I'm 50, Now What?

The new blog

2006-01-19T21:46:00.000-05:00

www.roderama.blogspot.com

The next step

2006-01-17T19:32:00.000-05:00

To paraphrase Sonny and Cher, the blog goes on. I've given a lot of thought to what I would like to name the new blog - everything from just my name to something completely nonsensical. what I've settled on may seem closer to the latter, but for those of you who will be in on it from the beginning, here is the name. Roderama Where does that come from? Well, since I have developed the penchant for writing about the adventures of rats, mice and other rodents, I looked up the latin root of the word "rodent." Turns out, it is rodere, that latin word for "to gnaw." And I thought, how appropriate, because that is exactly what I do here, gnaw on a few topics, including rodent adventures. And of course the "rama" part just reflects my free-for-all, retro inclinations. So, let me go and create that new space, and watch for the link here!

epilogue

2006-01-08T10:59:00.000-05:00

Now that this blog is done, I'll most likely be announcing a new blog and putting a link to it here. In the meantime, for those of you who want a permanent souvenir of the year I spent whining, complaining and blogging, "I'm 50 - Now What?" is now available in print at:

Noreen Braman's Books - Lulu.com

2005 Moves On

2005-12-29T11:51:00.000-05:00

As 2005 fades into the sunset, I look back over a blog that did what it was supposed to do - mainly, give me the opportunity to whine, complain and make comments about the world as seen through my newly-50-year-old eyes. It has been a year of gender debate, rodent experiments, floods on grand and local scales, hospital visits and personal epiphanies. Not at all what I expected when, in younger years, I envisioned the doddering, old crone I expected to be at 50. In fact, thanks to my more earth-spiritual friends, I've learned that the title "Crone" is one of respect, a crown of wisdom that can only be worn when one has lived a generous span of years.

And if there is one way I can sum up how I know feel about joining the AARP generation (although, let me say for the record, I have NOT actually joined the AARP - ok, I still have SOME hang-ups), it would be to describe myself in the borrowed words of a classified ad for a classic car:

"Classic 1955 model. May need some bodywork, but the engine runs like new."

Thanks to all of you who have taken this journey with me - watch this space for new developments!

The Reason for the Season

2005-12-18T10:46:00.000-05:00

As this year draws to a close, I find that some of the December traditions that have been part of my entire life are suddenly being questioned. The traditional greeting "Merry Christmas" and even the term "Christmas tree" have become phrases non-grata in our lexicon. Apparently, the very idea that some of the celebrations that take place at this time of year may have been based in religion has become something to hide. Perhaps as some sort of over-compensation for the rise in worldwide religion-based governments and the blurring of the line between religious belief and academic teachings, as well as corporate America's need to appear as unaffiliated as possible (except, of course, for the worship of money), Christmas has become a victim of its own ideals. We seem desperate to show our desire for "peace on earth" to everyone, but not the inspiration behind it.

When nativity scenes were banned from public places, I concurred, not so much for the separation of church and state, but more to keep the Holy Family from becoming nondenominational cartoon characters. Everyone can have Santa and Rudolph and Frosty with all their seasonal fun - but, to me, the scene at the manger belongs in front of a Church. This doesn't mean, however, that I see any sense in this recent banning of "Merry Christmas" from the public air.

I grew up in a Brooklyn neighborhood where we were one of only 3 or 4 families on the block with Christmas decorations. This didn't seem to offend our neighbors, who were unafraid to say "Merry Christmas" to us. Many years later, our family Christmas celebrations were joined yearly by Holocaust survivors who shared our Christmas Eve traditions, complete with the midnight placement of Jesus into the manger under the tree. When they were greeted with a hearty "Merry Christmas" they returned the greeting in kind, knowing full well that is was representative of the peace and love of the season, and not an indictment of their own beliefs.

It is amazing how, when asked, most members of the public don't feel that they are scarred for life by being exposed to Christmas greetings, Christmas decorations, or Christmas carols - even those who do not share the belief in the birth of Christ. But trying to dilute and hide what started this whole seasonal celebration by changing its very name is ridiculous and unnecessary. There is no doubt that the "de-religionizing" of Christmas will continue, it IS the way of things, after all, few think of St. Valentine on Valentine's Day. Should we now start saying "Happy Romance Day?"

If we changed or removed every word, reference or celebration that originated as some sort of religious observation or tradition, we would probably end up word-less, art-less, science-less and lifeless. So in the spirit (is that a religious word?) of the season, and the occasion that is the reason for all of it, I say, Merry Christmas to all, and to all who cannot, on principal, accept this greeting, I say, may God (however you conceive God to be, even if you conceive God as a non-existent superstition) bless you with more insight.

Personal Revelations at the Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton New Jersey

2005-12-04T15:37:00.000-05:00

December 3, 2005

I dropped off two photos of the Peace Form sculpture that is located across from the UN, at the Grounds for Sculpture at around 11 am today; with the hope they will be selected for an upcoming juried photography exhibit. Now, I am sitting in their cafe having some coffee and a brownie. This is the first time I have been here and I am already enchanted. It is windy and cold out, but I still want to try and get some photos here.

I am reminded of the sculpture garden at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin II in Arizona – it was much smaller and all the work of one person, but it ignited in me something I can't define, a longing to be where art is created, displayed and enjoyed. I remember I just wanted to sit there among the works... Of course it was a lot warmer there too!

I am watching the steady stream of photographers coming in to enter their work. Interestingly, most of those bringing in work are of a certain age bracket — that bracket that I have also entered this year. I find myself wondering if what has happened with these people is the same thing that has happened to me — a reawakening or renewal of interests and pursuits that perhaps had to be put aside earlier in order to take care of the necessities of life. I find comfort in this, knowing that I am perhaps among many “late—bloomers.” Previously, I had been mourning the time lost, but now I can see that it is more appropriate to know, and believe with all my heart, that this is the right time in my life for this — that had I tried this earlier I would perhaps have not had the eye that I have now— would not have had the appreciation for things of beauty, creativity and patience. It isn't to say that suddenly I have had some insight into modern art— it still mystifies me — but yet, now, I have an appreciation for form and composition that I didn't have before. I am no longer looking at that large, metal abstraction as just so much recycled trash (although I admit, I still see that on occasion) but now, I have a different eye, a different sensibility— is it an artist's eye? A photographer's eye? No I look beyond the "what the heck is that" reaction, looking deeper for shape form and color, and most importantly, the play of light and shadow. I am seeing that even those objects that are realistic representations tell a different story throughout the day as light, shadow and weather constantly shift and change. In fact, I am beginning to feel sorry for the pieces I have seen kept indoors— at least here in this building they are flooded with the light from massive windows — but what about those locked forever in windowless museums— subjected to only the steady, hard, shadow less glare of perfect museum lighting. How wonderful would it be to have an indoor room that simulated sunlight and different hours of the day — cloudiness, windiness — all those factors which make outdoor sculpture into living and breathing creatures. Certainly I am not the first to think of it. For all I know, it may be the most basic theory taught in art school. But for me, a person who has come to art sheerly through personal experience and self—taught means of expression, it is a revelation akin to those experienced by Old Testament prophets. And I see the definite connection to photography — the photographer capturing that fleeting interplay of light. Sure, we still need the standard, centered, “here is the sculpture” photo for the guidebooks — but what art could be created just by studying one outdoor sculpture for a day— a week — a year! (I am sure this has been done and somewhere someone is just rolling their eyes at me). But, to use an old cliché, if the real experience of art is truly the journey and not the destination — I have just turned down a different road, and no matter how well—worn the pathway, it is new to me. And I am going to move slowly and take lots of pictures.

here are some of them:DigitalDreams.dotPhoto.com - Welcome!

Scientists Again Outwitted by Small Furry Animals

2005-11-16T17:13:00.000-05:00

It hasn’t been a good couple of months for scientists involved with small, furry animals. First there was the trio of bubonic-plague-infected mice that disappeared from the lab in Newark, New Jersey. No one has been able to determine if there was a mouse accounting error, if other mice ate the missing ones, or if they have actually gotten out into urban New Jersey. Then, there were the scientists who were trying to find out how rats that suddenly appear on previously rat-free islands could be captured and eradicated. The one rat they let loose could not be tracked down for months, even with a radio collar on him. And now it is revealed that it is not only rats that are outwitting modern science. Apparently, other animals are rallying to the cause. No longer willing to be poked, prodded, chased and relocated, the animal kingdom is fighting back, and learning quickly, that in this battle of wits, their opponents are unarmed.

For quite a few years now, the federal government, as perhaps a sister project to the Witness Relocation Program, has been capturing otters who have the audacity to live in federally-declared otter-free zones and relocating them at a cost of $6,000 - $12,000 per otter. The point of this program was to move otters from their natural habitats to somewhere that scientists considered similar, in order to keep the otters (which had been previously hunted to near extinction) from bothering commercial fishermen. The otters, rebels that they are, manage to navigate themselves back, hundreds of miles, in as little as six months. They are re-captured, re-released, and the game goes on.

Now I know that not only are otters intelligent mammals, they are also very playful. I am sure they are enjoying this game immensely. If they knew how many millions of dollars had been spent on it, they would probably laugh themselves silly.

This week, according to an article on CNN.com – the government scientists are just about ready to admit defeat. The otters have won. Score another point to the small furry animal rebels! Now, let’s see if there is a lesson in here somewhere - how much better if those millions of federal dollars could be spent on developing fishing methods that are more environmentally friendly? Maybe we could hire the otters as consultants. Read the article: CNN.com - Otters winning battle of wits - Nov 16, 2005

Another Significant Personal Milestone for 2005

2005-11-15T14:41:00.001-05:00

During the month of November, I will “celebrate” the 13th anniversary of the radiating of my thyroid. Diagnosed in 1993 with Grave’s Disease, the method of choice to correct the problem was to expose it to enough radiation to calm it down, but hopefully not kill it completely. However, the phaser was set on “kill” not “stun” and within three months I had developed a bizarre constellation of symptoms that no one had prepared me for. At first I was just losing my mind, but then I began losing my hair, and finally my balance. The day that I walked down the hall in my house by pushing myself off one wall to the other, I knew something was really wrong.

My Christmas gift in 1993 was to find out that I would have to be placed on thyroid replacement hormones the rest of my life. Because figuring out just how much hormone is needed requires the trial and error method, and because giving too much too soon can cause a heart attack, this began a three year journey through hell to get the dosage up high enough to make me feel human again. My weight went up, my eyes had double vision, my hair fell out in handfuls and to top it all off, during all this I became aware of certain activities being pursued by my then-husband – activities that would lead to our eventual divorce when I got my head back on.

Since that time, I’ve educated myself about the condition I had and the treatment I received. I’ve left behind the first doctor who treated me because of his “take-a-pill-you’ll- be-fine” attitude. I’ve learned that coping with a radiated, non-functioning thyroid is a guessing game, and that the thyroid, the virtual thermostat of the body, controls many vital functions, including things you would never associate.

It turns out that the irritable bowel syndrome I have had since high school could have been an early sign. The fibromyalgia that I have developed in the past ten years is also most likely related. Within the last year, I began taking an additional form of thyroid hormone (T-3 for those of you keeping score) because of my intense fatigue, sleep disturbances, muscle spasms and pain. It turns out I have been suffering all these symptoms because endocrinologists and drug makers have been fighting for years over whether a thyroid patient needs both T-4 and T-3 replacements, and whether blood tests revealing thyroid hormone resistance should be considered part of the “protocol.”

So, this year, I celebrate lucky anniversary #13 still battling pain and fatigue, but hopefully there are no more surprise symptoms in store!

Just When you Thought I Was Getting Too Serious

2005-11-06T21:35:00.000-05:00

I got a perfect score in telling the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek. And was awarded this:

Today's Words of Wisdom on Aging

2005-11-06T16:22:00.000-05:00

Picked up this gem from one of the internet chain letters that landed in my mailbox, it bears repeating.

You don't stop laughing because you grow old,

You grow old because you stop laughing.

NaNoWriMo - am I crazy?

2005-11-04T11:22:00.000-05:00

Well, since this IS my monumental year to push myself places I have never been before, I have signed up for the craziness that it the National Novel Writing Month - writers getting together for the month of November and racing to complete 50,000 words of something that resembles a novel.

I've never written 50,000 words that went with each other in my life. I've just registered, so I am already 4 days behind. am I crazy. Absolutely. But, here is a good test if I can take on something new and stick to it, even with the demands of daily life. This will give me a hint as to if I am ready to forge a new path for myself as I travel down Route 50.

I'll keep you posted!
For info on this craziness, and to check on my progress, I'm registered as daylatedollarshort at the official site at: National Novel Writing Month - National Novel Writing Month

Stories of Strength is Released!

2005-11-03T10:31:00.000-05:00

Read inspiring stories and help victims of recent disasters! Click on the banner below.

It is Time to Value the Career of Child Rearing

2005-11-01T09:41:00.000-05:00

Recently, Ann Crittenden spoke at the Princeton YWCA about her writings and grassroots efforts in support of the economic value of those who raise the next generation. This is a career that still generally falls to women, and those who choose to pursue it- especially on a "full time" basis (meaning they have stepped out of the "employment" world) are being shortchanged. Not long ago, I wrote a column about this very same topic, in response to an article in TIME Magazine - an article that highlighted the fact that many women ARE jumping off the "corporate track" onto the "mommy track." Unfortunately, the article only dealt with upper income women and didn't delve into the economic reality that motherhood brings to most of us.
In response and support of Ann Crittenden's efforts, I republish that column here:

The Risky Business of Motherhood
By Noreen Braman

Here it is, nearly 22 years since the birth of my first child, and, incredibly, the lead story of TIME's March 22, 2004 issue was about why, "suddenly" women are choosing to step away from their jobs to stay home with their children. We are lead to believe that this is somehow a new phenomenon, and perhaps a type of backlash from latchkey kids who knew too well, the feeling of being a kid home alone. But, there are women who have been quietly doing this all along.

Twenty years ago, when I "stepped out" of the corporate world where I had spent ten years, I left behind a boss who told me I belonged at home, and female colleagues who considered me a traitor to the cause. Yet, I felt as if I was doing the right thing, and despite the financial hardship it imposed on the family, we somehow managed. Like others, I took part-time jobs that neither paid well, nor garnered me much respect. I bartered secretarial services for dance lessons for my children, only to have my husband consider that as my "leisure time" out of the house. Even when I began freelance writing and pulling in a decent part-time income, it was still difficult for anyone to think of me as "other than a mom" and that it was somehow demeaning rather than admirable. It was disheartening at times, yet, the rewards of being with my children seemed to far outweigh it.

As the three of them approached high school age, I finally went back to work fulltime, at a smaller salary than what I had been earning 14 years earlier. Yet, the income truly helped the family as expenses mounted. It was a satisfactory arrangement until I got divorced.

Suddenly, I went from being a part-time contributor to the main bread winner, with my salary and court-ordered child support adding up to less than half of what the family income had previously been. Within months of the divorce I was working two jobs to try and keep us afloat. This meant that my children came home from school to an empty house, made their own dinner and saw me for about 10 minutes as I flew in and out between jobs. I soon learned that my pre-teens and teenagers still wanted and needed a more available adult around, but I had to spend my time scrambling to make ends meet. Financial crisis after crisis followed, the end result was homelessness for about 5 months. All this time, I worked and worked, for low pay, and found in myself a growing resentment toward the time I had been a stay at home mom.

Often I tried to calculate the salary and position I would have had, if I had stayed with my pharmaceutical company job. I realized that I would be approaching my 25th anniversary, had I stayed. Pension and thrift plan benefits would have created a nice nest egg for retirement. I longed for the security that would have come with making that much money as a single parent. I reeled in anger that the 14 years I had given to raising children were so devalued by society - a fact driven home when my ex-husband declared in the divorce proceedings that he would pay what was ordered in support for the children, but not a penny for me. It was as if the years I had devoted to running the home were worth nothing.

Today, I am working at a better paying job, but still not earning what is considered the subsistence income for a family of 4 in my area of the country. I am involved in an expensive legal battle to try and get help from the children's father in paying their college tuition, while at the same time, facing the reality that the child support we rely on to maintain the roof over our heads, will soon stop. I find it interesting that debts I have incurred for the benefit of the children will be hanging around long after they are all out of college. I face the bitter reality of being forced out of yet another home and perhaps not even being able to afford an apartment rental in the state where I live.

So, while I applaud the women who are now choosing to stay home with their children, I offer them some words of warning - make sure you aren't cutting off your career and job opportunities completely. You may find yourself someday in the same position as I am - starting all over again in the workplace, with less time to "make it." Until a stay at home parent is given some financial reward, either in the form of a family income tax break, or other protection under the law for the years spent doing this job, "stopping out" to raise your children can be the best thing for them, but a great risk for you.

©2004 Noreen Braman

For more information about Ann Crittenden's writing see: http://www.anncrittenden.com/

World Record-Breaking Rat Makes Monkeys Out of Scientists

2005-10-23T16:11:00.000-05:00

For quite some time, I have been writing and warning the public about the rampant and dangerous experimentation being conducted on rats — supposedly because the results can somehow be correlated to human behavior. I’ve told you about studies about rat mothers being subjected to stress and female rats being “driven mad for sex” in the search for the perfect aphrodisiac, all leading me to feel guilty about evicting these creatures from the comfort of my home.

It doesn’t surprise me then, to find out that a single rat was able to confound a group of scientists for more than four months. In an attempt to find out how rats might be “eradicated” in areas they have recently migrated to, all these scientists learned is that one rat can evade capture by using only its rat-sized brain against brilliant and technically equipped humans.

Released on a 23 acre rat-free island, the rat and scientists began to role play the plot of “The Most Dangerous Game,” with the unarmed rat leading the heavily fortified scientists on an epic journey. The scientists tried traps, bait and even trailed the rat with dogs, to no avail. Even the rat’s radio collar was of no help. The rat evaded capture.

Whether this game became boring for the rat, or whether the rat began to pine for the company of other rats (who knows if this rat had previously been injected with that “mad for sex” potion), after 10 weeks the rat was tired of being a castaway. (I suspect he was told it was only going to be a three hour tour). Apparently possessed of not only super intelligence, our fugitive rat also must be quite the physical specimen. In a heroic attempt to gain freedom, he swam 400 meters of open sea, breaking all rat swimming records, to get to another island. An island that was, unfortunately, also rat-free. It was on this island that the rat was finally captured.

Personally, I think, unable to find any other rats in the area, he gave himself up. The scientists, obviously clueless as to how the rat outsmarted them, are still patting themselves on the back. “Our results may help in the design of conservative strategies to keep islands free of invasive rodents,” they bragged.

Somehow, I think that is a bit of stretch to conclude from this experiment.

Interesting to note: Not too long ago, three bubonic-plague-infected mice were reported “missing” by a lab in Newark, New Jersey. Despite the efforts of the FBI and various accountants, it could not be determined if the mice had actually escaped, if a mouse-counting error had occurred, or if other mice had eaten them. No trace of the missing mice has ever been found.

I say it again; we have to stop fooling around with rodents.

read it yourself: CNN.com - Cunning rat outsmarts scientists - Oct 21, 2005

Exciting News on the Writing Front

2005-10-21T13:54:00.000-05:00

My story "My Mother's Table" will be published in "Stories of Strength" an anthology to benefit recent disaster victims.
see: Stories of Strength

My column, "A Rat Too Far" has been selected as a finalist in the Humor Press monthly humor contest, and will be published in their upcoming anthology "America's Funniest Humor."
see: Humor Press

My column "Here's to Your Health (Insurance)" will be published in an anthology of medical experience essays. Details to be announced shortly!

Nothing Funny About Chest Pain At 50

2005-10-20T10:32:00.000-05:00

apartment flood update: after renting her own steam cleaner and cleaning the carpet, and the maintenance crew rehanging the doors and reassembling the baseboard heater, it appears that life can go back to normal for my daughter. Of course, that hardly means things have calmed down around here ...

After attending my nephew's birthday party on Saturday night, I went home, played with my dog a little, and then settled down to sleep. About an hour after drifting off, I was awakened by the most intense pressure, pain and burning in my chest that I have ever felt. My mind wavered between indigestion and heart attack - and knowing that my family heart history is not the best - I opted to call 911. Soon I was surrounded by police, rescue squad personel and paramedics. My blood pressure was uncharacteristically and abnormally high - so I was whisked off to the emergency room. Three nitro pills later, I was at least able to slow down my breathing. Morphine administered in the ER brought the pain down to an almost non-exsistent level.

There is no fooling around when a 50 year old woman goes to the hospital with chest pain. There is testing, monitoring, x-raying and blood drawing that happens instantaneously. I will never complain again about going to the ER with a sprain and waiting for attention. If the staff is attending to a heart patient the way they attended to me, I won't mind waiting. The immediate conclusion was that I wasn't having a heart atttack at that minute, but may have just had one, or was gearing up for one. What followed was four days of intense monitoring (during which time I did have more instances of pain), an echocardiogram, a stress test which showed that I might have an area of the heart not getting enough blood, and finally, heart catherization.

The idea of heart catherization has always filled me with fear. The idea of putting a tube up through my femoral artery to my heart to release contrast sounded like pain to me. I've never trusted the "we give you a local" line, or the "we give you something to relax you" line. Me, I want to be out like a light. My family laughs at me, how could someone who had 3 C-sections dread surgical procedures the way I do? Let's just say, I had general anesthesia for the sections, but was awake for a later liver biopsy. Guess which procedure made my scream like a banshee and curse like a sailor?

However, now that it has been done, I have to say, the doctor and staff who performed the catherization were friendly, reassuring and gentle. Nothing was done until it was certain that the area to be opened was numb, through and through (no one was that certain of numbness for my liver biopsy). Tranquilizers I had been given actually DID calm me, but left me with a nice awareness of what was going on. And, truthfully, once I saw my heart on the monitor, I was completely fascinated. The contrast showed my arteries, the interior of my heart, and how the blood pumps in and out. The only sensation I had was some warmth, which was warned about ahead of time. Actually, I'd like some of the blood-warming stuff in the middle of winter. Feeling it travel through my body made me aware, as I have never been, of how fast and efficiently the heart pumps blood through the body. The test was over quickly, the cathether removed, and a special dissolving plug inserted in my artery. I would need to lay flat and still for about three hours, and then, treat the area with care and cleanliness - just as any surgical site. So, I can't drive for three days, shouldn't bend or lift anything. Today, the day after, I have no pain in the area at all. But the best part of the test was hearing the cardiologist pronouce my arteries as "pristine." I felt like I had just been given the Pulitzer Prize for heart catherization results. And the pains, oh they are real enough, but are most likely related to something gastric - an area of my body that has always given me trouble. As long as I know my heart is healthy, I can deal with it.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the police, rescue squad and paramedics from Jamesburg, New Jersey as well as the staff of St. Peter's Hospital in New Brunswick, New Jersey, especially those in the ER, the Telemetry Unit and the Cardiac lab. You all made a very scary experience more bearable.

No news is NOT good news

2005-10-12T08:11:00.000-05:00

Don’t be fooled. Just because I didn’t blog yesterday it doesn’t mean that everything is fine at my daughter’s apartment. She continues to stay at a nearby hotel, and to this very moment, NO ONE of any official capacity has gotten back to her with a clean-up/repair plan or estimated date of completion.

Conversations with a neighbor have revealed that flooding has been an ongoing problem for this group of apartments, and the response from the apartment management has ranged from slow to non-existent. The neighbor mentioned an increase in her asthma symptoms triggered by the mold growing in the utility hallway.
Needless to say, my daughter has purchased a mold testing kit and will be presenting any findings to the apartment management. Her neighbor has decided to move out.

It seems to me, the apartment complex should offer the affected tenants the ability to move into other, dry apartments at the same rent for at least the duration of their leases. But so far, that kind of thinking seems a bit too difficult for people who can’t even respond in the first place.

Apartment Flood Update

2005-10-10T09:14:00.000-05:00

It is Monday, 10:15 AM. My daughter spent the night at a hotel, as her apartment is uninhabitable. No one from the apartment maintenance staff showed up all day to check out the damage or begin repairs. Late in the afternoon, a professional carpet cleaner arrived but was unable to do anything other than "prep work" because of the amount of water. He placed some fans and a dehumidifier in the room to try and get rid of some of the water. We are all appalled that no one from the apartment maintenance staff even arrived with a shop-vac to try and drain the water, but rather called a carpet cleaner as if my daughter had spilled something.

So, this morning, my daughter goes back to her apartment at 8 AM, as instructed, to meet the maintenance people who are supposed to be there to finally check out the damage. No one arrives. She waits. and waits. Finally, exasperated, she calls the corporate office of the apartment complex and relates the entire story. Five minutes after the call, two maintenance people finally show up at her door.

Are they there to do anything? Do they have any equipment to remove water? No. They are only there to "look" and then they have to report what they see to the office. The sopping carpet remains under water, the wall of my daughter's bedroom remains damaged - and they tell her they don't see getting back to do anything until it dries out (on its own apparently) which could be Thursday.

Today, I see on the news that there are pockets of unprecedented flooding all around the east coast, here in NJ and in New Hampshire. I hope to God that the people who are affected by these floods are dealing with more responsive bureaucracy than my daughter is encountering for one flooded apartment in Pennsylvania.

FEMA Deja Vu

2005-10-09T12:48:00.000-05:00

It is 1:50 PM on Sunday, and my daughter is still sitting in a flooded apartment, waiting for her apartment maintenance people to get off their butts and come investigate the problem. Apparently, her call last night went unrecorded, as the apartment managers claimed to have no knowledge of her situation. Their calls to the maintanence people went unanswered for hours, until someone finally called back and said they were waiting for the one guy who has the one machine that can suck up the water.

In the meantime, my daughter and her belongings remain in her living room, watching the wetness creep through the carpeting closer and closer. An investigation of the utility hallway from where the water was flowing has revealed a 2 foot high water mark, evidence of long standing and ongoing water damage, and walls covered with something black that really looks like mold. After some coughing and choking and fear of an asthma attack, my daughter is now wearing a surgical mask.

Her request for a temporary dry apartment was turned down, pending the maintenace people's evaluation of the habitability of the apartment - and they hope to arrive some time after 2 PM. So, 14 hours+ have passed since my daughter first reported this flooding. There are several other apartments that must also be flooded, however, the occupants seem to be away for the weekend.

If this is how one apartment complex thinks it is proper to respond to an emergency situation, it is no wonder that things went so horribly wrong in New Orleans. The fact that no one has even COME OUT TO LOOK AT WHAT IS GOING ON is deplorable.

I am sitting by the phone, with car keys nearby, ready to ride out there to Pennsylvania and knock some heads together.

Hasn't Katrina Taught Us Anything?

2005-10-08T23:23:00.000-05:00

I am just home from the long trip to Arizona, back to a state in which it has been raining for days, and is expected to continue raining. As I was getting ready to hit the hay this evening, I got a call from my daughter, who lives in an apartment complex in a suburb outside Philadelphia.

Her apartment, which is partially below ground level has begun to flood. The water appears to be coming in, not only underneath an emergency exit door in a utility hallway behind her apartment, but actually through adjacent cinderblock walls that seem to have pieces falling out of them. That sounds like an emergency situation to me - not only for her immediate apartment, but perhaps for the stability of the entire building.

She called her apartment maintenance, and was told by the person who answered the phone that there was nothing he could do now, that he would come over in the morning to check things, and maybe pull up her carpeting, to be replaced. In the meantime, he says, unplug everything. Nothing my daughter said could convince him to get out of his warm bed to come see the situation in the building that is his responsibility to maintain. Understandably, my daughter was quite upset, wondering that if she tried to spend the night in the still dry part of the apartment, would she wake to find herself floating, or worse, would the entire apartment building above her come crashing down on her because the water soaked wall gave way?

I told her quit fooling with an incompetent maintenance person who obviously hasn't had a bit of training as to what to do in a flooding situation. I told her not to even think about standing in water or on wet carpeting to try to unplug things. I told her to call 911 and let the police and fire department come out and check the situation.

My concern right now is for her health and safety - and I am waiting by the phone to hear what is happening.

But rest assured, once I know she is safe - there will be some people brought to task here for their lack of response.

Bon Voyage Concerns

2005-09-23T15:36:00.000-05:00

Concern #1 - Tomorrow, I am flying to Arizona, a flight that I expect will go right over the top of hurricane Rita, or somehow take a scenic route to circumvent it. I'm wondering if we will be delayed, and if the flight will be turbulent. I am really such a novice traveler, I have no idea what to expect.
Concern #2 - The plane I will be on is the same kind of plane that, just this week, had a fiery emergency landing because the front landing gear was twisted around and stuck like a shopping cart wheel. I found out this morning that there have been 7 such instances with these planes in recent time.
Concern #3, 4, 5, 6 - I am going to get horribly sunburned, bitten by a snake, stung by a scorpion or lacerated by a cactus.
Concern #7 - I am going to like Arizona so much, I won't want to come back!

I'll let you know when I return. :)

Talk Like a Pirate Day, and get your pirate name

2005-09-19T10:51:00.000-05:00

My pirate name is:

Captain Morgan Flint

Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

Getting Serious About Being Funny

2005-09-08T11:35:00.000-05:00

Deep in my heart, I have always known what Reader’s Digest has been proclaiming for years, that “laughter is the best medicine.” I’ve found validation in this belief in a book by Linda Richman (I’d Rather Laugh) and the works of Norman Cousins. I have often said that without laughter, I would have stuck my head in the oven a long time ago — and since I have an electric stove, all I would have gotten was a bad sunburn anyway.

This week, as I sit home, going out of my mind with the most godawful spreading skin rash coupled with a letter from my x-ray group that my mammogram is abnormal and I need more tests, I must say that I was hard pressed to find something to laugh about. Like most of us, I am also still stunned by what has happened in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. I’ve pulled out the column I wrote after 9-11 to remind myself (see below) that we will laugh again.

As if in answer to my silent question, I stumbled upon an organization that knows exactly how serious this business of humor can be. The Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor is headquarter almost in my backyard, in Princeton, New Jersey. Members include such well respected professionals as Dr. Patch Adams and someone whose presentation I have never forgotten, New Jersey’s Rosemarie Poverman. It didn’t take any thought on my part to sign up and join. I may not be a doctor or a therapist, but, I sure am a humorist and I look forward to doing whatever I can do to spread the work about the important, serious work of being funny. For more information on this group, go to their web page at www.aath.org.

And if you decide that this is an organization you want to join or support, let them know you heard it from me.

Below I’m reprinting my column written after 9-11, not only in observance of the 4th anniversary this week, but also to remind us, in this recent time of trouble, we will laugh again.

We Will Laugh Again

As I write this, October 2001 is spreading the golden crown of fall across most of America. A sense of change is in the air, as nature prepares herself for the long restful sleep of winter. And, deep within us, there is change too- not a seasonal change brought about by nature, but a violent upheaval that reverberates to the innermost depths of the soul. Our hearts have been slashed open by an insidious foe hiding behind a cowardly mask of self-serving ideology. Our pain is so great, we know we have been changed forever, and in our grief, in our mourning, in our righteous anger comes the feeling that will never smile again. Indeed those of us who have survived these horrific events, those of us who can hold our loved ones to our breasts are burdened by an overwhelming sense of guilt and a helplessness that is almost paralyzing.

But we have been asked to get back to business. We have been asked to prove that our way of life here in America is not something that cannot be snuffed out by those who place no value on life, have no sense of honor and seek only to destroy all who cannot feed into their megalomania. Indeed, they are depending on the very things that make us American - our compassion, our openness, our hands that we extend in friendship to those who love and hate us - to let them get to us, hurt us, kill us. But those hands have now closed into fists of anger and frustration, those hands have grasped the tools of rescue and rebuilding, those hands have raised the flag of freedom and justice, and those hands are reaching across the globe, to find the cowards where they hide, to drag them out into the light of day, where no evil thing can live.
And slowly, yes, slowly, our tears will dry. Our faces will wear the grim visages of determination; our eyes will focus on the task ahead. As one, we will rise like the Phoenix from the ashes, stronger and fiercer. And when the dust, dirt, debris and blood of the battle clears- we will stand, united and free still.

And yes, as time goes by, we will smile again, we will laugh again. The United States, the nation blessed and charged with standing as the shining example for all, will go on. But we shall never forget.

The End of the World As We Know It?

2005-09-01T12:50:00.000-05:00

Like many Americans, I am sitting helplessly by, watching the collapse of society as we know it in New Orleans. Aside from the loss of civil services, technology and power is the loss of human dignity. I am not talking about people being subjected to horrendous conditions which force them to break into stores in search of bread and water. I am talking about the seeming inability of those same people to properly assess their situation and try to help each other.

Why are people taking vacuum cleaners, televisions and electrical appliances? What will they possibly do with them in their flooded homes, in their condemned neighborhoods? And why steal the guns and ammo? Is it to hunt down the native wildlife for food, or to shoot at helicopters that are trying to save lives?

It will take years to analyze what has gone wrong here. Most importantly, why a city so vulnerable didn’t seem to have enough planning in place for the protection of its poorest citizens in the face of such a disaster. How could a city that exists only because of the strength of man-made barriers not be better prepared for their failure? And how long it will take to figure out how and why the citizens who found themselves in this devastation were unable to rally together to help each other, and instead, descended to the lowest level of barbarism?

New Orleans is not alone – this is the same question that came up when people in Iraq started to destroy their electrical infrastructures and oil refineries. Why would you destroy the very systems needed to sustain your own life? What drives human beings into acting in ways that are so contrary to survival?

I’ve been thinking back to the events of 9-11 and the tsunami, and cannot recall any stories of such lawlessness and disregard for others. Did it happen and we just didn’t see it?

And I wonder, as I watch events unfold, is this a warning to us all of how fragile our system of “civilization” is?

More Stupid Remarks by Someone Who Should Know Better

2005-08-25T07:58:00.000-05:00

It is comforting to see that even though all the rhetoric about women in science has died down, there is still legitimate research being conducted that continues to refute the remarks made by the still-in office President of Harvard. Apparently, there is still nothing g to support his claim that women have a lower aptitude for science and math.
http://www.cnn.com/2005/TECH/science/08/19/science.women.reut/index.html

This week, I must admit that Sommers' remarks paled in comparison to some made in the past by televangelist Pat Robertson. I missed them first time around, but have heard them repeated recently in reports about his call for the assassination of the president of Venezuela. Apparently, in a previous diatribe against feminism, Robertson claimed that it turns women against their husbands, makes them kill their children and indulge in witchcraft. Suddenly, I feel transported back to colonial Salem. Will he be suggesting burnings and drownings next?

While we are worried about Islamic fundamentalism denying the rights of women and using religion to subjugate half of the population around the world, we apparently have our own home grown extremist also using the shield of religion to spout his hateful views. I find the fact that this man still has a pulpit to preach from and followers who hang on his words even more frightening than the rise of religious fundamentalism in other countries. Especially given his constant penchant for running for office.

Here in the US, we are supposed to know better. Our whole reason for being a nation was because of religion being used for political purposes. Here in the US, we are supposed to know better than to give power to any religious fanatic. And yet, here we are, subjected to the very public rantings of someone who, quite clearly has left the realm of sanity a long time ago. Sure he has the right to free speech, but what is wrong with the people who continue to support his televised soapbox?

To use a sort-of religious cliché, it scares the bejesus out of me.

Is This Really News?

2005-08-17T17:58:00.001-05:00

I understand the concept of a "slow news day," and how that is the time when news outlets may run the more unusual story, or that meritorious human interest story that there was never time for. But exactly how slow of a news day is it, when the headline is something like "Police On the Lookout for Snake." Sure the occasional wayward 50 foot boa constrictor that is peeking up from someone's toilet is an amusing tale, even a cautionary one - but usually the closing story on televised news on a "slow news day."

Yesterday, apparently, despite a multitude of world events screaming for attention, it was a snake story that was the lead for hours on an New York City all news radio station. I know this because I was traveling from central New Jersey to the Bronx, New York, in daytime traffic. I heard the snake story at least 4 times. Police were actively searching for a copperhead snake that had the unmitigated gall to bite someone. Of course, this was a someone who was trying to get the snake out of the middle of the road, and was rewarded for his concern in typical snake fashion.

There is nothing funny about a poisonous snake bite. It is an important message to tell people to avoid handling snakes or any wild animals with bare hands, no matter how good the intentions. But the impression from the news coverage was that this snake was being relentlessly pursued by local police, with the same voracity as a bank robber.

So, I thought, well, maybe this was important and unusual because this was a snake that didn't belong in New Jersey, and like the wayward boa constrictors, had been let loose by mistake, was out of its natural element, and needed to be captured. We certainly don't need a wild, poisonous attack snake pouncing on the unsuspecting.

However, in checking the web, and most recently this web page, Township of West Milford Search , I find that not only is the copperhead snake native to New Jersey, it is one of TWO venomous snakes here - the other being the timber rattlesnake.

Rattlesnakes? In New Jersey? I'm never going out without heavy boots again ... So now, I'm thinking, not only was this an important lead story for news radio, it is something that the populace of New Jersey need to be aware of - immediately.

I'm wondering if it is too late to joing the posse and bring that criminal snake in for some Jersey justice...

Who is REALLY screwing up America?

2005-08-12T09:33:00.000-05:00

A number of years ago, my daughter won the "scariest" Halloween costume contest at the local American Legion parade. Was she a monster, a vampire, a serial killer? No, she was dressed as a hippie. The gentleman who awarded her the prize said, "for those of us who remember, THIS is what really scared us." We all laughed.

I was reminded of this recently while watching an interview with Bernard Goldberg on the Today Show. Apparently, he, too, is frightened of "hippies" or at least those who still embody the war-protesting, liberal-thinking, equality-wanting, government questioning philosophy they represented. What isn't funny is that he is now trying to incite Americans to rally against those who think this way. He calls them the "culturally elite," the "America-Bashers," and he goes so far as to identify where these people live - in the "blue parentheses" of America. THIS is truly frightening. Read more about this on my other blog at:
Proud to be in the Parentheses... - General: Senior Web Logs

Good-bye Peter

2005-08-09T18:28:00.000-05:00

The death of Peter Jennings this week caught me off guard. I remember that he had left the evening news, remembered he was sick, but never expected to hear this kind of news so soon. I only knew Peter as that calm and comforting news presence, but it is amazing how used to that kind of presence one can become.

The news of his death created an odd coincidence in my life. Last week, I was in Dallas for business, and had a few extra hours to visit the city. I went to Dealey Plaza, to see the Kennedy assassination site, and to visit the museum in the Book Depository building. On the top floor of the building was a special exhibit dedicated to the journalists who covered the tragedy. There was the Cronkite news footage, him being perhaps the most legendary news icon ever, breaking down as he announced the death. There was the infamous film of the shooting of Oswald, something many of us witnessed live on television. And there also, was a panel devoted to Peter Jennings. A Canadian reporter at the time, he was in the airport when he heard something about the shooting. He called his boss, told him there was only one flight going to Dallas, and asked, should he go. His boss said no. Jennings went anyway.

As the reality of the news reached our Canadian neighbors, Jennings was a step ahead of all the others, thus beginning his reputation for getting to the story first. It wasn't too long after that when he was hired in the US. I read this story with admiration and surprise, I had never known that Jennings was a reporter in that era.

Then, I return to New Jersey, to the sad news of his passing, and I think, this is one story he didn't need to rush to cover. And now, hearing the additional sad news that the non-smoking widow of Christopher Reeve has announced that she, too, has lung cancer, I say to those people in my life who still insist on lighting up - quit now. This horrid disease can get anyone, but why invite it in.

If You Could Find a Better Reason to Do a Commerical ...

2005-08-05T23:26:00.000-05:00

The man who once told us "If you can find a better car, buy it," is back pitching for Chrysler. Some are questioning why the company has brought back their 80-year old former CEO. But for Lee Iococca, the reason for doing this recent string of commericals might come as a surprise to you.
Read my blog here:
To Lee Iococca I Say, Welcome Back... - Entertainment: Senior Web Logs

I Picked the Wrong Day to Travel

2005-08-02T21:42:00.000-05:00

For those of you who know me personally, some of you may recall that today I was flying to Dallas on business. Some of you may remember what airline. And still, others may have seen on the news that an airplane belonging to the airline I was on had a forced chute evacuation on the runway because of smoke in the cabin. For anyone who was worried, it wasn't my flight, but then again, a little too close for comfort.

Today apparently, is the anniversary of the worst air disaster in the Dallas Fort Worth Airport history. While we were landing safely, someone was placing 130 long stemmed roses in the fence in memory of those who died. Not something one likes to think about while on a plane ...

Then, as we sat down to lunch, the news channel began showing scenes of the airplane crash in Toronto. It would be several hours before it was announced that all had miraculously survived. In the meantime, I checked into my hotel and turned on the television to see scenes of an Amtrak derailment in North Carolina in which the driver of the truck that struck the train was killed, and more scenes of a road closure due to a fatal car accident just a few miles from the hotel.

Is it any wonder that my co-worker and I decided to walk across the street to a restaurant to eat? Some days, it would seem, are just bad for traveling. Let's hope things calm down before it's time to fly home.

Some Local and Personal News

2005-07-29T15:29:00.000-05:00

My town was inundated with ten inches of rain in 4 hours on July 17.
Read about my experiences here: http://www.seniorweblogs.com/BlogComment.aspx?id=solitairepoet&EntryId=296&mode=reply

see photos from other parts of my town here: www.jamesburg.net

On the good news front, my poem "Real Estate" was just published in the annual Summer Fiction Issue of the US1 Newspaper of Princeton, New Jersey. It is wonderful and refreshing that a local business newspaper has chosen to do this each summer, giving local writers they chance to be read close to home. To find out where in Mercer County New Jersey the paper is available, see: www.princetoninfo.com
You can also get information there about the special publication party (complete with poets reading their published works) to be held on August 11.

In addition, my poem "Minetta Women" will be published in the upcoming anthology "Streets of New York." More information on that in the future.

I'm Hip and Cool and Down with RSS

2005-07-28T11:36:00.000-05:00

In keeping with my goal to be oh-so-with-it with the latest in computer advances, I have RSS-enabled this blog. So, for those of you who are hip and cool and down with it, syndicate me!

(wow does this now mean I'm a syndicated writer)

I Must Be a Glutton for Punishment

2005-07-16T10:30:00.000-05:00

I should have learned my lesson with the kitchen cabinet with the wrong size doors. They wanted me to return the entire thing, even though half of it had already been installed. They just couldn't give me the correct size doors. So why did I go back to this big orange home "improvement" retailer for more punishment?

I thought that if I ordered something online, it would come to me directly from the manufacturer. I thought that it would be delivered by a freight handler who knew what it was doing. I expected the big orange retailer to be sensibly responsive if I had a problem.

As usual, I thought wrong.

The delivery of the more than 500 lb. package was done by one person, who really could not get it out of his truck properly. He dropped it down in the driveway, complete with a huge wooden pallet, shrugged at the damaged packaging, and said that it came from the big orange retailer in that condition. Inspection of what could be seen without taking the package apart didn't reveal any obvious damage, however, this changed when I unpacked the parts.

Box #1, a small accessory box, was completely ripped apart. Inside, however, all parts were intact.
Box #2, the first large box, had some holes poled in it, but upon opening it, (a feat accomplished by cutting the box open) there were no damaged parts. I hauled each large piece up my driveway and into my yard.
Box #3- the second large box, seemed to be a bit squashed, but again, after cutting away the box, the parts seemed undamaged. I hauled each large piece from this box up my driveway and into my yard. At the bottom of the box were the last two pieces, damaged beyond repair. The underside of the box (not visible until now) was shredded. Let's just say I uttered a few words that would have gotten my children's mouths washed out.

I searched in vain for the phone number of the carrier. A bill of lading on the first box didn't even match my order - indicating that the boxes attached contained a toilet, a chaise lounge and some misc. accessories. My order was actually for a large backyard shed.

Without a phone number for the carrier, I then called the customer service department for the large orange retailer, explained the problem and asked for replacement parts. Instead, I was told that I had to return the entire item, it would take two weeks for the carrier to return to pick it up, and oh, by the way, it had better be repacked for shipping.

WHAT? First of all, the boxes were damaged to begin with, before I had to cut them open. Now, there is no way those boxes can be repacked. Secondly, I've hauled most of the parts into my yard. The best I can do is haul them back to the driveway, pile them up on the pallet, and let them sit there, exposed to the elements, until the carrier decides to come back. I can't wait for the argument that is going to ensue when they see I haven't packed the stuff up for shipping.

Tell me the truth, wouldn't it be a hell of a lot easier for the big orange retailer to contact the big red manufacturer of this shed and just get me replacement parts? This is strike #2 against Big Orange. I don't think I'll be giving them a chance for strike #3.

APA Debunks Cruise

2005-06-27T21:30:00.000-05:00

I'm happy to post a report on the official response from the APA to Tom Cruise's unsupported ramblings.

http://www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/Movies/06/27/cruise.psychiatrists.reut/index.html

And for those who would like to see real, scientific brain scan results from patients properly using medications for mental illness and disorders, check out: http://amenclinics.com/bp/

Two Cents on Tom

2005-06-24T12:13:00.000-05:00

Let me say for the record, I don't care about Tom Cruise and his love life, or the love lives of anyone in Hollywood. But it is a problem for me that Cruise is using all the attention being focused on him right now to attack the entire practice of psychiatry and psychology as well as make medical determinations as to what is the right course of action for people struggling with mental conditions — case in point, his tirade against Brooke Shields.

Now, we are all entitled to form opinions, and we all have the right to express those opinions. And of course, we all have the right to ignore someone else's opinion. What is disturbing about this whole thing, is that anytime a public figure comes out with such a strong opinion, it gains attention, and unfortunately, credibility.

My problem with Tom Cruise is not his opinion, per se, but his constant claiming of having done intensive research, yet he fails to ever cite a single source. He harps on the use of drugs, both misrepresenting what certain drugs actually are and who has the ability to prescribe them. (Most psychologists cannot prescribe drugs) He presents the beliefs of Scientology as if they were universally accepted precepts instead of religious tenets. And, when pressed for details, he talks around in circles instead of giving concrete answers. He never acknowledges that there are many, many other therapeutic tools at the psychiatrist's disposal that don't involve prescription medications, and he seems to believe that the brain is incapable of having diagnosable organic disorders just because conclusive blood tests cannot confirm them. As a person diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a diagnosis of exclusion (no test results) I know firsthand the difficulty of dealing with those who feel the only real diseases and disorders are those that we have concrete tests for. Shame on Tom Cruise for setting medical science back 100 years.

Eventually, the furor will die down, and we will have another media darling to contend with. In the meantime, I sincerely hope that no one will take his tirades seriously enough to stop therapy, discontinue medicine or ignore symptoms.

Transcript of Tom Cruise's recent interview on the Today Show
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/8343367/

I'm still 50

2005-06-17T08:16:00.000-05:00

Well, it has been more than two months, and I am still 50, still alive and kicking, and a little behind in my blog - and so much going on! The Runaway Bride, more antics involving the President of Harvard, Gumby turning 50 - wow, I have a lot of writing to do. Check back soon!

More Things I Shouldn’t Have to Put up With at My Age:

2005-05-19T20:24:00.000-05:00

People who don’t do their job, then hide behind “procedure” as an excuse. Case in point, the Financial Aid office at my daughter’s college not processing her application form despite in person delivery, numerous phone calls and e-mails and then telling us the due date has passed and federal regulations prevent them from doing anything. They make the mistake, we suffer the consequences.

Companies and other people that one of the three adults in my household do business with or owe money to, who leave canned messages on the answering machine that don’t say who the message is for, what it is about, or even who the heck they are. Are we calling back? Not in this lifetime.

Cellular phone companies who tell you that your entire state is part of your local calling area and then bill you for local calls, telling you that your call went through an out of state tower – as if you have any control over where the signal goes. They then offer to solve the problem by giving you “free” long distance service, for $5 more a month and a year’s extension on your contract.
Large Swedish furniture stores who don’t tell you in their catalog or on their web page or in their kitchen design software program that unlike everything else they sell, kitchen cabinets can only be purchased through a special order placed with their kitchen design staff in the store. Trying to find out what the delivery time might be is a closely guarded secret, as the kitchen design staff only works 10-5 on weekdays and don’t answer their phone, meaning that even if you just want to know if ordering cabinets from them is even feasible, you have to take time off from work and then drive 25 miles to the store.

Home Improvement chain stores that are popping up every 5 miles but still don’t have stock of all the assorted pieces to finish a project. For example, selling a ready-made countertop in a certain finish, but not having the extra laminate pieces for finishing off the ends. Or, being the exclusive distributor for a certain pattern of floor tile, and not only don’t have it in stock, but are unaware of its existence. Or how about selling an unassembled cabinet with the wrong size doors in the box, and then telling you to return it, after you have put it mostly together then realized the doors were the wrong ones.

Non-custodial parents who cry poverty when asked to help fund their child’s college education, but ask this same child to continuously come over and babysit pets while they take vacations and overnight trips.

What A Sad Commentary This Is

2005-05-07T08:57:00.000-05:00

I've just spent some time reading dozens of entries on the AOL message boards written in reaction to the story about the teenage boy who has been suspended from school after taking a phone call from his mother in Iraq. According to the school, it was the student's defiance and refusal to hang up that precipitated their actions. They even claim to be compassionate, stating that the could have had the student arrested, but didn't.

The statements on the message boards that I have read, range from some level-headed comments to inflammatory racist remarks. There are the "rules-are-rules" supporters as well as the those who doubt his mother actually was on the phone with him.

The sad commentary here is that this incident happened at all. Apparently, common sense flew out the window, and the adults involved escalated the situation until the student became understandably upset and "defiant." Expecting him to remain calm and rational in the face of irrational adult behavior is asking a bit too much.

Why is it we create these "zero tolerance" policies that remove consideration for mitigating circumstances? What a chance this school had to do a compassionate and enlightening thing. Instead of escalating the confrontation, what if the teacher had asked the student to move to a more private area to finish his call? What if the school administrators had used this as a way to begin a dialogue in the school about what stresses students are under because they have parents serving in the war? What if everytime a soldier parent called a student, the student reported to his classmates what that experience was like? And what if the entire student body, knowing which students were under this stress, got together to support them?

No. Instead we get a "rules-are-rules" reaction. We kick a student out of school, the very place where he could be getting the social and emotional support he probably needs at this time. How much better if this had been used as a teaching tool - if some sort of "punishment" is still demanded, what about asking the student to do something useful, such as start a support group in the school for students with parents in the military?

This school should reverse the suspension, the student should apologize for cursing at the teacher, and the entire school should spent some time examining exactly what this war is doing to families. Not all learning is solving problems in a textbook - sometimes the lesson is how we treat our fellow humans.

Another 50th Anniversary

2005-05-07T08:06:00.000-05:00

With an official start of December 14, 1954, WHYY radio is a bit older than me - however, like me, they are taking this year to celebrate 50 years of existence. Originally started as an "education" station with a $50,000 budget, WHYY had grown into one of the leaders of National Public Radio. And while I am in New Jersey, their Philadelphia signal gets to me loud and clear. Their web page has an interesting timeline of the years since they went "on the air," and its a great trip down memory lane for those of us "of a certain age."

http://www.whyy.org/91FM/50/1950s.html

When All That's Left is Words

2005-05-05T18:27:00.000-05:00

Years ago, I wrote the shortest of all my poems. It is perhaps the only one I can recite - either because it is short, or because, to me, it sums up so much of what has gone on in the world. And today, as I listen to rememberances of the Holocaust, in this the 60th year since the liberations, I hear my own words echoing in my head. I realize that it is the words that are left by those who live through horror, turmoil and trauma that stand as their legacy. A legacy that cannot ever be forgotten.

When I read that a 17 year old student has recorded the words of his grandparents, words they have only been able to utter in recent years - words they could not pass on to their children because the memory was too fresh - I whisper silent thanks that their words are being preserved. To read about this moving film, see http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7747401/

I, myself, have spent some time listening to the words of other Holocaust survivors. Recently, my story "My Mother's Table," which grew out of the stories I have heard, the people I have met, and a gift from a friend of his mother's furniture, won an Award of High Distinction in the Tom Howard/John H. Reid Short Story Contest. I am humbled to find my words have been honored in this way. The story can be found online at:
http://www.nywriterscoalition.org/plum_biscuit/issue1/Prose/MyMothersTable.htm

Maybe after you read about this film or read my story you will agree with the shortest poem I ever wrote:

Aftermath

The pain
remains.

New Voices for the Over-40 Woman

2005-05-01T18:39:00.000-05:00

Here is a start-up e-zine that deserves attention and subscriptions and is especially for women over 40. Tell them I sent you :)

http://www.styleandsense.com/magazine/

Becoming a “Wisdom Keeper”

2005-04-30T18:41:00.000-05:00

Today I attended at writing conference at Brookdale Community College in Lincroft, New Jersey. I always enjoy getting to as many of these as I can afford, not necessarily because I expect to learn some new writing secrets, but mostly to fraternize with other writers. Networking is often the best part of any conference.

During this conference, I attended a journalism and magazine writing seminar led by Harvey Arden. His bio told me he had been a writer for National Geographic for more than 20 years and I fully expected to hear some of the usual instructions about organizing a non-fiction magazine article, and maybe a bit about the inner workings of getting published – things such as studying a magazine before querying, and being sure to spell the editor’s name right.

Instead of this typical workshop scenario, the group was instead treated to the details of what Arden has been doing since leaving National Geographic, and the books that have come out of it.

In short, Arden has been documenting the words of what he has dubbed as “Wisdom Keepers,” specifically, the elders of indigenous people, such as America’s Lakota Indians. His passionate belief in the importance of preserving this information, and how it transcends trends in publishing and political climates was inspiring. He was very aware of the passing of time, and the damage time causes. “They are dropping like leaves from a tree,” he said of the tradition-bearers he has written about. I wondered if he realized that he, himself, was functioning as a “Wisdom Keeper” to those of us in his session. You can read more about this at his webpage at http://www.dreamkeepers.net/3765/3873/4029/

Particularly compelling was the way this drew out stories from some of those in attendance. Marc Bonagura, also a conference presenter and the son of a soldier who fought at Guadalcanal, shared his recent project to honor his father’s experience (an experience he never really spoke about) by interviewing and documenting the stories of other soldiers who fought in the same bloody battle. You can read about this at his webpage; www.thetigerisdead.com One of the points he made so poignantly was how most of these soldiers have never told their stories; they have borne the memories through long silent lives; when all along they could have been passing on their wisdom to the next generation.

We also listened intently to a woman who spoke with a German accent, as she detailed her own story of growing up in Germany during the Nazi years. She spoke of how her father, jobless for 4 years, finally relented and signed up for the Nazi Party, even though he despised the idea. He had a family to feed. She sighed sadly and admitted that she fears for a world that didn’t seem to learn much from those years. She admitted it had taken her all these years to finally speak about her personal experiences, and she was finally writing it down to pass to her grandchildren, so they might learn from it.

So, instead of an outlined how-to presentation of textbook non-fiction writing points, we came away with insight into what it means to tell a true-life story, and how important it is for the journalist or nonfiction writer to strive to document and preserve those things that he or she feel passionate about. And for me especially, it drove home the point that as we age, we have a moral obligation to strive to become the “Wisdom Keepers” for those who follow us.

Presidential Hand Holding

2005-04-28T21:34:00.000-05:00

Just for the record, I need to say, that I am not comfortable seeing the President of the United States strolling through a garden holding hands with a foreign government official. He hasn't even appeared to be that chummy with his own Vice President. I looked around to see if there was any history of Presidents holding hands with world leaders, and all I could find is this, which I suspect, now has to be updated: TIME.com Print Page: Nation -- A Short History of Presidential Hand-Holding

Ann Coulter and TIME, a Very Odd Couple

2005-04-21T17:39:00.000-05:00

How interesting, that after noting on this blog several weeks ago, that women are disproportionately represented in the OP-ED world, that TIME magazine devotes its cover story to perhaps the highest profiled, opinionated woman being read and quoted today. Ann Coulter. Her conservative, even reactionary, rantings are the stuff of sound bytes, used to ignite fires at water coolers all around the US.

As an American, I defend her right to express her opinions, no matter how bizarre. As a woman, I am offended that somehow her appearance and gender is considered a contributing factor in how seriously she is taken. But as a writer, I am disappointed in the attention she garners, the opportunities she is provided, and the excuses made for her. In his TIME cover article, author John Cloud says "most of the time, people miss her humor and satire and take her way too literally."

If people miss your humor "most of the time," it is because you aren't funny. Plenty of serious insults are tucked behind the convenient "I was only joking." That excuse never worked before, and it doesn't work now. If people are taking you "way too literally," then the problem isn't with the people, it is with you, and your inability to properly express yourself. Any decent writer who wants a chance of survival learns quickly how to use humor and doesn't need someone to follow behind with a "just kidding" sign. And the writer, pundit or commentator who needs constant translation in order not to be taken "way too literally" has no business in the communications field.

Sure, this is a person who I would expect to see profiled in People Magazine - just another substance-less personality of the month. For TIME Magazine to profile her, especially is such a soft-pedal way, is to give undeserved credibility and further attention to a lightweight.

AOL users can read about it here: AOL News - Cover Story Controversy

Lists and More Lists, and Some Real Encouragement

2005-04-20T21:06:00.000-05:00

Since my birthday, I have been spending time contemplating who I am, where my life is going, and what the future could hold for me. I soon found that I was just spinning my wheels, stuck in a chasm, balancing between feeling as if there is nothing I CAN'T do and feeling as if it's too late to do ANYTHING.

I started making lists. The first list I titled "Dreams" and began writing down those real tasks, accomplishments and personal relationship goals that are closest to my heart. The next list, I called "Realities" and in that list, I included those unchangeable things which are permanent roadblocks. The third list is named "Possibilities" and consists of what dreams, if adapted to deal with the Realities, can still be accomplished. For example, I will never be able to go to college full time or out of state and lines of study such as medicine or law are out of the question, considering the amount of time needed to get through them. However, the possibility does exist of finally obtaining a bachelor's degree if I buckle down to the work and try obtaining some life credits or credit from other alternate learning experiences I have had.

I concluded that retirement will most likely be a financial impossibility for me, and that I have mostly likely already passed the halfway point of my life. Unlike some late bloomers who use the financial independence of retirement to finally pursue dreams, I must find the time to squeeze in the dreams as I continue to function in the work world. I am contemplating re-reading Judith Viorst's Necessary Losses, a book I strenuously opposed in my 30s. Something tells me it may make more sense now.

Of course, none of us know what will happen tomorrow, we could win the lottery or get hit by a bus. So, when I read Suzanne Beyer's essay about becoming a writer at 60, it encouraged me to keep plugging along. Bravo, Suzanne, I'm right behind you!

My Writing Life Began at 60 By Suzanne G. Beyer

50 years ago this week

2005-04-12T20:34:00.000-05:00

Fifty years ago this week, the Salk Polio Vaccine was approved - the same week I was born. Since that time, this yearly terror faded from our collective minds, andalong with it, the spectres of leg braces and iron lungs. Yet, polio came as close as possible to me - a girl the same age as me who lived down the street contracted it, as well as the son of a good family friend. Of the three of us, I was the only one to get the inoculation - thanks to my grandmother winning the debate with my mother. Her fear of polio was greater than my mother's fear of a new vaccine. I've been reading some retrospectives about those years this week, and had forgotten what a frightening thing an iron lung was. You can read some of these articles here:
HoustonChronicle.com - The legacy of the polio vaccine, 50 years later http://www.postgazette.com/pg/05094/482468.stm

)This Will Make Anyone Feel Young

2005-04-10T20:35:00.000-05:00

Compared to the item being celebrated in the following article, we can all feel like veritable babies!
CNN.com - Earth's 'oldest thing ever' gets viewing - Apr 9, 2005

A Day Late,But Not My Fault

2005-04-08T16:20:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was the "big day" and around 10 PM I wrote a blog entry describing my day. That blog entry evaporated into the night air, and I have been unable to get back into my blog until just now! So, to re-cap, I spent the day getting a manicure, a pedicure a haircut and a chinese dinner. I am pleased to report that nothing bizarre happened to me, my hair did not turn white, and I didn't wake up with a "dowager's hump." But, there are changes - changes that have been going on inside me for months - changes that will continue as I count out the days of this monumental year. As I mentioned previously, I have gained a lot of comfort and knowledge from Sue Shellenbarger's book, and I am happy to say that I have been given permission to provide my readers with an excerpt. I highly reccomend this book for all women at whatever age they begin to hear that inner voice - and take my word for it, you WILL hear it, sooner or later.

"Long stereotyped as the province of men, today the midlife crisis is reported with greater frequency by women than men. Though the female midlife crisis travels many courses, WallStreet Journal Work-Life columnist Sue Shellenbarger found that most women's angst is propelled primarily by one powerful, repressed passion -- a part of oneself that begs for expression and reintegration. These archetypal drives -- Shellenbarger labels them the Lover, the Leader, the Adventurer, the Artist, the Seeker, and the Gardener -- reflect our core human capabilities to love, to create, and to learn." - Cover Notes

Excerpt
The following is an excerpt from the book The Breaking Pointby Sue ShellenbergerPublished by Henry Holt; April 2005;$25.00US/$35.95CAN; 0-8050-7711-1Copyright © 2005 Sue Shellenbarger

The Archetypes of Midlife Crisis
The Adventurer. Many women seek the catharsis of physical adventure or bold travel at midlife. In endeavors ranging from skydiving to hiking in the Andes, the woman in the Adventurer role strives to conquer her fears and transcend old limits. She plunges into extreme physical effort or into the detachment and freedom of travel, escaping anxieties and compulsions and probing her own personal limits. The Adventurer enlarges her world, encourages risk taking, and vanquishes fear.

The Lover. Many women seek a soul mate at midlife -- a lover who promises a chance of attaining complete psychological intimacy. This archetype bears the hope, the seeking, and the building of a life partnership to fulfill that desire. It motivates some women to work on their existing marriages, to draw closer to their partners. Others find a new partner who seems to promise unprecedented intimacy. Women drawn to the Lover role sometimes enter a series of relationships at midlife, each one healthier and more fulfilling than the last. The Lover also sparks formation of more intimate friendships at midlife, affording women the freedom to be spontaneously, unabashedly themselves.

The Leader. Many women seek to make their mark on the world at midlife. They want to get past others' rules and their own people-pleasing behavior to create something new and uniquely their own. The Leader longs to influence others. These are the women who start businesses or political or charity movements at midlife. Some quit repressive jobs to escape leaders they no longer respect. The Leader seizes the opportunity to leave a meaningful legacy.

The Artist. The Artist organizes her life around self-expression, usually in art. She sets aside other pursuits to give number-one priority to her drama, music, writing, sculpture, painting, filmmaking, or acting. To support herself, she may become a teacher of art or take a second job. But there is no question that making her art, and living out her life as an artist, occupy center stage. Her primary joy arises from growing in creativity, manifesting her vision, and uplifting or stimulating others with her work.

The Gardener. Like the hero in Voltaire's classic eighteenth-century novel, Candide, the Gardener has traveled the world, discovered much evil, and come to a time of discouragement and disillusionment. At midlife, she concludes that the best path to wisdom lies in tending her own garden, a metaphor for the immediate world within her control. The Gardener focuses deeply on the elements of the life she already has and moves to expand and strengthen them. She strives to make the most of home, family, friends, community, and existing pursuits. She looks within herself to find meaning and new realms of discovery. Above all, this archetype helps a woman learn to cherish and live deeply in the moment.

The Seeker. This archetype motivates a woman to begin her midlife search where other women end theirs: searching for a spiritual path. Regardless of her religious affiliation or background, the Seeker ascribes central importance to finding a set of spiritual beliefs and practices that afford her meaning and serenity. She may spend a great deal of time trying out various religious traditions and teachings before settling on a particular set of beliefs. Some women get deeply involved in an established church. Others hew to nontraditional spiritual disciplines, attending seminars or practicing meditation. Regardless of a woman's individual path, the Seeker has the potential to foster a profound and sweeping life transformation -- in attitudes, in career, in love, in hobbies, on all fronts.

Copyright © 2005 Sue Shellenbarger
Author Sue Shellenbarger is the creator and writer of the Wall Street Journal's "Work & Family" column. The former chief of the Journal's Chicago news bureau, Shellenbarger started the column in 1991 to provide the nation's first regular coverage of growing conflict between work and family and its implications for the workplace and society.

Astroboy and Me

2005-04-05T10:59:00.000-05:00

He has had a resurgence of popularity because his animated show was redone in the 1980s and again in 2003. I was unaware of this when I found the toy figure in a video store in 2004. I recognized him immediately, his pointy hair, bare robot chest, and jet-propelled boots, spewing flames as he flew through the galaxy.

I had no idea that this icon of my childhood is considered the forerunner of the Japanese style of animation called anime. I didnt know that he was inducted into the Robot Hall of Fame in 2004.

All I knew is that seeing this animated robot hero, that I watched religiously on glorious 1960s black and white television, brought back a flood of memories. I launched an immediate search on the Internet to learn that Astroboy has a following worthy of a rock star. I downloaded his theme song for my computer, and pictures for my desktop. I bought a coffee mug with his image. My son, a huge fan of DragonBall Z, could see the family resemblance of his heroes to mine.

Why my fascination with Astroboy? Maybe it was the exciting glimpse into the future. Maybe it was the thrill of seeing a child-like hero so empowered. Maybe it was the fact that, underneath it all, I could sense, or imagine I sensed, sadness in his robot heart. Sadness for not being human, sadness for not having a real family, sadness for the evil he was forced to fight. Built to replace a boy who died, he was eventually rejected by his father. This was a sadness that I shared, growing up in the shadow of alcoholism.

Whatever the reason, Astroboy was my kindred spirit. In those days, rare were the toy-tie-ins that riddle the marketplace today. I had to be content with pretending a tiny plastic basketball player, hands outstretched over his head, was my toy Astroboy. I carried him all over, my secret companion perhaps a psychologist today might call him a literal symbol of my inner child. And my biggest secret was the fact that his official birthday, April 7, is the same as mine.

So, when I say the toy figure in the video store, I had to buy it. A far cry from my plastic basketball figure, this Astroboy even has light-up flamed feet. He now flies over my desk, appearing to be just another of the quirky decorative items I have.

But on April 7, as I celebrate that big 5-0 birthday, hes coming down from his perch and going into my pocket.

Happy birthday to Astroboy, happy birthday to me.

http://www.brainyencyclopedia.com/encyclopedia/a/as/astro_boy.html

Three Days from Today

2005-04-04T20:00:00.000-05:00

the clock is ticking...
the calendar is moving...
and the words that are my life seem to abandon me.
I am greatly afraid that this monumental day will pass me in total silence.
I'm feeling almost catatonic, as if it is just a great effort to move.
I'm either suffering some sort of traumatic distress
or the hour of sleep I missed this weekend is really taking a toll on me.

Thanks for the Clarification, Justice Stevens

2005-03-31T13:25:00.000-05:00

All these months I’ve been whining and complaining about dealing with turning 50, and whether or not it means I have crossed some invisible border into the “golden years.” I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on about the “midlife crisis” as experienced by women, trying to decide if that is what I am dealing with. I’ve been alternately amused and insulted by the adjectives used to describe people my age – descriptions ranging from “older” to “senior” to “elderly.”

Now, thanks to a ruling by the Supreme Court, I no longer need to debate over whether or not I am “mature” or “old.” Apparently, I am now so old; the Supreme Court has judged that I have needed age discrimination protection for the past ten years.

And age discrimination is a real issue; just ask any 16 year male driver who needs to obtain car insurance. Ask anyone who is on the job hunt and is being tossed between having “not enough experience” and being “overqualified” — euphemisms for you are either too young or too old. Ask any Hollywood actress, especially one who has the audacity to date younger men.

The Supreme Court Justices, who themselves may really define “older worker,” by setting the bar at age 40, they have now dumped “about 75 million people — roughly half the nation’s workforce” into the “older worker” category. Apparently, those of us aged 40 and over need to be legally protected from employer policies that negatively impact us because of our age. The ruling was based in part, on a case from Mississippi, where police department raises were unfairly distributed to the benefit of the younger officers. So, the ruling will right a wrong and make it easier to bring an age discrimination case against an employer.

What strikes me as odd is why any employer would do anything to place half of its workforce at a disadvantage. Surely, the heads of corporate America are fast approaching, if not passing, middle age. Do they all have the Enron-inspired managerial mantra of getting whatever they can for themselves and the heck with everyone else? What does it say about us, as a society when half our workforce needs to be on guard?

I think we need to start a new lobbying group, one that will address the needs of those of us now declared Legally Old People. And apparently, by the sheer virtue of our numbers, we LOPs could become a force to be reckoned with.

That is, if we admit our age.

Eight Days and Counting

2005-03-29T17:37:00.000-05:00

Eight days left. It is interesting how this birthday, physically, is the same as every other birthday, and yet, emotionally and socially, it stands alone. People tell me “it’s just a number,” and yet, like it or not, it does represent a significant, if artificial, milestone in our society.
I have found it amazing, the way that some news sources, article writers and even health professionals refer to people who have reached 50. I have seen references that include those aged 50 and above in the classifications of “older workers” and “seniors.” One 52 year old woman was even described as “elderly” in a news story about how she rescued a young boy from an attacking dog. Elderly?
It even seems that, at 50, I may be too old claim having a “midlife crisis,” as this seems to be something women are describing in greater numbers starting at age 40. The most shocking thing to me is how, suddenly, 50 years seem to have quickly compressed behind me – with whole decades of my life barely making an indent on my gray matter. Combine that with the relatively short expanse of time I see in front of me – let’s face it, I have most likely already passed the lifetime halfway point. Considering all the things I thought I had time left to do, it is enough to create panic. And a good deal of sadness and mourning for those things that will never be. How anyone can reach this point in life without at least giving a passing thought to mortality, accomplishment and legacy is a mystery to me. How I can not obsess over it in the next 8 days – and maybe longer – is also a mystery to me.

To Be Insured … Or Not to Be

2005-03-26T21:20:00.000-05:00

I don’t have any statistics on it, but if the amount of solicitations I receive is any indication, the insurance business is hot. I’m not talking about car insurance, which is, in itself, an unending drain on the finances of any New Jersey driver, but, rather, the piles of solicitations that come with any sort of credit line. Get a credit card, and you will be inundated with Accidental Death and Dismemberment insurance. Belong to any organization, and there will be mailings in your name about Term Life Insurance. There is even insurance to pay for what other insurance doesn’t. With so many companies involved with this, and so many variations available, I’m convinced that somewhere, someone at the top of this Insure Everything pyramid is taking home money by the truckload.

Recently, I found myself suddenly thinking that one of these offers actually sounded like a good idea. I was refinancing some incredibly high debt and was offered a plan that would pay the loan if I became either temporarily or permanently disabled. With almost a half century of mortality bearing down on me, I thought, this sounds good. So I signed for it. Premiums were added to my monthly loan payments. I thought that was the end of it.

Now, two months later, I get a letter from the company providing the insurance, responding to the fact that I had truthfully listed some health conditions I have on the application form. Not only were they asking for essays from me on how these conditions affect me and what treatments I use, but they also wanted a list of every doctor visit and/or hospitalization I have had, with complete explains of why, FOR THE PAST FIVE YEARS. I’ve heard of life insurance companies demanding physicals and the like before they insure a person’s life, but never have I heard of this kind of detailed request for insuring someone’s debt. It seems excessive and invasive.

Maybe its standard practice and part of the routine of reaching the 5-0 milestone. Well, I’m not having any part of it. Recent privacy laws about medical records were enacted for a reason. Not being able to go to my doctors, the insurance company now wants ME to go to my doctors and get my records. No where in their letter do they make any assurances about my privacy or how this information will be used or stored. If I don’t respond, the insurance will be revoked. It just makes me feel creepy, the same feeling I get when I sit at my computer in the office and know that someone else has been using it in my absence without telling me. I don’t know what they have been doing, or why, and it takes quite a while for the feeling of invasion to go away.

It’s bad enough that every credit-granting entity in the world has access to my financial records. They aren’t getting my medical records. They can keep their insurance.

A Change in Plans

2005-03-21T18:23:00.000-05:00

Currently, I am reading “The Breaking Point – How Female Midlife Crisis is Transforming Today’s Women” by Sue Shellenbarger. It is really opening my eyes to the fact that this dealing-with-turning-50 thing really is something that many women contend with. In fact, the studies show that more women than men are reporting this phenomenon, and the age range varies from early 40s to late 50s.
I offer this as a sort of excuse for the fact that I have cancelled my spa trip because I went out last Saturday and bought a new car. A zippy, metallic blue, 5-speed compact that even my 19-year old son has declared as “cool.”
I think I’ll still get a massage on my birthday, if I can get out of the car long enough.

Real Genetic Research

2005-03-20T14:34:00.000-05:00

At last, the rhetoric seems to be calming, and the real scientific research about the differences between male and female genetics is beginning to surface. As my daughter Rosemarie previously stated here, the Human Genome Project has virtually turned previous work on its scientific ear. Maureen Dowd addresses these latest findings in her March 20 column, Op-Ed Columnist: X-celling Over Men . It appears that recent research is finding out how different women's genes really are - in fact, it seems that, while men's genetics are pretty stable and predictable, there are vastly more variables in a woman's genetic material. Which, I think, would make it even harder to make generalized statements about women's genetic aptitudes. Following this research, which is truly in its infancy, will be truly exciting.

It's An Epidemic!

2005-03-18T16:38:00.000-05:00

Just when I thought it was safe to get back to whining and complaining about my personal life, I found out there is yet another gender battleground forming, this time about the under-representation of women in OP-ED writing. Not that this comes as any surprise. The glass ceilings that were crushing us back in the 70s when I first entered the work world have not shattered in the interim. They may have been nudged up a bit by the sheer force of the weight of the women smashing up against them, but they are still there. However, I've tried to believe that in profession of writing we had come a long way since the days when women wrote under male pen names in order to be taken seriously. Now I read, in articles by Maureen Dowd (Op-Ed Columnist: Dish It Out, Ladies) and Elizabeth Spiers (Adventures in Opinion Writing: No Easy Answers) that women are just not getting the newspaper ink that men get when it comes to OP-ED columns. Some say, women may just not be interested in writing tough, topical, controversial columns. Well, I'm raising my hand. Attention Editors: if your newspaper OP-ED section looks like the smoking lounge in an all-male club, call me. I'm available. And that offer also extends to those of you looking for a humorist now that Dave Barry has gone into repeats. I'm flexible.

Getting this Blog Back to What's Important

2005-03-18T12:23:00.000-05:00

Today, lets all meditate on what is really important in this blog... There are 19 days left until the big 5-0.

The Vote is In at Harvard

2005-03-18T08:59:00.001-05:00

While some are still saying this is about his “freedom of speech” being taken away, it is really about the head of a prestigious educational institution using his position to promote his personal opinion, rather than an academically and scientifically supported hypothesis. The fact that it appears that women have not been well supported by his administration (tenure for women has decreased since he took the position) it now seems to me that he was looking for a reason to justify his actions.
http://www.cnn.com/2005/EDUCATION/03/15/harvard.summers.ap/index.html

My Daughter Responds

2005-03-14T13:42:00.000-05:00

My oldest daugther Rosemarie, who just happened to have achieved a perfect score on her calculus placement exam, and is currently working toward her PsyD - has been following this blog and all the assorted comments relating to the remarks by the President of Harvard. After doing some reading on her own, she writes to me with these interesting observations:

In this month's Monitor on Psychology published by the American Psychological Association, there is an article about studying genetic differences. Although it is about race, it also talks about tools and research studying genetic differences. A quote:

"New and sophisticated methods for studying the relationship between human genetic differences, the environment, health and behavior, all made possible by the completion of the Human Genome Project, have made traditional race-based measurements of human differences" [I would add any biologically-based measure, including gender] "obsolete."-Thus, even if Mr. Summers was quoting actual reasearch, unless it was completed since the completion of the Human Genome Project, the methods used to measure gender aptitude differences are obsolete. Since all humans are shaped and influenced by the environment from the moment they are born, it is necessary to discover specific genetic differences to support the assertion that women are biologically inferior in mathematical and scientific abilities. Even if these genetic differences are discovered, it has been well-documented in the research literature that genes can be altered by the environment, both pre- and post-natally. At this time, I am not aware of any such research that exists that supports biological differences and shows specific genetic differences between the genders in math and science abilities. Thus, it appears that Mr. Summers' remarks were not only unfounded but based on obsolete research.

Just thought I'd add to the conversation.

Rosemarie

Only 25 days

2005-03-13T16:04:00.000-05:00

It is only 25 days until you-know-what. I am starting to become afraid that I will wake up that morning to find myself turned into some kind of feminist-careerist-crazy-old-lady- AARP member, running out of my house with a broom, a briefcase, and pharmaceutical cornucopia ... If you see me, please catch me and make sure that I am at least not wearing my pajamas.

Why Do Debates Get Reduced to Name-Calling?

2005-03-12T01:57:00.000-05:00

First it was Rush Limbaugh and his "femi-nazis," and now I see Stuart Taylor Jr. refers to "feminist careerists" in an Atlantic Monthly article. Without even trying to figure out just what those terms mean, I am reminded of what I used to tell my children when they were young. Anyone who must reduce an argument to name-calling and labeling is both language and idea bankrupt. I guess some people never grow out of it.

Mary Jo Egbert's Editorial

2005-03-11T18:47:00.000-05:00

Many thanks to Barbara Fox, Senior Editor at US1 Newspaper in Princeton, New Jersey for providing a link to Mary Jo Egbert's Editorial. Click on the title above to read it, or go to http://www.princetoninfo.com/200503/50309c03.html

At (almost) 50, I Can be Excused For Repeating Myself

2005-03-09T17:51:00.000-05:00

At the risk of appearing to be obsessed with this subject, I must make one more entry about the now infamous remarks by the President of Harvard.

In stark contrast to Kathleen Parker's sarcastic editorial in The Orlando Sentinel supporting Summers, the editorial by chemist Mary Jo Egbert that appears in the March 9 edition of U.S. 1, clearly, concisely, and without a hint of Ms. Parker's sarcasm and emotionalism, debunks Summers' remarks.

Debunk is a mild word, as she points out that Summers and all his colleagues at the conference were well aware (or should have been aware) of the results of a 15 year study published in the March 2004 issue of Journal of Chemical Science. Titled "Achieving Gender Equity in Chemistry," it revealed two "clear reasons" for the lack of advancement of women in chemistry.

The first was the embedded practice of male mentors consistently supporting, promoting and hiring male scientists. The other was the fact that women in science often leave their career early because of the complicated combination of "family demands, unequal pay, discrimination and conditions of stagnated promotion" that the study authors described as "a climate that is chilling and isolating."

I don't see anything in those results that points to some kind of female genetic inaptitude. Now, I can possibly excuse journalists and reporters for not knowing about this study and its results, but not the President of Harvard. In light of this knowledge that was published months before his remarks, I can only conclude that he is either really out of touch with his profession, or deliberately ignored this research in favor of spewing his personal opinion.

If Ms. Egbert's piece becomes available online, I will post a link here. Meanwhile, those of you in the Princeton area of New Jersey, you can pick up the issue locally.

My Extremely Indulgent Birthday Gift to Myself

2005-03-05T13:57:00.000-05:00

The reservations have been made. I have taken a room in a resort/spa near Atlantic City, New Jersey for 4 days, 3 nights, beginning on the day I will actually turn 50. I've never done anything so self-indulgent before - the resort has a spa offering massages, wraps and all sorts of mysterious pampering that I don't even know the names for. I've heard that the place is awash with women in pink robes and towel-covered heads. I just can't imagine actually spending a day - or two! - doing nothing but fussing over myself. BUT- I look forward to it!

Some Follow-up About Talking Food

2005-02-28T11:19:00.000-05:00

Charlie Tuna actually has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

A new commercial shows some fish-shaped crackers desperately trying to disguise themselves before they get eaten. They are unsuccessful.

The NJ SPCA is currently chastising Kraft Foods for their newest gummy snack, "RoadKill," edible depictions of flattened animals complete with tire treads. My question is this - at least the Roadkill candies depict animals that are deceased - what about all the candy bears, worms and other animals as well as the infinite variations of ALIVE animals depicted as cookies, crackers and pretzels that we cheerfully consume?

And let's not even discuss the vitamin tablets in the shape of very human superheros and cartoon characters ...

Being 50 (almost) Now Gives Me the Right to Complain About All My Pet Peeves, or, am I the only one who thinks this is strange?

2005-02-27T11:50:00.000-05:00

As my children say, “back in the day,” there was a television commercial that always bothered me. It featured an animated fish, a tuna. to be specific; Charlie Tuna, to be exact. Charlie, for some reason, couldn’t wait to get trapped in a tuna net, chopped up in pieces and stuffed into a can to be sold and consumed by humans. His constant rejection by the tuna cannery seemed to be based on his inability to distinguish himself as a tuna who tasted good, rather than a tuna with good taste. The tagline, “Sorry Charlie” has become embedded in our cliché lexicon.

What bothered me back then was the fact that this potential menu item was a thinking, talking, wisecracking being who seemed willing to sacrifice himself. The fact that he was constantly rejected was the only way I was able to consume canned tuna for a long time. He was the first I can remember in a growing line of singing, dancing food items. My children even had toys depicting living chicken nuggets and a fast food character whose body included a huge hamburger for a head. Am I the only one who feels kind of cannibalistic in consuming these products?

Today, the commercials have taken an especially sadistic turn. I have seen chocolate candies actually bitten by fashion models, with the candy swooning and whispering “love hurts.” Most recently, a person-sized chocolate chip cookie attending a child’s birthday party suddenly finds out there is no birthday cake - you guessed it, the cookie IS the birthday cake.

Maybe I am over thinking things here. Maybe my alternate personality as a horror writer is just running away with things. Or maybe, we are just steps away from the scene from the old sci-fi flick in which it is discovered that the alien’s handbook, “To Serve People” is really a cookbook.

The Debate Goes On

2005-02-24T16:29:00.000-05:00

If I were to give Harvard President Lawrence Summers credit for anything, it would be for showing a sometimes complacent recent generation of women that there is still a simmering cauldron of gender inequity that can easily be brought to a boil.

In her recent column, Orlando Sentinel columnist Kathleen Parker defends Summers’ recent remarks about there being a genetic math and science aptitude difference between men and women. She goes on to profess through sometimes inflammatory sexist remarks (“some women have reacted as though their corsets were too tight”), that his remarks were right about us “gals.” She refers to recent studies that show that male and female brains process information differently to conclude that this somehow means a genetic difference in aptitude – a faulty, illogical leap from “different” to “better.”

Not long ago, children who learned “differently” were considered less intelligent than their peers because of their inability to succeed in the traditional school classroom. Today, learning disabilities are widely diagnosed, and children who receive accommodations for their learning differences can go on to “learn” just as successfully as their peers. What was once thought of as an aptitude issue is, in reality, a processing difference.

So the issue that Summers should have brought out is, if men and women process information differently, what current educational techniques need to be changed to accommodate these differences? How can the educational system cope with students whose learning abilities have been affected by social and economic factors (things that will forever slant the results of “intelligence tests)? And then, perhaps, ask his audience to address the post-educational concern of whether or not certain professions may be gender-biased to begin with.

In fact, reportedly, Summers did touch on these things in his remarks, a transcript of which has yet to be made public. In fact, some who defend him, like Parker, insist that he did not say that women are genetically preprogrammed with the inability to do as well as men in math and science – that he just said that genetic difference may be a contributing factor. Without his exact remarks or a complete explanation of exactly what he meant, the debate will rage on. It is possible that without being accused of making the unsupportable jump into the inherent genetic aptitude of the sexes Summers would not have succeeded in bringing this issue into the forum of public debate. I’d like to think that he has fallen on his sword for the betterment of gender equity in education. But somehow I doubt it.

The Countdown Begins

2005-02-23T18:12:00.000-05:00

In 43 days I will turn 50.

Godzilla vs. Rodan

2005-02-22T21:44:00.000-05:00

So often these days I feel like I am one of the thousands of citizen extras in an old Japanese monster movie - running like crazy to avoid falling debris. The latest movie I'm in features a fight between two American monsters, the old guard AARP and the new guys on the block, USA Next. Between them they are playing tug-of-war with public sentiment over the future handling of Social Security - while many of us are just running between their feet, trying not to get squished. In fact, that is really the story of my financial life, ducking for cover and avoiding political and economic shrapnel. Do I really understand what they are fighting about? no. Should I, I guess so. After all, as I approach 50, i really should be concerned about what is happening to all my social security dollars that are just waiting for me when I reach my "golden years." The truth is, from Reaganomics to Bushonomics and all the permutations inbetween, I've yet to feel as if I'll ever have the financial security required to retire. In fact, until the Godzillas and Rodans of the world start fighting over how to make this month's income cover next month's bills and still have money to "put away" I'll just keep ducking and running.

Apparently, I am not the only one with doubts about the competency of the President of Harvard

2005-02-17T09:23:00.000-05:00

See this: http://www.cnn.com/2005/EDUCATION/02/16/harvard.summers.ap/index.html

Here's Your Chance to Not Miss A Word or Complaint

2005-02-15T21:40:00.000-05:00

Would you like to be included on a mailing list to get an e-mail notification each time a new post is made here? Send me an e-mail with Add Me! in the subject line, and I will add you to the list.
e-mail: westwind16@aol.com

Being 50 (almost) Now Gives Me the Right to Complain About All My Pet Peeves, or, at my age, why am I still putting up with this stuff?

2005-02-14T13:36:00.000-05:00

Today's inaugural entry into my Pet Peeve Hall of Fame is about the banking industry. Why, I ask, in this world of electronic everything and transactions that take nanoseconds to perform - why must a bank hold a check for days and days, waiting for it to "clear?" And WHY if they insist on holding it, do weekends not count? Do computers get days off? When my credit record, along with my Permanent Record and 4th grade spelling tests results can be found instantaneously on the web, it is just RIDICULOUS that a check issued by one financial institution cannot be cleared by another financial institution. I am not asking for them to break open a Swiss bank!

Oh but its an out of state check, they tell me, and the amount is soooo large. I'm sorry, I didn't know that there were border issues, customs procedures and language barriers that would hold up a New Jersey computer from talking to a New York computer.

And as for the amount, give me a break. NASA pays more for a hammer than I just deposited.
Humor
Daily Life

Hearing (electronic) Voices

2005-02-12T15:09:00.000-05:00

I pride myself on the fact that, at my age, I am technically savvy, knowing my computer inside and out, and being able to assemble things even when the instructions are written in pseudo-English. My house is full of electronic doo-dads that dance to my command. (Well, everything except the VCR, which defiantly keeps blinking 12:00, 12:00, 12:00. The VCR’s days are number however, as I have just acquired a DVD player.)

I feel like an electronic Dr. Doolittle, able to communicate with all these electronic minions. My coffee maker beeps three long times when the coffee is ready, so does the microwave, but at a different tone. Two chirps at still another tone tells me that someone is trying to “Direct Connect” to me on my cell phone. Each of my online “buddies” has their own sound (and you – the one with the explosion sound – cut that out!).

Despite knowing the new electronic language, I was baffled when, one night last week, a loud beeping interrupted me. Five loud shrill beeps, and then silence. I jumped up to try and locate the source of the sound, to no avail. Of course, as soon as I sat down, it went off again. Having recently installed a CO detector in my house, I realized it was perhaps the only electronic voice I didn’t recognize. When the beeping repeated itself an hour later, I followed the safety instructions, opened all the windows, and took myself and the dog outside into the cold to await the fire department.

And the police.
And the ambulance.
And the gas company.

All these professional disaster teams came to the same conclusion; there was no CO in my house. No beeping had been heard in all the time they were in my house. I swear they were looking at me with THOSE eyes (see my entry about Becoming the Crazy Old Lady.)

So, when the same thing happened a few days later, I didn’t call anyone. I stared at the CO detector, trying to catch it in the act. Then, the beep sounded again, but this time, I swear, from a different part of the house. All this time, of course, no one had heard this beeping but me. My kids were now also looking at me with THOSE eyes.

Today, it happened again. This time, my daughter was home, and it was loud enough to make her hold her ears. I ran through the signal tests with her, testing both the CO detector and the smoke alarm – neither of which had the same pitch or pattern. As we were standing in the spot where she had heard it so loudly, we heard it again, this time, faintly, as if, once again, it had moved to the other side of the house. We both looked up to the ceiling, where the attic steps are. We both wondered if there is something in the attic making this noise. Something that is obviously MOVING.

Neither one of us has gone up there yet. We are just superstitious enough to be afraid that whatever IT is, it might be something supernatural and paranormal. Who says ghosts have to rattle chains? Maybe this is a modern ghost using modern technology. Or, it could be a rabid squirrel running around with an old beeper or cell phone in its mouth.

Whichever it is, I hope the batteries run down soon.

Humor
Daily Life

Becoming The Crazy Old Lady

2005-02-12T11:02:00.000-05:00

Every neighborhood I have ever lived in had at least one person in common, the Crazy Old Lady. In Brooklyn, it was the lady who lived at the end of the block, her property encircled by a tall, imposing cyclone fence. Her shades were always pulled down tight; there were no bicycles or baseballs in her yard, just rows and rows of riotously unkempt plants. The only way we knew that there was a Crazy Old Lady in that house was on the rare occasion we would be brave enough to try and play on “her” section of the sidewalk. We usually avoided this, but sometimes, when the storm sewer would back up, and the street in front of her house would create a huge lake, we would overcome our fears to sail paper boats and throw stones. We wouldn’t be there long before the Crazy Old Lady would emerge, resplendent in housecoat and wiry gray hair, waving a broom and screaming at us. Of course we thought she had to be a witch – what 8 year old who has watched the Wizard of Oz every year wouldn’t think so?

Our Brooklyn neighborhood was blessed with another Crazy Old Lady. This one didn’t really live on our street, but would be often seen in the alley, pushing an old fashioned baby carriage, and rooting through our garbage. Some unspoken code among the adults of the neighborhood kept anyone from confronting her, and in this way, she was scarier than the Witch on the Corner. The term “homeless person” had not yet been coined and we kids were certain that she was looking for our discarded belongings to use to cast evil spells on us. This was fueled by the rumor that she actually arrived at the end of the alley in a chauffeur-driven limousine and lived in a mansion on Park Ave. Of course, no one ever saw the limousine; we were too scared to do anything other than peek through the curtains at her.

Other places I have lived have had their share of Cat Ladies, Bird Ladies and Garbage Ladies. Our childish lack of understanding led to all kinds of wild stories about these women. From our selfish points of view, we just couldn’t understand why any woman would be living alone and not having loads of wonderfully behaved children around, (like us). I suppose, in that sense, we weren’t too different from those who burned women as witches just because they were “different.”

Now that I am older and so much wiser, although I may understand the reasons for the behavior of these women better, I’m even more convinced that every neighborhood still has to have a Crazy Old Lady — and that it is a title that can be something to aspire to.

Not long ago, after moving into my current home, which had been vacant for several years, I spied a group of unsavory characters gathering in front of my house, on “my” sidewalk. They had huge, salivating dogs with them, beer, and scantily-clad, loudmouthed female companions. I realized that this group was not only preparing to party on my lawn, but that they may have even been contemplating a dog fight. When the first beer bottle sailed into my bushes, I became a possessed whirlwind. Grabbing my broom, (yes, my broom) I stormed out of the house, screaming. Even without the housecoat and wiry gray hair, I must have looked every bit the part of the Crazy Old Lady. The young toughs that were assembled with their fierce dogs all looked as if they were seeing a ghost. The scattered like leaves in the wind, mumbling apologies and retrieving beer bottles. They jumped into their cars and left.

When I went back in the house, I found my three teenagers cowering in the living room, convinced that a drive-by shooting was sure to follow. It never did, I’ve never seen that group again.

The power of being The Crazy Old Lady is a tremendous force. And while, at that time, my portrayal of her may have been a bit premature, as I now approach 50, I realize that I will soon be able to wear the title proudly. And if it keeps those messy young people off “my” sidewalk, it will be worth it.
Humor
Daily Life

Will the World and I Even Make It to my 50th Birthday?

2005-02-10T18:47:00.000-05:00

The news that came out today about North Korea's nuclear weapons capability, while not that surprising, is certainly scary, and brings back the cold war fears of my childhood. Back when I was a Catholic grammar school student in Brooklyn, we lived with the constant spectre of The Bomb. We were reminded that the "Reds" would not think twice about vaporizing us, a warning that hit home during the Cuban Missle crisis. The routine of duck and cover was a part of the regular school routine, with the added anxiety for us girls who were reminded that a nuclear holocaust was no reason to duck and cover in an unladylike position. Uniform skirts had to be strategically placed to avoid any impropriety in our last few minutes on earth. Going to our final reward with our dresses hiked up too high was a certain ticket directly to hell.

We were told that we would never see the "mushroom cloud" that we saw in photosand flims of nuclear bomb blasts - those of us lucky enough to live in New York would most likely be vaporized instantly. When I moved to New Jersey, the consensus was that we might have a few moments to view the growing cloud before the nuclear winds flattened us.

So imagine the terror of my family, when, while driving at night on the New Jersey Turnpike, we were suddenly bathed in the glow of a huge, red, mushrooming cloud. It towered over us in the sky, and those of us in the back seat of the station wagon were riveted to it as my father floored the car. I fully expected that at any minute the nuclear wind would catch up to us, and I was not at all happy when my father pulled over to call the local radio station to tell them The Bomb had been dropped on New York. They hung up on him.

Later, when we had made it to our house without being burnt or blasted, we found out that actually, an oil refinery in northern New Jersey had experienced a huge explosion and fire. It wasn't The Bomb after all.

My kids haven't grown up believing that we could be attacked at any minute - that is, until 9-11. As a New Jersey family this struck particularly hard, we know families who lost loved ones, we've talked face to face with survivors. The haunting spectre for them has become the possibility of suicide attackers dropping from the skies and lurking in the mall. And with today's revelation comes a new shadow over them, the old shadow of The Bomb.

Daily Life

Happy Birthday Middle Child!

2005-02-07T23:11:00.000-05:00

Today, my middle child, a daughter, turned 21. In between her full time job and full time college class load we managed to fit in some celebratory pizza and a chocolate raspberry mousse cake. As I watched her celebrate with her brother and cousins, I couldn't help but think back to the day that she was born. It was a warmer day in February, just like today and I spent my time in the hospital watching the Sarajevo Olympics. She was a quiet baby, much more interested in sleeping than eating, a habit that continues to today. Since she is the middle child of the family, I have always (hopefully) been cognizant of trying my best to help her avoid middle-child-syndrome. And tonight, as I look at the poised young lady she has become I feel a sense of great pride.

And also a sense of solidarity, knowing that this year, with turning 21, she enters a new chapter in her life, just as I will, when I turn 50 in April.

Its a monumental year in my house.
Daily Life

Too Old for Home Ownership?

2005-02-05T18:34:00.000-05:00

Since finding myself a single mother at age 42, I have spent the last eight years scrambling to make ends meet in order to support myself and my three teenagers. Even with regular court-ordered child support, the total income for the four of us ended up being less than half of what five of us had previously lived on.

Over the years I’ve refinanced my house so many times, I could open my own mortgage-paperwork consulting business. I know how to write the heartrending bad-credit explanation letter as well as the don’t-worry- the-children’s-father-is-an-upstanding-citizen-and-will-never-run out-on his-obligation letter. All this done to keep a roof over our heads, food on the table (most of the time) clothes on our back and gas in the car.

Now, with one daughter out on her own, and the younger two spending their last years in college, I find myself faced with an odd dilemma. This tiny house that I bought for the four of us and the place I expected to live out my “golden years” has suddenly become the albatross around my neck.

First of all, I admit to purchasing a “fixer-upper” — it was all I could afford at the time. Over the years I have vinyl-sided it, rebuilt the bathroom from scratch (after the floor under the tub collapsed), replaced a rotting deck, had pipes and wires run for a washer and dryer, fixed the furnace at least three times, replaced the sewer line; the list goes on and on. My kitchen suffers from no wall insulation (well, actually, no WALLS behind the cabinets) pipes that are in constant danger of freezing, cabinets that hang crooked, drawers that don’t shut, mysterious wall switches that don’t seem to operate anything and floors that participated in the same collapse that doomed my bathroom. I had hoped that by the time my children aged out of child support, the house would be in good enough shape to stop spending extra money on it, and I could comfortably live here, earning equity for my retirement.

However, after the motor in my fairly new washer and dryer combo burned out this morning because of faulty 220 wiring (and let me tell you, what a stink!) and the frame of my kitchen window disintegrated in my hands because of dry rot, I have to say, I am seriously wondering if I am too old for this home ownership thing.

Sure, with enough money I could hire someone to come fix the faulty electricity and replace the broken window. I could get my pot-holed driveway smoothed out, and even fence in my yard so my dog can run around a bit. I could bring my kitchen into the modern day, or at least, the 50s. But, currently, those things are just not part of the budget. I’m seriously thinking of putting the house up for sale. (shhh- don't tell the buyers what I just told you!)

But, where would I go? An apartment at first seems reasonable, except for the fact that I would probably be putting out the same amount of money monthly that I do now, and not having the benefit of owning the property, getting a tax deduction or building equity. And with only 15 years until Medicare looming over my head, and the scary stories about Social Security drying up, do I really want to give up this investment? I would be giving up the most valuable thing I own, leaving just about nothing for my children.

Of course, if I keep borrowing money against the equity in order to keep the house from falling down around me, will I really come out ahead? One of the realities of turning 50 is the expectation that at this point in life, debts and financial obligations are on the downswing. The 20-something loan officers considering my latest credit application have indicated that the underwriters have issues with my age, the impending end of child support, and my ability to take on a 20 year obligation.

And you know what? I’m wondering about it, too.

How Others are Viewing the Big 5-0

2005-02-05T17:21:00.000-05:00

I've just finishing reviewing some online calls for writers, and found that, suddenly, I can answer those ads that ask for writers who are 50+. (well ok, give me a couple of months, officially). However, I just can't get over the descriptions used - "Wanted Senior Writer (50+)." While I am trying to come to terms with turning 50, being called an "older worker" by Fortune magazine and having salesclerks call me "ma'am," I am just not ready for the SENIOR label. So, I took a little trip around the net and found a few sites that offer various perspectives on turning 50. I'm not endorsing anything on these pages (well, OK, the one by Dave Barry I wholeheartedly endorse, because, he is, after all, my idol) but thought I'd pass them on for your review.

http://www.usboomers.com/birthday.htm
http://www.everydaywarriors.com/adults/jillian_50.html
http://www.fiftiesweb.com/pop/turning-50.htm
http://www.geocities.com/sjhuterer/
http://www.expage.com/page/dabombdavebarry
http://www.blessingsforlife.com/women/reachingforthestars.htm
http://www.marketresearch.com/researchindex/128431.html
(Find out how marketers are looking at the 50+ crowd)
http://www.theage.com.au/news/Golf/Norman-turning-50-and-looking-to-senior-tour/2005/01/18/1105810912444.html?oneclick=true
(At least in professional golf they HAVE a professional realm for the 50+ set!)
Humor

More 2005 Celebrants - and Commerical Suggestions

2005-02-02T15:14:00.000-05:00

I just heard that Colgate toothpaste turns 50 this year - what a coincidence, so do a lot of my teeth! Could it be I still have them because of Colgate? Hey, Colgate ad people, how about an ad campaign showing all the 50 year old teeth you saved?

Also just found out that Bermuda turns 500 this year. Since it is doubtful they could feature a living 500 year old person in their commercials, how about a special deal for those turning 1/10 of 500 this year? I'd glady star in the commercial for the mere price of a nice Bermuda vacation. Considering how much the Taster's Choice model just got, I think that is an advertising bargain!

A Writer Friend Responds

2005-01-29T22:16:00.000-05:00

Click the title above to read a post about this blog from my writer friend, ERICWRITES.

The fonts are fixed!

2005-01-29T13:30:00.000-05:00

whew. Now I can read my own page. Of course, I still need my glasses.... where the heck did I leave them?

It's Really Bad When You Can't Read Your Own Blog

2005-01-27T19:10:00.000-05:00

Things are pretty bad when you can't read the type in your own blog. I know now that these things are originally designed by the youngsters in design, not the "older" designers like me - since choosing the "normal" size font for my posts has resulted in microscopic type that even pushes the limits of my specially-prescribed-for-the-computer eyeglasses. And for some reason, the more times I try to "fix" this here, the less it seems to change - perhaps the selection for "large" fonts is only a pacifier ... kind of like the buttons on stoplights that make pedestrians think they are really going to get to cross the street faster!

In Respect for My Friends in Law Enforcement

2005-01-27T18:19:00.000-05:00

Another bad decision at a college. Click on the title above to read an editorial about a recent "speaker" at Rutgers University - the college that my daughter, whose father is a police officer, attends. Please feel free to post your comments or share this information.

Losing My Mind

2005-01-26T11:21:00.000-05:00

Today, I find myself suddenly wondering about the scourges of old age, and the real possibility that something frighteningly nasty could be hiding in my genes. I’m not talking about the increasing aches and pains, the growing pharmacy shelf in my bedroom or even the facial lines or gray hair. What I am suddenly concerned about are the mental changes that seem inevitable and how severe and debilitating they may become.

I really don’t know if senility, dementia and the like run in my family. My father died at age 23 from nephritis, and my mother died at age 56 – officially from flu-induced heart failure, but in reality, it was years of alcohol abuse and cigarette smoking that killed her. Her alcoholism colored our opinions of her health status, and only recently have my sisters and I come to understand that there may have been underlying medical issues that were never addressed. For example, my own diagnosis with Graves Disease (a thyroid disease) made me realize the similarity of my symptoms to things that happened to my mother – things such as mental fog, thinning hair and dry skin. Could she have had an undiagnosed thyroid problem?

And now, as I realize I am not that far away from the same age my mother was when she died, I find myself re-examining her mental state during the last few years of her life. Was it the alcohol that made her so forgetful? Was it years of abusing both her body and her brain the contributed to the “fading away” of her persona? Or, was it the signs of early onset Alzheimer’s, just compounded by her drinking?

This concern hits home for me on a day when I arrived at work without either pocketbook or briefcase – nothing but my keys in my hand. Over the past few weeks I have found myself occasionally staring at the computer screen trying to remember just what it was I was going to work on. Last night I put down a glass of water and seconds later, could not remember where it was. Little tasks at work are slipping through the cracks as I find myself asking, am I losing my mind?

There is an advertisement in the local paper for an assisted living center that asks the question, “If today is Tuesday, why is Dad taking Thursday’s medicine?” A quick check of my pocket finds that I actually have my little pillbox marked “Thursday” with me.

Unfortunately, it’s Wednesday.

I Can't Believe I Heard This

2005-01-18T23:06:00.000-05:00

Some things never seem to change. I'm almost 50, and well-educated people are still making stupid sexist remarks. Read why I think the president of Harvard should resign.
http://www.noreensdigitaldreams.com/Jan2005.html

Store Wars

2005-01-18T13:00:00.000-05:00

The small town I live in serves as the hole to the doughnut that is the town that surrounds us. Ours is the older community, with a defined downtown, historic buildings, and a diverse population. The town that surrounds us, once nothing but farmland, is now populated by upper-level suburban homes and at least eight age-restricted, gated communities. While I loath the idea of stereotyping the residents of these communities, it is still very true that many of them consider themselves somehow privileged and in charge. Nowhere is this more apparent than at a certain shopping center.

Heaven protect the young mother who enters the grocery store with a baby in the cart or a child in tow. Rather than friendly, grandparent-type shoppers, she is more likely to encounter hostile seniors who resent the small space the store devotes to baby food and diapers. They consider this grocery store their social domain, and often plant themselves in the middle of an aisle making it impossible to pass. Any attempt to politely get by is met by angry looks and sarcastic comments. The more children you have with you, the stronger the reaction.

More than once, and certainly more times than can be chalked up to coincidence, I have been virtually run over by a little old lady pushing a shopping cart. This is a trick they especially like to play while waiting in line behind me. It seems that my cart, loaded with tons of food for feeding 3 teenagers, annoys them.

The same thing happens in the small Chinese restaurant and pizzeria. Show up there at a certain time of day without a senior discount card, and the stares are icy. “Don’t seat us next to those children,” is a common request. Even thought my three children are college age, they are still getting the “you don’t belong here looks.”

I’ve come to the understanding that those who live in gated, age-restricted communities become so insulated that they actually become agitated and afraid when faced with people who are not in their peers. As a whole, they have a sense of entitlement that somehow translates to believing that they alone should be patronizing the stores and restaurants near their communities. In fact, even though I now stand on the doorstep of 50, I am not yet included in the group.

Not too long ago I was in the grocery store with my 19 year old son. As we opened the trunk of my car to deposit our bags, a gentleman of about 70 or so approached us.
“What kind of car is this?” he asked.
“A 1997 Plymouth Breeze,” I replied.
“Wow, its really in good shape,” he said. “I hear they don’t make Plymouths anymore.”
“No,” I answered. “Daimler killed Plymouth.”
The man laughed and I was about to get into my car when a petite lady of about his same age began shouting at me.
“Leave him alone!” she screeched. “Don’t talk to him!”
My son and I could barely keep ourselves from bursting. I held up my hands in a gesture meant to show that I did not have any intention of continuing the conversation. The woman continued to berate me as I got in my car. Then, she yanked the man by his arm, hissed something about not letting him out of her sight, and dragged him off. Apparently, it’s not only the groceries that are off limits, it’s the menfolk too.

I’m thinking of spending my 50th birthday in that shopping center parking lot, perched on the hood of my “hot” car, flirting with all the gated community men. I might even buy some groceries.

Humor

Quick Intro

2005-01-13T11:24:00.000-05:00

Here it is, 2005, a year that will mark the 50th birthday of Disneyland, the 50th anniversary of the opening of the first McDonald's, and, the most unbelievable of all - the 50th year of ME. Prepared for it or not, my mail will shortly be deluged with solicitations from AARP, coupons for fiber products and dire warnings about my lack of estate planning. Born right smack in the middle of the baby boom, I know that I am not alone in this. Suddenly, the plot of the movie "Good Company" seems less a farcical comedy and more a documentary. So, in order to face this demon straight on, I'm going to do what any good writer worth her thesaurus would do - whine and complain about it in print. Or at least online.
Stay tuned!