work very hard to stay grounded through anything regarding possible employment. But yesterday I learned that a hire decision for job back in the peripheral Disney family has not yet been made - meaning (one could surmise) - that I may still be in consideration and then today, I learned that a job I really, really wanted several months ago might have an opening again.

So I am fantasizing about employment and salaries and benefits and what that would mean for our family and I feel compelled to tell myself: "Stop it. You're not going to get it."

Isn't that awful??

I have to say - it is for protection that I tell myself this. Regular rejection really gets to you after a while. I know that I am in competition with hundreds of other qualified candidates for every single position I might apply for - so it is as much a numbers game as anything else, but still - to be mentally defeated in advance, can't help anything at all. Which leaves me with the question: what is the right attitude to take?

It's not like I am sitting around being a blob all the time. Well, not all the time. And some very good things have come out of my unemployment - this blog, for instance. I am picking up readers all the time and it is gratifying - so thank you everyone who reads this! You are making my days! And I have begun to step outside my own little self-involved world and have actually been useful as a volunteer and a friend. Go figure. I am getting along better with my girls. Really go figure. I am not in a panic. I mean, I swear, if all this change wasn't so positive, it would actually be disturbing. Because I barely recognize myself. Apart from that wake-up-in-the-morning-a-total-b-tch part. And of course the "what-do-you-mean-you-don't-agree-with-me-you-must-be-and-idiot" part. And the I-can't-possibly-be-as-fat-as-I-look-in-that-photo-so-why do-you-look-the-same-in-it part. But too much change all at once can be stress inducing. Like getting a major face lift and looking at yourself in a mirror and not being able to recognize the reflection. Very scary. Best to go a little at a time.

But you know what? It is a beautiful clear day and I am excited about these two potential opportunities - even if I don't really have an easy shot at them. Even if neither really has any interest in me at all. Apparently, there are possibilities still out there to dream about, to be hopeful about. Even if those possibilities wind up being the answer to someone else's prayers. Someone who needs it even more than I do. And while this has been no picnic - AT ALL - I have to admit that we are not as bad off as others. And were I to find employment again, I would do well to remember that to whom much is given, much is expected. In the end, I suppose the right attitude is to do my best and then put it in God's hands. I have no control over it. And, it appears, He is busy working on me some.