Posted on April 2, 2008
Earl often shakes his head when we talk about cars. He’s not a super car buff, but he can tell a Lexus from a Toyota from a Saturn. Me? I can hardly tell my own car from another blue one in the supermarket parking lot.
It happened again today. With my Starbuck’s in one hand and my automatic door opener/key ring in the other, I walked to a blue car with the antenna on the back, clicking the “Open” symbol on the key ring. Then I approached the driver’s side and grabbed the handle. Yanked it. Nothing happened. Did it again. Still nothing. Began to get annoyed.
Click, click, yank, yank.
It was then I thought that maybe this wasn’t my car. Next I noticed it was a four-door; mine only has two doors. So I skulked away, hoping nobody would see me and think I was breaking and entering. Ah, yes, there was my car a couple spaces over. Click, click, yank . . . and I was in.
I don’t know what it is but cars simply don’t interest me. Years ago I walked into a dealership and told the salesman I had four thousand dollars to spend on a car, not a penny more. I wanted the car today, and I wanted a stick shift with air conditioning. Everything else was irrelevant. I walked out with a car I absolutely loved, but learned later that wasn’t exactly how to negotiate the best deal.
I come by this ignorance legitimately. Growing up, we never had a car; public busses and trains were our favorite mode of transportation. Maybe that’s why I’m so dense today. As long as my car works, I’m oblivious to its physical appearance. Or its emblem on the hood or trunk. Or whether it has spoilers or detailing or fancy tire rims. The only advantage I’m acutely aware of is that I don’t carry a bus schedule around in my pocket.
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Posted on April 1, 2008
Happy April Fool’s. Since it’s late in the day, I promise not to make silly jokes, offer imaginary stories, or tell you there’s a spider in your hair when there really isn’t. Instead, I muse on my own feelings about the day.
I’ve never liked it.
In grade school, we were all for making little lies to impress other students and then yelling, “April Fool’s.” I never pulled it off very well. In high school, the mood passed. The same for college too. But after that, when I was a sixth grade teacher in my own right, I dreaded the day once again.
So, at the start of each school year (I was present for two of them), I always looked ahead on the calendar to see if April 1 fell on a Saturday or Sunday. It meant a big difference in the day’s lesson plan, because if the day fell on a school day I was bound to be tested by my students and probably wouldn’t get much accomplished.
Today I’m my own boss and haven’t really been aware of current April 1 traditions. No one in my close circle has mentioned them either. But I’m not so naпve as to think that April Fool’s Day has disappeared completely. Given one’s political leanings, it might just be moved to the first Tuesday in November.
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Posted on March 26, 2008
Almost ten days ago, the server that hosts my web site went down . . . again! This is the second time in recent memory; hopefully, it will be the last. I have switched servers and am assured that the new provider can handle things better.
That said, I’m off to visit Atlanta and Savannah tomorrow morning — minus my computer. So blogging will resume April 1. Rather appropriate under the circumstances.
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Posted on March 17, 2008
Truth is I’m a slacker where St. Patrick’s Day is concerned. The Everyman’s model for celebrating the day belonged to my Mother, who was one hundred percent Irish and one thousand percent proud of it.
As a child, I remember how Mother always made the day special. She had little money and not much more creativity; instead she was a student of tradition. And Irish tradition meant wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day, eating corned beef with or without cabbage, and listening to Irish tenors sing their hearts out. Dennis Day was one of her favorites.
She knew the words to the most familiar Irish songs: “Irish Eyes Are Smiling,” “Danny Boy,” “Rose of Tralee.” She knew the legends of St. Patrick and of the druids. She knew the map of Ireland like she knew the map of any city where we lived, even though she’d not visited the Emerald Isle. (In later years, of course, she visited several times.)
But what made her Everyman’s model isn’t just how she celebrated March 17. What gives her claim to the title was her inherent pride in being Irish regardless of the date. She was proud of the Kennedy family and its accomplishments; she took my family and me to Ireland so we could experience it firsthand for ourselves. I even kissed the Blarney Stone and have a photo to prove it. She never missed an opportunity to reveal her ancestry.
I’m only half Irish and I’m not sure Earl’s Irish at all. But tonight we’ll have corned beef and probably watch the PBS Irish special. We’ll talk about the country, since both of us have been there; and then we’ll move on. But in the recess of my mind, I’ll hold on to the memories of my childhood when Mother would buy Irish soda bread and we’d sit at the kitchen table with butter and a knife and a deep connection to our ethnic past.
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Posted on March 16, 2008
I’m celebrating St. Patrick’s Day tomorrow in two ways. I’m fixing corned beef and I’m meeting with our accountant regarding our 2007 taxes. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to determine which project I’m putting more into this weekend. There is one corned beef brisket waiting in the refrigerator while there are stacks of papers neatly arrayed around the perimeter of my office.
These are annual rituals: honoring the patron saint of Ireland and honoring the government’s insatiable desire for a timely tax return. Ah, if only St. Patrick were here today. I’d endure a country full of snakes to eliminate the IRS from said country. But since Mike Huckabee has folded his presidential tent and gone home and St. Patrick likely couldn’t care about taxes, I’m hunting down 1099s and interest payments and dividends and business expenses as if they were snakes to be captured and displayed. So far, I’m about half way there.
I realize personal tax returns are not due for another month; but our accountant needs time to root through his manuals to find the most deductions on our behalf. Consequently, I try to get our data to him in a timely fashion. Which means my “research” and St. Patrick’s Day often collide.
In the end, I’ll come home from my meeting with the accountant and the corned beef, which will have been steeping in the crock pot most of the day, will be ready to devour. Already I’m looking forward to it.
I must remember to wear green to my meeting.
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Posted on March 15, 2008
Over the past few months, I’ve been working on a photo organization project partly as a respite from the ever present political scene. It’s been slow going since I end up stopping to reminisce over every other photo. Now with spring on the rise and my yard calling for attention, I sense this project will be stopped for now and resumed next winter. The political scene will continue, however.
This is one photo I came across that I absolutely love. It was taken probably thirty years ago when my sons were children and the world was a different place. Kevin, the one on the right, wouldn’t be caught dead in faux fur these days, and Keith on the left has moved on from dogs to cats. Snoopy remains the constant.
At the time, Kevin was seven; Keith was three; and Snoopy was an undetermined age when this shot was taken in front of our house in Arlington Heights, Illinois. I love the way Kevin is holding on to Keith just as Keith is holding on to Snoopy. I think I’ll set this photo aside and frame it for my desk.
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Posted on March 11, 2008
Just when you think things can’t get crazier, they do. It’s only Tuesday, but already this week presidential hopefuls Clinton and Obama are feuding about second spot on the national ticket and who should have it. There are new casualties in the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian struggle. And the stock market continues its Hellish descent.
Now comes Elliot Spitzer, the Democratic Governor of the State of New York, who has apparently been involved with a prostitute employed by The Emperors Club, an international prostitution ring. It’s enough to knock the primaries and everything else off the front page.
Which just goes to show that sex still trumps politics, mayhem, and financial collapse.
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Posted on March 10, 2008
I received a disturbing email that claims to have been written by one Colonel Harry Riley, USA, retired, to the thirty-three Senators who voted against making English the official language of our country.
Since the vote was taken in May, 2007, and Colonel Riley’s letter was written on June 6, 2007, I’m not sure why it’s being circulated now. Except for the fact that 31 of the Senators are Democrats and the tone of the letter was definitely far to the right. And, yes, both presidential nominees Clinton and Obama voted against the measure.
Riley believes these Senators violated their Pledge of Allegiance and should be impeached. He also states that “91% of American Citizens want English officially designated as our language.” Really? If so, I’d like to see the research that was done to corroborate this statistic. Failing that, I’d at least like Colonel Riley to cite his source.
Personally, I don’t understand his distress. We’ve weathered over 225 years without an official language, and if we don’t weather another 225 I don’t think multi-lingualism will be the reason.
Granted, if I went to another country and wanted to communicate well with its citizens, I’d try to learn that country’s language. So I can understand why immigrants to the United States would do well to learn English. I can understand why school systems which are already underfunded cannot afford to teach every student in his or her native tongue. I can accept that we need a language policy. But to pass a law that requires everyone in this country to speak English or be branded a traitor is overreaction at its best.
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Posted on March 7, 2008
I usually empty my Spam filter a couple times a day because I don’t like the idea of unsolicited messages lurking in my in-box. But yesterday I decided not to delete the spam just to see what would happen.
What happened is that I now have 194 unwanted messages from such “people” as Shelby Crump who wants to offer me a “university diploma from a prestigious non-accredited university based on your life experience.” Hmmm. I didn’t know there were prestigious non-accredited universities out there, and the Andy Rooney in me wants to know what makes them prestigious?
Sabrina Melvin writes “Hello, I am bored tonight. I am nice girl that would like to chat with you. Email me at *********** only because I am using my friend’s email to write this.” I get this email a couple times a week from people with different names, and I can only surmise there are a lot of bored, nice girls out there who are not particularly Internet savvy.
Then there are the bank alerts that command me to fill in a form with all my personal information and send it back to them. Only we all know that banks don’t send personal emails. I’m wondering when the spammers who send these out will figure it out too.
The pill promoters regularly contact me with advice on how to get the most for my prescription dollar. I find the solicitations that guarantee to “increase my manhood” to be particularly riotous, not only because I’m a female but also because of the wild claims they make. Hopefully there aren’t as many stupid men out there as there are bored, nice girls.
Once in a while a legitimate email ends up in my spam because Microsoft Outlook isn’t familiar with the sender’s name. But for the most part, the Matilda Harveys with their exciting fat loss products, the Dean Paynes with their tricks to beat casino odds, and the Jeannette Hollises with their knock-off watches deserve to disappear. Watch me as I hit the permanently delete button.
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Posted on March 5, 2008
Much has been made about Senator Hillary Clinton’s efforts to find her “voice” in the current campaign to be her party’s presidential candidate. First, there was the sentimental Hillary who teared up in New Hampshire. This was the point where she was no longer “in it to win it,” but was now in it for the good of the country.
Then there was the “Thirty-Five Years of Experience” phase where Clinton stressed that she was uniquely suited to be President because of her long career of public service. She not-so-quietly raised the question of her chief opponent’s lack of credentials in this area.
Last week, prior to the primaries in Texas and Ohio, we saw the “Fighter” voice take over as she declared that a fighter is precisely what is needed in the White House. In a way, I’d been waiting for this, since Clinton and her husband Bill have never backed down in the face of adversity or evidence.
I have no doubt that, regardless of the delegate count on any given day, Senator Clinton is in it to the end. She’s endured much and waited a long time (just like the Republican nominee actually) for her own shot at the Presidency. How it turns out still remains to be seen, but I’m confident we’re in for more voices in the future. Louder, more strident ones too.
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