PS to Back to School Nights

Mom and Dad are visiting this week after making the trek down through Wyoming from Polson, Montana. As we sat with steaming mugs of tea Mom commented to me, "I had to laugh when I read your post about Back to School nights blog," which is code for: you messed with the truth, young lady!

So I quickly apologized for any fiction I may have passed off as reality, and she waved her hand and said, "it's only that we DID go to back to school nights at Rolling Hills High School.  Both of us went; one went to your classes while the other went to John's. And Dad still remembers that French teacher of yours, and the eighty-two-year old long term sub you had in Calculus. And how would we know that if we had not gone to Back to School night?"

Duly chastened, I noted that no one could forget Madame, and admitted that as a self-absorbed 16-year-old, I probably didn't notice anything that didn't pertain to my immediate self. Since I wasn't at my own open house,it could not have happened.  Makes me aware of what's in store when my kids get just a bit older . . .and my own reputation goes down the tubes. Mea culpa, Mom and Dad.

A Good Egg

Rob and I went out two nights in a row last weekend, an event as shocking as if Daniel had sat down at the piano to play Beethoven's Fifth with no prompting. On Friday we had the Book of Mormon, which was full of impressive talent, but which strayed toward the vulgar (not shocking from the creators of South Park). We enjoyed it but didn't erupt in the same guffaws and knee slaps as the slightly inebriated folks in the row behind us. The next night we had clubhouse tickets to the Rockies game courtesy of old friends that we hadn't seen in years. We enjoyed catching up and comparing notes on our high-schoolers, which was startling considering that when we met twenty years ago no one had kids and Rob and I had just become a couple. We enjoyed our couple time, able to talk, people-watch, and listen to profanity without children present.

After some naps and football on Sunday, Rob dedicated a few hours to researching new refrigerators. Our current fifteen-year-old model is turning itself off regularly, requiring Rob to restart it by unplugging, and then plugging it back in (a trick learned after 20+ years in the high tech world!). Scared to contemplate losing hundreds of dollars in food, we decided to go spend thousands of dollars on a new refrigerator. After a lengthy visit to Home Depot, a Q&A session on water filters, and pulling Daniel out of several ovens and dryers, we came home with receipts and instructions on how to fit the new fridge in our kitchen. We cut out / tear down the cupboard currently set in the wall and repaint the kitchen, of course, as one has to pay a high price for a new appliance.

When Rob got home from work last night he sat down rather despondently and sighed. "I've got to get something off my chest," he said.  A different woman's mind might have flashed toward pornography, an affair, or a missed bill payment, but knowing Rob, mine did not. I was surprised however, to hear the reason: "you know our fridge? the one I thought was ranked third in consumer reports? Well, it's not the same model. Our is actually ranked seven points lower." He looked at his tamales with regret.

When I assured him that I didn't care about the Consumer Report ranking and felt confident that we would be able to use the new fridge for fifteen  years regardless, he was relieved and set to dinner with relish.  That's the kind of confession a woman likes to hear. A good egg, for sure!

'Rapidification' of Life

I've been meaning to read - or just look into reading - the Pope's climate change encyclical Laudato Si (Praise Be to You).  Bill McKibben, founder of 350.org, called it the "most remarkable religious document in a generation" (Sojourners Sept-Oct 2015 p12, www.sojo.net). As a parent, former Green Team leader and Ecojustice participant, I feel that the Pope's call to save the earth might be a wee bit relevant. I've put it off because, frankly, our family is not doing nearly enough to be green and I'm not quite ready to feel the guilt or the fear that will undoubtedly wash over me when I read the encyclical. At least I can empathize with the seven billion or so other people who feel the same, and also do nothing.

Fortunately, I found a nugget to blog about in Bill McKibben's short review of the document. McKibben quotes the Pope as he discusses the '"rapidification of life" in the sense that:

 "the speed with which human activity has developed contrasts with the naturally slow pace of biological evolution. Moreover, the goals of this rapid and constant change are not necessarily geared to the common good or to integral and sustainable human development. Change is something desirable, yet it becomes a source of anxiety when it causes harm to the world and to the quality of life of much of humanity.'" (Sojourners Sept-Oct 2015 p12, www.sojo.net)

Anxiety. A curse of modern times. I suffer from it, my family members and friends suffer from it, in fact health professionals assure me that most of America suffers from it.  This quote helped me to realize that our response of anxiety is just normal in the face of all that bombards us every day. Humans are not  meant to have messages, photos, news bytes, texts, etc. flooding our consciousness all day and into the night 365 days per year.  No generation has ever lived like this before, and the Pope's message indicates that the pace of change may be too rapid for any quick adjustments on our part.

On the flip side, if we could slow down, if we could make changes that are positive for the earth - which includes our own species - then not only would we be doing the right thing but we would be a whole lot happier.  Let's "de-rapidify" our lives. I might start with a long, slow read of the Papal encyclical.

The Non-Writing Life

Last week I organized the files on my computer for the first time in fifteen years. I am not kidding; though I have had three or four different computers in that timeframe, I just transferred massive amounts of files from one to another. It took hours to read through and delete outdated lesson plans, Christmas letters, and swimming workouts, but in the process of cleansing I found some personal treasures - journals of my first pregnancy. My face burned and my gut clenched with some remembered emotion as I read through the months leading up to Aden's birth.

One bittersweet note was the number of references I made to writing, to hopes for editing and freelancing jobs, to classes taken and books purchased (last week I also had to throw out the 1996 and 1997 Writer's Markets since both are obviously outdated, pre-twitter, pre-everything). Here is one note I made to myself from February of 2001;

"I got really busy with school and two coaching jobs sometime after my last entry and have not had time or extra energy for writing, just for emails and checking the pregnancy websites J However – I got a letter from a friend asking to exchange some writing material for critiquing purposes. I’m intrigued by the suggestion and asked her for an “assignment” to complete since I don’t have any other writing to give her! Definitely need to keep in practice."

I was often "intrigued" and given to exhortations to "keep practicing."  I made other references to writing up to August, and then - after a detailed description of Aden's birth - everything stops for ten years.  While this decade of delay is not uncommon after women have children (see Meg Wolitzer's The Ten Year Nap link), I felt constricted and teary at the thought of so many false starts and delays.There's no doubt that - while motherhood pushed everything else out of the way - it has also provided deep and lasting topics for writing and discussion, which are 'intriguing.'  Now I just have to "keep practicing!" and finally make that dream happen.

A Mom's Battle Against Sugar

I'm supposed to be "off" sugar, which is more difficult than getting my teenagers up in the early morning. The sweet stuff is in everything from catchup (can't eat it) to tea to tacos (well, not so much in tacos but I was looking for alliteration).  As I struggle to keep sugar out of the house and out of my mouth, the kids and Rob are dragged into the fray - not a lot around to eat, and lots of begging to buy more. Here's a poem I wrote this summer in honor of the Dravenstott war on sugar:

Sugar, the Enemy

Sticky-spray confections at swim meets,

Popsicles at the ice-cream truck,

Syrup on French toast golden in the pan,

Washed down with apple juice from a tin can.

Youth’s energy squared by Splenda,

Attention deficits blasted by corn syrup,

Wild gazes snagged by adverts and TV games,

Ability to focus gone up in flames.

Frenetics fueled by toxins addictive as cocaine,

Point to the proof and be called insane.

Cower at the store if you say “not today,”

Be clipped with the cart if you get in the way.