I arrived at the reunion with my jumping and lurching stomach attempting a violent and twisted escape from my body. My shaking and sweaty hands reluctantly opened the car door. The husband had to drag me in. “This totally sucks,” I muttered under my breath. “What was I thinking? I never should have come.”
Then Barbie said hello to me. Such a simple thing. Saying hello. But it made all the difference in the world. I was still nervous. There definitely were people I didn’t recognize. There were people who didn’t recognize me. But, somehow, it became fun. Everyone was in the same boat. As the weekend went on and I gained more and more courage to speak to my classmates, I became aware that certain reunion moments and circumstances stood out more than others. It was during this microcosm of life that is the class reunion, that I ended up learning a few valuable reunion lessons, and really, perhaps, even life lessons, that form the basis of my fabulous reunion memories.
The Top 15 Ways to Make an Impression at Your Class Reunion
1. Having 6 kids, 2 step kids and 87 animals will most certainly make an impression at a reunion. Your classmates will wonder in awe how in the heck you had the time and the energy to even show up at the reunion after raising all those kids and animals. Some of us still struggle to just get ourselves out of bed in the morning. Wow.
2. Thongs and cleavage and piercings, oh my! Flash your thong underwear to your classmates, show up in a cleavage baring dress that your husband picked out or arrive at the reunion with a nose ring that you didn’t have in high school and your classmates will most definitely be whispering behind your back. And if you surreptitously adjust your adjustable push up bra to the highest level while speaking to your second grade crush, you are guaranteed to start a furor. It won't all be negative gossip, however. Some of us are a bit jealous we don't look like that in a thong or have the guts to pierce something other than our ears.
3. Dance on the table at the banquet and not only will you make an impression on your former classmates but you will earn a mention in this blog as well.
4. If your head looks different than it did in high school people may not recognize you immediately. Your classmates will stand across the room for a long time, casually glancing in your direction, wondering who that is with the shocking red hair. They will make desperate stabbing guesses at who is hiding underneath that bushy facial hair. There will be hushed, critical conjecture as to who in the class had a nose that was that perfectly sculpted and a forehead that didn’t move. Someone will eventually get up enough nerve to ask you your name. Be prepared for looks of shock and disbelief followed by cries of, “No way!”
5. Hold a thoughtful conversation with someone outside of your permitted and expected social circle from high school. At least one of you will walk away shocked, mumbling the words, “She never spoke to me once in high school. Hmmmm……”
6. Exchange furtive glances, subtle touches and personal phone numbers with another classmate and the entire class will know about it within 10 minutes. Gossip travels quickly.
7. Announce to a conservative, religious, Republican classmate that you thoroughly enjoy your new stem cell research job more than your last job at the abortion clinic. Or ask the liberal, environmentalist in the class to help you release all of the latex party balloons into the sky as you tell him all about how you would vote for Bush a third time if you could.
8. Be a jerk to a classmate when you are 8 or 13 or 16 years old. Some people don’t forget. Some people never move on. Some grudges are held for a lifetime. If you find someone giving you the cold shoulder at the reunion, ask yourself if you were unkind to them in 5th grade.
9. Make sure your kid knocks down a few other kids at the class picnic soccer game. If your kid appears to be an insensitive, aggressive bully it will most certainly make an impression on your classmates.
10. Be confident. Confidence is attractive and will be noticed. Whether it be the local radio celebrity or the wheelchair ridden, handicapped advocate, classmates with confidence in who they are stand out.
11. Become responsible. Men, who in high school, couldn’t dress themselves, find their homework, or speak in complete sentences have somehow turned into fabulous husbands and fathers who have no problem holding down a job, changing a diaper or cooking dinner for their wife. This shocks and amazes us all.
12. Live far away. If you travel a great distance to come to the reunion, you will be treated like an exotic celebrity who has an unusual but admirable dedication to your classmates. It helps to have acquired the local accent as well.
13. Overcome a health crisis. This scares us all. We don’t know if we’ll be next. We don’t know if we could do what you have done. You have the respect of everyone.
14. Be on the reunion committee. It is the ultimate thankless job. No one knows how much work it takes to pull off a successful reunion. Almost no one will recognize you for all of your hard work. But people will have a great time. People will enjoy themselves. My reunion was a huge success because of the reunion committee. Thank you.
15. Don’t come. The easiest way to make an impression at your class reunion is to not come at all. It will guarantee days or even weeks of speculation as to why you weren’t there. Your name will be Googled. Websites will be searched. Rumors will start. Before long, your real reason for not coming will pale greatly in comparison to the one created by your nosy, imaginative and curious classmates.
Almost every single person who showed up at my reunion had some issue that made them question whether or not they should go. Somehow though, we all found a way to walk in the door, even if we had to be drug in by the husband. As a result, our reunion was full of people with low self esteem, grey hair, and a few extra pounds. There were people who still looked exactly the same as they did in high school. We saw others with sun damage and wrinkles and age spots. We visited with people who are wealthier than most of us can imagine. There were even a few people that were absolutely, totally hot. We spoke with single mothers, recovering alcoholics and the passionately religious. We compared our adoptions and miscarriages and anti-depressant medications. We were introduced to our classmates’ partners. We saw children with mohawks. We found out someone was a grandparent. We saw classmates who live all over the country and classmates who live 2 blocks from the high school. Our reunion was full of people who brought their old photo albums, shared their story of diving at the Great Barrier Reef, and were able to laugh at their obnoxious ex-husband. What made our reunion great was the people who took a risk, ignored their nerves and walked through the door anyway. They shared their stories with old friends and acquaintances, found things in common with people they had never spoken to before in their lives and maybe even made a new connection or two.
I cannot even begin to guess where the next five or ten years will take us. I can only hope that when the next reunion comes around even more classmates will ignore their nerves and walk through that door--you won’t regret it. So to all my fellow reunion-ites--consider this the first notice for the next reunion. It should give you plenty of time to lose those last couple of pounds, get that MBA and find some inner peace. Then there will be no excuse as to why you can’t come. See you there!
Check This Out!
Definitely rent the movie Goal! The Dream Begins starring Kuno Becker. It's a wonderful rags to riches soccer story. It has great footage and is quite inspirational. Rent it now though, because Goal II: Living the Dream hits theaters in September.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Reunion Ready
“I’m not going and you can’t make me.”
“Come on. You have to go. It’ll be fun.”
“It won’t be fun. I will be uncomfortable the whole time. You know I’m going to revert to my shy self, stand in the corner all night long and no one will talk to me. None of those people will even remember me. Most of them didn’t even know me back then and I’m sure they have nothing to say to me now. Besides… I’m too fat.”
“You are not fat.”
“I am fat. I’m certainly not hot. I wish I could go back totally hot.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I am not being ridiculous……..by the way, how long does it take to get an MBA?”
I am going to my high school reunion this week. My high school experience was perfectly enjoyable and relatively free of traumatic experiences. Yet, despite the positive memories, I find myself dealing with a few disconcerting reunion related issues.
I received the reunion notice months ago. I was sure it was just the impetus I needed to lose those last 5 or even 10 pounds. I now find myself 4 days before the reunion having gained another 5 pounds instead of having lost the 5 I had hoped to! Stupid Taco Bell Value Menu. Not wanting to spend too much money, I decided to wear an old, favorite dress from the back of my closet to the reunion. I was most frustrated and disappointed when my family pointed out that it was the exact same dress I had worn to the previous reunion. I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, are you? I bet no one would even notice. The dress and shoes I did eventually end up buying, both from the clearance rack, together cost the same amount as the “Sensational Shaper” girdle I bought to wear underneath. As long as I don’t have to eat or breathe, I think the outfit will work out well.
I tried filling out the questionnaire for the reunion booklet and froze. The only thing I could think of writing was, “Things are fine. I’m pretty happy.” I left many questions blank. I even began to wonder what the heck I was going to talk about when I got to the reunion. The way I was going, I could see myself bragging at the banquet about how I was thrilled to have gotten all my laundry done that day. Reunions have their own special language and unspoken expectations. I was failing miserably at the proper reunion marketing of myself. It helps to have something about your life that makes you stand out, makes you memorable. I haven’t lived in Italy or had 12 kids or started my own internet company. I’m not an actor, I haven’t been in jail and I’ve never been bungee jumping in the Grand Canyon. My average, suburban life was not nearly unusual enough or exciting enough or successful enough to make a proper, positive reunion impression on any of my former classmates.
Not only did I have expectations and hopes of how I would look at my reunion, but I also had a desire to have something in my life that made me special. I wanted something to make me stand out. At a minimum I wanted a size 6 dress, flat abs and a fabulous answer to the question, “So, what have you been up to?” It was obvious to me that I needed to do a little last minute work to become reunion ready. So I made a list of what I need to accomplish in the next 4 days before my reunion.
Reunion To Do List
1. Pluck out the 43 gray hairs on the front of my hairline. 2. Cover up my farmer’s tan with self tanner. 3. Sign up for an online, extremely accelerated MBA program. 4. Purchase alumnus car sticker from said school. 5. Rent a Prius…or maybe a Hummer. I do need to decide what impression I want to make. 6. Fast all week. 7. Get on the board of a charity. 8. Overcome an unfortunate health obstacle with the support of my loving and beautiful family. 9. Travel to Tibet to discover some resemblance of inner peace. 10. Meet someone famous. 11. Figure out how to casually mention this famous meeting in any conversation. 12. Become fluent in a second language. 13. Backpack somewhere for a year. 14. Run a marathon. 15. Buy a big bottle of the anti-wrinkle/anti-zit miracle potion I saw on that infomercial.
As I thought about my list I came to realize how superficial and unrealistic it was. It wasn’t me. But was it even a possibility that I could attend my reunion as………just plain me? Just average, normal, boring me? Faults and all? A little chubby, a little less successful than I rightfully should be? A little less wealthy than I want to be? Nobody would be impressed. Nobody would talk about me later. I wouldn’t be reunion famous.
And then it hit me. That’s exactly what I hope to find when I get there. I want my fellow classmates to come as exactly who they are-faults and all. It really doesn’t matter much to me if they are rich or fat or bald or famous. I’m more interested in what kind of people they turned out to be. I’m interested in their life story-the good and the bad. We’ve all had successes and high points. We’ve all had struggles and hardship. We’re guaranteed to have that in common. I’ll be going to the reunion to hear about the things in life that make my classmates happy and content. I’ll be going to the reunion to commiserate about the things that have made them sad and disappointed. Our life’s journey started at the same place many years ago. I want to hear what happened next.
So to all my fellow reunion-ites: we spent four years together at the same high school, in the same town. We cruised the same street. We spent time at the same river. We liked and disliked the same teachers. We cheered the same sports team. We worked in the same fields during the summer. We wore the same green and white. I look forward to seeing you, faults and all, and look forward to hearing where our common experiences have taken you since. Please come up and say hi to me, in case I revert to my old shy self. You will be able to find me at the head of the buffet line. I’ll be quite hungry since I’ve been fasting all week.
In Memory
Mira the cat
August 1990- July 2007
“Come on. You have to go. It’ll be fun.”
“It won’t be fun. I will be uncomfortable the whole time. You know I’m going to revert to my shy self, stand in the corner all night long and no one will talk to me. None of those people will even remember me. Most of them didn’t even know me back then and I’m sure they have nothing to say to me now. Besides… I’m too fat.”
“You are not fat.”
“I am fat. I’m certainly not hot. I wish I could go back totally hot.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I am not being ridiculous……..by the way, how long does it take to get an MBA?”
I am going to my high school reunion this week. My high school experience was perfectly enjoyable and relatively free of traumatic experiences. Yet, despite the positive memories, I find myself dealing with a few disconcerting reunion related issues.
I received the reunion notice months ago. I was sure it was just the impetus I needed to lose those last 5 or even 10 pounds. I now find myself 4 days before the reunion having gained another 5 pounds instead of having lost the 5 I had hoped to! Stupid Taco Bell Value Menu. Not wanting to spend too much money, I decided to wear an old, favorite dress from the back of my closet to the reunion. I was most frustrated and disappointed when my family pointed out that it was the exact same dress I had worn to the previous reunion. I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, are you? I bet no one would even notice. The dress and shoes I did eventually end up buying, both from the clearance rack, together cost the same amount as the “Sensational Shaper” girdle I bought to wear underneath. As long as I don’t have to eat or breathe, I think the outfit will work out well.
I tried filling out the questionnaire for the reunion booklet and froze. The only thing I could think of writing was, “Things are fine. I’m pretty happy.” I left many questions blank. I even began to wonder what the heck I was going to talk about when I got to the reunion. The way I was going, I could see myself bragging at the banquet about how I was thrilled to have gotten all my laundry done that day. Reunions have their own special language and unspoken expectations. I was failing miserably at the proper reunion marketing of myself. It helps to have something about your life that makes you stand out, makes you memorable. I haven’t lived in Italy or had 12 kids or started my own internet company. I’m not an actor, I haven’t been in jail and I’ve never been bungee jumping in the Grand Canyon. My average, suburban life was not nearly unusual enough or exciting enough or successful enough to make a proper, positive reunion impression on any of my former classmates.
Not only did I have expectations and hopes of how I would look at my reunion, but I also had a desire to have something in my life that made me special. I wanted something to make me stand out. At a minimum I wanted a size 6 dress, flat abs and a fabulous answer to the question, “So, what have you been up to?” It was obvious to me that I needed to do a little last minute work to become reunion ready. So I made a list of what I need to accomplish in the next 4 days before my reunion.
Reunion To Do List
1. Pluck out the 43 gray hairs on the front of my hairline. 2. Cover up my farmer’s tan with self tanner. 3. Sign up for an online, extremely accelerated MBA program. 4. Purchase alumnus car sticker from said school. 5. Rent a Prius…or maybe a Hummer. I do need to decide what impression I want to make. 6. Fast all week. 7. Get on the board of a charity. 8. Overcome an unfortunate health obstacle with the support of my loving and beautiful family. 9. Travel to Tibet to discover some resemblance of inner peace. 10. Meet someone famous. 11. Figure out how to casually mention this famous meeting in any conversation. 12. Become fluent in a second language. 13. Backpack somewhere for a year. 14. Run a marathon. 15. Buy a big bottle of the anti-wrinkle/anti-zit miracle potion I saw on that infomercial.
As I thought about my list I came to realize how superficial and unrealistic it was. It wasn’t me. But was it even a possibility that I could attend my reunion as………just plain me? Just average, normal, boring me? Faults and all? A little chubby, a little less successful than I rightfully should be? A little less wealthy than I want to be? Nobody would be impressed. Nobody would talk about me later. I wouldn’t be reunion famous.
And then it hit me. That’s exactly what I hope to find when I get there. I want my fellow classmates to come as exactly who they are-faults and all. It really doesn’t matter much to me if they are rich or fat or bald or famous. I’m more interested in what kind of people they turned out to be. I’m interested in their life story-the good and the bad. We’ve all had successes and high points. We’ve all had struggles and hardship. We’re guaranteed to have that in common. I’ll be going to the reunion to hear about the things in life that make my classmates happy and content. I’ll be going to the reunion to commiserate about the things that have made them sad and disappointed. Our life’s journey started at the same place many years ago. I want to hear what happened next.
So to all my fellow reunion-ites: we spent four years together at the same high school, in the same town. We cruised the same street. We spent time at the same river. We liked and disliked the same teachers. We cheered the same sports team. We worked in the same fields during the summer. We wore the same green and white. I look forward to seeing you, faults and all, and look forward to hearing where our common experiences have taken you since. Please come up and say hi to me, in case I revert to my old shy self. You will be able to find me at the head of the buffet line. I’ll be quite hungry since I’ve been fasting all week.
In Memory
Mira the cat
August 1990- July 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Terror on a Mini Spare
I can feel my heart pounding inside my chest. My sweaty hands grip the map tightly causing it to wrinkle. I look out the front windshield of the car to see the rutted, one lane dirt and gravel road curve steeply up the hill to the left. I could reach my hand out of my passenger window and touch the massive rock scree spilling down the treeless hillside. If I weren’t paralyzed with fear, that is. The nearly vertical hillside is covered in thousands of tons of sharp, craggy and charcoal colored fallen rock. On the left side of the car, the cliff drops off sharply continuing the flow of fallen, broken rock. I’ve been told the view from that spot was incredible. My attention however, was focused on the seemingly out of control SUV barreling down the hill toward us leaving behind it an overwhelming explosion of dust. For the first time in my life I am truly terrified. I am wide eyed and speechless as I bend over and lower my head to my legs, close my eyes and cover myself with the map to await my impending doom.
I’m not always this much of a chicken. I have even been known to seek out adventure a few times in my life. And perhaps this drive on this forest service road, in the middle of nowhere, would have been a bit more enjoyable—had it not been for the mini spare.
Our day began with a 2 hour drive into the mountains. We first visited an abandoned gold mining town that much to our surprise, was now quite populated. Our next plan was to head 30 miles back to town and then take a 2 mile gravel road up to a spectacular viewpoint with a 360 degree view of hundreds of miles of mountains and valleys. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as we headed out of the gold mining town and our chances of seeing this amazing sight at the spectacular viewpoint were promising. It was then the husband saw the sign. “This way to spectacular viewpoint! Only 16 miles!” The husband turns to me. “Look honey! It’s a shortcut!” The husband looked at the map and determined that this “well maintained” dirt and gravel forest service road was perfectly acceptable for a front wheel drive, family car such as ours.
For the first couple of miles it was gorgeous. We rolled down the windows and breathed in the cool mountain air. I could feel the stresses of every day life melting away with every fir and pine tree that we passed. The wildflowers were stunning. The orange, yellow and blue butterflies were the size of a small hand. I was so relaxed that I didn’t even mind when the children began their backseat commentary of our drive. We all chuckled when the almost a teenager would yell out, “blind curve!!” at each blind curve that we approached. We laughed at the most unlikely possibility of oncoming traffic in such a remote area. Each time the boy yelled out, “big rock!!” we all debated whether that rock was bigger than the last. We even managed to find it amusing when we would hear shouted from the back seat, “death drop!!” each time we came to a somewhat precarious section of the road which was bordered by a drop off or cliff. We did have to go somewhat slow on the forest service road but it was certainly passable and the trip was enjoyable.
And then it all changed. The road started to deteriorate significantly in spots. Just when I would begin to demand that we turn around, it would clear up and become quite passable again. 9 miles into our 16 mile shortcut something did not feel right. “Honey, what is that noise?” I asked. The boy in the back seat put in his two cents worth as well, “Yeah dad. And why does the forest smell like rubber?”
Our tire was utterly, completely flat. We had picked up a nail, probably back on the paved road. We had been driving on it for miles. We were going so slow that the leak wasn’t noticeable until we were driving on the rim. Fortunately the husband has changed plenty of tires and was quite competent in this area. When he was done, the family gathered around the dust covered car with three normal sized tires and one tire the size of a large donut. We looked at the map and realized we could continue on the same road of unknown, but increasingly irregular conditions for another 7 miles to the spectacular viewpoint and then travel the 2 more miles into town. Or, we could backtrack the 9 miles we had already travelled and then drive 30 more miles into town and not see the spectacular viewpoint at all.
We mistakenly chose the “quick” way into town. The last 7 miles of the forest service road were more challenging than anything we had encountered so far. The ruts were deep. The washboard was jarring. The July snow was unexpected. The speedometer rarely got over 5 miles an hour. Even the husband later admitted that he would have never taken the road any further if he had known just how bad it would get. The kids and I passed the time by calculating that at our current pace it would only take 9 hours to make it to town. I prayed the mini spare wouldn’t get swallowed by a deep rut. I prayed the mini spare would hold up on such rugged terrain. Needless to say, I was a bit on edge. I was nervous. I was jumpy. My body was continuously tensed. My thinking was beginning to become irrational. My thoughts were all negative ones. Suddenly, the almost a teenager daughter yelled out, “Blind curve!! And look at all that dust! This time someone IS coming toward us!” The boy, amazed by what he saw, shouted out, “Wow! Now THAT is a death drop! Dad, look at that snowmobile down there. Do you think it fell off this road?” It was all too much for my fragile state. It was about then that I lowered my head below the window line of the car, covered myself with my map, entered a semi catatonic state and waited to die.
When we pulled into town many hours later I almost jumped out of the car and kissed the pavement. Despite the fact that it was quite late on a Sunday afternoon, we easily found a new tire for our car. We were also fortunate that the rim was not damaged at all. As we sat at the local Dairy Queen eating burgers, my family began to reminisce about our adventure. The spectacular viewpoint really was quite spectacular. The wildlife and wildflowers were amazing. The July snowball fight will always be remembered. And wasn’t it funny when mom freaked out on the big cliff.
I have no explanation for my unusual reaction. My extreme fear is a bit embarrassing. I have learned however, that “shortcut” sometimes means an extra 7 hours. I’ve learned that “well maintained” could mean “enter at your own risk”. I’ve learned that otherwise well behaved children are capable of inciting great fear by verbal means alone. And I’ve learned that a full size spare is most preferable to a mini spare when off roading in the boonies with your family sedan. Experiencing any one of these events is enough to push the average stressed out mother over the edge. To have encountered all four in one day? Well, all I can say is I am sure glad I had that map.
Check This Out!
The book Between Two Worlds by Zainab Salbi and Laurie Becklund has the subtitle of Escape From Tyranny: Growing Up In the Shadow of Saddam. Find out what the private Saddam Hussein was like and how he affected this one woman's life forever.
I’m not always this much of a chicken. I have even been known to seek out adventure a few times in my life. And perhaps this drive on this forest service road, in the middle of nowhere, would have been a bit more enjoyable—had it not been for the mini spare.
Our day began with a 2 hour drive into the mountains. We first visited an abandoned gold mining town that much to our surprise, was now quite populated. Our next plan was to head 30 miles back to town and then take a 2 mile gravel road up to a spectacular viewpoint with a 360 degree view of hundreds of miles of mountains and valleys. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as we headed out of the gold mining town and our chances of seeing this amazing sight at the spectacular viewpoint were promising. It was then the husband saw the sign. “This way to spectacular viewpoint! Only 16 miles!” The husband turns to me. “Look honey! It’s a shortcut!” The husband looked at the map and determined that this “well maintained” dirt and gravel forest service road was perfectly acceptable for a front wheel drive, family car such as ours.
For the first couple of miles it was gorgeous. We rolled down the windows and breathed in the cool mountain air. I could feel the stresses of every day life melting away with every fir and pine tree that we passed. The wildflowers were stunning. The orange, yellow and blue butterflies were the size of a small hand. I was so relaxed that I didn’t even mind when the children began their backseat commentary of our drive. We all chuckled when the almost a teenager would yell out, “blind curve!!” at each blind curve that we approached. We laughed at the most unlikely possibility of oncoming traffic in such a remote area. Each time the boy yelled out, “big rock!!” we all debated whether that rock was bigger than the last. We even managed to find it amusing when we would hear shouted from the back seat, “death drop!!” each time we came to a somewhat precarious section of the road which was bordered by a drop off or cliff. We did have to go somewhat slow on the forest service road but it was certainly passable and the trip was enjoyable.
And then it all changed. The road started to deteriorate significantly in spots. Just when I would begin to demand that we turn around, it would clear up and become quite passable again. 9 miles into our 16 mile shortcut something did not feel right. “Honey, what is that noise?” I asked. The boy in the back seat put in his two cents worth as well, “Yeah dad. And why does the forest smell like rubber?”
Our tire was utterly, completely flat. We had picked up a nail, probably back on the paved road. We had been driving on it for miles. We were going so slow that the leak wasn’t noticeable until we were driving on the rim. Fortunately the husband has changed plenty of tires and was quite competent in this area. When he was done, the family gathered around the dust covered car with three normal sized tires and one tire the size of a large donut. We looked at the map and realized we could continue on the same road of unknown, but increasingly irregular conditions for another 7 miles to the spectacular viewpoint and then travel the 2 more miles into town. Or, we could backtrack the 9 miles we had already travelled and then drive 30 more miles into town and not see the spectacular viewpoint at all.
We mistakenly chose the “quick” way into town. The last 7 miles of the forest service road were more challenging than anything we had encountered so far. The ruts were deep. The washboard was jarring. The July snow was unexpected. The speedometer rarely got over 5 miles an hour. Even the husband later admitted that he would have never taken the road any further if he had known just how bad it would get. The kids and I passed the time by calculating that at our current pace it would only take 9 hours to make it to town. I prayed the mini spare wouldn’t get swallowed by a deep rut. I prayed the mini spare would hold up on such rugged terrain. Needless to say, I was a bit on edge. I was nervous. I was jumpy. My body was continuously tensed. My thinking was beginning to become irrational. My thoughts were all negative ones. Suddenly, the almost a teenager daughter yelled out, “Blind curve!! And look at all that dust! This time someone IS coming toward us!” The boy, amazed by what he saw, shouted out, “Wow! Now THAT is a death drop! Dad, look at that snowmobile down there. Do you think it fell off this road?” It was all too much for my fragile state. It was about then that I lowered my head below the window line of the car, covered myself with my map, entered a semi catatonic state and waited to die.
When we pulled into town many hours later I almost jumped out of the car and kissed the pavement. Despite the fact that it was quite late on a Sunday afternoon, we easily found a new tire for our car. We were also fortunate that the rim was not damaged at all. As we sat at the local Dairy Queen eating burgers, my family began to reminisce about our adventure. The spectacular viewpoint really was quite spectacular. The wildlife and wildflowers were amazing. The July snowball fight will always be remembered. And wasn’t it funny when mom freaked out on the big cliff.
I have no explanation for my unusual reaction. My extreme fear is a bit embarrassing. I have learned however, that “shortcut” sometimes means an extra 7 hours. I’ve learned that “well maintained” could mean “enter at your own risk”. I’ve learned that otherwise well behaved children are capable of inciting great fear by verbal means alone. And I’ve learned that a full size spare is most preferable to a mini spare when off roading in the boonies with your family sedan. Experiencing any one of these events is enough to push the average stressed out mother over the edge. To have encountered all four in one day? Well, all I can say is I am sure glad I had that map.
Check This Out!
The book Between Two Worlds by Zainab Salbi and Laurie Becklund has the subtitle of Escape From Tyranny: Growing Up In the Shadow of Saddam. Find out what the private Saddam Hussein was like and how he affected this one woman's life forever.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
The Squeaky Wheel
I’m usually a bit uncomfortable being the center of attention. This time was no exception. It felt like every person in the store was staring at me. I’m certain one lady rudely glared at me. Two children even pointed at me and appeared a bit frightened. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye.
The noise really was most unpleasant, almost offensive. The repetitive squeak of the shopping cart wheel could be heard 5 or 6 aisles away. It rapidly and unpredictably wiggled back and forth while the other 3 wheels silently rolled along in a straight line. Periodically the cart would emit a high pitched screech and veer to the left for no apparent reason.
This was the third shopping cart I had chosen that morning. The other two were just as obnoxious and difficult to maneuver. I returned those back to the cart holding area. After the third time though, I just gave in and resigned myself to my apparently predestined, unfortunate shopping fate.
To say it was an unpleasant shopping trip would be an understatement. The entire super store was being remodeled. The drop ceiling was missing. Wires were visible. Racks and shelves of merchandise were blocking the short cut I normally took to the petite clothing area. Workers dressed in Carhartt attire were wandering around shouting measurements to each other.
When I finally made it to the petite clothing area I was shocked to find it full of shelves of men’s underwear and socks. I eventually squeaked my way around the store and found the petite clothing area near where the shoes used to be. Most of the clothing racks in the store were jammed in quite closely preventing even the miniature kiddy carts from passing through. Of course, despite the obvious, I tried to fit through two racks of dresses. My cart hit the rack making a loud ignorant shopper racket. I tried to push forward, to no avail. I just couldn’t fit. I resorted to backing my cart out of the area only to find that three of the dress tags were now stuck between the bars of my cart. I couldn’t move forward. I had to pull the cart backward. As I did, the silky dress fabric slid right off the see through plastic hangers they were on. Soon the dresses were on the floor, ripped unceremoniously from their tags. I tried to slowly inch my cart forward to reach the dresses on the floor with my hands and only succeeded in running them over with the dirty cart wheels. I ended up crawling like an unsupervised toddler under the rack to reach the dresses. I managed to put them back on the hangers without being seen by anyone except the unseen worker viewing the security camera and two worker men in Carhartt brown.
I eventually screeched my way over the grocery section of the store, my cart announcing my arrival well in advance. The remodel was in full swing in this section of the store. The aisles were barely more than one cart wide. Everything was out of order. Nothing was where it had been the last time I was there. My well organized list was practically useless. The soda was across from the cheese. The pickles were across from the bleach. It was so wrong. Attempting to navigate the Hispanic foods aisle I encountered a cart full of children hanging off of the sides. I attempted the evasive maneuver of moving as far to the right as possible. It failed miserably. I still brushed up against a curious three year old and knocked a can of refried beans to the floor, denting it. Not needing dented refried beans this week, I put them back on the shelf without being seen by anyone except the unseen worker viewing the security camera and two workers in Carhartt brown. My squeaky cart continued to annoy the other shoppers, occasionally veering left, as I continued searching for each item on my list in the frustratingly rearranged aisles.
By the time I started unloading my purchases on the conveyer belt at the check stand I may have been a bit on edge. My nerves might have been a bit rattled. I kept hearing repetitive squeaking in my ears. The friendly and good looking assistant manager was my reluctant checker. He was pressed into action because there were at least 4 people waiting in each of the other two open lines. Relieved to be almost done with my shopping trip, I politely asked him when the remodeling of the store would be done.
“We’ll be done at the beginning of August, ma’am. We start getting new cash registers installed next week.” he proudly said to me.
“Are you going to be getting new carts?” I innocently asked him.
The manager stopped running my yogurts across the scanner, took a deep breath, and then breathed out a little huff. “That is the most asked question we get about the remodel, ‘Are you getting new carts?’ It seems like that’s the only thing people seem to care about!” he said just a little too forcefully.
I chuckled and jokingly said to the manager, “Gee, it looks like you coulda saved yourselves a few million dollars by forgetting about the remodel and just buying new carts.”
Obviously perturbed by my ignorance, the manager informed me that a store remodel was not a “few million dollars” but was a shocking 15 million dollars.
“Wow”, I responded. “I bet new carts were a whole lot cheaper than that and woulda made most shoppers just as happy.”
I was quickly handed my receipt, just a little too forcefully. The manager tersely told me to, “Have a nice day.” I politely echoed the sentiment. And with that, I squeaked and screeched and veered my way out to my car. Men in Carhartt brown, security cameras, disgruntled shoppers and offended managers watched and heard my every move as I left the store. And every one was very happy to see me go.
Check This Out!
Randy Morgenson, a back country ranger in the High Sierra, was legendary for finding missing people. Then one day he went missing himself. Read about this gripping and suspenseful true story in, The Last Season, by Eric Blehm.
The noise really was most unpleasant, almost offensive. The repetitive squeak of the shopping cart wheel could be heard 5 or 6 aisles away. It rapidly and unpredictably wiggled back and forth while the other 3 wheels silently rolled along in a straight line. Periodically the cart would emit a high pitched screech and veer to the left for no apparent reason.
This was the third shopping cart I had chosen that morning. The other two were just as obnoxious and difficult to maneuver. I returned those back to the cart holding area. After the third time though, I just gave in and resigned myself to my apparently predestined, unfortunate shopping fate.
To say it was an unpleasant shopping trip would be an understatement. The entire super store was being remodeled. The drop ceiling was missing. Wires were visible. Racks and shelves of merchandise were blocking the short cut I normally took to the petite clothing area. Workers dressed in Carhartt attire were wandering around shouting measurements to each other.
When I finally made it to the petite clothing area I was shocked to find it full of shelves of men’s underwear and socks. I eventually squeaked my way around the store and found the petite clothing area near where the shoes used to be. Most of the clothing racks in the store were jammed in quite closely preventing even the miniature kiddy carts from passing through. Of course, despite the obvious, I tried to fit through two racks of dresses. My cart hit the rack making a loud ignorant shopper racket. I tried to push forward, to no avail. I just couldn’t fit. I resorted to backing my cart out of the area only to find that three of the dress tags were now stuck between the bars of my cart. I couldn’t move forward. I had to pull the cart backward. As I did, the silky dress fabric slid right off the see through plastic hangers they were on. Soon the dresses were on the floor, ripped unceremoniously from their tags. I tried to slowly inch my cart forward to reach the dresses on the floor with my hands and only succeeded in running them over with the dirty cart wheels. I ended up crawling like an unsupervised toddler under the rack to reach the dresses. I managed to put them back on the hangers without being seen by anyone except the unseen worker viewing the security camera and two worker men in Carhartt brown.
I eventually screeched my way over the grocery section of the store, my cart announcing my arrival well in advance. The remodel was in full swing in this section of the store. The aisles were barely more than one cart wide. Everything was out of order. Nothing was where it had been the last time I was there. My well organized list was practically useless. The soda was across from the cheese. The pickles were across from the bleach. It was so wrong. Attempting to navigate the Hispanic foods aisle I encountered a cart full of children hanging off of the sides. I attempted the evasive maneuver of moving as far to the right as possible. It failed miserably. I still brushed up against a curious three year old and knocked a can of refried beans to the floor, denting it. Not needing dented refried beans this week, I put them back on the shelf without being seen by anyone except the unseen worker viewing the security camera and two workers in Carhartt brown. My squeaky cart continued to annoy the other shoppers, occasionally veering left, as I continued searching for each item on my list in the frustratingly rearranged aisles.
By the time I started unloading my purchases on the conveyer belt at the check stand I may have been a bit on edge. My nerves might have been a bit rattled. I kept hearing repetitive squeaking in my ears. The friendly and good looking assistant manager was my reluctant checker. He was pressed into action because there were at least 4 people waiting in each of the other two open lines. Relieved to be almost done with my shopping trip, I politely asked him when the remodeling of the store would be done.
“We’ll be done at the beginning of August, ma’am. We start getting new cash registers installed next week.” he proudly said to me.
“Are you going to be getting new carts?” I innocently asked him.
The manager stopped running my yogurts across the scanner, took a deep breath, and then breathed out a little huff. “That is the most asked question we get about the remodel, ‘Are you getting new carts?’ It seems like that’s the only thing people seem to care about!” he said just a little too forcefully.
I chuckled and jokingly said to the manager, “Gee, it looks like you coulda saved yourselves a few million dollars by forgetting about the remodel and just buying new carts.”
Obviously perturbed by my ignorance, the manager informed me that a store remodel was not a “few million dollars” but was a shocking 15 million dollars.
“Wow”, I responded. “I bet new carts were a whole lot cheaper than that and woulda made most shoppers just as happy.”
I was quickly handed my receipt, just a little too forcefully. The manager tersely told me to, “Have a nice day.” I politely echoed the sentiment. And with that, I squeaked and screeched and veered my way out to my car. Men in Carhartt brown, security cameras, disgruntled shoppers and offended managers watched and heard my every move as I left the store. And every one was very happy to see me go.
Check This Out!
Randy Morgenson, a back country ranger in the High Sierra, was legendary for finding missing people. Then one day he went missing himself. Read about this gripping and suspenseful true story in, The Last Season, by Eric Blehm.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Run Away
The woman looked at me incredulously. I had obviously hit a nerve. She shook her head and vehemently offered me her opinion. “I didn’t think you’d be one to run away. I thought you were smarter than that. Have you even thought about what you’ll be losing?”
We were leaving the city. We were moving to the suburbs. Our reasons were common and familiar. We wanted a lower crime rate, better schools and a bigger, newer house. This, despite the fact that during our entire time in the city we had never been the victim of any crime. We found the school our daughter attended to be extraordinary. And our house wasn’t inadequate in any way. Yet, the suburbs were calling.
My husband and I have moved 11 times in our adult lives. We’ve lived in the middle of the city and we’ve lived in the quietest of rural areas. We’ve lived in the suburbs and in small towns. We’ve lived on the beach and we’ve lived surrounded by corn fields in the middle of the country. We’ve lived near the Amish and the Klu Klux Klan. We’ve rented apartments and owned many houses. Between the two of us we’ve literally lived in every corner of the United States.
When we announced to our city friends that we were moving to the suburbs, most held the same feelings as the woman who accused us of running away from the city. It was true that I easily believed the city school system to be large and ineffective, full of low income students with behavior problems whose racial and cultural differences caused discord and dissension in the classroom. My city friends shocked me with their deeply held opposing views. They believed the large school system was full of unlimited opportunity and a multitude of learning possibilities. They felt that the low income kids had their values straight and truly appreciated their free lunch and their discount store shoes. Daily exposure to a racially and culturally diverse student population only mirrored the real world, they believed, and served to help children become tolerant, accepting and enthusiastic about those who were different than themselves. I had assumed that every couple with young children wanted to move to the suburbs. I couldn’t have been more wrong. My city friends loved all that the city and the urban schools had to offer their children. They wouldn’t have left in a million years.
We found many stereotypical fears, similar to my own, in every place we lived. Our rural friends assumed the city was an unsafe and ungodly place full of rappers and gays and Democrats. Neither did they have any desire to be stuck in a suburban traffic jam of BMW’s full of spoiled teenagers who spent more time with their iPods than they did their own family. Suburbanites associated urban diversity with crime and poverty. They criticized the lack of opportunity in rural areas and took it for granted that a rural life was limited and slow. The city people felt the rural areas were just too closed minded, Republican and devoid of culture and opportunity. They assumed the suburbs were too white and were full of malls of conformity.
It’s true you won’t have to look very far to find instances where these fears and assumptions are easy to support. You don’t have to look very hard to find an inner city shooting. It won’t take you long to find a conservative Republican in farm country. Finding a teenager with their own BMW in the suburbs will take you less than a minute. However, you also don’t have to look very hard to find a shooting outside the city in a suburban or rural school. It won’t take you long to find urban and suburban drug problems in a trailer housed meth lab in an otherwise rural utopia. And finding a spoiled city teenager who embraces typical suburban conformity won't take long either.
I have held pre-conceived assumptions about every place I have ever moved to. Yet when I look back at each place I have lived, my experiences and memories are never centered on the fears and suppositions I had in the beginning. Every place I have lived was full of unexpected surprises that didn’t fit any demographic or statistic or alarming trend at all. It’s true that you could have labeled certain people as black or closed minded or self centered. Certain areas could have been called run down or ritzy or conservative. But those limiting, descriptive labels in no way began to describe who each person fully was. The news blurbs of shock and negativity in no way began to tell what the community was about at its core. The stories and assumptions and fears of what living in a certain area would be like never did directly mirror what my experience turned out to be.
When my husband and I moved from the city to the suburbs it was easy to quantify and analyze the reasons we were moving. What we failed to consider was what a small part those presumably known factors would play in our life. We had no idea that it would be the unexpected and the unknown that would change who we were forever. It’s easy to run away and hide from what you think you know. It’s a whole lot harder to put your assumptions aside, open your mind and your heart and embrace the unexpected surprises life has to offer.
Check This Out!
I strongly recommend Elizabeth Gilbert's book Eat Pray Love. Travel to Italy to find the joy and pleasure life should have. Travel to India to experience a calm, centered existence we all wish we had. Travel to Indonesia to find the balance to make it all work together. Read this book now before the Julia Roberts movie hits your theater.
We were leaving the city. We were moving to the suburbs. Our reasons were common and familiar. We wanted a lower crime rate, better schools and a bigger, newer house. This, despite the fact that during our entire time in the city we had never been the victim of any crime. We found the school our daughter attended to be extraordinary. And our house wasn’t inadequate in any way. Yet, the suburbs were calling.
My husband and I have moved 11 times in our adult lives. We’ve lived in the middle of the city and we’ve lived in the quietest of rural areas. We’ve lived in the suburbs and in small towns. We’ve lived on the beach and we’ve lived surrounded by corn fields in the middle of the country. We’ve lived near the Amish and the Klu Klux Klan. We’ve rented apartments and owned many houses. Between the two of us we’ve literally lived in every corner of the United States.
When we announced to our city friends that we were moving to the suburbs, most held the same feelings as the woman who accused us of running away from the city. It was true that I easily believed the city school system to be large and ineffective, full of low income students with behavior problems whose racial and cultural differences caused discord and dissension in the classroom. My city friends shocked me with their deeply held opposing views. They believed the large school system was full of unlimited opportunity and a multitude of learning possibilities. They felt that the low income kids had their values straight and truly appreciated their free lunch and their discount store shoes. Daily exposure to a racially and culturally diverse student population only mirrored the real world, they believed, and served to help children become tolerant, accepting and enthusiastic about those who were different than themselves. I had assumed that every couple with young children wanted to move to the suburbs. I couldn’t have been more wrong. My city friends loved all that the city and the urban schools had to offer their children. They wouldn’t have left in a million years.
We found many stereotypical fears, similar to my own, in every place we lived. Our rural friends assumed the city was an unsafe and ungodly place full of rappers and gays and Democrats. Neither did they have any desire to be stuck in a suburban traffic jam of BMW’s full of spoiled teenagers who spent more time with their iPods than they did their own family. Suburbanites associated urban diversity with crime and poverty. They criticized the lack of opportunity in rural areas and took it for granted that a rural life was limited and slow. The city people felt the rural areas were just too closed minded, Republican and devoid of culture and opportunity. They assumed the suburbs were too white and were full of malls of conformity.
It’s true you won’t have to look very far to find instances where these fears and assumptions are easy to support. You don’t have to look very hard to find an inner city shooting. It won’t take you long to find a conservative Republican in farm country. Finding a teenager with their own BMW in the suburbs will take you less than a minute. However, you also don’t have to look very hard to find a shooting outside the city in a suburban or rural school. It won’t take you long to find urban and suburban drug problems in a trailer housed meth lab in an otherwise rural utopia. And finding a spoiled city teenager who embraces typical suburban conformity won't take long either.
I have held pre-conceived assumptions about every place I have ever moved to. Yet when I look back at each place I have lived, my experiences and memories are never centered on the fears and suppositions I had in the beginning. Every place I have lived was full of unexpected surprises that didn’t fit any demographic or statistic or alarming trend at all. It’s true that you could have labeled certain people as black or closed minded or self centered. Certain areas could have been called run down or ritzy or conservative. But those limiting, descriptive labels in no way began to describe who each person fully was. The news blurbs of shock and negativity in no way began to tell what the community was about at its core. The stories and assumptions and fears of what living in a certain area would be like never did directly mirror what my experience turned out to be.
When my husband and I moved from the city to the suburbs it was easy to quantify and analyze the reasons we were moving. What we failed to consider was what a small part those presumably known factors would play in our life. We had no idea that it would be the unexpected and the unknown that would change who we were forever. It’s easy to run away and hide from what you think you know. It’s a whole lot harder to put your assumptions aside, open your mind and your heart and embrace the unexpected surprises life has to offer.
Check This Out!
I strongly recommend Elizabeth Gilbert's book Eat Pray Love. Travel to Italy to find the joy and pleasure life should have. Travel to India to experience a calm, centered existence we all wish we had. Travel to Indonesia to find the balance to make it all work together. Read this book now before the Julia Roberts movie hits your theater.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Please Pass the Chip
The official letter warned me of the suspicious, unauthorized activity on my account. Incorrect answers had been entered multiple times in response to the passwords and security questions for my account. To ensure the safety of my account and personal identity, my account was now suspended indefinitely until I reset my passwords and security questions. If I had any idea who could have attempted to access my account I should contact client services immediately.
I had a pretty good idea who was trying, unsuccessfully, to gain access to my account. IT WAS ME!
I’ve reached password saturation. I can’t do it anymore. I have so many passwords, log ins, identifications, phrases, special numbers, jumbled words and secret codes to remember that I just can’t keep them straight. I’ve got more grocery store cards, preferred shopper cards, and club member punch cards than my wallet can hold. I’ve had to type in my mother’s maiden name and the name of my first pet so many times I’ve started mixing the two up.
My entire life is tied up in a chaotic hodgepodge of numbers and letters and barcodes and secret questions. When I forget a password or don’t have the appropriate store card with me, my life comes to a complete standstill. I can’t get any financial information. I don’t know how much money I have in the bank. I don’t know how the retirement or college investments are doing. I can’t get in the gym door. I have to pay more money for my groceries. I can’t read anything more than the headlines at the online version of my local newspaper. I don’t have access to my children’s grades. I’m unable to find out if I have any money left in the school hot lunch account. I can’t put a book on hold at the library. I can’t download any music. I can’t buy anything online using PayPal. I don’t even get my 10th pizza free without my special pizza club member card.
I’m ready for a new option to all this madness. I’m ready for a computer chip. I want it implanted in my wrist. This chip would contain all of the pertinent and useful information about me, but especially all of my passwords and barcodes and account numbers. I don’t even care about my privacy anymore. Let the government track my every movement. Let the satellites take photos of me. Let the computers analyze my life’s details and assess my risk of being a terrorist. It will all be worth it if I don’t have to remember another password or carry any more cards.
From now on, every where I go and every thing I do will be taken care of with one wave of my wrist. I’ll log on to my computer in the morning by waving my wrist in front of my chip reader. It will immediately turn on and bring up my email accounts and all of my favorite websites. Every time I want to check a bank or a mutual fund balance I’d just wave my wrist again and access will be granted. I’d just walk through the gym door and my chip would be detected automatically. I’d pay for my groceries and receive all of the special club member discounts all in one swipe of my arm. I’d be able to download music, check out at the library and pay for my son’s hot lunch at school with one swipe. When I swiped my hand at the pizza place they would know automatically that my pizza was free this time.
My chip could be useful in other areas as well. When I took a shower I’d wave my wrist on the bathroom reader and the water would turn on to my preferred temperature. My chip would come in handy at toll booths and ticket booths. One swipe and I’m paid. At the doctor’s office I wouldn’t have to fill out any more paperwork. One swipe and they’d even know how much I weighed that day. My car would unlock and start with a quick swipe. Heck, bad drivers could even get tickets if their chip runs a red light. The chips of robbers would automatically scan as they ran out of the door with their loot. The chip could even start beeping and flashing if anyone ever tried to reprogram it or steal it.
I’m beginning to think the tradeoffs inherent with having a chip implanted in my wrist just might be worth it. I’d never again receive a threatening letter from my mutual fund company. I’d never again have access denied. And I’d always get my free pizza. Until then I will continue to live with my frustration in trying to remember my many, many passwords. Now let’s hope I can remember the username and password I need to get this blog posted.
Check This Out!
Check your local PBS listings for Elvis Lives: The 25th Anniversary Concert. Through the wonders of technology, Elvis “reunites” with his band in this 2002 Memphis concert that marked the 25th anniversary of his passing. Don’t miss his powerful version of How Great Thou Art.
I had a pretty good idea who was trying, unsuccessfully, to gain access to my account. IT WAS ME!
I’ve reached password saturation. I can’t do it anymore. I have so many passwords, log ins, identifications, phrases, special numbers, jumbled words and secret codes to remember that I just can’t keep them straight. I’ve got more grocery store cards, preferred shopper cards, and club member punch cards than my wallet can hold. I’ve had to type in my mother’s maiden name and the name of my first pet so many times I’ve started mixing the two up.
My entire life is tied up in a chaotic hodgepodge of numbers and letters and barcodes and secret questions. When I forget a password or don’t have the appropriate store card with me, my life comes to a complete standstill. I can’t get any financial information. I don’t know how much money I have in the bank. I don’t know how the retirement or college investments are doing. I can’t get in the gym door. I have to pay more money for my groceries. I can’t read anything more than the headlines at the online version of my local newspaper. I don’t have access to my children’s grades. I’m unable to find out if I have any money left in the school hot lunch account. I can’t put a book on hold at the library. I can’t download any music. I can’t buy anything online using PayPal. I don’t even get my 10th pizza free without my special pizza club member card.
I’m ready for a new option to all this madness. I’m ready for a computer chip. I want it implanted in my wrist. This chip would contain all of the pertinent and useful information about me, but especially all of my passwords and barcodes and account numbers. I don’t even care about my privacy anymore. Let the government track my every movement. Let the satellites take photos of me. Let the computers analyze my life’s details and assess my risk of being a terrorist. It will all be worth it if I don’t have to remember another password or carry any more cards.
From now on, every where I go and every thing I do will be taken care of with one wave of my wrist. I’ll log on to my computer in the morning by waving my wrist in front of my chip reader. It will immediately turn on and bring up my email accounts and all of my favorite websites. Every time I want to check a bank or a mutual fund balance I’d just wave my wrist again and access will be granted. I’d just walk through the gym door and my chip would be detected automatically. I’d pay for my groceries and receive all of the special club member discounts all in one swipe of my arm. I’d be able to download music, check out at the library and pay for my son’s hot lunch at school with one swipe. When I swiped my hand at the pizza place they would know automatically that my pizza was free this time.
My chip could be useful in other areas as well. When I took a shower I’d wave my wrist on the bathroom reader and the water would turn on to my preferred temperature. My chip would come in handy at toll booths and ticket booths. One swipe and I’m paid. At the doctor’s office I wouldn’t have to fill out any more paperwork. One swipe and they’d even know how much I weighed that day. My car would unlock and start with a quick swipe. Heck, bad drivers could even get tickets if their chip runs a red light. The chips of robbers would automatically scan as they ran out of the door with their loot. The chip could even start beeping and flashing if anyone ever tried to reprogram it or steal it.
I’m beginning to think the tradeoffs inherent with having a chip implanted in my wrist just might be worth it. I’d never again receive a threatening letter from my mutual fund company. I’d never again have access denied. And I’d always get my free pizza. Until then I will continue to live with my frustration in trying to remember my many, many passwords. Now let’s hope I can remember the username and password I need to get this blog posted.
Check This Out!
Check your local PBS listings for Elvis Lives: The 25th Anniversary Concert. Through the wonders of technology, Elvis “reunites” with his band in this 2002 Memphis concert that marked the 25th anniversary of his passing. Don’t miss his powerful version of How Great Thou Art.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Rounded to the Nearest 10
I was quickly losing my patience. Our voices were rising and could now be heard outside through the screen door. My daughter threw her pencil down on the table. The cat took refuge under the chair. “Mom! What are you doing?” she yelled at me in frustration. “That doesn’t make any sense. We do it a different way at school!”
“What do you mean you do it a different way? It’s division! There is only one way!”
I have painfully learned firsthand that in much of today’s math curriculum, the teaching and learning are done very differently than when I was in school. It’s been referred to as New-New Math, Whole Math, MTV Math, Mickey Mouse Math, Fuzzy Math and even Fuzzy Crap. While I still long for the days when two plus two was always four, I have realized there is some value in learning math the way my children are. Two plus two doesn’t always equal four, there is more than one way to do long division and, as I now agree, understanding the process can be as valuable as actually getting the right answer.
While this approach to math does have many advantages in a school setting, it would be a very different world if the New-New Math way of thinking spilled outside of the school walls and into our everyday lives.
All debit and credit card transaction amounts would be rounded to the nearest 10’s place. After all, it’s easier and faster to use rounded numbers and it still gives an accurate enough impression of how much money was spent.
Doctors wouldn’t be able to give us a precise, scientific diagnosis. They would be able to make an educated guess after they had developed a good conceptual understanding of the problem and discovered all of the clues using their higher order thinking.
Airplane manufacturers wouldn’t worry too much about the exact measurements of the airplane parts. The company would be more concerned that their employees understood the process of how they made airplanes and were familiar with each step. The exact measurement of each specific part would be a secondary consideration.
Taxpayers would congregate every April 15th. They’d gather in a circle, each holding a mini white board. They would write down on their white board the amount of tax they think they should pay, rounded to the nearest 10 dollars, and hold it up for an IRS agent to see. The IRS agent, standing at the head of the circle, would review each answer. “No, I’m sorry Mr. Jones. I can see that you tried very hard today, but you owe more money than that. Erase that number and try again.” Or “Mrs. Johnson, I can see that you forgot to use your thinking brain. You have to remember the deduction for your medical bills. “
Drivers caught speeding would be able to get out of receiving a ticket if they were able to tell the police officer how much they were going over the speed limit. This would be a one page story problem. Each step of the speeding process would be listed and written out in complete sentences. The conclusion would be proven using two different mathematical functions. Final answers could be rounded to the nearest 10 mph, of course.
Buying a car would involve a team problem solving session between the purchaser, the salesman, the dealership owner, the mechanic, an oil company executive, a bank loan officer, a Department of Licensing representative and a Starbucks drive thru employee. Each would take turns giving their opinion on the car to be purchased using their best group sharing and problem solving skills. It would be most important that everyone get along and feel good about themselves.
Checking out at the grocery store would require you to place your items on the conveyer belt in one of three ways: largest to smallest, most expensive to least expensive, or most perishable to least perishable. You would then have to give a brief oral report explaining to the other shoppers standing in your line why you chose to group your items that way. Your fellow line #5 shoppers would then be required to ask one well thought out question afterward in order to proceed forward in the checkout line. You would be required to be respectful to your fellow line #5 shoppers and exhibit a real team spirit or you would have to go to the back of the line. Your total bill would be an estimate and would be rounded to the nearest 10 dollars, of course. It’s just easier that way.
Check This Out!
Hummus
Combine in a food processor-4 cloves mashed garlic, 2 15oz cans garbanzo beans-drained and rinsed, 2/3 cup roasted tahini, 1/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice, 1/2 cup water, 1/4 cup olive oil, and salt to taste(start with 1/2 tsp).
“What do you mean you do it a different way? It’s division! There is only one way!”
I have painfully learned firsthand that in much of today’s math curriculum, the teaching and learning are done very differently than when I was in school. It’s been referred to as New-New Math, Whole Math, MTV Math, Mickey Mouse Math, Fuzzy Math and even Fuzzy Crap. While I still long for the days when two plus two was always four, I have realized there is some value in learning math the way my children are. Two plus two doesn’t always equal four, there is more than one way to do long division and, as I now agree, understanding the process can be as valuable as actually getting the right answer.
While this approach to math does have many advantages in a school setting, it would be a very different world if the New-New Math way of thinking spilled outside of the school walls and into our everyday lives.
All debit and credit card transaction amounts would be rounded to the nearest 10’s place. After all, it’s easier and faster to use rounded numbers and it still gives an accurate enough impression of how much money was spent.
Doctors wouldn’t be able to give us a precise, scientific diagnosis. They would be able to make an educated guess after they had developed a good conceptual understanding of the problem and discovered all of the clues using their higher order thinking.
Airplane manufacturers wouldn’t worry too much about the exact measurements of the airplane parts. The company would be more concerned that their employees understood the process of how they made airplanes and were familiar with each step. The exact measurement of each specific part would be a secondary consideration.
Taxpayers would congregate every April 15th. They’d gather in a circle, each holding a mini white board. They would write down on their white board the amount of tax they think they should pay, rounded to the nearest 10 dollars, and hold it up for an IRS agent to see. The IRS agent, standing at the head of the circle, would review each answer. “No, I’m sorry Mr. Jones. I can see that you tried very hard today, but you owe more money than that. Erase that number and try again.” Or “Mrs. Johnson, I can see that you forgot to use your thinking brain. You have to remember the deduction for your medical bills. “
Drivers caught speeding would be able to get out of receiving a ticket if they were able to tell the police officer how much they were going over the speed limit. This would be a one page story problem. Each step of the speeding process would be listed and written out in complete sentences. The conclusion would be proven using two different mathematical functions. Final answers could be rounded to the nearest 10 mph, of course.
Buying a car would involve a team problem solving session between the purchaser, the salesman, the dealership owner, the mechanic, an oil company executive, a bank loan officer, a Department of Licensing representative and a Starbucks drive thru employee. Each would take turns giving their opinion on the car to be purchased using their best group sharing and problem solving skills. It would be most important that everyone get along and feel good about themselves.
Checking out at the grocery store would require you to place your items on the conveyer belt in one of three ways: largest to smallest, most expensive to least expensive, or most perishable to least perishable. You would then have to give a brief oral report explaining to the other shoppers standing in your line why you chose to group your items that way. Your fellow line #5 shoppers would then be required to ask one well thought out question afterward in order to proceed forward in the checkout line. You would be required to be respectful to your fellow line #5 shoppers and exhibit a real team spirit or you would have to go to the back of the line. Your total bill would be an estimate and would be rounded to the nearest 10 dollars, of course. It’s just easier that way.
Check This Out!
Hummus
Combine in a food processor-4 cloves mashed garlic, 2 15oz cans garbanzo beans-drained and rinsed, 2/3 cup roasted tahini, 1/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice, 1/2 cup water, 1/4 cup olive oil, and salt to taste(start with 1/2 tsp).
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