Lyric-Challenged

A song came on the radio the other day that I had not heard in a very long while: For a Dancer by Jackson Browne.

 I sang every word.

I am often surprised at how I can still remember the words to every song off of every album I have ever owned. It makes me believe that my brain is still adequately functional despite my middle age. But I am equally surprised that for as much as I listen to pop music, unless it’s a Taylor Swift or John Mayer or Maroon 5 song—all songs that do not interject rap—I cannot completely memorize and sing the words.

And this was brought to light this morning as I drove home from the train station. The song Wild Ones was playing on the radio. I knew all the lyrics sung by Sia: Hey I heard you were a wild one… Oooh… If I took you home it'd be a home run ….But as soon as Flo Rida chimed in, I started mumbling—I could only pick out phrases here and there. And only when the refrain went back to Sia, could I resume my little private sing-a-long.

I have to wonder if my lyric-retention issue is investment-related. Maybe I just do not care to take the time learning the words and repeating them---like memorizing and reciting Shakespeare—which was another thing I had difficulty with. Or maybe the stumbling block is the speed of the rapping—I cannot physically get my brain and mouth to move that quickly—like a skilled auctioneer.

But maybe it’s not so bad after all. Twenty years from now I will at least still be able to sing She Will be Loved by Adam Levine—and better yet I will remember how hot he looked in the video. And I’d trade remembering Adam’s sexy leer over remembering Flo Rida’s lyrics any day.

Attending the US Open

I have been very fortunate to have attended both the US Open for tennis and for golf several times.

I have enjoyed them equally.

The US Open for golf requires a great deal of walking for its attendees. Most people do not remain fixed in one location—they instead follow key players around the course. And so, because the day is long and so much walking is required up and down hills and through the rough, spectators wear their golf shoes. It just makes sense to do so. Golf shoes were designed to be worn on the golf course.

But what does not make sense to me in any way is why when you attend the US Open for tennis the spectators find the need not just to wear their sneakers, but to wear their tennis apparel.I just don’t get it—do they think they are going to put together a pick-up game while they are there?

Because wearing tennis attire to the Open is not like wearing an NFL jersey to a football game. Tennis players do not wear a team uniform—each player is their own team and varies their clothing from match to match.

And this past Friday my husband attended the Barclays Golf tournament in Bethpage with some colleagues from work. Before he left the house I inquired did your remember your golf shoes?

He did.

But he left his golf glove behind.

He had no illusions that Rory Mc Elroy would ask him to play.

The College Drop-off

I watched my neighbor Tom load the last few things into their Suburban. Their daughter was going back to school that day.

There is no time of year that ignites more anticipation, melancholy, and yes, relief than back-to-school time—especially when it involves packing your child to go off to college and not simply packing a bologna sandwich with a juice box for Stewart School.

First time adventures are always the most heart-wrenching. So when my husband and I prepared to drop Samantha, our eldest child,  at Lehigh her freshman year we were inwardly anxious, and outwardly nonchalant.

Based on stories from more seasoned parents I was prepared to say our final good byes with some tears. I had rehearsed the scene over and over  in my mind. Sam and I would hug and I would assure her that she would be great. My eyes would well-up  and my husband would remain stoic and consoling. And as we drove away I would reminisce about her very first day at Locust school and my husband would tell me it would all be okay. It was time to let her go.

But as the final seconds ticked and I was about to enact my own Lifetime movie drama, my husband burst into the ugly cry—the widow’s sob. And because I knew  it was unhealthy for my daughter to witness two slobbering fool parents I was forced to become the stoic consoling one. My tear ducts seized-up instantly. I completely flipped into the rational mode and dealt out tissues.

I was the one behind the wheel in the Suburban—comforting my husband by reminding him that we had prepared her well—she was ready.

My long anticipated magical moments turned into stolen thunder—the finale had gone all wrong.

And Friday I kissed Kara good-bye as she headed off for her senior year at Emory. It was the last college good-bye kiss of my lifetime.

I am a little bit sad over it. The school-time phase of my life that began in September of 1992 is officially complete.

But at least I may still look across the street. Their Suburban will continue to be packed for another 5 years. Each August, the view will twist my heart. But I will remember that all beginnings have endings and all endings are new beginnings. And as long as the story ends happily ever after, it doesn’t matter which actor played the parts—it matters only that you had the production.

Sweet Babies

Anyone who knows my mother is aware that she likes to oogle over babies. They also know that she has a catch phrase when she believes an infant is of less than average looks—she calls them sweet. She uses this adjective because it is her belief that all babies are sweet by design. The words pretty and beautiful are adjectives of bestowment--not birthright.

And people who really know me know that I am not magnetically drawn to tiny humans. I was never the woman in a room full of women who begged to hold the baby. I enjoyed I cooing and oogling from afar. I preferred that the center stage infant kept its goo to itself. I also did not think it was wise for the baby’s well-being to be passed around like a tray of mini-meatballs. I believe babies have the right to be left alone--particularly when they are content.

And now that I am of an age where I have several friends who either are, or are about to become grandmothers I must reconcile my quirkiness with good manners. I do not want to offend anyone when I remain at arm’s distance.

I just want to look into the baby’s face and tell their grandmother how they are sweeter than sweet— beautiful and angelic.

A magnificent clean slate—innocent and completely full of potential.

And the other day my mother bumped into one of my good friends who recently became a grandmother. My mother asked my friend if she had any pictures of the baby—which of course my friend did. And then I held my breath and asked What did you think of baby-X? And I nearly collapsed in relief when she said He is absolutely adorable!

My mother was genuine in her remark. Because if the baby had been merely sweet, she would have said so. My mother never minces words---and sometimes that’s a good thing---and other times—not so much.

Prince Harry

Apparently Prince Harry got caught with his pants down--- as in he actually was photographed while naked.

TMZ reported the Prince’s mishap.

And I was left with two questions. The first being How vast is the British empire? And the second: Does the northern terrain match that of its southern counterpart?

But when I went to the website I discovered that the crown jewels were not on display—not so much as a single bauble.

And so my questions remain unanswered.

Too much that happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas.

Ineffective Nagging

For the most part I think I have done a good job as a parent. I have raised bright, responsible, self-assured women.

My girls are good-hearted.

But I admit to areas where my parenting skills were substandard.

I recently found in my kitchen cabinet a pile of envelopes which were stamped and addressed by my hand. There were also 7 or 8 photographic prints. And in the flap of each envelope was a monogrammed note which was blank inside.

They were the thank you notes from Kara’s high school graduation party-- which was 3 years ago last June. They were never written out let alone mailed.

I am pretty sure they are a bit overdue at this point.

No grace will be received for this etiquette infraction. Amnesty has long run out.

Clearly my motherly nagging wasn’t effective.

But hope springs eternal. Kara graduates from college this May. The thank you notes for that graduation party have not been purchased or written out yet. So in theory she is ahead of the game—the notes are all ready to go.

Maybe I should commence with immediate nagging.

 I can’t do any worse than the last go around.

"Ask and you will receive..."

I am more than familiar with scripture. So when I attend mass, I read the selected passages with an eye for its greater context. And while I am no expert, I am confident to the extent that I can intelligently debate whether the priest giving the homily is spot on, or worlds off- base.

Because there have been many occasions that I have sat in mass where I thought that the priest must have read a different passage than I did in my missal. The priest’s message either had nothing to do with what scripture was illustrating, or was too parochial in scope.

And the bit in Matthew, from the Sermon on the Mount that I have always found inspirational, yet often misinterpreted is this: Ask and you will receive, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you.

For me that piece of wisdom extends beyond the principal that God answers all prayers. I do not think that prayer requests are answered as simply as an I Dream Of Jeannie blink-blink sit-com moment. God cannot be reduced to a genie in a bottle.

I believe the greater intention of the ask and you will receive phrase is to prod people into taking charge of their own situation—to be proactive—not to complacently wait for God or others to do things for them. I do not believe the message of that statement is wishfulness reaps progress. I think the message is: If you want or need something, go after it—seek it. Do not remain idle—ask for guidance. Prepare yourself with knowledge and/or skills—and if you research, you will find direction. And if you put yourself in the path of opportunity, opportunity will show itself—the door will open. There is no reward without work first.

In short, this piece of scripture boils down to: God helps those who help themselves.

The famous Chinese proverb reads: Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime. So if you are hungry, do not ask God for a fish; rather, ask for good instruction.

Pray for guidance and invest yourself.

Because no one wins the lottery without buying a ticket first. You have to be in it, to win it.