I'm Still Here…And Back to School

I'm still here and have survived another Back to School.

Last night as I prepared their lunch boxes the boys ran laps around the house, chasing each other, their yells and laughter smacking my husband and I like cresting waves. The enforcer in me wanted to shout, "Stop running through the house!" but earlier that afternoon they had behaved beautifully at a very grown up wedding. They deserved a pass. It was their last day of vacation and they were having fun.

Today they went back to school.  Among us there were several milestones - the eldest started middle school, the youngest kindergarten and I started a full-time empty house during school hours. No more preschool pick up or drop off or days with the youngest at home. The boys all walk to the same bus stop in the morning and return from same in the afternoon. I no longer drive anyone to school and my day can start at 9am. The result is that I effectively gain an hour every weekday. And the silence!

You would think I would have celebrated this freedom but, after a trip to the dentist, I spent the day cleaning the house. I wiped their footprints, fingerprints and, yes, boogers(!!) off the walls, erasing proof of their existence while thinking about how I'll miss the relaxed interactions of summer. It is easy to lose touch with them during the school year when I'm barking "Finish your homework!" and "We leave for karate in 10 minutes!" instead of listening. This summer I saw who they are and who they may become. In their absence I thought that as I shape and guide them we are partners practicing a long dance of letting go.

An Imaginary Interview with a Pepco Executive

Welcome to Satirical Spectator's NanoView, where what's important isn't always apparent. I would like to thank today's guest, PepExec, for taking a moment to speak with me about power restoration efforts in Montgomery County, MD after the June 29th derecho.


SS: What do you say to residents who are still without power?
PepExec: Buy a generator! <snort> Sorry. <clears throat> This was an unusually strong storm. We're having difficulty getting to equipment due to the number of downed trees. Could take months.
SS: Months?
PepExec: Mumps. Excessive heat causes mumps! So find a cooling center, check on the elderly and whatnot.
SS: Would you comment on how, because out of state utility crews are called in so frequently, they now qualify for Maryland residency?

PepExec: Montgomery County has so much to offer, and when our schools have power, they're the best in the nation. Residents moving to the area increase our tax base and, wait for it, shareholder profit! <beams> That was my idea. 

SS: So you're not working on reliability issues?
PepExec: What's more important, reliability or the economy? What do people without power do? Go to the movies! Go out to eat! Why, at Potbelly this weekend, they were so busy they told me what was no longer available before I placed my order. There's sure to be a run on tomatoes and helping American farmers is great PR.
SS: Your website states that you're working with the Maryland Public Service Commission to help the state meet energy reduction goals.

PepExec: Yes, we're proud of our efforts. And when our customers don't have power it's easy to meet our goals. We'd save even more energy if they'd stop calling. They'd feel cooler, too.

SS: Pepco received $68 million in federal stimulus grants to install Smart Meters on homes. If Smart Meters detect and report outages why were the outage maps so inaccurate? 

PepExec: Our grant writers are top notch! Not sure what a Smart Meter is but we've never seen a dollar  we didn't like. Are we done? My jet is waiting. <points at SS> Word, energy reduction!

In Dad's Kitchen

Dad and Mitzie in the kitchen. 2007

If I hadn't known about the tumor, I would have thought he had just returned from the Bahamas. The mottled brown skin, a side effect of chemotherapy, belonged to a polo-wearing executive not my father.

Protruding collarbones and sagging skin under his jaw were evidence of the thirty pounds he had lost since surgery. A diminished sense of taste ruined his appetite so meals were various flavors of Boost, a highly caloric protein drink. His mouth was persistently dry and he spoke with a slight slur, as though his tongue were thick.

I looked forward to summer visits with Dad. I would sit on a stool in the kitchen while he and my stepmother rinsed, chopped, and sautéed vegetables in tandem, deftly avoiding each other as they changed stations in the small space. Meals would cover the 3’ by 3’ island and the kids could choose what to put on their plates. Afterwards, dirty dishes disappeared in a blink. I gave no thought to what we would eat at Dad’s; they enjoyed cooking, there was always plenty to eat and it was always good. I had a front row seat at a cooking show.

This summer my stepmother was out of town on a previously scheduled trip. Dad spent most of his time in the living room watching MSNBC, drinking Boost and would retire early. The kids’ dirty drink glasses sat on the island where they’d left them hours earlier. As I loaded them into the dishwasher and searched for detergent I thought how unnatural it felt to clean up, as if my dad and stepmother didn’t exist.

Years earlier, after my parents’ divorce, visits with Dad meant eating homemade lasagna instead of Campbell's Bean with Bacon soup. As I rummaged through his refrigerator and cabinets it dawned on me that the preparation and enjoyment of food was how we connected; it was an expression of love.

Conversation came easily when he cooked. We talked politics and he shared stories from his firefighting days. When asked about his childhood and deceased parents he shared that his maternal grandfather operated a fishery in the early 20^th century. He told the story of how his father, as a member of the Canadian Expeditionary Force during WWI, earned medals for bravery and showed them to the boys. Dad was a natural storyteller.

My boys have come to expect things when they visit their grandpa- fireworks on the patio, playing baseball and soccer in the large yard and hitting golf balls off the neighbor’s tee onto the flats of the Black River. When Dad whipped up a batch of Jiffy Mix waffles, the boys cheered, and breakfast at Grandpa Eddie’s was confirmed as part of our summer visit tradition. For me, it was an appreciated sliver of normalcy.

Dad is on the mend and I’m grateful. His positive attitude enables him to take the cancer in stride. The tumor is gone but so is a cherished part of our relationship. My hope is that it is temporary.

The Sears Roebuck Diaries: Teen Employment Adventures in the Infants Department

Infants Department

Installment 2

The ubiquitous onesie was one of the most popular items in the infants department. At sixteen I had no experience with babies but I quickly learned that the bottom snaps on onesies were like an oxygen tank to a scuba diver.

Customers constantly opened the packages to see how big the products were. Didn’t matter if the same brand, same size was already on the floor under the rack. Upon seeing the shiny three pack, customers reached and ripped. Every night I would fold, roll and cram the onesies into what was left of their packaging. I replaced them on their hooks where they would hang for months, distressed like Courderoy, their chances of a Lisa taking them home slim-to-none.

The other most popular item was cribs. Sears had several on display and customers went down the row giving each a violent shake. Then, with the same false confidence displayed by tire kickers in a used car lot, they would pronounce the cribs too rickety.

I would think, ‘Wow! You're right. No one’s ever done that before!’ but I would roll up my sarcastic tongue, unfurl my graciousness and say, “A lot of customers come through here and shake the cribs. A new one out of the box would be sturdier.”

Though I assured customers I didn’t work on commission, I was still eyed with mistrust. That is until I demonstrated the foot release bar on the drop-side cribs. "Ooohhh!" They would nod, marvel at the convenience and then ask about other features.

Then there was the day I wore a Winnie the Pooh mascot costume as part of a store event. The costume was designed for a person six inches taller than me and, with its wool fabric, was a portable sauna. On my 5’4” frame Winnie's legs rippled like ribbon candy. The cavernous headpiece gave me tunnel vision so the assistant manager led Stumpy the Pooh through the store and discreetly indicated the direction in which I was to kindly gesture to customers because I wasn’t allowed to speak. If you know me then you can imagine just how difficult it was to keep my mouth shut for seven hours. The only other times I’ve accomplished this I was asleep.