Let the beatings begin!

When the school year started out our school score was down (gasp) 30 points.  That means the complex equations used to measure school success spit out our score at 30 points less than last year. The worst ever anywhere in the history of NCLB, at least that's the way we on the staff were presented with the information. At the first real staff meeting our administrator beat us up albeit with a smile in her voice.  To call morale low is an understatement.

In order to push scores up we are now subjected to unannounced visits from everyone including, but not limited to principals, assistant superintendents, and superintendents. Fine, come in my room whenever you want but at least have the courtesy to refrain from interrupting a lesson and some feedback would be appreciated. Our bulletin boards, something the district considers a holy grail and sacred cow(maybe a sacred cow holding the holy grail) will be subject to intense scrutiny to make sure they conform to district guidelines. There will be no deviation from district curriculum ever, for any reason. These steps guarantee that students will learn more and thus be better able to pass tests. I know I learned a whole lot from bulletin boards when I was in school. Who needs a teacher when you have huge charts on the walls?

But wait - seems the state made a MISTAKE! Yes, a big giant boo boo imagine that! Our school  dropped FIVE points NOT 30 and our hispanic population always a topic for staff meeting discussions (which could be construed as a civil rights/prejudice issue) actually showed good growth, a goal of ours for years.  Our administrator knew about this for over a week before a memo was issued informing us of the "good news". Oh and the memo also relayed how impressed an assistant superintendent was to see how our boards reflected much better adherence to curriculum than last year. Really, that's their criteria, bulletin boards.  That's their check to make sure we're being good little boys and girls and following the rules. I guess we didn't put up enough crap last year to convince them that we were doing our jobs. Because our test scores did say that we had done our jobs. For example, my partner and I taught all the fifth graders math last year and every student except 3 scored proficient or advanced. We even had one student with a perfect score. Pretty damned good work!  But no pats on the back without some smacks to the head is the attitude of the district.

 Of course no meeting was held to celebrate, no praise for a job well done (we did drop 5 points to 827- 800 being the goal and we are still in Program Improvement - figure that out). Just a lousy memo after most of the staff had been informed via the grapevine and many of us had been on the state website days before to see for ourselves. Leadership is AWOL.

So as my husband says,"The beatings will continue until morale improves."

A Fairy Tale

Not long ago in the vastness of time, a little girl was born in a valley in the the most powerful kingdom of its time. She was one of many born during these years. The little girl lived in house with her parents and siblings. She wore dresses to school and changed into play clothes when she got home. Her neighborhood was full of children both boys and girls and they all played together. These were the innocent days of a childhood not cut short by work as childhood had been for her grandmother a  few decades earlier. The little girl’s parents both worked hard to provide her and her siblings with experiences they had never had. The mother of the little girl was the only mother on her block that worked. Because of that, the family did things of which most of her friends never dreamed.

As the little girl became a teenager she began to be aware of injustices in the mighty kingdom and a terrible war that raged beyond the kingdom’s borders.  At the dinner table each night the television news reported riots and unrest on college campuses and body counts from the war. She learned that women didn’t have the rights and opportunities that men  did although her parents told her she could do or be anything she wanted. 

Over time the powerful kingdom was forced by its subjects to correct injustices and to end the bloody war. For many years women rose into positions of power and peace ruled the land. The little girl grew up and had a daughter of her own whom she taught to be smart, independent, and cognizant of her rightful place in society.

Sadly, by the time the daughter was grown, times had changed. The kingdom was again mired in a decades long  war far beyond its borders and there was a movement by the rich and powerful to turn back time, to limit the civil rights of all the kingdom’s people.  Women were  targeted by those whose religions preached the supremacy of men. 

Would-be kings harkened back to what they identified as the golden age of their kingdom.  They pointed to low crime and happiness in a society where everyone went to church and mothers stayed home with their children. How wonderful it used to be before teenaged girls got pregnant and women went to college and on to jobs displacing men from their rightful role. If only mothers would stay home again and raise their children with a firm and godly hand the kingdom could once again enjoy the idyllic times so many remembered.

But these were lies the would-be kings told the people. They knew the people had forgotten or never learned about the injustices and crimes carried out by the king’s ministers when the little girl was small. The prejudices and rights violations that marked that era were conveniently forgotten. The dukes and earls that ruled the many royal states began to proclaim the end of certain rights especially for women. Incredibly the people applauded the reactionary policies comforted by the lords’ assurances of better lives for all if injustice for some prevailed. No one rioted in the streets or demonstrated or seemed to care about the coming end of liberty and justice for all. 

Just as the little girl had become an adult infused with hope for the future she now grew old disheartened by the return of prejudice and unjustice in a kingdom once revered for its freedoms.  The greedy lords of the kingdom grew richer and more powerful than ever, despoiling the land and disenfranchising the citizens. The little girl, now old and forgotten hoped to live long enough to see the people again rise up and demand that peace and justice rule the kingdom once again. How long, she wondered, would it take?

Stop and Go

I recently conducted a little experiment while driving around my city. Firstly I should admit that I am an opportunistic driver. I take advantage of every green light, especially left hand turn arrows. That may change the route to my destination but it beats waiting at a red light.

I decided I would try an alternate strategy to see if it made any difference in the time it takes to get around town. So this week I calmly drove the speed limit and adhered to my usual route to and from work and the gym and other places. I listened to a book and breathed and generally drove as if I had all the time in world.

Here's what I discovered: I was stopped at every red light from my house to work. Driving the speed limit I never hit green lights. It took 5-10 minutes longer to get to work which is 6.2 miles from my house. This week I have spent what seems like hours waiting at red lights burning $4.50 a gallon gasoline. On the up side I've had time to check email and text while at red lights. I never did that before because I was actually driving. Boredom  turned me into iPhone junkie almost overnight. I'm thinking this is not really a good thing.  I've also been able to listen to lots more of my audio book while waiting for lights to change. A mixed blessing given the books I've downloaded recently.

Obvious to me at least, the city does not time the lights to encourage an even flow of traffic. At least it doesn't if you drive the speed limit. Now, if I drive in my usual style looking ahead at lights and trying to hit green ones I can avoid lots of wait time. However, in order to hit the greens I have to drive five to ten miles OVER the speed limit, ten being the key to avoid the most red lights. Even then I squeak through on yellows sometimes. Perfectly legal.

If I were a conspiracy theorist I might imagine that the city wants me to speed so they can collect revenue from speeding tickets. But I've never gotten a speeding ticket so that theory is out. Maybe they want me to stop at all the mini-mall corners and look at the shops. Nah, too many lights are in residential areas. I can't really figure it out except to conclude that traffic engineers are, to put it bluntly incompetent.

Next week I'm calling off my experiment. I don't like spending so much extra time in the car, I hate listening to the radio, I hate driving slowly (I grew up in the age of V-8 engines with horsepower), and waiting endlessly at red lights just makes me irritated, harshes my mellow if you will.

Vroom! Vroom!

Death by HMO

Yesterday at a small community hospital in South San Diego, a 49 year old woman was left to die by her HMO.


She was admitted to a medical floor and then transferred to ICU after doctors discovered that she had a bleed in her brain. Things started to go wrong immediately. It was apparent that the woman needed a neurosurgeon and more specialized equipment than this small hospital could provide. She needed to go to a bigger hospital immediately if she was to recover.


Starting at about 11:00 am doctors at the hospital began calling their colleagues at other San Diego hospitals to find a bed and treatment for her. Physicians at the other hospitals were ready and willing to take her immediately. Everyone at the hospital from the CEO to the ER doctors worked all day with her HMO and other hospitals to get this woman to a large fully equipped facility so the bleed in her brain could be stopped. Hospitals would be found, only to have the administrators ultimately refuse claiming they didn't have a bed.  Scripps Hospital, a prestigious institution, kept them hanging for FOUR hours while the bleed in the woman's brain spread, killing her slowly. Meanwhile fifteen members of her family looked on and waited, seemingly unaware of the severity of this woman's illness and unable to negotiate the health insurance maze to advocate for her.


Finally at about 6:00 pm, after hours of frenzied calls by the staff at the community hospital, a transfer was approved. By this time she was in critical condition and every minute counted. She was loaded into an ambulance and transported. She faced a long drive since the new hospital was miles away. But by this time, the woman who had been alert and talking at 11:00 am was near death, unconscious and unresponsive. 


What happened to this 49 year old woman could happen to anyone with a for-profit medical insurer.  Her HMO waited for 7 critical hours to approve transfer and treatment at an appropriate hospital. Doctors at other hospitals were willing to treat her, administrators, focused on the bottom line, were not. Ironically, if she had no insurance, she would have been better off. If she had come into the ER instead of landing on the medical floor she would have been transferred immediately to another facility upon diagnosis.  In either of these cases, those other hospitals would have been required to treat her with or without her HMO's approval.


A  serious crime was committed here. More than one person, not a computer, not a faceless institution but actual HMO personnel and hospital administrators, denied this woman the treatment for which she paid and was entitled. But far worse, those persons knowingly participated in the death of a woman for profit. Given the information supplied throughout the day by hospital doctors, both the HMO and the hospital administrators knew how critical the woman's condition had become. And still, they delayed letting her languish untreated until it was too late.  Someone, anyone, should tell the family that they need a lawyer to sue the HMO for conspiracy to commit murder and murder with special circumstances because that is surely what they did. Her death wasn't caused by negligence but by a delay intended to avoid paying for services. Murder for profit. That's our health care system. 

Summer in the City

New York City never takes a break, sleeps, or slows down. Last week NewYork sweltered in 90+ degree heat partnered with typical summer humidity. That number doesn't begin to tell the story of the Big Apple in the summertime. I spent the 4th of July in NYC having arranged to meet a friend from Minneapolis there and stay with her at her daughter's apartment.  Her daughter was in Hawaii so we or rather my friend was taking care of the dog.

Her daughter's apartment is in a huge 43 building complex built in the 40's called Stuyvesant Town near the East River. The grounds are gorgeously landscaped with mature trees, huge blooming hydrangeas, fountains, playgrounds, and gardens. Strolling through Stuy Town you can imagine yourself at quite a distance from NYC. Walking the dog through the gardens the traffic seems barely audible.  The paths are shaded and clean, a cooling breeze ruffling the trees. Stand next to the huge fountain and enjoy the refreshing mist or play in huge water fountains designed for just that purpose.

Leave the grounds and New York City gets right in your face. At 90+ degrees it's like stepping into a 350 degree oven and closing the door. The heat from the asphalt shimmies up your skirt while the sun bakes your face.  I don't know where "they" get the air temp to report but it isn't from a thermometer at street level. The sidewalks, buildings, and cars gather the heat and reflect it back at pedestrians. Along with heat comes the humidity which only increases your discomfort.  I can imagine that before Manhattan was filled with skyscrapers breezes brought the residents a modicum of comfort but now the buildings block air flow superheating the city.

The heat causes more than sweat. On an outing one night to Big Gay Ice Cream our route took us down a particularly unsavory street.  Trash bags piled on the curb gave off all manner of revolting odors.  The smell wafting back to us of the man walking 10 feet ahead  was reminiscent of men's locker rooms after a tough game.  Truly the most disgusting, stomach turning smell was the sewer gas drifting up from god knows where.  I doubted whether I could eat ice cream, gay or not, after walking several long blocks enveloped by such a repulsive miasma. Fortunately, we turned off 1st Street down a darker, tree lined street where the air was significantly improved. We did manage to eat ice cream, soft serve with key lime curd, graham cracker crumbs and whipped cream! Mmmm...delish!

Let's face it, in addition to the nearly unbearable heat, the City is also noisy and dirty.  Cars honk, ambulances whine, and the sidewalks are spotted with permanent dirt.  After walking around the City all day and riding the subway you are smelly, crusty with salt and dirt, and exhausted from the assault on your senses. You crave a cool quiet escape from the summer in the City and a chilled glass of Chardonnay. Which is just what we had.

Well, maybe more than one glass, it was really hot after all.

The Godless

There are lots of things you should never say, our right to free speech notwithstanding. Everyone knows you can't yell "fire" in a crowded theater or joke with the good folks at the TSA while waiting in a security line at the airport. And there are a variety of words that shouldn't be used in public if you want to keep all your teeth. But those aren't the sorts of comments or words that concern me.  Those relate to safety and common courtesy. There are other dangerous words one dare not utter in mixed company.

Liberal, atheist, democrat, socialist, universal health care.  Bet you thought I was going to list anatomical words. No, these other words are far more dangerous depending on the company you're enjoying.  We're living in a time where merely speaking your mind can lose you friends, invite ridicule and contempt, and cause loud arguments. The worst one is "atheist".

 We live in a society dominated by religion.  It wasn't always this way.  I remember when one's religion wasn't a litmus test for character or morals.  Going to church was a private affair relegated to Sundays and not discussed in school or during elections (the Kennedy election being an exception). Now our political leaders must profess and demonstrate their religious beliefs. Although we plainly see how polarizing and destructive religion is in the rest of the world we are unable to see that the same thing is happening here.  The right to freedom of religion has come to mean the right to foist your beliefs on other people whether in the form of a creche on public property or teaching the christian creation myth in schools.  What happened to freedom from religion, the right to hold your own beliefs without having  those of others thrust upon you?

I'm an atheist, not an agnostic, an atheist.  I don't believe in a god, a higher power, or whatever you want to call it. I've tried a few times.  I went to church with both of my grandmothers, on my own as a teenager and I took my children to a church when they were old enough.  No matter what, I couldn't make the leap, the leap of faith in something I could neither see, hear, nor feel. I do believe in many other things I can't see like viruses and radio waves because I can experience their effect.  But god, no.

Professing to be an atheist is like being a leper, it drives people away.  I don't usually tell people that I don't believe in god when the subject arises. It provokes anger and contempt which  never fails to surprise me.  Why does anyone care what I believe? And why are they so angry about it?  I'm not furious because some people are Catholic or Jewish or Muslim. I don't try to change their minds or insult them. But somehow atheism is the ultimate evil. Atheists must lack morals and integrity, we must be ignorant and sinful since we don't believe in god. Of course we are all going to hell as well, despite the fact that we don't believe in it.  For the religious it seems the only reason to behave morally is the threat of punishment. Alternatively, you can ask for forgiveness and all will be well in the hereafter.

In fact I am a generous, moral person with a good sense of right and wrong.  I don't need the threat of hell and damnation to be fair and kind to others. I believe in secular humanism, that humanity is capable of morality and self-fulfillment without a belief in god. In fact if we look at religion in both a contemporary and an historical context I would argue that religion actually prevents humanity from fulfilling its moral potential. The brutality humankind has inflicted on itself in the name of religion has plagued the western world for more than 2,000 years and continues to do so.

I'm outing myself, I don't believe in god and never have. I've never been ashamed of it but it always seemed like too much trouble to deal with the fallout of admitting it.  I  ask  that the religious afford me the same right they exercise, to believe as I choose and to respect that right.  I'd also really like some freedom from religion wherein the various religious beliefs of others do not bleed into public domains where they cause division and separation.

RESPECT is a wonderful gift to give.

Good Morning!

This'll be quick. I have a houseful this morning with The Boy and his Girlfriend and the the Big Dog. X-tra small dog sleeps in a crate in the house and has to be let out every morning and guided, yes guided, to the grass to pee. My husband is very good about this but I am lazier and don't like to walk out and wait while she pees and the Little White Dog goes crazy for his breakfast.

I got up early and let  XS  out of her crate and outside, dumping kibble in both dogs' dishes. The Big Dog sleeps in the garage so he was still snoozing. As  LWD wolfed down his kibble XS jumped onto the low brick planter and peed on the bricks! What nerve! Knowing dogs the way I do, I went out with a tea kettle of water and washed the bricks. It was futile and I knew it but I had to do something.

Sure enough it wasn't long before I caught LWD lifting his leg on the side of the planter. As if one can erase the scent of dog pee with a little water!  Next up, you guessed it, the Big Dog.  Now there is a rather large puddle of pee on the patio, isn't that nice?

Just another beautiful day at the kennels.

Confessions of a Book Junkie

You've all seen that bumper sticker: So many books, so little time.  That's something I struggle with.  I've got Anne Tyler's new book partially read on my Kindle.  I started the Steve Jobs biography in hardback, real paper. My iPod is loaded with a 55 hour historical romance The Fiery Cross,  Fool by Christopher Moore, and A Thousand Lives: The Untold Story of Hope, Deception, and Survival at Jonestown by Julia Scheeres. I've started all of these books.  I'm farthest along on the historical romance but am increasingly enthralled by the story of Jim Jones.  And wait, I also have In Cold Blood partially read on my iPad.

I don't know what this says about me. Before I had so many options for reading I might be reading 2 books at a time but this is ridiculous. The worst offender is the Kindle, I can download any book in seconds.  Finish one, download another a minute later. I have more trouble with my Audible library.  I can spend a hour or more trying to find just the right book and come up empty. The subject, the narrator, they have to be a good match. Oh, and then I read the listener reviews, that often kills a book for me. But still, notice I have three on my iPod even though I pay for only two per month.

There are so many interesting, compelling, and entertaining stories out there I just can't resist them.  Instead of getting all of them at the same time I should probably make a list and just go through the list one at a time. But the backlog would be enormous because I hear about great new books all the time. The way I currently read, I can get through lots more books because I can listen to them whilst driving, waiting for appointments, exercising, or doing other boring mundane tasks. The print style books are good for bedtime, sitting outside relaxing or when my feet hurt from standing all day.

If I'm honest I have to admit it: I'm an addict, a junkie. I don't think there are any Books Anonymous groups out there  to help with my addiction either. Just clubs that cater to people like me. And they're not even worth joining. Seriously, one book a month and they call themselves "readers"? Ha! I don't think so.

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie...

If you've had small children in the last 20 years you'll be familiar with this book by Laura Numeroff. It chronicles the adventures of a mouse and boy and how one thing leads to another. If you are a homeowner with a less than new home you are, unfortunately, aware of this phenomenon. 


We recently installed a new roof since ours was 30 years old and every time the Santa Ana winds blew shake shingles would fly off with abandon landing all over our yard, front and back. In places the felt was visible and it was only a matter of time before the little rain we get here dripped into the house. So we got a new roof, not the one we wanted because Katrina and the Japanese tsunami have forced the cost of lumber and roofing materials to soar. Good thing too that we chose one of less expensive materials because for the last 20 years termites have been eating away at us. Replacing the damaged wood nearly doubled the cost. Sh**!


The new roof looks ok and the new fascia is primered and ready for paint. So now we need to get the entire house painted.  But first we need to replace all the other damaged trim around the exterior and in 1982 they nailed up a lot of trim. Then if we get the house repainted we have to tear down the patio cover which is also termite ridden and replace it. (I threw a tennis ball for the Big Dog and it hit the corner of the patio cover and knocked a big chunk of wood off!) You know how this works.


We drove around the neighborhood looking at paint colors and decided they're all ugly, especially ours. One or two homes had re-stuccoed their homes eliminating the 1980's termite fodder. This seems like the best idea since it makes homes look more modern AND reduces the need for lots of paint. But if we're going to re-stucco we need to put in new windows. Our dated, once bronze, aluminum windows will look like crap with new stucco.


So here's the list: if we get a new roof we're going to need new paint/stucco and if we repaint or re-stucco we're going to want to replace the patio cover and if we get a new roof, new stucco, and new patio cover we're going to want new windows.  And once we get new windows we're going to want to move because that's the way we are, fix 'em up, move 'em out.


Homeownership - ain't it grand!

Gone But Not Forgotten

         For 30 years I nurtured a friendship that was as constant as it was satisfying. It anchored me and gave me a safe place to belong. Without it I’d never have made it through some very rough times, nor would I have had so much joy sharing the best times. For 30 years my friend and I told each other everything. It’s not a cliché to say we laughed and cried together. During those 30 years we talked each other through weddings, births, deaths, and the ups and downs of our marriages. We navigated  the sharp reefs of young adulthood together, staying married, raising children, and forging what I thought was a lifelong bond.

Birthdays were special for us. We celebrated at museums, on home tours, shopping for antiques, or attending plays followed with a long meal somewhere new. Two days a year were blissfully filled with effortless conversation, good food, and something new to see. I’d think of a couple of things my friend might like to do and then give her a choice.  One year she wanted to browse the high end thrift shops in Pasadena looking for antiques.  Another year she took me to the Los Angeles Museum of Art in remembrance of my mother who had a favorite painting there that I longed to see again. 

We traded stories and advice about child rearing, supporting and validating each other. Both of us have one daughter and a younger son so we have lots in common. We could tell each other the worst stories about our children and know that neither parent nor child was judged. We loved and appreciated all four of our children.

Our husbands were roommates in college which is how  we met. Because of  our husbands’ close relationship as well as our own, we occasionally vacationed together.  Our families visited Hawaii when the kids were young and we drove to Mammoth Mountain, winter and summer, with kids and without. We cooked and ate lots and lots of meals together, sometimes planned, sometimes spur of the moment. As we all got older and our extended families spread out, we started to spend some Thanksgivings and Christmases together. Those were the best holidays spent with our best friends and filled with laughter, conversation, and love.

Then about two years ago something happened. I don’t know what. But I know when it started. My friend’s grandmother died and she didn’t tell me until weeks had passed.  How odd not to call me when something so important had happened in her life. I was surprised and a little hurt.  Some months later when we met for lunch  a couple of times, that’s all we did, eat and run. The vase that held our friendship broke then. Every other time we had met for lunch we drove together and spent the afternoon wrapped in conversation.  We never ran out of things to talk about. Never. Except now we did. She rushed off after each of the two lunches. Seemed like she couldn’t wait to get away.

One of those lunches was the last time I saw or spoke to my best friend.  She still lives a mere 5 minutes from me but I never see her. We don’t call each other for coffee or walks or shopping anymore. I, because I can’t be sure what her response would be and she – I can’t begin to know.  Most tellingly, she didn’t acknowledge my birthday or last Christmas either. So I know our friendship is over.

Now, here I am in transition from young mother and wife to middle-aged woman unclear about my identity and even my role in my own life. There’s no one now with whom to share my journey, to explore the possibilities and opportunities life still offers.  At least no one who shares my experiences and memories as my friend does. I’m floundering on my own trying to swim in rough waters with no life preserver. Certainly I have other friends, but none so close we can have coffee on five minutes notice, none whom I have known so intimately.

Honestly, I think about her almost every day and wonder what happened and if she misses me as much as I miss her.  Judging by comments she made when we last met, I think that she made a conscious decision to end the friendship – simply decided that because her life  had changed she simply had no liking or use for me anymore. I have written letters to her, left unsent. I am not prepared for the possible consequences of sending a letter. First, what if she doesn’t respond? Conversely, what if she does? I can’t take the risk and I think the message she’s sent just by her absence is fairly clear.

         Thirty years of shared confidences, memories, and closeness is difficult to lose, impossible to replace.

Teacher of the Year

There are many to thank on this auspicious occasion. First I'd like to thank George W. Bush for having the foresight to back No Child Left Behind.  Given his own struggles in education I can appreciate what this legislation meant to him.  I'd also like to thank the Congress for continuing down this path of testing and beating up schools that fail to meet the complicated criteria of NCLB. It really sets us all up for the failure we so richly deserve. The media has also contributed and I'd like to thank them for finding every way possible to condemn all teachers and make our FREE educational system the whipping boy for  society's ills. In addition I owe a debt of gratitude to the state of California for designing the most daunting and rigorous set of educational standards in the nation. It's a challenge to teach more standards than can actually be taught in 12 years. The people who brought us the recession deserve a mention for those furlough days that shorten the school year.

On a more personal note though, special thanks goes to the District Office personnel who walked through my classroom and gave me such incredibly  insulting and negative feedback. I couldn't have done it without you. I don't want to forget the parents who also helped make this possible by forgetting to check backpacks, being absent from their kids' lives and generally abdicating responsibility for their children's education. That means a lot to me, that you trust me that much. And the kids, little angels, they helped too, refusing to make the smallest effort, turning in sloppy work, daydreaming during lessons.

One last thanks goes to the field of mathematical modeling and statistics that are now presented to us as FACTS. That field predicts the future from current data and manipulates statistics.  If it weren't for those tireless souls working away in cubicles on computers we wouldn't have the API and AYP numbers with which the government, press, administrators, and parents could club us.

To each and every one of you who made my final and complete demoralization and "fuck it all" attitude possible, thank you again. I'll never forget you.

Toaster Fish

Somewhere in one's late forties or early fifties one becomes painfully aware that one simply cannot afford the eating habits that have sustained one thus far in life. Unless one is running miles every day, one's calorie intake simply must be reduced in order to maintain a decent weight. The other realization is that after many years of cooking for a family, cooking has become an onerous chore accompanied by late evening clean up that no one wants to take on. One must look for menu and cooking alternatives.

Enter toaster fish. This is the "nom de guerre" of our favorite calorie friendly dinner entree. One can purchase this delicacy at a Costco or Trader Joe's along with time efficient side dishes. Toaster fish is available in many varieties including salmon, halibut, tilapia, and cod.  Some is battered, some coated in crumbs of some kind, and some is marinated. What they all have in common is that each piece is individually frozen, partially or fully cooked, and ready to eat in 16 to 20 minutes, sooner if you use a microwave. However, microwaving a battered piece of fish is not recommended since it ends up rubbery and soggy.

This is where the toaster comes in. Not your regular bread toaster of course but your seldom used and slightly passé toaster oven. I know, you had this vision of a trout going head first into a toaster slot, funny, but no. Toaster ovens heat to 400 degrees quickly and with a small piece of foil cleanly bake any frozen fish entree in 20 minutes from preheat to plate. Thus is born - toaster fish. Low calorie, quick, and no mess to clean up. It's the perfect entree for the over 50 crowd who can no longer afford to eat the beef stroganoffs, meat loafs, and chicken cordon bleus that made regular appearances at the dinner table in years past. Add to that a package of "cook in the microwave" green beans or broccoli and a salad and your meal is complete. The perfect combination of omega-3 oils, fiber, and vitamins. Sigh...

Eating this way on a regular basis is good for you, your heart and your colon and all those organs so prone to degeneration during aging. But is it fun, delectable, satisfying? Do you swoon with delight as your taste buds alight with savory flavors and textures? No. No. No. When I think of all the foods I've given up eating in the past ten years I get a little teary eyed. I used to eat real grilled cheese sandwiches with my kids, whip up Swedish pancakes on Sundays and drench them in real maple syrup. Snacks were cheese and crackers, I do adore extra sharp cheddar cheese.  And let's not forget pasta, a mainstay of my diet for years and now forbidden except for rare occasions. Sometimes I long for angel hair pasta mixed with fresh basil, tomatoes, peas, and fresh parmesan, crusty sourdough garlic bread and spaghetti with meat sauce, ummm. Dessert was apple crisp and vanilla ice cream or just ice cream and chocolate sauce.  Let's not forget baked potatoes with sour cream and rice with butter and salt. What about tuna salad sandwiches with real mayonnaise, remember those?  I even made my own mayonnaise once to go with asparagus that I now eat with lemon juice. Just doesn't have same "mouth feel" without the mayo.

Everything changes, things you never imagine will change when you're young.  Your body starts to betray you in oh so many ways. It tries desperately to store food for the coming famine while beginning to creak and squeak in odd places. The bottoms of your feet lose fat as your belly gains it. How unfair is that? So your pants don't fit and your feet hurt.  As your body becomes less and less the one you knew, you get to eat less and less of the foods that made eating and cooking worthwhile. My solution to this crisis is to spend less time cooking and thinking about food. I just open the freezer and pick a box.

Toaster fish: it's what's for dinner.

Fifty-five Inches

My family room entertainment center!

After years of resisting the temptation to buy a larger, more modern TV, we finally succumbed and purchased one. My significantly better half could tell you lots more about it but so far it's just a damn big black screen.  I think it needs a really cool screen saver to "save" us from the black hole it's created. As you can see by the photo, we need to create a space for it.  Others might have created the space, THEN bought the TV but not us. The TV now motivates us to get rid of the old shelving and storage and create something new. How long that will take is anyone's guess. 

In the cupboards underneath we have stored a cassette player (an antique), a turntable(another antique but making a comeback), DVD player, receiver, and vinyl albums, lots of them. We have huge numbers of CD cases. Cases, because in an effort to find a CD or two I rarely come across a case with a CD inside. Where did they all go? Maybe they paired up with the socks lost in the wash.  Anyway, for now the look is less modern more "receipt of stolen property". 

On with the story.  The TV arrived yesterday. After a quick dinner, the games began. I knitted and listened to a book while my erstwhile better half installed the black hole. It wasn't too bad until he tried to set up the features.  Now we need The Boy to come and help us with our Smart TV. Of course we have two remotes. The one that came with the TV has a keyboard that doesn't really work so far. There are also weird icons that come and go without apparent cause.  So not that smart!

Finally about 9pm, we sat down to watch it. OMG! So clear and so close. The resolution is fantastic and  after our old TV it's like being in a movie theater. So, Cinemark, take your $11.25 movies and..... well you know.

1992

Twenty years ago I lived in a small 1950's era house in Torrance, raising my children, gossiping with neighbors and watching my mother die of ovarian cancer. The week of the riots in Los Angeles my mother was in Cedars Sinai hospital after undergoing a second look surgery.  Complications from surgery kept her there a month. Sadly, I couldn't visit due to the danger to anyone passing through the riot zone. 

One evening my neighbors gathered in the fading light gazing northward having heard rumors of the riots spreading to the city of Hawthorne just a few miles away.  We searched the sky for signs, smoke maybe, or helicopters. Nothing appeared, just fear. Fear that after the rioters had destroyed their own neighborhoods they might come after ours. Whether rioting had actually spread to Hawthorne I have no recollection but it never reached us.

Once the National Guard, the U.S. Army and the Marines had been called out and enforced law and civility in Los Angeles I drove up to Cedars to visit my mother, relieved and grateful that law enforcement had stood between the rioters and the hospital. Honestly, I don't remember the street I drove from the freeway to the hospital but I have vivid memories of burned out buildings and military personnel patrolling the streets. It was a war zone.  I entered another country, one that chilled me to the bone.

I might not remember the riots with such clarity if my mother had not been in a hospital close to the violence. Certainly I would have had no reason to drive into LA as soon as the streets were quiet again. Seeing the destruction and military presence in person rather than on television shattered my sense of safety and belief in civil society.  In more ways than one I lived  far from Florence and Normandie where Reginald Denny was pulled from his truck and assaulted and yet it seemed close, too close.

Once the riots were quelled military personnel were housed at the LA Coliseum near the Natural History Museum, our Mother's Day destination despite the very recent violence. The museum was filled with military personnel and their families.  But outside, groups of black males wandered through the grounds shouting racist epithets to those military families. Was I scared? No, strangely not. Guns were not in evidence and it just didn't seem possible that those groups of stringy, sagging  young men would or could take on the well-muscled, disciplined men dressed in camouflage.

Today the news shines a light on the 1992 riots, the violence, destruction, and racial divides. More personally the remembrance of those times reminds me of my mother who died that year and how my own life was thrust into an upheaval as great and long lasting as that of the riots.

Averting Disaster

Romney Averts Disaster! That was the headline on the front page of the Los Angeles Times last week.  Oh my god, I thought, what did he do? Prevent a deadly auto accident? Did he show up at an air controller's station and prevent two planes from crashing and burning, thus saving hundreds of innocent people? Even more amazing did he don his superhero cape and halt a tornado in it's path sparing millions the horror of becoming homeless?


No, of course not. He merely won some primary election in some little state.  That was some disaster.  I guess if he had lost ....well I can't imagine anything really bad happening.  No one would have died, no typhoon would have hit Georgia, and the Earth wouldn't have even paused on it's path around the sun. No disaster that I could see.


You know, I think the disaster they were referring to was that had he lost the primary, some other candidate would have had an edge.  Wow! That's pretty heavy duty.  I can understand why the Times wrote such an impressive headline.


Seriously though, averts disaster? Who says the media is liberal? I would say that headline communicates a Romney bias.  "Disaster" is a fully loaded word. It's definitely not on the list of neutral language. Not only that, the headline doesn't even begin to tell the reader what the article is about. Just glancing at the headline one would think at the very least, that Romney had taken over from a suddenly dead pilot and safely landed his private jet.


I know a little about journalism and that headline shrieks bias.  My fifth and sixth graders have lessons on fact vs. opinion and propaganda.  I think they would say that headline is definitely an opinion.  And I would say opinion does not belong on the front page.

Donations

If you have a phone, you've had this experience. Once you make a charitable donation or a political donation you are on their list forever.  You can ask them to remove your name and it may or may not solve the problem.  At my house these charity solicitors call at about 8pm when we're trying to relax and to be honest watch TV. I am an avowed sucker for charitable donations.  I don't give a lot but I do give. I also give to political causes like the National Organization for Women or the Sierra Club.

Lately, I have found myself on a list that sends care packages to soldiers overseas.  The first time they called I was a bleeding heart and gave a small $25 donation.  Their spiel is pretty good.  Lonely soldiers, a long way from home, etc. Tugging your heartstrings works. But I'm pretty much done with them since they call every quarter wanting ever more money.

Moreover, I got to thinking about those "care packages". I pay a large percentage of my wages to the federal government which hires soldiers, declares wars, and such. If the troops need care packages perhaps this organization should call the people who sent these young men to some god-forsaken place. They should call the Bush ranch in Texas and ask for money.  The Georges have plenty of money and they sent our troops over there in the first place.  I never agreed to send troops to Iraq or Afghanistan.  The people in that area of the world have been fighting with each other for centuries. Like Vietnam, we haven't a chance of "winning", even if anyone knows what that looks like.  Saddam Hussein kept the factions in Iraq from fighting with tyranny and fear.

The decision to let the Pentagon "boys" go to the middle east to play with their "toys" was not mine. I don't advocate joining the military either.  Really, I don't want to spend any more money to subsidize the military in this country. Troops in Afghanistan are not fighting for our freedom.  That's plain ridiculous.  A country stuck both culturally and economically in the middle ages is no threat to us. I feel for Afghan women but that's not a problem troops can solve.

Next time this organization calls, I think I'll tell them to call the people who send young men overseas. They are the ones responsible for "care packages".

Remote Control

At the Las Vegas Consumer Electronics show in January some TV manufacturers unveiled the latest in TV technology.  Soon the remote control or tuner as we've called it in our house since I was a little kid will be obsolete.  You'll be able to wave a hand or give a voice command and voila! your TV will change stations.  I don't know about you but I have a bad feeling about putting this kind of technology into a device that has multiple users at the same time.

Imagine if you will, a quiet night at home with the family.  Dinner is over, the dishes are done and mom, dad, sister and brother grab their spots on the sofa for an hour or three of relaxing in front of the best TV in the house, a 60", 1/8" thick OLED.  What to watch? Always a decision fraught with tension. Clap on and the TV turns on. For the sake of argument let's imagine that there is more than one good show on at the same time. Dad, in his deep voice, commands, "channel 4". Channel 4 appears and there are groans all around.  No one wants to watch basketball for god's sake! But there is no discussion, no compromise. Brother just shouts out, "Channel 11" and instantly the newest episode of The Simpsons appears. Now we hear groans from mom. "How about channel 165 (HGTV)?" and there we are, House Hunters in Romania looking for the perfect 100 square foot apartment. More shouts of "no, no, not that again!" Mom sighs, gets up, and goes looking for her Kindle.  She knows she's lost the battle and doesn't want to be involved in the war.

Teenaged sister yells out, "Channel 400", and True Blood appears, two pale as death characters smooching as if the world is ending. Younger brother covers his eyes and shrieks, "channel 11" whereupon Bart Simpson reappears with Crusty. By this time Dad is getting annoyed to say the least.  The game has started and he's missing the first quarter. "Channel 4" he says decisively and Kobe appears in a replay of his missed free throw. The shouting grows increasingly frenzied as numbers are shouted at the TV and programs flip back and forth too rapidly to be seen.  Soon Dad and kids are standing, faces red, ordering  each other to be quiet. To no avail. Then the insults begin. "Your show sucks!" "You just want to watch cartoons!  Big baby!" And on it goes. Teenaged sister finally stalks off slamming her bedroom door, hurling one last insult behind her, "You moron!" Satisfied for the moment, Brother sits down saying "channel 11".  He hadn't counted on Dad however and before his eyes Bart and Homer disappear and a Bud Light commercial is playing.

Giving his son a serious stink eye, Dad settles himself in his favorite spot and prepares to enjoy his game. Brother plods off, a mutinous look on his face. Even without the remote, Dad has triumphed! But wait, he looks around.  He's alone. Yes he can watch the game but he can also feel the tension in the house.  Music blares from the kids' rooms and the master bedroom door is closed and locked.

Ah, family time, 2012.

15%

You know what this is about.  Mitt Romney paid only 15% in federal income taxes last year and who knows how many years before that and yet he actually does nothing.  Yes, he has no discernible job.  He neither creates something nor provides a service.  He does move money around which these days is the best way to make lots and lots of it. He also runs his mouth quite a bit. But that's a freebie. I and others like me pay 35% of my adjusted income to the feds. That doesn't count the money I paid to the state in income and property taxes. One year we paid what amounted to my entire take home salary to the government. What then is my incentive to work? If you are lucky enough to earn a bonus the feds take almost 50% of it right off the top. Talk about no incentive. Tax breaks for ordinary wage earners are almost non-existent while those for the wealthy multiply.

The fact is that working people, who go to work every day and actually do "drive" the economy forward t pay a much greater percentage of their income in taxes than do those who merely shuffle paper. That's just wrong on so many levels! I know the thinking in Washington  is that investors "drive" the economy forward but I honestly believe that's faulty reasoning. Look what investors did in 2008.  Romney, for example, doesn't invest he just moves money around from one investment to another.  People like him don't create businesses, products, or innovations, instead they make money from what is basically gambling, buying and selling stocks, futures, or whatever.

Imagine this:  a tanker of oil from the Middle East can be bought and sold as many as 50 times before it reaches refiners in the U.S.. This drives up the price since it's sold for a profit each time. This kind of speculation does not drive the economy forward, rather the reverse as gasoline costs go up. The people who do this have millions and make millions on their transactions and I would speculate that their tax rate is far below my 35%.

Amazingly, Republicans from all over the U.S. support people like Romney despite the fact that they are working people who have no hope of ever acquiring such wealth. In South Carolina, where people receive more federal aid than in nearly any other state, voters are staunchly Republican and against more federal aid and taxes.  I say fine, cut their Social Security and Medicare. In fact take them off the federal aid dole altogether and make them work for a living and pay their own medical expenses.

It boggles my mind that working people fall for the rhetoric of the Republicans, believing that the party of big business and the ultra-wealthy will work for their benefit if elected. I seriously doubt if Romney or his cohorts will spend one second thinking about the plight of working Americans or trying to create a fair system of taxation. Few people are altruistic enough to fight for something that goes against their self-interest and I don't see any candidates on the horizon that are endowed with that much character.

Toddler Dog

My puppy is almost a year old and still not house trained.  We have to close off all the rooms in the house to keep her from sashaying in and either peeing on the carpet or chewing up a cord.  So far she's hungry for my headphones and has destroyed two pairs. She goes so far as to try to get them out of my ears if I'm lying on the floor stretching. What is that about? She also has a taste for hubby's pillow and will lick it forever if allowed.  Now my pillow holds no such allure for some reason. Sigh..

Izzy has a whole bed full of toys. She doesn't and won't sleep in the bed but it's a repository for her many toys.  She has a real affinity for green toys.  Yeah, I know dogs are color blind but what can I say, she's a "green" dog. All of said toys end up right in the walkway of the family room of course. The nylon bones, squeaky toys, balls, and yarn knots have to be picked up every day and returned to the bed she won't sleep in.  The great thing about Izzy and her toys is that she plays with them by herself. Yes, by herself.  She throws the ball around and runs after it.  She plays hide and squeak with the green spiky thing. I've never seen a dog play with it's own toys before.  I throw the ball for her and she plays with me too but she's nearly as happy playing on her own.

She's uninterested in her dog bed as I said. Instead she likes to drape herself on the corner of the couch where she can look out the window and be nearly as high as we are. Since she has hair instead of fur she often looks like an old mop head thrown on the couch. Boneless also describes her very well.

My biggest problem with her is that she doesn't come when called, ever. In fact the word "come" seems to be dog speak for take off like a shot in the opposite direction. She's always been a little skittish but this goes beyond skittish to just plain ornery.  If she were a kid we'd call it oppositional defiant disorder. Here we just call her a stubborn little bitch and try all manner of tricks to get her sorry butt where we want her to go.  She's sure that something terrible is going to happen if she comes when called. Since she's not too impressed by food, treats don't work.  However, petting Mickey, our other dog, is guaranteed to evoke "sibling rivalry". THEN she wants in on the action.  But you have to be quick and not make eye contact or she'll slip right out from under your fingers. And if she gets out in the front yard....let's just say I look like an idiot trying to corral her as she streaks from one house to another having a grand game of chase with me coming in last.

My neighbors across the street have a dog that's the same breed as Izzy and say they've never been able to teach him to come.  Their saving grace was to teach him to "stay" so they can go get him. I have to admit I used to feel superior watching  their antics as they chased Nick down while my dog never left the yard.  Now I'm the one the neighbors are laughing at. What goes around, comes around I guess.

Next week Izzy and I start obedience training. Not a moment too soon. For either of us.

Waterboarding for Babies

I belong to a gym or rather a club. It's a tennis and racquetball club with several pools, yoga studio, Pilates studio, and of course a gym.  I don't belong to the tennis and racquetball part of the club since I don't play tennis. In the summer or when the weather is warm I like to swim laps in the Olympic sized pool. The short way, not the long way. There is also a highly regarded children's swim school there. They learn in a very warm salt water pool. The water isn't salty it's just not treated with chlorine.  Frankly, I don't know how the system works and I don't care. The point is, this is one of the shallow pools in which infants, toddlers, and children take swim lessons.  There is another pool just outside the Pilates studio that is used for the same thing.

In actuality these pools are torture chambers for many infants.  The CIA and their waterboarding technicians have nothing on the instructors and parents of these babies. I know the cry of a scared infant when I hear one and let me say that many of these infants are terrified to be floating on their backs with the sun beating down on their eyes.  It's a terrible thing to witness. For at least 30 minutes these infants (6 months or less) scream. How can this be a good thing?  Babies cannot be considered water safe and parents are fooling themselves if they think a 9 month old that falls into a pool can simply turn over and float until someone notices.

When I swim I wear goggles and a swim cap and still water gets in my ears and it's so uncomfortable I can't wait to get out and put some drops in my ears to dry up the water.  It's hard to imagine how miserable these babies feel with water in their ears in addition to the sun and the fear of being suspended in the water with a stranger.  How can parents  bear to listen their babies shriek and cry in pain and terror.  I can't stand it and they're not my kids.  I have to leave the pool area to avoid smacking some parent  upside the head. In the Pilates studio we have to close the windows when a baby is having a "lesson" because it's too painful to listen to the crying. I don't know what these poor babies are learning in their "lessons" but it's not swimming.

When my kids were still in diapers I took them to Mommy and Me swim classes at the YMCA.  At the beginning it was just getting them used to the water and I was in the water with them.  I didn't pass the responsibility off to some stranger. Later, when they were ready to really learn how to swim I put them in classes with instructors. By that time they weren't afraid of the water.  Of course they hadn't been subjected to water torture as infants which really helped.