My husband lost 2300 dollars today to an out of state company called Golden Nugget. They buy gold. All sorts of work had to be done to bring the building up to code, and the balance remains unpaid. Moreover, they refuse to pay the full amount they owe, insisting that they are being overcharged. Actually, they aren't; my husband had to have tradesmen complete some of the work, he needed an architect, he had to fight with the city over the permit...and this company has the audacity to cheat him.
I'm disgusted right now, and I feel terrible for my husband. The needs of Golden Nugget have taken up his time, none of which he's paid for, and have set him behind with his other, PAYING clients. How can businesspeople live with themselves when they cheat little guys like my husband? It seems logical to me: when someone is hired to do a job, pay them for it. We don't always like the prices we have to pay, but they are a reality of doing business. There are so many factors that go into pricing, none of which companies like Golden Nugget seem to understand.
Now we're short 2300.00, money we need. I'm sure the owners of Golden Nugget aren't worried about mortgage payments, care and feeding of their children, or their retirement. They can only see the bottom line, which is less than they're willing to pay for services. And us? What will we do? Cinch our belts a little tighter, hope nothing medical happens, and pray for my husband to continue to work to make up this loss.
Avoid this company!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
The First Day of School
A convoy of yellow buses converge on the school where I teach, unload their first load of the day, and just as quickly leave, headed to pick up more anxious, nervous children. Parents recklessly hurry into the parking lot, teenagers exiting quickly before their friends see them being dropped off by adults. Teachers carrying coffee cups, lunch bags, schools bags, and an assortment of other bags bustle into the building, intent on making sure they are ready for their new students and day. Tomorrow is the first day of school.
At the beginning of August, I start eyeing school supplies in various stores. My fingers brush against new pens, and I search the aisles for 'necessities' like fat magnet clips or colored staples. The stacks of lined paper call my name as do folders that look like rainbows and markers neatly standing at attention. The temptation is usually too great, and I surrender to new pens, at the very least. While I'm not usually ready for the start of school, I love new school supplies.
With a fist clenched around my son's school supply list, we head into the maelstrom that is school supply shopping. Pencils? Check. Wide ruled paper? Check-but ugh! who uses that? Kleenex, Chlorox wipes, baggies. Interesting requests and...check. Naturally, I have to throw something in the cart I want, like a funky new pen or some purple sticky notes. My son is nearly as excited as I am to go school shopping.
Each July a letter arrives, which I lovingly refer to as 'the letter of doom.' It's usually a cheery note from my principal, letting us know the specifics about our return. It casts a brief pall on our summer, but then we go back to swimming, biking, walking, hanging out on the porch, and readying ourselves for school shopping. I frequently can't remember when we are supposed to report, much to the frustration of those who ask when I go back. I like to pretend I have more summer. Upon our return, meetings swamp our days, and time in our classrooms is limited. Like ants, we hurry to and fro, making copies, putting up posters, planning lessons. Occasionally previous students come to visit. If they linger too long I often put them to work as well. I'm training them not to linger too long. Seniors are often scared before college begins, and they need to know there is a trace of an umbilical cord attached to their alma mater before they fly away for good.
On the first day of school, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach and a series of "what ifs" plaguing me. I remind myself constantly that it's a new year with new students, all of whom have to be trained to work and think for my class. In my mind, I plan what I'm going to say and do and hope it'll be enough to fill the time. As I walk into the building, the nervousness and anxiety are so thick, along with the hormones and the body sprays, a small fog forms around the students. Of course there are kids out of dress code, trying to be cool, to flout the school's rules. Others are hurrying, heads down, to find their classrooms so as not to be late. The halls fill with a crescendo of noise, the bell rings, the kids hurry to their first class, and then...silence. And the year begins.
At the beginning of August, I start eyeing school supplies in various stores. My fingers brush against new pens, and I search the aisles for 'necessities' like fat magnet clips or colored staples. The stacks of lined paper call my name as do folders that look like rainbows and markers neatly standing at attention. The temptation is usually too great, and I surrender to new pens, at the very least. While I'm not usually ready for the start of school, I love new school supplies.
With a fist clenched around my son's school supply list, we head into the maelstrom that is school supply shopping. Pencils? Check. Wide ruled paper? Check-but ugh! who uses that? Kleenex, Chlorox wipes, baggies. Interesting requests and...check. Naturally, I have to throw something in the cart I want, like a funky new pen or some purple sticky notes. My son is nearly as excited as I am to go school shopping.
Each July a letter arrives, which I lovingly refer to as 'the letter of doom.' It's usually a cheery note from my principal, letting us know the specifics about our return. It casts a brief pall on our summer, but then we go back to swimming, biking, walking, hanging out on the porch, and readying ourselves for school shopping. I frequently can't remember when we are supposed to report, much to the frustration of those who ask when I go back. I like to pretend I have more summer. Upon our return, meetings swamp our days, and time in our classrooms is limited. Like ants, we hurry to and fro, making copies, putting up posters, planning lessons. Occasionally previous students come to visit. If they linger too long I often put them to work as well. I'm training them not to linger too long. Seniors are often scared before college begins, and they need to know there is a trace of an umbilical cord attached to their alma mater before they fly away for good.
On the first day of school, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach and a series of "what ifs" plaguing me. I remind myself constantly that it's a new year with new students, all of whom have to be trained to work and think for my class. In my mind, I plan what I'm going to say and do and hope it'll be enough to fill the time. As I walk into the building, the nervousness and anxiety are so thick, along with the hormones and the body sprays, a small fog forms around the students. Of course there are kids out of dress code, trying to be cool, to flout the school's rules. Others are hurrying, heads down, to find their classrooms so as not to be late. The halls fill with a crescendo of noise, the bell rings, the kids hurry to their first class, and then...silence. And the year begins.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
On My Child's First Day of School...
I will be sitting in a meeting. Because of my job, there are few times during the school year where I can do something with my son at school. We have a tradition where I take him to school on his first day, every first day since he was in pre-kindergarten.
But tomorrow is different. Instead of spending quality time with my son, I'll be in training. Sure, I'd like to be late to the training, but I have to weigh the consequences. Do I miss my son's first day of fourth grade, or do I miss a training for something I'll need sooner than later?
When I explain to him that I won't be able to take him tomorrow, he makes one of his customary nine year old noises, "Ahhhhh," which is one of his many annoying noises. This is the disappointed noise. The noise that lets me know I am failing as a parent. Or at least that's my perception of the noise. I assure him I'll be there immediately after school to pick him up, crazy dog in tow, which seems to make him feel better. His happy noise is "yay!" While he doesn't seem to mind my absence from our ritual, I know I do.
I know that he'll enter fourth grade only once. After that, he's a veteran. I won't be able to help him find his teacher or the spot where he's supposed to meet his class tomorrow. I won't be able to watch him march bravely and resolutely into the building in his new Chuck Norris t-shirt hunched over by his overloaded backpack. Never in years past has he turned around for one last look; I assume it's because he knows I'm still watching, waiting for him to enter his realm. But this year, this year seems unfair. I have only one child, and I try to miss as little as possible where he's concerned. I won't get any first day of fourth grade do-overs.
But my work duty calls. And, as many people like to remind me, I'm lucky to have a job in this economy. I just hate it when my job interferes with my other job...my mom job.
But tomorrow is different. Instead of spending quality time with my son, I'll be in training. Sure, I'd like to be late to the training, but I have to weigh the consequences. Do I miss my son's first day of fourth grade, or do I miss a training for something I'll need sooner than later?
When I explain to him that I won't be able to take him tomorrow, he makes one of his customary nine year old noises, "Ahhhhh," which is one of his many annoying noises. This is the disappointed noise. The noise that lets me know I am failing as a parent. Or at least that's my perception of the noise. I assure him I'll be there immediately after school to pick him up, crazy dog in tow, which seems to make him feel better. His happy noise is "yay!" While he doesn't seem to mind my absence from our ritual, I know I do.
I know that he'll enter fourth grade only once. After that, he's a veteran. I won't be able to help him find his teacher or the spot where he's supposed to meet his class tomorrow. I won't be able to watch him march bravely and resolutely into the building in his new Chuck Norris t-shirt hunched over by his overloaded backpack. Never in years past has he turned around for one last look; I assume it's because he knows I'm still watching, waiting for him to enter his realm. But this year, this year seems unfair. I have only one child, and I try to miss as little as possible where he's concerned. I won't get any first day of fourth grade do-overs.
But my work duty calls. And, as many people like to remind me, I'm lucky to have a job in this economy. I just hate it when my job interferes with my other job...my mom job.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Disconnection
With varied and numerous methods of communication, it seems to me that our ability to communicate with one another has deteriorated. Moreover, we expect quick responses to texts and emails, and when people don't respond, we grow frustrated and impatient, sending a follow-up text or email. 20 years ago, when I began teaching, I called parents and left voicemails (a recent technological advance for the time). Should they wish to respond, they called me and left a voicemail. Or I sent notes home. I even mailed letters. Now, should a parent email me, they expect and immediate answer. More often than not, they get it because it's expected that I respond quickly.
Email, Facebook, and texting have made it simpler to end frienships, have arguments, or provide the courage to say what someone would never say in person. Because it's hard to understand tone and undertone in texts and emails, recipients often have the wrong idea about the author's intention. It's too easy to hit "send" and to difficult to reread what's been written to determine if tone is appropriate or not. Disconnection is inevitable when we allow the computer to do for us what we are too scared to do in person.
Years ago, I could go shopping or to a museum to relax and get away from everything. Now I have to take my phone with me. What if there's an emergency and I'm needed? Or so I'm told. I find myself checking my phone several times a day to see if I've any texts or voicemails. Of course, it's easy to ignore texts and voicemails, but then I feel guilty for doing so. We are so connected to one another that we lose a connection to ourselves. I miss being unreachable, and whenever I shut off my phone or leave it at home, it seems like that's when my phone is busiest and people panic because they can't get ahold of me. I would be gone for hours as a teenager, and my parents couldn't activate my GPS since there was no GPS. They didn't monitor my phone calls. They trusted me and empowered me. The reliance on cell phones, for example, has taken away the feeling of empowerment in our younger people, and they are now unable to much for themselves.
Email, Facebook, and texting, while providing us another method of communication, have taken over our lives. Wi-Fi in the grocery store or on the bus? Heck ya! Computers and internet access in the hotels or motels? Why yes, I have to check my email on vacation. Something important might have happened. With a few strokes of the keys and a send button, I can let everyone I know what I'm doing, who I'm seeing, or how I'm feeling. I don't have to have long, personal conversations with people anymore; I can do a short conversation by text. I can be both connected and disconnected at the same time.
There's also the notion of multi-tasking. Checking one's cell phone or email while in the company of another person, for example. It drives me crazy when I'm out to eat and a couple (or more) is sitting at the table, completely engaged in their own cell phones. No live conversation is taking place. It also drives me nuts when I'm talking to someone and they're texting or checking Facebook at the same time. I'm present; they are not. When this is done to me, I feel as though I'm completely irrelevant. I actually ask students to put away their phones while we're conversing, and they're shocked that I require their attention on me while we're conversing. Watching parents text or check the internet in front of their children only teaches this rude and inconsiderate behavior to the children. They will continue to perpetuate this rudeness as they grow older.
I find that cell phone usuage has no etiquette. It's now permissable to take calls in movies, at museums, the grocery store, and to do so on full volume. I hate sitting in a public bathroom, listening to a phone conversation from another stall. Really? Peeing while talking on the phone? It's hard to enjoy time out when I'm listening to people's loud conversations on their cell phones. I've even watched people texting during church. Why bother going to church if texting someone is more important? Texting during funerals and weddings is also tacky.
Because of our disconnection from one another, formerly unacceptable behaviors are now acceptable. Our disconnection from one another via electronic devices has made it difficult to maintain interpersonal skills, such as conversing with one another or even giving our friends, partners, and children the attention they need and deserve. Our expectations of one another have also changed; quick responses to our messages and impatience when that doesn't happen. While it's pretty neat to sit in my bedroom, talking to someone in Madrid, what about my husband who is sitting next to me? Technology has empowered us and crippled us simultaneously. The loss of interpersonal skills will do what for our society?
Email, Facebook, and texting have made it simpler to end frienships, have arguments, or provide the courage to say what someone would never say in person. Because it's hard to understand tone and undertone in texts and emails, recipients often have the wrong idea about the author's intention. It's too easy to hit "send" and to difficult to reread what's been written to determine if tone is appropriate or not. Disconnection is inevitable when we allow the computer to do for us what we are too scared to do in person.
Years ago, I could go shopping or to a museum to relax and get away from everything. Now I have to take my phone with me. What if there's an emergency and I'm needed? Or so I'm told. I find myself checking my phone several times a day to see if I've any texts or voicemails. Of course, it's easy to ignore texts and voicemails, but then I feel guilty for doing so. We are so connected to one another that we lose a connection to ourselves. I miss being unreachable, and whenever I shut off my phone or leave it at home, it seems like that's when my phone is busiest and people panic because they can't get ahold of me. I would be gone for hours as a teenager, and my parents couldn't activate my GPS since there was no GPS. They didn't monitor my phone calls. They trusted me and empowered me. The reliance on cell phones, for example, has taken away the feeling of empowerment in our younger people, and they are now unable to much for themselves.
Email, Facebook, and texting, while providing us another method of communication, have taken over our lives. Wi-Fi in the grocery store or on the bus? Heck ya! Computers and internet access in the hotels or motels? Why yes, I have to check my email on vacation. Something important might have happened. With a few strokes of the keys and a send button, I can let everyone I know what I'm doing, who I'm seeing, or how I'm feeling. I don't have to have long, personal conversations with people anymore; I can do a short conversation by text. I can be both connected and disconnected at the same time.
There's also the notion of multi-tasking. Checking one's cell phone or email while in the company of another person, for example. It drives me crazy when I'm out to eat and a couple (or more) is sitting at the table, completely engaged in their own cell phones. No live conversation is taking place. It also drives me nuts when I'm talking to someone and they're texting or checking Facebook at the same time. I'm present; they are not. When this is done to me, I feel as though I'm completely irrelevant. I actually ask students to put away their phones while we're conversing, and they're shocked that I require their attention on me while we're conversing. Watching parents text or check the internet in front of their children only teaches this rude and inconsiderate behavior to the children. They will continue to perpetuate this rudeness as they grow older.
I find that cell phone usuage has no etiquette. It's now permissable to take calls in movies, at museums, the grocery store, and to do so on full volume. I hate sitting in a public bathroom, listening to a phone conversation from another stall. Really? Peeing while talking on the phone? It's hard to enjoy time out when I'm listening to people's loud conversations on their cell phones. I've even watched people texting during church. Why bother going to church if texting someone is more important? Texting during funerals and weddings is also tacky.
Because of our disconnection from one another, formerly unacceptable behaviors are now acceptable. Our disconnection from one another via electronic devices has made it difficult to maintain interpersonal skills, such as conversing with one another or even giving our friends, partners, and children the attention they need and deserve. Our expectations of one another have also changed; quick responses to our messages and impatience when that doesn't happen. While it's pretty neat to sit in my bedroom, talking to someone in Madrid, what about my husband who is sitting next to me? Technology has empowered us and crippled us simultaneously. The loss of interpersonal skills will do what for our society?
Friday, August 12, 2011
A Student I Hate
I made a mistake today. Just one? I'm sure you're wondering. The answer is simple; I looked at my class rosters for the upcoming school year and found I have a student I hate.
Now hate is a strong word, I know. One I've rarely used in 19 years of teaching. But this kid, well, I hate him. He's rude, disrespectful, disruptive, and the sight of him makes me anxious and angry. I never know what he's going to do or say, or how he's going to undermine my authority in the classroom. I just know he will. He is a misogynist, which is apparent in the ways he treats me and other females.
When he was a freshman, he threw food around my room, spit juice at another student, strutted like a peacock--disrupting the classroom--and was loud and rude from day one. I tried to make connections with this student by greeting him with a friendly smile and a cheery hello when he entered the room, only to be ignored. I encouraged him and cheered him on when we were working together in class competitions. I took an interest in his academics and complimented him for the academic success he was having. I tried talking his sport with him. I've talked to him privately in the hall, usually another successful strategy to make connections with boys, letting him know I was on his side but needed him to be cooperative, only to have him ridicule me when he returned to the room.
My reward for this effort? Continued disrespect, rude behavior, condescension, cheating from him, poor behavior during standardized testing (nearly invalidating the tests of not only him but his entire class), disdain...the list goes on. By the middle of his sophomore year, I gave up. I've tried ignoring him, which he hates and which makes him behave worse. I've contacted his parents, which upset him and made him behave worse. I've talked to his administrator and counselor, who have basically told me to deal with him. I've spoken to his coaches, which hasn't helped, except when he's in-season. His parents have requested his removal from my class. He has requested a transfer. I've requested it. Nothing. We were both told to deal with one another, to figure it out.
By the spring of his junior year, I couldn't stand the sight of him, nor could he of me. Days when he left or ditched were great days for the both of us as well as his peers. They also feel the stress he causes when he's present. Any time I've had a substitute, he makes an effort to tell the sub how much he hates me and how evil I am. I make certain the subs know he's going to do this and to let me know what he says. My final straw was when he began cheating during a game with another class. I removed him from the game, and he started yelling at me, verbally abusing me. I went to the office with him in tow, disrespecting me in front his administrator. His behavior was still not enough to even have him suspended. Instead, we were again told to deal with one another. What finally changed was when he disrespected his administrator, finally he was removed because it was proved that I wasn't lying. We were told he wouldn't be put back in my room.
And why would I lie? I have a 19 year career on the line. I have 19 years of working with students, some who were discipline problems. Why would I lie about one student? What really galls me is how my complaint with this one student has been completely disregarded. He was the only student whom I referred to the office last year. Actually, I think in the past three years. Most problems I can handle. I am galled that I, a veteran teacher, am degraded and disrespected by a student as well as administration, forced to endure repeated harrassment from him and his friends. And nothing is done about it.
So what was my mistake today? I checked my rosters to see how many students I'll soon have, and there he is, again, on my roster after we were promised he would be moved to another classroom. I just don't have energy for him. He's not worth fighting. There's no way he'll ever let go of his hatred of me, and I know I can't let go of mine. This is not a good life lesson for him. I'm not sure what the purpose is with keeping him in my room, but no one is winning. No one is happy. And I don't believe either of us can take one more year with each other.
Now hate is a strong word, I know. One I've rarely used in 19 years of teaching. But this kid, well, I hate him. He's rude, disrespectful, disruptive, and the sight of him makes me anxious and angry. I never know what he's going to do or say, or how he's going to undermine my authority in the classroom. I just know he will. He is a misogynist, which is apparent in the ways he treats me and other females.
When he was a freshman, he threw food around my room, spit juice at another student, strutted like a peacock--disrupting the classroom--and was loud and rude from day one. I tried to make connections with this student by greeting him with a friendly smile and a cheery hello when he entered the room, only to be ignored. I encouraged him and cheered him on when we were working together in class competitions. I took an interest in his academics and complimented him for the academic success he was having. I tried talking his sport with him. I've talked to him privately in the hall, usually another successful strategy to make connections with boys, letting him know I was on his side but needed him to be cooperative, only to have him ridicule me when he returned to the room.
My reward for this effort? Continued disrespect, rude behavior, condescension, cheating from him, poor behavior during standardized testing (nearly invalidating the tests of not only him but his entire class), disdain...the list goes on. By the middle of his sophomore year, I gave up. I've tried ignoring him, which he hates and which makes him behave worse. I've contacted his parents, which upset him and made him behave worse. I've talked to his administrator and counselor, who have basically told me to deal with him. I've spoken to his coaches, which hasn't helped, except when he's in-season. His parents have requested his removal from my class. He has requested a transfer. I've requested it. Nothing. We were both told to deal with one another, to figure it out.
By the spring of his junior year, I couldn't stand the sight of him, nor could he of me. Days when he left or ditched were great days for the both of us as well as his peers. They also feel the stress he causes when he's present. Any time I've had a substitute, he makes an effort to tell the sub how much he hates me and how evil I am. I make certain the subs know he's going to do this and to let me know what he says. My final straw was when he began cheating during a game with another class. I removed him from the game, and he started yelling at me, verbally abusing me. I went to the office with him in tow, disrespecting me in front his administrator. His behavior was still not enough to even have him suspended. Instead, we were again told to deal with one another. What finally changed was when he disrespected his administrator, finally he was removed because it was proved that I wasn't lying. We were told he wouldn't be put back in my room.
And why would I lie? I have a 19 year career on the line. I have 19 years of working with students, some who were discipline problems. Why would I lie about one student? What really galls me is how my complaint with this one student has been completely disregarded. He was the only student whom I referred to the office last year. Actually, I think in the past three years. Most problems I can handle. I am galled that I, a veteran teacher, am degraded and disrespected by a student as well as administration, forced to endure repeated harrassment from him and his friends. And nothing is done about it.
So what was my mistake today? I checked my rosters to see how many students I'll soon have, and there he is, again, on my roster after we were promised he would be moved to another classroom. I just don't have energy for him. He's not worth fighting. There's no way he'll ever let go of his hatred of me, and I know I can't let go of mine. This is not a good life lesson for him. I'm not sure what the purpose is with keeping him in my room, but no one is winning. No one is happy. And I don't believe either of us can take one more year with each other.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
As summer draws to a close...
Time off...I spend the last two months of school anticipating summer vacation. Freedom. Sleeping in. Staying up late. Swimming. At the beginning of May, a running list of everything I want to do begins to form in my head. Clean the car. Clean the house. Go through closets. And then it is June.
June is spent taking naps. Taking it easy. Putting off what needs to be done in order to relax and restore myself. I haul my briefcase to my library on the last day of school and throw it down. It won't be touched until August. June is usually our first camping trip. We try to get to a pool at least once in June, but the weather is usually too unpredictable to go. My son and I dance a dance of synchronization, aligning ourselves with one another after a hectic school year. We sit on the porch. We lay in the chaise lounges. We ride our bikes in circles in the middle of the day.
And then there's July! Time for another camping trip, hitting the swimming pools, picnics in the park. It's too hot to lay outside or ride our bikes in the middle of the day. July is a month of frenzied activity. We clean our closets and the basement, readying ourselves for another busy year. We take daytrips to see grandparents or go to museums. Of course, there's a movie or two to be seen. Naps are no longer a priority; we are rested and have energy! By the end of July, we're buying school supplies and some clothing for the two of us as we realize how little time we have left of summer. There are a multitude of errands, doctor and dentist appointments, and taking care of yearly obligations. July ends too quickly for us.
The beginning of August marks another round of birthday season for us. Family get-togethers. Numerous questions about when we return to school. We bid summer a sad farewell. We grow weepy and anxious about the upcoming school year. I have multiple nightmares about my new students and the new year. My son grows anxiously quiet. The lists we made at the beginning of summer are complete, or nearly so, giving us time to do a few last fun activities before our time is constrained within the confines of a schedule.
We sit on the porch. We watch the birds. We read books or play silly games. We laugh. We relish the time the two of us have with one another, knowing how precious and valued it is. Thoughts of summer sustain us during the tougher months of January and February, where we begin to plan, just a little, our next summer vacation.
June is spent taking naps. Taking it easy. Putting off what needs to be done in order to relax and restore myself. I haul my briefcase to my library on the last day of school and throw it down. It won't be touched until August. June is usually our first camping trip. We try to get to a pool at least once in June, but the weather is usually too unpredictable to go. My son and I dance a dance of synchronization, aligning ourselves with one another after a hectic school year. We sit on the porch. We lay in the chaise lounges. We ride our bikes in circles in the middle of the day.
And then there's July! Time for another camping trip, hitting the swimming pools, picnics in the park. It's too hot to lay outside or ride our bikes in the middle of the day. July is a month of frenzied activity. We clean our closets and the basement, readying ourselves for another busy year. We take daytrips to see grandparents or go to museums. Of course, there's a movie or two to be seen. Naps are no longer a priority; we are rested and have energy! By the end of July, we're buying school supplies and some clothing for the two of us as we realize how little time we have left of summer. There are a multitude of errands, doctor and dentist appointments, and taking care of yearly obligations. July ends too quickly for us.
The beginning of August marks another round of birthday season for us. Family get-togethers. Numerous questions about when we return to school. We bid summer a sad farewell. We grow weepy and anxious about the upcoming school year. I have multiple nightmares about my new students and the new year. My son grows anxiously quiet. The lists we made at the beginning of summer are complete, or nearly so, giving us time to do a few last fun activities before our time is constrained within the confines of a schedule.
We sit on the porch. We watch the birds. We read books or play silly games. We laugh. We relish the time the two of us have with one another, knowing how precious and valued it is. Thoughts of summer sustain us during the tougher months of January and February, where we begin to plan, just a little, our next summer vacation.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
I'll Love Lucy forever
Each Monday morning during the summer, we'd traipse over to my grandmother's house because it was her day off and we--my mom, my brother, and me--were going to spend the day with her. We called my grandmother "Nana" because it means "Grandma" in Italian. On Nana's day off, she had a routine she religiously followed: game shows, coffee, a cigarette, and plucking her chin hairs. While she finished her routine, she'd often turn on the television for us...and the only thing on-if we didn't want to watch some game show--was I Love Lucy and my love for Lucy was born.
From the baking bread episode where Lucy decided to make homemade bread but used too much yeast and it exploded out of the oven, to the episode where Lucy pretended to be a princess from some little heard-of country, to the episodes where the Ricardos and the Mertzes were in Hollywood, she could always make me laugh. I loved Lucille Ball's willingness to do whatever it took for the laughs. She didn't care if she had a fake nose that was on fire, or she blacked out her teeth and acted as though she was dumb, she performed with wild abandon and made me laugh.
In the 1950s, the expectation of women in post-war America was to be stay at home moms, content with their husbands, families, and recipes. And then there was Lucy. Lucy loved Ricky and little Ricky, but she also loved show business and performing. She was not completely content with her lot in life, and she schemed episode after episode of ways to improve her life. What about the episode where Lucy and Ethel bottled and sold their own dressing? Or when they went to work in the chocolate factory? Of course, there is the iconic "Vitameatavegamin" episode where Lucy hawks vitameatavegamin. Naturally, the episodes where Lucy schemed her way into one of Ricky's shows are some of the funniest and showcase her immense talent.
I still enjoy I Love Lucy, no matter how many times I've seen the show. She's funny without being vulgar, talented--using her face and physical comedy, and an incredible business woman who surrounded herself with equally talented actors. And while I'm not a 1950s woman, I appreciate Lucy for the talent she had and the laughs she delivers today.
From the baking bread episode where Lucy decided to make homemade bread but used too much yeast and it exploded out of the oven, to the episode where Lucy pretended to be a princess from some little heard-of country, to the episodes where the Ricardos and the Mertzes were in Hollywood, she could always make me laugh. I loved Lucille Ball's willingness to do whatever it took for the laughs. She didn't care if she had a fake nose that was on fire, or she blacked out her teeth and acted as though she was dumb, she performed with wild abandon and made me laugh.
In the 1950s, the expectation of women in post-war America was to be stay at home moms, content with their husbands, families, and recipes. And then there was Lucy. Lucy loved Ricky and little Ricky, but she also loved show business and performing. She was not completely content with her lot in life, and she schemed episode after episode of ways to improve her life. What about the episode where Lucy and Ethel bottled and sold their own dressing? Or when they went to work in the chocolate factory? Of course, there is the iconic "Vitameatavegamin" episode where Lucy hawks vitameatavegamin. Naturally, the episodes where Lucy schemed her way into one of Ricky's shows are some of the funniest and showcase her immense talent.
I still enjoy I Love Lucy, no matter how many times I've seen the show. She's funny without being vulgar, talented--using her face and physical comedy, and an incredible business woman who surrounded herself with equally talented actors. And while I'm not a 1950s woman, I appreciate Lucy for the talent she had and the laughs she delivers today.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
My birthday, my way
When I was younger, I had a number of fantasies regarding the celebration of my birth. Due to too many soap operas, movies, television shows, and the influence of my peers, I had high hopes of what others would do FOR me on my birthday. Breakfast in bed, time at a spa, numerous bouquets of flowers, fabulous presents, and all attention devoted TO ME on MY SPECIAL DAY! Or so I thought.
Sadly, year after year, I was soundly disappointed in my birthday. It seemed like the only person my birthday mattered to was me. Yes, I'd have the requisite dinner out with my parents, and maybe some cake. There would be some cards, mostly funny, and a few gifts, which grew fewer and fewer as the years passed. By the end of the day, I would go to bed disheartened and unhappy.
A few years ago, I realized that my birthday was important...to me. Each birthday provides me an opportunity to recall my previous year, to celebrate the coming year, and to be grateful that I am healthy and alive. Because of the importance of my birthday, and the fact that I love the idea that each person has one special day, I decided to make a change in my thinking. Rather than rely on others to celebrate me, I decided to make my birthday special instead.
My husband plans my birthday dinner and knows how much I love ice cream cake, so he takes care of that aspect of my birthday. And naturally, he either makes me a wonderful gift or buys me a wonderful gift, which is always a lovely surprise. He also knows how much I love cards, so there's always a funny or a serious card; some years there is one of each. But the day is mine, and I want to celebrate it my way.
Several years ago, I decided that I wanted to spend the day at the art museum and have lunch downtown. Last year, I had my hair done and a massage. This year, I went hiking on one of my favorite trails. Each year, different people celebrate with me. Each year, I have a wonderful birthday because I've taken control of the day rather than depend on others to do it for me.
A friend complained to me, not long ago, that her husband never seems to get her birthday right, and I mentioned my way of thinking. I no longer understand why we must put so much pressure on our loved ones to 'get' our birthdays 'right.' My husband takes no offense to my belief in celebrating my birthday my way, and if he can come with me, he does.
I now look forward to my birthdays and delight in planning my day. The pressure is off my husband to plan a 'right' birthday for me. And in the end, I revel in the fact that I am another year older, hopefully wiser, and--with any luck--happier.
Sadly, year after year, I was soundly disappointed in my birthday. It seemed like the only person my birthday mattered to was me. Yes, I'd have the requisite dinner out with my parents, and maybe some cake. There would be some cards, mostly funny, and a few gifts, which grew fewer and fewer as the years passed. By the end of the day, I would go to bed disheartened and unhappy.
A few years ago, I realized that my birthday was important...to me. Each birthday provides me an opportunity to recall my previous year, to celebrate the coming year, and to be grateful that I am healthy and alive. Because of the importance of my birthday, and the fact that I love the idea that each person has one special day, I decided to make a change in my thinking. Rather than rely on others to celebrate me, I decided to make my birthday special instead.
My husband plans my birthday dinner and knows how much I love ice cream cake, so he takes care of that aspect of my birthday. And naturally, he either makes me a wonderful gift or buys me a wonderful gift, which is always a lovely surprise. He also knows how much I love cards, so there's always a funny or a serious card; some years there is one of each. But the day is mine, and I want to celebrate it my way.
Several years ago, I decided that I wanted to spend the day at the art museum and have lunch downtown. Last year, I had my hair done and a massage. This year, I went hiking on one of my favorite trails. Each year, different people celebrate with me. Each year, I have a wonderful birthday because I've taken control of the day rather than depend on others to do it for me.
A friend complained to me, not long ago, that her husband never seems to get her birthday right, and I mentioned my way of thinking. I no longer understand why we must put so much pressure on our loved ones to 'get' our birthdays 'right.' My husband takes no offense to my belief in celebrating my birthday my way, and if he can come with me, he does.
I now look forward to my birthdays and delight in planning my day. The pressure is off my husband to plan a 'right' birthday for me. And in the end, I revel in the fact that I am another year older, hopefully wiser, and--with any luck--happier.
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