the didgeridoo and the buddha

There comes a point in the lives of identical twins where they choose to live separately. My twins are 22. They have always lived together, at home, at their first apartment, and so on, often sharing a room even when given the choice of separate rooms. When they decided a few months ago that they would have separate apartments for their last year of undergraduate college, I was a little surprised. Last week they started the bro-vorce process. Who gets what? Whose books are these? Which DVD is mine? The funniest moment was when we were standing in the driveway and sorting through all of the clean clothes. I am guessing that two brothers don't usually stand in the street sorting boxers and arguing over the only pair of black socks. It was pretty funny!  It's a twin thing. 

They have split things amicably, although two unassigned things remained, the didgeridoo and the buddha. The didgeridoo is from their sister when she volunteered in Australia last summer. At the time they thought it would be fine to share... no need to buy two. And the buddha statue has been around awhile, too. I don't even know who gave them the buddha, but it is pretty cool. So they decided in the dude-vorce to split custody. One has the buddha. The other has the didgeridoo. They are going to meet in the middle and swap now and again. It made me proud as a mom to know that they were each being sensitive to each other in these last few weeks. It's as if they each intuitively knew how the other was feeling. Of course they knew. Why didn't I think of that? They have spent two decades knowing what each other was feeling, thinking, and doing.

I asked one brother today how he was feeling about this new situation. He said, "I have seen my brother every day. He is only a block away, Mom. Don't worry." Then I asked the other brother how he was feeling. He said, "Mom, don't worry. I see my brother every day. He only lives a block from here." I guess hearing it in duplicate is all I needed. Like most things in their lives, if I heard the same thing from both, I felt like it was settled. 

the writer's spaz

I have heard people talk about writer's block. But I have never experienced it. I actually experience what I call-- the writer's spaz. I have too much to write about. I have too many opinions. Today I want to write about health care reform, bulging taxes, kids in college, the cost of dog food, my frustration with a wayward adult child, the latest book I read, a trip to see The Addams Family on Broadway, the economy, the child left unattended in the neighborhood, and my photo archiving project. Mostly I keep lists of all of the writing prompts and ideas. I am highly organized in my approach. And I am a terrific archivist-- not the typical scattered writer.

My spastic writing accelerates as a result of two important anniversaries approaching. My wedding anniversary with my first husband and my kids' father, and then two weeks later the anniversary of his death. Those few weeks in mid-September and early October are difficult for me. Perhaps if I write about that a bit earlier than usual this year, I will help me to refocus on the other things happening around me. It's complicated grief. When he left, we divorced, he remarried, and he died all in a timespan of months, it sent me into an arena of grief that most people do not experience. It is a form of illegitimate grief. Most people think that my love for him should be replaced with anger or apathy. Most people think that the betrayal should instantly end my love. It didn't happen that way for me. I do not stop loving instantly after 20 years of loving continuously and completely. I owe my children a complete picture of their father, not one jaded by some months at the end. I am promising myself a longer period of reflection this year. I am also promising myself some time to take photos in the park and ride my bike. And I am giving myself the grace to get through the next 30 days one day at a time. 

the great tomato heist

So, I have been growing tomatoes, loads and loads of tomatoes. The goal was salsa. I was hoping to have some mild, some hot, some grilled pineapple, but what I really wanted was some yellow/orange salsa. My obsession with orange began some time ago. I cannot pinpoint exactly when, but more than 25 years ago I had an awesome pair of orange pumps with a matching purse. I know that sounds strange, but it is my only pair of pumps and my only matching purse... ever... really. I now live in the land of sensible shoes. And Keens doesn't make an orange men's sandal, or I would own it. Anyway... I love orangish yellowish tomatoes. I bought a plant. I watered it. And last week I saw the tomatoes just starting to turn from green into beautiful little orange tomatoes. 

Now before you are bored with my story and lose interest with my obsession with orange, here's what happened. I cut onions, peppers, garlic. I have the jars ready. It's salsa day. I go to the plant in the back yard, and it's as if the tomatoes were all called home by Jesus. Not a single tomato on the plant. How did that happen. The gate's locked. Hmmmm I settle for red tomatoes and make my salsa. 

As I head out later in the day, a man comes by on his bike. What do I see but his basket loaded with yellow tomatoes. My yellow/orange tomatoes. Not kidding. He asks me if I want to buy them. Of course, stunned, I just said, "Hey dude, look at the house. This is where you stole them." Before I finished my sentence he was off. 

Sometimes I think God just gives me a little bit of irony and a big chuckle. And today, God gave me a bit of a sanity check. I would have wondered for a long time where all of those tomatoes had gone. Silly me. Silly inner city jacked up neighborhood. Silly two-wheeled tomato-stealing loony. Oh well... just another day in the 'hood. Next year the orange tomatoes are planted across town at my mom's! 

the homework link

It's back to school time around the United States. I see little kids with backpacks and lunch boxes wandering to the school bus. I also see high school kids with no books, no bag, daddy's nice car, and hoochie wear making an appearance, ready to use social networking to pass their school time. Somewhere in those 12 or more years, there are students who lose sight of the goal. Kids might graduate, but they have less knowledge than ever, fewer analytical skills, and very little problem-solving abilities. 

 

Schools are funded by different methods in different parts of the country. In Ohio, schools are primarily funded through state funds per pupil collected in a variety of taxes. Schools are secondarily funded through property taxes voted on at the district level. With over 600 public school districts in Ohio, the funding formulas are each uniquely based on property values, and thus the perceptions of residents of the quality of education. A house in a district with an excellent rating can cost multiples more than the same house in a poor or continuous improvement district. Even given the 1997 Ohio Supreme Court School Funding Decision known as the DeRolph Decision, the state of Ohio has yet to fix the school funding issue. Twelve years of funding schools unconstitutionally with the express knowledge that it is wrong. 

 

If you use rent-to-own stores or check cashing locations, the state of Ohio wants to regulate how much money can be charged to you for these services. People assume that the poor or lower class are being taken advantage of. That is just not the case. The chronic poor are poor for a reason. Some things in life are ruled by limiting factors. Much like a reagent in chemical reaction, a limiting factor affects the rate of the chemical reaction. A limiting factor can be food shortages or water shortages in an ecosystem. Just like the size of your stomach limits the amount of food you can eat at one sitting, the amount of education your absorb and utilize is a huge limiting factor to the quality of success and survival in society. If you learn the minimum, and your primary educational objective was to warm a seat and barely graduate, it severely limits future opportunities. You need not excel in formal education, but an attitude of life-long learning is key. And unfortunately, if your parents have imposed the limiting factor of apathy to their child's education, it continues for multiple generations. Dumb + dumb = more and more dumb.

 

There are people in our society who will never manage their money. They are impulsive, perhaps gambling or unable to self-soothe while they wait for a purchase. There is a segment of our society who will not plan, will not pay back loans, will have poor credit, and will seem to be taken advantage of. A closer look would show that some Americans are indulgent, both complaining that they cannot afford health care while spending hundreds of dollars a month on cigarettes, alcohol, cell phones, cable TV, and flat-screen televisions. It seems to me that if the previous list of daily cushies are more important than health care, then we cannot also listen to the "poor me" complaints. You have shown what is most important to you with your wallet. I have owned a house for more than 20 years in an inner city neighborhood of Columbus, Ohio. I see pimped out, rimmed up tires on SUVs. I see liquor stores and carryouts doing a bangup business with the lotto, cigarettes, and convenience foods. I see clothing, jewelry, and shoes on many young men that is more than my monthly mortgage. I see satellite dishes and brand new furniture on the porches. And I see set outs from evictions, beggars on the corners, children roaming unsupervised, and tremendous lines in the emergency rooms. This dichotomy of poor choices and rich toys leaves a chronic shortage for necessities such as rent, baby-sitters, and medical insurance. 

 

Where does the entitlement mentality come from? It starts in school where students are entitled to be passed from grade-to-grade with little effort. It begins when a child is told that the minimum is sufficient and that dropping out of school at 16 is just another life choice. To paraphrase one of my favorite radio talk show hosts, Mike McConnell, on 700 WLW, if you didn't do your homework in school, you probably didn't learn to plan ahead, you probably didn't learn to save, and you probably will continue your impulsive decisions with money. No amount of nanny state policies can make up for lack of education. If you do not do your homework, we all pay. We all paid for your education. And we are all disappointed what we received for our money. We complain when an $8 movie is bad, why not the same outrage at the takers who are dragging us down. And we continue to pay by paying for the jails, the criminal courts, the fatherless children, the teachers you ignore, the social workers, the free clinics, the medicare, welfare, housing, and health programs. If you just did your homework over all of those years, maybe you could fend for yourself a bit better. 

 

Kids, do not fall into the minimalist trap. Do your assignments. Develop life-long learning. Expect more from yourself.

the respect I owe the farmers

This is the first year ever that I have tried to grow plants outside. At my age I should have attempted it by now. I decided that I wanted to can some salsa. Being college-educated, my first step was to consult with experts and read. Tomatoes and peppers, how hard can that be? And, of course, now that I am some kind of garden officianado having read about plants online, I will throw in some sugar snap peas, just because they are the best veggie ever.

So, my best girl friend and my husband are my consulting team. I hunted the web, planned the calendar, and started growing seeds. Disaster. Seeds indoors suck. Start over. I bought little bitty plants and planted the pea seeds outdoors. I figured 13 pea plants would be 13 woks of food. Wrong. 13 pea plants yielded one sandwich-sized ziploc bag of peas. Disappointing. Apparently for 13 woks of peas, I am going to have to plant about 400 plants. My neighbors might complain with the entire back yard rototilled for 2 months of pea plants. I think that would require a zoning board, perhaps a permit, not sure. I am pretty sure that the city would frown on an agricultural area within a yard in the inner city. I could try to persuade them that snap peas are so amazing that they are worth the variance, but I doubt that would fly.

Now I have determined that this is tons more work than going to the grocery. Thank you Mr Farmer. I have taken you for granted for many many years. I have been forced to watch the weather forecast. I have to monitor rainfall and tie up tomatoes. I had to put up a little fence to keep the oppossum from nibbling. I made a trip to get "hoops". I have had to restake plants, too. I don't really know what I am doing. So, now I have 3 peppers on 4 plants. And I have about a dozen jalapenos on one plant. But there are only green tomatoes. Really hot salsa with no tomatoes. Now what? I think I am going to eat peppers while they are still good, and then when the tomatoes are ready, I am back to the grocery to get expertly-grown peppers. Now the dilemma is... can I claim that the salsa is homegrown? That label could have some really small legal print that talks about salsa, homegrown, sort of.... thanks Mr Farmer for filling in the gaps!

Those of you with a political and philosophical bent that we should all grow our own food and have "zero impact" on the planet, you need to rethink. I have made 85 trips to Lowes. I have inefficiently watered. I am certain that I had a planetary impact just to get that ziploc bag of peas. I know the snap peas are worth it, but perhaps you should rethink your position. There is a reason why we let experts do their expert thing. There is a reason why last year I drove to the store, bought all my veggies, and made salsa in an afternoon. Pass the chips...

the movie theater

I love Star Trek! I have seen all of the movies. I have watched all of the episodes over and over. I watched the franchises-- The Next Generation, Voyager, Deep Space Nine. I waited to see the latest movie for several reasons. One was that I do not like crowds. Two was because I do not like selfish people who compose those crowds. 

The idea of sticky floors bothers me. Where else can you drop half a bag of popcorn and syrupy soda on the floor indoors and walk away? Why? We spend a gazillion dollars a year on ad campaigns and educational initiatives to reduce, reuse, and recycle. Don't litter. Give a Hoot, Don't Pollute. Then when we go to the theater, our feet stick to the floor. What makes that ok? Of course, that bothers me just the same at the state fair, at concerts, and at sporting events. 

At the theater, the tickets cost $8.50. I could have waited a few months and paid for the DVD. Next time I will. I have seen all of the Star Trek movies and Star Wars movies on the big screen. It's a shame that the trend will end for me. I don't think I can do it anymore. I am an auditory person. I usually don't even "watch" a movie. I "hear" a movie. All of the ancillary sounds of the theater are a distraction to me. Even the obnoxiously loud sound track can't cover up the noises that detract from my experience. 

Hey you, loud guy sitting behind me... shut up. Stop talking. I know Spock bleeds green because he's Vulcan. Thanks for catching on to the obvious. You seems so shocked that Spock and Uhura are lovers. Must you repeat your disgust over and over. I can't tell if you don't like that Spock had always appeared to be asexual. Or perhaps you think that a Vulcan would never do that... well, with the exception of Spock's father. Maybe you are a racist, worried about that cross-racial love affair. Who knows? But you distracted me. You took some beautiful and poignant moments and talked over them, interrupting their power.

Hey you, parents who brought your young and severely disabled son. Jeez, I feel bad for the daily life you live, but get a sitter. Cold and callous, I know. I have raised children. I would not bring a young child to an adult movie anyway. I seem to have more common sense than the average parent. But this little boy was agitated, yelling, groaning, making an almost continuous "raspberry sound", and wildly swinging a hanger. Yes, a hanger. In any other situation I would have smiled at him, shown compassion to his parents, even understood that allowances must be made for the disabled. In a movie made for children, I would have completely understood outbursts. Kids have to be taught, and a children's movie is a place where you can teach those things in a context where everyone has been there and can empathize. But later at night in an adult movie, I don't want to deal with kids. Any kids. Sorry if that makes me unaccommodating and mean spirited. 

Hey you, movie theater owners who kept the a/c set on "weak", who cleaned on a macro level only, and who keep broken down chairs, now you know why I will not return. I can see the movie at my house with good picture, good sound, a comfortable chair in a temperature controlled room, and with the silence required for me to enjoy it. Bonus-- at my house, my feet have never stuck to the floor! 

the oddities of the inner city

Today was just like any other day in the inner city-- entirely too many pit bulls, the pants so low that a new form of walking is necessary, and the base so loud in the car driving past that my picture frames shake. But then there are some other odd things that emerge. 

I leave my house, driving the same route as always-- down the street, past the bar, and five blocks to the freeway. Again today I saw the man and woman with their kids in the front yard. I looked closely and drove slowly. In front of that boarded up house next to the bar were at least 9 children under the age of ten. There could have been more than that, but I am not sure. One thing you learn about the inner city is not to stare too long. It's not good to be a witness. And then I saw something interesting, mom and dad otherwise known as man on a bike and pregnant woman on a bike. It was then that I realized I had seen them before. I had seen them in a parking lot at a local hardware store. You've probably seen them too. They are the pregnant and sad ones who approach your car because they are out of gas. They need to borrow money for gas. Sigh... 

Then I realize, I have seen them somewhere else... at the freeway exit by my house. They sit with a few kids, look pathetic, and beg for money. I am not sure where the other dozen kids are during this adventure, but I will probably dial the authorities next time I see it. I have a feeling they will be moving on before anyone official has a chance to check it out. Most of the boarded up and abandoned houses have temporary residents. Every new school year it's tough to see so many cute little kids roaming around looking for their "new-temporary" home. So many kids have no idea how to get back where they came from. It must be terrifying to have such an unstable life. 

There are a few odd things that have happened living there. I did have a tupperware-selling crack head neighbor. I never did see those awesome blue mixing bowls I ordered. Her husband eventually told me that she smoked crack. He went door-to-door to tell all of the neighbors. Too late. She got me. It was nice that he tried. I felt really sorry for him. He kicked her out, changed the locks, and raised the kids on his own. 

Speaking of men raising children, I have seen some amazing older black men raising not just one or two generations, but in one case, three generations. This amazing man raised his four children while caring for his very sick wife for more than 30 years. Then he raised his daughter's children. And now he raises his great-grandson. I know that some young black men are abandoning their children at record pace. And I know that there is even vocabulary to explain the phenomenon-- baby momma. But there are some unbelievably loving and caring and care-taking older black men that take care of their families beyond what most of us would do. Those older men are so disheartened by the thugs who abandon their daughters and granddaughters. If only those older inner city black men could kick some butt around the neighborhood, the inner city would be a different place.