Juggling Life

Empty Nest Redux

Is it just me or does she look like the epitome of glowing health and beauty SoCal style?

I had graduation for my college Friday night; thank goodness a father-daughter college move-in road trip seemed like a great idea. So I celebrated with my students (note: If I'm going to continue to do this, I might invest in a gown and hood made of something other than 100% polyester. Holy 90 degrees yesterday) and then joined some co-workers at a wine bar for fancy noshes and the most delish cocktail ever--Champagne with Grey Goose vodka and a dash of ginger liqueur. O.M.G. All for $20. Not even kidding.

Saturday saw me lounging in bed before heading off to my company picnic down at Mission Bay--a gorgeous venue under any circumstance, but on an 80 degree day with a pleasant breeze? Lots of grass and sailboats and good food and, in an unexpected twist, Atomic Fireball whiskey. A good time was had by all.

Then it was home for the Little League World Series, which I love with an inexplicable passion--I'm just not into MLB anymore, but this is pure Boys of Summer stuff. Plus, a San Diego County team is in and they're so talented and I loved Little League when my boys played and their dad coached and umpiring was their first job. My team won! Tomorrow, after a morning walk with a friend at the lake, Mr. Fix-it and I will watch Japan vs. United States at noon. 

Good times.

It's lovely to have the bedrooms full and then it's lovely to have them empty. This is the way life is supposed to be now and I think it comes just in the nick of time--for me anyway. I'm ready for a quieter life. I've been watching Brothers and Sisters* (I am so a cross between Nora and Sarah) and Rebecca, the illegitimate daughter, told her mother Holly that she'd deprived her of the chaos and dysfunction of a big family. There is so much beauty and joy in a big family, but, yes, it is chaotic.

Mr. Fix-it and I are going to Fort Collins in mid-September and then Flagstaff a couple of weeks after that. We are blessed to be able to make these trips--they are so much fun.

Oh, and I had a great success this week. A couple of FB friends and I were super-heated over some inaccurate articles about eating disorders in a couple of online magazines--one you've not heard of, but one was Psychology Today. We started tweeting and I got one article pulled, the head of the National Institute of Mental Health weighed in on the Psychology Today article and we had discourse with the author--we got totally lame backpedaling, but it's a start.

When I say I'm going to lead a quiet life, I really mean in comparison to how busy I have traditionally been, because it turns out I can only sit still for so long. Thankfully, a coworker described me today as "freakishly efficient." I'll take it. It gives me plenty of time to tilt at windwills in the hopes I can contribute to making some incremental changes for the better in this crazy society.

 

*I love Sally Struthers and Patricia Wettig for their ability to move their faces and their wrinkles. Thank you, ladies. Now, THAT is aging gracefully. 

 

 

 

 

You are a Data Sample Size of One

There are so many issues I am passionate about that it's difficult to know where to channel my energies. Right now, I'm taking action on Eating Disorder education with my work as a parent mentor for the UCSD Eating Disorder Clinic--a time commitment of one Saturday a month--and keeping abreast of research in the field. 

One thing I've always done (though I'm aware it's basically tilting at windmills) is writing letters to the editor of our local right-wing rag newspaper. (This is actually a whole 'nother story as I hate subscribing because I can't stand that I'm putting money in the publisher's pocket, but I need my local news and I use the business section to teach about our local bio-tech industry.)

I was struck the other day about how many of the letters are from people who consider their experiences to be the be-all and end-all of how something can go. They erroneously extrapolate what they have learned/lived/seen as being how things must always be. This shocking lack of empathy and refusal to be conscious of the many different paths there are to walk in life is really bumming me out.

One letter discussing Bob Filner and the victims of his sexual harassment (I'm not saying alleged. I actually spent half an hour in a room with him after the scandal broke and I have no doubt he did what he's accused of) advised women that "a swift knee to the groin, a blood curdling scream, fingers/nails to the eyes and/or face or a stomp on an instep" should be the first reaction of a woman being harassed. Those that don't do that are simply playing, "poor me."

Putting aside the shock most of us feel when another person treats us inappropriately--possibly rendering us unable to act--this is about the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Yes, I'm sure HR will take you super seriously if you react like that. And who cares if the rest of the office will considers you to be loony tunes? You need your job to feed your kids, pay your mortgage, etc. and are worried your boss will fire you? I get it, you're just a "poor me" card player.

In the same paper was a letter from someone who said San Diego Unified School District is doing just great. No improvements needed. The basis for that opinion? His daughter got into an Ivy League school. Well then, if it happened to you, it must be the way it is for everyone.

My dear sister-in-law is skeptical of any claims of racism becase when she was working as a deputy in a jail she treated all prisoners the way the way they treated her--regardless of the color of their skin. I think she is probably correct. Still, are we now supposed to disregard all stories of racism by law enforcement because that was the way she operated?

I think not.

I'm not sure if people always did this and I never noticed it or it's just on my radar more of late.

Either way, we're not going to make any progress on any issues at all if we're going to approach life as though our personal experiences are the only ones that are valid.

Thoughts?

 

Below is the last letter I had published in the paper--as I said, tilting at windills, but sometimes you just have to say something.

 

Mr. Lemon (“Zimmerman case was not about racism,” Letters July 26) can be as emphatic as he likes in proclaiming that the Zimmerman case was not about racism, but my viewpoint, as an honest American, is the polar opposite of his.

Americans are conditioned to be fearful of black men by a variety of media, systemic racism in the educational system is part of the reason no black professionals were involved in the prosecution of the case, and our justice system applies different standards to the arrest and prosecution of whites vs. people of color.

Ample evidence exists to support the above statements. No matter your viewpoint on racism, I am sure we can all agree that the bottom line is that if George Zimmerman had not followed Trayvon Martin, per the police dispatcher’s instructions to desist, we would not be having this conversation, and a teenage boy would still be alive.

 

Thinking out Loud

The night of the George Zimmerman verdict, I was on Twitter--reading and tweeting and sharing a sense of anguish with many of my fellow Americans. Then I had an exchange that led to me deciding to shut my mouth for a bit (and I may have gone one tweet too far before I did it--Twitter as a medium does not promote thinking before speaking).

Since that night I have really been wondering--what is my place in this conversation? 

I came across a link to this article on Twitter and hoped it would have some answers for me. I'm not sure it does (I just can't agree with everything she says) and I'm not sure there is one. I actually found the discussion in the comments to be reassuring as it seems there is not just one school of thought (duh, right?) among people of color on how white people can best help fight racism.

I am of the opinion (and I believe that this thought itself might be deemed re-centering on whiteness), that nothing will change in this country until everyone that sees the injustices speak out against racism. While I do not and can not experience racism as a person of color would, I think I can and do practice empathy for those that are potential casualties of a racist society, I educate myself, I engage in difficult conversations about race with people from many places in my life, and I raise my voice as part of the chorus of Americans who are saying enough is enough.

Now whether or not I know I'm doing the "right" thing is small potatoes in the hierarchy of issues in this situation. I get that. In no way am I conflating this worry rolling around in my brain with the far-greater struggles faced by those that are on the front-lines and in the trenches of the fight against the systemic and institutionalized fight against racism in this country, but it is something I am pondering.

At my workplace, I was the only white person to bring up the verdict the Monday after it came down. I was certainly alone in engaging in dialogue and trading postings, videos and articles about Zimmerman and Trayvon with my black co-workers.

One woman and I spoke at length, and on several occasions, about many of these issues (including the work she is doing in her community and my one-woman crusade to get the less enlightened members of my extended family to educate themselves before forming opinions and sharing racist images on FB) and one day she was sharing with me her outrage over black hip-hop artists, their use of the n-word and their negative (her word) influence on black culture and especially on black teenage boys.

I have a very strong opinion about rap music and misogynistic lyrics, but I did say to her, "I think that's one issue I, as a white person, don't get to have an opinion on. You take that one up with your people and I'll keep working on Paula Deen with my people."

Sometimes all you can do is the best you can do; I think I'll have to keep doing that.

P.S. Go see Frutivale Station--you probably already know the story of Oscar Grant, but this movie will help you FEEL the injustice and horror of what happened--and what continues to happen.

 

 

 

Time Warp Tuesday: Teenage Boys-"Ours and Theirs"

I know it's Wednesday, but what the hell. In addition to the normal craziness of life, my boss "left her job" Monday and that was the tail end of some serious drama. In addition, the news has had me preoccupied and not in a good way--more in a seriously ranty way.

Be sure to visit Karen and Gary for some more traditional Time Warp posts.

 

My boys as teenagers/young men (17 and 20)

Since I know that none of you live under a rock, I won't give any background for this post beyond "Trayvon Martin."

I have tweeted and posted many things in the last few days*, but I think this tweet hits the nail on the head with where my rage is coming from.

Not Just Any Jenn ‏@jugglingjenn16 Jul

@LouisatheLast White teens have "scrapes" with authorities; kids of color get suspended, expelled, arrested-all for the same infractions.

It is time for all of America to wake up to this injustice--to own and acknowledge it. It is real. It is pervasive. It is wrong. 

My boys--those almost comically "All-American" looking (we need to broaden the definition of All-American for sure) guys in that photo had scrapes. They were not/are not perfect. They've both been pulled over by the police and never once did the thought cross their minds they might be shot. I didn't have to buy them bright-orange wallets so that they are easily identifiable as something other than a gun when someone in authority wants to see their licenses.

They've walked down streets in their own neighborhood and other people's neighborhoods wearing hoodies and were never once considered "suspicious." Sadly, my oldest son's friend from down the street--the friend who has lived here since second grade--cannot say the same. I have answered inqutires from neighbors on at least five ocassions asking what I thought of the sketchy-looking black teenager loitering about. I am not kidding. One person even told me she'd heard a rumor he was a Katrina refugee. Since second grade, people-that is 16 years.

My brother-in-law feels a fair verdict was rendered and in a discussion on FB, he said that neither his son or my sons would have gotten into a physical altercation with George Zimmerman. I can't speak for his son, but I will tell you that while I doubt either of my boys would have instigated a physical confrontation, if they were pushed to defend themselves (maybe by, I don't know, being scared half out of their wits by some stalker dude whose intentions were unknown), either one of them would have beaten the living crap out of the other guy. Being MMA fans themselves, ground and pound would certainly have been a possibility. And that would have been their right--they would have been acting, as I believe Trayvon was, in self-defense. (Unless self-defense only applies if you use a firearm; I'm baffled).

The other thing I know for sure is that if Zimmerman were black and Trayvon was white and the same verdict was rendered, there would have been rioting in the streets. White people are just not used to injustices being perpetrated upon them the way black people are, that's the only explanation I have for the relative peacefullness of the demonstrations.

I sure hope this is not over; my only consolation (and a very cold one for sure for TM's family) will be if Trayvon's name is mentioned in history books alongside the likes of Emmett Till, the victims of the 16th street Baptist Church bombing and other innocents whose lives were lost along the path toward civil rights.

We can no longer let the racist voices of those clinging for dear life to white privilege be the most vocal in our society. Now is the time for all of us to act--if you're not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.

 

*You can friend me on FB if you want access to all sorts of links and discussion. I put up some relevant and powerful information, if I do say so myself. And I do.

 

 

 

 

A Line in the Sand

Some friends are visiting their old stomping grounds of Scripps Ranch from their home in South Carolina, so we had a lovely impromptu night out last Thursday--starting with a straight-from-work trip to Ballast Point-our neighborhood brewery--and continuing with a barbecue at another friend's home. Yes, life is good.

On Thursday night, I still had the remnants of a tired headache from being glued to the live feed and livetweeting of the action in Texas surrounding SB5 and the amazing and thrilling senatorial backbone of Wendy Davis and historical civil disobedience of the crowd.

(Anybody getting their news solely from television is woefully uneducated and misinformed. My husband became a believer as the minutes and hours ticked by and nothing that I and almost 200,000 other Americans were raptly following on YouTube turned up as he clicked through station after station. As was wryly observed on Twitter, the revolution will definitely not be televised.)

So . . . beers with friends means conversation and I had to ask the Republican males (there being no Republican females) in the group--how can you continue to do this? To be Republicans? To be associated with people who think so little of women and our autonomy as adult human beings that they continually try to legislate us back to a time when institutionalized sexism was the order of the day? These are good and kind men and though they may not be feminists in words, they most certainly are in deeds, so I am perplexed.  

In one case the anwer was, to paraphrase, I'm still registered Republican, but I can't find any Republicans I would vote for these days.

The other answer was thought-provoking to me as he feels that the Democratic route is leading to socialism and that is scarier to him than what the Republicans are dishing up (though he disagreees with their stand on virtually every social issue).

I guess I sort of understand that (except for the part where Obama has not done anything that can be considered vaguely socialist in my opinion--you might be able to make an argument for a social democracy, but even that would not be supported by the actual actions he has taken).

Anyway, I think I might have given him some pause when I said, that if I concede your interpretation of what each party is offering as our future, then we have a Sophie's Choice between becoming Iran (a theocracy) or Cuba (a socialist state). 

Cuba. I pick Cuba.

Thankfully, that's not the choice and I--and many other Americans--will continue to fight for an America that can stay true to its origins as the land of the free and the home of the brave while evolving as a society that allows for us to live in a way that respects our differences and the autonomy of all citizens--not just a self-chosen few.

 

 

To My Body on the Occasion of my 49th Birthday: Walking the Walk

I have been preaching to my daughter that women would be so much happier if we would focus not on what our bodies look like, but on what they can DO. This is me not just talking the talk.

 

Weekend me. Post-coffee with a friend, post-cooking dinner, post-several loads of laundry. Workday/special occasion me tends to look a little thinner because, foundation garments.

 

 Dear Body,

We've been together now for 50 years (this is the same principle as being pregnant for 10 months---that's always made me a little crazy). I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you.

Thank you for being generally healthy. Since my concussion in third grade, I've only been hospitalized to birth babies. I shouldn't take that for granted as much as I do. I promise to be appreciative if you keep it up.

Speaking of babies, I owe a shoutout to my generous hips. I'm sure you are a big reason why I could pop out a baby and be out grocery shopping 24 hours later. When women exchange pregnancy stories, my standard line is, "I am one of those women who could have squatted in the field, had the baby, and then finished picking the row." 

Hands, you deserve recognition for all you have done and continue to do. Honestly, it's been non-stop work for you over the years--from steering the handlebars of a bicycle to finessing a field hockey stick to changing diapers to the washing of more dishes and laundry than I care to even remember. And the blogging! Thanks for all the typing, fingers!

Legs, you have carried me hither and yon without fail since I was 11 months old. Just recently, you (with A LOT of help from my glutes) made me one of the few people to make it to the top of a rather steep hill on a hike. Younger legs than you turned back. Thanks for letting me know that you're with me when it comes to putting mind over matter and getting the job done.

To my bosom.* Yes, bosom, because when you're as soft and pillowy as you are, that's the right word. You have provided a soft and welcoming place for many a head to rest upon and it always seems to be appreciated. Not to mention the nursing. Easy-peasy with you on my side!

Epidermis, I owe you big-time. From my early days spending every day on the beach as a toddler, to my high school days on the tennis court and hockey field, to the days and weeks and months I spent on the deck of a pool while raising my kids, you have taken rare abuse. Even with sunscreen (which wasn't even invented when I was a kid), you have put up with a lot. I shouldn't be complaining about wrinkles when I'm lucky not to have melanoma. 

I know I'm leaving some parts of you out, but you get the picture, right?

I don't know if necessarily want to spend the next 49 years with you, but 40 more would be about right. 

Happy Birthday. 

 

 *Related. This video. Which. Is. Hysterical.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time Warp Tuesday: Danger Boy In the Way Back Machine

Danger Boy--about 18 months old. What a face.

I barely saw Danger Boy the whole week since I was in bed right after work every night and he also had things to do and places to go. We did get to have a couple of chats though and it was really thrilling to hear his passion and knowledge about politics. Going to a small, Catholic school has its advantages and one of then is excellent (if rather aged) professors with connections to get some cool speakers. Among other things, DB gets to go the zoo with Newt Gingrich.

Thankfully, he has not lost his liberal, Democratic heart and he is talking about taking a year off before grad school to work on the 2016 Presidential Campaign with the hopes that he can then parlay that into a job as a staffer for a politician. 

He kind of sounds like a grownup when he talks about it :)

It's very cool.

Speakng of politics . . . I was sooooo looking forward to driving to LA Thursday night with a good friend and her daughter to hear Rachel Maddow speak and get a signed copy of her new book. I've had to pull the plug on that idea because as a grown-up I realize that it would not be a smart idea to take my still-not-100% self out until 2 a.m. on a school night. Boo.

Be sure to check out the faces over at Gary, Heidi,  Karen and Trudie's places!

 

 

NOW, can we talk about it?

On Saturday, a long-time reader emailed me. She knew I would likely be writing about the shootings in Connecticut and she wanted to share a post her sister-in-law had written. I hope you click through; her idea is to send her photo Christmas card to politicians urging them to consider passing sensible legislation on the issue of gun control.

I love this idea and will be doing it.

Last week I was asking you to weigh in on sartorial choices and quipped about all my airport runs. Social Butterfly came home Thursday, Mr. Fix-it late Friday afternoon and Danger Boy Friday night. MVP will be home Wednesday; Grownup Girl and Grownup Guy are already here.

I will have my family home for Christmas. We will take a picture and I will rush to edit it and order cards from Costco and get them out if not in time for Christmas, then for New Year’s.

My heart breaks for those families in Connecticut; it is a cliché, but it is the only statement I can make that comes close to expressing what I feel.

Equal to my heartbreak is the rage I feel that this society seems beholden to the notion that we are not allowed to discuss gun control. That the NRA calls the shots for all of us. That taking on the right to bear arms without significant and sensible restriction is verboten. 

I know the issue is not only gun control. I know that access to mental health is a huge piece of the puzzle. It only makes sense that letting out children watch violent movies at impressionable ages cannot be good for them. And we should address those issues, we really should. 

But right now, today, we should demand that guns--specifically the ones that are weapons of mass destruction--be kept out of the hands of those who have no reasonable need to possess them. As this tragedy unfolded, I sat at work watching clips on CNN. I shared what was happening with those that came to use the copier. I had a discussion with the retired law enforcement officer that runs the Criminal Justice program. I her I am not anti-gun and that I understand that the second amendment plays a part in our rights to possess firearms and that there are those that hunt for food and sport, but why on god's green earth does a hunter need to possess any weapon other than a plain old rifle to hunt deer. She shrugged and said sarcastically, "It must be in case the deer is also armed."

I am ashamed of myself that it took the slaughter of 20 innocent Kindergartners before I felt compelled to really raise my voice about this. I feel like I was a lobster placed in cold water that is now beginning to boil.

My children have never known a society where they weren't prepared in the even of a lockdown (basically a euphemism for school shooter). I have huddled under tables with first-graders during a lockdown drill. I told my own children to ignore the school's direction to hide in the bathroom if that's where they were when the lockdown happened and all the bungalow doors were locked. "Run and hide in the trees," I told them, "you'd be a sitting duck in the bathroom." "Run in a zig-zag pattern because you're harder to shoot that way." I remember the neighbor girl hiding with her classmates in the bushes as a helicopther hovered overhead when an actual lockdown happened due to an unfolding police chase.

I accepted this as reality because I accepted that Americans would never do anything about virtually unfettered access to firearms due to all the loopholes and shortcomings in our laws today.

I refuse to accept this reality any longer. No automatic or semi-automatic weapons should be in the hands of non-police, non-military personnel. There should be waiting periods and background checks and home visits and psychiatric evaluations before you can get a gun. If you do own a gun, the penalty for you allowing your weapon to fall into someone else's hands should be severe--up to you being charged as an accessory if your weapon is used by someone to commit a crime.

Our Constitution and Bill of Rights are living, breathing principles subject to change as the world changes. Semi-automatic rifles used to slay innocent babies en masse are not what our founding fathers had in mind when they crafted the second amendment.

This is enough.

 P.S. I have at least one reader who is very pro-second amendment and a gun enthusiast. She is a smart woman with whom I've had several discussions on various issues; I like her very much. It is my hope she will contribute her thoughts and that it will be possible to have rational discourse on this topic. I hope the comments are passionate but respectful. 

I often have back and forths on Facebook with my BIL who lives in MIssissippi and a friend in Seattle both of whom have very different views than I do on most social issues; we generally end up finding some common ground and we always keep it civil. The world needs more of these discussion.

P.P.S. I have to proactively present a counterargument for the common clalim that the real problem is that nobody at the school was armed. First off, a Kindergarten teacher with a gun is about the scariest thing I can imagine. In order to have it ready to use in case of an attack those children would be in constant danger of an accidental shooting. I shudder thinking about it. Additionally, being a well-trained gun enthusiast sure didn't prevent Adam Lanza's mother from being murdered. I cannot fathom how anybody could possibly think that more guns in the hands of more peole is the answer to this problem.

Facing Down Fifty: It's Kind of Shallow

A big part of the turning 50 angst--which will likely surprise nobody but me--is about looks. 

For years I have genuinely embraced my laugh and smile lines (I did not use the pejorative term "wrinkles" in my head). These are the marks of living, right? And sun-damaged skin? Well, that was because I was busy having so much fun in said sun. This is the skin of someone that taught children to swim in the ocean, planted flowers in the spring and watched outdoor sports year-round. It's not like I was going to not do any of those things just to protect my looks (thought I have been a sunscreen fanatic for 30 years).

In the end, I wouldn't give up a single moment in the sun to look younger today. At least that's what I tell myself. Sob. No really. But . . .

It's hard to let go of pretty to make way for "pretty for her age." It's annoying to have become a cliche as I approach a milestone birthday. Would I hold fast to my scorn of cosmetic surgery if money wasn't a barrier? Honestly, I would likely find someone possessing a light hand with the fillers and I'd sure as hell have a lot more facial treatments. 

I like to think I'd never succumb to the knife, but I sure have more empathy for women that make that choice than I used to.

So that's what's inside my head. Well, that and "How old is she? Do I look younger or older than her?" and "Can I get away with those boots at my age?"

I sure hope the answer to the second question is yes, because I've been wearing them almost every day.

 

 

Sometimes low-key is the way to be . . .

I am not a person that clings to "this is the way we always do it." That's a sure path to disappointment.

So I'm pretty happy with whatever permutation of Thanksgiving ends up happening as long as there are mashed potatoes, pie and wine. And there always seems to be. Yesterday's festivities included a long bike ride, no dressing up (I wore my fave old softball all-stars sweatshirt all day) and my girls making me laugh so hard I was in tears. Of course, there were phone calls to MVP and Danger Boy because they weren't with us. 

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because I love family and food and a house full of people in a celebratory mood. 

I am so distressed about this year's move to have more and more stores open on Thanksgiving. My reasons for opposing this move are two-fold. First, it puts materialism before anything else. "Things" before "people" is the way I interpret this crazy, obsessive need to shop. Secondly, it shows no compassion or empathy for those that work retail and their right to enjoy their families. 

The backdrop to my annoyance is that I surmise that the decision-makers that have started this are Republicans. You know, the party of family values. Because nothing says "we value your family" like making you miss Thanksgiving with your family so that American consumers can fill their gaping maws of material desire 12 hours sooner than they might otherwise.