I didn't think I would see enough Texas Ranger action to give my Ranger fans a comprehensive guide to the 2020 Rangers. However, the coronavirus, which is menacing us all, has given me some extra time to watch the final weeks of Spring Training. (We are being homebodies in NYC thanks to the virus.) Here is my (and Drake's) analysis of this year's Texas Rangers.
First, there was a completely different feeling in the air and on the field this year. For the past two years, you could just see the team was nowhere near ready to contend. One year we started Spring Training with 10 losses! This year, however, the pitching has been outstanding and the hitting has been lights out. The Rangers have the highest batting average in the Cactus League, and a winning record in Spring Training.
Some of the hitting changes from last year: Let's start with Odor. We were all so exasperated last year. He lived below the Mendoza line. He repeatedly struck out or hit the ball directly to the fielders in the shift. You can't have that kind of batting performance from a crucial hitter in the center of your lineup. This year I've seen Odor hit the ball repeatedly 'where they're not' as well as remind us he's a great power hitter.
Gallo looks better and better at the plate. He's solidifying the trend he began last year. Fewer strikeouts and more walks. His power looks even more solid. His big arm is making itself felt in the outfield.
The big time hitter this spring was unlooked for: Isaiah Kiner-Falefeh, freed from trying to become a catcher, arrived at camp looking like he'd put on 15 pounds of muscle in his upper body. He has hit the cover off the ball including hitting home runs for the first time in his entire career. (So far, his home run number is only "4", but that's a start for a player who's NEVER hit a home run.) He looks more than competent at 3rd base, and he's a lock for this team.
Todd Frasier, our acquisition for 3rd base, is a baseball professional. He's methodically getting ready to play. He's hitting and his fielding has been impeccable. As a journeyman, he's our place holder until either Kiner-Falefah or, and here's a newish name, Nick Solak seizes the job. Solak is a young infielder we acquired in a trade. He made us all sit up and take notice last year when he was called up in September. He's been absolutely solid this year. He's even been working out in the outfield. [He's more naturally an infielder.]
Willy Calhoun, who hit 269 last year in his first opportunity at extended play in the major leagues, and who was slotted to be the left field starter, was hit in the face a few days ago while batting. It was totally an accident. (The pitcher is a close friend of Calhoun, and he was devastated.) The news was bad, but not as bad as it could have been. First, he has a broken cheek bone, but his jaw wasn't dislocated. So, he will be out several weeks, but at least his jaw isn't wired shut. This opens up a starting position in the outfield. Center field will be Danny Santana (having a good spring), Gallo will play right field, and according to Drake, Heineman and Garcia will make the team with Garcia starting in left field. Garcia is a Cuban who is a mature player. He's hit the cover off the ball this spring, but Heineman has also hit well.
One element which will be a determination as to whether we can be good enough to capture a wild card spot is whether Guzman can hit left handed pitching. Early returns from Spring are encouraging. Elvis is playing/hitting with his usual abandon. Choo looks more relaxed in his role as a team leader and as a professional DH. Robinson Chirinos is back anchoring the plate. The other serious injury during Spring Training happened to our young catcher, Trevino. He fractured a bone, and he's out for some undetermined time. We'll probably see Mathis make the team as Chirinos' backup.
Whether we are 'also ran' this year or whether we can capture a wild card is the pitching. I'm here to report the pitching has been outstanding. Even in the games where we changed pitchers every single inning, the hallmark of the pitching staff was they were all throwing strikes. The pitchers have been consistently ahead of the hitters all Spring long. I haven't seen that kind of performance in the spring by the pitching staff for years.
Lance Lynn and Mike Minor have both looked very solid. Kluber, an "A" level pitcher we acquired from Cleveland, spent last year recovering from a broken bone, and we have lots of hopes pinned on him. He's looked good this Spring. Our other major signee, Jordan Lyles, is an open question. We also need LeClerc to return to his 2018 form.
The bullpen is up for grabs. I've seen a lot of good contenders for those slots this year - again, it's been strikes on top of strikes all spring long across the pitching board. Those facts about the pitching give me more hope for this team than I've had for the past two years.
Better than average pitching paired with our lights out offensive punch could propel this team to a wild card spot. We need a hot start to get us pointed in the right direction, and to allow a positive team chemistry to form naturally. Even if the Astros are booed in every away game, I think they are a lock for the American West division winner. However, this can be the type of season for the Rangers we had in 2008 and 2009 - a really fun team to watch and root for, and if lightening strikes this year, we could have a playoff team.
Tuesday, March 10, 2020
Saturday, February 1, 2020
2020
I just read a book called, The Floating Feldmans by Elyssa Friedland. It's a book about the inter-generational relationships in an extended family. The portrayals struck all sorts of chords with me since the matriarch in the book is on the verge of celebrating her 70th birthday. (That's me this year!) It started me thinking about relationships in my own family. (Don't worry, I'm not going to share. A collective "Thank, God" just went up among my family!)
The book brought up issues of health, money, and the varying emotional places of the different generations. Emotions are so different depending on where you are on the age scale. Our one year old is just now discovering his interior emotions. Ironically, teens are doing the same thing! Twenty somethings are busy proving to themselves and others they are really adults now. Thirty and forty somethings don't have time for emotions. In their time starved lives, each day feels like another mountain climbed. Fifty somethings are mourning their lost youth. Believe me when I tell you 50 is not the new 30. Sixty somethings are wondering if they are over the proverbial hill. And, when 70 looms, there's no doubt. You can't even see the top of the hill anymore. Ninety somethings seem to live totally in the present.
I've been wondering if I have anything of substance left to say in this blog. "Going back to work" also called nannying C, the baby in our family, has thrown Drake and me back to the place where there's no time for anything extra. C's journey as he starts his life seems infinitely more interesting than mine which is winding down. I hit both health lows and highs this year. I battled pneumonia and also got glowing reports on the state of my overall health from our doctor just a month later.
We are also doing what we call the A-B lifestyle for the first time. It's not very balanced yet since it's divided up 10 months/2 months currently. Drake and I both miss the transitory life we've led for the past 10 years. At the same time, I like the lack of frenetic activity of the actual 'moving' every few months. I do miss criss-crossing the country. It's really quite fun and strangely relaxing to road trip.
I will be making a decision in the next few months as to whether or not to either close down this 10 year writing experiment, or to refocus and revamp it. Whatever I decide, I won't just 'vanish' since I know there are people who read my drivel.
Cheers, and Belated Happy New Year. (BTW and apropos of absolutely nothing - it's really fun to type "2020".)
The book brought up issues of health, money, and the varying emotional places of the different generations. Emotions are so different depending on where you are on the age scale. Our one year old is just now discovering his interior emotions. Ironically, teens are doing the same thing! Twenty somethings are busy proving to themselves and others they are really adults now. Thirty and forty somethings don't have time for emotions. In their time starved lives, each day feels like another mountain climbed. Fifty somethings are mourning their lost youth. Believe me when I tell you 50 is not the new 30. Sixty somethings are wondering if they are over the proverbial hill. And, when 70 looms, there's no doubt. You can't even see the top of the hill anymore. Ninety somethings seem to live totally in the present.
I've been wondering if I have anything of substance left to say in this blog. "Going back to work" also called nannying C, the baby in our family, has thrown Drake and me back to the place where there's no time for anything extra. C's journey as he starts his life seems infinitely more interesting than mine which is winding down. I hit both health lows and highs this year. I battled pneumonia and also got glowing reports on the state of my overall health from our doctor just a month later.
We are also doing what we call the A-B lifestyle for the first time. It's not very balanced yet since it's divided up 10 months/2 months currently. Drake and I both miss the transitory life we've led for the past 10 years. At the same time, I like the lack of frenetic activity of the actual 'moving' every few months. I do miss criss-crossing the country. It's really quite fun and strangely relaxing to road trip.
I will be making a decision in the next few months as to whether or not to either close down this 10 year writing experiment, or to refocus and revamp it. Whatever I decide, I won't just 'vanish' since I know there are people who read my drivel.
Cheers, and Belated Happy New Year. (BTW and apropos of absolutely nothing - it's really fun to type "2020".)
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| Here we are: The oldsters, or the curmedgeons, or just us after over 50 years together |
Saturday, December 21, 2019
The Infamous Christmas Carol Quiz
Some people got snail mail cards this year. If you weren't on the snail mail list, well, you either moved and didn't send me your new address, or you stopped sending ME cards, or you were never on my snail mail list for some other reason. I sent out an all time low of 25 cards this year. Drake claims I keep the post office in business not just for my Christmas cards, but also because of all the snail mail letters I write. It's usual for me to send out an annual Christmas letter tucked into my cards. I don't care if people make fun of those of us who send out the annual missive, I LIKE opening a Christmas card which contains either a printed letter or a handwritten note. However, if you read blog, well, you know everything already.
So, back by popular demand, is a family Christmas game: The Infamous Christmas Carol Quiz. I must confess here and now, #1 is a bit of a trick question since technically it's not a Christmas carol, but it IS Christmas music.
So, here's a repeat of the questions along with the answers. And, yes, there's no #3. I rearranged the quiz, and somehow #3 got lost in the shuffle. Get over it. Ho. Ho. Ho.
So, back by popular demand, is a family Christmas game: The Infamous Christmas Carol Quiz. I must confess here and now, #1 is a bit of a trick question since technically it's not a Christmas carol, but it IS Christmas music.
So, here's a repeat of the questions along with the answers. And, yes, there's no #3. I rearranged the quiz, and somehow #3 got lost in the shuffle. Get over it. Ho. Ho. Ho.
Christmas Carol Quiz
1. The two room apartment of a psychiatrist.
2. May the Deity bestow an absence of fatigue to happy male humans 4. Sir Lancelot with laryngitis. 5. A B C D E F G H I J K M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z. 6. Present me naught but dual incisors for this festive Yuletide. 7. The smog-less bewitching hour arrived. 8. Exuberance to this orb. 9. 288 Yuletide hours. 10. Do you perceive the same longitudinal pressure which stimulate my auditory sense organs. 11. The December mythical being is due in this burg. 12. Stepping on the pad cover. 13. Four legged boozer named for silent film heart throb. 14. Far back in a hay bin. 15. Leave and do an elevated broadcast. 16. That exiguous hamlet south of the holy city. 17. Hitherward the entire assembly who are loyal in their beliefs 18. Listen, the winged heavenly messengers are proclaiming tunefully. 19. A joyful song relative to hollow metallic vessels which vibrate and bring forth a ringing sound when struck. 20. As the guardians of little woolly animal's protected their charges in the shadows of the earth. 21. Frozen precipitation commence 22. Obese personification fabricated of compressed mounds of minute crystals. 23. Oh, member of the round table with missing areas 24. Boulder of the tinkling metal spheres 25. Vehicular homicide was committed on Dad's mom by a precipitous darling 26. Tranquility upon the terrestrial sphere. 27. We are Kong, Lear, and Nat Cole 28. Cup-shaped instruments fashioned of a whitish metallic element 29. Natal celebration devoid of color, rather albino, as a hallucinatory phenomenon for me. 30. Our fervent hope is that you thoroughly enjoy your yuletide season 31. Parent was observed osculating a red-coated unshaven teamster 32. Diminutive Percussionist
33. Oh small Israel urban center
34. Behold! I envisioned a trio of nautical vessels.
35. K.O. the aisles
STOP READING - THE ANSWERS ARE NEXT!
ANSWERS
1) Nutcracker Suite
2) God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen 4) Silent Night 5) Noel 6) All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth 7) It Came Upon A Midnight Clear 8) Joy to the World 9) 12 Days of Christmas 10) Do You Hear What I Hear? 11) Santa Claus Is Coming To Town 12) Up On The House Top 13) Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer 14) Away In A Manger 15) Go Tell It On The Mountain 16) Oh Little Town of Bethlehem 17) O Come All Ye Faithful 18) Hark The Herald Angels Sing 19) Jingle Bells 20) As Shepherd's Watch Their Flocks At Night 21) Let It Snow 22) Frosty the Snowman 23) Oh, Holy Night 24) Jingle Bell Rock 25) Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer 26) Peace on earth 27) We Three Kings 28) Silver Bells 29) I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas 30) We Wish You A Merry Christmas 31) I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
32) Little Drummer Boy
33) O Little Town of Bethlehem 34) I Saw Three Ships
35) Deck the Halls
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Sunday, December 8, 2019
Happy Holidays
Well, it's Ho, Ho, Ho time again, or Bah, Humbug depending on your attitude. I'm an HHH person while my ever lovin' is a BH guy. It's still a wonder to me that any woman isn't Bah, Humbug by December 26th. I think it's because we don't have the luxury. Let's face it: Christmas wouldn't happen without us. Let's take a little quiz: In your family.....
1) Who's buying the gifts for:
a) the kid(s)
b) the in-law's or parents
c) the other relatives
d) the teacher(s)
e) the co-workers
f) the friends (oh scratch that -
most men don't have friends)
2) Who's planning the holiday menus?
3) Who's doing the lion's share of the decorating?
4) Who's making holiday travel plans? Who's packing for the kid(s)?
5) Who's sending out any Christmas mail?
6) Who's wrapping almost everything?
I think I've made my point.
I will accept many of these jobs have gotten much much easier since the advent of delivery and the INTERNET. You will not hear a single peep against that wonderful tool by any woman old enough to remember the bad old days. Hit the rewind button...
It's 1980. Need to Christmas shop? You have two choices: Go to the store/mall with your handwritten list (if you were smart) and make your shopping chores one massive all day event with several trips to your car to stash the loot. At the end of the day with aching feet and a splitting headache from the constant Christmas tape in the mall, you promise yourself you will not buy another gift.
A second strategy was to have a crystal ball in July and attempt to get your Christmas shopping out of the way, so you wouldn't be so freakin' crazy in December. This plan was about 75% effective. I was an early shopper, but even I realized you just couldn't get ALL your gifts for Christmas during the summer - wrong clothes for one thing. However, you did get bragging rights. On December 10th the dialogue could go like this: "How much do you still have left to do for Christmas?" "Oh, I've been ready since July." Then you would get a look of pure hatred.
Another little hitch in the early shopping strategy was if you started early enough, you had to resist all the catalogs which would begin to pour into your house beginning October 1st. Sometimes I would have forty or fifty different catalogs by December 1st. The more people you bought gifts for, the more catalogs you would wind up getting in the mail. I had professional friends (who made money in their jobs) who would collect over a hundred during the holidays.
Just to clarify: To order out of a catalog, you could fill out the paper order form in the center of the catalog, cross your fingers and snailmail the form. OR you could call the toll free 1-800 number and deliver all the catalog item numbers together with names, addresses, etc by phone. An 800 number was important because no one ever called long distance voluntarily unless someone was born or died. Ma Bell (what we used to call AT&T when they were the one and only phone company) charged through the nose for long distance calls.
Hickory Farms as well as Harry & David pioneered catalog food. Hickory Farms was heavy on meat and Harry and David were heavy on fruit wrapped in gold tin foil. Every grandmother who had out of town family would wind up with summer sausage and tiny blocks of cheese in four flavors together with those little strawberry hard candies and/or four rock hard pears wrapped in foil. Considering the food gift wasn't more bath cubes (yes, those were a 'thing'), well 99% of these grannies were happy women.
Want to send flowers to someone in 1980? Well, telephone your local florist or stop by and laboriously print out all your addresses from your paper address book you toted around everywhere beginning Halloween for them to screw up as they relayed the orders around the country via land line telephone calls to other florists (AKA: FTD).
Surprisingly, Christmas tree purchase and decoration are still pretty much the same as 40 years ago. You go to 'your' Christmas tree lot, pick one, and tie it onto the top of your car, or if you live in NYC, you recruit someone and the two of you carry it home by hand. The crazy tree lights are still the same except they are miniaturized. In 1980, you could still find a string of lights in your cardboard Christmas boxes with bulbs the size of a newborn baby's fist. These came in a tasteful variety of primary colors. They would also generate enough heat to allow you to lower the thermostat. You might even find original 'bubble' lights in your box which only had a 50/50 chance of catching fire - but boy, they made a statement on your tree. In 1980, you did see a big uptic in fake Christmas trees. They had evolved enough, so if you squinted, they actually looked like real trees.
I think women created more home made gifts in 1980. This is just anecdotal, but my reasoning is there were fewer women in careers and more in jobs. You left a job and never gave it another thought until you had to punch in again. Also, women with careers make MONEY, and thus, while they have less time off work, they have more income to buy gifts and don't have to create them. When I was teaching, I worked in a school with fourteen teachers, three administrators, one custodian, three cafeteria people, and three support staff. So, of course, one December I made 25 jars of homemade jelly. Zounds! It only took me two years to brighten up and figure something else out on the work gift front.
There were also Secret Santa gifts, Angel Tree gifts, Girl Scout gifts, Teacher gifts, and Advent gifts at church. There was money for the paperboy - yes, everyone read a newspaper which was delivered to your door. There was money for your postman, and depending on your town's custom, for the garbageman. No, I am not kidding.
Then, there was the holiday food you were expected to take to a plethora of parties: office, neighborhood, church, and school if you had kids. Mostly, it had better be homemade or very, very well disguised, so it looked homemade because in 1980 women were still apologizing for WORKING OUTSIDE THE HOME. To this day I can still make ten kinds of holiday cookies. I used to set aside an entire Saturday in December to just make cookies.
Shall we talk about snail mail? One Christmas chore was 'going to the post office' usually multiple times and mailing both gifts and Christmas cards. At my peak I sent out over 100 Christmas cards. And, until 2000, I hand wrote a letter for any card that went 'out of town'. Each card was hand signed, hand addressed, and you still licked stamps. GRRGH - what your mouth tasted like after licking a zillion stamps.
Gradually, my Christmas chores have lessened as we have all come to the realization we have too much 'stuff'. We try for consumable gifts in our family which simplifies shopping immensely. I'm consciously trying to not just cover Cedric in presents. As any grandparent knows, saying 'no more' is truly hard. I'm also happy to say this year my charitable contributions will come close to equaling my other purchases.
When I look back, I ask myself what should I have done differently? Mostly, concentrating more on being 'in the moment' instead of being obsessed with meeting other people's expectations. Now, I'm always going to have a checklist and a schedule because I'm a classic Type A, but the internet and delivery allows me to simplify both. I can send flowers, food, presents and anything else with much much less effort.
I've learned it's not the end of the world if it's not homemade, so I save my craft skills for stuff I get pleasure making - like a Christmas tree shirt using yoyos and buttons for Cedric. I have an inflexible policy every child gets at book for Christmas and birthdays. I shop for calendars and special greeting cards like other people shop for diamonds. My Christmas card list is whittled down to people who really care they get a snail mail card. I love e-cards with a special message for the rest of the world. A wonderful Christmas is going to happen because I put out a lot of effort, but nowadays not so much effort that I'm frazzled for much of December.
Even in this age of the internet, rethink. Simplify your holiday routines, and I guarantee you will enjoy yourself more. Happy Holidays!
1) Who's buying the gifts for:
a) the kid(s)
b) the in-law's or parents
c) the other relatives
d) the teacher(s)
e) the co-workers
f) the friends (oh scratch that -
most men don't have friends)
2) Who's planning the holiday menus?
3) Who's doing the lion's share of the decorating?
4) Who's making holiday travel plans? Who's packing for the kid(s)?
5) Who's sending out any Christmas mail?
6) Who's wrapping almost everything?
I think I've made my point.
I will accept many of these jobs have gotten much much easier since the advent of delivery and the INTERNET. You will not hear a single peep against that wonderful tool by any woman old enough to remember the bad old days. Hit the rewind button...
It's 1980. Need to Christmas shop? You have two choices: Go to the store/mall with your handwritten list (if you were smart) and make your shopping chores one massive all day event with several trips to your car to stash the loot. At the end of the day with aching feet and a splitting headache from the constant Christmas tape in the mall, you promise yourself you will not buy another gift.
A second strategy was to have a crystal ball in July and attempt to get your Christmas shopping out of the way, so you wouldn't be so freakin' crazy in December. This plan was about 75% effective. I was an early shopper, but even I realized you just couldn't get ALL your gifts for Christmas during the summer - wrong clothes for one thing. However, you did get bragging rights. On December 10th the dialogue could go like this: "How much do you still have left to do for Christmas?" "Oh, I've been ready since July." Then you would get a look of pure hatred.
Another little hitch in the early shopping strategy was if you started early enough, you had to resist all the catalogs which would begin to pour into your house beginning October 1st. Sometimes I would have forty or fifty different catalogs by December 1st. The more people you bought gifts for, the more catalogs you would wind up getting in the mail. I had professional friends (who made money in their jobs) who would collect over a hundred during the holidays.
Just to clarify: To order out of a catalog, you could fill out the paper order form in the center of the catalog, cross your fingers and snailmail the form. OR you could call the toll free 1-800 number and deliver all the catalog item numbers together with names, addresses, etc by phone. An 800 number was important because no one ever called long distance voluntarily unless someone was born or died. Ma Bell (what we used to call AT&T when they were the one and only phone company) charged through the nose for long distance calls.
Hickory Farms as well as Harry & David pioneered catalog food. Hickory Farms was heavy on meat and Harry and David were heavy on fruit wrapped in gold tin foil. Every grandmother who had out of town family would wind up with summer sausage and tiny blocks of cheese in four flavors together with those little strawberry hard candies and/or four rock hard pears wrapped in foil. Considering the food gift wasn't more bath cubes (yes, those were a 'thing'), well 99% of these grannies were happy women.
Want to send flowers to someone in 1980? Well, telephone your local florist or stop by and laboriously print out all your addresses from your paper address book you toted around everywhere beginning Halloween for them to screw up as they relayed the orders around the country via land line telephone calls to other florists (AKA: FTD).
Surprisingly, Christmas tree purchase and decoration are still pretty much the same as 40 years ago. You go to 'your' Christmas tree lot, pick one, and tie it onto the top of your car, or if you live in NYC, you recruit someone and the two of you carry it home by hand. The crazy tree lights are still the same except they are miniaturized. In 1980, you could still find a string of lights in your cardboard Christmas boxes with bulbs the size of a newborn baby's fist. These came in a tasteful variety of primary colors. They would also generate enough heat to allow you to lower the thermostat. You might even find original 'bubble' lights in your box which only had a 50/50 chance of catching fire - but boy, they made a statement on your tree. In 1980, you did see a big uptic in fake Christmas trees. They had evolved enough, so if you squinted, they actually looked like real trees.
I think women created more home made gifts in 1980. This is just anecdotal, but my reasoning is there were fewer women in careers and more in jobs. You left a job and never gave it another thought until you had to punch in again. Also, women with careers make MONEY, and thus, while they have less time off work, they have more income to buy gifts and don't have to create them. When I was teaching, I worked in a school with fourteen teachers, three administrators, one custodian, three cafeteria people, and three support staff. So, of course, one December I made 25 jars of homemade jelly. Zounds! It only took me two years to brighten up and figure something else out on the work gift front.
There were also Secret Santa gifts, Angel Tree gifts, Girl Scout gifts, Teacher gifts, and Advent gifts at church. There was money for the paperboy - yes, everyone read a newspaper which was delivered to your door. There was money for your postman, and depending on your town's custom, for the garbageman. No, I am not kidding.
Then, there was the holiday food you were expected to take to a plethora of parties: office, neighborhood, church, and school if you had kids. Mostly, it had better be homemade or very, very well disguised, so it looked homemade because in 1980 women were still apologizing for WORKING OUTSIDE THE HOME. To this day I can still make ten kinds of holiday cookies. I used to set aside an entire Saturday in December to just make cookies.
Shall we talk about snail mail? One Christmas chore was 'going to the post office' usually multiple times and mailing both gifts and Christmas cards. At my peak I sent out over 100 Christmas cards. And, until 2000, I hand wrote a letter for any card that went 'out of town'. Each card was hand signed, hand addressed, and you still licked stamps. GRRGH - what your mouth tasted like after licking a zillion stamps.
Gradually, my Christmas chores have lessened as we have all come to the realization we have too much 'stuff'. We try for consumable gifts in our family which simplifies shopping immensely. I'm consciously trying to not just cover Cedric in presents. As any grandparent knows, saying 'no more' is truly hard. I'm also happy to say this year my charitable contributions will come close to equaling my other purchases.
When I look back, I ask myself what should I have done differently? Mostly, concentrating more on being 'in the moment' instead of being obsessed with meeting other people's expectations. Now, I'm always going to have a checklist and a schedule because I'm a classic Type A, but the internet and delivery allows me to simplify both. I can send flowers, food, presents and anything else with much much less effort.
I've learned it's not the end of the world if it's not homemade, so I save my craft skills for stuff I get pleasure making - like a Christmas tree shirt using yoyos and buttons for Cedric. I have an inflexible policy every child gets at book for Christmas and birthdays. I shop for calendars and special greeting cards like other people shop for diamonds. My Christmas card list is whittled down to people who really care they get a snail mail card. I love e-cards with a special message for the rest of the world. A wonderful Christmas is going to happen because I put out a lot of effort, but nowadays not so much effort that I'm frazzled for much of December.
Even in this age of the internet, rethink. Simplify your holiday routines, and I guarantee you will enjoy yourself more. Happy Holidays!
Saturday, November 23, 2019
Starting the Second Year
The biggest sea change in his life is his emotions are starting to come on-line. And, of course, he has no clue how to handle them at all. Currently, he's just riding them out. For example, we have this silly book about a worm driving an apple car on the highway. C is into vehicles of all types, so he thinks this book is the bees knees. We've read it, oh, about fifty times. This week something different happened. At the end of the book, the apple farmer, Mr. Frumble, accidentally dumps his entire truck load of apples onto the highway. I said to Cedric (for the first time), that Mr. Frumble was mad and sad because all his apples spilled. Cedric started crying. His little face just puckered up and actual tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. It sort of took me by surprise. We've read this book so many times he recognizes all the characters, but I didn't realize he was starting to empathize with them. This little incident was a great wake up call. I'm going to have to be alert for this sort of thing just suddenly popping up.
After almost six months of 'going back to work' as Drake calls it, I'm finding myself in better shape than I've been in for years. I can pretty easily walk in excess of two miles a day. My feet still hurt, but my back is OK with that kind of stress. The arthritis in both my shoulders has improved but worsened in my hands. I still dislike getting up at the crack of dawn - literally, and I don't like living in the Eastern time zone. The sports are all screwed up. For instance, 'night time' sporting events don't even start until about 8:30pm. When you go to bed around 9:00pm, well, it doesn't leave much time to enjoy a game. Since that's pretty much all the TV we watch, I spend a lot of time reading.
At one year shy of 70, I'm finding my energy levels stay pretty tapped out. C is just as smart (maybe smarter) than his mother, and she's no slouch in the brains department. He likes constant challenge, new things, with lots of stimulation and repetition. Plus, he does better on a pretty rigid daily schedule because without it, he has sleep difficulties. And now, he 'talks' to us constantly and expects answers! He's just dying to talk and be understood. There's high frustration including saying whatever he's trying to communicate louder and louder when we don't 'get it'.
He understands all the routine things we talk about, as well as some we didn't realize he knew. (Example: Last week, Drake casually mentioned at breakfast that perhaps it would be a good day to go to the playground. Cedric, sitting between us in his highchair IMMEDIATELY began saying 'SW', 'SW' [his word for 'swing'] and in case we didn't get it, he started making the swinging motion with his body.) We didn't know he knew the word 'playground'. Obviously, another word to add to the 'spell it' list since delayed gratification is definitely not in the wheelhouse, and it's never too cold to 'swing'.
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| Nose frozen? No problem, push it again |
Most child rearing 'things' are pretty much the same. There is better engineered equipment and tons of it. You can overkill on baby equipment. And, once the electronic component is added, well, what can be bought is pretty intimidating. C's parents have done a good job at not getting carried away with 'stuff'. First, there's no place for a lot of it in a NYC apartment, and second no real need for most of it. So, we work with the basics: high chair, stroller, crib, baby carrier, & changing table. Playpens are definitely gone as a staple other than something to sleep in at Granny's house.
What's really interesting is how the toys are pretty much the same as thirty years ago: blocks, wooden puzzles, stacking sets, shape sorters, books, little cars, dolls, and stuffed animals. There's still a woeful lack of toys for the one to two year old age group. And, I'm having the same problem I did when raising Sarah: Big ideas but not the physical coordination to execute the ideas. He's ready for some toys labeled for two to three year olds, but he can't manipulate them, and sometimes, he can't resist putting them in his mouth. (Boy, will I be glad when that impulse passes!) A new axiom has entered our language: "Try again".
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| He's spent days learning how to manipulate the sink stopper into a tiny hole |
One thing is different - awareness of how pervasive gender stereotyping is part of our culture and trying not to always fall prey to it. Think of it this way: Blue for boys, but NEVER pink. Dolls for girls, but NEVER for boys. So many toys are gender differentiated. Cedric already shows zero interest in stuffed animals or dolls. He likes wheels and vehicles.
His favorite is a construction vehicle: an excavator. He even tries to say it. He insists with all the body language he can muster to stop at any construction site in which an excavator is working.
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| Pointing out the 'excavator' on his shirt |
We are asking ourselves how much have we subconsciously directed him toward wheels and vehicles? According to research, by the time he's two years old he will 'know' which toys he's supposed to play with and which are designated for girls. There's even very little gender neutral clothing. The bottom line is we don't care that he likes wheels, but we are going to be certain he can tap into his feelings and express them. In Cedric's world, little boys are encouraged to cry when sad.
It's also much easier to get ready for an outing with a baby in a more temperate climate. We have to bundle ourselves up, and bundle up a third person who has to be 'dressed' in multiple layers, carried down the above mentioned 13 steps, then 'bagged' in the stroller. And if it's raining/snowing, well, then you have to cover the entire stroller with kid inside in a clear plastic overlay. Putting mittens on a one year old is an art in itself. And don't get me started on shoes. In NYC, people leave their outdoor shoes at the door. The streets are filthy with dog urine and fecal matter as well as ordinary human trash. No one, much less someone with a baby on the floor, wants that dirt in the house. In addition to sweaters, fleece, coats, mufflers, hats, and gloves, you have to change into your outdoor shoes at the door.
Another huge difference is the constant recording of his growing up. There's probably a picture or a video recording for every day of C's life especially since we've become his caretakers. His parents are both eager to see these little vignettes of his day, so we try to oblige. Using the little hand held computers we all have which are video recorders as well as cameras, it's so easy to document a kid even a codger like me can do it.
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| Granny, the codger, and Cedric, the one year old |
This is all a bright new world for Drake, and I'm grateful he's getting the birds eye view of what the nuts and bolts are all about in child rearing. He's been appalled at the constant demands which occur over and over throughout the day. We feed him and clean up after the food three times a day. And not just dishes, but the floor too. He's still in diapers, so there's that fun. There's lots more laundry and lots more floor care. C doesn't have quite enough teeth to just eat 'regular' food, so it's difficult to try and present appetizing meals even though his mother works like a Trojan making special food to give us choices. Like I said: Relentless.
On the plus side, C's got some new nuance to what he can do or who he is every single day. It's thrilling to watch him toddle six steps. It's amazing to hear him try for a new 'word'. It's satisfying he knows all his colors and shapes and is already thinking about numbers. And, he's developing his persona as a 'helper'. He thinks socks are his personal territory when they come out of the dryer. He's also being trained as a baseball fan. His Texas Ranger's cap which is just like Grandad's is a big favorite.
Starting into the second year is going to be full of challenges. Most of them will be all about managing not C but my own resources. I'm suspecting my body is going to give out long before I'm really ready to leave this job.
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| The 'has been' and the 'new prospect' |
Sunday, October 20, 2019
Squirrel Relocation
For those of you who have been reading along for a zillions years, I just wanted to let you know I've heard from the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter. He was called in to consult on a new urban animal problem. It's squirrels.
Yes, I said squirrels. He calls them rats with fluffy tails, but I think that's a bit harsh, don't you? It turns out a close friend of his has a massive squirrel infestation in the numerous oak trees surrounding her house. The problem is the squirrels discovered a heated attic was a superior dig to a ball of leaves, mud and spit wedged in the crook of a tree. Isn't that just a big surprise.
It turns out squirrels are terrible tenants. They leave acorn shells everywhere, and don't even get me started on their toilet habits. If you could overlook their sloppy housekeeping and lax attitude toward feces, it's when they get drunk on acorn tannins and binge out on the house wiring which makes these medium sized rodents tenants from hell.
I did a little research, and it turns out the Intepid Pigeon Fighter is scientifically correct: Squirrels are rodents. Their part of the rodent family tree includes marmots, guinea pigs, chipmunks, and prairie dogs. What really surprised me was to discover squirrels have an Air Force - there are ground squirrels, tree squirrels, and flying squirrels. You can recognize the ones who fly since they have those cool flight jackets with little wings pinned to the shoulders. The others are just flight mechanics and control tower geeks. Even if flying squirrels have an element of cool, IPF's friend shouldn't have to share her house with squirrel slobs. I mean, it's not like she advertised on Craig's List for roomies.
The IPF's friend did manage to finally get the original house squirrels evicted, but after the eviction, every time she went outside and looked up into her trees, she could see the squirrels plotting to reinstate themselves in her attic. It was time for drastic measures. She called in the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter for a consultation. First, he suggested she rent a cherry picker and coat the trees with tasty poison. She tactfully pointed out while the squirrels would be toppling dead out of her trees, so would all the birds. She doesn't have a thing against birds.
He made another drastic suggestion: Shoot them out of the trees. He keeps a gun totin', beer drinking buddy on his Rolodex just for emergencies like this. (Yes, I said Rolodex. The Intepid Pigeon Fighter thinks all this silly electronic stuff will eventually fade away, and he'll still have his trusty Rolodex. That's another whole topic - back to the squirrel problem.)
The plan would be for Deadeye to shoot the squirrels out of the trees. He'd do the job just for the cost of the bullets and all the light beers he could drink while shooting. Then, the IPF would jump into action. In his plastic rain poncho and rain pants, with his hands sheathed in a pair of yellow latex kitchen gloves, he would pick up all the dead squirrel bodies and load them into double strength trash bags. Then, it would just be a matter of buying a jumbo sized plot at the local pet cemetery. Whether or not to have a funeral service would be at his friend's discretion. While this would certainly be a squirrel problem solution, the IPF's friend wondered aloud if there might be a tiny little problem with shooting off a gun inside the city limits.
Grudgingly, the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter got on board with his friend's totally unorthodox approach: Humane traps with peanut butter bait paired with re-location. Ten miles from the friend's house is Turkey Mountain. It's a wilderness area which is home to a gorgeous squirrel condominium development. I mean, it's squirrel heaven: large nut bearing trees, moss covered ground which means cushioned landings for their air force, a seasonal swimming pool/ice rink and best of all: no cars. You just can't teach squirrels to look both ways when they cross streets, and a lack of cars cuts down on squirrel funerals. Now, if the squirrels can just get the Pecan Processing Plant they've been negotiating for, Turkey Mountain would be perfect.
This plan does require quite a bit of work. We are talking MAJOR OPERATION: Sneak out in the dead of night to set and bait the trap(s). Up at dawn lurking with binoculars for reconn. And, then, loading any trapped squirrels into her car and driving them to the Turkey Mountain condos. The squirrels are fighting back. They now won't touch bargain basement peanut butter; they've started holding out for organic. And, she had to argue long and hard with the Squirrel Negotiating Committee to obtain the agreement their members wouldn't try to dig up and take all their buried acorns before relocation. It's become a battle of wits, but she's winning.
Having not heard from his friend all summer, the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter was happy to receive a call this week with an update. The friend was crowing she'd relocated 38 squirrels and counting. The Squirrel Negotiating Committee is satisfied with the new Turkey Mountain condos, and they've formed a Welcome Wagon group for the newcomers.
Now, there are plans afoot for the IPF to start a new small business: HAVE SQUIRRELS? WILL RELOCATE. Of course, the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter will need to attach a big plastic squirrel to the top of his car. It's free publicity, baby. I wonder what he's going to do with the big pigeon he usually drives around with.
Yes, I said squirrels. He calls them rats with fluffy tails, but I think that's a bit harsh, don't you? It turns out a close friend of his has a massive squirrel infestation in the numerous oak trees surrounding her house. The problem is the squirrels discovered a heated attic was a superior dig to a ball of leaves, mud and spit wedged in the crook of a tree. Isn't that just a big surprise.
It turns out squirrels are terrible tenants. They leave acorn shells everywhere, and don't even get me started on their toilet habits. If you could overlook their sloppy housekeeping and lax attitude toward feces, it's when they get drunk on acorn tannins and binge out on the house wiring which makes these medium sized rodents tenants from hell.
I did a little research, and it turns out the Intepid Pigeon Fighter is scientifically correct: Squirrels are rodents. Their part of the rodent family tree includes marmots, guinea pigs, chipmunks, and prairie dogs. What really surprised me was to discover squirrels have an Air Force - there are ground squirrels, tree squirrels, and flying squirrels. You can recognize the ones who fly since they have those cool flight jackets with little wings pinned to the shoulders. The others are just flight mechanics and control tower geeks. Even if flying squirrels have an element of cool, IPF's friend shouldn't have to share her house with squirrel slobs. I mean, it's not like she advertised on Craig's List for roomies.
The IPF's friend did manage to finally get the original house squirrels evicted, but after the eviction, every time she went outside and looked up into her trees, she could see the squirrels plotting to reinstate themselves in her attic. It was time for drastic measures. She called in the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter for a consultation. First, he suggested she rent a cherry picker and coat the trees with tasty poison. She tactfully pointed out while the squirrels would be toppling dead out of her trees, so would all the birds. She doesn't have a thing against birds.
He made another drastic suggestion: Shoot them out of the trees. He keeps a gun totin', beer drinking buddy on his Rolodex just for emergencies like this. (Yes, I said Rolodex. The Intepid Pigeon Fighter thinks all this silly electronic stuff will eventually fade away, and he'll still have his trusty Rolodex. That's another whole topic - back to the squirrel problem.)
The plan would be for Deadeye to shoot the squirrels out of the trees. He'd do the job just for the cost of the bullets and all the light beers he could drink while shooting. Then, the IPF would jump into action. In his plastic rain poncho and rain pants, with his hands sheathed in a pair of yellow latex kitchen gloves, he would pick up all the dead squirrel bodies and load them into double strength trash bags. Then, it would just be a matter of buying a jumbo sized plot at the local pet cemetery. Whether or not to have a funeral service would be at his friend's discretion. While this would certainly be a squirrel problem solution, the IPF's friend wondered aloud if there might be a tiny little problem with shooting off a gun inside the city limits.
Grudgingly, the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter got on board with his friend's totally unorthodox approach: Humane traps with peanut butter bait paired with re-location. Ten miles from the friend's house is Turkey Mountain. It's a wilderness area which is home to a gorgeous squirrel condominium development. I mean, it's squirrel heaven: large nut bearing trees, moss covered ground which means cushioned landings for their air force, a seasonal swimming pool/ice rink and best of all: no cars. You just can't teach squirrels to look both ways when they cross streets, and a lack of cars cuts down on squirrel funerals. Now, if the squirrels can just get the Pecan Processing Plant they've been negotiating for, Turkey Mountain would be perfect.
This plan does require quite a bit of work. We are talking MAJOR OPERATION: Sneak out in the dead of night to set and bait the trap(s). Up at dawn lurking with binoculars for reconn. And, then, loading any trapped squirrels into her car and driving them to the Turkey Mountain condos. The squirrels are fighting back. They now won't touch bargain basement peanut butter; they've started holding out for organic. And, she had to argue long and hard with the Squirrel Negotiating Committee to obtain the agreement their members wouldn't try to dig up and take all their buried acorns before relocation. It's become a battle of wits, but she's winning.
Having not heard from his friend all summer, the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter was happy to receive a call this week with an update. The friend was crowing she'd relocated 38 squirrels and counting. The Squirrel Negotiating Committee is satisfied with the new Turkey Mountain condos, and they've formed a Welcome Wagon group for the newcomers.
Now, there are plans afoot for the IPF to start a new small business: HAVE SQUIRRELS? WILL RELOCATE. Of course, the Intrepid Pigeon Fighter will need to attach a big plastic squirrel to the top of his car. It's free publicity, baby. I wonder what he's going to do with the big pigeon he usually drives around with.
Friday, September 20, 2019
Weather Girl
Well, you can take the girl out of Oklahoma, but, well, you know the rest. I've been fleeing Oklahoma most of my life. Early on it was the provincial aspects. In 1972 there wasn't really any great art - not according to my limited 22 year old perspective. It wasn't until eons later I realized the wealth of Native American art the state possesses. Gilcrease, in my hometown of Tulsa, is a small museum dedicated to Native American art and is considered one of the finest in the country. The ballet was (and is) woeful, and the theater offerings not much better. Most cultural events still arrive and leave sometimes after giving only a single performance.
Perhaps that longing to see the great paintings of the world and to watch great dancers and actors live is one of the reasons I've been so delighted to live in NYC. This Saturday we are headed to the New York City Ballet to see a performance of 'Jewels', a famous ballet choreographed by George Balanchine. He's probably the most well known ballet choreographer of the 20th century.
All of that aside, what utterly amused me is today I wore a sweater in September. It was 55 degrees when I took off for the store this morning at 8:00 am, and even as hot natured as I am, that was distinctly chilly. Growing up in Tulsa, it was often chilly in the mornings in late September. (This was prior to the warming trend that is currently assailing all of the continent.) That chill is the reason none of my schools were air conditioned. School didn't ever start until the Tuesday after Labor Day, and if you sweated the first few weeks, well, kids could just suck it up since sweater weather was just around the corner.
If I'm wearing a sweater in September before my birthday, I'm beginning to comprehend my daughter's comment that I was going to need 'over the ankle' snow boots for the coming winter. I think I'm in denial. The last time I experienced WINTER with a capital W was when I lived in Oklahoma while at college. Believe me, Norman (home of Oklahoma University) wind chill hovered below freezing for way, way too many days. Man, was I ever glad I owned a 'maxi coat' - a short lived fashion trend of the early 70's in which winter coats hit your ankles. These long coats were the only really practical solution to problem of winter temps and mini skirts. {Aside: To those too young to remember, a proper mini skirt hit just below your butt curve, and cold air would cause goose bumps in unexpected places. FYI mini skirts fueled the take off of panty hose.}
There was certainly never anything even remotely approaching winter in either Houston or New Orleans which were our homes for about 20 years. Shoot, there wasn't even four distinct seasons in those towns - just horribly hot and humid and mildly hot and humid. It wasn't until we moved to Hurst, Texas (between Dallas and Fort Worth) that I even saw a turned leaf. There are four seasons there - but winter lasts one month. Not snow boot weather.
In New York you walk everywhere, or at least walk to transit to get to your destination. I can see that waterproof is going to be a necessity since I've already seen 4" deep water at the intersections during rain. I've been investigating. Apparently, there are 'rain boots'. These are waterproof shoes - Sperry has been making this type of shoe since rich people started boating. These shoes have sort of slopped over into urban wear. They can be low cut or above the ankle. These also come in the snow boot variety which is different from rain shoes in that there's a faux fur or flannel lining. There are also galoshes which are all rubber boots similar to the child's version. Basically, they just keep your feet dry except when they sweat because, well, they are rubber.
My plan is to try on snow boots some time next week at the DSW, and then decide. Naturally, this will be torturous because of my damn feet. Hopefully, I can find something round toed that doesn't cost a zillion or even half a zillion dollars. I don't want to be stuck with a pair of shoes I MIGHT wear once a year after this grand adventure comes to a close.
So, one more thing to be fascinated about up here in NY - the weather which is the result of a different weather pattern than what I'm used to. At least I'm not having to keep an eye out for tornadoes, and the ragweed is mild rather than virulent. Always a silver lining.
P.S. UPDATE: I bought calf high, waterproof, faux fur lined snow boots with a zipper down the side for easy on/off. WOW! I can't believe it.
Perhaps that longing to see the great paintings of the world and to watch great dancers and actors live is one of the reasons I've been so delighted to live in NYC. This Saturday we are headed to the New York City Ballet to see a performance of 'Jewels', a famous ballet choreographed by George Balanchine. He's probably the most well known ballet choreographer of the 20th century.
All of that aside, what utterly amused me is today I wore a sweater in September. It was 55 degrees when I took off for the store this morning at 8:00 am, and even as hot natured as I am, that was distinctly chilly. Growing up in Tulsa, it was often chilly in the mornings in late September. (This was prior to the warming trend that is currently assailing all of the continent.) That chill is the reason none of my schools were air conditioned. School didn't ever start until the Tuesday after Labor Day, and if you sweated the first few weeks, well, kids could just suck it up since sweater weather was just around the corner.
If I'm wearing a sweater in September before my birthday, I'm beginning to comprehend my daughter's comment that I was going to need 'over the ankle' snow boots for the coming winter. I think I'm in denial. The last time I experienced WINTER with a capital W was when I lived in Oklahoma while at college. Believe me, Norman (home of Oklahoma University) wind chill hovered below freezing for way, way too many days. Man, was I ever glad I owned a 'maxi coat' - a short lived fashion trend of the early 70's in which winter coats hit your ankles. These long coats were the only really practical solution to problem of winter temps and mini skirts. {Aside: To those too young to remember, a proper mini skirt hit just below your butt curve, and cold air would cause goose bumps in unexpected places. FYI mini skirts fueled the take off of panty hose.}
There was certainly never anything even remotely approaching winter in either Houston or New Orleans which were our homes for about 20 years. Shoot, there wasn't even four distinct seasons in those towns - just horribly hot and humid and mildly hot and humid. It wasn't until we moved to Hurst, Texas (between Dallas and Fort Worth) that I even saw a turned leaf. There are four seasons there - but winter lasts one month. Not snow boot weather.
In New York you walk everywhere, or at least walk to transit to get to your destination. I can see that waterproof is going to be a necessity since I've already seen 4" deep water at the intersections during rain. I've been investigating. Apparently, there are 'rain boots'. These are waterproof shoes - Sperry has been making this type of shoe since rich people started boating. These shoes have sort of slopped over into urban wear. They can be low cut or above the ankle. These also come in the snow boot variety which is different from rain shoes in that there's a faux fur or flannel lining. There are also galoshes which are all rubber boots similar to the child's version. Basically, they just keep your feet dry except when they sweat because, well, they are rubber.
My plan is to try on snow boots some time next week at the DSW, and then decide. Naturally, this will be torturous because of my damn feet. Hopefully, I can find something round toed that doesn't cost a zillion or even half a zillion dollars. I don't want to be stuck with a pair of shoes I MIGHT wear once a year after this grand adventure comes to a close.
So, one more thing to be fascinated about up here in NY - the weather which is the result of a different weather pattern than what I'm used to. At least I'm not having to keep an eye out for tornadoes, and the ragweed is mild rather than virulent. Always a silver lining.
P.S. UPDATE: I bought calf high, waterproof, faux fur lined snow boots with a zipper down the side for easy on/off. WOW! I can't believe it.
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