May 10, 2011 · 10:29 am

Out to lunch

I’m a woman without a kitchen.

This is Day Twenty-six of the most modest of kitchen renovations, and between now and Day Twenty-nine, we’re losing all access to the kitchen, the largest room in our house and the space through which all people and pets must pass.

As I’ve told you several times already, my husband and I painted this large room ourselves, a significant feat for several reasons. It took almost a week.

Now the contractors are here to refinish the floors, a process I’m told will generate significant amounts of dust. Instead of writing my blog, I spent the morning hours removing the remaining items from the counters and sealing up all of the cabinets because, if gobs of pine dust fill my drawers, I will surely melt. I’m already teetering on the edge of sanity.

My husband is away and the plan was for the pets and me to move out for the week. I’m still not sure how that is going to work out. Ricky and Lucy are already completely confused. Every day is a scavenger hunt for their litter boxes and food dishes. I notice them consulting with each other as they approach the search.

This morning they are locked in a bedroom until I can map the next step. A ride in the car will most certainly do them in. Trust me. When this is over they’re going to need some therapy.

Meanwhile, I have newfound respect for do-it-yourself-ers and even for those who live with large home renovations executed by others. I’ve heard stories of people washing dishes in bathtubs and eating out of their microwaves in the basement for weeks and months on end. We’re not even touching cabinets or counter tops or more than one appliance, and it’s rattling.

You know that feeling when the electricity goes out and you walk in a room and try to switch on the light? And then do it again five minutes later? Any bets on how many times in the next three days I bump into plastic sheeting as I try to enter my kitchen?

I wonder what the special is at Nick’s Diner.

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May 9, 2011 · 8:57 am

News groupie

It’s been made official. Meredith Vieira is leaving the Today show. I know, I know. I’ve said here more than once that I would no longer be watching Today. Ridiculous stories, misspelled captions, grammatical mistakes by Weekend Today anchors, and a few by Meredith during the week. Too many stories about people with screwdrivers in their skulls or animals with special talents. It really has gotten unbearable—almost.

The closest I'll ever get to snuggling up to Matt Lauer

There’s one major reason I still watch:  Matt Lauer. I love Matt Lauer. He’s a talented journalist and a skilled anchor who displays an appropriate mix of seriousness and humor on camera. He isn’t afraid of asking the tough questions and does his best with what he has to work with.

In one-on-one interviews, Matt Lauer shows he can relate to just about anyone, showing not only that he has done his homework, but that he has keen insights into what makes people tick. Whether he’s interviewing the President of the United States or a seasoned rocker (I loved his recent  interview with Steven Tyler, by the way), we walk away better knowing the interviewee. And I hope it’s safe to say, I’ve got a little crush.

And, because his assets far outweigh the show’s liabilities, I continue to watch. Plus, I have the power of the remote. When an animal or a screwdriver-through-the-head story comes on, I have the power to mute or to switch.

I’ve never been a Meredith fan, so I didn’t choke up when she made her tearful announcement this morning. I never got the sense there was much chemistry there during the last five years anyway.

Ann Curry, another talented and serious newsperson, will be sliding over into Meredith’s chair.

Even though the team of news directors and producers and writers will probably remain the same, I have a feeling that, come June, I might be doing a little less muting and switching.

Yet, I’ll say right now that, wherever in the world Matt goes, I’ll follow. I hope he never leaves. It just doesn’t get any better than beginning a work day with Matt Lauer and ending it with Brian Williams. If only I could do that in person.

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May 7, 2011 · 5:59 pm

Mother matters

Two of my favorite sitcoms this season are The Middle on ABC and Raising Hope on Fox. Perhaps it’s because they’re as real life as can be, especially when it comes to the mother roles. I also like ABC’s Modern Family and NBC’s Parenthood because they reflect the humorous imperfections alive in families.

This morning I pulled the Parade magazine out of the cellophaned supplements and smiled to find featured the four mothers on these shows. In “The Mom Squad,” the actresses playing popular TV mothers give their takes on motherhood.

Whether or not you’re a mother, I think you’ll see a little bit of yourself in one or more of the characters the actresses portray. I know I did.

“A type A anxious mother . . . a little nuts, a little stubborn.”

“She likes to eat. She likes to drink. She loves her kid, but she’s not focused on being the World’s Greatest Mom . . . She’s not reading the mommy blogs, but she has this gooey center.”

“Works because her family needs the money. But in other ways she’s a lot like Lucy in I Love Lucy—she freaks out about stuff, tries to overcontrol situations, and does harebrained things. And her husband is this calming, sensible force who says, ‘Let’s chill.’”

“A stay-at-home mom, but the kids are getting older and she’s trying to work out who she is now that they don’t need her so much.”

(Another favorite quote from the article is one in which actress Martha Plimpton describes the twins who play her granddaughter on Raising Hope. She says, “the little fat behind the neck is like a fine foie gras.”)

So which modern TV mother are you? Or maybe you’re more of a traditional TV mother like June Cleaver or Edith Bunker. Or a mod 1960s or ‘70s mother like Samantha Stevens or Shirley Partridge. Which one do you wish you were and why?

While we’re on the subject, notice I said TV “mother,” and not “mom.” I have a little peeve about this and what better day to air it than on the eve of Mother’s Day? Notice it’s not Mom’s Day. Mom is a name. Mom is not a noun. In my view, someone is not a mom. She’s a working mother, a stay-at-home mother, a single mother or simply, a mother. Madison Avenue is the worst offender, often producing ad copy that says a product is “preferred by moms.” (Such a claim is also backward for this day and age.)

Some dictionaries have acquiesced a bit, but most define “mom” as informal for “mother.”

In my opinion, it’s all right to refer to “my Mom,” but to use “mom” to refer to any woman with children is sloppy speech. Same goes for “dad.”

Why? Because I said so.

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May 6, 2011 · 9:27 am

Jim the Painter

Where to begin?

We first met Jim the Painter in 2004, when my husband’s colleague introduced us.

Jim Romaine lived most of his life in Gloversville, N.Y., but, as he told us, 1993 was one winter too much for him and he moved south to Alabama. He often spent the warmer months in the Washington, D.C., area, working as a painter and handyman.

In 2004, he painted our son’s bedroom for little more than a song. We fell in love with him. In 2006, at the age of 76, he painted the exterior of our three-story house, doing things on a ladder that a 20-year-old would find daunting.

I got to know him well in 2006, as he was with us right after our nephew was diagnosed with cancer. He provided a listening ear and a warm heart. After that, we got on his schedule regularly for painting, repair and carpentry projects. He spent Memorial Day weekend of 2009 remodeling my office, and there’s not a day I walk in here that I don’t stop to admire and appreciate his work. He was with us for a while last summer.

We’ve been thinking about Jim a lot lately, as my husband and I struggle awkwardly to paint our kitchen. We have a list of other jobs for him this spring.

Most of all, we’ve been looking forward to seeing Jim again. He’s a special guy. I’ve never seen him without a wide smile on his face, always laughing, and an almost-halo-like glow that radiates about him.

I often overheard Jim conversing with our cats while painting or hammering away; he’d say something, they’d answer him back and he’d laugh hysterically. I didn’t always know what he said; it sometimes began with, “Kittycat, let me tell you,” much like Art Carney in Harry and Tonto.

Jim loved to tell us of recent hang-gliding adventures and about the days when he was in a U.S. President’s honor guard (I can’t recall which president). He talked about his longtime girlfriend, Arvella, and how he looked forward to seeing her after his extended time here. She was wheelchair-bound, so it would have been difficult for her to join him on his trips.

Wednesday night, I suggested to my husband that we call Jim and make sure he was all right after the tornadoes ravished many parts of his state. Before we had a chance to call, we received an e-mail from my husband’s colleague through whom we had met Jim.

Sadly, Jim the Painter did not survive the tornadoes. He had gone in to Arvella’s house to get her, but getting her to safety proved difficult, given her disability. Instead, Jim took her back into the house, which was then swept up in the oncoming tornado.

When rescuers arrived, they saw one of Jim’s hands sticking out from the debris.  The other hand was still clasping the hand of Arvella, who perished alongside him.

It is evident that, at 80 years of age, Jim died as he lived. Humble, loving and using his strong and able body to help others.

I hope it won’t offend my readers to share that my husband used to wonder if Jim was Jesus having come back to live among us. He was just that kind of man. I don’t know if Jim was religious, but he definitely had an aura—of love, gentleness and humility. And, no matter how hard the work, a smile never left his face.

It crushes my soul to think about the end of Jim’s life on Earth. In fact, oddly, I’ve never sobbed so hard for the death of anyone as I did yesterday upon hearing the news. I imagine confidently that he was greeted with the words, “Servant, well done.”

I’ll remember Jim whenever I walk into my beautiful office. I’ll remember his smile. And I’ll keep “Jim the Painter” in my phone forever.

You can read a news account of his heroic final act here, and watch an interview with his daughter, which aired yesterday on his hometown news station.

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May 5, 2011 · 8:32 am

Chesapeake speak

Yesterday I had another occasion to call into a help desk. This time, my computer virus protection package was expiring and I had a question about the renewal.

No grammatical goofs came through this time but, if they did, they were overshadowed by something else. When I inquired as to whether there had been a problem with my subscription renewal, the young woman said, “There’s no problem, Hon.”

Hon?

Immediately, I suspected this didn’t roll off the tongue the way most terms of endearment do, say by a salty diner waitress or an avuncular car salesman.

Call me a cynic, but I’ll bet you anything that my call came in with some sort of tag saying I was dialing in from Maryland. “Hon” is Maryland’s trademark pet name; the closer you are to Baltimore, the more likely you’ll hear it.

Perhaps it was a case of life imitating art imitating life.

Here’s what I mean. Last fall, NBC debuted a sitcom called Outsourced. Based on a film of the same name, the show is set in a call center in India. The American manager trains Indian help desk operators to seem American by teaching them about the U.S. culture and speech. Here, have a look:

It’s no secret many U.S. companies run business operations out of India and other countries, where it’s cheaper and more efficient to do so. And it’s true that these customer service personnel have become adept at communicating seamlessly with American customers. Maybe that’s why they all seem to be named Julie.

I gather help desk operators, regardless of where they’re based, work off a pretty tight script and they stick to it. I already know they have key data about me. What’s to say they the script doesn’t weave in a geo-specific colloquialism or two for effect?

Are ya with me, Hon?

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May 4, 2011 · 8:17 am

To be discontinued

It’s getting more and more difficult to find the simple things I need in life; so many have been discontinued. I’m not sure the difference between a plot and a ploy, but it feels like one of the two has been waged against me.

It seems ridiculous, but I just went on eBay to buy barrettes. Simple barrettes, at one time the simplest ones they made. I used to buy them at the grocery store in batches because I lose them. I was down to one, and I lost it last weekend. And now I’m lost without it.

I know it sounds stupid. It’s a hair notion, not a lifeline. Still, I use one every day and only one kind meets my hair control needs, the Goody Stay Tight 3-inch Tortoise Barrette. It’s made of only two simple pieces:  one bent strip of metal and a three-inch-long faux tortoise-shell cover. That’s it. No springs, no hinges, no teeth. And no clip, claw or Scrunchie will do.

I bought my last pack in 1997. When I was down to three, I began shopping for more. Stores had stopped carrying them. As with my treasured SweeTarts, I took to making special trips, even looking in stores out of town. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you.

The same thing has happened with our china pattern, our bed linens, my lipstick shade, my wallet, the travel size of my fragrance and the whisk I use to make salad dressing. Hamburger Hamlet even had the nerve to discontinue the Special Mayonnaise they put on my favorite sandwich.

I will now wait patiently for eight barrettes to come in the mail; that’s all the seller had in her possession. We’ll see how long they last before I go must back on the hunt.

Maybe I should try the Smithsonian.

So what is the difference between a plot and a ploy? Is there one against you too?

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May 3, 2011 · 8:00 am

The point being

Three weeks ago, I wrote about the dreaded double-is, as in “the problem is is,” which so many people say, most likely because they misheard it somewhere, picked it up and absorbed it into their speech, thinking it sounded sophisticated. In my post that day, I explained why it is redundant and incorrect to use “is” twice in a row when not preceded by a clause.

I should have thought to bring up a related error while I was on the subject. It wasn’t until I was on the phone with a help desk employee that I remembered it.

Upon making a hotel reservation recently, I discovered that my Hilton Honors membership had lapsed. The nice lady on the line explained it this way: “The reason being is that you haven’t stayed in a Hilton since 2008.”

Well, I stayed at a Hilton just six weeks ago, but that’s beside the point. The issue is “being is…” One verb, used twice, once as a gerund, the other in the present tense. Right next to each other.

I don’t intend to be snooty or judgmental (maybe a little), but I think people believe they sound intelligent when they say “the reason being is…,” just as they do when they say “the reason is is…”

The help desk lady could have explained the membership lapse at least two ways and been grammatically correct. She could have said, “The reason is that guests who do not stay with us for one year lose their membership statuses.” Alternatively, she could have said, “Your membership has lapsed, the reason being that you have not stayed with us since 2008” (subordinate adverbial clause). One may use either “being” or “is,” one or the other, not both.  Or the lady could have left the verb “to be” out of it altogether and thrown in a simple “because.”

But never “the reason is because.” That’s a subject for a whole other day (not “a whole nother day”).

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May 2, 2011 · 9:31 am

Mission possible

Last night, as my husband and I were about to turn off the TV and the lights, CNN’s Wolf Blitzer broke in to the end of a program we were watching about Alzheimer’s Disease. At 10:30 p.m., President Obama would address the nation and the world. As I suspect everyone did, we tried to guess what the matter might be.

Without a lot of thought, I said to my husband, “I wonder if they got Osama bin Laden.” My husband looked shocked, even got a little choked up. Then it hit me what a significant thing I had said. What a significant world event that would be.

About 10 minutes after my wild guess, the news was leaked. My heart stopped. Perhaps for the first time in years, my emotions from 2001 returned, as if by the flip of a switch. There are no words, only images—of watching the news, sobbing. Of rushing to the bus to meet my son and wanting us all to hide from danger.

I sit here this morning, reading the news accounts and watching images of those gathered around Ground Zero, and remembering our recent visit to the memorials, which reveal bin Laden’s act in a painfully personal way. I sit here in awesome admiration of the historic display of courage and excellence–in military operations, in national intelligence and in Presidential leadership–that changed our world yesterday and that we’ll continue to need in the future.

The last words I heard as I switched off the television last night reflected something I was feeling but dared not say out loud. NBC’s Andrea Mitchell read an e-mail from the daughter of a 9/11 victim: “It’s not natural to celebrate the death of someone. But somehow it feels natural tonight.”

We can’t help but re-live September 11, 2001, today. Perhaps it’s overly altruistic, but maybe—just maybe—the celebrated destruction of this evil doer will compel us to come together as a nation and a world—the way we did when he committed his most evil deed almost 10 years ago.

Let the healing begin.

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April 29, 2011 · 5:05 am

Bucklebury bride

A few days ago, one of my favorite sources of online commentary, Fake AP Stylebook, posted this: “About 176,938 reporters are covering the Royal Wedding, or three for every person actually interested in the story.”

I certainly don’t propose to precipitate on the procession of the Prince and Princess. They deserve a jolly nuptial.

But for Pete’s sake, these past weeks, I couldn’t escape the coverage. I switched from one news channel to the next, seeking something else. One would hardly know there was anything else going on in the world. Perhaps this is the reason – our fellow planet dwellers have been looking for a fanciful distraction and the news outlets were only too happy to deliver.

The fact that American network anchors are in London to cover the festivities has me a bit puzzled. It’s as if the whole world were in an imperial trance.

I tried to come up with a unique angle from which to write about it, but it’s all been done. The weird and tacky commemorative souvenirs. The event as perceived by the male species. How British police have deployed a special team of security forces for the “mentally unhinged and the royal-obsessed.” The repeated use of the word “commoner” to describe the bride. Even how much fun the name of her home town is to say: Bucklebury.

I don’t recall that the 1981 affair received this much ink and air time. Then again, I didn’t have a television. I was attending university in Spain. We had no TV in our dorm rooms, but we had a whopper of a movie theatre in the basement, where we watched weekly episodes of Dallas dubbed into Spanish (¿Quién tiró J.R.?). And the Royal Wedding.

It was truly a thrill, being a young woman of 21 (even then I was older than the Princess), watching the procession on the big screen, without having to have gotten up at 4:00 a.m., with fellow students from countries around the world, including Texas.

It must have made quite an impression because just four years later, I walked down the aisle of an Anglican church, carrying calla lilies and English roses, wearing the second poofiest dress you’ve ever seen, pulling a really long train behind me. And I married a prince.

Now that proceedings are underway, I’m a bit more excited, but I must be off to work. I’ll be watching the reruns tonight at a small gathering of my college chums. Don’t expect a review to appear here tomorrow because everything that can be said will have by then.

Cheerio!

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April 28, 2011 · 8:26 am

Make a wish come true

Tomorrow, April 29, is World Wish Day, an occasion to highlight the good work of the Make-A-Wish Foundation in granting the wishes of children with life-threatening medical conditions.

The Foundation has lots of moving stories to tell about children and their families whom they’ve helped. I have one and I’d like to share it.

In 2006, Marcus was 15 when he was diagnosed with anaplastic astrocytoma, an aggressive brain cancer. The day he came home from the hospital after having received his diagnosis, his parents called his three younger brothers into the living room and, in honest yet age-appropriate terms, told them what would be happening in their family. The younger ones could already see the scar of a five-hour surgery and would soon learn about radiation and chemotherapy. This isn’t the time to tell the long version of the story, but Marcus courageously endured six weeks of radiation therapy (and the 180-mile daily drive to get it), followed by many months of chemo. He continued to go to school, play baritone in his high school marching band, enjoy video games and indulge his acute interest in World War II aircraft. Books, movies, documentaries, websites and model planes fed his passion for the subject, and stirred his ambition to join the Air Force.

Marcus was aware of the uncertain nature of his condition—including the fact that his extensive head surgery might hamper his chances of serving in the military—but he kept looking ahead. Make-a-Wish and a local Air Force base invited him to be a pilot for a day and fly in an F-16 flight simulator. They gave him his own flight suit and his wings.

He responded well to treatment, facing occasional worrisome reports from the doctor, and did a remarkable job of getting on with life, taking whatever medications and treatments were ordered as time went on. Still, an uncertain prognosis loomed.

When he was 17, he wanted to visit Pearl Harbor and tour the USS Arizona Memorial. The Make-a-Wish Foundation made it happen. In August of 2008, they arranged for Marcus, his parents and his three brothers, to fly to Honolulu for a badly needed vacation and tours of the historic sites.

While in Hawaii, Marcus began having headaches and nausea, which became so severe that he went to the emergency room. Brain scans were sent to his doctor in Utah. His doctor advised the family to stay in Hawaii for the duration of the trip and to have as much fun as they could, while managing Marcus’ pain and discomfort. When the family landed in Salt Lake City, Marcus went straight to Primary Children’s Hospital, where  it was discovered that his tumor had returned, was growing rapidly and was inoperable. Chemo might provide some relief and a remote chance of slowing the growth.

Marcus bravely said, bring it on, in whatever words he chose, but experienced the most violent reactions he had faced so far from the chemo. The next scans were discouraging, providing little hope. At the end of September, Marcus gave up treatment. He passed away on October 26th, and was buried with his Air Force pilot’s wings.

The point of this blog post is not to bemoan the evils of cancer or the unfairness of the impacts on its victims. The point is to share the news that Marcus and his family were able to live Marcus’ wishes of flying a fighter plane and visiting Pearl Harbor. The Foundation also knew how badly the family needed respite from two years of cancer hanging over their lives, and put them up at a lovely beach resort, where the kids could swim and enjoy each other, free from the grips of the “C” word.

Make-a-Wish can’t fulfill a wish for recovery. But it can make it possible for children all over the world who want to be police officers or pilots or whatever to achieve their dreams, even if they might never have the chance to be adults.

I’m grateful to Make-a-Wish and all who give to them for the gift they gave my nephew.

Please consider giving so others’ wishes might come true.

Happy World Wish Day.

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