Daily Bike Strides

Time to dust off our bikes, pump the tires and get moving outdoors, snowflakes or not! As I examined my bike early this morning to assess its conditioning requirements, I was reminded of an inspiring biking encounter I had at a state park, a couple of years ago.

I walked with a friend and our dogs regularly during the warmer weather. We pushed ourselves to keep going even once the temperatures dropped dramatically, even braving ice patches and submerging our boots in deep snow-covered trails. 

All year long, regardless of the day of the week or season, we noticed this senior citizen who rode his old-fashioned bike faithfully. He always had his transistor radio on board a basket of some sort, which played some oldies. He hummed or sang along as he passed by. He rode the bike leisurely, almost meandering like he was happy to lose himself in the song and had no particular path or direction to follow.

One very chilly winter day, we saw him outside his locked car door and heard him say over the cell phone that he had accidentally locked his car keys inside and didn't know what he would do.

We decided to offer him a ride home to fetch his keys. I was the lucky driver who took the opportunity to ask him a few questions.

"So you must love bike riding a lot to be out here so often, even in freezing temperatures," I said.

"I loved skiing and did it very well for many years. And then one day, I had an accident and was bed-ridden for too long. I swore I would never not move again," he replied.

"I see you here all the time. How often do you ride your bike?"

"Every day I get up, eat breakfast and ride my bike here for 3 hours. Then I stop home to have lunch and come back here to ride for 3 hours more. Afterwards I make myself a nice dinner and then I scrapbook."

What got me was not the fact that he rode his bike for 6 hours a day. It was his structured life. He had lived alone for the past year since his wife had passed away.

"Why do you ride alone? Why don't you ask family or friends to join you?"

"You think I don't have family or friends? I got me lots of them. They live far away and they are always nagging me to move closer to them. But this town is my home. And this is what I love to do. I have the use of both of my legs and I can ride my bike as long as I like as often as I like. I am a very happy man."

"And the scrapbooking?"

"The Mrs took the time to take all of these beautiful photos of us with the kids. She loved to scrapbook. And now I have all the time in the world to finish what she started."

Classroom of Life

This morning I held a Ticonderoga tri-write pencil in my hand for the first time.  It was true to its claim.  It really was naturally easy to hold due to its triangular contouring.  When I first saw the packaging during back-to-school shopping three weeks ago, I thought it was just the latest gimmick.

"Why would you need a different shaped pencil?" I asked my 5th grade daughter.

"Because, Mom, your hands get tired from writing and they hurt after a while."

I thought about the fact that I never use pencils anymore as an adult.  The last time I used pencils was in a college fine arts class that I took as an elective.  I enjoyed learning what grade graphite pencils to use for shading and creating depth in sketch drawings.  Several hours passed while I happily focused on my artwork.  How liberating it was developing new skills.  These days I prefer to use gel pens which glide weightlessly across the page.  My hand tires easily when attempting to write more than one page which is why I now prefer to type as I write on the computer keyboard.  The only writing I physically do now is the daily task or shopping list.    

We rounded the aisle and then my daughter made another request.

"Mom, can we buy me a special binder?"

"Why do you need a binder?  It's not even on your school supplies list."

My guess was that her brother, who is in high school and had a much longer shopping list, was in the market for a new binder, so she wanted one too.

"Because, Mom, I want to file my papers in there.  You know, so I can be organized."

It was unnecessary but she had a good argument.  Her school papers always piled up on the kitchen desk and they became my problem.

"Let's make a deal then.  If I buy you the binder, you will hole punch your papers as they come in the house and file them in your binder."

"Okay."

She spent the next ten minutes looking for just the right binder.  A blue sparkly one with green borders caught her eye.  It was four dollars more than the average binder but I figured anything that would help inspire her to keep order was a good thing, so I obliged.

"Mom?  Can we buy those plastic page protectors that you used for your writing portfolio?  I want to start my own art portfolio."

Ever since that day, whenever she has had free time, she has sketched and colored drawings and inserted them into her special binder.

I found her desire to be comfortable when writing and her need to organize her work inspiring.  She took pride in her work and wanted to feel good about it.  I thought for a moment about what I might want to do differently so I can also look forward to my tasks with more energy.

Last night I zipped through the halls of our beautiful, new, state-of-the-art Waterford High School.  I stopped in at each of my son's classrooms to meet his teachers and hear about their expectations for the year.  I felt a great sense of pride knowing that our tax dollars were well spent.  Everything about the evening, from the confident and encouraging words of our new Principal Mr. Hauser, to the design and layout of the building, to the newness of the furniture, to the impressiveness of the technology and resources available to our kids, inspired me.  I felt the sense of promise that our kids must also be experiencing as they go from class to class.  Even the teachers reflected an appreciation for their new tools and a positive outlook on the year.

It made me think back to my school years, when life was a fresh piece of sketching paper, waiting for me to draft some lines and fill in sections.  I used an eraser every now and then when I found myself veering in the wrong direction, but I forged on.

We are here to help guide our children as they become who they will discover they want to be.  But they are also here to remind us that we can keep using pencils and erasers too, even if we don't have to.  I guess that's why we buy ourselves the latest electronic gadgets.  There is still much to learn and new skills to develop.

I've been working on my first book for three years now.  I'm not done yet.  Once I finish the manuscript there will be even more work to do that I have never done before; editing, publishing and then finding a market for it.  The unknowns are scary but exciting too.  Maybe we are all works of art in progress and it's time to just draw some more lines.

Finding the Perfect Holiday Gift

Now that our fall sweets and stuffing holidays are behind us, we are thrown into shopping madness for December's mother of all gift-giving holidays. Whether you brave the retail masses in person or expertly navigate the world wide mall online, beware not to get sucked into the stressful tradition of looking for that perfect gift.  

The worst part of the holiday gift-giving process for me has been wandering around aimlessly from store to store, passing display after display, wondering if the people on my list might like what I am looking at, and getting dizzier by the minute.  This year, I will try approaching the process more strategically and hopefully I might just hit a few targets and survive, unscathed.  Here is some holiday shopping advice I wish I was given years ago.

1) Thoughtful List - Create a master list that indicates all your gift recipients and what they enjoy.  List their favorite hobbies, preferences or idiosyncracies.  If someone on your list who loves to dine out enjoys sushi or eats vegetarian, a gift card to that type of restaurant makes your job that much easier.  Is your niece still obsessed with gymnastics?  Shop online stores for the latest gymnastics apparel or accessories.  Keep this list handy all year so you can add new tidbits about each person, especially after having a chance to catch up with them at the family Thanksgiving reunion.

2) Cash is King - No one likes to stuff cards with cash because it doesn't show effort but a lovely branded gift card to their favorite store in cute packaging solves the issue.  It is a practical gift for those who are traveling or who live far away.  If you still feel like you want to show even more effort on your part, pair it with a gift-wrapped box of one dozen home-made cookies, cookie pops or truffles.

3) Entertain Them - You won't have to worry if you got the wrong color, size or style if you instead focus on the kind of fun that the gift recipient enjoys.  Gift cards for the movies, XBox Live points and e-books are great for older kids.  When buying toys for younger kids, if you want to avoid the long lines, toys are best purchased online as there are plenty of free shipping offers on minimum purchases. Consolidate your online shopping if possible in order to maximize these offers.  For parents, you might opt to give a "date night" that includes dinner with babysitting.  

4) Support the Local Buzz - For that favorite teacher or friends and family who live in the area, go local.  Support your local restaurants, bakeries, delis and sandwich shops, salons or stores that have recently popped up around town.  Even gift certificates for classes or workshops offered through the town Parks and Recreation office would be great.  Maybe that friend or family member has always wanted to try yoga or learn how to paint or shoot photography like an expert.  You might also know of local reps for direct to consumer companies who sell home goods, jewelry and the like.  Check out Oswegatchie School's upcoming One Stop Shopping Night on Thursday, Dec. 6 from 5:00-8:00 pm.  You will feel good knowing you have helped your local economy.

5) Get Digitally Creative - Everyone appreciates personalized gifts. Today there are more options than ever before.  Use favorite family photos to create one-of-a-kind pillow, throw or tote bag keepsakes.  If you recently traveled or celebrated a milestone occasion with a family member, put together a hard-cover photo book online.  Sites like Shutterfly, Snapfish and any digital photo printing service at a local retailer have really simplified this process.  Take it one step further if you are talented at producing your own video montages; combine photos with video footage and set it to music.  Believe me, this is a gift like no other, especially for grandparents or family who live far away.

6) Make a Pact - Given the tough economic times, you may want to shorten your gift-giving list this year by making a pact with some friends and family members. Maybe you agree not to exchange gifts this year and instead pick a fun destination or activity to do together to celebrate.  Maybe only the children receive gifts and the adults only participate in a limited value Yankee swap, a fun gift-giving game with guaranteed laughs.  It's about showing that you care, not about the stuff, right?

And above all,

7) Don't Wait - Do not allow yourself to wait until the last minute to give any thought to the above options or you will risk falling into the pit of gift-shopping despair.  If all else fails, you can always stuff cash into a fancier card that sings or lights up.  And don't forget to come bearing sweets or a fancy distilled beverage of any kind.  Both are guaranteed to elicit good times!

Halloween is for Everyone (Even Our Dogs)

Mac as a feline.

What is your dog wearing for Halloween this year?
     I admit it.  I dressed up my dog in a makeshift Halloween costume last year.  But I did not spend a penny to do so.  I had leftover material from almost 10 years ago sitting in a dusty box.  It was a glorious piece of wild feline spotted fleece.  I happily cut it up and made a cape for him so he could match his "sister" who wanted to be a cheetah last year.  I couldn't resist.  Look how adorable they were in the photo, with matching pumpkin baskets to boot!

Everyone needs a sidekick on Halloween!

     We are now termed "pet parents" rather than "pet owners."  I have embraced this new title.  My dog is the reason I hit the pavement for at least one mile per day, sometimes two miles, in the spirit of his and my own fitness.  His smile and enthusiastic tail is the reason I perk up when I arrive home, despite how fatigued I might be.  And he is the reason I write every day.  My walk with him is the catalyst for my 750 word minimum online journal entry.  On a good day, our walk produces a good blog idea or the completion of my current chapter in progress.
     My point is that my dog is an important member of my family which is why we decided to include him in our Halloween family fun last year.  It didn't seem fair to leave him home.  The incessant doorbell and knocking stressed him out.  He loved walking anyway.  Why not see what he thought of all the people dressed up in costumes visiting each home?  He did not typically take walks in the dark, let alone see that many people outside at that hour.
     Mac is notorious for wanting to chase anything that speeds by him.  He can't help his Sheltie heritage.  He wants to herd kids, bikes, cars anything else that isn't moving in some kind of order.  But on Halloween evening, no one was in a rush.  Masked characters strolled together in herds.  This comforted him.
     Mac learned that if he sat while everyone patiently awaited for someone to come to the door, the homeowner might notice him and run back into the house to find a more appropriate treat for him.  Ah, yes.  There was something in it for him too.  He was also in costume, so after a couple of oohs and aahs, he happily accepted a lovely dog-bone shaped biscuit or two.

Halloween costumes from the 1970s.

Mac loves people and other dogs, especially those he recognizes from our neighborhood.  Last Halloween, we saw other dogs walking around with their families, but most were not in costume.
     Perhaps this year will be different.
     Amidst our nation's financial woes, industry trackers and market researchers say there will be a bright spot in our economy this coming Halloween.  Among many other colorful characters, we can expect Captain America, Iron Man, the Avengers, Obamas, Mitts, and perhaps some more super hero canines.

Halloween savings tip from my good friend Michelle: It's not too late if you would like to place your children's costumes from last year online on eBay or Craig's list in order to fund this year's costumes.  Or, consider trading costumes with your children's friends who attend a different school.

Acquainted with the Squash

Two varieties of spaghetti squash, acorn, buttercup and delicata.

I have been one acquainted with the squash. My long-standing familiarity has been with the summer variety, zucchini and yellow squash and more recently, those cute pattypan ones. My family just met yet another interesting type of winter squash. Hello, delicata.
    What draws me to winter squash are their unique shape, color and texture. They are round, pear-shaped, oval or long-necked. Some have stripes, indentations and ridges while others have a smooth surface and even color tone. The flesh ranges from gold to orange. Whether they feature an exterior shade or combination of green, yellow, orange, beige and tan, they have one thing in common. Unlike summer squash, which tend to have thinner, edible skin, winter squash have denser flesh and much thicker skin, making them a challenge to prepare.
     Winter squash are a pleasure to display as a Fall portrait. Stacked or leaning against a bale of hay or filling a harvest basket beautifully, they are hard to imagine as being more than decoration given their hard exterior and solid interior. Only the squash-experienced are aware of their complex richness, variety of flavors and nutritional benefits. Some are stringy; others are more starchy like a potato; and then there are creamy ones which are ideal mashed or pureed for soup.
     In the past, I prepared the occasional butternut squash soup or roasted acorn squash as a starter course, but ever since a member of my family experienced serious food sensitivities to grain, starch and sugar, we turned to winter squash as potato and sweet potato substitutes. We discovered a world of delicious recipes and even began concocting our own. Some experienced winter squash handlers are able to forcefully halve them prior to baking or roasting, as most recipes suggest. I learned that this is not an easy task. Even with a very sharp knife, I lack the confidence, burly strength, height and leverage to drive the edge into its center. Recipes assured me that the sturdy vegetable would eventually give, but I never seemed to have a firm grip of the sharpest knife I could fine. The squash often had my kitchen implement in a headlock and it would win!
     So I do the most logical thing. After scrubbing and rinsing the squash first, I roast it whole. I bake an average size squash into a baking pan in the oven at 375 degrees for about 45 minutes. I test its readiness by poking it with a skewer. If the skin has a golden glow, easily punctures and its juices ooze, it is ready to be sliced in a civil manner. Once cooked, I can easily scoop out the seeds and peel the skin, either slice them into chunks or scoop and mash the flesh, then season and serve or puree and combine with soup broth.
     What I love about squash is that they can be prepared either sweet or savory. Many recipes for butternut, acorn and buttercup encourage a simple seasoning of butter or margarine with brown sugar or maple syrup. Heartier preparations for spaghetti squash may consist of olive oil, garlic, hard cheeses like parmesan or romano and marinara type sauces.

Roasted Delicata Squash

     I cooked the delicata squash that a local farmer introduced to me yesterday. He was right. Although it felt as dense as its other winter counterparts, its skin was thin enough to slice and eat. The skin is not as soft as a zucchini but not as hard as the butternut. There was no need to peel the skin. Their flavor is indeed richer and texture creamier than the butternut too. My kids loved it! Give it a try. If you aren't already acquainted with squash, maybe this will open new culinary doors for you and your family too.

Give delicata squash a try:

The Farmer's Recipe for Roasted Delicata Squash

1. Simply slice the delicata squash down the middle length-wise and scoop out the seeds.
2. Cut off the ends and slice it width-wise so you end up with half-inch thick half-circles.
3. Place cut-up squash in a large bowl and coat with olive oil using your hands to toss them inside the bowl.
4. Lay squash pieces on foil tray and sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper.
5. Bake for 12-15 minutes at 350 degrees. Flip squash with metal spatula half-way through baking.
6. Roasted delicata squash are done when the carmelized edges are brown.
To learn more about the many winter squash varieties, click on: http://whatscookingamerica.net/squash.htm

Is Your Phone Smarter Than You?

Like so many people I used to chastise, I too have fallen from grace.  I admit that I have allowed my cell phone to completely possess me.

     This morning, after I hit the button to close my garage door remote button, I pressed another button at the top of my phone.  Dark screen.  No response.
     I gasped.
     I had failed the evening prior, to follow my daily regimen of charging my cell phone, setting its phone alarm and leaving it within reach on my night stand.  As a result, my entire morning was a half hour behind.
     There were no persistent, high pitched beeps from my phone.  Instead my eyes were forced open by natural daylight streaming through my bedroom window and my ears detected my neighbor's dog's bark alarm at 6:30am.  That half hour cost me.  I missed my yoga stretches and instead of a leisurely morning, lunches were haphazardly packed, breakfasts were flashed on the run.  Because both buses were missed, the kids needed rides to school.  Could I still get to my 9:00 a.m. breakfast meeting on time?
     At the stop sign on Rope Ferry Road, you could hear the clinking of my son's spoon to his ceramic bowl of steaming strawberry oatmeal -- an unusual sound paired with the pop music in the front seat of my car.
     No smart phone meant no way to quickly check my contact info for the location of the meeting.  There was no time to go back into the house and rifle through computer files.  I took for granted I could look at the last minute in the morning, so I only had a vague idea where I was going.  I had been there a handful of times before.  I had a strong visual on the street, the mailbox and the walkway to the front door.  I remember making a left at a restaurant on Route 1, passing two stop signs and then parking at the third stop sign.  But I could not recall the actual street name or building number.  I had no way to call if I got lost or was running late due to traffic.
     I looked at the car clock after dropping off my second child.  I could make it if all went smoothly, but there certainly was not enough time to go back home to look for a car phone charger cord.
     "What did I do before the cell phone was invented?" I thought to myself.
     I would have asked several days ahead, not only for the address and phone number of the destination, but also for the directions.  Otherwise, I would have flipped open a street map and highlighted the route.  If I got lost or was running late, I would have been able to stop at a street phone booth to call.
     "What did I do before the smart phone?" I again asked myself.
     I would have done a map search on the home computer and printed the directions to bring along.
     But the smart phone had made my brain lazy.  I relied on it any random second of the day.  I made dog grooming appointments while walking the dog.  I confirmed hair and doctor appointments while waiting on the grocery line or at the gas station.  I never bothered doing any research the day before having to drive two hours to my daughter's gymnastics meets.
     My smart phone knew everything.
     It told me when to wake up, who to call, when to do a task, where to go and answered virtually any question that came up during debates with friends.
     Ironically, despite the fact that I programmed my phone to nag me to prepare to leave 15 minutes early to my appointments, I seemed to always arrive 15 minutes late.  I kept fooling myself.  I no longer had a natural sense of time.  I allowed my phone to become smarter than me.
     Fortunately, this morning I had the good sense to have faith in myself.  I had no choice but to rely on my visualization skills.  I used to call it my photographic memory in high school.  I could see where I had to go in my head.
     I was encouraged by the fact that I got both kids to school on time, so I proceeded to the highway and just drove, trusting that the universe would help me get to my destination within the remaining time.  I made all the turns and stops that my body remembered.  And when I finally walked through the front door, I smiled as I saw the wall clock.
     I was on time.  On the dot, in fact.  I had outsmarted my phone.

The After-School Shuffle

Are you exhausted, juggling your children's after school activities, you need a carpool and are going mad?  There are options.  

     Fear not, for you are not alone.  There are many struggling parents churning the gas pedal and wearing out their brakes due to  frequent stop and go drop-offs.  It is even more taxing when one child has an activity and the other does not, but you have to drive a distance to get there.       Some parents hide their frustration.  They paste an enthusiastic smile on their face and blow their kids kisses from the driver's seat.  Everything is fine.  They don't mind being the family chauffeur.  The other sibling is an angel, quietly awaiting the next stop, which may include being dragged on errands to several stores.  These parents wave their hands in slow motion as they pull away from the curb.  
     "See you later!  Have fun!" they sing out the window.  
     Some parents are more transparent, but at least they are honest about the situation.  They jerk the car into an awkward halt, expressing disgust with each gear shift.  No words are exchanged.  There is no eye contact.  The door slams shut.  The car screeches away in a blur.  
     And then there are many who are just plain old stuck.  With gas prices as high as they are, it does not make sense to drive 20 miles to go home only to come back a couple of hours later.  So they park the car and force the sibling to accompany them in the waiting area for the duration of the older sibling's activity.    
     Some children are equipped with a backpack full of distractions, but they complain the entire time.  
     "Why can't we come back later?" the kid says.  "I want to go home.  This stinks."
     "Do your homework," the parent replies.  "Where's your book?"
     "Hhmmph," the kid blurts, slumping in the chair.
     In some cases, the parent comes equipped with a good book, paperwork or a laptop and gets busy while the child plays games on a phone for two hours.  
     After observing all of these situations and even experiencing all three at some point myself, it dawned on me that there were options I had not yet considered.  

Option 1: The Homework Cafe    
Find a nice cafe in the area where you and the sibling can look forward to a relaxing and fun atmosphere in which to work/study and maybe enjoy some snacks later as a reward.  Come prepared with productive and enjoyable work for you and the sibling.   The child should do homework first, then read or play educational puzzles and games afterwards.  If the crowd or music at the cafe is too loud or distracting, bring along a laptop, iPod, tablet or e-reader and earphones to tune into conducive instrumental music on Pandora Radio using the cafe's free Wi-Fi internet access.  If this is not an option, try finding the local library, get some work done, read a good book (yes, the kind with a spine and actual pages to flip) and then go out for a coffee/smoothie afterward.    

Option 2: Shopping Marathon    
Plan all your grocery and errand shopping around your commuting calendar.  Try to involve the sibling in the shopping strategy.  Maybe he or she will help cook that evening and you can pick up ingredients for the menu together.  Maybe he or she needs extra supplies for a project or needs a new pair of jeans.  This is a good time to do personal shopping with him or her.  Or maybe there are events coming up in the near future and you need to buy greeting cards, gifts or special outfits to wear to the party.  This might be the opportune time to just window shop together.  

Option 3: Find or Start a Carpool    
Chances are, there are other parents at your gym, studio or sports team looking to pair up with other families juggling their kids schedule, but how do you find them?  Just start talking to people.  Find out where they commute from and ask how they manage.  Keep your eyes and ears wide open for the opportunity.  A new parent joined my daughter's gym and desperately needed to find a carpool for her 11-year-old because the 40 mile commute was not going to work three times a week without one.  So she did the most efficient thing; she asked the coach to e-mail all the team parents inquiring whether other parents might be interested.  We quickly became acquainted with another family and have since worked out a three-way carpool that is flexible and offers each of us a one-way drop-off or pick-up option.  When one can't make it, usually there is a back-up.  We stay in touch through phone texts before and during the carpool.  It isn't perfect, but more often than not, the sibling can comfortably do their work and then unwind at home at least half of the time.  

Have any other after school commuting ideas?  Please share them with us.

First Day, Great Beginnings

There is something universally motivating about the first day of school.  New sneakers, new notebooks, a new season and new agendas.  As Waterford students donned their backpacks and boarded school buses this morning, many parents breathed a little easier.  We look forward to renewed structure and boundaries in our family's work, play and sleep schedules.
     "Are you enjoying your summer?" I said to people I encountered in recent weeks.
It was a great way to quickly exchange stories about our respective family's fun in the sun.  We discussed exciting destinations, unique camps, beach and park days.  We talked about how much our children have grown.  We also commiserated about the physical hazards of excessive sitting during road and air travel, overexposure to electronic screens and chronically abused bedtimes.  When the time came, how were the kids going to wake up at the sound of their alarm at the crack of dawn?
     And yet, as my own kids attested this morning, their inner clocks were far superior to the ones sitting on their bedroom desks.  Apparently, they woke up a couple of times before enough daylight even seeped through their curtains.  One eye opened slightly to peek at the clock, only to realize it wasn't time yet.  They anxiously awaited the official time to rise.  They welcomed school, if not for new academic challenges, perhaps for the chance to simply see their friends and classmates regularly again.
     Both my fourth grader and eighth grader agreed it was a good idea to prepare their school bags and lay out their clothes before bed.  This alleviated morning stress and facilitated their movement from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen.  Alarms were set.  My alarm sounded at 6 a.m. and I joined my eighth grader in a warm-up jog around the neighborhood.  It got our blood flowing.  We were energized for the day.  It helped him start training for his cross country season.  Little did he know that it was me who needed the company out there.  I needed to jump start my own new fitness regimen.  The cool, crisp air and golden daybreak greeted our every stride.
     While he enjoyed breakfast, I packed the kids' school lunches.  A few minutes later, thirty minutes ahead of her alarm clock's setting, his sister joined us in the kitchen, dressed for school.  It was the first time she had ever sat at the breakfast table before her brother boarded his earlier middle school bus.  She surprised us and herself too.
     Once he was off to school and she was finished with her meal, the dog realized he was in for a big treat.  He immediately sat by the front door to listen for the rumbling and roar of the bus.  He paced in anticipation as I grabbed some plastic bags and his leash.
     "Ah, the familiar sounds of a good morning," his canine brain must have recalled.   
     My dog must have revelled in the sound of neighborhood kids approaching the edge of their driveways and barked at the screech of the halting big yellow monster.  Once she boarded and the noise of the bus faded down the road, he pulled me into the street and pranced up the hill.  It was his time now.  It had not been as predictable all summer as the family schedule became uber flexible.
     Now he could look forward to his one mile a day walk with me.  And after a summer sabbatical from writing, I can once again count on the flow of story ideas that our morning walks will bring.

My Dad: Screwdriver, Typewriter and Road Map

At this time of year, the word Dad typically conjures up portraits of fathers grilling, doing rugged work in the yard or power tooling in the garage.  But I can define my Dad's character and my bond with him, by more meaningful imagery; a screwdriver, a typewriter and a map.
     When I was a young girl growing up in a borough of New York, I was afraid of many things.  I often had nightmares about subway muggers, home burglars and potential predators lurking the city streets.  Perhaps it was because I watched too many network television news programs.  But it was something I did with Dad before dinner.  We sat on the couch, watched the city headlines and discussed how to practice safety.  I was taking the train to junior high school at twelve years old, so I listened intently.
     "Don't make eye contact with strangers.  Always look as if you know exactly where you are going.  Travel in groups," said Dad.
     At night, I watched him close and lock all the windows and doors of our apartment.  He further secured my bedroom window with a screwdriver.  He placed a door jammer under the front and back doors.  It was not so unusual given the break-in our next door neighbors experienced and the fact that our family car had been stolen right in front of our place.  I have carried Dad's safety warnings with me throughout my college years on and off campus, into my twenties as a single working female commuting back and forth over the East River and throughout my thirties as a Mom with little ones to protect.
     Dad inspired me during my elementary school years to learn how to type, to do it well and to use this skill as a way to make a steady income.  He worked in government positions using data entry skills and ultimately honed a career in accounting.  I remember typing my poems, stories and college entrance essay on an IBM PC Junior computer.  We could barely afford it, but I remember him insisting that it was a good investment in our future.  Typing ensured a non-stop flow of college summer temp jobs and eventually paved a way for me in the fields of advertising, marketing and communications.  To this day I appreciate having the ability to type as fast as my thoughts flow.  I am encouraged by Dad's support of my writing and the occasional comment he bravely posts on my blogs.
     Ironically, it was my Mom, not my Dad, who encouraged me to learn how to drive in my teens.  Of course my father worried about my safety behind the wheel so he wanted no part in my driving education.  But I knew I would not always have access to public transportation so I felt it was my American right to pursue a driver's license.  I surprised him.
     "Guess what, Dad.  I have my driver's license," I said.
     "You what?  That's not possible," he said.
     Although my Mom had a driver's license, he was the designated family driver.  It was his role.  He was not accustomed to seeing women drive (well).
     "Sorry, but it's a done deal," I replied.
     I felt bad that I betrayed his wishes at the time, but knew in my heart it was the right thing for my future.  Although he must have been very upset that I did this at the time, he did not fight it.  Instead, he began to research the best makes of vehicles; their safety record, efficiency and performance ratings.  He believed in Honda as a reliable car brand.  After two years of dragging luggage through bus and subway terminals and perusing carpool ride on-campus boards, I was thrilled that Dad had helped me get a car loan for a new Honda Accord hatchback.  It served me well for the next ten years.
     I remember Dad ordering road maps from AAA for me.  He marked the routes with a bright yellow highlighter.  I had spent many years as the family road trip navigator on long car rides.  He taught me how to read a road map and how to visualize the north, south, east or west bound exit off ramps.
     "As long as you have and can find your location on a map, you will never be lost," Dad said.
     To this day, I prefer reading and marking up road maps rather than relying on an electronic navigator.  As a result, I never feel anxiety when driving someplace new.  If I miss an exit, I pull over, refer to my map and happily turn around.
     Happy Father's Day, Dad.  Thanks for all your guidance to date.  I still hear your safety warnings and advice, every step I take.
     What about you -- what imagery does the word Dad evoke for you?  Share a comment...

School Rallies for Emily

Dedicating a fun event to benefit a very ill child, has the power to make a dramatic difference in a 10-year-old's life. So is the decision for a family in need to accept help.

Gigiotti with Guarraia and Macione.

     On Friday, June 1st, Oswegatchie Elementary School students and staff performed at their annual talent show. There was a variety of very entertaining Disney-themed acts, including a combination of high energy and soulful singers, dancers, musicians, gymnasts, martial artists, hula hoopers, jump ropers and even a twirler. The teachers and staff also delighted students and the audience with their choreographed ensemble routine.
     The original plan was to donate all of the show's proceeds toward the Cactus Jack Foundation. But when members of the Oswegatchie school community learned that fifth grader Emily Feldman is currently fighting a rare health condition known as Moyamoya disease, they acted quickly.  Kim Saucier, one of the teachers involved with directing the talent show immediately proposed to Amie Guarraia, fellow teacher and director of the show, that they approach the school's principal about splitting the proceeds between the two worthy causes.
     According to the Mayfield Clinic for Brain and Spine, Moyamoya disease is a disorder caused by blocked arteries at the base of the brain, a life-threatening condition that requires Emily to undergo surgery that focuses on reducing risk of stroke and restoring blood flow to the brain. The name "moyamoya" means "puff of smoke" in Japanese and describes the appearance of the tangle of tiny vessels that form to compensate for the blockage. In the United States, the risk of developing Moyamoya is less than one in 100,000.
     When Oswegatchie Principal Nancy Macione announced that the event had raised a total of $1,311, Cactus Jack Foundation's representative Tim Gigliotti joined her and Amie Guarraia on stage to accept the check on behalf of the foundation and the Feldman family. He went on to surprise everyone by stating that Cactus Jack Foundation was not only donating their half of the proceeds to the Feldmans, but was matching it as well.
     “Emily is so happy to know that so many people care about her,” said Andrew Feldman, Emily's father.
     He said at first it was very difficult for Emily to let people know about her health condition. She didn't want to be labeled as different from everyone else. But it became very important for her teachers to learn about her health challenges and to work around it as a matter of precaution.
     The Feldmans also worried about the cost of the extensive medical treatments that Emily will be soon undergoing.
     “It's been a tough year,” said Feldman. “I was unemployed for 6 months and recently got a new job so I'm just getting back on my feet.”
     Although his wife is employed as a nurse, she will need to take a leave of absence to care for Emily post-operation and there will be a lot of travel involved between their home in Waterford and Boston Children's Hospital where Emily will be treated.
     “At first our family felt it was best to keep everything private, for Emily's sake,” said Feldman. “But the more we opened up to people that we are in need, the more I realized that we have to learn to accept support in order to triumph over adversity. It has made all the difference in the world for Emily and my family.”
     Feldman credits a physical therapist for pinpointing the true source of all of Emily's health issues. She was there at the recommendation of doctors after she complained of severe foot pain. After observing that one side of her body was significantly weaker than the other, the physical therapist urged that Emily receive some neurological testing. Over the past ten years, Feldman said Emily experienced some very concerning symptoms, from her inability to move one arm as an infant, to collapsing one day at preschool, to having vision, cognitive and hand eye motor skill issues in recent years. He said her primary care physician did not consider her symptoms serious because they were intermittent.
     In hindsight, he wished that more diagnostic tests were done much earlier, but it takes major symptoms and a life-threatening diagnosis for insurance to cover testing expenses.  As a former ballet dancer who is attuned to the body, Feldman said he "immediately knew something was askew" with Emily's health.  It is now considered very likely that all of Emily's symptoms over the years were probably related. Emily 's fainting spells may have been mild transient ischemic attacks (TIA) or mini-strokes due to partially blocked arteries in the brain. Eye glasses and orthotics for flat feet were not the answer to her problems.

     The Feldmans consider the many blessings in Emily's situation. They feel fortunate that she has had few symptoms despite her advanced Moyamoya condition. As they await Emily's surgery date on June 19, their main concern is to keep her hydrated, to keep her blood flow volume strong.
     “Youth is on her side. I am thankful that she is young, flexible and malleable,” said Feldman.
      It was important to Emily that she not miss any school. Their family was thankful that she could continue to have some semblance of normalcy after she was diagnosed. She will have the summer to recover and look forward to resuming normal activity one month after the surgery.
     “I have my faith and I appreciate the support of my family, friends and community,” said Feldman. “I feel like everything is going to be okay.”

If you live in the area, you can help Emily in her challenge to fight Moyamoya disease by going bowling with friends and family at Holiday Bowl (also known as Spare Time) in Groton this Friday, June 8^th from 7:00-9:00pm. Tickets are 12.00 each - call 860 235 4654 or e-mail arwenjinn@aol.com or just pay at the door.

To view Emily's Facebook site about her journey to overcome Moyamoya Disease and find out how you can help if you are not able to attend the event, click here: http://www.facebook.com/emilymoyamoya

For more general info about Moyamoya Disease click here: http://www.mayfieldclinic.com/PE-Moyamoya.htm 

Unclutter...for Everyone's Good!

Temple Emanu-El hosted a community tag sale on May 20th.

A pile of junk in the house has the potential to accomplish a lot of good in a community.  Yet some people balk at the idea of setting up a yard sale.  They cringe at the thought of going through their stuff, hauling items outside and sitting out there for hours, only to possibly be insulted by nickel and dime offers.  The truth is that by tapping into a community tag sale, everyone seems to benefit; the takers, the givers and beyond.
     This past weekend Temple Emanu-El, of Waterford, held a successful community tag sale.  They were encouraged by their first tag sale last Fall.  A few weeks ago, they invited congregants and the general public to lease a spot as a tag sale vendor or donate items that were still in good working condition toward the tag sale.  Their vendor fee served as a donation to the Temple, a 501(c)3 non-profit organization which actively supports other important institutions in our area, including the Habitat for Humanity, the New London Soup Kitchen and the Interfaith Food Locker.  Congregants who were willing to donate all their proceeds to the Temple did not need to pay the vendor fee. 
     The beauty of the community tag sale was that there were many hands involved.  Each tag saler was responsible for setting up his or her own table in a designated section of the Temple's parking lot.  The tag saler cars showed up.  Items were quickly disembarked.  Cars were parked.  The Temple had reserved a limited number of tables.  Some tag sale item donors who could not commit to sitting at a tag sale table were given the opportunity to drop off their donations ahead of time.  Pick-ups were arranged for the elderly.  On the morning of the event, enough volunteers willingly sorted through the donation items and quickly arranged them into some order on the designated Temple tag sale tables.
     It was a lovely sun-kissed day of negotiations in the Temple's parking lot.  There was a steady stream of tag sale shoppers that arrived to check out advertised items from a 10-foot rowboat to home goods, sports equipment, children's items, books and more.  There were also wonderful refreshments available for purchase at the bake sale table.  Children had a thrilling shopping experience.  Their one dollar went a long way.
     The best part of the community tag sale was clean-up because there was no drudgery involved whatsoever.  Diane Johnson, who introduced herself as a representative of Waterford High School's Drama Club, asked a key question while perusing the tables.
     "What are you going to do with all the unsold items at the end of the tag sale?" she said.
     "Goodwill.  Why, are you looking for some items for a tag sale too?" one of the Temple's tag sale volunteers replied. 
     It was a matter of fact.  The Waterford Drama Club was in the midst of collecting items for their upcoming tag sale on June 2nd.  Last Fall, Temple Emanu-El also had the fortune of meeting a member of the Waterford Historical Society, who was in preparation for their tag sale the following week too.  It was destiny once again.
     "By the way," I said later, as a group of us helped load up her pick-up truck with the remaining tag sale items.  "Would you mind circulating some flyers for us at your tag sale?  Temple Emanu-El is hosting its annual Silent & Live Auction on June 2nd, the same day as your tag sale.  It's at 6:30pm that evening."
     "Sure," she said.  "I would be happy to hang some of the flyers up and hand some out."
     So partner up with members of your organization or even neighbors on your street.  Frequent tag saler shoppers like multi-family tag sales because it shortens the list of stops they have to make around town.  Donors and sellers will be blessed with open space in their homes.  Takers can enjoy their new affordable treasures.  Fundraisers like this help ensure that Temple Emanu-El will continue to exist and actively support social action causes in the area.
     Cost and labor efficient fundraisers like community tag sales benefit everyone.  You can start today.  If you live in the area, go through your stuff and contact Diane Johnson at the Waterford Drama Club about your tag sale donations or shop their tag sale on June 2nd.  Afterwards, (shameless plug alert), check out Temple Emanu-El's Silent and Live Auction at 6:30pm that evening! 

For out-of-town readers of this blog, I invite you to Shop for Some Good.  Help support Temple Emanu-El's online auction, which closes this Friday May 25th.  There's still time to bid on fantastic items... www.templeauction.com

Make Mom Happy

What is the best way to celebrate a truly Happy Mother's Day? The trick is knowing Mom well enough to see what is the most meaningful way to say thank you to HER.

A butterfly visiting my petunias one Mother's Day.

      I'm a Mom who has a Mom and Mom-in-law. Whenever Mother's Day approaches, I experience stress, not relaxation. Why? Because every year I worry about whether both Moms will be disappointed once again, because they will not receive the visit they wish they were having from my family. No matter what my family has planned for me on Mother's Day, I find myself feeling guilty that I didn't plan something that included our Moms.

     "They're grandmothers. You're the mother now," my husband says sympathetically.

     "But they don't stop being mothers to us," I hear myself say.

     Both Moms appreciate being recognized on or around Mother's Day, which has been impossible for us to do in person for many years now, since we moved 2.5 hours away. It was easier before we had children, when we lived less than a half hour away from both of them. We popped in for brunch with one and did an early dinner with the other one later in the day. Both Moms were happy to get a visit from daughter/son-in-law and daughter-in-law/son. But ever since I became a Mom, I realized that I want to be available for my kids to celebrate within our own little family unit. I secretly hope I can be completely useless to them during the entire day, free of chores and anxiety of any kind.

An azalea flower in my garden.

      One year, I just wanted the entire day to plant petunias, impatiens and marigolds in containers on my deck. I remember enjoying a visit from a slinky red fox who wandered into my backyard that afternoon. Another year, we enjoyed a walk and picnic as a family at the Connecticut College Arboretum. We picked up sandwiches and drinks from Subway and brought along our cameras. I still admire the photographs we took of the various trees, flowering bushes and water lilies on the pond that day. My favorite photos are the off-center pictures the children took of me with the blue sky in the background, shot from their vantage point below. Another time we decided to see the new flick Iron Man followed by a sushi dinner, my favorite. It didn't matter what we did. All I cared about was that I was with my family and that I didn't have to cook, clean, drive or nag anyone to do anything.

      So where does that leave Moms of adult children? Someday that will be me, when my children have become responsible for themselves and their husbands and their own children. Hey, wait a minute. That's the key. They will be responsible for themselves, their husbands and their own children! That means as a grandparent someday I will not have the same need to receive a physical break from incessant family rearing, shuttling and household chores. I would still want the acknowledgement though. I would want to know that they care about me and recognize all of my efforts through the years, to help them become the best that they could be. I would want to know that they still needed me in their life in some way, whether it be for advice or just someone willing to listen.

My lilac bush in full bloom.

      So make your Mom happy on Mother's Day. Show her that you thought of her and appreciate having her in your life even if you live far away. You don't need to pack the kids' suitcases and drive 200 miles just to have brunch with her for the day. Maybe it is a beautiful arrangement of flowers because she never buys fresh flowers. Maybe it's a video chat so she can see how big the children have grown. Maybe it's a comfortable new fleece throw emblazoned with her favorite family photo. Maybe it's a membership to fruit of the month club because she's trying to cut back on chocolate and sweets. Maybe it's a book of Cross Sound ferry tickets so she'll be encouraged to visit you and her grandchildren often. Maybe it's a home-made card signed by every member of the family, even the dog.

      If you live close enough to set aside a part of the day for a personal visit, you will surely surpass all of her expectations. Take her to brunch, lunch or dinner. Take her to the movies, to a show or to a ballgame. Take her to the salon, to the park or to the museum. Have her over for a slice of pie and a cup of tea and pick her brain about her past. She would love to tell you stories. If you are inclined to include her in your family's plans, by all means invite her to tag along!

      In my town, the local Patch.com site is accepting favorite photo submissions of "Mom and Me." The simplest and most legendary gesture we can make to our Moms is to tell the world why we think she is the best Mom!  To all my readers who are Moms...may you have a truly Happy Mother's Day!

A Think Full of Dishes

A Think Full of Dishes

Behold, the beauty of a sink full of dishes. Are you the one in the home who gets stuck washing the most dishes?
     Most households have a dish washing machine, but it is still possible to have a sink full AND a dish washing machine full of dirty dishes. There are well meaning spouses and family members among us who love to cook and eat the delicious meals cranked out in the kitchen on a daily basis but won't get involved with the clean-up process.
     I don't mind hand washing dishes. Don't get me wrong. I adore my dish washing machine and use it often but from time to time when I've had a particularly busy week, I have allowed the dishes to pile up for two reasons.
     One, it's my passive aggressive way of protesting the lack of helpers in the house.
     "I need a fork," one family member will eventually say. "Where can I find a fork?"
     "Tons of them in the sink," I'll reply. "Help yourself. I have to go for an errand. Be right back."
     Eventually someone gets the idea, pops in a dish detergent gel pack in the little compartment of the dish washing machine and hits the start button. When I return from my errand, I might see some dirty dishes missing from the sink.
     Two, I use washing dishes by hand as my part of my creative writing or strategy planning process.
     First, I'll look for my preferred channel on Pandora Internet Radio usually instrumental nouveau flamenco or new age, sometimes alternative rock. Next, I'll pump up the volume. I then assess the dish pile-up and generate my plan of attack.
     Of course. There are glasses buried under haphazard piles of bowls and dishes, thankfully still intact. There are stray spoons and forks in between the dishes and bowls, making the piles unstable and inviting breakage and a couple are peering out of the garbage disposal. I immediately sort like items. I pull all the cutlery and place them in the largest dirty bowl or pot on the counter. I neatly stack all the bowls and dishes and place all the glasses on the counter.
     If the dishwasher is not full, I fill it up quickly with cutlery, glasses and dishes. This maximizes the space used in the dishwasher and significantly cuts down the amount needed to be hand washed. Then, I set aside the plastic containers, larger casserole servers, bowls, pots and pans and super fragile items for hand washing. Once I've hit the start button on the dish washing machine, that's my green light to start hand washing each neat dirty pile I've created. That's when the magic begins.
     There's something calming about having put some kind of order in the dirty dish madness before tackling the chore. It feels like I'm halfway done because I can see the bottom of the sink. Finally, my mind's gateway is able to open.  I robotically wash and set the now clean dishes upside down on a towel on the counter to air dry. I am no longer thinking, "what a mess" or "I can't believe I'm stuck with this again."
     My thoughts instead have turned to the possibilities of the story idea that presented itself in my dream from the night before. I wonder about the man walking his Irish Wolfhound that is so huge that the dog's head towers over his when they are in a standing embrace. I start designing in my head the next promotional flyer I will create to support a non-profit fundraiser I am planning. I decide I'm tired of buying the same ingredients and cooking the same old tired family dishes each week. Once I'm done with the dishes, I run to the kitchen book shelf and flip to a recipe I admired weeks ago from the Flat Belly Diet Book. Grilled scallops with kiwi asparagus salsa. Mmmm. That is appetizing. The dirty dish stress has evaporated from my forehead and shoulders. I'm ready to create.
     I believe dirty dishes are a metaphor for the anecdotes, the ideas and inspirations that come and go in our minds every day. Sometimes we don't allow ourselves time to dump or process some of these thoughts through some kind of meditative activity, be it walking, running or, say it with me, washing dishes. We sometimes let them pile up and overwhelm us.  It's actually the best time to organize our thoughts, just like we do with the dishes.
     So the next time you are looking at a disaster in your sink or other areas of the house for that matter, think about the meditative opportunity that has just presented itself to you. Turn sink time into think time!

Soul Matters

Soul matters.  What is burning deep inside us as a want, is important.  We are all born with an imprint of what makes us special.  Like flower buds, we each have the potential to bloom with the right nurturing.  It just takes a long time for some of us to recognize who we are and what it takes to make us sing from within.  Hopefully once we honor our souls, our flower petals can open wide in the full sun.
    I have always known since I was a little girl that I wanted to write.  I took every opportunity to write outside of school.  Sometimes it would be a journal entry.  Sometimes it was a letter to the electric company on behalf of my immigrant parents.  Sometimes it was an attempt to write a story.  Other times it was just to share with the world what was going on in my head and in my heart, knowing that the world was never actually going to read it.  I always wrote the truth.  The pen and paper were my best friends.  I usually felt a lot better after writing.
    I was somewhat still on track for a future in writing during high school, even if I was attending a science and math magnet high school.  It was an honor to be accepted into this selective program.  I had taken an entrance examination and my parents and I had prayed for the opportunity to go there.  And it worked.  I got in.  I happily attended Experimental Physics, Mechanical Drawing and Calculus classes along with Literature and Creative Writing classes.  The problem was not during high school when I was aiming to be accepted into a good university liberal arts program.  After freshman year I realized in time that I was following the wrong path toward an unwanted future in engineering.  The following year I declared my major in Literature and Rhetoric but it still all became rather confusing for the next 2 decades.
    After graduation, my absolute, positive certainty about being a writer someday instead became a dream with many questions.  During the early 1990s there was a recession.  People were lucky to have a job offer at all.  Maybe I could write a book on the side, someday, but in what practical profession could I apply my degree?  Would I teach?  Would that be enough to pay rent?  How about law or business instead?
    So I took a fork in the road that led to the business side of advertising, the media department, where my job was to buy print or outdoor space and radio or television broadcast air time.  It's ironic that I did that professionally for 8 years on behalf of my high visibility million dollar advertising clients, and yet every day now that I am free to write, I am battling to carve the right space and time to do what I was always meant to do: write!
    The problem is that what we do for a living is directly attached to our ego and our exterior fashion.  People judge us when we say what we do for a living.  Does it fit us?  Are we providing for ourselves and our families adequately?  Are we making our folks proud?  At some point we all submit to these very revealing questions.  The true question is, are we listening to our inner voice?  What's it saying because that knows more about us than everyone we think knows us inside and out. 
    The old adage is that we don't mind working when we are doing something we genuinely want to do.  There is no question that if I was already a writer when my children were born that I would have found a way to balance my all my loves in my life correctly.  Instead, I found myself writing media plans, press releases, copy for websites and brochures, introductory sales letters, pitch letters, leader speeches, feature articles, news articles, newsletter blurbs...the list goes on. 
    I kept thinking, this isn't me.  My family comes first.  I need to get back on track with my original goal to write.  Books.  Children's books.  Books for women.  Books that inform about something I've learned.  Books that absorb women, make them care and laugh or cry.  So I walked away from promising tracks in advertising, market research, journalism, communications.  I kept getting promoted because I was a hard worker.  I had good business sense.  I learned fast and I was efficient.  They never would have guessed that I was so unhappy.  They figured me for a "lifer."  Well I fooled them all, especially myself. 
    But I do not regret anything I've ever written.  Because I realize that I would not have this perspective or steadfastness now had I not experienced other kinds of writing.  Perhaps that is why I am now able to be direct in my writing and softer when the occasion calls for it.  Perhaps every single person I have met, likeable and grossly unappreciated, will somehow work their way into my books as characters.
    I certainly have met my fare share of pleasant and repulsive types.  Some led hateful, pushy, lazy, smarmy, manipulative and whiney lives while others were sincere, saintly, cheerful, hard-working, earnest and truly inspiring against the odds.  I have worked in such crazy environments that it's a miracle I ever survived them.  I have worked with stoic and robotic workhorses who must also have a soul somewhere in their bodies, screaming to be noticed or to express their true selves. 
    Yes, there are many stories to tell.

Roadway to Rock

Rocking with Dad and his cousin on drums.

I have a healthy son who knows who he is.  He left school today burning to learn more.  Something he doesn't already know.  He has been extremely disappointed with his after-school talented and gifted program, saying that he has not learned anything, that he is not excited by it, that he expected much more from the program.  Science.  More science.  That's what he wants. 
    "But if you go too far ahead, then won't you be bored again when you get to high school science?" I said as I signaled left, pausing with the minivan at the school stop sign until the crossing guard gave the go sign.
    "I don't mind if I learn too much.  At least I'll get into honors science," he said.
    I guess I'll take that as a pat on the back.  I've raised a son who values learning and embraces the unknown.
    "Well, you know you can go ahead and learn all kinds of new material on your own anytime.  You don't need a teacher or a textbook to do that," I continued.
    "What do you mean?"
    "This morning you said you want to learn how to write a song.  You like writing poetry.  Poetry can become lyrics.  I can help you with the creative writing process if you want.  Just don't expect it to come to you all at once.  I've learned that you have to start with thinking about what excites you or saddens you or upsets you.  Think about what you have to say to the world about that topic.  I know a song has an intro, a beginning, middle and end.  But you really should speak to your Dad about songwriting.  He's been writing songs since he was your age."
    This conversation was enough to extinguish his state of frustration and ignite his desire to do new things.
    "Okay, Mom.  After homework today, I'll practice more of that song from yesterday.  I'll work on some MathCounts problems to get ready for the competition and then I'll teach Connor a song."
    After dinner, he jumped from his seat as if he got bitten by another bug.
    "Mom, is it okay if I practice guitar before I do my homework?  I have all this energy and I need to get it out!"
    "Sure!  That's one of the best ways to release energy.  One of my favorites.  Go ahead.  Have fun."  And with that, he ran up the stairs and started strumming on his father's portable guitar. 
    I was really very impressed with him yesterday at his first official rock band practice with two of his best friends.  All of his closest friends play some kind of instrument; some of them more than one.  They were on a mission to learn a rock song, preferably a simple one with only three chords.
    He buzzed around the basement, on the side which is known to family and friends as Dad's dungeon, turning switches on the mother board and amps.  He checked to make sure his friends' rhythm and bass guitars were patched into the right amps.  I helped him set up the keyboard.  He tested all the connections.  Then he released a burst of energy at the electronic drum kit, displaying his coordinated pitter patter on the snare, bass drum and cymbals.  He then announced the name of the first song their band was to learn.  He tracked down the guitar tabs on the Internet as his father suggested and began helping his friends find their way around the chords.  Whether it was the rhythm guitar, bass guitar or the keyboard, he knew enough how to show them what chords and notes to play for the melody.  He is not proficient at any of these instruments, including the drums, but he knew enough to make some semblance of the song. 
    I marveled at how the boys worked together trying to find their way.  Classically trained through the school's orchestra and band, none of these boys had ever had to find their own way through a tune by ear, much less work together to play something that sounds like a few measures of a real song!  Over two hours went by and these boys kept at it.  They only stopped to munch on hot curly fries, banana chips and iced tea that I brought down as a snack.  And then they were back in practice mode.
    I was pleased not only to see that they could engage in an activity other than playing X-Box for this amount of time.  I was very happy when they agreed to play whatever they learned for me and my Blackberry's voice recorder.  I recognized the tune immediately.  They were synchronized.  I shared in their brief moments of musical connection.  I was a very proud mother and witness to twelve-year-old male bonding through the art of music.

A Dog's Smile

Ever since welcoming my Sheltie Mac into my family life, I've developed a new skill.  I now have the ability to truly see a genuine dog's smile.  They are not very different from a human smile.  Eye brows are relaxed; eyes are bright and alert; the corners of the open mouth are turned up and the teeth are showing.  The only differences are that their unusually long or wide tongue is hanging out; their tails are wagging with great energy; and sometimes, they are panting.

I took my dog's smile for granted.

Every time I came home after dropping off the kids at school or running a day of errands, Mac smiled.  He was excited because he would soon have a playmate or at least a set of feet to lay next to while I typed on my laptop.  There was his trademark youthful, joyful, handsome pup face.  Like people, Mac sometimes demonstrated a lower energy smile with a closed mouth; that content look he got with his eyes half-closed while relaxing at his favorite spot on the sunny deck.  If you are a dog owner, I'm sure you've also honed this recognition skill.  It's the true barometer of a happy home.

If the dog is happy, well then it means he's getting a whole lot of love, playtime and attention.  Watch your dog or see if your friends who have dogs agree.  When the dog gets no love, everyone's too busy, too stressed out or too self-absorbed to realize the importance of just being. 

Once the kids are off to school, my daily goal is to walk one mile with Mac.  It's a great opportunity for me to brainstorm and process story ideas in my mind.  Well, for the past week, I've been extremely productive but not with my writing.  I've been donating 95% of my time to a charitable event I am co-chairing.  So many details and people are involved in the planning and preparations for this event.  It has depleted not only my time at home with the family; poor Mac has been on the peripheral of my radar.  Our walks have been abbreviated and his playtime has become less and less predictable.

So lately Mac has passive-aggressively been sending me signals.  His favorite treats have been half-eaten and purposely left in my path in the foyer.  He's been responding with nonchalance when I call for him.  I've had to search each room; he hasn't broken into a gallop when I sing-song his name.  If the house phone or blackberry acts up during our round of tug-of-war, he hasn't insisted that I pay him any mind.  He has simply dropped his end of the rope and curled up in another part of the house to mope.

Today I announced excitedly to Mac that we were going to do our full mile walk.  He was ready.  Then, I suddenly remembered there were two critical e-mail messages I needed to send, right that minute, despite holding the leash in one hand, wearing the house key lanyard around my neck and my right pocket filled with treats and plastic bags.  There she goes again, he must have thought, possessed by that THING!  When we finally reached the street, he led me to believe that he was a willing participant of our walk.

And then he communicated silently yet very clearly.  He sat.  I gave him my usual gentle command.

"Come on, Mac.  Let's go walky walk."

Nothing.

"Let's look for cars!"

Still no movement.

"Come on, don't you want to go sniff some mailboxes?"  He turned his head away with his nose in the air.  I gently tugged his collar with the leash and he defiantly pulled back his head.  I didn't recognize this behavior.  He was usually so agreeable.

"What's wrong, Mac?  You LOVE to walk!"

Silence.  He was earning my full attention.  He quietly basked in his subtle protest.  I approached him slowly and crouched down next to him, looking deeply into his eyes.

"I get it," I whispered into his left ear as I stroked his forehead and back.  "I've been a bad owner.  You're right."

His nose turned away once more.

"I'm really sorry."

This time he looked straight ahead at our original destination, lifted his back end and led me on our way.