Easy Listening

I finally learned how to download music into my PDA. I loaded up music that I like, but that make my children cringe when I listen to it at home. Albums like Simon & Garfunkel's Greatest Hits or Unforgettable by Nat King Cole.

On my way to BART, I decided to listen to my tunes to see how they sound. And I found myself singing along to Nat and dancing to the soundtrack to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Looking around, I was the only person doing this.

How do people listen to music without moving or singing? Or is it the fact that Simon & Garfunkel and Nat King Cole are just so much more singable than modern artists? (Although DD#2 also sings along with her favorite songs.) And how can you not dance to "Shoo Bop, Shoo Bop"? Unfortunately, much as I like to sing, I'm not very good.

Am I the only one who does this? Or is it a matter of finding more sedate songs?

Stressed Out Students

I don't often disagree with Michelle Malkin, but I am in this case.

DS#2 and DD#2 go to one of the top public high schools in the state. Hubs and I went through the appropriate channels to get an interdistrict transfer because of this high school's reputation. The counselor told DS#2 that in this school it's cool to be a good student. Even the jocks are scholars.

(Music to a parents' ears.)

These students are under tremendous pressure to be the best. It's not enough to get into a university--it has to be a top tier university: Cal, Stanford, Harvard, Brown. Mom and Dad are high-achievers themselves, with Dad often a partner in a law firm or a top executive or an entrepreneur. Mom might stay at home, but she's a volunteer fundraiser or a gourmet cook or she organizes all the paperwork for registration.

These students go to summer school not to make up classes but to get a jump on the next year so they can take yet another class. They join clubs and teams, looking for ways to improve their resume for their college applications, take classes after school to improve their SAT and ACT scores.

And some of these kids can't handle the stress, so they turn to drugs and alcohol, both readily available in the affluent suburb.

Some of these kids wait until they get into Harvard or Stanford to have their meltdowns.

To help prevent that, the school has started the "Stressed Out Students" program. Yoga isn't a part of it, but alerting parents to the problem is a start. Most of the program is common sense: eat right, exercise, get enough sleep. Encouraging students to talk to an adult if they feel overwhelmed. And emphasizing to the parents that it's more important that their child take a few AP classes and do well than take a lot and do poorly. That it's better if the student participates in one or to clubs or activities than list a raft of them where they're only nominally active.

The counselors encourage the students to use high school to find their passion--and encourage the parents to let them.

I don't think this is a bad thing.

In high school, there is no "recess." At my kids' high school, they get a 20 minute break mid-morning and a 50-minute lunch break. Classes start at 8:00 a.m. and end at 3:10 p.m., when it's time to do homework. (We're very fortunate that both the school library stays open until 6:00 p.m., providing a place for kids on sports teams a chance to do their homework before practice.)

Hubs and I try to keep our expectations realistic. And we remind our kids that life needs balance: academics are important, but so is friendship and fun, service to the community, and--most importantly--God. Stressed Out Students help those families who have forgotten this.

Shake, Rattle, and Roll--Again

So there DD#2 and I were at our Girl Scout meeting when the room began to shake. The feeling was subtle at first, beginning from the floor and moving up to the table. The shaking continued on for what seemed like a long time--relatively speaking. And then I asked the girls how strong they thought the quake was. I reminded them that every number increases the strength by a factor of ten. (These girls are in high school and they're all pretty good in math.)

The consensus was that the quake was between a 4 and a 4.5. I was quite surprised to discover that the preliminary indication is that the quake was a 5.4! I'm usually not that far off.

Hubs asked if I had the girls stand in the doorway. None of us felt that was necessary at the time. But the quake was a conversation stopper. Which is difficult to do with a group of 14- and 15-year old-girls.

Costume Capers

Much buzz over at Townhall and Michelle Malkin about skanky costumes aimed at young girls and boys as well. I have to admit, the first time I walked into our local costume chain store and saw a pimp outfit, I was surprised. What kind of boy would want to wear a costume like that? What kind of parent would let them? And what kind of a parent would pay real money (over $25) for a cheaply made costume the kids only wear once?

Back in the day when I had some control over what the little Hare wore, the only time I spent real money on costumes is when they were either pajamas or sweats. DS#1 wanted to be the Red Power Ranger one year. Toys 'R Us had Power Ranger sweats, complete with hoods. Unfortunately, there were no red ones. So he was the Blue Power Ranger and I bought a cheap plastic mask for him to wear. My parents actually bought the costume and they bought it big. DS#1 wore those sweats for two years. He was thrilled.

The other option is, of course, to make your own. Since I don't sew, this meant I had to become rather creative with a glue gun. (Kind of like when one of the kids had to be a cow in the school Christmas pageant.) Sweats and felt were my friends. So was the local thrift store. Do you know how many different costumes can be made using an old graduation gown? Especially if you want to be The Grim Reaper or a socerer. Just add mask or hat and that's it!

DD#1 decided to be a serial killer one year. She wore my old trench coat (over her school uniform) and carried a suitcase with a stuffed leg and shoe hanging out of it.

Pirates and gypsies have also been popular choices. Old bridesmaid dresses are the basis for fairies and princesses.

My children are now in charge of their own costumes and makeup. They rummage the attic or my closet, looking for inspiration. This year, DD#2 found a pair of black ankle boots at the thrift store. She dressed all in black, borrowed DD#1's black cape and used my make-up to create a "Goth" look. She actually looked pretty good! Best of all: all important parts were covered and the cost was minimal.

Homemade costumes allow children to be creative, don't break the bank, and keep us away from pseudo pimps and hookers who shouldn't even know whose those kind of people are, let alone try to be one! Hallowe'en should be all about the candy! Okay, and scaring your younger siblings.

Update: It looks like the same subject has been on the Captain's mind as well.

Book Review: The Shelters of Stone

This is the fifth book in the Children of Earth series (which began with The Clan of the Cave Bear) by Jean Auel. I didn't realize that she had written this book until I found this copy. The copyright date is 2002, which means Ms. Auel writes more slowly than J.K. Rowling!

Be that as it may...

When last we left Ayla, the H. sapiens woman raised by H. neandertals, and the love of her life, Jondalar, they had just crossed the glacier and were entering the region of Jondalar's family. Ayla is a bit concerned about how she will be accepted, since there is considerable prejudice against the "flatheads," as the Neandertals are referred to. (Ayla refers to them as "Clan.") Jondalar is worried as well. Not only has he been gone for a long time, but he has to tell his mother that his younger brother has died.

But they are not returning empty-handed. Ayla has tamed two horses, which they are riding, and a large wolf. She has discovered how to make fire using flint and iron pyrite and Jondalar has invented a spear thrower that will fling a spear farther and with more accuracy.

Ayla is also a skilled healer. She may also have a special connection with the Spirit world--a connection that the Zelandoni, the spiritual leader of Jondalar's cave, realizes early on.

Not everyone is happy to see Jondalar and Ayla. Marona was supposed to be mated with Jondalar when he decided to go on a Journey with his younger brother. Laramar is ranked low on the social scale, but feels that Ayla, as a stranger, should be ranked lower and is upset when she is placed near the head of the line. And Brukeval, who hates his Clan blood to the point of denying it, resents Ayla pointing it out.

Ms. Auel has spent a lot of time researching prehistoric Europe. Unfortunately, she wants to use it all. What she really needs is a good editor. Not only is there a lot of academic information, it's repeated. Then there is the matter of the poor writing. One of my pet peeves is when words (other than articles) are repeated in the same sentence or within a few short sentences. After awhile, I began to get a sense of deja vu: didn't I just read that description, conversation, action just a minute ago? (And don't get me started about The Mother's Song.

I felt like I was slogging through this book. Even the birth of Ayla and Jondalar's daughter, much discussed and anticipated throughout the book, is rather anticlimactic. It's a "set up" book, setting the stage for the next volume when all these people who object to Ayla will (presumably) begin to act out their parts of the drama. And Ayla has to decide if she will accept that she has a gift and become an acolyte to the Zelandoni.

But, really, it didn't need over 800 pages to tell this story.

On the March Hare scale: 2 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks

Book Review: A Site for Sore Eyes

I'm not sure where I picked up this book--some used book sale somewhere. The title caught my eye, though, because I love a clever title. And the fact that this is a mystery novel, a genre I was especially fond of in my youth. So, even though I didn't recognize the author (Ruth Rendell), I took a chance.

My first surprise was the book takes place in England. That information isn't in the blurb nor was it apparent in the first chapter. However, when the characters in the second chapter were talking about pubs and "ciggies," it dawned on me that this was not taking place in the U.S. When one of the characters moves to Notting Hill, I realized they were in London.

That mystery solved, I moved on to the next, which is how the three primary characters and their associates were going to finally come together.

First off there is Harriet. Harriet is famous because of a portrait painted of her and her rock star boyfriend. The only talent Harriet has is that she's breathtakingly beautiful--a talent she's traded on since she was 14. When the rock star throws her out, Harriet has to find another way to survive. She catches the eye of Franklin, a successful, married older man. Franklin divorces his wife, marries Harriet, and buys the house where the famous portrait was painted.

Meanwhile, there's Teddy. Teddy's parents, Eileen and Jimmy became engaged when Eileen found a ring in the ladies room on a trip organized by their pub. They got married after Jimmy's mum died and Jimmy realized that there was no one to take care of him and his brother, Keith, who also lived with their mother. Eileen didn't think she could become pregnant and was astonished when she did--but not enough to bother with going to the doctor. Nor had she or Jimmy thought of any names for their new child until their neighbor brought over a teddy bear as a "Welcome Baby" gift.

Having Teddy didn't make either Jimmy or Eileen sit up and take notice of what was going on around them. They drifted through their lives, not paying much attention to Teddy or to anything else. Keith had his motorbike and his cars. Only the neighbor, Mr. Chance, noticed the young boy and taught him woodworking. And Teddy's grandmother, who offered to give him a pound a week as allowance, but stipulated that Teddy had to come to her place to get it. And say, "Thank you, Grandma."

Despite this rather bleak upbringing, Teddy developed an inner esthetic, an appreciation for beauty. He attends a lecture while in college and during the slide show sees the portrait of Harriet. He is caught by the color, the lines, the composition. He is studying Graphic Design and Arts in college and, as a final project (kind of a senior thesis), he has to make something. He designs a mirror in a wood frame, which is exhibited in a local gallery, along with the projects of other students.

The third character is Francine. When she was a young girl, her mother was murdered while she was in her room, having been sent their as punishment. Francine hears the gunshots, hurries downstairs to find her mother in a pool of blood, which is where her father finds her when he returns home from work. Francine is traumatized and cannot speak. To help her, her father takes her to a child psychologist, Julia. Julia's qualifications are a bit dicey, but she does have a license. Julia takes an almost obsessive interest in Francine--which, in fact, does become obsessive once she marries Francine's father and becomes Francine's stepmother. Julia keeps Francine on a very tight leash, not allowing her to visit her friends at their houses or go to the movies or other normal activities. When Francine decides to attend Oxford, Julia talks about moving there to be near Francine. Instead, Francine decides to take a "gap" year. And her friend, Holly, persuades her to go on a double date and attend the exhibition where Teddy's mirror is displayed.

Teddy sees her and is struck by how beautiful and how perfect Francine is.

Meanwhile, Harriet, now considerably older, has a habit of hiring young handymen and seducing them. When she sees Teddy's ad (he's decided to go into cabinetry for himself now that he's graduated), she decides she needs some bookcases and hires him.

And the stage is finally set: three damaged people whose lives intersect. There are serious consequences because of that intersection, their actions, and the actions (or inactions) of those closest to them.

Site for Sore Eyes isn't a classic mystery in the Agatha Christie sense. Rather, it's more a psychological study, almost Hitchcockian. I wanted to shake some of the characters, those who showed they might have had some sense. It was kind of like watching a train wreck--horrifying and fascinating.

A good weekend book to curl up with under the covers with your favorite hot drink and snack nearby. No deep psychological dilemmas. Just kind of fun, in a creepy sort of way.

Since it was written in 1998 and is not by a commercially popular author, it probably won't be the easiest book to find.

On the March Hare scale: 3 out 5 Golden Bookmarks

Just a Question...

Okay. I'm dense. But how can you have a religion that "embraces many different beliefs"? How can that be considered a religion? And what if my beliefs directly contradict yours? How can they both be valid?

The religion is Universalist Unitarianism. And they claim their lack of dogma allows everyone to search for the truth in their own way. All ways to the truth are equally valid.

Which leads to an interesting photo on their website: young women dressed in white wearing crowns of holly and candles on their heads. The caption claims it to be Candlemas; to me it looks like the Scandinavian Santa Lucia celebration. And one of the young women is wearing a hijab. Did no one see the irony of this?

So why the claim of "religion" rather than "philosophy"? Wouldn't that be a more accurate description of what the organization is trying to accomplish?

The UUA website freely admits they are liberal, which undoubtedly means social conservatives like myself need not apply. I'm tempted to say that it also means that they are a "guilt-free" religion--no need to feel badly about yourself and your actions as long as they were all done on the quest for truth. But that's probably just the cynic in me talking.

Book Review: A Swiftly Tilting Planet

This is the third book in Madeleine L'Engle's series that began with A Wrinkle In Time. So far, it's my favorite of the three I've read.

It's Thanksgiving, and the Murry family is gathered at the family home. Meg has married Calvin and is expecting their first child. Calvin, however, is overseas at a conference, but Meg invited his mother to join them. For the first time, she agreed to join the Murrys. The twins, Sandy and Dennys, are in law and medical school. Charles Wallace is fifteen and in high school.

Before dinner can start, Mr. Murry receives a phone call from the President of the United States. A tyrannical dictator, Mad Dog Branzillo, has threatened war. Should he launch his nuclear missiles, the U.S. will have no choice but send their anti-ballistic missiles.

Mrs. O'Keefe, who has been silent, says, "At Tara in this fateful hour..." And becomes irritable because she can't remember the rest of "Patrick's Rune." Her grandmother from Ireland taught it to her and "set great store on it to ward off the dark."

And then she looks at Charles Wallace and states, "You. Chuck. I come because of you."

Charles Wallace realizes he must go out and face whatever it is that must be faced, using Patrick's Rune. But he is not alone. He meets a unicorn at the Murry's stargazing rock and Meg is home to kythe with him. Charles Wallace must travel through time and space and save the world.

Mrs. L'Engle plays with some interesting ideas about the importance of individuals in history and that opportunities can be missed because of inaction. Patrick's Rune is as much about using the power of Heaven and the Universe as it is about one teen and one unicorn standing together.

There's also the message that there often is more to people than meets the eye. Meg comes to understand why her mother-in-law is the way she is.

Although the book was written in the mid-1970's, it is uncannily prescient about current events. Pretty sad--the world hasn't changed much.

Meg is less whiny in this book. The interweaving of local historical events and world events was quite well done. The introduction of the unicorn was okay, but I'm not sure it was necessary. I also didn't really see the point of Meg kything with Charles Wallace, except as witness to the story.

And a minor quibble: The main characters are Welsh. Wouldn't it be "David's Rune," rather than Patrick's? Okay, they're both Celtic cultures, but really...

On the March Hare scale: 4 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks

Another Anniversary

After DS#1 was born I asked Hubs to bring me a copy of that day's San Francisco Chronicle. My mom kept a copy of the paper on the day we were born and I wanted to continue the tradition.

Little did I guess the headlines would read "241 Marines Killed in Lebanon."

There I was with my precious newborn son, wondering what kind of world I was bringing him into.

Shortly before his 18th Birthday, the Twin Towers fell. That weekend we were at an Eagle Court of Honor and I looked around at the young men I'd known since they were Cub Scouts, wondering what would become of them. Would the world erupt in flames? Would they be drafted? Would they volunteer? How many would be killed or maimed?

On the hill in front of the Lafayette BART station, there are nearly 4,000 crosses. They represent all the men and women in the military killed in Iraq. But where are the crosses for the 241 killed by a suicide bomber, while sleeping in their barracks, on a peacekeeping mission in Lebanon? Where are the crosses for those killed guarding the U.S. Embassy in Iran, trying to prevent those inside from being taken hostage? Or the Khobar Towers? Or the U.S.S. Cole? Or Afghanistan? Or even the 3,000 killed on 9/11?

But Lebanon is an Inconvenient Truth. The U.S. barracks were bombed (as were the French barracks) and President Reagan withdrew our forces. No retaliation. No scenes. Just picked up our marbles and left.

But, of course, in this case, the U.S. and President Bush are the war-mongering, imperialist, capitalistic fascists. Everything would be honky-dory if the U.S. Just Left.

Yeah. Right. That strategy worked so well 24 years ago.

Happy Birthday--Okay, A Day Late :)

For me, Mother's Day will always be October 23. That's the day DS#1 was born. Hubs and I became responsible for a helpless human being--a fact which hit me like a ton of bricks the morning we took him home. (Hubs also learned, rather quickly, about post-natal hormone fluctuations!)

And now I've been a mom for nearly a quarter of a century. I've learned a lot, mostly that parenting is a balancing act, that a child is not a tabula rasa at birth, mistakes will be made, and my parents were right: I have done things I never would have had I not had children. (And that life really does begin after 40. But that's another post!)

This is the first year that DS#1 has not been home to celebrate with us. In fact, we probably won't see him until Thanksgiving. Thanks to the miracle of AIM, we do communicate often. And I send him snail mail. But he's living his own life, as is appropriate for a young man in his mid-20's, trying to discover who he is and what he wants to be.

Still, I kind of missed having a cake with him and the rest of the gang last night.

Book Review: Baby Proof

Too busy to blog does not mean too busy to read. (One more reason to ride BART!)

I was looking for something fun, quick, and easy to read and Baby Proof, by Emily Giffin, fits the bill. I read it in two nights.

Claudia Parr has known that she does not want to be a mother since she was young. Now in her mid-30's, she has a terrific job as an editor in New York City and has resigned herself to a life of singledom. For most of the guys she's dated, her statement that she does not want children is the "deal breaker."

Then she meets Ben. Also single, articulate, and straight, Ben also does not want children. After several months of dating, they elope and enjoy two years of married, childfree bliss.

Until their best friends announce they are expecting.

Claudia figures that once the baby arrives, Ben will realize all the problems that come with one, but the baby is, of course, one of those "perfect" children: no colic, no tears, minimal mess. Ben wants a child more than ever and Claudia is upset and hurt that Ben broke their agreement.

They divorce.

Claudia looks for support for her decision from her friends and family, but receives little. In fact, more than one suggests that the real reason for Claudia's reluctance to become a mother has more to do with Claudia's mother than anything else. Meanwhile, the marriage of Claudia's older sister is falling apart (because that sister chose the flashy but unfaithful guy over the duller but madly-in-love with her guy) and her middle sister and brother-in-law are suffering the strains of infertility.

Baby Proof is an interesting look at how the legacy of our childhood follows us into adulthood, the bond between sisters who are very different, and female friendship. There's some discussion of why women chose the men the do and the consequences of those choices. And how very often, other people have a clearer insight to our behavior than we do.

Not bad for a "chic lit" book!

The ending is pretty realistic as well. Not all the ends are neatly tied up, but they're not quite left undone. The sad part is I'm probably closer to the age of Claudia's mother than I am to Claudia and the women of my generation don't come off so well!

However, it was a nice change from the science fiction that seems to be dominating my reading lately.

On the March Hare scale: 3.5 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks

Where Has the Time Gone?

My last post was October 1? What the heck?

Well, I know that I've had meetings of one sort or another almost every night for the last two weeks. That's what happens when you're in charge of two different events for two different organizations on consecutive weekends. And then DD#2 was in charge of the "Songs & S'mores" event as her Silver Award project, so I was involved in that. And the Girl Scouts "Amazing Bay Day," which I wasn't in charge of, but my troop participated.

Anyway, my parish celebrates Oktoberfest the first weekend of October. It's our parish festival that raises money for the parish and the school and brings all of us together in celebration. I'm not quite sure how, but apparently Oktoberfest was originally a city-wide Fall Festival. When the city decided not to sponsor it, our parish did. The biggest supporter was Fr. Paddy, a Marist priest from Ireland.

And our city was originally part of a Spanish/Mexican land grant.

The most popular food booth is the Filipino food booth. A Frenchman runs the pasta dinner.

I run the pig race.

At the beginning of September, each school and Faith Formation class receives a neon-colored, battery-operated plush pig. They dress the pig up and we have a beauty pageant. Then we race them. The winners get a trophy.

However, the first race is always the school principal and our three priests. This year the Director of Youth Ministry also raced--my last child is in the first year of Confirmation prep and I badgered her into it. Anyway, we time the races so that Mass is done. And every year, Fr. R. cheats. Okay, he's 80. And after six years, it's tradition! It's wild and crazy and the kids and draws a huge crowd.

Last weekend was our Girl Scout Association Camporee. 90 girls and almost as many adults spent a rather damp weekend under the redwoods. The raccoons, who are generally obnoxious, must have been somewhere else. The older girls taught the younger girls important skills, like using a compass or building a shelter. Then the younger girls got to hide the older girls for another group of older girls to find. That activity was almost a bigger hit than the "treasure" the older girls were holding ("banana boats", which involve bananas, chocolate, and marshmallows).

And my employer expected me to show up at the office and actually do some work. The nerve!

One more event in October and then its back to the normal get-ready-for-the-holidays stuff!

It's Bye-Bye, Barry

image courtesy of graphics.jsonline.com

The title of this column is taken from Hall-of-Famer Lon Simmon's, long-time "voice of the Giants" radio announcer, call whenever a Giant hit a home run: "It's bye-bye, baby!" And Barry Bonds certainly hit plenty of them while wearing a Giant's uniform.

I have mixed emotions about Barry leaving--as a friend pointed out over the weekend, I feel much like I did when the 49'ers let Joe Montana go. I understand that baseball is a business and Barry is more of a liability than an asset at this point. The Giants are a National League team and there is no DH spot.

Still, if Yankee Stadium is the House that Ruth Built, Pac Bell/SBC/AT&T Park is the House that Bonds Built. There were sellout crowds the first four years after the stadium was built--and that wouldn't have happened without Barry. In fact, that whole area of the City (known as South Beach/China Basin) has been rejuvenated because of the stadium (and the 1989 Earthquake that demolished the freeway). Love him or hate him, Barry brought attention to the game and put fans in the seats. There was a sellout crowd for his final game in a Giants uniform--which would not have happened in an otherwise disappointing season. Even before then, when there was a glimmer of hope, when Barry came up to bat, cameras and phones came out to capture his stance, his swing. You never knew if he was going to hit a homer or where that homer would land.

And when he was younger, you never knew when he was going to steal.

The saddest part about the steroid scandal is that Barry had real talent. He had Hall of Fame numbers before he allegedly started taking steroids. And, rumor has it, he started taking them because he was jealous of the attention Mark McGwire was receiving during his run after Roger Maris's record.

I think there's a deeper reason: all Barry has, really, is baseball.

Unlike other Bay Area sports celebrities, Barry is not personable. He has no chance of making commercials or endorsements, even locally. He's burned Bay Area sportswriters and sportscasters; he's burned his teammates. (He had the same reputation in high school.)

But he seems to have had a good relationship with his dad, Bobby Bonds. Barry took time off to be by his dad's bedside during his fight with cancer--while the Giants were making a run for the National League title. After his dad died, Barry made the gesture pictured at the top of the post after every home run, acknowledging his dad.

And then Barry heads to the dugout to give his son a hug and a kiss. The son who is now almost as tall as his dad.

For many years, Barry wore the same earring on game day. It was a cross--and the cross belonged to his grandfather.

And Barry is very respectful towards his godfather, Willie Mays, and another great, Willie McCovey, acknowledging their skill and their importance to the game.

But his divorce from his first wife was spectacularly nasty. And it played across the sports pages of the local papers. That must have been difficult to deal with.

I wish Barry well. I hope he finds happiness--maybe with another team, a team that has a chance to win a World's Series and give Barry the ring he's missing. I hope he finds inner peace and a purpose beyond baseball. Maybe not coaching, but maybe scouting for new talent. For the next skinny kid with uncanny eye-hand coordination.

I hope the Giants will be able to use some of their freed up payroll and hire some decent pitchers. And honor Barry when he enters the Hall of Fame as (I hope) a Giant.

Book Review: A Wind in the Door

This is the second in Madeleine L'Engle's quintet (quilogy?) concerning the Murry Family.

Charles Wallace has started First Grade and life is not going well. When the other children are in the class, they announce they have chickens or that our bodies are made up of skin and bones and "stuff." Charles Wallace announces he is currently fascinated by mitochondria and farandolae. He then starts to explain that these are prokaryotes that were incorporated into our cells.

His teacher tells him to stop making stuff up and moves on the next child.

Because he is different, Charles Wallace is beaten up every day at school or on the way home. The principal's response is that Charles Wallace must learn to "adapt."

I had to check the copyright date at this point. Could it be possible that a teacher and a principal would not know about mitochondria? Would a principal really allow a child to be beaten up regularly on the way home from school and tell the parents (and Meg, Charles Wallace's older sister) that the child must learn to adapt?

Well, the copyright is 1973, which means Ms. L'Engle was probably writing the book in 1971-72. Mitochondria (and other cell organelles) certainly were in my high school biology textbook at that time. And I knew about prokaryote and eukaryotes. But I was actually interested in that kind of stuff. So I'm not the best example of what was commonly known!

The reason Charles Wallace is interested in mitochondria and farandolae is there is something seriously wrong with his. He has no energy, becoming winded walking across the orchard on the Murry family farm. His mother, a biologist, is worried and suspects the problem is with his farandolae, but she doesn't know what.

But all this comes later. The novel starts with Charles Wallace telling Meg, "There are dragons in the twins' vegetable garden." Turns out this particular entity is not really a dragon after all, but a cherubim. And this cheubim, named Proginoskes, is a Namer. And, he solemnly informs Meg, so is she. "Progo," as he is nicknamed, is accompanied by a Teacher--and it turns out that the twins, their pet snake, and the family doctor are all Teachers. Or, in the case of the twins, will be.

In the meantime, darkness threatens the world, caused by beings called the Echthroi, who are busy "unNaming" the universe, causing sections to become nought. The Ecthroi are wreaking havoc with Charles Wallace's farandolae because Charles Wallace is Special.

Meg learns to kythe, which is kind of like mental telepathy, but stronger. Meg and Progo must use their kything and their naming to save Charles Wallace and the universe--and Mr. Jenkins, Meg's former principal and nemesis from junior high.

Calvin is there to keep Meg grounded and because he has some special abilities, too, although what they are isn't made clear. Meg, meanwhile, is a very typical 14-y.o. girl, which means she whines, "Why me?" a lot and doubts her abilities even though everyone around her tells her that she underestimates herself and she is a lot smarter/prettier/stronger/etc. than she realizes. Since a 14-y.o. female currently resides with me, I can confirm that Mrs. L'Engle certainly got that part right! I became so annoyed with Meg, I wanted to shake her, although I undoubtedly would have been more sympathetic if I were also fourteen. (Yeah, I was pretty annoying.)

Besides the science, there is a lot of religious symbolism and mythology in this story. Names are important--and since they are mostly Latin and Greek, Mrs. L'Engle does explain some of them. But she also relies on the reader's knowledge of cherubim and a familiarity of the responsibility God gives Adam in Genesis to name all the creatures of the land, the air, and the sea. I wonder if teachers explore this background information with their junior high students? Unfortunately, these concepts are not really explored in depth. The book is rather short and moves kind of quickly. Perhaps the series is meant to be taken as a whole.

On the March Hare scale: 3.5 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks

A Silver Moment

The second highest award in Girl Scouting is the Silver Award. For those familiar with the Boy Scout program, this is the equivalent of Life Scout. There are prerequisites, including leadership, career exploration, interest patches (badges), and reflection. And then there is the Project, which must take at least 40 hours, including planning and doing.

Unlike Boy Scouts, the girl must do all the prerequisites and the project in the three years from seventh through ninth grade.

DD#2 thought that she would like to do a "Welcome Back to Girl Scouting" event for the troops in our neighborhood to get the school year started. Our neighborhood had penciled in a "Songfest" event--a chance to get together and sing at just the right time. Next thing she knew, DD#2 was in charge.

"But I hate leading songs!" she protested to me.

"So ask someone else to lead the songs," I answered calmly. "You just have to plan it and make sure everything is covered. You don't have to actually do it all."

Now DD#2 has been going to Scout campfires (Boy Scout, Girl Scout, and Cub Scout) since she was a year old. She's watched me lead them, her brothers, her sister, other Scout leaders, camp counselors, other troops. She's led songs at Day Camp and at Camporee. So why did she suddenly insist that she didn't know how to put this event--which was essentially a campfire at the beach--together?

Because she's never been in charge before. Events sure look different when their success or failure hinge on you.

The most difficult part for me was not taking over.

"Has she done this yet?" asked the neighborhood coordinator.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask her," became my standard reply. My other job was to be a sounding board, to ask her questions like, "What usually happens? What are your favorite songs? What are your options?"

And to keep Hubs from driving her crazy. She is, after all, his baby, too. Worse, since he doesn't often get to see her in a leadership role, he forgets that she is pretty competent. She knows her stuff, even if she doesn't always realize she does.

The flyers were done, the registration happened, the s'more supplies were purchased, the fire laid.

"How do I start?" was her last agonized whisper to me.

"Well, you should probably welcome everyone and introduce yourself and your song leaders," I said. "Then go from there."

The neighborhood coordinator referred to DD#2's look as "deer-in-the-headlights." As the program got underway and the group (there were about 75-80 people) settled in and started singing, DD#2 became more sure of herself and lost that look. We had enough wood and enough s'more supplies. We did not set the grass on fire (Hubs' biggest concern, although there was little chance of that happening). It did not rain.

Now there is the final paperwork and the patches to be ordered. The feedback we're receiving is very positive--everyone had fun, which means our neighborhood will probably hold a similar event next year.

I'm very interested to hear DD#2's evaluation of the event. She did an excellent job, but she has my tendency to focus on what went wrong rather than what went right. And she may not enjoy leading songs, but she's good at it--and I wonder if her opinion will change after she completes a year of public speaking (which includes competitions).

I Thought It Was Just Me...

When I left for Japan at the end of July, I was actually looking forward to not hearing about Presidential primaries, immigration, and the war in Iraq. I was going to be in a foreign country where I did not understand the language and I was going to be so busy I wasn't going to have time to watch TV.

However, I was rather reluctant to jump back into the fray when I came home. I avoided newspapers, TV news and opinion programs, and most blogs.

I'm finally coming around to "catching up," and what I'm finding is that many bloggers--especially women bloggers--especially women bloggers with children--have also stepped back from political commentary.

The Anchoress, one of my favorite bloggers, commenting on the immigration debate, responded to comments, "One of the reasons I stopped posting on this issue was because people kept going round and round and round, saying the same damn things over and over again. This is still the case. No one is saying anything new on immigration." Frankly, the same could be said of just about all the major issues. Just this weekend, at a local community fair, I was asked if I was interested in signing a petition to impeach President Bush and V.P. Cheney. The woman who asked me was my age. We were looking at some handcrafted jewelry. I was wearing a red shirt with a big black eagle against a yellow sun (it's our Boy Scout troop T-shirt). She was very polite about it, so I very politely answered, "No."

What I felt like saying was, "What has either man done that's an impeachable offense? In sixteen months they will both be out of the White House anyway. And it will take about that long for the dog-and-pony show to conclude if there is any reason to impeach. And if Nancy Pelosi did become President (and steal Mrs. Clinton's place in history as the first woman president), she'd have about four months before the newly elected President took office.

"Oh, and by the way, we're in the middle of a war."

Speaker Pelosi did not get to her position of power by being politically stupid. Being President means you represent the entire country, including the "flyover" states, not just those who belong to MoveOn. And, yes, I think Mrs. Pelosi is smart enough to realize that she wouldn't be able to just govern from the Left.

Basta! as the Italian grandmothers in my home parish would say. Enough! You don't talk business at the dinner table.

Meanwhile, I have smaller, humbler, more immediate concerns. Is DS#1 going to be able to stay focused on his classes while living away from home and on his own? Is DD#2 going to find her passion and go on to a university next fall or is she going to succumb to the lure of making money? Will DS#2 survive his Junior year--especially his English teacher? Will he ever finish the paperwork for Eagle? Will he do well in the SATs and PSATs, especially the writing portion? Will DD#2 survive her Silver Award project? How much reminding should I do? Will she fit in with her new high school classmates, especially since they are in a different income bracket? (DS#2 doesn't mind, but girls can be really nasty about appearances and brand names.) Will Hubs exercise and lose weight? And how much can I nag him about that?

So talk to me when somebody says something new, something different, something thoughtful. Until then I have cell organelles to name, ingredients for s'mores to buy, groceries to stock, lunches to pack, dinners to make.

Meditations on a Beach

Today was Coastal Cleanup Day in California. For the last ten years or so, I've taken my Cub Scout Den or my Girl Scout Troop out to a particular on the bay. It's not too far from our neighborhood; but it's not in town, so there aren't as many volunteers as in other areas. We tend to pick up plenty of garbage--a bag or two per person.

Last year, Junior ROTC groups from San Francisco and Oakland showed up to help. This year, San Francisco no longer offers the JROTC program in its high schools, so there were only the students from Oakland Tech High. But there were several corporate groups: Chevron, whose refinery is nearby, and Starbucks, who provided coffee, hot chocolate, and snacks. More local corporations donated the trash bags and gloves.

DD#2 came with me and we walked along the beach, enjoying the day, commenting on the number of shells littering the beach, especially crab shells. Picking up litter is a boring job, especially plastic bags and containers that crumble in your hands, but that must be picked up so the seagulls and marine life don't think it's food. Plastic grocery bags resemble kelp and jelly fish, so we were especially on the look out for those.

The irony that we were using plastic trash bags didn't escape me.

I had ample time, though, to think about Christian stewardship and Corporate Responsibility and how the two are related. Some would argue that Christian attitudes--particularly Western Christian attitudes--lead to the destruction and desecration of the Earth. Our civilization should take their cues from other cultures, where all life is sacred, not just human. And, yet, these same attitudes have given us the standard of living and the freedoms that we now enjoy.

Not having the wisdom of angels, we mere humans struggle to find the balance between use and abuse, not only with the world of Nature but also in relationships among our fellow humans. The sick need to be cared for but what if they refuse it? The homeless need shelter but what kind? The unemployed need jobs but what if they don't have the skills? Is it always better to teach someone to fish rather than giving them one? What if they don't want to learn how to fish or have no aptitude for it?

Over the years, the idea of what the obligations are of society and its institutions has changed. The park I helped clean is in a prime location--beautiful vistas of the Bay, great weather, a haven for birds, bats, and butterflies. The reason that it wasn't built up with housing is that it was the site of a dynamite manufacturing plant. There had to be a lot of empty space in case of explosions--and there were several. The trees were planted to act as buffer for the shock waves. The company provided housing, as did many of the other refineries and chemical plants located in the area. They provided stores in these remote locations, in an era before chain stores.

The problem, of course, is that once you were no longer employed by the company, you no longer had a home or a way to buy food. This was especially devastating for women whose husbands were killed--they were forced to move out.

The companies got out of the housing and the food markets, selling their homes to their employees first and then to the general market. But where do their employees, especially the young ones, find an affordable place to live? In outlying areas, forcing them to commute in, sometimes from long distances.

Few of those old companies remain and those that have find themselves surrounded by houses and schools instead of empty fields and communities that are as likely to sue them as to be grateful for providing local employment. Chevron, as an oil refining company, is an easy target. They are constantly trying to polish their image: adopting schools, providing mentoring programs for local high school students, donating grants for environmental efforts, encouraging their employees to volunteer in the community.

In other words, acting on those Christian stewardship values that had the Board of Directors followed them from the beginning, would have been so much a part of their corporate culture that I wouldn't notice their effort.

A Plethora of Politicians

I will admit that I am sick of politicians. Nancy, Gavin, Rudy, Fred, Hillary, Barack--their words run together. They are either for the War in Iraq or they're not. Undocumented immigrants are either victims or criminals. Earth is getting hotter or it's not. America is the Savior of the World or it's not. We're in a Health Care Crisis or we're not.

Hubs loves to listen to the Talking Head on Fox and listen to them on the radio. I leave the room.

This summer I had a chance to really talk with a teacher in the trenches. Because she was a first grade teacher, she had 20 kids in her classroom. Of the 20 she started with, three remained in her class at the end of the year. The other 17 were transfers. One of her temporary students was in three different schools in two different school districts during the year. The teacher is fluent in Spanish and was helping a Spanish-speaking parent of a different student fill out some paperwork. She spelled the name of the school, using the Spanish names for the letters. The parent didn't recognize the name for the letter "Y."

How can parents help their children with their homework if the parents can't read?

Another teacher I know, a math teacher at the high school that serves the same area as the first grade teacher, acknowledges the problem. How do you teach geometry to kids who are reading at the third grade level?

And yet, in the Central Valley, children of the Hmong, who have no written language at all, excel. They excel, in part, because their parents realize education is important and because their children work hard so they are not a disgrace to their family and their community.

The teachers I know complain about having to "teach to the test." On the other hand, I've read job applications and interviewed high school graduates whose applications were illegible, misspelled, and incorrect. How do we enforce standards without "teaching to the test"?

The California Teachers Association has begun running ads stressing that academic excellence is a partnership among students, parents, and teachers. Students have to study. Parents have to be involved and make sure their children have a time and place to study where distractions are at a minimum. The ads don't really say what the teacher's job is. I guess that's implied.

Of course, Nancy, Gavin, Rudy, et al, have their theories. Most involve money. Most imply a "one size fits all" solution. But the difficulties facing Hmong students in the Central Valley are different from those faced by Latino students in San Pablo or the African-American kids in Oakland. And these African-American students have different problems than the African-American students in the Mississippi Delta.

And that's just Education. Imagine trying to find--or trying to pretend to find--a "one size" solution for the problems of health care, housing, food, employment.

Assuming, of course, that those areas are problems. Let's face it--if there are no problems, then there is no need for politicians.

Just think: what if we actually had a politician who was willing to stand up and say, "This is your problem, not the government's. It's up to you to solve it."

Previously, I wouldn't have to think about the primary until June. But the State Legislature--who can't seem to figure out how to get a major bridge repaired--have decided that June is too late and that California does not receive its due as the Most Populous State. So they moved the primary election to February. As did several other states. Because they didn't want to be left out, either.

Talk to me after Christmas. Better, after New Year, when I may have time between high school and college finals and before Girl Scout Cookie Sales to pay attention. Assuming, of course, that the politicians have anything serious to say.

Book Review: A Wrinkle in Time

I found a matching three book set in the local thrift store while DD#2 was shopping for school clothes. And I'm a sucker for matched sets. So, even though we must have a couple of copies of this book thanks to school assignments, I bought the set anyway.

And then I read that the author, Madeleine L'Engle, has just died. She was 88. Spooky.

The Murry family is highly unusual. Mother has a double Ph.D in biology and chemistry. Father has Ph.D.s in physics and math. Meg, the oldest and only daughter, has a gift for math, but is a misfit in high school. Her mother is a beauty, while Meg has mousy brown hair, braces, and glasses. She has twin brothers, Dennys and Sandy, who are also smart, but manage to blend in with their peers.

And then there is the baby brother, Charles Wallace. Charles was a late talker, but when he did begin to talk, he spoke in complete sentences. He also can "read" his mother and Meg, understanding their deepest thoughts.

At this point, Father has been missing for about a year. The townspeople whisper about the family. Mother ignores it, but Meg is acutely aware of what is being said about her family.

Charles has befriended three unusual women: Mrs. Who, Mrs. Which, and Mrs. Whatsit. That they are not quite of this world becomes evident the night that they run into Calvin O'Keefe, a popular basketball player at Meg's high school who has family problems of his own. Mrs. Who introduces Meg, Charles, and Calvin to the other two and, as it turns out, they know where Dr. Murry is. And when he is.

Ms. L'Engle manages to pack a lot of information into this relatively short (203 pages in my edition) book. There are quotes from Virgil, Seneca, and other famous people, in their native language and in English. The idea of a tesseract and folding time is introduced, along with the ideas about free will and predestination. And how one's strengths can become weaknesses and how weaknesses can be strengths.

Very dense content for what is often considered a "children's" or "young adult" book!

I think this book is easily "misunderestimated" because the protagonists are children. My children have read this in Middle School at our local parochial school--and I think there are a lot of important ideas to discuss if the teacher isn't inhibited by political correctness or moral relativism. Because this book does discuss Evil--Evil is a tangible, real entity that Meg has to confront on her own. Not because she's brave, but because she is the one who has to. Duty is a concept not discussed much these days.

This is a book for the kids who are science geeks; the kids who are "different" from the rest of the pack. The kids who aren't hip to the latest fads or singers or styles. Kids like I was back in the day. And it's a for the adults who can remember being nerds or closet nerds in Middle or high school. I want to see the relationship between Meg and Calvin develop and find out what happens to Charles Wallace.

On the March Hare scale: 4 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks

Back After This Important Message

I hate it when Real Life interferes with my Cyber Life. Don't you?

Movin' On Out

Last weekend, Hubs and I went down to visit DS#1 at his new apartment in his new college town. I had never seen the campus and we also wanted to pick up the car that he usually drives. DS#1 wanted to see Hearst Castle in San Simeon, now a State Park, which none of us had ever visited.

I remembered to bring the camera.


This is the entrance to campus. It's one block from his apartment. The College of Engineering is about a half mile up the road. Which is why he chose this particular apartment.















This is the large guest house at Hearst Castle. It's 2400 square feet, which is larger than my house. It's the same size as the Reception Room at the main house.

Life as a media mogul/ politician/ businessman/ movie magnate/ rancher was very tough, indeed.

William Randolf Hearst lived at the "ranch," as he called it, most of the year. He kept tabs on his empire by telephone and by having daily editions of his newspapers flown in to his private airstrip every day. He was probably the first telecommuter.


I found myself most fascinated by the statuary that is all over the gardens, the pools, the houses. Mr. Hearst collected many objects d'art and told his architect, Julia Morgan, to find a place for them. Choir stalls from ancient churches in Spain are used as paneling. Flemish tapestries hang on the walls. Persian tiles are set in the walls.

The buildings are made of reinforced concrete and anchored in bedrock to be seismically safe--a radical innovation in the 1930's and '40's when the castle was built.

And if he didn't like the way something looked, he ordered Ms. Morgan to tear it out and rebuild it.






But because we were in a college town, we went from the sublime to the ridiculous.

This is Bubble Gum Alley. Generations of students have plastered their gum on these walls. (There was a reference to 1967.) There are fish made of bubble gum, words, symbols, bubble gum wrappers stuck on the wall with gum. Kind of neat in a gross sort of way.




And then on the way home, there was a fire in the hills just south of San Jose. It started in a state park and it's still burning. In fact, by Monday evening I could smell the smoke as I left work. The sun is red in the morning because of all the haze.

Golden brown hills are the norm during the summer. The fire danger is always high, especially with the warm, dry winds. Summer fires, earthquakes, fog, and winter floods are facts of life out here.

We also went to visit the local mission (this is California, after all--there are 21 missions in the state). This mission is still an active parish church, so I whispered a reminder to Hubs to take off his hat. As we walked down the center aisle, I commented on some of the art work.

DS#1, "Why are you whispering? It's not like we're in church."

Me, "Yes, this still is a church."

DS#1, "How can you tell?"

Me, "See the tabernacle and the light in front of it?"

DS#1, "Oh!"

He also noticed the microphones hanging from the ceiling in what must be the area for the choir. The mission has a gift shop (of course) and a museum near the entrance, so we looked over the artifacts, from baskets and arrowheads to altar vestments from Spain. And even pictures from the present: First Communions and blessings and fiestas. The despairing parent in me thinks this might be the only time DS#1 actually sets foot in this church, but, on the other hand, he didn't do his familiar anti-Catholic/anti-religion rant. So maybe--maybe--there's a tiny mustard seed of faith inside.

DS#1 was sad to see us go, but I think he was more sorry to lose the car. Freedom and mobility are synonymous in his mind and now he's limited to where he can walk, ride his bike, or take a bus. The train station is within walking distance and it's about a five hour ride to the Bay Area. Classes don't start for another week and right now he's bored--no TV and the local night life has limited options. Once class starts, he'll be too busy to notice!

What Happens When the Smog Lifts in So. Cal?

...UCLA!

I was reminded of this very old Cal joke when I flew into LAX (Los Angeles International Airport) this afternoon. Today was so clear that I could see the mountains that ring the Los Angeles basin--and which often trap the smog that then obscures their view.

I always request a window seat on the landward side of the plane when I can. I enjoy watching the landscape below, trying to recognize landmarks from this unfamiliar perspective and determine where I am. And I am always amazed at how much open space there actually is in California.

You wouldn't think so, driving around the greater metropolitan areas near San Francisco or Los Angeles. But much of the center of the state (and much of the north) is farmland or undeveloped. Some of the mountainous regions--and there are several besides the Sierra Nevadas--are unsuitable. Some are protected.

I thought about bringing a camera but didn't want the hassle of having to remove a fourth electronic device from my bag, turning it on, sending it through Security Screening, reclaiming it, turning it off, and repacking it along with putting my shoes back on and repacking my one-quart ziploc bag of toiletries.

And then there was the approach. Rows upon rows of tract homes, as far as I could see. All with generous and green front lawns. Some had swimming pools, but not many in this neighborhood. This neighborhood looked so familiar--and then I realized I had seen it in countless TV shows, though seldom identified as Los Angeles. We came in over parking lots and I wondered what the damage would be if a plane landed short of the runway, on top of all those cars.

The irony of a flight between San Francisco and Los Angeles is that it often takes longer to get from the airport to your destination in the city than the actual flight time. Today was no exception. Because this is a quick business trip, I'm not able to do any sightseeing. Just what I can see from windows as I roll by...

Satisfying a TechnoGeek's Lust

We've had quite a few technical upgrades this summer here at the Warren, mostly due to critical failures on the part of what had been fairly reliable, if outdated, hardware. And once outdated hardware starts to go, there's no fixing it.

The failures started with my PDA, a Handspring Visor Deluxe. Based on the entries in the Calendar, I've had my Visor for 8 years. It did what I needed it to do--mostly keep track of things like phone numbers, addresses, appointments, birthdays, and such. But then the cradle, which synched the Visor to Outlook on my computer, became temperamental. I would fuss with the connections until the Visor finally would relent and synch. This is critical, as I am the Keeper of the Calendar in our family. I use the "Invite Attendees" feature on Outlook to send copies of Important Dates to Hubs' computer at work, his Outlook at home, my computer at work, the children who Need to Know, and my PDA--which I carry everywhere with me and refer to as "my spare brain." If one part of this process breaks down, chaos ensues. So a balky Visor just would not do.

However, DS#1 had the brilliant idea that my Visor should be replaced with a Tablet PC. Not only could I keep track of the family's schedules, but I could use it to take notes at all my different meetings. I could send e-mails. I could quit bugging him when he was in the middle of the game and I needed to use the computer he was on.

I am delighted with my Tablet PC. It's small. DS#1 set up a wireless network at home so I can connect to the Internet from any room in our house--even the backyard. I can even print remotely. (There's nothing like starting a print job from upstairs and startling the person sitting in front of the computer next to the printer. We all have done it and we all get a kick out of it. It's so juvenile, so petty, so perverse. And, therefore, so much fun!) The problem is, of course, that the Tablet does not fit into my purse and is a tad cumbersome. I still needed a PDA.

But DD#2 needed a camera for Japan. Hubs suggested we send her with disposables, but I pointed out that, first of all, she would need a lot of them, and, secondly, we sent the other kids off to Japan with decent cameras. We had one film camera that was bought for DS#2's trip to Japan and one digital. I found my old Pentax K-1000, still in working order (there's much to be said for simplicity and a metal body), that I was more than happy to use. The solution was obvious, I thought: buy another digital camera for DD#2. So we did. It's actually the newest upgrade to the digital we currently owned, with a few more bells and whistles. But the software to download pictures is the same and the new camera fits on the docking station. Then DS#2 actually found a 2GB card, lying on ground at his high school campus. So he took the 2GB card for his camera and gave DD#2 the 512MB card for hers.

Everyone was happy. The time came to make photo albums of our families and friends to share with our Japanese families. The scanner died. Which meant the printer wouldn't work. With three days to go before DD#2 and I left, I did not have time to do much comparison shopping or to go online. Off we went to the local Electronics Store. Found a printer/scanner/copier on sale. Bought it. Brought it home. Set it up. Uninstalled it and set it up the correct way (it's amazing what happens when you follow the directions!). The printer worked fine. The scanner and the copier worked as long as we wanted solid black images. Uninstalled and reinstalled the driver yet again. Checked all the troubleshooting sites. We (meaning Hubs and I) ended up going back to the Electronics Store where the Professional Troubleshooter there confirmed that, yes, Something Was Wrong With The Printer. We picked up another one and had the PT check it out before we left the store.

Photos were scanned and copied, business cards were printed, and we were Off to Japan. I left the Tablet PC at home because I figured it would be more hassle than it was worth and I didn't want to risk having it broken or lost or stolen. I did bring the Temperamental PDA because it did have all the addressses and such I needed. It also has a World Clock function, so I could keep track of the time both in Japan and back home.

Shortly after Hubs and DS#2 returned from Japan, I sat down at the PC I normally use and discovered the monitor wasn't working. I checked the connections and rebooted. When it still didn't work, I concluded it was broken. When I mentioned it, DD#2 said, "Oh, yeah. DD#1 said she thought it was broken a couple of days ago."

Oh. On his way home from work, Hubs stopped by the Electronics Store and picked up a new monitor because with school starting soon, we're going to need to have both computers running. DS#2 saw the new monitor and figured it was perfect for his gaming needs. So he plugged the new monitor into the computer with the souped-up graphics card and put the working monitor on the computer that does everything else quite well, thankyouverymuch.

However, while he was buying the new monitor, Hubs saw the digital picture frames. And he bought one. "For you, dear," he said.

"That's nice," I said. "Why?"

"So you can load your pictures from Japan on it and put it on your desk at work."

"Oh." Pause. "But I don't have room for the frame on my desk at work. I would just put the pictures on my computer and have it as a slideshow."

"Oh."

"Why don't you take it to work?"

"But I bought it for you!"

The frame sat for a couple of days. I figured we could always set it up and give it to Hubs' parents. But then Hubs brought it up again.

"What you really need is an iPod so you can carry your pictures around with you." Turns out one of the other Boy Scout leaders brought an iPod to Japan and regularly downloaded the pictures from his camera to his iPod, thus freeing space on his camera. Hubs was quite impressed with that idea.

However, I am on a quest to simplify my life (although you'd never know it looking at my house) and I'm starting with my purse. An iPod is nice. A PDA that lets me download pictures and music would be even better. A cell phone that is also a PDA and that lets me download pictures and music is the Holy Grail. Except that Holy Grails are not cheap.

Back to the Electronics Store to return the digital picture frame and to see what I can find that is the Next Best Thing to the Holy Grail that's in our price range.

I ended up with a Palm Tungsten E2. Bought a 2GB memory card for it because you can never have too much memory. Once home, proceeded to charge it, per the instructions, and then tried to install the software. Got an error message. Discovered that this particular Palm product does not support the Tablet PC version of Windows XP. Oh. Tried again on a different computer. Same error message. Went online to download the installation software, in case the problem was with the CD. Same error message. Went to the troubleshooting site and found someone who was having the same problem, but no solution was listed. E-mailed Customer Support and went to bed.

When I came home from work, there was a message from Janice in CS. I had to completely uninstall the old version of Palm OS (the version that came with my Handspring Visor), and then install the new version. And wonder of wonders, it worked. In fact, after I uninstalled the old Palm OS from my Tablet PC, the new version installed on it and I was able to synch with my Tablet PC as well as with my stand alone. However, it would not recognize the 2GB card.

Discovery #2: Palm Tungsten E2 does not recognize cards over 1GB.

Not to worry--I took the 512MB chip from DD#2's camera and swapped it with the 2GB card. PDA recognizes the smaller chip; DD#2 can now take some absurdly huge amount of pictures.

I told Hubs and he said, "You can do that? The cards are interchangeable?"

Ah, the marvels of modern technology.

DD#2 wants to use my old Visor. She doesn't care if it synchs or not.

I haven't downloaded any pictures yet or music or e-books, even though I can. I have downloaded several other features and I'm amazed at how quickly the memory filled. And I'm not using it to download e-mail or to connect wirelessly to the Internet. I'm also amazed that it didn't come with a better case. Fortunately, it fits in the case that came with the Visor.

But what good are portable TechnoToys if you don't have a way to carry them? TechnoToys need a TechnoCase--especially because I was going on a business trip. And my everyday briefcase was not up to the task. So I have a sleek new briefcase with pockets specially designed to carry the Tablet PC, the PDA, and the cell phone, as well as the papers and folder I need. As this is an overnight trip, I don't need much in the way of clothing--my TechnoToys weigh more than my overnight bag!

Book Review: Lisey's Story

I bought this book because it was paperback, long (653 pages), and by an author whose work I know I like (Stephen King). In other words, it was perfect for a trip that involved sitting in an airplane for 19 hours, plus assorted time riding on trains, subways, and general waiting-around. And if I inadvertently left it behind somewhere, my heart would not be broken.

What I rediscovered is that Stephen King may be weak on his endings, but he absolutely nails everyday life. He's been married to the same woman (novelist Tabitha King) for a long time and it really shows in this book. He nails the quirks of a long-married couple: the special vocabulary couples develop over time, the shared memories, the knowing what will make the other person laugh.

Lisey (rhymes with "CC") Landon is the widow of Scott Landon, a best-selling novelist who died too young. Two years have passed and Lisey is finally ready--she thinks--to go through Scott's papers in his study.

Lisey's oldest sister, Amanda, shows up to help. Amanda has a tenuous relationship with reality and Lisey is concerned that her sister might be going over the edge because Amanda's long-time boyfriend has come back to town with a new wife. At the end of the day, Amanda hands Lisey a list of all the articles where Lisey is mentioned or where there is a photo of her and Scott. This simple act causes Lisey to start going through the wall of books and journals and discovers a newspaper clipping with a note in Scott's handwriting: Must show Lisey! How she will LAUGH. But will she understand? (Our survey says YES) To the best of her memory, Scott never showed this to Lisey. It's a picture of a police officer and a startled looking young man. And the heel of Lisey's loafer, leaving the frame.

This picture brings back memories that Lisey would rather not recall. Memories about Scott's near death and how, that time, she was able to call him back. Memories about the dark areas of Scott's soul that she would rather not remember, but that were essential to his genius.

Scott Landon, it turns out, is a complicated man with a complicated family history. And he understood Amanda's pain, better than any of her sisters could.

Add to the mix university professors who are drooling over what might be revealed about Scott's writings if only they were allowed access to his papers. But Lisey is the executor and Lisey will release them when she is ready. One person, however, is not willing to wait.

To save herself, and to save Amanda, Lisey must confront Scott's demons. The clues are buried in the past, in her relationship with Scott. Does she have the strength to face her memories?

Mr. King writes beautifully about the relationship between husband and wife, about the relationships among sisters (he credits watching Tabitha and her sisters), and about the dark place where stories are sometimes born. He writes about the complicated relationship and love a dysfunctional family can have for each other. He is eloquent about literature and the relationship readers have with authors. In fact, the only part where he falters is near the end when Lisey finally has to confront Evil.

I'm not surprised and only slightly disappointed. Evil and Wickedness imagined is much more powerful than Evil and Wickedness named. I've always found Mr. King's visions much more horrifying when they were abstract than when they finally became concrete.

But until then, and in the denouement, what a glorious ride!

On the March Hare scale: 4 out 5 Golden Bookmarks

While I Was Gone...

One of the advantages to being on vacation in a foreign country is that you can't understand the news--or much of it. The other is that they are concerned with local politics and, other than the actual President of the United States, don't spend much time with the rest. So I didn't see or hear much about Hillary, Obama, Mitt, Rudy, John, Mike, Fred, and Dennis.

Besides, there was a major election going on--the party of the current Prime Minister was struggling to retain their power in the Diet.

They did cover the trapped miners and the collapsed bridge in Minnesota.

Brings a new perspective to what is truly important.

I find myself reluctant to rejoin the fray. I haven't read many of the political blogs or websites that I used to. I don't know whose ahead in the polls or what President Bush's approval rating is or what the current body count is for American soldiers in Iraq. I know I can find out. If I want to. If I need to.

The only thing I really wanted to know about when I got home is if Barry Bonds broke Hank Aaron's home run record. Only because it's a very local story to me.

Speaking of baseball, one of the best gifts I brought to Japan were copies of pictures I took of some American League players during the All-Star Parade for one of the leaders who is a real baseball fan. And the All-Star shirt that included Ichiro and Alex Rodriguez.

Sometimes the simplest things bring the most pleasure.

Japan

Japan is an interesting mix of ancient and modern. Everyone has a cell phone. Everyone's cell phone can take pictures and video and access the Internet. In fact, according to our tour guide, many Japanese teens have two cell phones: one number for mom and dad and the other for friends.

However, Japanese housewives still prefer to hang their laundry out to dry. Nearly every house, condo, townhouse, and apartment has a balcony. And laundry or futons or tatami mats hanging in the "fresh" air (how fresh can the air be next to a freeway in Tokyo?).

The best part of the trip was staying with Japanese Girl Scout families in the Osaka area. We were there for nine days, including two days of camping. Two of us leaders stayed with a Japanese leader I've had the pleasure of meeting when the Japaneses Girl Scouts came to the U.S. Her English is very good--unless I talk too fast (which I have a tendency to do when I get on a roll). We had some interesting discussions, especially over beer at the end of the day. Many of the problems we have here in the U.S. are also in Japan. They have homeless who sleep in public parks during the day and live in shelters made of blue tarp under bridges and overpasses. Students are apathetic about their studies, preferring to spend their time shopping and texting each other. They are ignorant of history, due in part to the American Occupation of Japan, when Japanese history was suppressed as being "too militant." We didn't discuss WWII much, but her perspective was a surprise to me--Japan liberated Southeast Asia from the colonial (European) powers. I wish we had more time to discuss this.

At the Edo Museum in Tokyo (I needed a whole lot more time there!), there was a whole section about WWII and the postwar Occupation. Again, I was fascinated by the opportunity to see a familiar event through the lens of the "other side." The exhibit also included the Articles of Surrender, signed by General Douglas MacArthur and Emperor Hirohito. Someday scholars will study WWII dispassionately--but we're not there yet.

The weather was hot and humid. Very hot and humid. My feet and ankles were swollen for most of the trip. I learned to carry a bottle of water and a small wash cloth with me. Except for ice cream, the Japanese do not eat on the sidewalks. Nor did we see them chugging from water bottles. That rule we violated, but the girls were very good about not eating in public.

I made it to the top of Mt. Fuji. The Japanese have a saying, "A wise man climbs Fuji once. A foolish man climbs it twice." Yep. It's an endurance test: both ascending and descending. My legs were sore for a week--which made using a squat toilet a challenge--and I ended up losing the toenails from both big toes. I ended up wearing my sandals most of the time, including the trip home. I can check Mt. Fuji from my Life List of Things I Want to Do.

Hubs and DS#2 climbed Mt. Fuji a week later--during a typhoon. Hubs didn't make it to the top, but DS#2 did (for the second time. But at 17, you're allowed to be foolish!).

The food was incredible. The peaches were extraordinary: huge & juicy. But the Japanese peel them and slice them. They also peel their grapes, which we found to be just like the red and the Flame grapes we get here in California. The local specialty is "takoyaki"- octopus, green onion, and cheese baked in batter--served with mayonnaise, a special sauce, and seaweed bits that move and curl. I like octopus and squid, but some of the girls heard the word "tako" and thought "taco." Oops. Every good household in Osaka has a takoyaki maker, which looks kind of like a waffle iron, only with small circular impressions so the batter bakes into a ball.

And since we were visitors, we were excuses for parties and dinners and barbecues. Many of the women involved were themselves part of the Exchange twenty and thirty years ago. I met DS#2's Japanese "mom" and discovered that she had met a friend of mine and the aunt of one of our girls during her exchange trip. (My Girl Scout friends here are some how less surprised by this than I was!) DD#2 and I met DD#1's Japanese family and reunited with the young woman who stayed with us in 2001. She's a mom now, with a daughter and a son. I had hoped we would see her, so I had brought a board book about San Francisco--"so they will be ready when it's their turn to come!"

We were invited back, with or without the Scouts. :) There is so much I still want to see: the National Museum in Kyoto, Kobe, Osaka Castle, Hiroshima, Miyajima. The best weather is in the autumn, when the leaves turn color. My host family has a home in the mountains and would love to take us hiking there. (And they promise me it's considerably cooler!) Their daughter saw my pictures of the Embarcadero Center lit up for Christmas and the fact the weather is so mild--she wants to come here then! (Of course, we'd love to have her.)

We had a grand send-off at Kansai International Airport. Many of the families came to see us off. After we checked in our luggage, we formed a huge Friendship Circle in the lobby, sang a couple of songs, cried a few tears, exchanged the last few gifts and pictures, took a couple of more group photos, promised to keep in touch, and encouraged them to come visit us in two years.

I can't wait!

Back in the U.S.A.

Actually, we've been back about two weeks. The first week I spent catching up at work: not too bad; apparently it was rather slow. Only one report didn't get sent out, which I took care of. Fortunately, the customer is not too demanding. I also spent that week catching up at home: unbelievable! And not in a good way.

DS#1 moved most of his stuff to his new apartment but left behind notes on the message board of what items he still needs. One of the items was socks. Now socks are a sore subject with me because unwashed socks are plentiful in this house. Clean socks neatly stowed in drawers are, in fact, scarce. But tackling the socks issue meant going into The Boys' Room.

Cue spooky music.

After doing three loads of just towels found in their room, I then washed everything that was red. It's our Boy Scout troop's color, so we have an abundance of red t-shirts, red-sweatshirts, and red jackets. That eliminated about 60% of the detrius on their floor. It was time to go sock-hunting.

I drew the line at actually going underneath the bunk bed. I did search the gap between the bed and the wall. I found, in addition to men's socks, some women's socks, and a pair of my pants that have been missing for six months and that all four kids swore was not in their room.

Now everybody has socks. DS#2 has more t-shirts than he can use. My plan was to finish and fold all the laundry in the room before Hubs and DS#2 came back, but they returned on Friday and not on Sunday as I had originally thought.

Not that The Boys' Room was the only room to get that treatments. I also went through the clothes scattered on the floor of The Parents' Room. Among other things, including socks, I found Hubs' swim trunks--all three pairs! I also found one of the legs of his cargo pants that zip off.

And then there was the kitchen... Neither DS#1 nor DD#1 felt the need to run the dishwasher. Their excuse? They weren't home much.

However, the house was still standing, all automobiles were in operating condition, and the neighbors haven't mentioned anything.

DD#1 started classes at the local community college. DD#2 registered for classes and made some friends at Freshman Orientation (she's the only one from her parochial school attending this high school). DS#2 is already sweating about his English teacher. DS#1 is home for the weekend because he's bored--classes haven't started and he doesn't know anyone in town yet.

We've also gone clothes shopping. DS#2 was done in 30 minutes. DD#2 took much longer. Thank goodness there was a Home Depot nearby.

Life is settling back into September routines. We're trying to enjoy these last few days as well as prepare for the coming onslaught.

How many shopping days until Christmas?