The end of Christmas. No more christmas gifts. There are no surprises left. We have everything. Now we get gift cards. What is more ridiculous than a gift card? Cash?
Even the toys for tots list gets ridiculous. Electronic games, iphones, elaborate over-designed gimmicky plastic trash.
We-have-too-much-stuff.
This generation of parents bemoans the state of their offspring's rooms. Think about it.
Who had a room of their own in previous generations? What stuff did a child own? Nothing that required electricity, batteries, or special cables.
I looked in my daughter's room the other day and realized it was impossible for her to be tidy. She simply has too much stuff to fit in one room. She needs her own apartment. But that is a subject for another post.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
December 19,2009
My husband tried to help me make our bed this morning. It is a rare occasion when we rise together. Usually I make the bed as I am the last to get up. On weekends if I should arise first he leaves it unmade. I remember my father and mother making their bed. It was one of the few chores they performed well together. Since there were no fitted bottom sheets it was much more of an undertaking then it is now. The bottom sheet often had to be straightened and re -tucked under the mattress corners. Then there were several woolen blankets and a large bedspread that had to be positioned just so before it could be smoothed and tucked and tweaked into place. With 2 people, one on each side of the bed, the job went much quicker. One bed maker spent a lot of time walking around the bed to adjust the overhangs. As my husband tried to help with our much simpler bed covers I realized it was test of a couple's relationship.
Our bed is much simpler to make. The bottom sheet is fitted. It gets wrinkled in the center. I like to smooth it out with a few brisk swipes of my hand. Four pillows that need to be fluffed and plumped, a top sheet that needs to be positioned evenly on both sides and then set top to bottom so there is enough to fold over the fluffy quilt that goes on top. Here is where my husband and I run into trouble. He sort of gets the pillow fluffing and positioning. But as I lift and furl the top sheet to layer it over the mattress he starts trying to help. He puts it on lopsided , not square to the mattress side. He puts too much at the bottom end. He puts it on upside down with the wide hem at the bottom. I tweak and smooth on my side and his side is wrinkled and lumpy and I give him the look. He doesn't respond. It's his side of the bed. Should I ignore it? We have been married for 23 years, my husband and I, but we still don't know how to make a bed together.
Our bed is much simpler to make. The bottom sheet is fitted. It gets wrinkled in the center. I like to smooth it out with a few brisk swipes of my hand. Four pillows that need to be fluffed and plumped, a top sheet that needs to be positioned evenly on both sides and then set top to bottom so there is enough to fold over the fluffy quilt that goes on top. Here is where my husband and I run into trouble. He sort of gets the pillow fluffing and positioning. But as I lift and furl the top sheet to layer it over the mattress he starts trying to help. He puts it on lopsided , not square to the mattress side. He puts too much at the bottom end. He puts it on upside down with the wide hem at the bottom. I tweak and smooth on my side and his side is wrinkled and lumpy and I give him the look. He doesn't respond. It's his side of the bed. Should I ignore it? We have been married for 23 years, my husband and I, but we still don't know how to make a bed together.
December 27, 2009
Surfeited with too much rich food. Prosperity problems.
I had brunch with some rich Republican friends today at a private golf club. It was lovely. Designed to appeal to the senses. Dark wood, white table cloths, a sunny window framed the rolling greens, a view of Washington Cathedral on the distant horizon. The food was set out as a buffet. A table of salads; mixed greens, orange and jicama, spinach and baby beets, endive leaves holding salmon slices, oil cured manchega cheese with quince puree, smoked baby octopuses, pineapple slices, strawberries, melon slices, more exotic cheeses. A table of entrees; beef stroganoff with noodles, shrimp creole with brocolini, eggs benedict, and several others I have already forgotten. A table with omelets made to order or waffles with all the toppings; whipped cream, strawberries, bananas in syrup. A large roast beef sliced to your order , a whole salmon waiting for your command. Another table of desserts, a yule log, chocolate layer cakes, a cheese cake, bread pudding, individual chocolate desserts from the best pastry shop in town. The challenge is to practice restraint of selection and put together a balanced and tasty meal not a hodge podge of everything. We sat, we ate, we conversed, we enjoyed each others company. Told travel horror stories, Christmas survival stories, compared notes about books worth reading movies worth seeing. I looked at the wait staff and wonder what they see in us? I looked at the other diners many with young children all dressed up in those dresses you only see in magazine layouts. You know the black velvet, the red plaid,the headbands and hair-ribbons, the shiny leather shoes that no real children wear. What must it be like to grow up with this as your birth right? To be on the inside looking out. I used to feel like an interloper in such places, as if at any moment I would be found out and rejected. Now I feel like a visitor. I know how to behave. I know which fork to use, how to relate to the staff. I not only recognize, I can appreciate the various high end ingredients. I don't let guilt spoil my pleasure. But I am not oblivious to the unfairness of it all.
I had brunch with some rich Republican friends today at a private golf club. It was lovely. Designed to appeal to the senses. Dark wood, white table cloths, a sunny window framed the rolling greens, a view of Washington Cathedral on the distant horizon. The food was set out as a buffet. A table of salads; mixed greens, orange and jicama, spinach and baby beets, endive leaves holding salmon slices, oil cured manchega cheese with quince puree, smoked baby octopuses, pineapple slices, strawberries, melon slices, more exotic cheeses. A table of entrees; beef stroganoff with noodles, shrimp creole with brocolini, eggs benedict, and several others I have already forgotten. A table with omelets made to order or waffles with all the toppings; whipped cream, strawberries, bananas in syrup. A large roast beef sliced to your order , a whole salmon waiting for your command. Another table of desserts, a yule log, chocolate layer cakes, a cheese cake, bread pudding, individual chocolate desserts from the best pastry shop in town. The challenge is to practice restraint of selection and put together a balanced and tasty meal not a hodge podge of everything. We sat, we ate, we conversed, we enjoyed each others company. Told travel horror stories, Christmas survival stories, compared notes about books worth reading movies worth seeing. I looked at the wait staff and wonder what they see in us? I looked at the other diners many with young children all dressed up in those dresses you only see in magazine layouts. You know the black velvet, the red plaid,the headbands and hair-ribbons, the shiny leather shoes that no real children wear. What must it be like to grow up with this as your birth right? To be on the inside looking out. I used to feel like an interloper in such places, as if at any moment I would be found out and rejected. Now I feel like a visitor. I know how to behave. I know which fork to use, how to relate to the staff. I not only recognize, I can appreciate the various high end ingredients. I don't let guilt spoil my pleasure. But I am not oblivious to the unfairness of it all.
Monday, December 14, 2009
December 14, 2009
There is a difference between taking a vacation and travel. It is a good idea not to be confused about which kind of trip you are taking. Going to the beach simply to swim, bask in the sunshine, amble along the shore looking for shells; that's a vacation. Going to a big city, staying in a fine hotel, eating in good restaurants, seeing the sights; vacation. Leaving the country, coping with a different language, a time zone change, culture shock; that's travel. Both experiences are valuable. Sometimes we need to relax, unwind, chill. We also need to change the scenery; both for our bodies and our minds, be uncomfortable and uneasy, shake up our perceptions.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
December 9, 2009
As I passed the church pre-school this morning I noticed a little fellow, 4 years old maybe, hauling a wheeled back pack across the sidewalk. What on earth can a 4 year old require at pre-school that he needs a back pack with wheels? And what kind of mindset does this create at 4 years old that we need to go through our days lugging around so much stuff? Maybe you need a lunch or your favorite stuffed toy to keep you company. Do you remember when going to kindergarten meant choosing a lunch box? It was a rectangular box with a lid that opened on the large side. It had 2 snap clips to close and a short handle on top. Each year the designs changed depending on what cartoon character or TV show was popular. Mothers packed a change of clothes to be stashed in the child's cubby. High school students carried their books under their arms, their lunches in a brown paper bag. Then someone invented the school back pack. Initially it seemed like an advance. No more hunched backs from clutching a pile of books to your chest. Now the back pack could be filled, zipped against the weather and worn high on the back supported by a strap over each shoulder. That was the theory anyway. The reality was somewhat different. Backpacks became another way to identify. The cool kids wore them slung over one shoulder only. Middle schoolers decorated them with a multitude of key chain fobs. Elementary school backpacks came disguised as teddy bears or pre-printed with the characters from the latest TV show. Eventually it evolved, as have suitcases , and now we have a back-pack on wheels for the pre-kindergarten set.
December 11, 2009
Why do we wear clothes that are unsuitable for the weather?
My daughter left the house yesterday wearing a warm, wool coat suitable for the 32ยบ temperature but on her feet she had the equivalent of ballet slippers. As diplomatically as I could I suggested she wear boots ( of which she has at least 4 pair; high heeled dress boots, fur-lined- Uggs, low heeled suede boots etc) and stash the light weight flats in her purse. "Oh, she said I'm carrying my heels" and waved a pair of high heeled pumps in my face as if this made perfect sense. Her day involved walking from metro stop to place of work, back to the metro, then catching a shuttle bus and walking some more. The temperatures were dropping and the wind chill factor increasing. I thought she was in serious danger of frostbitten toes. She's past the age where I can insist on anything I can only suggest. I'd done my job. I let her go without further comment.
She re-appeared at breakfast this morning with all ten toes intact.
My daughter left the house yesterday wearing a warm, wool coat suitable for the 32ยบ temperature but on her feet she had the equivalent of ballet slippers. As diplomatically as I could I suggested she wear boots ( of which she has at least 4 pair; high heeled dress boots, fur-lined- Uggs, low heeled suede boots etc) and stash the light weight flats in her purse. "Oh, she said I'm carrying my heels" and waved a pair of high heeled pumps in my face as if this made perfect sense. Her day involved walking from metro stop to place of work, back to the metro, then catching a shuttle bus and walking some more. The temperatures were dropping and the wind chill factor increasing. I thought she was in serious danger of frostbitten toes. She's past the age where I can insist on anything I can only suggest. I'd done my job. I let her go without further comment.
She re-appeared at breakfast this morning with all ten toes intact.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
December 6 2009
When I was a child I was shocked to see my teacher at the grocery store. Like most children, it turns out, I thought that teachers really only existed at school. After we left, they finished their chores in the classroom then ceased to exist until school started the next day. It was disconcerting and disorienting to see a teacher in play clothes in a non educational setting.
Similarly when my children leave their home for college they seem to imagine that home, the house and the people therein stop metabolizing. That we go into suspended animation until they need us. They meanwhile are going through profound metamorphoses discovering sex, mood altering substances and maybe even new ideas. They return demanding that we recognize their newness, their independence, chafing at the strait jacket of family life only to be disconcerted to find their room violated. The floors cleaned, the debris disposed of. Maybe the walls are repainted or the space has been re-purposed as a guest bedroom, a study, a storage room. "But it's my room!" they howl. Yes, it's your space when you are here but, my dear child, it is not your personal shrine.
Similarly when my children leave their home for college they seem to imagine that home, the house and the people therein stop metabolizing. That we go into suspended animation until they need us. They meanwhile are going through profound metamorphoses discovering sex, mood altering substances and maybe even new ideas. They return demanding that we recognize their newness, their independence, chafing at the strait jacket of family life only to be disconcerted to find their room violated. The floors cleaned, the debris disposed of. Maybe the walls are repainted or the space has been re-purposed as a guest bedroom, a study, a storage room. "But it's my room!" they howl. Yes, it's your space when you are here but, my dear child, it is not your personal shrine.
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