School Vacation, Day One: Teach Your Children Well

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In our house, change seems to end up everywhere except in our wallets. I find change in the washing machine; I find change on the floor of Nathan’s room. I have even found change in the bathtub, which is most likely Iz’s doing though Nathan might try to blame it on the kitten.

Like most homes, we have a jar into which most of our spare change gets tossed. The jar is emptied every six months of so. Usually, Iz and I empty the change into a plastic bag, go to the nearest CoinStar machine, and then take our earnings to the mall for Sephora and Claire’s purchases.



In addition to the jar, change seems to build up in the cup holders in the car.



At a certain point, it becomes unsafe to put my travel mug in the cup holder due to tipping issues. Of course, I could clean out the cup holder; however, there’s a time, a place, and a set schedule for relieving ourselves of our change. And, it’s probably tied to the phase of the moon and how bored and broke we are!

I wanted to give Iz something to do today; however, I wanted an activity that wouldn’t require too much of my energy. Given it was school vacation week, I knew I was going to have to find entertainment all week; thus, I didn’t want to burn myself out the first day of the week! I proposed to Iz yesterday that we get rid of all our change.

She eagerly agreed. She asked, “Can we go spend it at Sephora?” I told her we’d think about it today.

When I got up this morning, I felt like I really wanted to clean and organize something; thus, the change activity would be a good one for both Iz and I. But, somehow the thought of going to the mall was totally unappealing. I knew I needed a different kind of gratification today given the way I was feeling, and then I had an idea.

When I was sitting on the couch next to Iz this morning drinking my coffee and watching “Full House,” Iz asked, “Mommy, are we going to do the change thing today?” I said, “Yes. But, I have a different idea for the money.” She asked, “What?”

I told her that we really didn’t need anything from Sephora, Claire’s, or any other store at the mall; we had enough of everything. I looked at her, and she still sat there listening intently without any protest thus far in regard to my “just say no to shopping” speech. I dropped the final bombshell by saying, “Instead of going shopping, why don’t we take the money and buy food for the food pantry?”

I sat and waited for her disappointed, “Oh, Mommy!” It never came. Immediately, she said, “Okay!”

I got the change jar down from the shelf, and we proceeded to dump its contents into a large plastic bag. We then went outside, got in the car, and dug out the change from the car cup holders and added it, some of it notably sticky and gooey from coffee dribbles, to the bag. We scoured the washing machine, the floor of Nathan’s room, and any other place in the house where we thought we might find a stray quarter or penny.

Iz even dumped out my purse, took all the change that fell out, and added it to the bag too; I was mugged but in a good way! Twenty minutes later, we had a huge bag of change. It was so heavy Iz could barely tote it around; she then said, “Wow! How much money do you think is in here? $20?!”



At that point, she seemed more excited about knowing how much money we had than what we were actually going to buy with it. I told her I thought we had $50. She asked, “Can we buy a lot of food with that?”

I told her that I thought we could do quite well with $50, but before we went to cash in the change, we should figure out what kinds of food to buy. I went to the food pantry’s website, and I printed out the list. Iz asked if she could carry the list since the bag of change was too heavy.

As we drove to the store, she said, “We need to buy 100% juice, tuna, jelly, ramen noodles, chicken noodle soup, soap, shampoo, conditioner, and toothpaste.” She then asked me, “Do they have shoes?” I told her that I thought everyone had shoes and we just needed to worry about food today.

When we arrived at the CoinStar machine, Iz wanted to be responsible for the change purge. I opened the bag, dumped some change in the tray to get her started, and she carefully pushed the coins down the tray. As the coins went down, she watched the screen above and every minute she shouted out how much money we had so far.

I collected all the rejected change at the bottom while she kept feeding the machine. There were foreign coins, Chuck E. Cheese tokens, and even a few wooden nickels (courtesy of Nathan’s orthodontist). When Iz had pushed the last nickel down the tray, she glanced up for the final total and screeched, “Mommy, we have $102.35!!!!”



I was amazed that we had that much. And then Iz asked, “Mommy, what do we do now?” The machine asked for our zip code, which I helped her enter, and she pressed the “Enter” button to expel our receipt. Then she said like a CoinStar professional, “Mommy, it’s going to come out right here.”

She grabbed the receipt and said, “Let’s go shopping!” She began to push the cart and walked off toward the bakery. I had never really seen her this excited; it seemed that while buying a lip gloss at Sephora made her feel like a big girl, buying groceries for the food pantry made her feel like a very good girl.

When I caught up to Iz, she said, “What do we need, Mom?” I said, “Tuna fish.” As she pushed the cart past the aisles, she scanned the sign over each aisle muttering to herself, “Tuna fish, tuna fish, tuna fish,” and then she said, “It’s down here!”

She went to grab the first can, and I said to her, “Let’s see what’s on sale and compare prices.” Iz then asked, “Can I put the things in the basket?” It became apparent to me that both mother and daughter liked all aspects (the list, pushing the shopping cart, looking for bargains, crossing things off the list) of grocery shopping.

After we had picked out 20 bags of ramen noodles, 12 four-packs of tuna fish, 10 cans of chicken noodle soup, 6 boxes of tooth paste, 6 bottles of 100% fruit juice, and 10 bars of soap, I said, “I think we’ve spent all our money now.” We pushed the carriage to the check out, and Iz began to unload everything onto the conveyor belt. Iz said to the cashier quite proudly, “We used all our change to buy this for people who don’t have food.”

I almost laughed out loud. The casher said to Iz, “Really? That’s very nice.” Iz beamed and pushed the carriage through the line.

When the last can of chicken noodle soup was scanned, the casher said, “$86.04.” I thought I was keeping track of what we spent, but apparently, my math was off. I said, “Aw, we could have bought more.”

Iz said, “Mommy, we can go back.” I said, “No. We got a lot.” And as we left the store, I thought of a good way to spend the last bit of money on another very worthy cause and said, “Iz, there’s $16 left. Do you want to go buy yourself a book or two at the bookstore?” to which I got a gleeful “Yes!”

After we put all the food in the food pantry box, we drove to the nearby bookstore. Iz spent an hour looking and finally decided on two chapter books. As an additional treat, I let her pick out a wolf bookmark, which only put us over budget by eight cents!



Lately, given the economy and my unemployment, I felt it was good for Iz to understand that there are times when you have to give up things or you give up things in order to give to others who have less. Today, Iz learned about helping others and got a well-deserved treat for her efforts. It was a very good way for both us to begin the week, remembering and appreciating how much we have and what’s most important. ♥

Census and Sensibility

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Have you all filled out and returned your census forms to indicate that you are a family of 4.37 with an incontinent pug, a cat with three legs, and a lizard that went missing last Christmas, though it may still be living in the walls of your family room, so it may merit including in the family total? I’ve done mine. Why am I reminding you?

I’m practicing. I have a job as a census enumerator. They called me today.

What’s that you say?
Does the blue, green, and white mold growing on the macaroni salad from Easter that’s still in your refrigerator count as a life form and as a subsequent family member?
I’ll ask when I attend the four-day training session at the end of the month, but I don’t think so; however, you might be able to count the gentleman friend of Aunt Flo’s who came for Easter dinner with her and is still sleeping on your couch in the living room. By the way, you might want to check for a pulse.

During “Curb Your Enthusiasm” but before I went to the gym to avoid the after-Curb-Your-Enthusiasm episode of “Law & Order,” the phone rang. Not feeling like answering the phone and hearing the CVS robot voice announce an available prescription or the Waste Management robot voice proclaim that my trash collection next week would not be interrupted by the Patriot’s Day holiday on Monday, I let the answering machine pick up.

A man with a very commanding and deep voice started to speak. I thought, “Oh, another robot voice!” When the voice said, “You took the Enumerator test, and we’d like to know if you’re still interested in the position,” I ran to the phone and pressed the Talk button.

He seemed a surprised when I said, “Hello?! Hello?!” I was hoping I sounded like I had just come in from a 10-mile run and not like I had made a mad dash from the sofa after flinging the remote control down. He began to repeat the information that he had left thus far on his answering machine message, and then he said he needed to ask me a few questions.

Since this was a “federal” job, I was hoping the questions weren’t going to be too invasive like the last time I met with the Lovelies. I entered the party, and before I could get my coat off, I was asked, “When was the first time you had sex?” I looked around quickly, because I thought for a moment that I had entered the wrong party, but after visually identifying the usual suspects, I laughed out loud.

He asked, “You will have to ask people their age, their race, and how much they make. Are you comfortable with that?” I said I was; however, I lied. I hate asking people their age. When I dare to ask, they usually say, “Oh, guess how old I am!” and I always make them older than they really are!

He asked, “You will have to go into many different kinds of neighborhoods. Are you comfortable with that?” I almost laughed. Different kinds of neighborhoods? I wasn’t sure if he was implying I might need to carry a concealed weapon or that I should make sure I left my credit cards at home in case I hit a an abfab shopping area.

He asked, “You will go to multi-family homes where there will be stairs and perhaps have to take elevators. Are you comfortable with that?” I wanted to say, “Dude, I bike and run. Send me to Robinson Crusoe’s house if he hasn’t filled out his census yet, because I can make it to that island, scale those palm trees, swing by a vine, and knock on the front door of his tree house!” But, I said, “Yes.”

He asked, “Do you have a valid driver’s license and a car?” I must have paused when I heard that question, and then I answered, “Yes!” He said, “You’d be surprised at how many people say no to that one.”

When the conversation came to the end, he told me that the training would take place over four days during the last week of this month. He said, “When you come to the training, you need to bring a check for direct deposit, two forms of ID, and you will be fingerprinted because this is a federal job.” Most would cringe at “fingerprinted.” Being a CSI and Law & Order junkie, I said, “Cool!”

He laughed and said, “Yes. You’ll have the black finger tips.” I said, “Not a problem.” Of course, I had never been fingerprinted, though you all know how much I love a good crime scene. In a way, the census was letting me live a life of crime without committing any crime, and they were going to pay me $18.50 an hour and give me 50 cents a mile for driving my car!

I told one of my friends that I was now an Enumerator, which should in no way be confused with a Common Denominator. He said, “It’s a job.” He was right; because I knew it was a job, too.

It was not my job though. It could be my job temporarily if unemployment benefits were willing. Half of me wanted to bike away the next three months and continue to look for my baby (i.e., the job I am supposed to have)* and then half of me wanted to walk the streets of my community, because I longed for work, camaraderie, and a paycheck that I had earned.

*Whenever I experience the loss of a job opportunity, I say to myself, “That’s not my job.” When I say that, I am always reminded of an episode of Sex in the City that I loved.

Charlotte: [hearing the front door open] Hi, honey. I'm a bad wife. I ordered Chinese.
Harry: I got something from China, too. They're giving us a baby.
Charlotte: What? How?
Harry: I guess God remembered our address. We get her in six months... and here she is.
[hands Charlotte a photo of the baby]
Charlotte: [smiling through tears] That's our baby. I know it. That's really our baby!

Today, I am an Enumerator. Tomorrow, I hope to find my baby. Some day my job will come, and when it does, I hope it’s similar to this one, one which I am applying for. ♥

Happy Weekend! ♥

Wit and Wisdom

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When I listed childhood and adolescent milestones (sleeping through the night, eating solid foods, crawling, talking, walking, going to school, and learning how to drive) in a previous blog, I forgot one, probably because it was most often a painful one. I had neglected to mention having wisdom teeth out.

Recently, I was reminded of this milestone when Nathan complained to me one weekend, “Mom, my gums are killing me right back here.” I asked, “Where?” and Nathan opened his mouth, full of perfectly straight teeth for which we had paid a hefty sum, pointed his finger back towards his molars, and he said, “Rrrrrht errrrre.” I didn’t even have to look; I thought, “Oh, no! Those bastard wisdom teeth!”

We had just gotten rid of the braces. I thought naively, “Well, that’s it then.” But, when I looked in Nathan’s cavernous mouth, I knew it wasn’t over until the fat oral surgeon bill stings!

I also knew it wasn’t something for which I couldn’t say, like with Iz’s growing pains, “Take some ibuprofen, and it’ll be all better in the morning.” Nathan never complained about pain or discomfort, even when he had strep, lice, pneumonia, newly tightened braces, or a badly skinned knee. He was of pre-Revolutionary War Vermont stock; I envisioned him taking a swig of whiskey and biting on a bullet if he ever was in serious pain.

At 3:15 today, we had an appointment with the oral surgeon. Nathan seemed a bit grumpy; however, he wasn’t so grumpy that he didn’t want to drive. Of course, the rule is that if you drive, you get to be the car DJ. I know almost every song by A Tribe Called Quest now, and I actually like some of them.

Prior to our trek today, I had made somewhat of a parenting mistake. When Nathan originally complained to me about his pain, I immediately called the dentist. I scheduled an appointment, took him, and the dental hygienist said, “It’s his wisdom teeth.”

Without thinking, I said out loud, “Oh, dear. I remember having my wisdom teeth out when I was 19. It was horrible.” I asked, “Has oral surgery gotten any better since then?” She laughed and said, “Oh, yes!”

Of course, Nathan was still not understanding the implication of the words “wisdom teeth.” So, he didn’t really absorb what I was talking about. Next out of my mouth was going to be me describing my Mom pulling over the turd brown Dodge Aspen 100 yards before Sudbury Center, so I could vomit all the blood I swallowed during my wisdom tooth surgery; thank goodness, I didn’t get that far down Memory Wisdom Tooth Lane.

The hygienist gave me a referral to an oral surgeon. She then informed me that Nathan was behind in his cleanings. If we stayed for another 45 minutes, they could fit him in for a cleaning.

Nathan muttered under his breath. I said, "What?" He said, "Mom, I'm really hungry now. I said, “Can he have another appointment this week? He’s hungry and grumpy now.”

She said, "Sure. We have something tomorrow." I looked at Nathan, who was still oblivious to the wisdom teeth aspect of our visit, and he said, "Sure." As we left, she laughed and said, "Nathan, please come back less grumpy tomorrow." I had to laugh because I hoped for the same. I was beginning to think this wasn't just hunger; it was [cringe] adolescence!

After we arrived home and Nathan’s fuel gauge was reading “Full” instead of “Hungry,” he began to remember the events of the previous few hours. He said, “So, I might have to have these teeth taken out?” I told him it was probably most likely, and then I slipped again saying, “And, after I had my wisdom teeth out during my freshman college break, I developed mono!”

Of course, Nathan then gave me a sly look and asked, “Mono, Mom?” I said, “Oh, it’s so not what you’re thinking Nathan. I didn’t even had a boyfriend then!” Nathan looked doubtful since I just admitted I had what was sometimes called the “Kissing Disease.”

I said, “Two women in my dorm had it, and I probably got it from them, because 10 women shared one bathroom.” January of my freshman college year was a horrendous one for me. I spent the entire six weeks sick as a dog.*

*Major Guilt Note: It was only recently that I found out that my experience effected someone profoundly. No, it wasn’t Nathan. When this all started to happen with Nathan, Melissa (a.k.a., Dr. Tunabreath) told me that it was suggested that she have her wisdom teeth removed. She told me she didn’t, because she remembered the hell I went through!

These are pictures that she took of me that January. It looks like I’m having fun, but my cheeks weren’t that big normally. And, not many people know this, but after you’ve had difficult oral surgery, a side effect is pushing stuffed bears up your sweater.



As Nathan, Iz, and I walked into the oral surgeon’s office, Iz began to do what she does best. She will never be one of those people who doesn’t ask questions. No event goes unquestioned or without comment; I’m convinced that Iz is really Robin Roberts, Tyra Banks, or Christiane Amanpour in size 6x jeans wearing a Hannah Montana t-shirt while listening to Taylor Swift on her iPod Shuffle.

Iz said, “Do we have to go into the room with Nathan?”
I said, “No.”
She asked, “That’s because he’s a big boy, right?”

Before I could answer that question, she said, “This reminds me of the building where I had my first H1N1 shot.” Again, before I could say a thing, she said, “Remember, I cried when I got my second one.” Gosh, how could I forget, and then I tried to say something, but she said, “But, then I said, oh, that didn’t really hurt at all!”

Once we arrived at the office, I signed three forms in six different places, and, shortly thereafter, Nathan was called into the exam room. After he had his panoramic x-ray, I was called in. So, I misinformed Iz; Nate wasn’t a big boy when it came to his wisdom teeth.

The oral surgeon came in and gave Nathan a history of wisdom teeth. At that point, I don’t think Nathan really care about their history. He only knew that they had now become a huge inconvenience in his life.

The surgeon began to explain the potential procedure. Nathan is not a big fan of needles, so he was relieved to find out that they would numb his arm with novocain before they inserted the IV that would deliver the anesthesia that would put him to sleep. The surgeon said, much to Nathan’s relief, “You will be totally knocked out. Yeah, it will be like you’re dreaming about fairies and unicorns the whole time.”

Iz was sitting on my lap, and as I’ve said before, she’s not one to say “No comment.” She immediately said, “Nathan doesn’t like fairies and unicorns.” Nathan glared at her; the surgeon said, “What? Everyone likes fairies and unicorns” to which Iz said, “Nathan doesn’t!” Yes, on the morning of surgery, I will make sure that Iz is far, far away from Nathan.

Removal of four impacted wisdom teeth: $2600
Giving Nathan anesthesia instead of letting him have a swig of whiskey and bite on a bullet: $350
Having wisdom teeth removed after prom but before trip to Europe in June: Priceless for Nathan (well, to some degree when he isn't in pain) but $1000 out-of-pocket for Mom and Dad! ♥

I Can Mash Potato

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Last Sunday, I decided to try and make a special Sunday meal. So, I rifled through my pile of recipes, which were, if truth be told, all stacked on top of my Longaberger basket recipe box instead of neatly filed inside them. As I said, I love my recipe box, and there are recipes in it; however, it’s also a good recipe coffee table for when you haven’t found the time to re-file all your recipes!

Anyway, as I sorted through the olive oil-stained, basil flake encrusted, and rumpled print outs from All Recipes, I found one for Shepherd’s Pie. This wasn’t one of my favorites, but it seemed to please a variety of picky tastes (read “Iz” and “Nathan”). I didn’t really care for it, because it was so bland.

John once told me that his Mom was not a very good cook nor did she have a huge repertoire of meals. One of the meals she made quite frequently was Shepherd’s Pie. I once said to John after making it, “This tastes like nothing but potatoes and hamburger” to which he responded, “But, that’s the way it’s supposed to be!”

One of the main ingredients in my Shepherd’s Pie is mashed potato. I don’t make mashed potatoes a lot, so I had to pull out my most stable companion over the last 30 years which was the Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook. My grandmother gave it to me in 1985.

I like it, because it tells you how to make all of the basics. Before I discovered All Recipes, I was a basics girl when it came to food. Of course, I find it a tad funny that it was the “New” cookbook in 1985 and continues to be so; the “Old” version must have been before my cooking time.

On Sunday afternoon, I was perusing the index for “Potatoes, mashed.” I found them on page 401. I knew I really didn’t need a recipe; however, my cooking strategy had always been one half recipe, one quarter self-doubt, and one quarter winging it.

I opened to page 401. I read the recipe. I said, “Jeez, after all these years, I know how to do this!” I closed the book, and I began to peel the potatoes.

Many blogs back, I mentioned how certain songs and scents always reminded me of events and people in my life. As I stood there by the sink peeling the potatoes, I remembered who taught me how to make mashed potatoes. It was my friend, Bitsy (Elizabeth) when we were in college.

Our Senior year, we lived in Brandeis’ Senior housing which was called “The Mods.” They weren’t mod by any stretch of the imagination; they were really only modular. Bitsy and I lived with Steve, her boyfriend, and another guy named Steve.

Besides the four bedrooms, the bathroom, and the living area, we had a kitchen in which we cooked dinner a few nights a week. Of course, shopping and cooking were left to Bitsy and I; dishes were left to Steve and Steve. Bitsy and I didn’t mind shopping, because we controlled the purchases, which included the latest issue of Cosmopolitan magazine whenever it was available, and we just made Steve and Steve fork over the cash for the total purchases.

I loved our food shopping nights. We got into the car (Robert’s steel gray Camaro, my Mom’s turd brown Dodge Aspen, or Bitsy’s puke green Dodge Dart) and headed to the Stop & Shop in Waltham armed with our coupons, which I cut out of the Sunday Boston Globe on the weekends I went home. The only real struggle those evenings was where we would park; Bitsy always wanted to try and park next to the front door, and I preferred to grab the first available and walk. We had many differences, and I always laughed about that one the most.

After shopping, we’d arrive back at the Mods and park in front of ours, Mod 16 or 22, I think. You weren’t supposed to park in front of your Mod, but we did it only to unload our bounty. One of us, depending on who was driving the car of the evening, would run into the Mod and roust the boys to carry in bags.

After the car was parked legally back in the parking lot, we’d head back in to unload the bags. Subsequently, Bitsy and I would fight with Steve (her boyfriend) over who got to read Cosmopolitan first. Bitsy and I usually won due to Bitsy wooing Steve via whatever she happened to whisper into his ear that made him drop the magazine onto the couch and leave the room.

In those days, we all ate dinner together 3-4 times a week. I remember two staple dinners that Bitsy and I made. One was chicken parmesan (Robert’s mother taught me how) with spaghetti and salad and the other was Shake ‘n Bake chicken, mashed potatoes, and frozen vegetables. Steve, Bitsy’s Steve, was a big canned vegetable guy; I insisted on frozen if we couldn’t have fresh, and I won.

I remember one of the first nights we made dinner; Bitsy announced we’d have mashed potatoes with our Shake ‘n Bake chicken. She said to me, “You make the potatoes,” to which I said, “Um, err, ah, how do I do that?” She asked, “You don’t know how to make mashed potatoes?!”

I didn’t. I could bake anything; remember, I had flour running through my veins due to my maternal great grandparents who owned a bakery for many years in Cambridge. But, alas, I didn’t know the first thing about mashed potatoes. Of course, after that night, I could make them with my eyes closed for the rest of the school year.

As I stood there mashing my potatoes on Sunday, I thought about Bitsy a lot and especially of the things that reminded me of her, one of which was mashed potatoes. Any song by the Police always reminded me of her, because I had attended my first concert at the then Boston Garden with Bitsy and Steve. We saw the Police; and that was a night I’ll never forget.

Other things that always made me think of her were Cosmopolitan, Peeps (which ironically Iz adores), Pleasures by Estee Lauder, Germany (she was fluent in German and had a full scholarship to Brandeis because of that), pop-tarts, the Tubes, and the Ramones.

We saw the Tubes at WPI. Her brother went there. In 1982, our sophomore year, one of her brother’s friends picked us up, brought us to Worcester, and we danced like maniacs to Talk to Ya Later and everything else they played that night.

There were good times, and there were bad times for us both. One night, after a few beers at a party, I walked Bitsy back to her dorm. She was so miserable she wanted to walk home to her parent’s in Weymouth. I gave her two aspirin, made her drink two glasses of water, and I kept her from making that long walk home. I tucked her into bed, rubbed her head, and then I left and locked the door.

Shortly thereafter, we both applied for transfers. I got into Boston College; and then Bitsy told me that she couldn’t afford to transfer because of her scholarship. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t finish college without her, and I knew I wanted to stay with her.

As I spread my mashed potatoes over my pie, it was funny to think that mashed potatoes could bring so many memories. But, they did. And, it was so good to think about her and have her back in my life even if it was for just that moment.

This picture shows Steve, Bitsy, Steve (her husband), and me at Bitsy and Steve’s wedding in 1989. (I have the bad perm. And, yes, that's an 80s bridesmaid dress.)



And, as went to put my pie in the oven, all of my Bitsy memories came back so strongly. She died of breast cancer in 1995 when she was only 33 years old. She was a beautiful, wonderful, and intelligent woman, and I will always miss her.

Life is about many things. Mostly, to me, it seems to be about love and loss. Though, it’s so very nice when mashed potatoes, a very pedestrian carbohydrate, can remind you of a love and a life that was so long ago but is still so near and dear to your heart.

Bitsy’s Mom’s 80th birthday celebration was on the Sunday I mashed my potatoes, though I couldn’t make her party. That night, after much mashing, I got a Facebook friend request. It was from Bitsy’s good friend, Krista, who I had lost touch with. You can’t tell me that the Great Cat Goddess doesn’t work in mysterious ways. ♥

This is what I read at Bitsy’s memorial service. (♥ Don’t read this if you are Nancy. ♥)

It was 15 years ago to the month that I walked up a flight of stairs in Allen Hall at Brandeis University and entered the room of a fellow freshman where she caught my attention immediately.

She was effervescent. She was animated. But, what were these “pup tarts” she was talking about? Taken by her friendliness, I began to talk to her only to find out that Bitsy’s pup tarts were Jean’s pop tarts.

Our accents aside, we chatted, almost interviewing each other as if we were both secretly hoping to find an ally in a place where we felt out of place.

We discovered we were both from Massachusetts; this made us acquaintances. We discovered that we were both Polish; this gave us solidarity. And as breakfast meetings led to lunch meetings, and as lunch meetings led to dinner meetings, Sherman Dining Hall gave us friendship.

As I look back, it’s hard to believe that that 15-minute conversation about pop tarts, Massachusetts, and nationality led to a 15-year friendship. In some ways, we were opposites. She was studying German Literature. I was studying English and American Literature. She did the Jane Fonda aerobic workout. I played volleyball and threw a discus. She liked Barry Manilow then. I liked the B-52s. She drank tea. I drank coffee. She said “pup tarts.” I said “pop tarts.”

The transition to Brandeis was a challenging one for both of us. Some of our interests were different, but our spirits were the same. Laughter was important to us. People were important to us. We were important to each other. In a place where I sometimes felt like it was “us” against “them”, my friendship with Bitsy made me feel like there was a whole lot more of us than of them.

To some, that four years may seem insignificant out of a total of 33, but they were four of the most important years of my life. Neither Brandeis nor my diploma gave me strength or confidence. Bitsy did. When I look at my diploma now, it seems as if there should have been a signature line on the very bottom titled “Friend who helped you make it through the most difficult four years of your life”, and that’s where Bitsy would have signed.

She helped me with my Computer Science. She was my security blanket at parties. She cheered me on at volleyball games. She let me raid her refrigerator. She listened to my fears. Her encouragement was never ending.

I have never longed for those college years since then. I always felt that when I graduated, I left with the thing I deemed most important about Brandeis - not its diploma but Bitsy’s friendship. Our departure from Brandeis did not end our friendship. While we did not see each other as often, I always knew that she was there for me, and she knew that I was there for her.

After 15 years, I could still not tell you exactly why we clicked. She liked Persians. I liked Tabby cats. She liked marshmallow peeps. I liked Milky Ways. She said pup tarts. I said pop tarts. She believed in me. I believed in her. Well, maybe it was just really because she loved me, and I loved her.

Cuz You're a Nice Person?

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Today was a challenging day. It was another day driving along the Job Interview Highway. After driving this road, one that’s full of surprising challenges, I wondered if I’d ever be able to find an exit.

Along the way, I had pulled over at the Self-Doubt rest stop. I had traveled over the I’m Not Good Enough bridge and paid the toll so many times that I found it easier to purchase the E-ZPass. And, lately, it felt like I had driven around the Rotary of Rejection one too many times.

Some days you think you’re going to make it. Other days you think you don’t care anymore. And on a day like today, you wonder if you shouldn’t take the Route 2A exit off of the Rotary of Rejection and proceed directly to Target or Bed Bath & Beyond for a full-time job.

Last night, Nathan asked me if I could take him and his friend, Harry, to TJ Collectibles on Saturday. They wanted to attend a Magic card “draft.” Again, don’t ask me about the specifics of it; and at my request, I had the draft explained to me again on the way home from school last week, and I still didn’t “get” it.

When Nathan got home from school today, he said, “Mom, I have to work at 3pm on Saturday, so can you pick us up at 1pm instead of 5pm?” I said, “Sure.” I then thought about it for a minute and I asked, “Nathan, aren’t you with your Dad this weekend?”

I then walked through the kitchen and positioned myself under the stairwell. He was upstairs and hanging over the railing. I was looking up at him when he said, “Yeah.” I asked, “If you’re with your Dad, then why am I taking you?”

It wasn’t that I minded taking him and Harry; I just wondered why he hadn’t asked the “Non-Gullible Parent.” He smiled at me, began to say something, but then he paused. He then said, “Cuz you’re a nice person,” which just might have been punctuated with a question mark instead of a “Period.”

I laughed out loud. I smiled up at him. I sighed and then I said, “Yeah, I am.”

I knew I was being somewhat coerced into a road trip for magic cards; however, I knew the trip meant a lot to him and was a trip that he didn't feel comfortable asking his father to take him on for some reason. Despite it all, the trip was already worth it. He told me something that I really needed to hear, especially today, even if there was a question mark after it masquerading as a period or visa versa! ♥

What Would Jean Do?

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Every once in a while, I feel like I’m Tom Hanks in “Cast Away.” My house becomes a small unknown island in the Pacific Ocean (Isle of the Unemployed), I’m its only inhabitant (my former company crashed, so I was cast away) and the cats and dog are little boars that run wild on the island who keep me company when I’m not scaling trees for coconuts, hunting fish with my spear crafted out of a stick, or trying to figure out how to use all of Iz’s Barbie dolls to make a raft to leave the island. Sometimes I think it’s a paradise, but then every once in a while, it becomes a place of loneliness and frustration.

Last Friday, I got an opportunity to go out for the evening with a friend, who like me, is on a island, a neighboring island. Usually, I don’t like to go out on weekend nights when Nathan is around, but he was off with friends. So, I decided it would be a good time to leave the island for a bit using my Barbie doll flippers; Iz needs to get into Legos if I’m ever going to be able to make a raft. Besides, who can resist the lure of a luau with food and drink, entertainment (shiny trinkets to hang from your ears, neck, and wrist), and, most importantly, the good company of a fellow cast away.

Before you think I left the house wearing a grass skirt and a lei, I confess that it wasn’t a luau that I went to. Actually, for women 25-65 who live in the suburbs, it might be a different version of a luau; it was a jewelry party. And, a jewelry party is probably the last thing an unemployed person wants to attend, right?

When I began to read my friend’s email and saw “vintage-inspired jewelry party,” I cringed. While I liked the sound of “vintage-inspired jewelry,” “party” meant money that I had but shouldn’t really spend. When I continued to read and saw “no obligation to buy,” I knew I was confident enough to attend the party and not feel pressured like I had felt at past Longaberger, Tupperware, and Princess House parties. Then she added, “It could be fun. Lots of gals, wine, and food.”

I thought about it. I hadn’t seen her for a while, and she was right. It sounded like fun. Since my middle name had been “Grumpy,” “Mopey,” and “Couch Potato” (the Three Dwarfs of Unemployment) instead of Marie, I knew I had to put on my Barbie Doll flippers and swim over to her island. She was right; it could be fun and intriguing and then she said, “Plus, my friend lives in this fabulous million-dollar house.”

It’s funny how everyone has a different opinion of these kinds of parties. I went to a Longaberger party many years ago, had some punch and told myself that I wouldn’t buy anything because I had just bought my house; the next thing I knew, I had bought a $100 recipe box. Upon return from the party, John said, “Aha! They get you drunk so you’ll buy stuff.” Of course, after he had a few glasses of wine one night, “Love Songs of the 70s” ended up in the mailbox the next week; thus, no one is immune to drinking and shopping!

Another friend of mine is convinced that these parties are like medicine shows. “If you wear this necklace, it will make you look just like Meg Ryan after her plastic surgery.” Of course, I would immediately put that necklace down. I swear he was convinced that I’d be selling Amway after being subjected to a “once in a lifetime opportunity” as he put it!

Anyway, after a rendezvous in a parking lot, I climbed into my friend’s car and was immediately handed a bag in which I found Hello Kitty pajamas; the shirt proclaimed “Born to be Famous.” It made my week, because my usual island pajamas, which were fashioned out of palm fronds, ended up in the black hole of the tidal pool in which I did my laundry. Like major appliances, Nature can be unforgiving too!

As we drove to the luau spot, we caught up on our island happenings. It seems more was happening on her island which had her a bit frustrated, and it seemed a lot less was happening on my island which had me a bit frustrated, too. As we continued to talk, it appeared that this night was a very good night for a party and a few drinks housed in coconut shells out of which sprouted little blue and pink umbrellas.

When we arrived at the driveway for the home, I saw the house to the right. Apparently, this was not the house, and, as we headed down the driveway, it appeared that this was really two driveways, one for the house I saw and the other for the house I couldn’t even see yet. We drove up a hill and reached a plateau; I looked for the house.

We climbed again, and reached another plateau. I was then beginning to feel like I was on an island, Fantasy Island! Where was this house?!

We turned a corner, and there it was. It was a huge home that was covered in beautiful stone and reminded me somewhat of a Tudor house. We got out of the car and filed into the house after a few other grass-skirt wearing luau attendees. It was the largest home I had ever been in, and I do believe the kitchen was as big as the entire downstairs of my house.

So, my friend was right. It had already been fun getting my Hello Kitty pajamas and seeing this fabulous house. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I had a glass of wine in my hand, a few Fritos in my mouth, and I was perusing some lovely trinkets.

I didn’t know any of the women at the party. I got the impression that they were not inhabiting islands like my friend and I were. After some obligatory socializing, my friend and I ended up in a corner of the kitchen chatting about island living.

At one point, we were talking about how lonely it can be on our islands sometimes and then she said to me, “Last week, I was rather upset, and I felt like crying.” I said, “Every now and then, I feel like that, too.” She said, “Then I thought, what would Jean do?!”

I almost choked on my Fritos then. I asked, “Really?!” She said, “So, I got up, got out the vacuum, and after I cleaned my whole downstairs, I felt better. I got a little exercise too.” I was still standing there amazed that someone would think about what I would do, because most of my life, I had always asked others, “What would you do?”

I knew that in addition to the PJs, the house, and my friend’s wonderful company, she made the night special for me in another way. I was glad that what I had written had made her feel better; however, her words gave me tremendous strength in return. Thinking about the last year, I had not been beaten, though at times it felt like I had been; above all, I had become self-reliant and she made me realize it just then.

Certainly, there have been many wonderful friends along the way who have propped me up a lot when I’ve been down. And, I had let myself get seduced by the couch and Law & Order every now and then. But, when the island was its loneliest and I had no hope of escaping, I could always count on myself to find my own way, even if the only way out was temporary.

That night, I realized again that I wasn’t alone. Every now and then, I feel like I'm on an island, but no one is really a cast away. Sometimes, I really think the challenge is becoming a piece of the continent without losing your island. ♥

"He is the best sailor who can steer within fewest points of the wind, and exact a motive power out of the greatest obstacles." ~ Henry David Thoreau

So What Did You Buy If Anything Note: There was no pressure whatsoever. Though, they did try and convince me to become a representative. I didn’t buy anything for myself. I bought something for a friend, so that makes it more financially acceptable, right?! ♥