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.

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.