grab your weapons, citizens!

I am requesting help from my esteemed panel of friends and readers.

Earlier this year, I promised myself (I will not call it a New Year's resolution) that I would read at least three "classic" works this year that I have never read, despite calling myself a literature major. I began with Les Miserables. Yes, I began with a 500-page book by a French philosopher/writer/19th century political pundit.

This, you may be thinking is, a lot like beginning training for the track team by trying to pole vault 20 feet the first day. Just call it my way. When I was thirteen and decided to read that thing called the Bible that I knew nothing about, I started at the beginning. No one told me that was unwise. Needless to say, long about Leviticus, I started to think God really was as boring as all those Catholic school movies said. Not so, fortunately. But, I do have a tendency to jump into things quickly.

I can report, however, that Les Mis was possibly the best piece of fiction I have ever read, or right up there in the top five, so it was worth all 500 pages. Following this came Tale of Two Cities. Yes, there is a connection, and no, I am not fascinated by the French revolution or bloodshed in general. I figured I should read books set in places I plan to visit, so Paris it was. Have you ever read the words to the French National Anthem, by the way? And people complain that we have a militaristic anthem!

Grab your weapons, citizens!
Form your batallions!
Let us march! Let us march!
May impure blood
Water our fields!

Wow, and they say the French are so laissez-faire.

Here is the question--what should the third book be? I have not made any decisions. I realize you all have no idea what I have already read, but I am taking suggestions. My two favorites, thus far, have been Pride and Prejudice and Lord of the Rings, so you need not mention those, at least. Or anything by Austen. All read several times over:).

What classic of literature should I tackle next? I await my assignment.

investment returns

I have discovered lately that I may have grown intolerant to the two substances that give me the most joy on earth, gastronomically speaking. Chocolate and cheese. Why bring this up now? Because yesterday was Eat What You Want Day, and it is distinctly possible I may no longer be able to do that. This is an event for which I did not prepare. No one of Swedish and Scottish extraction is supposed to develop lactose intolerance. It just wasn't in the genetic hand dealt.

This is particularly disturbing as I am heading off at some point this summer to the lands of the finest cheese and chocolate in the known universe, France and Switzerland. I guess we will see what the wonderful world of medicine has to offer for this dilemma. Because there is no way I am missing Swiss chocolate and legendary cheese fondue.

However, I may take something away from this. If I am gong to run gastrointestinal risk, I am going to make quite sure it is for a good reason. No cheap Hersheys for me anymore. No American cheese. OK, I would never eat American cheese anyway. I'm kind of proud of the fact that our youngest child has always refused to eat American cheese. They have some sense of values, at least. If I am going to suffer, at least I'm going to suffer from something worth the investment.

I am guessing this might not be such a bad way to live in general. If I am going to make an investment, to take some measure of risk, why on earth would I want to do it for something that promises little return? Why put my time and energy into something I really never was meant to do? Why risk my happiness on something that past experience has shown to be a bad idea? That is what I tell my daughters about men, anyway. Better to bide your time and wait for the best than suffer indigestion from one plucked too early.

Eat What You Want Day, Do What you Want Day--either way, it can backfire. Choose your banquet carefully, so you can really enjoy.

my way

A bit late, perhaps, a Mother's Day post.

As many of you know, my mother died when I was seventeen. I wrote what follows here three years ago, when I was awaiting the same surgery for the same disease that killed her. This isn't the whole thing, of course, but it's a part. I am thrilled to celebrate another Mother's Day and pray for those of you for whom it is not really a happy occasion. I know the feeling.



My mother's death changed more things than merely her existential address. Unable to cope with his loss, Dad retreated into alcoholism, leaving me an orphan in spirit if not body. I grew up fast, worked my own way through college, fancied myself a mixture of Sinatra and Bogart’s bandit nemesis-- "I did it my way and didn’t need no stinkin’ help." Managing became my second language.

Emotionally, I performed a dance of simultaneous avoidance and wallowing. A complex feat of genius choreography or an oxymoronic mishmash, take your pick. I cried and talked and prayed when I felt like it, since no one ever explained to me a timetable for grief. Mission accomplished. Moving on. No one ever explained, either, that some effects of loss incubate like a seventeen-year-cicada, breaking into the open only when the cosmic order allows it and you’ve ceased to remember their existence.

At fourteen, my mother lay in a tuberculosis sanitarium fighting for her life, while at home her mother died of PKD. Closely following came the deaths of her grandfather and then her brother in World War II. Her dad found a second wife--a woman who didn't really want stepchildren--and grew more distant. I don't think Mom ever let herself become too attached to anyone after that. I know, now, she always lived with the assumption, more than the fear, that those she loved she would lose. I know, now, the attempts she made to control her children's lives were attempts to make sure they never hurt as badly as she had. I know, now, that she never made plans for her "old age" because she never expected to be old. I know not because she ever got to tell me these things but because I see their colors spread before my own eyes in my own life.

Except for one thing. I have decided to expect to survive. I know modern medicine sides with me this time. I don’t have to wait far too long, as she did, for an available donated organ. Easier cross-matching has made my husband’s willingness to be a living donor a miracle of science as well as love. Medicines are better. Survival and success rates never better. Yet for all I know in my head, the only undisputed known outcome in my experience has been death. And experience usually trumps head knowledge whenever one tries "not to worry."

Nevertheless, I intend to plan for old age. Since I hadn’t mapped an itinerary for this trip I didn’t believe I’d take, perhaps a schedule of events for this epoch is in order.

I plan to live long enough to:
*Laugh when my children's children are teenagers.

*Go trick-or-treating with my grandkids and argue over who gets the Reese’s Peanut Butter cups. (I will dress up.)

*See gauchos go out of style for good.

*See the Northern Lights and polar bears.

*Never hear the words Britney Spears or Paris Hilton in conversation. Nor any children that they have or may have in the future.

*Ride a roller coaster.

*See Gidget come back as a popular baby name. (Have you ever actually met anyone outside a sitcom named Gidget? Maybe the American public isn't as stupid as Hollywood thinks. Wait, Phineas and Hazel. Never mind.)

*Tell my grandkids about walking to school, every day, uphill, with wild animals all around me. (It was across a field, and the wild animals were garter snakes. But still.)

*Rescue one child from hunger, abuse, or fear.

*Sing along with the elevator music.

*Find out just how one “plays knick knack.” (I’ll ask my husband. He’ll be an old man then. He should know.)

*Say “I love you” 31,015 times. (Who’s keeping count?)

*Take a road trip to nowhere.

*Elect a female president I actually want to vote for.

*Be a crazy cat lady. (I may have that one covered already.)

That should take some time. I reserve the right to lengthen the list without notice. After all, it’s my life, my way. Some patterns probably won’t change.

Happy National Miniature Golf Day

Our family has a tradition. It is called, play miniature golf so badly and behave so outrageously goofy while doing it that we send everyone else home having had a great time watching. This is kind of a long title for our tradition. It's clearly a work in progress.

We first discovered this talent a could years ago when we went to a new course and proceeded to send the ball into more water hazards than you would think four people possibly could in a relatively enclosed space. We twirled clubs, did bad movie imitations, and danced on the miniature fairway. I think a few balls actually went into the holes, but I can't vouch for that. Near the end, the couple behind us said, "Thanks--We don't have to go to the movie after this now. We have had the best entertainment right here." They were not being sarcastic; it was a sincere sentiment. We have considered this our mission ever since. It's not too difficult to fulfill, seeing as we are all horrible golfers with questionsable adherence to rules. I think the airband contest at the glow-in-the-dark course recently may have been our best.

I am so glad that on National Miniature Golf Day I can not only go golfing with my family, but I can celebrate that i have three teenage kids who do not feel awkward golfing wit their parents or embarrassed playing airtband on the course. They do not have their mother's overactive fear of public humilation. They just truly believe the world should have a good time with them. I appreciate that. I treasure and celebrate it. And I will play air guitar with it, if called upon.

and i don't even like mexican food

Yesterday, child #3 came home from school and suggested we celebrate Cinco de Mayo. Technically, she suggested we celebrate it at one of her favorite restaurants, Chipotle. This was, she figured, her best shot at getting there. She knows full well that her mother has the will to celebrate every day, just as I promised.

A valiant effort, but being budget minded, I countered by hauling out the Best International Recipes cookbook. Out we went for the fixings for carnitas, guacamole, and whatever else struck our fancy in the Mexican section of the grocery store.

A connoisseur of custard, I suggested topping off the festivities with flan. She outvoted me by suggesting the Mexican bakery in the same strip mall. Just how does one child outvote me? Let's just say it rarely takes too much persuasion to go to the Mexican bakery. Though it totally tanked the diet.

No, not a drop of hispanic blood in our family, but we had a marvelous time appreciating the celebration of another culture. A couple years ago, I had the bright idea during advent (spurred by a visit to Epcot Center) to cook from a diferent country every week until the new year. We had some . . . interesting . . . meals. But some that made the hit parade list. And I do believe the interest in other cultures has helped our kids all become considerably less picky eaters than their mother was (is) They have few issues with culinary adventure (despite my questionable cooking).

Recently, another writer asked me about my work, and I told her I had written one novel surrounding the underground railroad and was currently wroking on one about the Trail of Tears and another about illegal Mexican immigtants. She looked at me for explanation. "I guess . . . I just always gravitate toward telling the story of the underdog? Must be something about being the last of seven kids." If that is my mission, I completely accept.

Happy day after Cinco de Mayo. Happy No Homework Day. Oh, do I have much to say about that. It may surprise you. But another post.

from the barnyard

So, the question for today is, how does one go about appreciating a chicken on Appreciate a Chicken Day? With finger lickin' good relish, or with "fly, be free!" abandon? Or, perhaps more accurately, waddle, be free. It could go either way, I'm thinking.

I happen to get the chance to appreciate chickens daily. More accurately, again, Guinea hens, who live next door and regularly come to visit. I enjoy their joyful cackling, as well as the fact that they eat bugs in my garden.

Our neighbors play host to said hens, other assorted fowl, horses, ponies, goats, rabbits, barn cats, peacocks, and several dogs. I think that's the extent of it. From time to time, they get other unusual creatures when animal control drops something off they can't keep themselves. Once it was turkeys that someone had let loose in the high school for a senior prank. When I tell people I live across from this, they think it would be annoying. They also wonder how this is possible, since we live in a large metropolitan area. But it is an oasis of small town feel here, which I pray does not change as pressure grows from outside (and in). I am decidedly not a metropolitan person at heart.

No,it is not annoying. Living on a train track for a year and a half--that was annoying! But here, the noises of a barnyard add to the peace of my life rather than detract from it. The hens in the garden, or the goats coming back from the fair, or, yes, even the peacocks firing off their Jurassic Park imitations keep me genial company and make me smile a bit as I type here, or work outside, or fret about any number of things.

I'll appreciate the chickens when I hear them today. That, and quite possibly, make my favorite pecan-crusted chicken breasts for dinner. Then, I'll have covered both bases. And no, I will get them from the store, not the backyard. Though I do recall my mother's childhood stories of cutting chickens' heads off and watching the bodies still run around, I do not wish to follow her footsteps in that particular.

What brings you peace, today? I'd love to hear.

breaking point

Update time on The Year of Buying Nothing. (Technically, the kids have only agreed to six months. I hope to stretch it.) If you don't know what I'm talking about and you'd like to, see the January 12 archive.

This is when it gets daunting. I could handle not buying new clothes. I toughed it out with old pens. Until Easter, when I made several subtle-as-a-Dick-Cheney-firearm hints that I'd better find some serious roller-gel power in my basket. I do, after all, still write longhand, not on the computer.

In truth, this not buying anything new has not been that difficult. That, in itself, should give me some pause, because it sounds suspiciously like we had way too much "stuff" to begin with if we have not missed getting new stuff. So far, it has been far less hardship and far more freeing to not have to shop or say "no" to pleading eyes (the kids', not the dog's).

But now, it's spring. Spring, to me, means one thing. Trips galore to my favorite nurseries. Ecstatic visions of the perfect flower bed while I peruse the plant catalogs. I will go through serious withdrawal if I cannot at least drive by The Growing Place and take a long breath. What shoes and purses are to other women, plants are to me. I am just not sure if I will make it through spring without buying plants.

Anyone want to be my partner in accountability? I can call you up if the sudden urge to use those coupons for ten percent off your total perennial purchase becomes too much? If the car suddenly takes over and heads off toward Spring Bluff Nursery completely of its own volition? Is there any way I can find a loophole here? Mental health exception? I fear not. I just hope the detox doesn't get too ugly for my poor family.

When you have only two pennies left in the world, buy a loaf of bread with one, and a lily with the other. ~Chinese Proverb

confessions

I have something awful to confess on Earth Day. I have bag envy. A few years ago, when my daughter convinced me to try those canvas shopping bags and say good bye to "paper or plastic," I doubted. I'd leave them in the car (I did). I'd forget them at home. (I did.) I'd feel silly. (I did, for a while.)

But now, ask that same child how I feel about reusable shopping bags. You will get a response something to the effect of, "My mother is a freaking insane OCD nutcase about her shopping bags." I make them go back out to the car if I forget them. I will buy a new one rather than use plastic. I keep one in my purse at all times. I have been known to carry out six items in my hands along with a purse, water bottle, and netbook just to avoid scarring the planet with another plastic bag. Yes, I am a freaking nutcase. But at least I don't feel silly about it.

I do have some nice bags. I have green bags, purple bags, bags with blueberry photos, bags colored all over in Sharpie marker, bags that display San Francisco markets and flower gardens. And my Chicago Cubs bags are carried with pride. I personally have a blue bag that is the envy of many because of its incredible sturdiness. And I gloat when someone else wants it, because I bought it at a food co-op on Cape Breton Island, and I know those jealous shoppers will never have this bag.

But every once in a while, someone comes up behind me in line, and there it is. The perfect bag. And I want it. It is not enough that I have approximately 43 bags in various places between three cars, my purse, bedroom, and hallway. Hers is perfect. It is still fresh. The little plastic bottom has not yet broken. It has a picture of some place I'm sure I'd like to go. I want that bag.

Is there a recovery program for this? A twelve step process? Is this a call for help? Or a justification? And by the way, do you have a favorite shopping bag? Celebrate Earth Day by buying some and learning to use them. Or by telling me about your bag that is the envy of everyone in line. I promise not to covet it. Of course, you probably won't trust me, seeing as I'm a freaking insane nutcase.

think

When I looked at the calendar and saw that it was National Weed Day, I thought about a humorous column on dandelions and other invaders from outer space. But then I realized, belatedly, that this is not at all the kind of weed for which the day was christened. Not particularly wanting to celebrate that day, I was prepared to write about something else. But I've changed my mind.

I have been blessed with the friendship, on Facebook and in real life, of a large number of teenage girls. I do call this a blessing. I never ask them to be my friend on Facebook because I understand that that is awkward for some teens. But if they ask me, I am honored and thrilled. They are an amazing group of girls. So to them, on this day, I want to say--just don't do it. It's not worth it.

Life in middle school and high school can sometimes really, well, suck. There's no good word for it. Those years are hard, and don't let anyone tell you to brush it off and "wait until you get into the real world." You have good reason to sometimes feel like you'd just like to get away from it or feel better. But I am begging you as a friend who loves you, don't do it with drugs. I've seen what happens, and I'm telling you now, it isn't the easy thing people tell you it is. I've seen it in more than one person I love, and I've never seen a good outcome from that first little "experiment." So, just a few things to think about--

• Think. Think about how your little brothers or sisters or parents will feel if the police come for you, or if they have to visit you in jail, or if they see you high and get scared. I adored my older brother as a child, and he could do no wrong. Until the night I saw him smoking a joint, and my world crashed in. I can't tell you the how deep that hurt went down. Think before you do that to a younger sibling who adores you and looks up to you.

• Think about the beautiful faces, voices, and minds you have. Maybe you don't believe that right now, because adolescent girlhood is a time to doubt yourself. But I believe it. And you will do damage to all three. I love hearing your voices in song and laughter. Keep them strong.

• Think about what you'll want to do for the next thrill when that just isn't enough. They say weed isn't addicting. I don't know if that's true physically, but it is definitely not true mentally. Take it from a man who knows--a friend of ours who spent most of his adult life in prison. He told me once that weed has a strong emotional addictive quality--you just become convinced you need it to get through a situation. Then, you become convinced you need something more, because the nature of any addiction is that it needs more in order to be fulfilled. It has to get bigger and better. Think and ask yourself if you're willing to take that risk to lose yourself to bigger and better thrills, because you will lose yourself in the deal. You will no longer know who you really are. Who you are now is pretty cool.

• Think about someone you trust to talk to and hold you accountable when temptations come. If you decide on that person now, you're more likely to look for her or him later when you need help.

You have such beautiful lives. Get high on life--then let others be jealous of what you have, because that's the best high there is.

a difficult choice

This week presents a dilemma. I fail to see how I can observe both Monday's holiday and today's. Personally, I lean toward Monday's. I lean toward that most days.

Monday was officially Vote All the Lawyers Out of Office Day. In a strange twist of fate, today is Be Kind to Lawyers Day. I'm guessing that one of them threatened to sue over Monday, so organizers threw them Wednesday to make them go away.

Also coincidentally, this week for our small group assignment we are supposed to write, in one hundred words or less, how God changed our lives. My first draft was only ten words. "I was headed to law school. God intervened. Enough said."

A friend and colleague suggested not long ago that we overhaul the entire US government system. He provided solid statistical support for the notion that, if we randomly chose a couple hundred citizens in good standing and "drafted" them to Congress, we could not possibly be doing worse. When their terms were up, we'd draft some more. The idea has some appeal. My dad used to tell his friends that I was going to law school and would one day be "the" senator from Illinois. Good thing he didn't predict governor is all I can say. It would be challenging to keep up this blog from prison, which does seem to be the local trend.

In point of fact, I planned to be either a constitutional lawyer or an environmental lawyer, neither of which would likely have landed me in any capitol residence. Sometimes, I wish I had pursued that plan, because I wish I could be doing something for the world on a grander scale. Did I throw away the talent for brokering peace in Africa or at least getting them decent drinking water to settle for this? Honestly, at midlife, it's a tough question. I try to remember that none of us knows the ultimate scale of what we do. Maybe one of the kids I taught will do those things. Maybe one of my kids will. I don't know.

In any case, to all my lawyer friends, I love you. I know it's not your fault. And if I meet any lawyers on Be Kind to Lawyers Day, I promise not to trip them. I don't want to get sued.

the luxury of shoes

Well, I was set to tell you there are almost no interesting holidays to celebrate in April. (Except the obvious--I hope you had a very blessed Easter. We did here.) Then, I heard about this event on the radio while dropping child #3 off at school. I have been hearing about this company on the radio for a while, and what they are doing is so unusual, so uncomplicated, so--unlike business as usual for corporate America.

Today is One Day Without Shoes Day. I hope is becomes a national day. I hope it becomes a worldwide day. On April 8th, TOMS Shoe Company is challenging people across the world to go a day, an hour, ten minutes, whatever they can, completely barefoot. Why? A few reasons they offer:

· In some developing nations, children must walk for miles to school, clean water and to seek medical help.

· Cuts and sores on feet can lead to serious infection.

· Often, children cannot attend school barefoot.

· In Ethiopia, approximately one million people are suffering from Podoconiosis, a debilitating and disfiguring disease caused by walking barefoot in volcanic soil.

· Podoconiosis is 100% preventable with basic foot hygiene and wearing shoes.

Those are just a few of the startling and sad facts. Shoes are a luxury. Who would have thought? We certainly don't give it a consideration when we throw on the flip flops or lace up the Skechers.

As one of the company's interns puts it: "Now you're probably thinking, "Why would a SHOE COMPANY encourage folks to go BAREFOOT?" Easy. TOMS is not just a shoe company; TOMS is a movement, an advocate for change. We want to raise awareness for the MILLIONS of children around the world who go every day without the luxury of something as simple as shoes."

In fact, this company donates one pair of shoes to those who need them for every one pair they sell. Not ten percent, not "a portion of our profits," one for one. That, to me, is amazing.

So, today I am going barefoot. I don't know about where you live, but here there is a chance of snow flurries predicted, so this should be interesting. I am guessing I'll have to put on shoes to go into stores. Those health laws and all. Join me?
http://www.onedaywithoutshoes.com/

just do it

Doctor's Day would probably not be my favorite holiday to celebrate. (It was yesterday. I'm behind.) The only doctor I enjoy seeing on a regular basis is the one I live with. Even then, sometimes I have to forgive him his profession. Particularly at 6 o'clock on a Sunday morning or nine at night when he's not home yet. (Yeah, don't even get me started on a doctor's life of wealth and ease. You do not want to go there, especially in today's political climate.)

But the point--I do want to encourage you to celebrate Doctor's Day by getting out to see your doc if it has been a while. Let me tell you a story that happened about ten years ago. For that pesky annual checkup, I went to see my primary care physician, a wonderful lady who has since moved away from us, sadly. In the course of events, she thought she located a tiny lump in my neck. She suggested I get it checked out. I planned to ignore it, because that is how I tend to deal with things I find unpleasant, like visiting doctors or cleaning out my inbox or relocating the giant dust bunnies under my couch.

My husband, however, planned otherwise, which is how I found myself in another office being told it was probably nothing, but we'd check it out. A few months later, that same doctor removed my thyroid, found cancer, was surprised, and left me with a profound appreciation for my primary doctor who did not ignore that tiny thing that was probably nothing.

I didn't go because I thought there was anything wrong with me. I went for a general checkup, like we're all supposed to do in the course of a year. If I hadn't, when would someone have found it? It was barely noticeable, even to her. So the moral of the story is--go, if it's been over a year. I know it's a pain, but so is cancer, high blood pressure, diabetes, or any other trouble that could be there unnoticed. Don't wait for National Anti-Procrastination Day. (I promise you there is one.) Just do it.

And, as we finish out National Kidney Month, remember, if you are not yet a donor, just do that, too. Nike would be proud. And I would be glad to hear from you if you do.