On Downsizing

I was having lunch with a friend that I do not often see and I mentioned to her that I do not miss my children being in school—what I miss is seeing the parents with regularity.

And after lunch I found my way to Kings—for some food shopping. And I bumped into a woman that I knew for many years when my girls were in school. I had not seen her in a long while. She had been my children’s CCD teacher. I absolutely loved her.

And we conversed about this and that. She told me that her older son was just about out of the house as was her daughter. And then she asked me Are you thinking about downsizing your house at all? There seems to be a lot of that going on. And I said from time to time—yes-- I feel like much of my house is wasted space that is rarely used. And she responded with  I know what your mean---I have shared those same thoughts with my husband. And then I think—but if I downsize where would I go? Right now my husband and I can still lose each other in our house—do I  really want to give that up and sit next to him on the couch every day? Not to mention that my house is perfectly nice—do I want to start all over again in a house with someone else’s dirt and problems? I know what I have—I do not know what I am going to get.

I completely understood.

Which is why my next decorating adventure is to convert the parlor off of the living room into a leather-rich pub room. Sometimes a house that is too big is still not big enough. Sometimes a really nice house can be reinvented into something even nicer. Sometimes it is just as smart to start over in your own home than to start over in someone else’s.

Sometimes Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

And sometimes casual acquaintances serve to keep you on track. They are the angels to your devils.

Serena Wins Gold

I watched Serena Williams play tennis only once in person. It was in the days when she, like her sister Venus, wore her hair in long braids and beads. She had not yet won a major tournament.

But you knew she was going to be great. She was that physically imposing. She was that determined.

And this past Sunday my eyes were glued to the television as I watched Serena win her first gold medal.

She crushed Maria Sharapova like a thumb on a gnat. Serena’s play was flawless- nearly lethal.

Yet aside from tallying up another goal medal for the United States, the following statistic made her win even more laudable. Serena’s serve was clocked to be equal to, and at times surpassed, that of Rodger Federer—the number one ranked man in tennis.

Which means from now on, with satisfaction, everyone can snidely say to Rodger Federer: You hit like a girl.

And on that basis alone, Serena will always be, my favorite all time female tennis player—displacing Billy Jean King in her defeat of Bobby Riggs.

Overheard Conversation

On  a Friday night my husband and I went out to dinner in town at our new favorite Italian restaurant—Nonna Bella. I overheard the man sitting at a table next to me with his wife and another couple order a Ketel One martini. But shortly after placing the order the waiter came back and said I am sorry Sir, we have run out of Ketel One. May I substitute Grey Goose instead? And with total indignation the man said Absolutely not! I do not support the French.

I am pretty sure all the waiter needed to hear was the word “No.” The bit about the French was irrelevant to the inquiry.

But that is also when I knew I would spend the rest of my intended romantic dinner distracted by this guy and his guests sitting next to me.

I learned that the 4 people, who were in their mid to late sixties, were all alumni of Penn State. That was the genesis of their friendship. And the man who did not support the French clearly did not support the jury in the Sandusky case either. He quipped that people do not understand about towel snapping and locker room behavior. He claimed that the charges of child abuse were manufactured or at the very minimum misunderstood--misinterpreted. And he said that Joe Pa’s only obligation was to what happened on the field. A coach’s job is to coach-- and nothing more.

And the four friends all nodded their heads in complete agreement.

I shook my head in disgust.

And on that very next Sunday, Penn State dismantled the statue of Joe Paterno and transported it to the basement. And on that Monday the NCAA slapped the school with the most stringent punishment ever imposed by the organization. NCAA President Mark Emmert said that Penn State had put "hero worship and winning at all costs" ahead of integrity, honesty and responsibility.

I concur.

And when my husband and I go to dinner again at our favorite Italian restaurant I may have a Grey Goose and soda. I have no problem whatsoever with the French—especially the fries. I only have a problem with egocentric fools who deserve to have their necks as well as their towels snapped.

Voice to the Voiceless

In the book The Help, the protagonist is a writer who gives voice to the voiceless—the black maids in Mississippi during the time of segregation. And a pivotal piece to the plot is how the maids protect themselves and their identity—there is a tale about one of their employers that is so embarrassing it becomes insurance for all.

Sometimes my dinner conversation revolves around what I have written for my blog that day. And one night a week or two ago,  I was recounting my tale of Jasper pooping in front of a self-important person.  We all laughed. My daughter inquired Do you ever worry sometimes that the person you are writing about will read your blog and get angry? And I said No—I go to great lengths to blur the identity of the person I am speaking of when I am making a shadowed portrayal (unless they are an employee on the tax roll). And my stories are all true. So if the person I write about recognizes themselves in all their nakedness and finds the reflection disconcerting, I am certain they will not admit it is they who I am writing about. It is too shameful. They will say nothing to no one.

And in the conclusion of The Help, Abilene, the key black maid, realizes that her story, while similar to many others, is indeed distinct. People will learn from her personal experiences and will in turn molt. People will think and act differently.

And that is what my goal is everyday when I sit down to write. In shining a spotlight on a thought, something new will be heard. The net effect will be change.

Sometimes it’s not that you have no voice, it is that you have simply not been prodded to speak. And only in uttering a sound, do you realize that you can sing. And when your song is heard, and your melody is hummed, for a minute or two, you feel like a rock star.

A Higher Authority

Last year, right next to the Congressional golf course in Maryland where the US Open for golf was being  held, 2 little girls opened a lemonade stand. They planned on donating all their profits to charity—pediatric cancer research. But the police came and shut them down.  The girls were fined $500 for operating without a permit.

The Winter Wonderland is a semi-formal dance held every year in December at the high school. There are always concerns about the safety of the attendees and so PTA and the school district work cooperatively to diseminate guidelines in order to derail issues and prevent problems. Information is sent home as well as posted on the districts and PTA’s website.

And one year one of my daughters was invited to the dance and so as an attentive parent I chose to follow the published guidelines. I planned to call the mother of the boy to express my expectations and to exchange appropriate cell phone numbers. I planned on sharing my concerns and establishing a curfew. And the good news was I was acquainted with both the mother and the boy and knew them to be well regarded. But when I pulled out my phone book and all the class lists and sports rosters I had collected over the years, I realized that the boy’s phone number that I had found on a nursery school class list, was no longer in service— the current number was unlisted.

So with little concern I emailed a PTA contact who I knew had access to the information I needed. I explained to the contact person that I needed the boy’s home number for safety reasons. And I specifically contacted this PTA woman because not only did I know that she had access to the listing, but because I also wanted her to know that I was following established PTA guidelines. I had a bit of an agenda to demonstrate what a good parent I was.

But shockingly the PTA contact person emailed me back refusing me the information I needed. While she understood my desire to keep my daughter safe, she explained that giving out the number was a breech of  PTA’s rules--and she did not wish to break the rules.

So I said thank you and immediately appealed to a higher PTA authority that could see the greater good of the situation. She promptly gave me the unlisted phone number. This woman did not even think twice about breeching confidentiality. She understood the concept safety first.

And when the two little girls and their parents appealed to a higher authority—the town’s Permit officer-- she waved the citation. And the girls were allowed to operate their charitible enterprise once again-- albeit recessed a few feet back from the corner. Because while the little girls were in violation of a rarely enforced law, the higher authority saw the greater good of the situation: charity first.

And the PTA contact who ridgidly held to the organization’s rules continued to do. And the PTA higher authority who could see the greater good continued to chose children over organizational regulations. And in the end it was all good. Everyone got what they wanted.

Manly Man Scented Products

There was a guy in college I was attracted to not for his good looks or for his mind, but because he always smelled liked Irish Spring soap. I sat next to him in class just so I could inhale him. And in a day where boys doused themselves in Pierre Cardin and Polo, this boy smelled simply fresh and clean. This boy’s solitary scent of soap was a magnet.

I was in CVS the other day buying toiletries for my husband. And where formerly there were few options for men like Right Guard, Safeguard and Prell, men now have their own manly man grooming products--lots of them—four shelves and half an aisle’s worth. And they have names like extreme sport deodorant, arctic blast body wash, cool breeze ultra conditioning shampoo, not to mention sensitive skin Aloe Vera shave cream and full body sprays like Axe. All these products  are all heavily scented--too heavily scented. They are so heavily scented that if the products are worn all at once the amalgamated infusion  is noxious—it is not pleasing at all. It’s a fragrance battlefield where the man is the loser. Women repel.

And the other day Blanca said to me I love the smell when I get inside your shower—it is so good it makes me want to make my clothes off and jump right in.

 It was the Irish Spring soap.

There just is something about Irish spring soap that makes you want to take all your clothes off.

Men must learn: one scent at a time. One solitary scent is the magnet.

Special Menus

In her day my mother did lots of entertaining. She enjoyed having company. It was nothing for her to feed 10-20 people at a clip. And when she did, she prepared easy go to food—like trays of lasagna or sausage and peppers or chicken piccata.

At no point did she ever wonder Is anyone vegetarian? Or vegan? Do I need to prepare something gluten or fat free? My mother never thought about lactose intolerance or soluble or insoluble fiber. She used her box of salt liberally.

My mother cooked what she wanted to prepare.

Back in the day people did not worry about the special dietary needs of their guests because way back when people ate what you fed them whether it was on their personal menu or not. They just picked out or picked around the things displeasing them.

And I was overjoyed this past weekend that my daughter’s 5 friends visiting from out of town had no menu issues whatsoever. It was the first time in a long time that I entertained guests that were happy to eat anything I cooked.

No one cared about the wheat or carbs in the pasta or the lactose in the cheese. Everyone ate my non-grain fed antibiotic laden beef charbroiled with residual benzopyrenes. They enjoyed the processed sugar in the Funfetti birthday cake. They did not mind aspartame laced Diet Coke.

It made my job so easy.

Because lasagna made with  gluten free pasta, tofu formulated cheese and low salt organic meatless tomato sauce not only doesn’t taste very good, it isn’t pleasurable to serve. Part of the enjoyment of cooking is creating palatable dishes and then receiving acclaim for your talents.

Which is why I can’t wait for my daughter’s friends to return—they make all my efforts worthwhile when they say I love visiting here---the food is always so good—it makes me not want to leave.

Those are the words that keep me (and my mother) entertaining. All good cooks cook for the applause.