What If?

My husband was recently diagnosed with melanoma. I lie awake at night in the grip of fear, wondering how we’ll break the news to his parents, or whether my husband will dance with our daughters at their weddings.

My worst fears are compounded by stress about health care. I’m self-employed, and we depend on my husband’s job for insurance. We’re a decade away from Medicare. What if he dies, or grows too sick to work? Or what if he’s fine, but loses his job?

“Until now, I haven’t really had any preexisting conditions,” my husband frets as sleep eludes us. “Now I’ll never be able to get insurance on my own.”
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Procrastination Freezes Time

My house is a mess, piled high with Twin Extra-long bedding, half-filled boxes, and a year’s supply of toothpaste and shampoo. My youngest daughter is going off to college.

When my first child left, rediscovering surfaces was the silver lining that eased my grief. I ought to be looking forward to a tidy house again. But I’m not. This time, cleanliness is next to emptiness. There are no more children who can leave a trail of dirty dishes and cast-off sneakers.

We hit the road after piling the boxes and bedding into the soon-to-be-obsolete minivan.

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The Send-Off

Recently I saw the King Tut exhibition at the de Young Museum. Case after case contained wondrous artifacts that kept the Boy King company on his journey to the after life: a whimsical child’s chair; a model boat fashioned from papyrus; clay vessels for his favorite food and wine; an inlaid board game to while away the eternal hours. I imagined Tut’s grieving courtiers and family members busying themselves by accumulating the little treasures of everyday life. What did he prefer to eat? Remember how he crowed triumphantly every time he won this game! Don’t forget his boat, complete with oarsmen to help him cross over! This little clay animal will remind him of the pets and people who still love him when he is lonely in his journey to the afterlife.

Soon after my visit with King Tut, I found myself in the bulk food aisle, scooping powdered corn chowder and dried organic mango into plastic bags and scanning the shelves for my daughter’s favorite chai tea. Once home, I placed these delicacies in the box next to the toothpaste, Advil, and family photos I have been stockpiling for her send-off. Who knows if they have provisions in the world beyond known as college? My daughter needs to be prepared for the new life that awaits her far from home. I added Scrabble to her cache so, when she is homesick, she can conjure up nights of laughter with those who love and miss her. For good measure, I tucked in her old stuffed dog, whose soft pink plush she long ago caressed into a colorless, shapeless bundle. The mundane accoutrements of home will provide succor for the uncharted passage ahead.

We moderns marvel at the golden funeral masks and ornately painted sarcophagi unearthed from the royal tombs. Yet it is the relics of domesticity used in the ritual of farewell that captivate us. Several millennia span the time between Ancient Egypt and today. But the impulse is timeless to send along a bit of home, a bit of ourselves, in the hard task of saying goodbye

Dismantling Christmas

When the doorbell rings for our tree-trimming party every year, we turn up the volume on Handel’s Messiah, ladle out hot mulled cider, and put our guests to work hanging the ornaments.

I’m the only one invited to the untrimming party. Soon Joni Mitchell’s Blue is blasting from the speakers as I bring up boxes from the garage and get to work dismantling Christmas.

But I’m not blue at all. I love taking apart the wooden train set and stowing away the brightly painted nutcrackers. I scrape melted wax from the mantel and toss withered cedar boughs into the fireplace. Scummy vases once overflowing with holly and white orchids get a good scrubbing.

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Date Night with President Obama

Dear Mr. President,

We really need to talk. Is this a good time? I hate to disturb you when you’re so busy waging war and picking up your peace prize. You know, I’ve tried to make allowances, but I’m feeling a little bit taken for granted. We need a date night.

Seriously, Barack—may I call you Barack? I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I feel I’ve earned first-name rights. After all, I did leave the safety of my blue bubble to travel to the gun-toting hinterlands on your behalf. I even learned to say Nevada , as in “adder,” just for you.

Speaking of snakes, how low can you go? It’s one thing to throw Jeremiah Wright under the bus, but gays? The public option? Civil rights? I know you’re always telling the girls, “Treat everyone with respect,” but must you grovel to Joe Lieberman and Ben Nelson? What have they done for you lately?

What I’m saying, Barack, is I feel neglected. Continue… »

Remembering Teddy

The Kennedys were gods second only to Roosevelt in the pantheon of my childhood home. So when I awoke this morning to the news that Teddy had died, I burst into tears.

I mourn not just the man, but the passing of an era. Kennedy stood as a bulwark against the meanness that has infected politics. His embodiment of public service is a stark refutation of those who have hijacked the truth and common purpose for partisan and personal gain. Kennedy believed that inherent to power and wealth is the obligation to serve those less fortunate. He cherished government as the sacred guarantor of fairness, security, and opportunity for all Americans, not just the privileged. Continue… »

Ferberizing Your Young Adult

Emma slept through the night at seven-and-a-half weeks, and was a marathon napper through toddlerhood. I never had to contend with letting non-sleeping babies cry. I never needed to know about “Ferberizing.”

Ferberizing, named after its inventor, Dr. Richard Ferber, is a method of encouraging independent sleep by allowing a baby to cry for progressively longer intervals without excessive soothing. The real trick is to increase the parents’ ability to wait out their infants’ crying without rushing in to pick them up. Staunch adherents of the attachment parenting style promoted by renowned pediatrician Dr. William Sears view Ferberizing as verging on child abuse. Many exhausted parents swear by it, but warn that it is not for the faint-hearted: You have to be able to tolerate your baby crying, sometimes for long periods.

If Emma had been a poor sleeper, I would have been a faint-hearted mother who failed miserably at Ferberizing, unable to bear the torture of my baby’s distress. Continue… »

Top Ten Reasons to Clean Your Refrigerator

10.  Rewards sloth—the longer you put off grocery shopping, the easier it is to clean!

9.  No moral quandaries about whether discards are suitable for Goodwill.

8. Potential for discovering medical breakthrough growing on leftovers.

7.  Possibility for weight loss if growth on leftovers results in food poisoning instead of Nobel Prize for Medicine.

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Christmas Memories La La La La

It’s only summer, but already my mind is on Christmas past.

California Politicians Need to Do The Right Thing

In the wake of the Special Election, Governor Schwarzenegger and other leaders should not be so quick to throw up their hands and declare that raising taxes is off the table because the people have spoken. Such an interpretation is inaccurate and irresponsible.

Although surely many voters intended to convey an anti-tax message, countless others rejected Propositions 1A-1E for different reasons. We must also consider these meanings behind a NO vote:

·      NO to slashing funding for children and the mentally ill

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