The Second Root Canal

I told you all before about my first root canal, the one that took me totally by surprise, given my prior perfect-teeth condition.

The second time it happened, last year, I nipped it in the bud early.  I recognized that particular sensitivity to heat, cold, pressure...  I knew right away that I had cracked another tooth.  I regretted all the ice I had chewed for years and years before that first root canal.

This time, I engaged in no denial.  I went straight to the dentist and said, "I think I have another cracked tooth."  He took X-rays but said that there was no clear crack visible, maybe just a little shadow that could be a problem, and referred me to the endodontist for a second opinion.

I walked across the parking lot to the endodontist's office, referral slip in hand.  Could they get me in today?  Yes!?  Thank heavens!

The endodontist took more X-rays and poked around a bit and declared that, indeed, I had another cracked tooth.  Did I want a root canal today, or just remove the tooth?  She recommended trying the root canal

I said ok.

The root canal didn't work.  The tooth split.  It had to be removed.

After the removal, I asked for a prescription for a couple of days' worth of pain meds.  They said no(!)  They don't prescribe pain meds.  They recommend that you just take OTC Advil plus Tylenol.  I explained that the last time I'd had a root canal and tooth extraction, I had thought I'd get through it with aspirin, Tylenol, and/or Advil, but had ended up needing the Vicodin that had been prescribed. With just the Tylenol and Advil, I had not been able to sleep because the pain was so intense.  I further explained that I needed only two days' worth of pain meds.

They said, "There are too many addicts.  We don't prescribe anything, ever."

I said, "If you had told me that before the procedure, I would have never consented to it and would have gone elsewhere."

(LegalMist's life lesson:  always ask about pain med policy before consenting to a dental procedure.)

They said, "It will not hurt as much as it did before you came in."  I said, "It already hurts more than it did before I came in because I came in at the first sign of pain and cracked tooth, based on my prior experience.  And besides, I know from experience that the pain will keep me from sleeping for two nights.  I did not pay $800 to have a root canal/tooth extraction (and have a tooth extracted!!) just to get two days' worth of drugs that I could probably buy on the street for less than $40."

They said, "Sorry, we can't help you. "

I said, "You people are sadists!  This is like 'Little Shop of Horrors!' This is why people hate endodontists!"

I walked back across the parking lot to my dentist's office and explained the problem.  My compassionate dentist gave me a prescription for a few days' worth of Vicodin.  The man (now retired) is a saint.

Sure enough, I needed the pain meds.  I would not have slept for two days without them.

(I have since that time told two people not to go to that endodontist and have told my new dentist that he should never send anyone to her, ever.  I hope he takes that advice.)

I still hadn't gotten the implant to replace the first lost tooth.  It was in the back, not really visible.  And the procedure promised to be expensive, time consuming, and potentially painful, so--as any normal person would do--I had procrastinated.

But this second one was near the front and visible when I smiled, making me self-conscious and afraid to smile.

I knew I had to get two implants ASAP.  Ugh...

Next time...
Implant procedures:  not fun!
Implant results:  awesome!

I'm going to file for divorce

So many reasons.  The main one, I think, is that he is a narcissist.  Everything else flows from that.  The constant need to blame me for everything that ever goes "wrong."  The accusation that I "don't do anything" towards cleaning the house. (For the record, yes, the house is a wreck.  Neither of us does much to fix that.  But his overblown idea that he does "everything" is right in line with the narcissistic personality disorder.)  His complete refusal to listen.  His rude, condescending, mocking attitude and words whenever I try to talk to him about our marital issues.  His repeating things over and over and over unless/until you concede that the thought was brilliant just so you don't have to listen to it again.  His constant bragging about how great he is at his job (teaching sixth grade) mixed in with occasional disturbing stories about how he said something mean to some kid, "but I told him they'd never believe him because I'm the teacher so they'll believe me."  Ugh.  What did I ever see in this guy?

God help me.  Divorce is hell.  Divorcing a narcissist is hell on steroids.

I don't deal well with stupid people, part 2

So this one slipped out unintentionally.  And I felt bad about it.  I don't really intend to be mean to people.  I try really hard to be nice.  But sometimes I just don't deal well with stupid people.

I was in Sedona, Arizona, with a friend.  We were visiting the famous "Chapel of the Holy Cross."  Here is a photo (from Wikipedia):

There were a lot of tourists who had the same idea we had, at the same time, to visit the chapel, so there was a line of cars slowly making its way up the curvy road to the parking lot at the top of the hill.  It was moving very slowly.  Basically, when one car left, they'd let another in.

We parked at the bottom of the hill and began walking up the steep, curvy road.  Since there were so many cars on the uphill side, we walked on the shoulder of the downhill side--there was more room there.

A car came zooming up the road in the oncoming (downhill) lane of traffic, passing all the other cars in the uphill lane.  We were just approaching a sharp left curve.  I was thinking what a rude, insensitive jerk the driver was.  The car stopped next to us and the driver lowered her window. 

Driver:  Um, that's a big curve up there.  Do you think another car might come down the road and run headfirst into me?

LM:  Well, yeah, that could happen...

Driver (sounding alarmed):  What should I do?!?!

LM:  Well, you could wait in line like everyone else.

Driver:  What...?  Oh, no!  You mean those cars aren't parked?  I thought they were parked!  Oh, they must think I'm such a twit!


*************

OK, so she was clueless, not soulless.  I forgave her instantly and immediately felt bad about thinking horrible thoughts about her--at a church, no less! I even reassured her that, now that I thought about it, she was right, the windows of so many of the cars are tinted, you can't even see if someone is inside them.

In other words, I tried not to act like a self-righteous prig.  But the fact remains that I don't deal well with stupid people, and so it just sort of slipped out... and I was kind of mean to a person who was probably really nice, even if she wasn't all that bright.

She backed down the road and got in line, "like everyone else."

We walked on up to the chapel, where I prayed for forgiveness.

Divorcing this narcissist will be hell on steroids...

No one gets married thinking they will get divorced.

Well, maybe some people do, but then they are fools.

But let me give you some free advice:  Before you get married, think about how a divorce would go, if it were to come to that, sometime in the distant future.  And then don't marry anyone who you would not want to have to try to divorce.

I knew from the beginning that my then-boyfriend could be mean and vindictive if he felt he had been "wronged."  I watched him treat others badly and seek petty revenge when he felt they had treated him badly.

But I was in love, and so was he, and at the time, we were nice to each other.  He was fun to be with, creative, smart, funny, adventurous, romantic...  We both thought we would be friends forever, regardless of what else might happen between us.

We were wrong.

We have tried marriage counseling.  It helped, marginally, for a while.  The counselor would tell us both things that we should work on to improve our relationship.  But instead of taking the counselor's advice and applying it to himself, my husband too often used it as a weapon against me, as in "The doctor said you are supposed to ____" or "are not supposed to ___" -- all the while, not working on the issues the counselor had asked him to work on.  He wouldn't take seriously the "couples exercises" the counselor assigned -- the ones in the book designed to build trust and understanding.  He would say they were "silly" or "goofy" and he didn't want to do them.  If I pushed the point, he would give short or flip answers to the questions asked.  I gave up.

Eventually, I gave up on the marriage. I got tired of giving and not feeling appreciated or loved.  The constant criticism is just too much to bear. I guess a part of me felt like, if he was going to criticize constantly, he might as well have something to criticize.

At this point, we are not friends, and we are not lovers.  There is open hostility, snide remarks made in front of the kids, and a complete lack of communication about many issues.  It is time to end this marriage.

It is not good for me.  It is not good for him.  It cannot possibly be good for the kids.

And yet I dread it, because I know he will be manipulative, vindictive, and downright mean.  He thinks I have treated him badly.  I think he is wrong, but it doesn't matter what I think.  I know what is coming.

I have assisted so many others through this process.  I have seen the damage a manipulative, vindictive, and mean person, with the "right" ("wrong?") lawyer, can inflict on a soon-to-be-ex-spouse, on the kids, on the family as a whole.

I do not want my kids to be in this crossfire.

But the only way through to the other side, to peace and the potential for real happiness, is a divorce.

"Adventure Camp"

My son has been visiting my Dad in Virginia for a few weeks this summer. He attended a basketball camp the first week he was there. His report: "It was fun!"  He learned a bit about basketball, had a good time with his cousins who were also attending the camp, and yes, he'd like to do it again next year.

This past week, he attended the accurately-named "Adventure Camp." At this camp, the kids went caving, mud-pit jumping, hiking, swimming, zip-lining, and more. My son’s report: "It was so awesome!!! It was so fun!!! I loved it!!!  I want to do it again next week!!!"

I pressed for details. What made it so great?

Disclaimer: I may have some of the details not-quite-right. I got part of the story from my son, and part from my Dad, and my son was so excited and talking so fast that it was hard to understand half of what he said, but this is what I got out of what they both told me:

For starters, he learned that he is, as he put it, "slightly claustrophobic," meaning that when they went caving, he "freaked out" because the walls seemed like they were closing in, and he had to go back outside. But the camp counselors were awesome (and patient) and knew some shortcuts, so after a short while, he agreed to go back in, and they took a couple of the shortcuts and caught up to the rest of the group. He was so proud and happy that he overcame his fear and finished the caving expedition.

They also got to a place where there was a ledge and they had to jump down about three feet, but they made it, and it was "awesome!" (My son is 10. He is only about four feet tall, and he is generally scared of heights, so this was a huge big deal to him!)

And then ("the best part!"), coming out the other side, the kids unintentionally re-created a scene from Winnie the Pooh.

As in, a rather large child got literally stuck in the cave entrance (exit?).

Some kids were still inside the cave, behind him. Others had already emerged from the cave. So the kids outside pulled and the kids inside pushed and they pulled and pushed and pushed and pulled and ... nothing. Someone eventually called 911. The emergency crews came, and it took them 2 hours to remove the kid from the cave entrance. When he was successfully removed from the cave entrance, there was applause and cheering all ‘round.

This was, according to my son, "awesome!"

At first I was a little taken aback, but my son reassured me that the kid was laughing, not crying, and no one was teasing him or making fun of him. They all just thought it was a great adventure, and a great story to tell.

　

On a different day, they did some sort of zip-lining.

A child got stuck at one of the poles when the pulley jammed. He was dangling from the wire many feet above the ground while one of the camp counselors poked at the pulley with a stick. No luck. So another camp counselor had to climb the pole and work him loose. Again, the kid was stuck for about an hour, dangling from a wire, while they got it figured out.

My son’s report: "Awesome!!"

Again, the kid was laughing about it, and no one was traumatized, apparently...

Then on another day, they were swinging on a rope over a giant deep mud pit and doing cannonballs into the mud. My son apparently had a hard time getting out. It was thick and hard to move and.... well, the other kids had to all grab him and pull.

My son’s report: "Awesome!!"

As a parent in our "safety first" society, I feel like I should be cringing and swearing I’ll never send him to that camp again and/or trying to get it shut down. Too dangerous or something. But I don’t feel that way at all.

Instead, as a parent of a kid who is generally somewhat bookish a little timid, but came away from these scary events laughing and saying "Awesome!!" I feel like I ought to be writing the camp directors a big thank you letter.

Because in the end, no one was seriously injured, everyone came out of things ok, and what the kids learned (whether they realize it or not) was that there IS risk in great adventures. (As my husband would say, it’s that "air of danger" that makes it fun!) And if you’re going to have a great adventure, you need to be willing to accept the risk that something might go wrong. But also, when things do go wrong, you don’t panic, you stick together, you figure out a way to solve the problem, and you laugh about it afterwards because crying about it is just no fun at all.

So, he had fun, he overcame some fears, and he learned a bit about handling "sticky" situations.  Sounds like an "awesome" week to me!

Nothing Bad Happened

Lenore Skenazy, over at freerangekids.com, asked her readers to post in the comments on her blog about a time that nothing bad happened when they let their kids do something that others might have considered dangerous.  I wrote sort of a long story there in her comment section (although I confess I forgot to start with her suggested opener, "nothing bad happened when...").  I thought I might as well post it here, too.  If you'd like to read other stories about kids doing dangerous things that worked out ok, check out Lenore's blog post and comments here.  The upshot is, most kids are capable of a lot more than we give them credit for!  We should start giving them credit for being able to handle more things!

Here is my story about when nothing bad happened:

*************

I am (or at least, I was) apparently the world's worst babysitter.

Before I had kids, when I was in my late 20's, I babysat for a friend who had two kids, a boy, age 4, and a girl, age 8.

I had babysat lots when I was a teen, for a few hours at a time, and never had any problems at all, and I had been around plenty of my friends' and relatives' kids since that time, so I felt well-qualified.

My friend asked me to keep her kids at her house for a weekend, from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon.

I showed up Friday evening and brought the kids Happy Meals.  First mistake -- I thought I should get a "boy toy" for the boy and a "girl toy" for the girl, or at least two different toys so that they would, together, have more cool toys to play with.  Turns out I was supposed to get two identical toys so no one would have to be jealous that the other kid got a "better" toy.

Despite this "disastrous" start, the parents left me in charge anyway and took off for their destination, reminding me not to feed the kids too much junk food, and telling me to "have fun."

Saturday morning, the boy had a pee-wee league tee-ball game at a local park / recreation center, so I took the kids to it.  The little boy had to go to the bathroom, so I walked him to the restrooms.  He assured me he could handle the bathroom by himself, so I waited outside the men's room door while he went in.  No one else was around.  After a while, I heard the toilet flush and then the sink running, then heard "scuffling" on the other side of the door.  I pushed it gently to help the little guy open it, and he came out, smiling / happy.

Saturday afternoon, I put the little guy's booster seat in my car and took the kids to the zoo, bringing healthy snacks in the form of carrots, grapes, and mixed nuts.  The kids loved the snacks and had a great time at the zoo.

Sunday afternoon, the kids asked if we could ride bikes to the neighborhood park near their house.  I asked if they knew how to get there and they said yes.  We set out with me walking, the girl riding her "big kid bike," and the boy riding his bike with training wheels.  The girl would ride ahead and then wait for us at each stop sign.  Sure enough, she knew the way perfectly.  They wanted me to go get the car and drive them home, but I refused to leave them alone at the park in order to walk home and get the car, and so I made them ride their bikes the whole way back home.  They complained that they were tired, but we made it.  It was probably half a mile each way.  The kids were pretty tired after that, and sat and drank water and watched TV while I fixed them some dinner.  But they were happy and said they wanted me to come visit them again some time.

When the parents returned that evening, I found out I had subjected both kids, but especially the four-year-old, to many incredible and unacceptable dangers:

*  pedophiles in the bathroom! ("he's NEVER been to the bathroom by himself before!!  What if someone else had been in there?!?  What if he got stuck in the stall?!?");

*  potential choking hazards! ("admittedly somewhat unlikely but you could have at least cut the grapes in half!");

*  potential deathly allergic reaction to peanuts! ("the kids have never had nuts before!!")  [as an aside, you'd think the parents might have warned me if they were worried about that one!];

* risk of getting impossibly and irreparably lost!  ("How did you even find the park?  How were you sure you'd know the way home?!?")  [As if their 8 year old were completely incompetent to find her way home, and as if there were no other persons in the entire neighborhood to ask, if we did get lost...]

*  risk of heat stroke or heat exhaustion! ("But it's so far to the park!  They rode the WHOLE WAY there AND BACK?!?");

*  risk of dying by being run over by a car!  ("you had to cross three streets to get to the park!!") [note:  they were neighborhood streets, with one lane in each direction...].

Geez, I thought the kids and I had enjoyed a great fun weekend, one that would be the envy of any kid anywhere, but it turns out that, in fact, I am a horrible child endangerer!

They never asked me to babysit again...

*********

Have you ever subjected your kids, or someone else's kids, to an activity or situation that others judged you a "bad parent" for?

Reminder: Eat Your Black-Eyed Peas for New Year's

My yearly reminder to all of my blogger friends:  For good luck and prosperity, you simply MUST eat black eyed peas first thing on New Year's Day (which, in my world, means they must be eaten at 12:01 a.m., along with your champagne toast to the New Year!)

For a more detailed explanation of  the reasons why you must eat black eyed peas[footnote 1] first thing on New Year's Day, please see this prior post.

For a recap of the bad luck I experienced the one and only year that I forgot to eat the darned peas, please see this prior post.

Here are some links to recipes that will make them delicious for you:

1.  Healthy and Delicious: Southern-Style Black-Eyed Peas with Bacon

I'm not sure how the word "healthy" got included in the title for a recipe that includes bacon but I can vouch for the fact that the bacon will make it delicious!

2.  Crockpot Black-Eyed Peas With Ham

Ham is good, too, and perhaps more traditional than the bacon.  In fact, real Southerners use ham hocks.  Yum!

3.  Spicy Black-Eyed Peas With Tomatoes

And in Louisiana, they like their food spicy.  (See, e.g., Jambalaya).   These are a nice change from the salty, slightly sweet versions above.


Note that the first two recipes call for dried or frozen peas, which taste better than canned, but take longer to prepare than the kind out of the can. No procrastinating if you want them ready on time!

Then again, you could probably substitute the canned peas.  They wouldn't be as delicious, of course, but it would be easier.

Or, if you actually like the canned peas (like I do), and/or if you won't be home but want to be sure you get your good-luck-peas, you can just pop open a can, dump them into a bowl, heat them in the microwave, and you are ready to go within two minutes on New Year's Eve!  Definitely lacks the gourmet flair, but it's quick and practical and will keep you from suffering horrible bad luck all year!

I wish you all the best for the coming year.  May you all be healthy, happy, and prosperous.

* * * *
Footnote 1:  That would be a good name for a punk rock band, wouldn't it?  "The Black Eyed Peas". . .

Friday Feature - Free Range Kids

It's been months since I've done a "Friday Feature." But this blog is a good one, and I want all of you with kids or grandkids to go read some of it, so here's my "shout-out" about it:

I've been reading the Free Range Kids blog a lot, lately, because it has helped me to "let go" of my kids a bit more, and, more importantly, to let go of the irrational fear that previously accompanied any "letting go" that I did.

We are fed a steady news diet of scary stories about kids who are abducted, molested, and/or killed. We are also fed a steady advertising diet of new "safety" products that the advertisers tell us are absolutely essential to keep our children safe in our apparently completely unsafe world.

Parents have become afraid to let their kids out of sight. They have become "helicopter parents," monitoring every move their kids make, driving the kids everywhere they go, hanging around at every kid birthday party, interfering in every activity their kids engage in ... They buy their 8 year olds cell phones so the kids can call them... why, exactly? Presumably so they can call "if there's any trouble." But the only time the kids are even out of sight, typically, is at school... where, usually, cell phones are not allowed!

All this, despite the fact that, statistically, kids are safer now than at any prior time in history.

I remember, as a 10 year old child, riding my bike along a fairly major street, without a helmet or other safety gear, several miles to the school I attended. My parents were gone when I left the house, and still gone (at work or school) when I returned home. I was a "latch key" kid, I guess. But I didn't feel neglected so much as empowered.

My parents gave me enough money to ride the city bus to and from school each day, and some days I did, but I learned quickly that if I'd ride my bike, I could use the money for other things, like soda, ice cream, comic books, toys, movies, and more.

I remember after school and weekends and summers being allowed to roam free with my friends after school and again after dinner for hours at a time without so much as checking in, and the only rule was I had to be home by dark, which in Florida in the summer was 9 or 10 p.m.

Sometimes we pushed that a bit. It would be *really* dark... Sometimes I ignored my mom calling for me from the door of our house. I'd get yelled at when I got home, those nights, and a lecture about how she was worried about me, but it didn't stop her from letting me play with my friends other nights.

We'd ride our bikes after school and on weekends for miles and hours - without helmets, knee or elbow pads, or other safety gear.

I rode my bike a couple miles past my school to a farm on the outskirts of town to take horse riding lessons each week. By myself. And then rode home again.

We'd count our pennies and dimes, and when we had enough of them, we'd ride to the movie theatre and see "Rocky" or "The Bad News Bears" or whatever else was new and exciting.

We'd go to the local 7-11 and buy comics and candy, then hang out at one of our houses eating and reading.

I'd climb to the top of the best climbing tree in my yard - the one with lots of branches close together - and watch the people and cars pass by below, smiling because they didn't know I was there. I fell once, climbing down. Knocked the wind out of me and got a few bruises, but I didn't complain -- didn't want to be banned from tree-climbing.

I'd often go to friends' houses who had moved to other neighborhoods. Sometimes my parents would be so kind as to give me a ride; usually they told me to ride my bike -- it was only a couple of miles.

My friends and I would dig up bugs in the yard, and we learned the hard way that the beautiful large furry red ants were not actually ants but wasps.

We'd go for ice cream at the Baskin-Robbins and sample all 31 flavors before deciding which one to buy. I'm sure the employees hated us, but we had a blast.

We'd walk to the nearby park playground and play, for hours at a time, unaccompanied by any adults, on the merry-go-round, see-saws, and other play equipment that is now considered "too dangerous" and has been removed from most playgrounds across the country.

Schools had playgrounds back then, too - and they generally were not fenced in and locked off, but were open on weekends and summers for community kids to use.

We'd walk to the public swimming pool unaccompanied and swim for hours. If you passed the test (swim this far, tread water for this long...), you'd be issued a card that said you could go in the deep end of the pool even though your parents weren't there. You had to pass the test, because you wanted to jump off the high dive which, of course, was in the deep end of the pool.

All of this was when I lived in Florida. I moved from there the summer I turned 12.

When I was young, I flew often, alone, to visit grandparents, aunts / uncles, and other relatives. I started with non-stop flights and people meeting me at the gates, and worked my way up to changing planes and even changing airlines on occasion, and meeting folks at the baggage claim area.

When I was 17, I drove from Virginia to Alabama and back on my own in my 1965 Mustang (which I've written about previously, here), with nothing more than a map to help me navigate. This was before the days of cell phones and GPS systems. Fortunately, in the good ol' USA, you can go most anywhere just by following the signs on the interstate highways, as long as you know the major cities along the way.

These days, I worry that I'd be arrested for child neglect or endangerment if I let my kids do half the things I did as a kid.

I love the Free Range Kids blog, because it supports what I think is my better impulse, to allow my kids the same freedom to explore, to grow, and to develop self-confidence that I was given.

Too many kids these days reach adulthood without knowing how to navigate to their local convenience store alone, much less across the country by plane or auto. This needs to change. Kids are more competent than most people give them credit for.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not "anti-safety." I'm not advocating abandoning bike helmets or car seats. These are useful safety precautions that do not impede everyday life.

I am, however, increasingly frustrated with our society's infantilization of kids. Kids should be expected and allowed to develop appropriately, which includes developing self-reliance and the confidence to navigate, by themselves, in the world.

I recognize that some of the activities advocated on the Free Range Kids blog may be outside your comfort zone. I'm not advocating that you go straight from telling your 8 year old that she can't go outside without you to sending her across New York City on the subway unaccompanied. That would probably freak her out, anyway.

I am also not advocating that you send your child out to ride her bike in the street if you live on a major highway or in gangland central.

But for the vast majority of my readers who likely live somewhere in a decent urban, suburban, or even small town neighborhood, your kids will be fine if they ride their bike down the street, or walk the dog a few blocks without you. Try it! Once they get past feeling terrified by this new freedom, they will love the feeling that you trust them and that they can do it on their own.

I am, quite simply, advocating incremental change. Change toward allowing our children more freedom and responsibility, and trusting that they can handle it and will not suffer for it.

Read the blog. Teach your kids how to stay safe (hint: it's not about running from all strangers, but about knowing which neighbors you can trust and which ones are "creepy" and avoiding the "creepy" ones; it's not about staying on the sidewalk or in your yard at all times, but about learning how to cross the street safely).

Then trust your kids more and give them some well-deserved freedom.

Remember Your Black-Eyed Peas for the New Year!

Just my friendly annual reminder to re-fuel your luck for the coming year by eating your black eyed peas first thing on New Year's Day (12:01 a.m., right after the champagne toast, is my favorite time for it).

For further explanation, please see this prior post.

For a recap of the bad luck I experienced the one year I forgot to eat the darned peas, please see this prior post.

Don't let this happen to you! Eat your black-eyed peas!!

Loving Christmas

I love Christmas. Or at least, I love the *idea* of Christmas.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll decorate and have time to enjoy looking at the pretty lighted and decorated tree.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll bake cookies and have time to enjoy sharing them with our family and friends.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll shop for and buy that one perfect gift for each person on our list, and will have time to enjoy watching them smile when they open the beautifully wrapped package to find the love-gift inside.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll spend time with family and friends and show them, by our actions (including our presence at their holiday party and/or their invitation to attend ours), how much we love and appreciate them.

The idea of Christmas is that we'll celebrate, in whatever way our particular Christian religion, or lack thereof, specifies, the birth of the Christ child 2000 years ago, and will have time to reflect on the values that are important to us because of that event, such as love and kindness and charity and acceptance and compassion.


* * * * *


The problem with the idea of Christmas is that the reality of Christmas gets in the way.

Between work and daily life (which do not bother to slow down or stop just because it happens to be Christmas) and the added tasks of the season such as shopping and cooking and decorating and baking and wrapping and the never-ending obligatory holiday parties, I usually end up stressed out and frazzled by the time the day actually arrives, so that minor annoyances are then catapulted into catastrophe-land and I end up feeling less than loving, kind, charitable, and compassionate toward the relatives and friends who have gathered at my home and are trying to show me how much they love and appreciate me by doing 8000 annoying things and talking to me all at the same time so I can't even hear myself think and getting in the way of the cooking and baking that is happening, not to mention knocking over the decorations and spilling wine on the couch....


* * * * *

This year, I'm really trying to honor the idea of Christmas, so forgive me if I skip some of the decorating, shopping, wrapping, baking, and party-attending so that I can relax and enjoy the few decorations I will put up; and enjoy watching just a few friends and close family members open their pretty but less-than-perfectly wrapped and decent but not-necessarily-perfect gifts; and relax while attending one or two holiday parties, instead of rushing madly to attend bunches of them.

This means some of you might feel "slighted" as I don't attend your party or don't get you that one perfect gift (or any gift at all, really).

It's not that I don't love you. It's just that I also want to relax and enjoy this Christmas season. I want to love Christmas again -- and not just the idea of it.

Credit Card Companies Are Not Your Friends

While surfing the internet last week, I ran across a pretty creepy article.

In case you were still under the delusion that your credit card company, or any of its representatives, actually cares about *you*....

Click here to read the New York Times article.

It is chilling, really, to read about how the credit card companies have invested tons of money to train people to *act* as if they care about you, and to use psychological profile information against you, so that they can suck as much money as possible out of you while you feel "grateful" for their "kindness."

Example: Even when the collection agent knows the company would settle for $10,000, he uses psychological manipulation to sucker the poor schlub into paying $12,000.

Example: The "kind" woman at Bank of America (I'll call her "Vampiress" here) so thoroughly convinces the poor woman whose husband just deserted her, leaving her to try to raise two kids and pay the huge credit card debts alone and on a virtually non-existent income, that Vampiress is "just like her" and understands her situation and actually cares about her, that the woman becomes devoted to paying B of A and pays the entire $28,000 balance (half of which was probably interest and fees, rather than actual borrowed money). Vampiress, meanwhile, never informs the poor woman that B of A would readily have cut her debt in half and reduced the (probably near 30%) interest rate if only she would ask. And of course the woman never asked, because she didn't want to "hurt" Vampiress's feelings.

And -- they are using information about *what you buy with the card they have issued you* to determine whether you are a "good" or "bad" credit risk -- and to raise your rates accordingly if you buy things they think indicate you are a bad risk. For example, if you buy beer at particular bars, your credit rate likely will increase. On the other hand, use your card to buy home repair items, and they figure you are a good risk and leave your rates alone. I guess technically it's not an "invasion of privacy" since you're using their card to buy the stuff and so they are only looking at their own records, but... wow. Seems like they ought, at least, to be required to inform you about what things you buy might make your interest rate go up!!

After reading the article, all I can say is:

Holy crap, people! Credit card companies are NOT your friends! Nor are any of their employees or representatives!

The companies are evil blood-sucking leeches, whose only goal is to suck every penny out of you that you will pay. The people they hire to pretend to befriend you are doubtless down on their luck, too -- or else they are also evil. I can't imagine any other reason why anyone would sit through the training described in the article and not run screaming from the building instead of consenting to work for such guileless monsters.

Your best option? Use the cards as much as you like, but pay the balance every month, faithfully. Never roll over a balance to the next month.

What if you owe money on several cards and can't pay the balances in full? Call all the companies and ask them to reduce your interest rates. Some will, some won't, but it never hurts to ask. Then, focus on repaying the cards as quickly as possible. Credit card interest is the worst kind. It's generally not tax-deductible, and often the rate increases based on one late payment -- or even based on one late payment to a different credit card company!!

What if you owe lots of money on lots of cards and have no hope of ever fully re-paying the balance (or at least not within some reasonable amount of time, such as 5 years)? What if you are starting to feel that at least half the money you owe them is amounts they have tacked on in interest charges and late fees for those times when you paid a day or two late -- or paid a different bill late? For that situation, I have the following public service announcement:

Remember, credit card debt -- unlike child support, alimony, and student loans -- is unsecured debt that is dischargeable in bankruptcy.

So, if you are having even some minor difficulty paying your credit card bills, consult a bankruptcy attorney. Get a realistic assessment of your options. If it looks like your financial troubles are unlikely to improve in the very near future, or if it appears that, even when you get a job and/or start making more money, you still may have trouble with those ridiculously high credit card interest rates, you probably want to file bankruptcy. Don't be afraid. Just do it.

Do it now, *before* you are behind on your mortgage and car payments and haven't bought clothes for 3 years and have drained your retirement account, all to try to keep up with those ever-increasing card payments with their ridiculous fees and exorbitant interest.

Do it now, *before* you default on the cards for a year and get sued and potentially allow the credit card companies to reduce the debt to a judgment, which can then be secured by a lien on your home.

Do it now, *before* you send thousands of dollars to the evil credit card companies that you could have been putting into your retirement account or your kids' college funds.

Just do it.

Remember: The Credit Card Companies Are Not Your Friends.

In most cases, when you file bankruptcy you can keep your house and car and all or nearly all of the money in your retirement accounts, as well as most or all of your stuff, and you will get rid of that ridiculous credit card debt so you can go back to buying clothes for your kids and making your mortgage payment without raiding your retirement accounts.

Look into it now. Before the credit card companies successfully lobby Congress to make it harder for you to get those leeches off your neck.



* * * * * *

The foregoing should not be construed as legal advice, nor as advertising for any particular attorney or for attorneys in general. It is, instead, practical advice based on my own particular observations about the evil-ness of credit card companies.

Screw them, before they screw you.

And then learn to live within your means and quit using those credit cards!! After all, you really shouldn't have run them up in the first place....

Black Is Beautiful

When I was very young, in 1970 or so, my mom took me with her sometimes to the office where she was a student intern. The receptionist there was always friendly and would talk to me or offer me pencils and paper for coloring when I was bored waiting for my mom.

One day, the receptionist had a little sign on her desk that said "Black is Beautiful."

I said, "I don't like black. I like blue the best!"

The woman laughed. My mom was mortified and apologized to the woman and took me aside and explained that the sign meant that black *people* are beautiful, and that it was meant to counter the general and wrong view that black people were some how "less worthy" than white people.

I was confused because I hadn't realized she was a "black person." When I thought about her at all (which was very rarely, really, since I was a kid and didn’t think often about others), I just thought she had a nice smile and a kind personality and pretty brown skin. And I was embarrassed for saying I didn't like black, because that wasn't what I meant!

I think that was the first time I realized that some people considered different skin color "bad." It made me sad because the woman was really nice.

Sometimes people claim that kids don't "notice" skin color until we teach them to. That's not really true, though. It wasn't that I didn't "notice" her skin color. I did, just as one notices hair color, height, and the shape of a nose. It's just that until then, I had never thought it could be a bad thing or even a defining characteristic of a person. I noticed, but without judging.

I hope our society will one day stop teaching kids that anyone's physical characteristics are "bad" or make a person "unworthy" or "less" than others.

And I thank my parents heartily for not teaching me such awful lessons.

Write a Will. Please, Write A Will.

My Grandmother died last month. For purposes of remaining somewhat anonymous, I'll call her Grandma here, although I did not call her that while she lived.

I feel bad about not writing sooner of her death, and my feelings about it. After all, I wrote of my Grandpa's death the day I learned of it, which is to say the morning after he died. And I'm not writing about her today, either, because I have something I have to get off my chest first.

My Grandpa died with a will, and with a spouse. This vastly simplifies things. He left everything to his spouse under his will, and it was not a large estate, so there were no probate issues, no estate to settle, no taxes to be figured and paid... everything was just... easy.

My Grandma, however, died with no spouse and no will. She also never re-titled some of the assets from my Grandpa (car, bank accounts...) into her name. This vastly complicates things. First, you have to figure out who the heirs are. Because one of her sons killed himself years ago, his "children" (they're adults, now, actually) are entitled to share in the estate. They share the portion of the estate that he would have taken, had he lived.

Plus, there is no executor designated in a will, so you have to get the siblings to agree on who should be the personal representative of the estate.

And you have to figure out what, exactly, constitutes the "estate." There are insurance policies that pass outside the probate estate. There are bank accounts with POD designations that pass outside the estate. There are bank accounts with co-owners named on the account itself, that pass outside the estate to the co-owners of the account. At least, this is what I am learning about the law of the state she died in. Please don't take this as good legal advice for every state or every situation.

That pretty much left the furniture, for my Grandma's estate, and a couple of insurance policies she held on the lives of others, payable to her, which may have some sort of cash-out value and will be payable to the estate. Oh, and the car, too -- which has to be retitled to someone and it can't be my Grandma since she's no longer living, so then you have to decide who must handle that and what should happen to the car. Will it be sold? Will someone just keep it?

And then you have to try to figure out what the furniture, car, and other assets are "worth," and how to dispose of them.

The siblings end up disagreeing over this. Some want to have some furniture and/or the car, others want to simply auction it all off and split the proceeds. And if some people take items of sentimental value, does the "value" of those items (and what about shipping costs?) come out of that person's share of the proceeds? If so, how do you value it?

And if you're going to auction it, who pays for the costs of transportation to the auction house? If the estate is paying to transport things to the auction house, should it also pay to transport things to any sibling who wants to have them? And if it takes time to pack and transport the things to the siblings who want them, or to the auction house, who pays for the extra storage costs (rent at the home where the items are located, or transportation to and storage costs at a storage facility) while you wait for the auction, or transportation to the siblings, to occur?

And if some siblings go to the house and help sort and pack items, while others claim they are too busy or live too far away to assist, do the siblings who help get reimbursed for their travel expenses from the estate? What about lost income? See, if a personal representative were appointed, they would be entitled to some sort of compensation by statute, but what about when one hasn't been appointed yet?

And will there even be enough money to pay the tax accountant after all the expenses are paid? If not, who will pay that?

And what about the fact that Grandma left money in IRA accounts to three of four siblings, but not the other? Was that intentional? Or not? Should the siblings try to "equalize" the estate by giving more proceeds of any sales to the fourth living sibling? If so, does that sibling get more of a say in what happens to the furniture / household items? Can that person "demand" -- or can others demand on his behalf -- that everything be auctioned to maximize his cash? And what about the children of the fifth (dead) sibling? Do the siblings try to equalize their inheritance, too? Or do they just accept that Grandma maybe didn't want those heirs to have the same amount of cash as the others?

And so the siblings end up disagreeing over these things, and even though none of them are particularly money-hungry, and none of them want to leave the others without an inheritance, and it's not a lot of money anyway, the disagreements over the details leave everyone having the same fights they, as siblings, have had all their lives. Fights over whether this or that person is "too controlling" or "doesn't care about anything but money" or "isn't stepping up to be responsible and help with the work, or the decision-making."

Feelings are hurt, usually unintentionally. Relationships, never perfect among these siblings to begin with, are damaged further.

It is hard to watch. These are all people I love -- my Mother, my uncles.... and it's not that anyone is saying "it's all mine you shouldn't have it." Nothing that extreme. Just minor disagreements over how to handle things, and who gets to decide, and what is the best way to maximize this minimal estate, combined with 40+ years of sibling rivalries and personality conflicts.

Please, people, don't put your children through this. Write a will. If you have significant assets, contact a good estate planning attorney and set up living trusts and pourover trusts and whatever else you need to protect your assets while also making sure they go where you want them to go after you die. Tell people what you want to happen to your stuff, and direct that the expenses should be paid from the estate if possible, and/or direct that anyone who wants what has been left to them should pay for their own transportation costs or costs of sale or other disposal. Your choice. But make a decision!

If you've raised your kids well, they'll appreciate the direction. Some feelings may be hurt, and some of your kids might be mad at you for giving the silverware to someone else -- but most likely they'll work it out or accept that you handled it the way you thought was best. At least they won't be ruining their relationships with each other just trying to decide what you would think is "best" or what "should" happen.

Well, I can't guarantee they won't. Sometimes people's feelings are hurt, or they're money-hungry and so they challenge the will. But at least they have a chance to avoid the fight, by simply following your directions.

Without a will, it appears there's almost no chance of avoiding conflict, even when all involved have good intentions.

The Idiot

This story, by Lola at Women: We Shall Overcome (awesome blog), reminded me of an incident that happened to me a few years back.

My husband and I needed something or other from Home Depot. On a Saturday. Oh yeah, you know that's fun, right?

So we drove to the closest one, which happened to be in a very crowded strip mall in Mesa, Arizona, and then we drove around the parking lot for several minutes looking for a parking space.

Finally, success! A car with a person getting into it! So I stopped in the lane and waited for the person to finish getting into her car and back out of her space.

I don't know why, but after getting into her car and starting it, the woman sat there a while, not moving, before veeerrrryy sloooowly beginning to back out of the space.

Meanwhile, a car pulled into the lane and stopped right behind me. Then, a man approached from the left side and behind my car (coming from the store exit) and walked around the front of my car and approached the driver's door of his car, which was parked directly to my right.

And then the man got into the car to my right, started his car, and put it into reverse. . . . And then he started backing up.

I couldn't pull forward or back because of the other cars in the lane, so I hit the horn -- twice quickly and then a loud long blast!

My husband yelled out his open window, "STOP!!"

A man and woman were walking, and then running, up the row and they were waving frantically and yelling "STOP! STOP!"

But the man backed right into my car. Kind of hard. There was a very large dent in the passenger door. We were lucky my husband wasn't injured.

And then the man, hereafter to be known as "The Idiot," got out of his car and yelled at me, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?"

WTF? I tried to remain calm, but it is difficult when faced with such irate stupidity.

So I yelled back at him: "What am I doing? What the hell are you doing? You just backed into MY car! And you knew I was there!! You had to walk around my car to get into yours!!"

"Well you should have moved by now!"

"WHAT?!? Didn't you look behind you before you backed out of your space? You're damn lucky you didn't just run over a person walking!!"

[Under my breath: "God what an idiot!!"]

The Idiot then started to get back in his car, saying he was leaving. I reminded him that Arizona law requires drivers to share their license and insurance information whenever they are involved in a collision. He refused to give it, insisting that the collision wasn't his fault. (Uh, yeah.... right....). Someone called the police on a cell phone, but then someone else said they wouldn't come because it was private property. I don't know if that's true, but the police did not arrive at any time before we left, so maybe it was true.

The Idiot wanted to leave and demanded, loudly, that I "Move that piece of shit car so I can get on with my life!!" . . .

. . . That was the moment when I realized I had the upper hand in this negotiation.

So I smiled, and calmly told him I'd move my car right after we exchanged license and insurance information, as required by Arizona law. I got out a piece of paper and made a big show of (very slowly) recording the make and model of his car, the license plate number, and the VIN from the dashboard.

He yelled at me the entire time -- things like, "This is all your fault, you bitch! Get away from my car!" and "I'll have you arrested for false imprisonment if you don't let me leave!" I told him he was free to go anytime he wanted; but that I wasn't planning to move my car until I had obtained the information I wanted and/or filed the police report. After that I ignored him and wrote down the information. I did not touch his car. The witnesses offered me their names and telephone numbers. I wrote those down, too.

The man yelled some more about what a moron I was and how the collision was all my fault. I smiled politely and said, "Yell all you like, I'm not moving my car until after we have exchanged insurance information, as required by law." I slowly wrote down my own license and insurance information for him. He looked like he wanted to hit me, but the witnesses were still standing there, and my husband looked like he might hit back, so finally the man broke down and got out his license and insurance information, cursing the entire time.

I wrote it down. I moved my car. He drove away. The police still hadn't arrived, so I parked my car in his spot and my husband and I did our shopping and then we drove home.

His insurance later paid to fix my car, with no questions asked. Didn't even need those witnesses. I had the feeling from his agent that this was not the first time The Idiot had done something ... idiotic.

Squirrel Hunting

A friend of ours likes to hunt, and is often successful on his hunting trips. He recently offered to take LegalMist's Son (LMS) squirrel hunting.

Now, I'm OK with hunting so long as you actually eat what you kill. But I've never eaten squirrel, and I'm not sure I want to start now, although I've heard they can be delicious if cooked properly.

Reluctantly, I agreed that our friend -- we'll call him "Jim" -- could take LMS squirrel hunting. LegalMist's Daughter (LMD) wanted to go, too. OK.

So Jim set off into the woods with 2 shotguns, 3 barking dogs (his dogs, not ours), and 2 excited and very loud kids (our kids, not his), ages 12 and 7.

He came back an hour and a half later complaining: "There was not a single squirrel to be seen in the whole dang forest! Where are all the stupid squirrels?!? I was here last week and there were hundreds of them!!"

"Uh ... Jim," I responded, "when you were here last week ... did you bring the dogs?"

No.

And I know you didn't bring my kids. Did you bring anyone else's kids?

Uh... no.

So you were alone -- no barking dogs, no rambunctious kids?

Uh ... yeah.

Hmmmmm. And there were lots of squirrels around? Imagine that....

Jack-A-Roo-Dave-La

When I was a kid, I loved the Beatles. Still do, actually.

"Across the Universe" is one of my favorite Beatles songs. It's got such a pretty melody, and deep and meaningful (translate: obscure) lyrics that can rattle around in your brain all day. My daughter loves the song, too.

So on our recent trip to California, we were playing the CD in the car and singing along.

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass, they make
Their way across the Universe.

Pools of sorrow rays of joy
Are drifting through my open mind
Possessing and caressing me....

And then ... what are those words?

I suddenly realized that, in my 40+ years of existence, I had never bothered to learn what that next lyric really is. As a kid I always just sang, "Jack-a-roo Dave la" without ever thinking about it. But that can't be it, can it?

Jack a Roo Dave la.... ohhh....

Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million
Eyes, they call me on and on,
Across the universe

Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make
Their way across the Universe....

Shit, there it is again... what's that line? It sounds for all the world like "Jack a roo Dave la.... ohhhh..." but that just can't be it!! ....

Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter shades of earth are ringing
Through my open views
Inciting and inviting me.

Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million
Suns, it calls me on and on,
Across the Universe.

Dang. There it is again, "Jack a Roo Dave la.... ohhhh...."

Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jack a roo Dave la
Jack a roo Dave la
Jack a roo Dave la.....

It makes no sense, Jack a roo Dave la. My daughter even asked, "what are they saying there?" And I had to confess I had no idea. ... "Jack a roo Dave la?" I said... and to her credit she actually laughed at me instead of accepting that as true.

I drove for hours with that lyric rattling around in my head.

Here, if you don't know the lyric, you try to figure it out (from this admittedly rough YouTube clip of the Beatles working on Across the Universe and Dig a Pony)!



See, you can't figure it out either, right?

When we got to the hotel, I looked it up on the wondrous modern invention we call the internet (whether invented by Al Gore or not, it is certainly a wonderful thing).

Turns out, the phrase is "Jai Guru Deva... om" which, loosely translated and according to Wikipedia, means something like, "Glory to the divine Guru," and is followed by the traditional transcendental meditation chant of "Om."

Wow, what a thing to learn after 40 years of singing "Jack a roo Dave la.... ohhhh" as if that made any sense at all.

Hopefully I've just saved some of you from the same fate.

Or maybe you knew all that already and (in the words of Rebecca Howe of the long-running sit-com Cheers), "I am too stupid to LIVE!"

* * *

In my defense, the phrase "Jack-a-Roo" isn't that far out there (except for the fact that it makes no sense at all in the context of the song). The Grateful Dead have a song entitled Jack-A-Roe.

* * *

Happy singing, Beatles fans, happy singing.

To My Daughter, and Her Team

To my dear daughter:

I am so proud of you today.

You finished your last basketball game of the season with pride in your effort and joy all over your face.

You were born tiny - 5 pounds, 1.8 ounces. You have hovered between the 5th and 10th percentile for height your whole life.

You are the smallest girl on your team, and your team (the only team of 6th graders in a league of teams that have a few 6th and 7th graders and lots of 8th graders) is the smallest team in the league. There were games in which you were the smallest girl on the court, and the tallest girl towered over you by two feet or more. There were games in which the tallest girl on your team was about the same height as the smallest girl on the other team. Anyone would have predicted it and, indeed, it happened. Your team lost 11 games, and won only one.

And yet, I don't consider the season a disaster. There could have been tears, and frustration, and a "loser" attitude. You could have vowed never to play again.

Instead -- wow, what you learned this basketball season!

I'll never forget that first game. The girls on the other team ranged from 5'8" to 6'2". And they weren't twigs, either. Not a soul on your team is over 5'8". Your entire team looked wide-eyed and lost. You didn't know what to do, or how to do it. This was nothing like your team practices! You stood and chewed your fingernails and watched helplessly as the other team (Amazon women, I tell you - just huge!) shot basket after basket. One of your teammates saved you from a scoreless first game by making a free throw. I think the final score was 44 - 1.

But none of you gave up. You came back for the next game, and the next game, and the one after that....

And at each successive game, you all looked a little less lost, a little more confident, a little more capable, a little more competitive.

The heartbreaker of the season was the game that you lost in the final seconds, by one point. It was a close game all the way, but your team was leading throughout most of it. This particular team had only 5 girls - I'm sure they must have been tired by the end of the game, with no subs! - so even though they were bigger than your team, it was a lot more evenly matched. It was a fun game, but oh-so-painful to watch as the other team scored the winning basket just as the clock ticked down to zero.

But when you played that team later in the season, you won! It was your team's only victory, and oh it was sweet.

Another highlight, for me: You scored one of the only baskets for your team in last week's game against a bunch of 7th and 8th graders. I was so proud of you! How you managed to throw the ball high enough to get over that gal's arms, and still make the ball go into the basket, I'll never know. But you did, and it was amazing!

And your defense!! At that first game, the girls on the other team could easily walk up to you or your teammates and simply take the ball away, run down the court, and score.

Today, a girl on the other team tried that with you. She was at least a foot taller than you, and outweighed you by at least 30 pounds, but you weren't about to let her get that ball. No way, no how!! You held onto it as if your life depended on it. She grabbed the ball and pulled upward. You held on. She nearly picked you up off your feet. That would have been a sight, huh? Her holding the ball and you hanging onto it, with feet dangling in the breeze? In the end, the referee called a jump-ball, and your team got the possession!

Several times today, I saw you guarding the tallest girl on their team, and actually doing such a great job of getting in her way that she had to pass the ball and couldn't take a shot. Wow. You've really come a long way from the shy girl in the first game of the season. No more fingernail-chewing for you. Oh, no - now it's pure hustle and effort for the entire 24 minute game! Perhaps in recognition of your effort, your teammates even elected you team co-captain. How very cool.

There were some bumps along the way. You played one team - I'll just call them "team B" - that apparently thought they were a hockey team. They pushed and shoved and poked at you every time the ref's turned their backs. They body slammed your players, knocking them down. They called you all names and made mean comments and cursed throughout the game. It was so hard to watch as they literally caused three injuries to your teammates. Despite it all, your team continued to play by the rules, and persevered, and played as well as you could. You lost, as usual, but you won the moral victory. You didn't stoop to their level. And compared with the usual 6-50 or 4-47 losses, the 8-16 loss to Team B didn't seem so bad, really. I kept thinking if they would focus on playing basketball instead of trash-talking and sucker-punching, they might have beat your team as soundly as most of the other teams in the league did!

Your coaches, with the support of your team, decided to concede the second game against that team rather than subject you all to that again. But in the end, the league president called them to the mat. The Team B girls wrote letters of apology, and you all agreed to play them again. Sadly, you were sick and missed that game, but I heard that Team B actually played by the rules and were polite and kind throughout. Your team still lost, but at least it was a fair and fun game! And maybe Team B learned something along the way, too - they didn't have to cheat and trash talk to win a game.

All in all, it was a good season. The 1-11 record your team amassed says absolutely nothing about what you all learned, how hard you all played, the level of talent and hustle you displayed, and what you all accomplished this season.

Every game, you all gave it 100%. You improved steadily throughout the season. You learned the rules and strategies of the game. You learned to play good defense. You learned to take shots when you can. But most of all, you enjoyed it. Every game, you said you had fun. You never whined about losing, or about all the practices. You had fun with your friends. You supported each other. You cheered each other from the sidelines. You smiled a lot. You were a joy to watch.

I am so proud of you.

Love, Mom

P.S. Watch out, league. When these girls hit 8th grade, they will be unstoppable!

From My Email Inbox

Whatever you give a woman, she will make greater.

If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby.
If you give her a house, she'll give you a home.
If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal.
If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart.

She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her.

So, if you give her any crap, be ready to receive a ton of shit.

I Hate Motorcycle Cops (aka, I Am An Idiot)

I hate motorcycle cops.

All last week and yesterday, the motorcycle cops have been sitting at a particular place on a particular street, and I've been oh-so-careful to drive the speed limit there. There's a big hill going down, then you come up the hill & there's the cop.

Today, I was chatting with my kid while driving, and must have got going too fast down the hill.

I saw the cop, but it was too late.

I got a speeding ticket.

I hate motorcycle cops.

They have only one purpose: to make money for the city by giving out speeding tickets. If they really just wanted to stop people from speeding, they'd give warnings instead, at least for the first time they catch you. But have you ever been given just a warning from a motorcycle cop? No, you have not. Don't lie to me about the time you talked your way out of a motorcycle cop ticket. It might have worked on a regular police officer, sure. But not a motorcycle cop. All they give are actual tickets. I don't think they even have warning slips on those tiny little motorbikes. Just a ticket book.

I get really annoyed because I think of all the crime going on in our city. Just last week, one block over from my house, someone broke into a home and stole lots of jewelry, a flat-screen television, blu-ray disc player, and lots of other items. Any motorcycle cops around to prevent that crime? Heck no, they were all too busy writing speeding tickets. When I first got my car last January, someone stole it in the middle of the night, from right in front of my house! Any motorcycle cops around to prevent that crime? Heck no, they were all too busy writing speeding tickets! A few months back, some kids went through the neighborhood and "tagged" lots of recycle bins, fences, etc. Any motorcycle cops around to prevent that crime? Heck no, they were all too busy writing speeding tickets!!

Stopping the horrible crime of speeding. Oh, I feel so much safer already. (That was sarcasm, in case it didn't come through.)

They always want to give me the song and dance about how speeding is so dangerous. Well, speeding in and of itself is not dangerous. Sure, if you're going horribly fast through a residential neighborhood, that's bad. But on a non-residential street, there aren't any kids or bicycles or pets wandering around in the street. Just a bunch of cars, most of which are exceeding the speed limit. It's more dangerous not to speed - you'll end up getting hit from behind!

The thing that is dangerous is when cars are traveling at vastly different speeds from each other. That is what makes collisions more likely, not the fact of speed itself. If all the cars are traveling at exactly 65 miles per hour on a freeway with a 55 mph speed limit, for example, they are all technically speeding, but the likelihood of any of them hitting the others is between slim and none because they are all moving at the same speed (assuming no one makes a stupid lane change and hits the guy next to him). No one will catch up to another car to hit it.

But if you have one idiot car going 45 miles per hour on the mistaken assumption that it's the speed itself that is bad, and a bunch of normal people driving 60 to 65 mph, then you have a 15-20 mile per hour speed differential - and lot of folks who are not expecting the idiot to be going that slow - and you have traffic flow issues as people come up behind the idiot and hit their brakes and then swerve to go around him and so forth, and then it is ripe for an accident.

Same analysis if you have everyone going the speed limit, 55, and an idiot or three going 75 or 80. The speed differential makes it hard for the idiots to avoid hitting the other cars, as they constantly swerve around them.

The other thing that can make speed unsafe is when you have a head-on collision - two folks hitting each other head on at 55 mph each is definitely a worse crash than two cars colliding when each is traveling at 25 mph.

But this particular road has a median, so a head-on collision is unlikely. And the sidewalk is separated from the road by a concrete barrier. And there is a sign saying "no bikes allowed" on this stretch of road (there's a bike path on the other side) And there are no roads coming in from the side in the particular stretch where I was speeding.

All of which means the chances of a collision there are between slim and none. And in fact, there is hardly ever an accident in that particular spot. The only time I've ever seen an accident there is during rush hour, when it is bumper-to-bumper stop and go traffic moving at between 0 and 10 mph, and some idiot talking on a cell phone bumps the car in front of him. But that's not a speeding problem, now is it? There was no need for a motorcycle cop to even sit at that stretch of the road looking for speeders. Unless you are the city government and you want to make money.

And in my particular case, there weren't even any other cars nearby - just a couple of cars behind me, so there was no chance I was going to hit them! (Which is probably part of the reason I was going so fast - no other cars around, just open road. Why not go a little faster? Really!)

The motorcycle cop's purpose had to have been to make money, not to prevent unsafe driving, or even to stop speeding. There was no chance of a collision. And he accomplished his purpose of stopping me from speeding the minute he pulled me over. I'll be a lot more careful now. The ticket was totally unnecessary, and all it does is make money for the city.

I know government budgets are tight, but my budget is tight right now, too. This economy sucks, and clients aren't paying their bills as promptly as they used to. Some of them aren't paying at all. And now I'll have to scramble to come up with the money to pay for the "defensive driving" class (I'll save that rant for another day!) so I won't get points on my license and have my insurance rates go up, too. Aarrgghh.

I hate motorcycle cops.

* * *

I'm also a big idiot.

I've seen the motorcycle cops out there for over a week, and I still went speeding past without a care in the world.

Really, how stupid is that?!?

Perhaps it proves I wasn't paying enough attention to the road and was a potential driving hazard.

Maybe I deserved the ticket after all....

The Unteachables

As I've mentioned before, I am teaching a legal writing class this semester. I also occasionally teach a class about how to pass the Law School Admissions Test.

In both settings, I've found a small minority of students who are "unteachable."

I sometimes wonder how they got through college and how they think they will get through law school with their bad attitudes about learning.

I'm not complaining about students who are slow learners, or who need things explained more than once or more than one way. I've been told I'm very good at explaining things clearly, and I'm careful always to explain each concept more than once to make sure it sinks in, and I'm capable of explaining things several different ways if necessary, so that most anyone who tries will understand the concepts by the time class is over.

I do not get impatient with the students who genuinely want to learn but who have trouble understanding. If all the students came in understanding and knowing everything already, I wouldn't have a job, right? And it's fun to watch as a student tries and tries and then finally "gets" a new concept. So, as long as they are still trying, I too will keep trying, until they get it. I figure if I'm doing my job right, and they are sticking with it, eventually they will understand. And most of my students learn pretty quickly, either because they're quick learners or because I'm a good teacher.

No, I'm not complaining about the average student, the slow learners, or even the really slow learners.

No, the students I'm complaining about are the ones who come into the class with pre-conceived ideas about how to do things, how things should be, and how to learn, and who are unwilling to consider a new way to approach a topic, a new way of thinking about things, or a new way to learn.

This makes no sense to me. Why would you sign up for a class if you are unwilling to hear and apply what the teacher has to say? I'm not saying that students should accept everything I say without questioning it. But I am saying that they should at least consider whether it might be true, or a good idea, before rejecting it out of hand.

As an example, in my LSAT class, occasionally a student will literally argue with me in class about how my method of approaching a certain type of question doesn't make sense to them because "it's too complicated." Then they'll tell me that their method of understanding it is simpler and makes more sense. They will then explain their method and try to convince me that it is better than my method.

Meanwhile, however, their method is logically flawed and although it might work on a few questions purely by chance, it will lead to the wrong results in most cases.

So I'll explain the flaw in their reasoning and explain my method again, possibly in a new way, hoping to show them the correct logic that will lead to success on the LSAT.

They don't want to hear it. "But that doesn't make sense," they'll say, "My way makes sense to me!"

After several attempts to show them the flaw in their reasoning and explain the correct analysis, the unteachables will respond, "Well, I kind of see what you're saying [i.e., they do understand and are capable of learning the material!], but I still think my way makes more sense so I think I'll just do it my way [i.e., they are choosing not to learn it]."

Sometimes the only thing I can do is to ask them, point blank, "And what did you score on your practice test?"

They will generally give a vague answer like, "not all that well," or they will admit to a poor to middling score. (Why else would they sign up for the LSAT prep class, right?)

Then I'll say, "So you'll admit, then, that your way isn't working for you so well, right? Because if your way were working, you would have scored higher and you wouldn't be here, right?"

"Uh ... I guess so."

And then I ask, "Why don't you just try this new way of looking at the problem? Just try it my way, ok? If you really try and it doesn't work, then you can go back to doing it your way."

Usually that at least shuts them up so I can teach the rest of the class how to excel on the LSAT.

The unteachables. Aaarrgh.