Category Archives: change

Some questions actually tell us so much about ourselves

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Poor Solicitor General Elena Kagan.  Just because she is single, unattractive, overweight and intellectual, she must be a lesbian.

Laura Ingraham is single and, to some, intellectual.  So, she isn’t unattractive or overweight.  Is she . . . .?

So, former Secretary of State Condi Rice is single and intellectual.  She is not unattractive or overweight either.  Is she. . . ?

Ok, I get it.  If Elena Kagan were hot — or at least not unattractive and overweight, it wouldn’t be an issue.

If she were a man, like Justice Souter, no one would raise the issue.  How do I know?  Because no one did (loudly, anyway).

Has anyone looked at all of the unattractive and overweight women who are married and heterosexual?  Has anyone looked at all the gorgeous heterosexual women who are single?  And all the gorgeous lesbians who are “married”?

Maybe she is; maybe she isn’t.  But if unattractive and overweight were the markers, there would be only five heterosexuals in middle America.

Who will be the first politician to own up to this attitude?  And this “litmus test” only pertains to women.  Overweight and unattractive men?  Just look at the Congress.

GOP senators don’t have gaydar.  How do I know?   They didn’t figure out about Family Research Council George Rekers, who hired a gay male escort to carry his bags on a trip to Europe.  Or that televangelist.  Or the Senator who sits wide in aiport bathrooms.

Democrats assume that the Republicans will raise the issue, so they — including the White House — are “getting out ahead of it”.  In some publications, the Democrats are being criticized for not getting out ahead of it sooner.

So, even among the enlightened of our generation — including those in the White House — it is still a “smear” to say that someone is gay.   And being gay is deviant but fixable, or so says the Family Research Council.  Maybe it should rethink its view in light of the scandal rocking its founder.

We will allow gays to serve in the military so long as they hide under a rock.  Think of the patriotism of these men and women.  They are willing to shed their blood and give their lives to a country that won’t allow them to live, fight and die in dignity.

Aint that America.

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Privacy, please

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It is funny how people give away private information about their kids without even knowing it.

I was at a meeting and we were talking about kids and dating and a colleague from the midwest said that her early-teens son was very friendly with girls but hadn’t decided on a girlfriend.  Fine so far.  Then she added, “but he is always out with them.  If there are seven girls going to the movies, he’s the only guy.”  Ok, ok, ok.

The difference between a New Yorker and a midwesterner is that we New Yorkers would know the implications of that fact pattern and would leave it to the son — and to time — to unravel the mysteries therein.

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My inner diva

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I had to have a close-up taken for my new firm’s website.  Last time my picture was taken for a firm website, I had no wrinkles or gray hairs.  What a difference 3.5 years makes.  Now, laugh lines and a shock of gray.  Last time, the pictures were taken by a professional photographer.  This time, by someone in the mail room.

Nevertheless, the difference in photographs was shocking (to me).  And the transition from the color picture to black and white didn’t do anything to help.  In a culture where young and cute mean success, this was my very own personal reality check and public relations disaster.  I can’t turn back time and pretend I am young and cute, but I can have a passable picture that doesn’t scream old and wrinkled.

At my insistence (and that of my assistant, G-d bless her), the guys in the mailroom tried to enhance the picture as much as possible, at least to get rid of that strange patina that affected part of my face as if a skin disease. But, I just have to get used to the fact that I am older and it shows.  I guess I will market that as “experience” and “judgment”.

I saw a lapel button once that said, “Aging to Perfection”.  That picture — which probably captures how I really appear — is more like “Aging Out to Pasture”.

And, yes, I had a diva moment.  And it isn’t like I have a right to be.  Nevertheless, let this be a warning to all:  Beware an aging woman and her photo.

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Sunday was a great day

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Sunday was my free day before my new job.

POB (partner of blogger) excused me from the otherwise obligatory lunch with her father and a children’s Hebrew music concert at our synagogue.  POB is TOO good to me.  I don’t deserve her but let’s keep that quiet (she hardly ever reads my blog often so I am not giving the secret away).

So, I watched cartoons with our son, went to the gym for a long, long time (I am still hurting Monday night), got a manicure, bought food for dinner with the extended family (my side) and started preparing it.  POB — G-d bless her — likes having my extended family over, even when I have slacked off ALL day. And they love her (what’s not to love?)

As an aside, it is a little bit of heaven to go to the gym without the stresses of having only 45 minutes to sweat, stretch, and be grossed out by those in the locker room.

The family came over and we started to reminisce about seminal moments of our clan gatherings at our aunt’s and uncle’s house in New Rochelle. And how we all thought we should have been consulted when they sold that house. That house was special because of the wonderful memories created there when the older generation was young and tall (and, yep, alive). Younger than their children are now.  It was a great fun to remember and laugh.

After everyone left, we cleaned up and my son was all ready for bed, he said, “Good luck tomorrow, E-Mom, I hope you make new friends and have someone to eat lunch with.”

I didn’t have time to get nervous about going to a new job the next day (ok, I didn’t get nervous until it was time to go to bed). 

It was a great day.

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Weave these threads into your reality

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In one city, Costco takes tomatoes off its shelves because Sarah Palin is scheduled to appear.  I am sure that Costco wanted to protect the tomatoes from an ignoble end.

In Copenhagen, 193 nations are trying to agree on something — anything.  When was the last time you got consensus in a family of three members? 

Did you know that the food industry is responsible for 1/3 of all of the world’s carbon emissions?  Give up grapes in winter and the save the world.

We are trying to agree with China on important things — North Korea, carbon emissions, sanctions for Iran.  How about we start with something small, like, “it’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

Now, no one likes the health care reform bill.  The Congress behaved so badly, but of course it is Obama’s fault.

A Republican senator wanted to run out the clock on health care by requiring the reading of a laborious and largely symbolic amendment to the health care legislation.  Debate, I get.  Screaming and yelling, sure.  Stonewalling?  Outrageous.  That senator ought to be in the penalty box for the rest of his term.

I can drive my Hummer, but Obama, Obama, needs to save us from Waterworld (I really can’t handle that horrible 1980s/90s movie turning out to be prophetic).

If Obama doesn’t fix health care, lower carbon emissions, balance the budget, reduce the deficit and increase jobs, ALL IN ONE YEAR, he will have failed.  If I remember my anniversary, I am golden for 12 months.    Wow, his job really sucks.

Being a pundit or a talking head must be great.  Sanctimony with no responsibility.

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Perspectives

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This weekend, my 45-going-on-85-year-old body announced that it was going on strike.

I had some bug that kept me in bed almost all Saturday and then Sunday, all ready to pack two days in one, I had a back spasm that had me on the floor in excruciating pain.  My son tried to make me feel better with many kisses and I was sad that he realized that his remedies were not efficacious.  It is heartbreaking when children grow up in these ways.

Nevertheless last night we had the ganza mishpocheh (the whole family) over for Sunday night dinner.

My father who has newly diagnosed heart disease looked good and was very excited to give us batteries and power bars and assorted other things that he bought at CostCo.  One opened in the city and he takes the bus there and buys in bulk and then doles out to the “kids”:  SOB (sister of blogger), HOSOB (husband of sister of blogger), POB (partner of blogger and) and B (me).  As he was telling us about the good deals he got on all of these items, he stood taller, had better color and didn’t look or sound like a man in heart failure.  It is crazy what a good deal can do for an old man who is the child of poor immigrants and raised in the Depression.

As I reclined on a chair in the living room with a heating pad strapped to my back, I marveled at my father’s energy.  The conversation reminded me of my father’s endless price comparisons.  For a time, he focused especially on the price of bananas.  If he went to Chinatown, where he uses a sculpture studio, he could buy bananas for X cents a pound, but on the East Side of Manhattan where he lives, it is X+10 cents a pound.  I tolerated the banana story for years and then finally — this was when my mother was still alive — I said to Mom, “The banana story has run its course.  Make it go gently into that good night.” Mom nodded knowingly and I knew that was the last I would hear about the price of bananas.  Mom had a way with Dad.

Sure enough, Dad never mentioned the banana story again.  But he did start talking about the relative price of salmon.  I let it unfold for a few years (mind you, it is the SAME story over and over again about saving a few cents on the price of a pound of salmon0.   By then, Mom was gone.  So I said to SOB, “The salmon story has run its course.  Kill it.”  (I ceased to be gentle about these things after my mom died.)

But last night, as I sat alternatively in pain and extreme pain because of my back, I listened to my father tell us the good deals he got on the batteries and the power bars and I looked at him — he looked excited, proud and decidedly not sick.  And, I thought, I can live with these stories for a few years.  Happily, even, as long as my dad looks as good as he did last night.

But, please, no bananas or salmon stories.

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Today I went into work in jeans

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Going to work in jeans on a Monday was not a rebellion against “The Man,” but an acknowledgment of the realities of aging — the rounding out of one’s waist and tummy. 

I scoffed at low-rider jeans until some years ago, POB (partner of blogger) told me I had to stop wearing “Mommy Jeans”  and she took me jeans shopping.  Little did we know that years later the President would make Mommy Jeans famous as necessary nerd wear.

Today I am grateful for these low-riders because they fasten below the waist and tummy.  Some days, my full-waisted dress pants don’t close without a fight and I am tired of popping buttons.   And when a button pops, it does so with enough velocity to hurt someone unfortunate enough to be in its trajectory.  Soon, I will have to register my tight-fitting clothes with the local police precinct, as is the rule with assault weapons. 

So, until I lose a few pounds or feel that it is ok again to spend money on new dress pants, low-rider jeans are the way to go even though, by every demographic study, it really NOT a look I should sport.

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Home Sick

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My son complained of a sore throat and running nose this morning, enough so that my partner (POB — partner of blogger), who usually takes no prisoners, relented and let him stay home.  She had meetings and I could telecommute, so I am staying home with him.

He wanted to watch cartoons, especially a particular one that combines his favorites — dinosaurs and trains.  I told him no because being home sick is different than a vacation day.  Now, he is feeling better and is bored and misses his friends at school.  My child is whining, angry and saying hurtful things out of frustration.  (I am not really sure he was sick in the first place.)

The usual child sturm und drang, right?  No, not for our child.

This is a breakthrough for him to feel included, to say he misses his friends, to prefer to leave his toys behind and engage in a group activity, ALL at school.  This is a great, great day in our lives.

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Changes

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I am trying to change some things in my life.  Change is hard; change is scary.  In fact, people sometimes back away from change they need and want because the unknown is scary.  I know I do. 

If we all went boldly where we have not gone before, then there would be no such saying as, “hey, at least it is the devil you know,” as cold comfort for maintaining the status quo. 

Which begs the question, just because you know how bad it is now, is it possible to have a social contract with the devil (ok, that’s an oxymoron) that the evil will not get worse or different? 

And isn’t there one devil?

If we have come to accept that change is needed, then that means we have accepted that the status quo is no longer tolerable. 

We voted for change.

If change is hard in one’s personal life, then change is excruciating on a national level.  But we voted for change because the status quo is no longer tolerable.

We voted for change.

Believe in change because you have no contract with the devil you know.

We voted for change.

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