Hellooooooo.

She's back...
Photo: auctionbytes.com

 After a long hiatus from blogging I asked my daughter if she thought I had to share the details of my absence.  “F#*& no!” she replied elegantly.  “Just because my generation documents everything about their personal and private lives doesn’t mean you have to.” 

I wondered, rather idly, if that were really true. It took about 30 seconds to find a Pew Study (2010) that confirmed the symbiotic relationship between technology and teens. “66% of all teens go online (really, that’s all?) and of those who go online 66% are content creators–meaning they create videos, post photos, write blogs and message boards.” That’s an avalanche of content.   But is it really inappropriate?  Understandingteenagers.com says it is.  32% of teens report that they have regretted sharing personal details online.

Creating quality content for the next generation.
Photo: bible-stories-library.com (really)

Why are we more likely to share secrets online? In 1996 a researcher named John Walthers dubbed the online communication experience as “hyperpersonal.” It means that people are generally more likely to reveal more about themselves online than they do in person, because of the lack of verbal cues--online you can’t see the look of horror on the recipient's face as you spew the details of your last hot date. It also may be linked to the illusion of anonymity, or the sense of privacy engendered by the solitary act of posting.

Ewww. TMI Dude.

In fact, according to The Digital Family (March 29, 2011) the lack of nonverbal feedback is contributing to more impulsivity online.  And it can cause serious consequences.  For teens, up to 40% of inpatient mental hospital admissions are in some way related to sexting, texting, tweeting, facebooking or otherwise engaging in damaging cyber-communication.

Nostalgia?
Art: skiddyrow.wordpress.com

As our teens grow into adults and adults become more media fluent the problem is likely to become worse before it gets better.  New ways to embarrass ourselves are in the works:  Automatic tweets are available for personal moments like weigh-ins, credit card purchases, household functions and even live (deadly boring) streaming video of your life.

Who’s watching?  (OK, I would watch your weigh-ins.) According to a 2009 Harris Interactive survey, almost half of employers now screen job candidates online. Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter can provide clues as to whether potential candidates are party animals, love cats too much or have anger issues. It shouldn’t be surprising that Digital Age estimates as many as 12% of adults are struggling with the same content regrets that our teens are facing. 

Will this tip off a potential employer?
Photo: scenicreflections.com

With this research and my daughter's advice in mind I just just want to assure you all that I am not writing from prison, I have not been on an 8 month bender and I am not being held prisoner by a disgruntled former student.   Oh, and if you are a prospective employer who is checking on me via social media, be assured that I am much more attractive than my profile picture, and much smarter than I sound.  

Just one more.
Photo: Khonsa02.wordpress.com

And....They're Off!

Summer camps are over, and dusk creeps in earlier each evening.   Children are becoming restless with the relaxed pace of summer, and the first hint of Halloween costumes are creeping out of their retail resting places. Even in an evergreen state like California the change of season is palpable.

The waning of summer is a bittersweet time for parents.  In spite of the many joys of family togetherness even the most loving parent can be excused for looking forward to the promise of peace that the school year brings.

Teens try to escape while parent calms them.
Photo: goffvw.com

But, before you can step into that promised land you must brave back to school shopping (BTS.)  BTS is an annual late August outbreak carried by adults, but expressed in marked behavioral changes in teenagers.

Teen looks for brain.
Photo: Suburbsanity.com

The most frequent symptom of BTS in teens is eye rolling.  You’re most likely to see this behavior emerge when you tell your teen that you will accompany them on their pre-school shopping trip.  The condition should generally lessen or even resolve when money is applied.  If your teens’ eye rolling deteriorates into facial contortions or mumbling, try to ease their discomfort by fanning them vigorously with your store credit cards.

Homeopathic cures for BTS are available in your own wallet.
Photo: Fortunewatch.com

BTS is highly contagious.  Even if you make it to the mall symptom-free, be aware that just being in proximity of an adult while shopping is enough to transmit BTS to your teen at any moment.  A common complication of BTS can occur if your teen is spotted at the mall by peers in the “cum parente” position; it can precipitate a crisis that can be alleviated only by jeans costing over one hundred dollars.

Cum Parente teens recover in a support group.
Photo: Therockwallnews.com

Unlike most bugs, BTS can cross species, travelling easily from shoppers to sales associates.  With their finely tuned animal instincts, sales associates can sense the weakness of the back to school shopper.  Aggressive salespeople will engage in stalking behaviors, cutting you out of the pack by introducing themselves, starting rooms for you and then providing the right sizes for the most inappropriate and most expensive items. Your only hope for escape is to hover around the sales racks until they spot more likely prey.

BTS parent seeks refuge in remote area.
Photo: Luux.com

Once teens contract BTS their recovery is doubtful, at least for the duration of the mall trip.  The best course of action is to treat yourself.  Starbucks, the cookie counter and the pedi parlor are all proven therapeutic treatments for adult BTS.  And hold on to the fact that BTS is a seasonal disease, which should wane along with the final days of summer.

Temporary relief from BTS is available.
Photo: Lifewithwendy.com

Bloopage

I have been unable to exercise recently, and as a result have gained almost five pounds.  Now, five pounds doesn’t sound like an awful lot, unless it’s THE five pounds that create new bloopage.

Weighing one leg at a time can help.
Photo: Since1910.com

Oh come on.  You know what I mean by bloopage.  It’s the stuff that bloops over your belt, or other constrained areas on your body.  The first bloopage experience can be traumatic.  Mine came early in life. When I married, it was in a dropped waist, see-through bodice that required me to wear thigh high stockings.  “Oh gahd!” I screamed in the tranquil boutique where I was trying on the stockings for the first time. “My thighs!  They look like nuclear mushrooms!”  After my girlfriend finished snorting white wine out of her nostrils, she packed me up in the car and drove me to the gym.

This calls for extreme measures.
Photo: Kitchik.com

Over the years I have found that the gym can be a distressing experience if you don’t have the right attitude.  I strongly suggest hiring a personal trainer if you can swing it.  It’s not that you really need a personal trainer to make it through a robust workout.  But let’s face it, the right trainer can distract you from noticing all of the beautiful, hard-bodies that are working out around you.  Who cares if they are running faster, lifting more weight or clearly more coordinated? You have “Hans” massaging that pesky cramp out of your calves.

What workout?
Photo: Goldsgymma.com

Hans not in the budget?  Consider a sport, like swimming.  Then people can lift you with one arm!  That’s right, one arm!  Imagine how much weight you would have to lose in the gym for that to happen!

This would never happen at the gym.
Photo: Greenwebsitedesign.co.uk

If exercise seems inconvenient, try optical illusions.  You simply buy bigger, ill fitting clothes, and then wait for people to say things like “Oh my, look at the weight you’ve lost...your clothes are hanging on you!”  You can also stand next to large objects that create the illusion that you are small, like the Lincoln Memorial or that guy that plays in all the giant movies.  Also helpful (giving credit to R.S. here) have all photographs taken from above.  Or from a distance.  In the fog.  At night.  Finally, shave off five pounds quickly by only looking at yourself in the mirrors they use at department stores.

Wow! What's your secret?
Photo: freewebs.com

You look tiny!
Photo: dentonrc.com

The truth is, that my bloopage makes me yearn for my mother’s Europe (well, before the Nazi’s anyway) when being “soft” was a sign of a wealthy home with plenty of food and increased your desirability.  Big thighs? Big dowry.  My darling mother used to call larger people “healthy” and urge food on us the way one might urge on a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Chicken fat was a condiment.  Cake was a breakfast choice.  Food was love.

Cake as a food group.
Photo: recipebinder.uk.org

I wish for those days when I was fearless and brave with bread and cookies.  Unfortunately, wishful thinking is just another strategy that won’t work.  See you at the gym.

This works too.
Art:  Clevelandseniors.com

There are consequences to ignoring bloopage...
Photo: Movieboy.com

Running away from bloopage.
Photo: Webmd.com

Sliding Along

Photo: mbc.net

In the 1998 movie Sliding Doors, the life path of the lead character (played by Gwyneth Paltrow) is determined by her success or failure in slipping through the closing doors of a train.  In this tiny life moment, sharply different futures are defined for her and those around her.  If she makes the train, she arrives home early to find a cheating boyfriend and begin a life alone.  If she misses the train, well, she never knows about his infidelity and experiences a very different future.

Now what?
Photo: Pajiba.com

The movie is described as a comedy-drama (just like my life) and makes the point that our futures are sometimes determined not by the big decisions that we agonize over, but those little daily choices we make.

Choice or Darwinism?
Phot: Chowlowgolf.com

I’m not saying that big decisions, like choosing to stand under a tree during a lightening storm won’t have consequences.  But direct consequences (glowing in the dark? developing super powers? death?) can be predicted in circumstances like that.  How about your decision to wear red lipstick, choose to make a left instead of a right, or stop for a cup of coffee on your way to work? Could those little choices change the course of your life?

How did fate bring them together?
Photo: Starangefunkidz.com

I met my husband because I covered another worker’s bathroom break at a trade show booth.  I wasn’t supposed to be at the booth, or even at the show, watching him and his three partners make their way down the center of the busy aisle.  The coalescence of my presence in the hall, my co-worker’s bladder, my early morning choice of a bright red blouse and the serendipitous presence of the boys sealed my fate.

Not an actual historic photo.
Photo: iCheezburger.com

It’s not just relationships, of course.  We found our house on a spontaneous drive to the beach.  Escaping the heavy beach traffic we detoured down a rural road, hoping that it would go somewhere.  Turns out it went straight to our new home.  We bought it that same day, over twenty years ago. Now I own a tractor. Didn’t see that one coming.

Sigh.
Photo: Icity-data.com

I watched “Sliding Doors” many years ago, and let me tell you, I was paralyzed with inaction after seeing it.  It still leaps to my mind sometimes, when I make decisions about which route to take, or where to vacation.  Only letting go and embracing the lovely interplay between fate and freedom unfreezes me.  Don’t be scared—watch the movie—you’ll appreciate the minor moments of your life in a whole new way.

You might need one of these after this movie.
Photo: Scientificamerican.com

Have any small decisions made big differences in your life?  

Walk the Walk

My daughter swims.  Oh, both my daughters swim; they learned to swim as they learned to walk.  It’s fun for me, a landlubber who sometimes thrashed her way out to the raft at Farmer Jim’s swimming hole to see the girls glide through the water so effortlessly.  It’s not that much fun though, to get up at 5am to drive my younger daughter to summer swim practice on the campus of UC Santa Cruz by 6am.

I am not a morning person.
Art:  Sodahead.com

Three times a week this summer that is exactly what I do.  And as my young athlete jumps out of the car and rushes to the pool I’m left standing in the foggy hills of Santa Cruz holding a cup of cold coffee and my car keys. 

Now what?

 I was tickled when another mother agreed to take a walk last week while our kids were swimming.  I thought she looked fit, and I exercise fairly often, so I thought we would have a nice brisk walk through the wide paved roads of the university campus, which wind their way across 2000 beautiful acres overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

My idea of a walk.
Photo:www.Glenlake.org

“Oh look, there’s a path,” she cried as we stepped out of the parking lot.  I was just formulating my observations about the steepness and narrowness of the route as she stepped onto it, already moving vigorously up what seemed to be an endless series of switchbacks and hills.  Soon I was gasping too hard to protest, and saved my strength to pull myself up the trail.  How could the laws of physics be suspended, I wondered, so that we walk up, up, up?  Where was the down?

Her idea of a walk.
Photo:Tsittours.com

I wasn’t until an hour later that we realized we were lost.  Luckily my walking partner was as good with her iPhone as she was at striding uphill.  I suggested (begged) that she call a cab with the iPhone, but she pulled up a map instead, and set out again, determined to be at the car by the end of swim practice. 

UCSC and environs.
Photo:Aquafornia.com

She did stop once, when a deer stepped out into our path. “How beautiful” she sighed, barely winded.  “Maybe it’s an evil deer” I wheezed spitefully.  “They can be very mean you know. “  She laughed, but slowed her approach a bit.

Teeming with dangerous animals.
Photo: UCSC

There's one now.
Photo: UCSC

By the time she was done with me I was staggering more than walking.  And at the afternoon swim practice that day?  I guess I should have gone to the gym down the street.  But thinking about my new walking partner and the hills waiting for me in Santa Cruz the next morning, I rested instead, choosing my challenges with care.

Enough to wake you right up.

Nun of your concern

What's a picture like this doing on a nice Jewish girl's blog?  Well, I stumbled upon this 17th Century Nun's Prayer, and thought that people of all faiths (or no faith) might enjoy it.  So, instead of writing for you this week, I'm posting the words of this wonderful, and slightly wicked nun.

Painting: Henrietta Browne

Lord.

Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older and will
someday be old.

Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every
subject and every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out
everybody's affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy.
With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but thou
knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless detail: give me wings to get to
the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of
rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace
to enjoy the tales of other's pain but help me to endure them with patience. I
dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening
cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me
the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint - some of them are so
hard to live with -- but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the
devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and talents
in unexpected people. And give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so.

Amen.

Oh Brother.

Today I confided in my brother that I was disappointed in my daughter’s choice of boyfriend.  “I’m coming up there, and I’m going to let him know that if he steps out of line I am going to kick his ass” was the immediate reply.  Coming from a small, rough steel town my reply wasn’t exactly politically correct...  “Don’t you think her father should kick his ass instead?”  “No,” he replied with absolute moral certainty.  “He’s too close.  I should definitely do the ass kicking.”

Perversely, the thought of my brother kicking anyone’s ass made me nostalgic.  After my father died, ass kicking became my brother’s modus operandi.  I was a rather wild teen who generated plenty of opportunities for my 2-years-older brother to exercise his newfound sense of responsibility.  He lurked in the background of my teenage relationships, grading the quality of my choices and taking action when he considered my judgment flawed.

Unfortunately, my judgment seemed to be flawed a lot.  My brother was creative in the ways that he scared off my boyfriends.  In addition to the classic ass kicking, his techniques ranged from the sideways glance fraught with threat (enough, most times, to do the job) to direct interrogation techniques, to the time he threw a boyfriend over our front porch and into the bushes for attempting a first kiss.  Standing on the porch with my brother, watching the now “ex-boyfriend” run off down the street I felt angry, but also completely and utterly safe.

It is truly miraculous that I found a man of whom my brother mostly approved.  But I did, and I suppose that I owe a great deal to the, um, “non-verbal guidance” that my brother provided over those teenage years.

My brother’s ass kicking days are likely done.  He’s an attorney and a businessman, a gentle father and a sweet and loving husband.  But for a moment he reminded me that he will always be my big brother, and will always take care of me and keep me safe.