Family Values, *&$!@$

Today I listened to a radio show interview with a former GOP party leader. She was forced to step down last fall because it was learned that she was having an affair with a staffer. The topic of “family values” came up briefly during the interview but thank God, did not dominate the interview (to be fair, she did not bring it up). Today I had an "aha" moment because I realized just how sick I am of that phrase.

Can I just say one thing to ALL politicians and just about anyone involved in politics (besides you should have your head examined)? Please stop talking about "family values." Stop saying you stand for it. Stop using it as a banner you wave outside the campaign office. Stop wagging your finger at people who make mistakes. Stop. Just stop.

For the record, I am going to just say right now that I think politicians and government should let families sort out their values themselves. Let families figure out their priorities and not people running for political office.

I like values as much as most people and I think our family has exemplary values - we are upstanding people. We dot our i's and cross our t's. However, I am sure there are many fine families out there that have different priorities, different values and are just as wonderful as us.

I married an awesome man, and raised two fine children to adulthood. All are caring, responsible people who make this world a better place to be. I have dear friends that chose same sex partners, and they also make this world a much better place to live in. I have friends who made difficult choices (quite different than I would make) under circumstances very different from mine and I am in no position to judge. I trust people to choose for themselves and I am secure enough in my own choices to know that their choices do not affect my life.

People love to hold up the Cleavers as an example of a bygone era identified by "family values." Weren't things great back then? Families ate together and Ward never spanked - he only had to let Beaver know how very disappointed he was and Beaver instantly caved. June was always home, ready to greet the boys when they ran through the kitchen door with freshly, baked cookies. She never raised her voice and Wally and Beaver never argued. Wally was always there to help the Beaver...it was the epitome of "family values."

Except it was all fake, right down to the pearls June wore around her neck (and Beaver never actually ate his brussel sprouts).

I grew up during that time, and my recollections were very different. We had a large family and we only ate with my parents on Sunday nights. We were too busy to wait for Dad to get home besides, we were too many people to fit around a table every night. My parents opted for a more harmonious experience sans the arguing and flying forks. Dad never got "disappointed" he got angry, and the cookies we ate came from a box, which came from a store (we actually preferred the "store bought"). My mom didn't wear her pearls during the day and dresses were for Saturday nights. As for my siblings, let's just say I am grateful I survived.

We did go to church, usually, and sometimes we all went together! But to be honest, church participation was spotty after we entered our teen years. You know, I can't recall if the Cleavers attended....

Make no mistake; I am not attempting to make light of the idea of “family values.” I think values are essential to the stability and success of a family, and especially, community. It is absolutely crucial to impart to your children (if you choose to have them) a sense of values you find important. Instilling a moral compass in our children is paramount in creating people that will successfully carry a society into the future. We like values, to be sure and we made sure our children knew them.

When they were little, they once commented on a strange person wandering the streets, loudly talking to himself. I reminded them that God loves everyone equally. In God’s eyes, they were just as lovable as that man. Sobering words for small children. I’m pretty sure at the time, they thought I was mistaken - but they knew where I stood.

We told them not to lie, even if they thought they could get away with it. The consequences for lying were always worse than for the transgression they committed.These two lessons, don’t judge and don’t lie, will take you pretty far in life and they probably cover just about everything a child needs to know.

We were far from perfect, but we tried very hard to model our expectations and I think they turned out pretty good.

So how did this idea of “family values” creep its way into politics? I know the party responsible, but I think both political parties use the phrase to each’s advantage. The Tea Partiers use it as a rallying cry against same sex partnerships and abortions. The Dems use it to vilify anyone that has affairs, cheats, or even for those who are a little too religious to suit the left leaners. It is hurled at anyone in either party that screws up, even if they have never uttered the phrase “family values.” Each continues to point the finger at each other.

Can I be granted two wishes?

I wish this phrase would disappear from politics.
I wish politicians would stay out of our personal lives.

Newsflash to politicians: I don't care where you stand on "family values." It is none of your business (or my business) the choices families make. You can't legislate your brand of morality. I will not vote for you because you stand for "family values," and I may even vote against you because of it.

Get righteous about the budget...

Freebies

I recently read an article (I am notorious for clicking on links that take me places I have never been…). It said something like “If you want to learn how to score hotel freebies, click here." It claimed to offer “insightful” and “unexpected” advice. Who doesn’t want to know how to get free stuff? I clicked.

Apparently, it was a recap of a book someone wrote, Heads in Beds: A Reckless Memoir of Hotels, Hustles, and So-Called Hospitality, by Jacob Tomsky. Really? Someone wrote an entire book on hotel freebies and advice? I should have stopped right there.

Basically its “advice” was to lie, cheat, steal, and when that fails, bribe.

Apparently, when checking in, you should slip the agent a “bill.” Folks, he’s not bringing me a drink, or refilling my water glass, he’s just taking my credit card information and giving me a key card. It’s his job……

For the record, if I want an upgrade, I politely ask for it. I make sure I am friendly and upbeat and try very hard to make their job a little easier. Last year when my husband and I traveled to Chicago, the wait for check-in was really long. It was the lunch hour and it appeared as if some staff was on break. The people waiting were understandably upset and angry. I was polite, friendly and understanding and asked if I could have a nice room. I was given a lovely, huge corner room overlooking Michigan Ave., and all my “bills” were intact.

My advice: When checking in, be nice, friendly, and polite and it helps to sign up for the free loyalty membership in advance of your visit.

Next juicy tidbit: Tip the valet. Wow, gee, I had no idea that that was the custom. Does this guy think we just fell of the hay truck? I’ll just pretend that I never saw that tip.

Next up: Give the bellman $2 per bag when he helps you to your room. Bellmen? Do people really use those? My husband and I (and everyone else in the free world) have rollers on our suitcase. Back in the old days (before wheels were invented) that advice would make sense….my tip is that the author should get some new luggage.

My advice: Just wheel your luggage yourself, use the $5 to get a snack.

The next tip concerns what to do about that maid. If I ask someone to clean my room, I will offer a tip. They are performing a thankless job and I appreciate a clean room. I show my appreciation by leaving a tip. However, I must confess, I don’t like strangers in my room. If it is a short stay, we usually decline the service. I make beds at home; I can make beds while traveling. As long as we have sufficient towels and toiletries, we are good to go. The maids are in fact, only too happy to give me what I ask for from the ubiquitous cart. Actually, I am certain they would rather have one less room to clean than the few bucks.

Here is some good advice: If you leave a tip, leave a note next to it saying, “Thanks!” I have had some maids that did not take the tip because it wasn’t made obvious that it was for them.

Mr. Tomsky continues with how to score “extra freebies.” He suggests that you enjoy and make free use of the minibar. When you check out, just deny you ever used it. According to this expert, it is a “horrible stance” for the hotel to take to not believe you. In other words, lie. I think his advice is a “horrible stance.”

Mini bars suck. They are way too expensive and that just pisses me off. Can I afford $5 for a bag of pretzels? Sure (especially since I didn’t use the bellman), but I am not going to because of the principle (which, clearly, Mr. Tomsky does not have). I never use them.

My advice: Buy a bottle of wine, bottled water and some snacks from a nearby pharmacy and ignore the minibar.

Mr. Tomsky also has great advice with how to enjoy a free movie. Go ahead, order, and enjoy. Then, “once you’ve finished watching your movie just call down to the front desk and tell them the movie just froze in the middle or it turned off suddenly.” Be assured that you are not really stealing because the hotel pays a movie subscription fee and therefore, is not out any money.

What?

I am guessing that the subscription fee is pretty pricey, and sure, they make a profit, but it is stealing. I sure hope Mr. Tomsky does not have children…..

My advice: Wait until you get home to rent a movie. If you must see a movie on vacation, stream it with a Netflix subscription on your laptop.

Finally, the best advice yet: How to score a free bathrobe. By now, I think you get the hang of his advice. So if you guessed to simply steal it, give yourself a gold star. Yep, all you have to do is call down and tell them you are missing a bathrobe, then “in the time it takes someone to come up and deliver you another one, you can stash the extra robe right into your suitcase.”

Wow, what a stand-up guy. Maybe I should go easy on someone that doesn’t even own a robe.

My advice: If you really love the robe, buy it. If you can’t afford it, you can’t have it. Same advice I gave to my kids. Geeesh.

Needless to say, I won’t have Heads in Beds: A Reckless Memoir of Hotels, Hustles, and So-Called Hospitality on any shopping list.

In my opinion, Mr. Tomsky has a few things wrong with his moral compass. Gee, I wonder how Mr. Tomsky would feel if someone just decided to put a copy of his book in their purse, or even beter - illegally downloaded it…

The Show Dog Runs…

I take my dog to a nearby park every day for her walk. She is almost 13, and our neighborhood is very hilly. She gets around just fine, but the level paths at the park are much easier for her to navigate. She stills likes to chase squirrels and there are plenty of wide, open spaces at the park for her to chase them.

Claudia is a standard poodle. I let her hair grow kind of long in the winter and keep her ears groomed like other dogs. She’s a good size, about 50 pounds and the only concession I will allow to her “Poodleness” is a small, poof at the end of her tail. She’s been an amazing dog that we never had to train. She has always been a voice command dog; we do not ever need to leash her (although we do in strange surroundings). She follows me and watches me and never gets too far away when walking. If she needs a correction (which she rarely does) I give a quick command and she obeys. She will not touch any left out food and will only eat when you give her permission, including her own food. I have no idea why she is this way, she just is.

At the park, I enjoy meeting other dog owners and their dogs and I usually have treats in my pockets just for them (the dogs, not the owners). Last week I met an elderly man with his two, large breed dogs.

The first thing you need to know is that the man was from Connecticut (he told me that several times in the first few minutes). Is there something extra special about people or dogs from Connecticut? He was visiting his daughter and then he told me that his dogs were SHOW dogs.

Oh, I see….what?

He rambled on for a long time, while Claudia patiently waited about 15 feet away. She was sitting and following our conversation while his dogs sniffed about. He proceeded to detail the countless hours of training they had, how strict he and his wife were with their diets and how invested they had been with their careers. I listened, but I was really just interested in giving them loving strokes and treats.

His dogs were delightful; I’m not sure what they were (he told me one was an Egyptian something but he talked so quickly with so many words that it all just went in one ear and out the next).

One was 10; he looked like a big ole, brown hound dog, and had lost most of his eyesight. He became my new BFF when I gave him a treat. The other was 3, was large, white, and had terrier like hair. As I gave him a treat I was told that he was a champion! He was the big winner at Madison Square Garden three years ago.

After telling me that, the man finally paused to allow me to express my praise and amazement. I said, “Wow, a celebrity!” and I smiled (for extra emphasis).

Finally, the man noticed Claudia. He asked what kind she was and I told him. Because she was so patient, and was so observant he said, “It looks like she has had lots of training.”

I honestly answered, “No, she just came that way.”

“No, training? Not even as a puppy?”

“No.”

“How did you teach her to be off leash so nicely?”

“I didn’t, she just sits when I talk and follows when I walk.”

Then he asked how old she was. I told him her age and he was amazed at what good shape she was in. Then he tried again with, “I bet you watch her food pretty closely. She’s so fit.”

By now I honestly felt kind of felt badly when I said, “No, we really don’t. She eats what she wants and stops eating when she is full. She doesn’t beg and doesn’t often eat offered treats.”

Then we started walking. He explained what brilliant hunters his dogs were and how the white one and just caught a squirrel yesterday. He didn’t kill it (because of course, he KNOWS better).

Don’t get me started on dogs and squirrels. Claudia has caught several in her day and unlike the SHOW dogs, she kills them because she doesn’t know better, she’s just a dog. I freaked out each and every time but that is an entirely different story…

As we walked by the playground, I gave him a warning (as his dogs were unleashed –despite the two leashes in his hand). I told him that I always had to watch Claudia carefully at the far end of the park, near the street. It was a busy street and squirrels frequently ran from the park to the woods on the side adjacent to it. I joked that I felt like a Secret Service agent - always looking for squirrels and redirecting Claudia’s attention if I spotted any.

He kind of blew me off (after all, his dogs were SHOW dogs).

I wished him a good walk as Claudia and I picked up the pace. His dogs were off wandering in the woods and being rather pokey; Claudia and I like to WALK.

As we neared the street, there were several squirrels, with acorns in their mouths scampering about. Claudia was definitely interested, but I herded her over to the side closer to the pond and gave her a stern “no” when she looked like she would rather be on the side with her furry “friends.” We successfully rounded the danger zone and I set her off to the woods to look for some “playmates”.

Then I heard him. He screamed, “Get back here!” As I turned, I saw the white dog run after two squirrels and ran right across the street without a thought to the man. He chased them playfully and then just sat in the woods looking at the man who was yelling at him to return.

The man was a moron, even if he was from “Connecticut.” He was a Connecticut moron.

Two things: 1) Why would any dog want to return to someone that is screaming with such a loud and threatening voice? And, 2) Why was he screaming at him? He should have crossed the street with his leash and brought him safely back.

As he continued to yell, the dog eventually decided to return and you guessed it, right when a car was coming (exactly what I feared). Fortunately, the car saw the dog, and slammed on its breaks, narrowly missing him ( and no doubt a law suit).

I turned and walked on but when I looked over my shoulder both SHOW dogs were now on leashes.

Claudia kept exploring as I kept walking. She caught up to me and then ran off happily cantering across the baseball field.

OK, I admit. I was feeling smug. I couldn’t have been more proud of her than if she was a champion, at Madison Square Garden ☺

Let’s Go Back to Socks……

During the course of my life, I have experienced the magic of Christmas. Though, I admit, it was more magical when I was younger. Back then, it more about everything leading up to the day, rather than the day itself.

Christmas was a time where you really needed every moment after Thanksgiving.

You had the list to make - this took some serious thought and time to carefully peruse the toy section of the Montgomery Ward’s catalogue. By December, our copy was missing a front page, and was tattered and torn - the toy section most of all.

You needed to shop and pay attention to your school Secret Santa. The pressure to produce was excruciating. Sometimes, I just wrote a nice note and maybe included some candy leftover from Halloween (don’t judge). I always wanted to be known as a good giver – reputation was everything…..

There were cookies to help bake. The first few batches were fun to decorate. After the first five dozen though, my enthusiasm waned and the cookies looked more like they had been decorated during an adult happy hour. The frosting usually ended up all over my hands and face, and I hated sticky fingers. I think more than a few cookies had detectable finger prints on them…..God knows how many had my DNA…

Trimming the tree was always part of the “Christmas Magic.” My dad was in charge of the lights (and probably was the least qualified to do so). He got them all out and then started the detangling process. That could be a scary thing…..We all waited anxiously, as expletives were uttered and Mom reminded him to “watch it in front of the kids.”

Once the lights were put in order, we all held our breath as they were plugged in. If they lit up, we sighed with relief and the trimming process began. If they remained dark, we scattered upstairs like cockroaches to light. It was not a very special or magical thing to watch Dad unplug and replace the lights, one by one to discern which was the bad one (series string technology was a bitch). Some years, it ruined the whole process – Dad would storm off and we would carry on without him.

But when Dad was triumphant, tree trimming was the very definition of tradition. We always placed the tree in the hallway, so it could be seen through the glass front door, outside (creating a Norman Rockwell-ish feeling). At least, that’s the story I was told. Now, I am convinced it had more to do with the pillars leading to the living room. The tree never stood upright, and every year twine was employed to tie to a pillar to make the tree stand erect. My oldest brother always got to tie the twine. I was the youngest, so I really never got to do anything except what no one else wanted to do. It was the pecking order thing, and being the youngest, I never climbed….

My dad, with cigar in hand, and a cognac close by, would direct the process. My mom usually had nothing to do with it once we were all old enough to know not to eat the ornaments. I never knew what she did, or where she went, but now that I have raised two children to adulthood, I have a few guesses…..After placing her special china baby ornament on the tree she would disappear and reappear magically at the end to assign the job of returning the empty boxes to the basement. And, yes, it was usually my brother closest in age to me, and me . I hated that basement, but that is another story……

We had the favorite ornaments, and you guessed it, the oldest sibs put those on. I was relegated to the homemade ornaments that were falling apart. I was allowed to help with the candy canes, partially because there were plenty to go around. Candy canes on the tree were an absolute given. I was always shocked when I visited other homes with not a single cane on the tree. I was led to believe that it was a solid Christmas tradition, but then I was also told that too much TV made you go blind….

When the tree was completed, the mistletoe went up and Mom and Dad did their thing. I remember my teenage siblings avoided standing under it when opposite sex friends were around. My dad would never miss an opportunity to point it out, and he always chuckled when the embarrassed sibling uttered the inevitable, “Dad!”

Once the house was decorated, and we settled back into our routine, I fondly remember playing the guessing game with my brother and sister closest in age to me. One would pick an ornament and give clues until someone guessed the correct one. It kept us busy for hours (after all, too much TV made you blind).

Closer to Christmas came perhaps the single most anticipated event (except for the day itself) of the season. The day the caramels came from Nebraska. My Aunt Gloria made the absolute, most perfect caramels ever. They were soft, sweet and tasted of buttery goodness. I recall more than a few got stuck on the roof of my mouth and I became frantic, quite sure it would remain there for the rest of my life. They were rationed, locked up and they were heaven. Even as we got older and moved away, my mom loved to call us to tell us “The caramels came today.” The ones that wouldn’t make it home always had some shipped to them. But the rest always got their own stash. Naturally, being the youngest, I got the least (I’m sure it was equal, but it always looked like the others got more).

As I grew older, and had children of my own, the day naturally became all about them. The magic I experienced was through their joy, their excitement and their transparent glee as the days of December melted away to the number 25. Trimming the tree was fun, and the lights always lit up. They still became tangled, but I had control over it, so the experience was completely different from that of my youth (perhaps because cognac was not a part of the experience).

After having children, I eschewed the idea of presents. Having a birthday in December, getting presents seemed anticlimactic. So when family, friends or even co-workers asked what I would like, I always suggested socks. Socks were easy to shop for, inexpensive and practical. Socks became the go-to gift for me.

At first, it was funny to see what kind of socks people came up with. I had multiple pairs with the toes separated like gloves. They looked cool, but were very difficult to put on, and they felt much like it feels to wear thong underwear – awkward and unnatural. Then, came the exceptionally fluffy socks. They were comfy, yes, but I couldn’t wear them with shoes, and they made my feet hot and sweaty. Finally, there was a string of socks that looked like animals- again, funny stuff but not comfortable with shoes (although the dog did seem to like them).

So, I gently started to suggest Christmas ornaments….

As I trimmed the tree the other night, I vowed to tell everyone that I don’t need one more ornament – what was I thinking? I actually have a separate box just for Santa ornaments! I have Santa skiing, skating, vacationing – even rock climbing….I have multiple nesting Santas (the one where you open it, and another appears), I have Santa’s made of clay, cookies and felt and glue. I have Santas made of beads and glass, oh Lord, I have Santas, and I have enough. I also have a plethora of pine cone ornaments – who knew there could be so many…I also have plenty of cardinals on a log, hockey players, skiers, and sailors (my husband plays hockey and sails).

I even have a salmon ornament...and two of Texas?

I actually had a difficult time trimming the tree because I ran out of branches that didn’t already house an ornament – now that is too much.

I grumble about the tree every year, and threaten to do away with it. So, my husband has taken on the responsibility of getting the tree up – I trim it (at least we don’t need to use twine) because my children are away and busy….This year it took me a few days, with adult beverage breaks….but it’s up and looks great. I am feeling the mood, and waiting for snow. We do have too many ornaments…..I think I’ll go back to socks….but just the plain, black and blue kind (maybe a few tan or brown).

There's something strange going on at my house....

A lot of strange things have been happening around here….

Last summer, shortly after Meg came home from college, she woke up in the middle of the night to see her drapes fly up in the air. No window was open, nor was a fan operating. She was understandably shaken and, although I had no logical explanation, I told her it was just a “thing.” I said it was probably my dad, just having a little fun. For a few weeks she only used her room to sleep in; always hanging in the family room until the very second she went to bed.

A few weeks later, in late June, I was working out on my Stairmaster. The equipment is located on the bottom level of our home. Although it was warm outside, the AC was not on. I had worked up quite a sweat and was very warm when suddenly I felt a cool breeze come from the front and bottom of the Stairmaster. No possible explanation for it; it came from the opposite side of the room where the windows were, which were closed up tightly. The windows are rarely opened since they are on ground level and face the woods, making it easy to obtain access to our home without detection if left open.

I make sure they are closed.

I wasn’t worried or terribly concerned. I had no logical explanation but the breeze felt good and wherever it came from, it seemed to be from a good place.

Things seemed to settle after that and nothing defying logic happened. Then, in September, I was sewing in our sewing/hockey equipment room. As I was ironing a seam, and listening to the radio, the TV behind me suddenly turned on. It was not hooked up to any cable or box – only my son uses it to occasionally watch movies. I assumed I had stepped on the remote control and I looked for it, locating it on top of the bookshelf behind the TV. I had no explanation so I simply turned it off. A few minutes later, yep, it turned on again. I turned it off and this time I flipped the off switch on the power strip.

Whatever had caused it to turn on apparently was unable to master the power surge strip…success, score: Colleen 1. Ghost 0.

Then just a few weeks ago, I was tinkering with my daughter’s old phone. It had taken an unfortunate bath in a cup of soda early in the summer and had lost its ability to speak. Meg was only too happy to replace it with an iPhone and it joined the rest of our discarded phones in the junk drawer.

I know that phones are collected for servicemen, but I am reluctant to part with them and any data that may still be on them (it’s a privacy thing I need to get over).

One day, I decided I would attempt to retrieve the pictures on it to send to Meg. It took a while, but I did download the pictures and after completing the task, I powered off the phone and put it in the desk drawer. I moved on to other tasks and when I opened the drawer for something…..the phone was on. I had powered it off, not put it to sleep…..So, I powered it off yet again, and within seconds, it came back on. OK, at least I could chalk this up to the fact that the phone wasn’t well; it probably had a few shorts due to the bath. I removed the battery and went back to my business. I replaced the battery a few days later, and it hasn’t happened again.

The final incident occurred last week. I was cleaning dishes in the morning left from the previous night. As I rinsed a bowl, I heard a sound behind me and turning around, I watched in disbelief as an 18” high, Calphalon pan was spinning on my stovetop. Not slowly, not too quickly, just spinning as if I had just given it a playful swipe.


I have to admit, I am pretty nonplussed about any of these things. As long as whoever or whatever is doing it, isn’t doing anything to hurt me, I am game for a little fun.

After all, that cool air felt good, and I was hot….

I am used to things that go bump in the night. I grew up in a Victorian house in St. Paul with many rooms and just as many nooks and crannies. It was an awesome place for hide and seek and just as awesome a place for unexplained noises and thumps.

I always assumed it had ghosts on the third floor – several times I heard the scampering of childlike feet coming from the top floor. One time, when I was an adult, I had a friend over who heard the noises and she freaked. It really did upset her. I was so used to it that I simply explained that it was most likely ghosts. She wanted to leave the house and I admit, that surprised me. Growing up, our family lost four children to Cystic Fibrosis and I had always just accepted that the spirits or ghosts were my siblings. The feeling of them was always light, nothing I ever feared.

I often wonder why some people are so frightened of unexplainable phenomena and others are not. I love ghost stories. I often take a ghost tour when visiting a new town when vacationing. Besides being fun, they often give a great version of a town’s history. If you get to Boston – definitely take the tour!

I like the idea of the people I love, that have died, hanging around me. I really do feel them; I sometimes hear them out of the blue say something that is so typical of them, not me. Perhaps, it is my imagination, perhaps it is not. It is one or the other and I choose to believe that they are in the room with me.

Have you ever decided to do something different at the last second only to find that you avoided something dangerous?

Have you ever had something suddenly pop in your head and then in the next few minutes, you experience something that connects that thought?

Have you ever lost something only to suddenly see a picture of where it is pop in your head…and you find it, just where the image told you (happens to me all of the time).

Have you ever had a tough decision to make, and then suddenly and inexplicably, you knew exactly what to do?

When I was little, right before the teacher called on me to provide an answer (believe it or not, I hated talking in front of the class), my palms got sweaty. It only happened when I was going to be called on….weird.

I don’t know why things go bump in the night, or why things, which defy logic, happen….but they do. Some people fear what they do not know, some people chase it like a child chasing a butterfly. Some demand logical solutions, others simply shrug and accept it.

I say, “It is what it is.” Whatever that is……..

Are We Better Off Now.....

Yesterday I read of the closing of a landmark drive-in in the Twin Cities. My first reaction was disbelief and sadness. As long as the drive-ins remained, I still had a connection to the “good ole days.” I learned that the owner was selling so that a Walmart could be built. Walmart, really? We are giving up a piece of history for a Walmart?

I live in Minnetonka, very near where an old drive-in once thrived. It had been torn down to make way for a strip mall, which later, was bulldozed for a Target. I admit, I shed no tears because I was super excited to have a Target so close by. Heck, they even gave all the neighbors a measuring cup with a coupon for a bag of sugar…classy!

But anytime a Walmart is built makes me sad because I really hate Walmarts. I think they are depressing, disorganized and the combination of items they sell makes no sense – a swinging chaise for your porch next to an imitation leather recliner next to tampons……yikes.

But it got me wondering, are we better off today than in the “good ole days?”

Let me start with the drive-in. You know what? They really were not a great place to watch a movie. Sure, they were fun because you could sneak in and bring your own beer and all, but for watching a movie, they kind of stunk. It was always hot and humid and unless you ran the AC in the car the whole time, it was like hanging in a tropical rain forest. The mosquitoes were torture and there was no avoiding them for they had free access with the compulsory, open windows. You could close the windows, of course, if you were a very good lip reader.....Then there was the issue of the increasingly intoxicated people walking back and forth in front of your car. The snacks and bathrooms were a million miles away and no one ever stopped talking in the car while you were trying to figure out what was being said. The sound coming from the window speakers was like ordering at a Taco Bell where you understood only a few words out of each sentence. It was fun, yep, but it was not a great place to actually watch a movie. In my day, I think I went to a drive-in maybe once a summer. My son and daughter don’t even know what they are and I haven’t returned to one since high school. I imagine the current owner of the soon to be Walmart was having a hard time making it work. Don’t blame him really, I just wish he had sold to Target….

So what else do we miss about the “good ole days?”

My mom and I were talking about the roast chickens you can buy at just about anywhere (even gas stations). I buy them mostly to cut off the meat for my dog. I do sample as I cut and it is tasty! Dang, how do they do that? My mother claims she never roasts a chicken anymore because she can buy one at the store, which is cheaper, less hassle and it tastes better than what she can do. I often used those roasted chickens as my go-to dinner when the kids were little and time was short. How did my mother ever get by without roasted chickens? Or mashed potatoes already mashed? Or frozen garlic? Or prepared pesto? Wow, she must have spent her entire day in the kitchen because I take full advantage of all the cheats I can find at the grocery store. I love Costco for that reason. It is filled with delicious meals I just need to heat up, praise the lord and Costco!

My children still played the night games that I did when I was a child running amuck in St. Paul. Nothing too different there. They gathered at one house, planned the game and the teams, and then ended the night with a bonfire. Hey, we never had bonfires…..

They did miss out though, on pedaling to the store with a quarter and returning home with a bag full of penny candy. My kids grew up with no penny candy store and pedaling there would have been out of the question where we lived…the suburbs….(a place I had only heard about, but never ventured to as a child). Thinking about it now, I would say that’s a good thing because as an evolved parent, I now know how harmful sugar is. Unless it was a holiday or birthday, I would never have allowed the kids to pig out on a bag of sugar, goodness! Although the memory is sweet (pun intended), it probably is better that they made S’mores at the bonfire….. (remember, chocolate can extend your life).

So many things are different today than in the “good ole days.” We remember those days as golden but upon careful inspection, they come up a little short … how would we ever manage our lives without cell phones (pay phones were not fun and you risked your health talking on them), computers, the Internet, iTunes, IPods, iPhones, iPads, DVR’s, Netflix, reality TV (no judging), Sushi, microbrew beer, debit cards, broad band spectrum sunscreen, seatbelt with shoulder harnesses, online bill pay, spell check, email, video chatting…FACEBOOK!

I think the reason we liked those days really had more to do with the fact of how old we were then, rather than how good those days actually were.

I admit, I think I am better off today. However, I do think fondly on the days where I ran wild in the summer, got brown as a Hershey bar, never wore shoes and my parents had absolutely no idea where I was until I came home to the dinner bell each night. I survived.

Catholics and Politics, is a “Progressive Catholic” a Contradiction?

I recently read an article provided by a Father James Curran (via my cousin). It was written by Andrew Sullivan titled “The Republican Party Cardinal.”


http://andrewsullivan.thedailybeast.com/2012/08/the-republican-cardinal.html


The import of the passage was to criticize the decision of Cardinal Archbishop Dolan, from New York, to give the benediction at the Republican National Convention. Traditionally, this job has been given to the local Bishop (whoever that is). Sullivan argues that for Archbishop Dolan to honor the request appears as “de facto endorsement” by the Catholic Church of the Republican Party. He warns that the Catholic hierarchy injecting itself into politics is a mandate to other Catholics to support the Romney ticket.

I had so many reactions to this article, where to begin….

I generally don’t concern myself with issues pertaining to the Catholic Church, because although my parents attempted to raise me Catholic, it didn’t stick. When I was 13, they threw up their hands and gave up trying to force me, or any of my siblings to go to church. There were six of us and today, only one considers herself a practicing Catholic. Oh well.

I have many problems with the church (too many to go into in a blog) but I can narrow it down to: 1) That nasty business with priests and altar boys and how it was handled, 2) Its stance on abortion, 3) Its stance on gay marriage, 4) Its stance on stem cell research and quite frankly, 5) The Biblical miracles just don’t work for me…..

Although I don’t support the Catholic Church, I support its right to exist and to believe what it believes. I have deep respect to the fine work it does on behalf of the poor and indigent. I acknowledge the comfort and community it provides and the church and I can agree to disagree. I have been fortunate to have known several members of the church and have respected their intellect and compassion.

Although they all share a common faith, they are not cookie cutter stamp-outs, all come with their own, unique personalities and perspectives. I respect that individuality and I respect the right of members to do and say what they feel appropriate. So if Archbishop Dolan wants to go pray for the Republicans, I say, “Go for it!” If Father Andrew Sullivan wants to post an article condemning Archbishop Dolan, I say, “Go for it!”

My point is, if one has the right to criticize, then the other has a right to pray for the republicans. Free speech works both ways and last I checked, priests, bishops, archbishops, nuns etc. are still citizens and do have the right to free speech, right? They vote, right? Their votes are still private, right? If CEO’s can come out in support of either party, why can’t an Archbishop (although he hasn’t, he just agreed to say a prayer for them because that’s what Archbishops do)?

OK, really. Is ANYONE surprised that the Catholic Church sides with the Republican Party? Anyone? Speak up. Please, this is not an unexpected news flash, or frankly, an earth-shattering event. I admit that there are a number of practicing Catholics, priests included, that don’t share 100% of what the Pope dishes out. They call themselves “Progressive Catholics.” That’s fine, although this article made me wonder if that isn’t a contradiction?

E J Dionne, author of “Why Americans Hate Politics” and on staff at The Dept. of Government at Georgetown University, says,

[The] “Catholic Church’s teachings do not map well, or at all, with the particular way in which American partisan positions have developed…”

Dionne accused bishops of being too cozy and criticizes them for engaging directly in politics. However, he signed a letter on behalf of ninety Georgetown faculty members approving the Bishop’s response to criticism of aspects of Paul Ryan’s budget. Hmmmm.

Hey, wait a minute, by signing that letter, isn’t he engaging directly in politics? Huh (as I scratch my head)….

OK clearly, this letter is partisan. No biggy as I see it, he has every right to do it, except then, bishops have every right to call things as they see it as well. What’s good for the goose…..tit for tat, turn about is fair play…you see where I’m going, free speech and all…

“Progressive Catholics” is a term used by many practicing Catholics to describe their brand of Catholicism. It is a way to express their differences they have with the church. The very issues above I also expressed (which, is why I am not a Catholic). I get where they are coming from, and except for their shared belief in the Catholic Church, I am right there with them, they are my brothers and sisters, hallelujah! Only problem is (and it’s a biggy) is that it doesn’t pass the “Catholic test” or, to translate, the Pope begs to differ.

GK Chesterton describes Catholicism this way:
“Catholicism is an accumulation of tradition including a magisterium that does not waver from the fundamental truth as divulged in the teachings and life of Jesus.”

OK, I admit, I had to look up “magisterium.” It looked like a cool word that I could use another time to impress people. Sadly, I doubt I will ever use it again. It means the teaching authority of the Catholic Church, and yikes, that sounds very serious and Pope-like. But it does kind of lay out what I have always felt about the church - I don’t think you can pick and choose; it’s an all or nothing package. It is what it is, and you can like it or leave it, just don’t expect it to change.

Chesterton also suggests “to import the political term [Progressive Catholic] for the description of Catholics is to collapse the Church into a political program that cannot be reconciled to the Catholic worldview.”

Wow. I’ll sum it up (because that’s what you do at the end).

If an Archbishop wants to appear at the Republican Convention, I think he should. Yes, it looks like an endorsement, but so what? Who is really surprised by that? Does that mean the religious hierarchy has to follow his lead? Nope, they get to make their own decisions and if they want to test the political waters, be my guest. But I also think that if you call yourself a Catholic, you are a Catholic. You don’t get to choose your own brand of Catholicism. Agree to disagree, sure, but the term “Progressive Catholic” seems to be a contradiction.