294 The Older Moms

When I watched the mothers come in with children today at Panera's (after 11 a.m.), I sometimes was unsure if I was seeing young grandmothers or older mothers. They appeared to be in the 40-50 age group but had toddlers.

There are many safety precautions in place today. When I asked at the grade school about the traffic tie ups, I was told no one lets her children walk to school nowadays--it's not safe. When I asked about the draconian child safety procedures at our church, I was told child safety is a top priority. My children never wore bicycle helmets or were strapped into child safety seats as infants--they sat on my lap. Today I would be severly reprimanded and ticketed for such a lapse.

So have all these safety regulations that don't require exercising common sense addled the brains of today's mothers? Here's what I saw today. I like to sit next to the open fire. One middle-age-mother-of-toddler was letting her little girl dance on the 18" concrete raised hearth of the open fire place, next to the white hot glass doors. Another older Mom let her 3 year old lay her coat down on the floor so she could put it on "like a big girl" without help, as people stepped around and over her with their hot soup and coffee. Another Mom set her infant seat down on the floor so she could put her trash in the bin where people were walking up to the counter to place orders.

After watching this, I decided there were no grandmothers, only older mothers in this crowd. Women who had grown up saying, "someone should do something about this."

293 The deer dilemma

On our trip to Illinois last week we saw 12 dead deer in the median strip between the east and west lanes of Interstate 70 within the first hour (about 60 miles). The 13th we actually saw run across the east bound lanes missing the traffic and leap on to our west bound lanes where it was hit by a semi truck in front of our van, tossed about 20 ft. into the air like a rag doll, to land in the grassy median. It was a terrible thing to see, ruining the rest of the trip. But we knew what would have happened had a sedan or van hit it--a serious accident involving many cars.

So I looked on Google for “whitetail deer automobiles” to see how serious a problem this is. An article in a 2003 Cincinnati paper reported that the deer population in Ohio is soaring and that in 2001, the state recorded 31,586 deer-car collisions, about 17 percent more than in 2000. Insurance officials said the crashes caused about $63.2 million in damage. I learned as I continued browsing Google that it has its own acronym, DVC, deer-vehicle collision.

Reading other sites, I learned that does live twice as long as bucks, because bucks waste their body fat and become weak and kill each other in fights with other bucks. Another area of behavior we humans share with the animals. I learned that there is a disease spreading among deer called chronic wasting disease. CWD is one type of a broad group of neurological diseases called transmissible spongiform encephalopathies (TSE), the most famous of which is bovine spongiform encephalopathy (BSE), or "mad cow" disease. TSEs are always fatal.

One web site figured half a million deer are hit by autos (and obviously by trucks), but that more are killed in fences. Dogs, feral and loose running, may kill as many as 10% of the legal harvest according to that author. I saw the half a million figure at several websites, but no one sited a source.

I thought the animals I saw were does, however, the websites I read mentioned that bucks lose their antlers in December and January and have nothing until April when the base starts to swell and grow. Every web site I read said they vary in color from reddish brown to very dark, almost black. But all the animals I saw were a pale blonde.

The heavy truck traffic, and large deer population in central Ohio combined with growing suburban developments between Columbus and Dayton on Rt. 70 obviously are a lethal combination. I didn’t see dead deer anywhere else on the trip.

292 The gift and flower shop

The weather was balmy so we walked to Merlin's. There were lovely displays of antiques, framed prints, seasonal silk flowers, scented creams and lotions, and air fresheners. I stopped. Could hardly believe my eyes. Artificial dandelions. How perfect! A garden shop filled with articificalness had an artificial weed!

My Daddy hated dandelions
They seemed to like our lawn
Soon their little yellow faces
Were destined to be gone.

My Daddy was a brave Marine
at eighty nine he died.
I know Dad guards the gates of Heav'n;
Those dandelions can't hide.

291 Along the Way

We saw a wind farm near Paw Paw, Illinois with about 100 wind mills. They look like huge chicken legs sticking up out of the ground.

We think we saw a drug bust as we entered Ogle County--police had stopped a car. There was a huddle of people, at least one a woman, shivering in the wind whipping across the fields. We noticed the dog, anxious to start doing his work of sniffing out illegal stuff.

At an intersection on Rt. 64 we noticed a half grown brindle pup, dragging his broken chain, tail down and frightened. I don't think he'll last long in that traffic.

290 Dark rooms can be so depressing

We had our neighbor over for dinner last night--she hadn't been in this unit since the decorators lived here in the early 90s. As I've mentioned before, the living room was about 5 layers of faux glaze that resulted in dark brown, the dining room was faux orange, the guest room was a deep faux forest green and black, and the family room and halls were faux red/coral. These colors included the ceilings. This unit is fortunate to have a window or two in every room--some do not. But the windows were pretty much covered up with very heavy, fringed and tassled drapes. Yards and yards.

As she walked around admiring the lighter look she commented that the decorators told her they were selling because the unit was so dark and they were getting depressed!

289 Resetting the clocks

It is probably an urban legend--the one about Martha Stewart deciding it was easier to buy new clocks and a new car rather than try to reset the digital clocks for the time changes. My 2003 van is easy. H means hour and M means minutes and you push. But my previous van--which also lost a few seconds every month or two--was very difficult to reset. So for about 6 months of the year it was one hour and 5 or 6 minutes off. Keeps the brain cells active.

287 My basketball injury

My right shoulder really hurts. It is a basketball injury. During the NCAA Tournament, I've been watching a little TV in bed propped up on pillows because the tournament is on in the living room. I fall asleep in that position in about 2 minutes even if it is a good movie and fund raising time on PBS. Yesterday around noon I was chatting with a friend on the portable phone, and felt something go zing snap pop behind my right shoulder. I know what caused it--the basketball tournament.

286 Preparing for book club

The sun is shining and it is a nippy 40 degrees in Columbus, but there was a man sitting on the outside patio at Caribou this morning reading a textbook, Corrosion Basics. I was on the inside reading Monday night's bookclub selection, The God of Small Things, by Arundhati Roy. I wondered if he'd be willing to trade.

There are some very interesting, well-written sentences in this book--unfortunately none of them seem to be in the same paragraph. I use my Dostoevsky method--write down every name with a brief description so you can tell the dog from the grandmother from the town.

I've tried starting at the beginning. I've tried starting in the middle. The story lies beyond my grasp. Has life so passed me by, comfortable in my condo and retirement, that I can no longer read a "national bestseller," one that received glowing remarks in the New York Times Book Review and the Washington Post Book World?

Every page I turn to seems to include defecation or the male's lower body parts in their purest Anglo-Saxon simplicity. I find myself longing for the participle driven, acronym laden sentences of a library task force report, or something of comparable clarity.

285 Visiting

Today we visited Highland Elementary to meet James Ransome, illustrator of children's books. He was speaking throughout the day in the library, so we sat through his presentation to kindergarten age. He did a wonderful exercise with the children and they all learned new words and how a book is put together. All the children in the school had been primed for this visit and to the smallest, they were so excited and well-prepared.

The building is very old--probably over 100 years--and the student body comes from many ethnic, religious and income groups, Somali, African-American, Hispanic, Asian, and white. There are many "real" windows in the building--not walls of glass--even in the halls, the doors to the classrooms have half lights and transomes, the ceilings soar. So different than the squashed, absent-minded look of the late-20th century with flat roofs, endless dark corridors, and regimented lockers. Wonderful murals were everywhere, some based on the faces and bodies of the actual students, paintings of quiet and well behaved children waiting in line, for instance. We saw them changing rooms everywhere--no pushing, shoving, shouting. We peeked in at the physical ed class in the gym. Teachers didn't raise their voices, but talked to the students very quietly. Respect for others builds a wonderful learning environment.

Every child in the building got a book autographed by Mr. Ransome--for some, it may be a first--paid for by donors. For large families, they will have many.

When I was in elementary school, we had no library. This library was in the basement (but had windows), but was very well organized and stocked, both fiction and non-fiction, and I believe there were 4 computers, but with all those wonderful books, I really didn't pay that much attention.

Parents and volunteers were everywhere. Children at Highland Elementary have the most basic foundation for an education--people who love and respect them.

284 Ironing Update--Three have to go!

I ironed again to day. This time they were all pre-Bush administration, and two may have been pre-Reagan! Sri Lanka, Philippines, India, Hong Kong, Singapore, China, and 2 USA. However, the gray plaid, the pale flesh tone, and the gold are going into the missionary barrel. My husband is very pale, even when he has a sun tan, so at the end of winter--those colors don't look too great on him. They make him look either dead, dying or diseased. His birthday is Monday, so I told him today he would be getting some new shirts. (He loves surprises, but I don't.) I'll look for USA made, but am not hopeful. I will definitely look for blue, green or brown, however, in the deeper tones.

Update: April 4--He sneaked those three shirts back in the closet--even the one of folded up and put in the furnace room with his work clothes! The selection at Kohl's was a little limiting, but I bought 4 new ones. Most shirts seem to be made for wrestlers and basketball players, so it took a little time.

283 Our bodies, our destiny

I remember learning back in the 70s that women who live together and/or work together cycle through menstral periods together. Yes, have PMS together. Now Nature Magazine says a woman is at her prettiest during the time of the month she is fertile.

Both men and women consider a woman's face to be at its most attractive when she is at the peak of her fertility, according to new research. . . article here.

In another study, women were found to judge other women more harshly during the peak of fertility

The research shows that when women are at the most fertile point in their monthly cycle they tend to have a lower opinion of other women's looks. And that's not just because of mood swings. Menstrual phase had no effect on how the same women rated the looks of men. article here.

282 Shifting the Collection

The letter writing book I blogged about yesterday was found while I was shifting my premiere issue collection. Magazines are terribly heavy and I was lugging them up two stories. Being a librarian, I also decided to put them in subject piles, and they are now all over the floor of the guest room and bed awaiting their new home in the upstairs hall built-in bookshelves (if we had a third bedroom, this would be the door way to that room).

While cleaning off the shelves in the family room, I decided we were never going to use the small, extra microwave we had put down there. We just aren't big enough snackers to warrant a back-up. So I put it on the floor and retired about 10:30 before deciding what to do with it, or the empty shelves.

This morning my husband asked me about the microwave. "Did you open it?" he asked. "No, is there something in it?" I asked eagerly, knowing he sometimes hides presents. He didn't say anything. So I opened it, and there was the package of corn chips I told him to hide from me.

281 Letter Writing

You may think having four blogs is a bit over the top, but I have always written more than most people. When my children were young--before the days of personal computers and word processing--I managed to write once or twice a week to a high school friend, my mother, and my sister. I have boxes of letters that were returned to me over the years from my mother who saved them. They are great diaries.

Letter Writing by Agnes Morton (Philadelphia: Penn Publishing, 1914) is a book I picked up at a used book store, just because I'm interested in letter writing. It doesn't have a beautiful binding, and by today's standards of e-mail dashed off in two or three sentences, it is quaint if not hopelessly old-fashioned. She writes

In a crystal well lie the drops of ink,
And many a pen dips over the brink,
Plunges, then rises, its keen point wet
With a shining drop of liquid jet.
I wonder what story each one will tell;
For 'tis strange what varied meanings may dwell
All in a drop of ink.

Her last section under Social Letters concerns love letters. After declaring one should never tell your heart's desire and hope in writing, she acknowledges that sometimes miles may separate the lovers, and there will need to be love letters. The examples she gives are accepting and rejecting a proposal of marriage, renewing a suit that has been unfavorably received, a proposal indicating a prudent choice, and a letter from a sedate, elderly gentleman.

Pause, my soul, and linger yet;
What wouldst thou do with this liquid jet?
Search out thy motive, ponder it well;
The solemn truth I bid thee tell:
Is thy message one of love, or hate,
Of truth, or falsehood? for soon or late
Thy written words shall come again
To bless or curse thy ready pen.
If loving-kindness move thy heart,
If noble impulse bid thee start,
If clear sincerity be thine--
Then write; and show what power divine
May dwell in a drop of ink.

280 Every once in a while

I find out I did something right. The papers and morning talk shows today have stories about children not getting enough sleep, about parents despairing at bed time, children cajoling to stay up later. I just shake my head. We never had a problem getting the children to go to bed and stay there. I think they were freshmen in high school before they stayed up past 9 p.m. As toddlers their bedtime was around 6:30 p.m. and my peers thought I was crazy.

I recall that my daughter used to wake up about midnight and call for me. So I'd go into her room, pat and kiss her, and she'd roll over and go back to sleep. Finally, one night when she was about four years old I told her, "Mommy needs her sleep; let's not do this anymore." And she never did. Obviously, I was in as much need of reassurance in the middle of the night as she was, and when it wasn't working for me anymore, we agreed to stop.

We had a quiet dinner together as a family, sat together on the couch for reading (no TV), bath, individual prayers with both parents, a good-night kiss, and turn out the lights. Only when we had a sitter was there a problem. They were often teen-agers of the "wear them down" variety. I'd always have to remind them that rough play, hide and seek, or snacking just caused wakefulness. I still think so.

That said, how they sleep as kids, makes no difference in their adult life. It is not life altering. We are born with our clocks already ticking. We have one slug-a-bed and one up-and-ready. Our quiet sleepy child turned out to have a thyroid disorder, and our jumping up and down, rocking the crib kid is still hyper and very high energy.

Our bedtime schedule for our children fit our lifestyle, made evenings pleasant, and gave the parents time together. Didn't make a bit of difference to our children!

279 Game Tables and Great Rooms

According to the Wall Street Journal, great rooms are on the way out, and game tables are making a come back. We have a game table/secretary which we think was made for my husband's grandparents, Stanley and Irma Byrum, when they married in 1906. What makes this piece unusual is that we have a black and white photo of the man who did the intricate inlaid wood designs. It makes me wonder if he was a relative, because I'm not sure why they would have saved a photo of the craftsman all those years. Unfortunately, water was allowed to damage the one side, inlaid with roses, so we have to place a book or lamp over that.

Some game tables are the specialty of Butler Specialty--desks and consoles going for $300 to $1400. Brighton Pavilion has $3,800 models. There are 65 companies now designing and creating game tables, up from seven just four years ago. WSJ article here.

I've never cared for the "great room" concept where the dirty dishes in the kitchen were visible from every angle of the living space. We rejected many condo plans for that reason. It was a popular plan in the 80s and 90s, so this condo built in the 70s was just right. To our surprise, one family here with our floor plan, gutted it and made the entire first floor all open! WSJ says "privacy" is the new ultimate luxary--"a room of one's own."

278 What I like about guys

This is what I like about guys--even if they hate each, they can unite for a common cause. The photos of Gore, Clinton, Kerry and Carter, all of whom have said awful, hurtful things about each other, is just heart warming. Politics and beds, or something like that. Women would never do that--just forgive and forget for a cause.

"The Democrats' top totems -- including two former presidents and a vice president -- preached unity to a roomful of the party's faithful last night at a fundraising bash at the National Building Museum. They were unified in support of John Kerry, their presumptive presidential nominee. And they were unified in contempt for President Bush." Washington Post

277 Mixed messages from Page

Black teen age girls don’t get much respect, even from each other, says Clarence Page, syndicated columnist for a number of papers, including the Columbus Dispatch, where I read it March 26. In Hip-Hop culture, Page writes, everyone disses black females, including black females. He writes that the code words for males includes dog, homeboy, playa, lame, sugar daddy and payload, but for female they are skeezer, ‘hood rat, ho, trick break, bitch, gold digger, and hoochie mama.

Page cites an undated study by Motivational Educational Entertainment (MEE) Productions Inc. which says that urban youth are untouched by positive messages from schools, parents, media and health-care providers about responsible sexual behavior. I found the executive summary on-line, and it was dated January 2004.

Maybe I read it too fast, but I didn’t see anything in the MEE report about blaming Hip-Hop messages, unless Page is using the term very broadly. Also, later in his article he says, We, their elders need to provide someone to look up to, to believe in when he has just made the case that they are looking at the Hip-Hop performers and their marketers for their life style. The MEE executive summary, however, definitely stressed the importance of parents in forming the teen’s attitudes.

276 Soup's On

Each Friday night in Lent we've invited different people to our home for a simple soup, salad and dessert meal. Our Friday night date money is going to the Lower Lights Medical Mission on Columbus' west side.

Tonight it is broccoli soup with onions and mushrooms, fresh fruit/veggie plate, and apple/raisin/date pie with sugar free ice cream. As I was tasting the soup, I complained to my husband about the amount of sodium in commercially prepared chicken broth--38% of the RDA in one serving.

"Why must they put so much salt in it--it costs more to buy salt-reduced!" I complained.

He said, "I feel a blog coming on."

275 Around the world in six shirts

I needed to iron my white linen table cloth for dinner tomorrow night. I think it was a wedding gift, so that makes it about 44 years old. It was probably made in the USA, but a long time ago, we thought things made in Europe were superior, so possibly not.

While the iron was hot (which is where that expression doesn't come from), I decided I might as well do up the shirts and blouses hanging next to the washer. It truly was a trip around the world.

Blue, long sleeve, cotton blouse--Macedonia

Beige with black, red and white dots, long sleeve silk blouse--China

White, short sleeve, cotton t-shirt with button trim--Vietnam

Coral and white stripe, long sleeve, cotton blouse--Indonesia

two blue denin shirts, one about 10 years old, the other new--Bangladesh

I wonder which shirt off my back Mr. Kerry wants so we can stop shipping jobs overseas?