Driving home on Route 2 today, I'm fifth in line behind some "Safe Driver" who decides we're all better off if he drives ten to fifteen miles per hour below the speed limit. I put up with this for about fifteen minutes when, to make the ride even more pleasurable, I look in the rear view mirror to see a Chevy Impala come zooming up from nowhere with some skinhead behind the wheel who decides to ride my bumper. This guy is so close I can't even see the hood of his car. All I can see is his dashboard through his windshield and his tiny little head over the steering wheel. He looks like a grapefruit wearing sunglasses.
Since he is trapped with construction barriers on the left, this Einstein keeps weaving to the breakdown lane in an attempt to try to pass me, and I'm assuming, the five cars in front of me. With each failed attempt in his ingenious plan, his arms flail more and more, making gestures even I don't understand, while his mouth is flapping words that I can only guess.
What does this idiot think? That me stopping will somehow make it better? Newsflash buddy: if there isn't room for two cars when we're moving, there still won't be room if we stop. Maybe he's thinking that with his encouragement, I can push into the five cars ahead of me and we can all go faster.
As we come up to an exit, I continue straight while this guy speeds by me on the right like he's free! Finally free!... only to end up directly behind the "Safe Driver" who also took the exit.
I hope he enjoys the nice leisurely drive.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Getting There
Thought I would write a little about going through the IEP process for Sam but I think we're only a little more than half way through it for this year (I hope that's not being too optimistic). It's a little harder this year because he not only is moving up a grade, but he has to transition from middle school to high school, which means a whole new environment, a new team of players and a HUGE set of unknowns.
Right now, the big question is whether he goes to the high school in the same system with a largely academic program (with a lot of modifications, including special ed classes), or whether he goes to the special education program at the Tech School.
Still on the fence about this, but we're getting there... I hope.
For this evening though, a little break while I attend a final play at Rachael's college.
Right now, the big question is whether he goes to the high school in the same system with a largely academic program (with a lot of modifications, including special ed classes), or whether he goes to the special education program at the Tech School.
Still on the fence about this, but we're getting there... I hope.
For this evening though, a little break while I attend a final play at Rachael's college.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Directions
The guy who parks a few cars down from me at work has one of those round, ball-type compasses on his dashboard. I wonder, how bad off do you have to be before you have to rely on a compass to get you where you want to go?
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Smell Bound
They say a good book can take you places, and boy, that sure is true. I bought a used book the other day and as I opened it, I got a whiff of a long ago familiar smell. At first I couldn't quite place it, but I brought the book closer to my nose, sniffing the whole time until my nose was just about resting on the closed edges of the pages. Thank goodness no one was around because I looked crazier than I normally do, getting my high from snorting book edges.
As I sniffed in, I was taken back once again to North Carolina, the North Carolina from when I was a kid. On one of our frequent visits, we went to an out-of-the-way used book and magazine "store". This place was a "destination spot", meaning it was in the middle of nowhere and the only reason for being out that way was to go there and only there. It wasn't "on the way" to anything.
I remember this place as basically being a very large, garage size shed, divided into two rooms. To enter, one had to pull open the outside door which was made from planks and was held closed by one of those long springs that you used to see on old cottage screen doors. For some reason I took this as a good sign, that this place was a diamond in the rough. I opened the door and stepped into the entry room, which was the smaller of the two rooms. It felt a little like climbing into a mine or an old root cellar. It was dark with some plastic covered slits on either side of the door that served as windows. As my eyes adjusted, I could see there were boxes of magazines stacked on either side, bookcase fashion. Some of the magazines had spilled onto the floor. The clientele seemed to treat this with indifference.Directly in front of me was another door that went to the larger room.
When this other door was opened, the blinding light of heaven shown upon my face. There, in the middle of this room, surrounded by a narrow path, was a huge table that in a previous life had likely served as a ping pong table. Now it served a higher calling. Every inch of this table was covered by one massive pile of "pre-owned" comic books; a pile that must have been six inches thick at the shallowest point. There was no order, no rhyme or reason to how the comics were strewn about. They were all there just waiting to be perused and it was up to the customers (i.e.: me and Dad's wallet) to find whatever treasure we could dig up. It was much like Uncle Scrooge's vault... and if you don't get the connection, there's not much I can do to help you there. (This is where I would normally post a picture to illustrate, but I hear that Walt Disney sues for more minor infractions than this, and I can't afford it. Look it up).
In my mind, I'm kneeling in the middle of the table with my head tipped back, throwing comics into the air. They gently drift back down around me like autumn leaves. And even though it's the early sixties, there's a disco ball spinning slowly from the ceiling and people are scattered around the table smiling and nodding approvingly at me... all in slow motion. (I'm pretty sure that part didn't happen.)
I don't remember visiting this establishment more than once, though I do remember bugging Mom and Dad for the better part of our remaining visit to go back 'just one more time". I remember treasuring the comics I found there (two of which are pictured here, though sadly, are pictures only. My copies are long gone). And though I'm sure the stories were more simplistic and innocent by today's standards, they were magic to me. I sat reading in my Grandmother's closet, squeezed in amongst the stored away blankets and moth balls, and these stories opened new worlds to me. I remember reading these books over and over again, untill they barely held together, and still reading them on the long train ride back home.
That scent of old pulp transports me back in time in an even more powerful way than when I see comic book covers from that era. And that is saying a lot. Yes, the stories were more simplistic and more innocent. And that's a big part of what made them so great.
Now, you'll have to excuse me as I go back upstairs to sniff that old book again.
P.S. Copyright on the above covers, I'm assuming, is held by DC Comics. So please don't sue me.
As I sniffed in, I was taken back once again to North Carolina, the North Carolina from when I was a kid. On one of our frequent visits, we went to an out-of-the-way used book and magazine "store". This place was a "destination spot", meaning it was in the middle of nowhere and the only reason for being out that way was to go there and only there. It wasn't "on the way" to anything.
I remember this place as basically being a very large, garage size shed, divided into two rooms. To enter, one had to pull open the outside door which was made from planks and was held closed by one of those long springs that you used to see on old cottage screen doors. For some reason I took this as a good sign, that this place was a diamond in the rough. I opened the door and stepped into the entry room, which was the smaller of the two rooms. It felt a little like climbing into a mine or an old root cellar. It was dark with some plastic covered slits on either side of the door that served as windows. As my eyes adjusted, I could see there were boxes of magazines stacked on either side, bookcase fashion. Some of the magazines had spilled onto the floor. The clientele seemed to treat this with indifference.Directly in front of me was another door that went to the larger room.
When this other door was opened, the blinding light of heaven shown upon my face. There, in the middle of this room, surrounded by a narrow path, was a huge table that in a previous life had likely served as a ping pong table. Now it served a higher calling. Every inch of this table was covered by one massive pile of "pre-owned" comic books; a pile that must have been six inches thick at the shallowest point. There was no order, no rhyme or reason to how the comics were strewn about. They were all there just waiting to be perused and it was up to the customers (i.e.: me and Dad's wallet) to find whatever treasure we could dig up. It was much like Uncle Scrooge's vault... and if you don't get the connection, there's not much I can do to help you there. (This is where I would normally post a picture to illustrate, but I hear that Walt Disney sues for more minor infractions than this, and I can't afford it. Look it up).
In my mind, I'm kneeling in the middle of the table with my head tipped back, throwing comics into the air. They gently drift back down around me like autumn leaves. And even though it's the early sixties, there's a disco ball spinning slowly from the ceiling and people are scattered around the table smiling and nodding approvingly at me... all in slow motion. (I'm pretty sure that part didn't happen.)
I don't remember visiting this establishment more than once, though I do remember bugging Mom and Dad for the better part of our remaining visit to go back 'just one more time". I remember treasuring the comics I found there (two of which are pictured here, though sadly, are pictures only. My copies are long gone). And though I'm sure the stories were more simplistic and innocent by today's standards, they were magic to me. I sat reading in my Grandmother's closet, squeezed in amongst the stored away blankets and moth balls, and these stories opened new worlds to me. I remember reading these books over and over again, untill they barely held together, and still reading them on the long train ride back home. That scent of old pulp transports me back in time in an even more powerful way than when I see comic book covers from that era. And that is saying a lot. Yes, the stories were more simplistic and more innocent. And that's a big part of what made them so great.
Now, you'll have to excuse me as I go back upstairs to sniff that old book again.
P.S. Copyright on the above covers, I'm assuming, is held by DC Comics. So please don't sue me.
My Rules for Raising Kids
I was talking to a friend over the last several weeks about raising kids. He has, for reasons too lengthy to go into here, found himself in the position of being kind of a surrogate father to a young adolescent. He was looking for some "tips". I talk a lot about my kids, and that, coupled with the fact that my office is plastered with their photos, apparently gives the illusion to some people that I know what I'm doing. I've been in this position before and it's not one I like being in. I'm no expert. Everyone is different, every circumstance is different. And I'm certainly not some one who can speak to his particular situation. I can hardly speak to my own.
But it made me think more about this. First of all, if I'm any good as a parent at all, its because I was lucky enough to be born into a home with two very good parents. That makes a huge difference.
I always looked at my kids as though they're just little people, how would you treat anyone? It seems pretty obvious but I see a lot of people who treat their kids differently than they would someone else, and often not for the better. When it comes down to it you just sort of do it and hope you're doing the right thing.
But I do want to put some of this down... for posterity and myself and my kids. And I figure as presumptuous as this list is (and it really is), I'm pretty safe putting it here since no one reads this stuff anyway. Take it or leave it, this is all I can think of:
Be on their side. It’s too big a world to go it alone and there will be too many people who will let you.
Have faith in them and be supportive, especially when the path before them is dark and unknown (as it often will be). Standing with them as they are reaching their goals is not the same thing as being there for them when they are struggling to find their way.
Guide them. Teach them to ride the bike, knowing when to hold on and when to let go.
Listen more, talk less. They have something to say. Let them say it.
Respect them and teach them respect.
Tell them how great they are, because they are.
Tell them you love them, because you do.
Let them know that they come first, not through your words but through your deeds.
Teach them to be honest, to love and to have a sense of humor. All of these are tools that will be invaluable to them throughout their lives.
Lead by example. Be the person you want them to be. Set fair rules, expect them to follow them, and follow them yourself.
Spend as much time with them as possible. And remember that spending time does not mean “occupying the same space”. It means interacting.
Praise them in public. They should hear and overhear the good things you have to say about them. The only thing better for them than being praised is overhearing you praising them to someone else.
Deal with problems behind closed doors. There is nothing more hurtful and demoralizing than for someone to overhear themselves being criticized to someone else. And when it comes time to address an issue with them, do it one-on-one, behind closed doors. Nobody likes being humiliated.
Make bedtimes special. Don’t go over problems of the day or problems that await them. There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. Read to them and let them read to you. Wind the pace down. Ease them towards bedtime, making it as comforting and worry free as it can be. Help them to feel safe. Help them have sweet dreams.
And, Number One on my list:
Have empathy. No matter how young they are, see things through their eyes. Feel what they’re feeling and help them cope with what’s before them. Don’t denigrate or belittle their feelings and don’t be dismissive. Comfort them when they need it.
Oh... and have a blast with them.
I have.
But it made me think more about this. First of all, if I'm any good as a parent at all, its because I was lucky enough to be born into a home with two very good parents. That makes a huge difference.
I always looked at my kids as though they're just little people, how would you treat anyone? It seems pretty obvious but I see a lot of people who treat their kids differently than they would someone else, and often not for the better. When it comes down to it you just sort of do it and hope you're doing the right thing.
But I do want to put some of this down... for posterity and myself and my kids. And I figure as presumptuous as this list is (and it really is), I'm pretty safe putting it here since no one reads this stuff anyway. Take it or leave it, this is all I can think of:
Be on their side. It’s too big a world to go it alone and there will be too many people who will let you.
Have faith in them and be supportive, especially when the path before them is dark and unknown (as it often will be). Standing with them as they are reaching their goals is not the same thing as being there for them when they are struggling to find their way.
Guide them. Teach them to ride the bike, knowing when to hold on and when to let go.
Listen more, talk less. They have something to say. Let them say it.
Respect them and teach them respect.
Tell them how great they are, because they are.
Tell them you love them, because you do.
Let them know that they come first, not through your words but through your deeds.
Teach them to be honest, to love and to have a sense of humor. All of these are tools that will be invaluable to them throughout their lives.
Lead by example. Be the person you want them to be. Set fair rules, expect them to follow them, and follow them yourself.
Spend as much time with them as possible. And remember that spending time does not mean “occupying the same space”. It means interacting.
Praise them in public. They should hear and overhear the good things you have to say about them. The only thing better for them than being praised is overhearing you praising them to someone else.
Deal with problems behind closed doors. There is nothing more hurtful and demoralizing than for someone to overhear themselves being criticized to someone else. And when it comes time to address an issue with them, do it one-on-one, behind closed doors. Nobody likes being humiliated.
Make bedtimes special. Don’t go over problems of the day or problems that await them. There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. Read to them and let them read to you. Wind the pace down. Ease them towards bedtime, making it as comforting and worry free as it can be. Help them to feel safe. Help them have sweet dreams.
And, Number One on my list:
Have empathy. No matter how young they are, see things through their eyes. Feel what they’re feeling and help them cope with what’s before them. Don’t denigrate or belittle their feelings and don’t be dismissive. Comfort them when they need it.
Oh... and have a blast with them.
I have.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Not So Fast
I've read that fast food places make their biggest mark-ups on the soda. That's why, when I order my burgers, fries and apple pies, I take a pass on the drink.
My way of stickin' it to The Man.
My way of stickin' it to The Man.
Friday, April 1, 2011
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