Category Archives: Family and Friends

Relationships and personal interaction

September 7, 2010 · 8:08 am

Leaders of tomorrow

In the interest of full disclosure, this post is recycled.

Last year about this time, our local Gazette newspaper issued a call for readers’ stories involving memories of the first day of school. These would be published on the day after Labor Day, even though our school systems here begin just before the holiday. Having vivid memories from all of my first days of school, I immediately sent one in. The day before the submittals were to be printed, I received an e-mail from the feature editor. I’ve scoured my computer unsuccessfully for that message, but it said something to the effect of: “Dear Ms. Welch, thank you for the piece you submitted for our first day of school feature. We found it to be very good but, unfortunately, yours was the only one we received. Therefore, we have chosen not to run the feature.”

Considering this is the day after Labor Day and, for many, the start of a new year, I thought it appropriate–and efficient–to recycle this memory. It’s especially meaningful to me because this is the first year I haven’t had a child starting classes. Anyway, here it is:

From a young age, I remember my father’s exuberance on the first day of school. Every year, he shared his passion for learning in a motivational speech at the bus stop, which happened to be in front of our house.  

“You are the Leaders of Tomorrow,” he shouted, charging us to “go out into the world and learn, learn, learn so you can earn, earn, earn!” The booming oration probably lasted 30 seconds but, to me, seemed like an eternity, each phrase pounding me deeper into embarrassment. My schoolmates, amused by my father’s performance, looked forward to the ritual. But every year, on the night before the first day of school, the dread disturbed my sleep. 

As I grew older, circumstances changed, we moved, there was no longer a central bus stop, but the Leaders of Tomorrow message never failed to reach me in some form or fashion. Eventually, Leaders of Tomorrow was shortened to L.O.T., but I always knew what it meant—how can one miss an enormous  L.O.T. placard on the lawn? Even at college, my father found creative ways of getting his L.O.T. greeting to me on the first day of classes.  

I had the first grandchild 21 years ago. Each year from kindergarten through high school, there was always an L.O.T. surprise awaiting my son on our front porch, often pre-orchestrated when my father was out of town, even out of the country. An L.O.T. even reached my son on his first day of college in North Carolina. 

Now I rise with excitement on the first day of school, step out of my empty nest onto the porch and watch little ones “go out into the world,” as my father would say. And I breathe in the exuberance.

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August 30, 2010 · 8:38 am

Onomatopoeic punctuation

There is someone in our family who ends sentences with punctuation–when he speaks.

As in “How are you doing, question mark?” This is an affectation among many this person has; in this case, perhaps to be clever or maybe just for emphasis. I tried to stop questioning it long ago, but every now and then, along comes the whiplash-inducing oral punctuation.

In grade school, we learned to express punctuation with the tones of our voices. We end questions a little higher on the tonal scale. We raise our voices as we approach an exclamation point. But in and of itself, punctuation has no sound.

I suspect there are a number of readers out there who are fans of the late Victor Borge, the renowned Danish pianist, conductor and comedian. He died in 2000, so I’d encourage younger readers in whose childhood homes Borge wasn’t required viewing to take a look at his work. Pure brilliance.

I likely saw this routine at some point in my life, but it didn’t strike me quite so vividly as it did over the weekend, when my cousin–under 25, I might add, and a fellow wordie–shared it on Facebook.

Please enjoy it and think of Mr. Borge whenever you punctuate. How fun would it be if punctuation always came alive this way?

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August 28, 2010 · 7:45 am

Amnesia

The last 10 days or so have been a blur, almost literally.

In retrospect, Enhance Your Vocabulary Week, and the minimal effort it required, must have been divinely inspired. Otherwise, there might have been no blog updates.

I had just been whining to you about a sinus infection which, by the way, has turned into bronchitis. But this isn’t about me.

Last Friday, something very strange and frightening happened.

My husband lost all memory for six hours.

That morning, he got up, showered, shaved, dressed for work and then, as if a switch had flipped, so did he.

His retention was lasting no more than about 30 seconds. He didn’t know what day it was or what it meant that our calendar said “Beach” on the following day. He couldn’t tell me whether or not he had eaten breakfast and he didn’t remember dinner the night before or our son having just visited. Every 30 seconds the questions started over again, “what day is it?” and so on.

I took him to the emergency room where they saw him immediately. Actually there’s not much going on in the ER at 9 in the morning. They asked him a series of questions, none of which he could answer, except my birthday. When they asked him my name, he used my maiden name.

When asked who the president is, pausing a long time and synapses sizzling, he replied, “Obama, I hope.”

His EKG, CT scan and MRI came back completely normal, as did all the other routine tests. Within six hours, his memory returned, bit by bit, except the hours of the memory lapse—and he still doesn’t remember that.

They admitted him and kept him an additional 24 hours for observation, releasing him Saturday night. I then drove us to Rehoboth Beach, where we meet out-of-town friends every year.

Two hospital physicians and, as of Thursday, another doctor, agreed on one thing: it’s a mystery. One said it was a transient ischemic attack, often called a mini-stroke. Others said it was amnesia, which occurs suddenly, without warning, and typically never returns. Amnesia wins, two to one, until we learn otherwise.

Until now, amnesia has been a distant concept. All I knew was what I had seen in the movies, usually involving a helpless waif bumping her head and whispering, “Who am I, where am I?”

Now that we know it’s nothing serious, perhaps it’s best we forget it ever happened.

But before we do, I’d like to thank the special soul who stayed in touch with me throughout the trauma via dozens of text messages and by phone, the loyal friend who sat with my husband in the hospital all day Saturday and bought me dinner in the cafeteria, our dear friends who pampered us at the beach and the angels who left homemade chicken soup at our front door, as well as all those who’ve sent prayers and best wishes our way, including my cousins who are living their own nightmare.

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August 21, 2010 · 8:58 am

Learn it, use it, own it

My parents home schooled my brothers and me—on top of the six-plus hours a day we spent in school. 

For example, they believed we should constantly expand our vocabularies, and my father created a process for making this happen. Periodically he went though the dictionary, picked out words he thought we should know, wrote out the words and their definitions on index cards, bundled them and placed them for our use in the, ahem, restroom. Don’t just sit there; learn something.

Those old index cards are still in the family, but not in my house. I still like to learn new vocabulary words, but I prefer a softer chair. As an aside, I also enjoy teaching new words to kids. Want to get a teenage boy to learn a new word? Ask him if he likes to masticate at the dinner table.

A few years ago, a friend gave me The Highly Selective Dictionary for the Extraordinarily Literate by Eugene Ehrlich. You’d like this book because it is written as a direct affront to something you and I have complained about. It’s what Ehrlich calls “the poisonous effects wrought by the forces of linguistic darkness—aided by permissive lexicographers who blithely acquiesce to the depredations of unrestrained language butchers.”

What he’s referring to essentially is what happens when is a word is misused so often it ends up being added as a new definition to an existing dictionary entry. Ehrlich explains that the so-called “functionally illiterate” take the new use as acceptable, giving them license to say, “Well, it’s in the dictionary, so it’s OK to use.” He also notes how this happens with mispronunciation as well.

If you too are frustrated with what is happening, then The Highly Selective Dictionary is for you. Unlike most dictionaries, this contains only the most interesting words and concise definitions. I recently pulled my copy off the shelf and thumbed through it, noticing that I had highlighted passages and words I liked, for what purpose I couldn’t tell you.

As we set upon Back to School season, I thought it might be fun—or at least instructive—for us all to learn some new words. Who’s in? How about we devote the coming week to becoming extraordinarily literate? You might not find this as fun as last week’s Name that Weed contest but, hey, I try to offer a little something for everyone.

Each day for the next few days, I will give you a word from this Dictionary. If you use it in a sentence three times, it belongs to you. Isn’t that a momily?

Rest assured, no index cards will be harmed.

Please take tomorrow off with me and rest up for the fun. Also feel free to send in your favorites.

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August 20, 2010 · 7:59 am

Mother knows best

Good news:  Your mother was wrong. If you cross your eyes and hold them, they won’t get stuck that way, according to a recent article by Discovery Health. You might experience some eye strain or discomfort, but they will bounce back. So there.

This makes me wonder what else Mom was wrong about. Or not.

When I was expecting, my brother gave me two paperback books to help me prepare for motherhood, Momilies and More Momilies. 

What’s a momily, you ask? The official Momilies website defines it as 1. a sermon made by a mother or 2. an admonitory or moralizing discourse from mother to child.

I can guarantee if you go to the website you will get lost for at least half an hour. But it will be time well spent. In fact, I am laughing out loud as I write this—mostly because, 22 years after I received those two books as a gift, I now know how well I have absorbed the content.

“Always check the chute again after you’ve put something in the mailbox.”

Some momilies I may have picked up from the books, while others may have been handed down from my own mother. Or is it possible that these are gifts with which Mother Nature endows us?

I do wonder what it is about amassing wisdom over the years that compels us to impart it to our children in pithy yet trite ways. My son just snorts when I tell him to “always dress up for an airplane ride” (there’ll be a whole separate post on that topic one day), “clean up the kitchen as you go along” or, my own, “use your finger as a shoehorn.”

I can’t say my mother ever told me that if I crossed my eyes they’d stay that way, but she did have a few classics of her own, the most memorable (and valuable) of which was, “The tip of the iron is your best friend.”

I am betting you have a few of your own.

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August 19, 2010 · 8:30 am

Burrito therapy

Yesterday was fun, reading everyone’s comments about the flavors of yore. Thanks for playing along.

I also appreciated the well wishes—online and off—for my sinus infection. I have to say, it’s been quite a miserable week. You’ve convinced me; I’ll try a Neti Pot.

I hadn’t mentioned that my son has been visiting for a few days this week. He too had a sinus and ear infection so, when he arrived, he was feeling as punk as I. We’ve been quite the pair, lying around listlessly, coughing and sniffling. I didn’t cook a single meal for him and we didn’t do a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g.

Yesterday, after two days of bland food and forced liquids, he knew what we both needed—Chipotle burritos.

There is no Chipotle within 90 miles of where he lives. We have 19 within a 10-mile radius; 20 when the new one opens in our little town this fall. Chipotle is about his favorite food. So when he’s visiting, he’s there, at least once.

I, on the other hand, never go unless I am with him. I like their food very much, but I find the ordering process a little intimidating. The menu is composed of inside terms and the line moves quickly. The people behind the counter are nice and efficient, but I still feel like a Soup Nazi customer as I bumble my way through all the choices when everyone else seems to have the process down to a science. For this reason, I order the one combo I’ve memorized – the Barbacoa Burrito Bowl, black beans, no rice, corn, lettuce and sour cream. I pass on the salsa because the descriptions are confusing and I am too timid to ask for help. It’s a little like ordering at Starbucks, where I need a glossary.

So usually, my son orders for me. Yesterday he brought back what he thought we needed for what ailed us. Plus a side of the world’s best guacamole and freshly made chips for good measure. He was dead on. Best of all, he saved me a great deal of anxiety.

The Chipotle website is tons of fun, I could hang out there all day. Bravo to their marketing team. It’s a great company with terrific food; there’s even an online order option. I just prefer not to venture into the restaurant alone.

Now on to buy a Neti Pot. Again with the choices.

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August 18, 2010 · 8:21 am

Feelin’ frutti

If I know one thing about my readers, it’s that they like walking down Memory Lane now and then. After two days of preaching about punctuation, let’s take a walk, shall we?

I’ve been sick for about a week with a debilitating sinus infection. If you’ve ever had one, you know it can cripple your brain and cloud your thinking. In fact, I think this one has cut off some neural pathways altogether and opened up some that have been dormant for decades.

Out of the blue yesterday, while struggling to remember something important, I remembered Funny Face instant flavored drink mix.

Who remembers Funny Face? To put in perspective how long ago it was on the market, the label brags about the drink being free of Cyclamate, an artificial sweetener that was banned around 1970 for causing cancer in rats. I recall at the time, imagining a rat drinking Funny Face through a tiny straw.

The makers of Funny Face were ahead of their time in giving the various flavors way-out names. In fact, some were later changed, likely for their political incorrectness. My friends and I assigned flavors to each other. Sadly, I was Freckle Face Strawberry. I guess that was better than Goofy Grape or Loud-Mouth Lime. Other flavors included Lefty Lemonade, Rootin’ Tootin’ Raspberry, Chinese Cherry (later renamed Choo-Choo Cherry), Injun Orange (later renamed Jolly Olly Orange), Captain Black Cherry, Rah! Rah! Root Beer, Pistol Pink Lemonade (huh?), Rudy Tutti Frutti and With-It Watermelon.

Just remembering the carefree days of Funny Face relieved my sinus pressure, at least temporarily.

Another flavor I crave from my childhood is Maypo hot cereal. I think they brought it back once, but I’m not sure it’s available any longer. As crummy as I feel today, I might just cry, “I want my Maypo!”

What flavors from your childhood would you give your eye teeth to taste just once more?

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August 12, 2010 · 8:38 am

A box of sunshine

I am emitting an afterglow from one of life’s rare and simple pleasures – a good mail day.

We all have days when we dread taking in the mail because we know we’ll find nothing but bills, useless coupons or maybe a notice from the good people at the county traffic enforcement office, with a picture of our car enclosed. Or maybe we are awaiting news about  a job or a college application. Just approaching the mailbox can be anxiety producing.

My son wisely observed at a young age that any letter containing the word “however” is bad news: Thank you for interviewing for a position at Any Company. Your skills and experience are impressive.  However, . . ., usually followed by what might as well say, we think you are a big loser and insist that you never inconvenience us again with your pathetic excuse for a résumé.

We’ve talked about the decline in personal communication but, in my view, among the things that have suffered most are of the smile-producing variety–the personal letter, the hand-addressed greeting card and the thank you note.

While the three almost never come simultaneously, it’s a treat when at least there are no bills, no threats, no coupons for electrolysis or basement waterproofing and no glad tidings from any government entity because, let’s face it, except for a tax refund, those are seldom welcome. 

Yesterday our mailbox was graced by a little happiness.

Not only was there a friend’s thoughtful, handwritten–and hand-made–thank-you note for a gift given just two days before, but a Bed Bath & Beyond coupon from another friend who knows it’s my favorite. The pièce de résistance:  a letter to our son from the property management company for the college apartment he and his friend occupied for two years (ages 19 to 21). I braced myself for a nasty-gram accompanied by a hefty bill for damages, most likely caused by poor aim at a dart board, an illegal cat or worse. Instead, the letter said, “It is with great pleasure that we enclose a check in the amount of your full security deposit. The apartment was left in very good condition and you did a nice job of cleaning it. We thank you for taking such good care of the apartment and making sure that it was clean when you vacated.” 

I am a proud mother who had a good mail day. Can you feel the glow?

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August 9, 2010 · 7:50 am

H’lo? H’lo?

Everybody’s talking. They’re saying that nobody’s talking.

In the past week, there’s been some news and commentary about shifts in the ways people communicate. Many are giving up their land line phones in favor of cell phones and some aren’t using their cell phones at all–for talking, anyway. 

In “The Death of the Phone Call,” published in Wired magazine, essayist Clive Thompson puts the bottom line in simple terms. Today, he says, we are in “constant, lightweight contact,” following a dramatic decline in the number of calls made from telephones—especially cell phones. Essentially, we call less but talk more, but we’re “talking” via other media—text messaging, instant messaging, social media and, to a lesser extent, e-mail.

Facebook is a prime example of this constant, lightweight contact. It allows us to know what and how our friends are doing–their successes, worries, vacation plans, and cute things their kids said. We like knowing about these things, but we might not have 30 minutes to spend on the phone hearing about it.

The topic popped up a few other places this week and made me think. If I suspect my son hasn’t read an important e-mail, I usually text him that there is a message that requires his attention. If that doesn’t work, I shoot an instant message across the bow. If that doesn’t work, he gets the dreaded phone call.

It seems, by all accounts, no one wants the call.

An article in The Washington Post yesterday dug deeper into why this is so.

People interviewed for the piece cited a few reasons they don’t reach out and touch someone. Whether or not these are really why the kids don’t call, I don’t know. But, as the caller and the callee, I get it.

The immediacy of the phone call strips the callee of control. By dialing the phone, the caller is saying, I want a block of your time right now–when it is convenient for me. In contrast, texts and e-mails can be sent at the sender’s convenience and read at the recipient’s.  

Those interviewed also said they viewed calling as impolite and intrusive, “more of an interruption than the blip of an arriving text.” Another observed that answering the phone requires a certain amount of psychological energy.

To a large extent, I agree. What disturbs me, though, is a trend that appears to go along with the new communications order. The Post article also noted that people avoiding the phone are often guilty of two sins–not returning calls and ignoring invitations.

Those of us who retreat from a ringing phone are by no means excused of our obligations to behave politely. 

I don’t care what generation we occupy, how busy our schedules are, what time zones we live in or how happy we are to receive a particular call, the rules remain clear:

If someone leaves a message, we return the call.

If someone calls inviting us to something, we R.S.V.P., even if it is by text message.

Postscript:  As it happens, my son called last night, after I was asleep, to share some good news, which he received while reading his e-mail. I welcome that call, day or night.

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August 5, 2010 · 8:09 am

Girl power

Thirty-six hours after the concert, I still have an estrogen hangover. Make no mistake, that’s a good thing. 

The night before last, I had primo seats and VIP privileges at the final stop on the Lilith Fair tour, thanks to some well connected friends.

It feels like years since I’ve been to a concert. I was just glad they didn’t confiscate my Tums at the door.

You will recall that Lilith Fair began in the late 1990s and ran three years as an annual concert celebrating women in music.  Founded by Sarah McLachlan in response to concert promoters’ alleged bias against all-women shows, Lilith Fair featured women solo artists and women-led bands. After 10 years, Lilith Fair resumed this summer and culminated its multi-city tour in the Washington area  Tuesday night. Truly, it was music of women, by women and for women. 

I have nothing against male musicians—in fact, I have secret crushes on many of them—but it’s a rare and stirring experience to wallow in the glory of one’s gender on a sultry evening, enjoying a cold beverage under the stars, in the company of terrific people of both genders.

Following a number of smaller acts appearing throughout the afternoon, the main stage kicked off with Sara Bareilles, new to the Fair and white hot these days, who opened with several familiar hits. She was followed by Cat Power, whom  I didn’t know, but are in the very large cyber-basket I carried out of iTunes yesterday.

For me, the treat of the night was getting to hear Martie Maguire and Emily Robison of the Dixie Chicks, performing as their new group Court Yard Hounds.  They dazzled the audience with their strings (fiddle, mandolin and banjo) and earth-moving vocal harmonies. Best line of the night: “The Dixie Chicks stay at The Ritz. The Court Yard Hounds stay at Motel 6.”

Indigo Girls sprayed a geyser of energy into the pavilion, finishing up with my—and I think everyone’s—favorite singalong, “Closer to Fine.” Then Sarah McLachlan brought it home with a set comprising her classic cry-in-your-chamomile ballads and more upbeat selections from her new record. Whether she’s at the piano, burning up the guitar or demonstrating one of the richest voices in the business today, every one of her songs stirs emotion.

As a student of song lyrics, it struck me at the time how many appealed uniquely to the female spirit. I don’t intend sexism, but I also don’t suspect many men think, let alone sing, “Your love is better than chocolate.” (Maybe “your love is better than a Chipotle double meat burrito with extra guacamole”)

For the finale, Sarah invited all of the preceding acts—and their crews—on stage, where they sang “Because the Night,” written by Patti Smith and Bruce Springsteen. It was fitting for the last words of the last song in the last show in what I hope isn’t the last Lilith Fair tour, to be “because the night belongs to us.”

I expect my next hangover will arrive with my iTunes bill.

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