SUNDAY: Radiant Beams
GOLDEN OLDIES
There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: the way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.
-- Proverbs 30:18,19
We had a Fogie Love Fest here the other night, a family dinner in honor of the 50th wedding anniversary of my husband's parents.
The granddaughters cooked and served the gourmet meal: salmon bisque, hearts-of-palm salad, beef tenderloin, cheese potatoes, baby artichokes, even a batch of lovely homemade bridal mints.
We played a CD of '40s and '50s music. My close friend Jeannie came over early and worked her magic with white linens and candles, weaving garlands of flowers through greenery so that we felt we were dining in a beautiful garden.
My other close friend Cindy suggested I have a few of their wedding photos enlarged to poster size, and told me about a cake baker who replicated their wedding cake beautifully. We stuck white roses in the top for an elegant touch.
We set out their wedding album for everyone to marvel at the fashions and hairdos of 50 years ago, and my husband showed a sentimental video he had made with pictures of the happy couple and their family and friends through the decades set to special songs from their past.
But what I loved best about the evening were the toasts.
As I listened to the sweet things -- the honest things -- that were said about them and to them, in letters read aloud from loved ones far afield and from the familiar voices coming from faces aglow there in the candlelight, I thought to myself:
''This is it. This is right. This is love.''
Two human beings, one male, one female, who mate for life. They accept God's standards for marriage. They embrace each other's differences. They work things out. Through it all, they make love face to face, heart to heart . . . soul to soul.
What did they promise, that day so long ago?
''To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, to love and to cherish, 'til death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance.''
And what does the Order for Marriage say, right there in the hymnal for all to see?
''Our Lord Jesus Christ said, 'Have ye not read that He which made them at the beginning made them male and female, and said, For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and they twain shall be one flesh?' Wherefore, they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.''
Nothing else is right. Nothing else is true love. Nothing else is God's design.
Forasmuch as marriage is a holy estate, ordained of God, it must be done God's way, or not at all.
And those who do it His way receive His countless blessings.
My mother-in-law spoke of how boiling hot it was, that August day in Lincoln, Neb., and how much in love she was, and how the church hadn't been air conditioned, so all she really remembers of the wedding ceremony is staring at a drop of sweat teetering from the minister's nose, wondering whether it was going to drop onto the Bible he held.
As she laughed and listened to our tributes, many of which were humorous, she murmured, ''You don't know what he's put me through.''
Those of us who are wives just smiled and looked down. No, we didn't, and yet yes, we did.
She looked at him with shining eyes of love, anyway, and it was a picture of Someone else who made a covenant vow with each of us one day long ago . . . to have us and to hold us, now and forever . . . and despite all that we put Him through, He loves us, anyway.
Then it was my father-in-law's turn to toast his bride of a half-century ago. He stood. Suddenly, his white hair and wrinkles disappeared. In their place was the face of the dashing groom of 1953. He had memorized a famous poem by Robert Browning for the occasion:
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith: ''A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God, see all, nor be afraid.''
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?
She listened, her head cocked to hear every syllable, and then she looked at her lap, blinking back tears . . . blushing like a schoolgirl.
It was the most romantic thing I've ever seen. We all got choked up.
Ah! The way of a man with a maid.
Still puttin' the moves on her, after all these years?
Still battin' your eyelashes at him, after two sons and seven grandchildren?
Way to go, you golden oldies.
You give the sacred institution of marriage a good name. And for that, dearly beloved, the One who gave you to each other and helped you make it stick gives you a heavenly high five . . . and a rousing ''Amen!''
Sunday, August 31, 2003
Saturday, August 30, 2003
SATURDAY: FUNdamentals
“WHAT’S MY LINE?’ GAME
A fun activity for a family Labor Day picnic is to focus on the occupations of past and present family members. This is especially handy to acclimate those who are new to the family through marriage with some of the family history and who’s who, or to acquaint children with their family’s working-life heritage.
Find a picture of each person on your family tree. You could photocopy individual faces out of group pictures for on-paper enlargements for this purpose. Tape the pictures on poster board, grouped by generations. Write the person’s name under each picture, with a blank to be filled in. You’re really doing well if you can get back past great-grandparents and you might have to just list names for those for whom you don’t have pictures.
Then, before or after dinner, lead a guessing game with hints about each person’s occupation, special terminology, jokes, gestures or other clues. When the occupation is guessed, fill in the blank.
Within minutes, you’ll have your family’s working geneaology and another reason to be proud of your ancestors – and just as proud of the current generation’s career paths and aspirations.
“WHAT’S MY LINE?’ GAME
A fun activity for a family Labor Day picnic is to focus on the occupations of past and present family members. This is especially handy to acclimate those who are new to the family through marriage with some of the family history and who’s who, or to acquaint children with their family’s working-life heritage.
Find a picture of each person on your family tree. You could photocopy individual faces out of group pictures for on-paper enlargements for this purpose. Tape the pictures on poster board, grouped by generations. Write the person’s name under each picture, with a blank to be filled in. You’re really doing well if you can get back past great-grandparents and you might have to just list names for those for whom you don’t have pictures.
Then, before or after dinner, lead a guessing game with hints about each person’s occupation, special terminology, jokes, gestures or other clues. When the occupation is guessed, fill in the blank.
Within minutes, you’ll have your family’s working geneaology and another reason to be proud of your ancestors – and just as proud of the current generation’s career paths and aspirations.
Friday, August 29, 2003
FRIDAY: Vitamin Mom
PARENTING ADVICE ONLINE
A wonderful, free resource for moms and dads with all kinds of concerns and issues is run by Focus on the Family. Look to www.troubledwith.com for articles and information on these and other family matters.
Parenting Children:
ADD/ADHD
Children and Divorce
Discipline
Feeding, Sleeping and Crying
Health Concerns
Learning Concerns
Low Self-Esteem
Media Influence
Nighttime Problems
Sibling Rivalry
Single Parenting
Special Needs Children
Talking About Sex
Parenting Teens:
Crisis Pregnancy
Communication Problems
Dating
Depression and Suicide
Drugs and Alcohol
Eating Disorders
Homosexuality
Internet Concerns
Media Influence
Peer Pressure
Rebellion
Sexual Activity
Single Parenting
Teens and Divorce
PARENTING ADVICE ONLINE
A wonderful, free resource for moms and dads with all kinds of concerns and issues is run by Focus on the Family. Look to www.troubledwith.com for articles and information on these and other family matters.
Parenting Children:
ADD/ADHD
Children and Divorce
Discipline
Feeding, Sleeping and Crying
Health Concerns
Learning Concerns
Low Self-Esteem
Media Influence
Nighttime Problems
Sibling Rivalry
Single Parenting
Special Needs Children
Talking About Sex
Parenting Teens:
Crisis Pregnancy
Communication Problems
Dating
Depression and Suicide
Drugs and Alcohol
Eating Disorders
Homosexuality
Internet Concerns
Media Influence
Peer Pressure
Rebellion
Sexual Activity
Single Parenting
Teens and Divorce
Thursday, August 28, 2003
THURSDAY: Cre8iviT
FITNESS BUDDY
What does everybody want? To get thinner. What keeps most of us from getting there? We give up too soon. Why don’t a lot more of us take advantage of the many fitness businesses, health clubs and programs there are available? Maybe because we’re too cheap or don’t feel we have time.
What’s a more creative way to approach the weight loss imperative that seems to come with a new season of the year, with holidays and big events looming when you want to look your best?
Get a fitness buddy.
Meet once in the beginning to set the ground rules. Exchange pieces of paper with your weight and measurement as of that day, plus the number of pounds and inches you seek to lose by the end. Vow to keep this information totally secret upon pain of gruesome torture.
Then proceed. Maybe you’re on Atkins and your buddy is on South Beach. You can compare and contrast. Maybe you walk together three mornings a week or just hold each other accountable for sticking with your exercise plan. Maybe you exchange recipes and nutrition tips. Maybe you just call each other when you really feel like cheating, or have cheated and need to be guided back onto the straight and narrow path. Maybe you can plan a mutual excursion, shopping spree or weekend trip if you both meet your goals.
Join forces, be a friend, have fun and fight the enemy – fat.
When it comes to weight loss, the more the merrier – and the more likely you’ll lose weight.
FITNESS BUDDY
What does everybody want? To get thinner. What keeps most of us from getting there? We give up too soon. Why don’t a lot more of us take advantage of the many fitness businesses, health clubs and programs there are available? Maybe because we’re too cheap or don’t feel we have time.
What’s a more creative way to approach the weight loss imperative that seems to come with a new season of the year, with holidays and big events looming when you want to look your best?
Get a fitness buddy.
Meet once in the beginning to set the ground rules. Exchange pieces of paper with your weight and measurement as of that day, plus the number of pounds and inches you seek to lose by the end. Vow to keep this information totally secret upon pain of gruesome torture.
Then proceed. Maybe you’re on Atkins and your buddy is on South Beach. You can compare and contrast. Maybe you walk together three mornings a week or just hold each other accountable for sticking with your exercise plan. Maybe you exchange recipes and nutrition tips. Maybe you just call each other when you really feel like cheating, or have cheated and need to be guided back onto the straight and narrow path. Maybe you can plan a mutual excursion, shopping spree or weekend trip if you both meet your goals.
Join forces, be a friend, have fun and fight the enemy – fat.
When it comes to weight loss, the more the merrier – and the more likely you’ll lose weight.
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
WEDNESDAY: Family Funnies
WELL, I’LL BE AN UNCLE’S MONKEY
Hot and dry weather these late-summer days has brought out the grasshoppers, bigtime, into our garden. They are stripping the flowers and plants before our eyes.
We don’t really want to use the insecticide diazinon because of our 3-year-old and our cats. While I am a fierce and violent gardener by nature, I just can’t bring myself to combat them the organic way: you catch a half-cup of grasshoppers (try keeping them in the measuring cup!), mash (with a fork?) and soak overnight in two cups of warm water. Strain and spray.
Ewwwwwww!
The no-brainer way, hand-picking, is out of the question, given how many there are.
I’m wistful for the solution a friend told about. It seems her uncle used to live on an acreage and suffered many grasshopper infestations over the years. They can really strip your garden and you feel so defenseless.
But he had a secret weapon:
His monkey.
He would let his pet monkey loose in the garden, and whisk! Whisk! Whisk! Faster than the eye could see, that monkey would catch grasshoppers and eat them, night after night, by the dozen.
The uncle would sit out on the back patio reading his paper and enjoying the spectacle of his unusual defense. Going ape, one could say, over his “victory garden.”
No bugs were going to make a monkey out of HIM.
WELL, I’LL BE AN UNCLE’S MONKEY
Hot and dry weather these late-summer days has brought out the grasshoppers, bigtime, into our garden. They are stripping the flowers and plants before our eyes.
We don’t really want to use the insecticide diazinon because of our 3-year-old and our cats. While I am a fierce and violent gardener by nature, I just can’t bring myself to combat them the organic way: you catch a half-cup of grasshoppers (try keeping them in the measuring cup!), mash (with a fork?) and soak overnight in two cups of warm water. Strain and spray.
Ewwwwwww!
The no-brainer way, hand-picking, is out of the question, given how many there are.
I’m wistful for the solution a friend told about. It seems her uncle used to live on an acreage and suffered many grasshopper infestations over the years. They can really strip your garden and you feel so defenseless.
But he had a secret weapon:
His monkey.
He would let his pet monkey loose in the garden, and whisk! Whisk! Whisk! Faster than the eye could see, that monkey would catch grasshoppers and eat them, night after night, by the dozen.
The uncle would sit out on the back patio reading his paper and enjoying the spectacle of his unusual defense. Going ape, one could say, over his “victory garden.”
No bugs were going to make a monkey out of HIM.
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
TUESDAY: Hot Potatoes
10 COMMANDMENTS: A-OK
Is it fair and constitutional to have a granite monument in the Alabama Supreme Court rotunda that displays the Ten Commandments from Exodus 20 in the Bible? Isn’t that a violation of the principle of separation of church and state?
Yes and no. Yes, the monument should stand under the personal liberties guaranteed under our constitution. And no, its presence doesn’t entangle church with state.
As a matter of fact, those who would say the presence of the monument violates the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment – claiming that it establishes a religion – would be hard-pressed to explain how it does that. In addition, they would be hard-pressed to explain why removing it DOESN’T violate SEVERAL OTHER key constitutional principles.
Chief among these is the First Amendment’s other promise, the Free Exercise Clause, that the government won’t interfere with the free exercise of anyone’s religious liberty. There's also the 14th Amendment’s promise of equal protection under the law. That means the government shall not allow anyone to be denied rights that are enjoyed by other persons in similar circumstances, with regard to life, liberty, property and the pursuit of happiness. If there's no proof of any damage or problem that they're causing, then people should be left alone -- and simple historical monuments that no one's forced to read or even acknowledge should be left in place.
Taking the monument away violates that promise for the vast majority of Alabama citizens, while there hasn’t been a shred of evidence presented that the monument has affected anybody in any tangible way that would in any way justify the drastic move.
It has been alleged that a few attorneys fear that if their clients don’t have religious beliefs that match those of Alabama Supreme Court Chief Justice Roy Moore, who directed the monument to be put in place, that they wouldn’t get a fair shake in that court. However, there isn’t a shred of evidence that that has ever happened, or ever will. Other than that allegation, nothing has been brought forward that would serve as a legal basis for the removal. Mere Political Correctness and emotionalism are behind the attack.
According to the American Family Association (www.afa.net), the Ten Commandments are depicted prominently in carvings in the U.S. Supreme Court, the National Archives, the U.S. House of Representatives, and many, many other government buildings across the country. The Alabama state constitution states in its preamble that its precepts are based on “invoking the favor and guidance of Almighty God,” undeniably the same God who gave the Ten Commandments to Moses in the first place. Chief Justice William Rehnquist of the U.S. Supreme Court, among many other august scholars, has said that there is nothing wrong with displaying the Ten Commandments on public property because it is the basis for the laws of western civilization; acknowledging that role is a matter of American culture and history, not religion.
Bottom line: the Ten Commandments displays are about the principles, not the personalities, and about the legal precepts, not evangelism. Denying their presence in our governmental buildings, especially courthouses, is an attempt to deny American history and the foundations of our jurisprudence.
The monument should stay. Removing it would be censoring and twisting history: a lie. Isn’t there a law against that? Something about “bearing false witness”?
For both sides of this story, see the websites of:
American Center for Law and Justice:
www.aclj.org
American Civil Liberties Union:
www.aclu.org
10 COMMANDMENTS: A-OK
Is it fair and constitutional to have a granite monument in the Alabama Supreme Court rotunda that displays the Ten Commandments from Exodus 20 in the Bible? Isn’t that a violation of the principle of separation of church and state?
Yes and no. Yes, the monument should stand under the personal liberties guaranteed under our constitution. And no, its presence doesn’t entangle church with state.
As a matter of fact, those who would say the presence of the monument violates the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment – claiming that it establishes a religion – would be hard-pressed to explain how it does that. In addition, they would be hard-pressed to explain why removing it DOESN’T violate SEVERAL OTHER key constitutional principles.
Chief among these is the First Amendment’s other promise, the Free Exercise Clause, that the government won’t interfere with the free exercise of anyone’s religious liberty. There's also the 14th Amendment’s promise of equal protection under the law. That means the government shall not allow anyone to be denied rights that are enjoyed by other persons in similar circumstances, with regard to life, liberty, property and the pursuit of happiness. If there's no proof of any damage or problem that they're causing, then people should be left alone -- and simple historical monuments that no one's forced to read or even acknowledge should be left in place.
Taking the monument away violates that promise for the vast majority of Alabama citizens, while there hasn’t been a shred of evidence presented that the monument has affected anybody in any tangible way that would in any way justify the drastic move.
It has been alleged that a few attorneys fear that if their clients don’t have religious beliefs that match those of Alabama Supreme Court Chief Justice Roy Moore, who directed the monument to be put in place, that they wouldn’t get a fair shake in that court. However, there isn’t a shred of evidence that that has ever happened, or ever will. Other than that allegation, nothing has been brought forward that would serve as a legal basis for the removal. Mere Political Correctness and emotionalism are behind the attack.
According to the American Family Association (www.afa.net), the Ten Commandments are depicted prominently in carvings in the U.S. Supreme Court, the National Archives, the U.S. House of Representatives, and many, many other government buildings across the country. The Alabama state constitution states in its preamble that its precepts are based on “invoking the favor and guidance of Almighty God,” undeniably the same God who gave the Ten Commandments to Moses in the first place. Chief Justice William Rehnquist of the U.S. Supreme Court, among many other august scholars, has said that there is nothing wrong with displaying the Ten Commandments on public property because it is the basis for the laws of western civilization; acknowledging that role is a matter of American culture and history, not religion.
Bottom line: the Ten Commandments displays are about the principles, not the personalities, and about the legal precepts, not evangelism. Denying their presence in our governmental buildings, especially courthouses, is an attempt to deny American history and the foundations of our jurisprudence.
The monument should stay. Removing it would be censoring and twisting history: a lie. Isn’t there a law against that? Something about “bearing false witness”?
For both sides of this story, see the websites of:
American Center for Law and Justice:
www.aclj.org
American Civil Liberties Union:
www.aclu.org
Monday, August 25, 2003
MONDAY: Show 'n' Tell for Parents
INSPIRATION FOR TEACHERS
Q. My friend is a teacher, but she's feeling very low and beat-up right now, with all the criticism going on about public schools. Honestly, she does an excellent job and is trying as hard as she can. What can I do to encourage her?
How about a gift? Give her an inspirational quote book with quips, tips and words of wisdom for teachers. Here are a few samples from one of the best:
"Good teaching is one-fourth preparation and three-fourths theatre." -- Gail Godwin, The Odd Women (1974)
"Wisdom begins in wonder." -- Socrates, Greek philosopher (469-399 B.C.)
"Failure is only the opportunity to begin again more wisely." -- Henry Ford (1863-1947)
"The teacher is one who makes two ideas grow where only one grew before." -- Elbert Hubbard (1856-1915)
"I am not a teacher, but an awakener." -- Robert Frost (1874-1956)
"The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled." -- Plutarch (? - 120 A.D.)
Homework: The book is "The Best Advice Ever for Teachers" by Charles McGuire and Diana Abitz, Andrews McMeel Publishing, Kansas City, 2001
INSPIRATION FOR TEACHERS
Q. My friend is a teacher, but she's feeling very low and beat-up right now, with all the criticism going on about public schools. Honestly, she does an excellent job and is trying as hard as she can. What can I do to encourage her?
How about a gift? Give her an inspirational quote book with quips, tips and words of wisdom for teachers. Here are a few samples from one of the best:
"Good teaching is one-fourth preparation and three-fourths theatre." -- Gail Godwin, The Odd Women (1974)
"Wisdom begins in wonder." -- Socrates, Greek philosopher (469-399 B.C.)
"Failure is only the opportunity to begin again more wisely." -- Henry Ford (1863-1947)
"The teacher is one who makes two ideas grow where only one grew before." -- Elbert Hubbard (1856-1915)
"I am not a teacher, but an awakener." -- Robert Frost (1874-1956)
"The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled." -- Plutarch (? - 120 A.D.)
Homework: The book is "The Best Advice Ever for Teachers" by Charles McGuire and Diana Abitz, Andrews McMeel Publishing, Kansas City, 2001
SUNDAY (8/17/03): Radiant Beams
THE CHICKEN DANCE
Love never fails. . . .
-- 1 Corinthians 13:8a
My good friend Linda Moreland Weinmaster has a little boy, Adam, who has autism. I admire her more than any other mother I’ve ever known. Every day of her life is like a hurricane: humoungus meltdowns, screaming fits, and lots of stares. I admire how she holds it together for Adam and for her two older sons, who are healthy, and her patient husband, former Cornhusker football standout Kerry Weinmaster.
With grace and a heaping helping of a hilarious sense of humor, this former Omahan, now of Lawrence, Kan., has thrown herself in to her life as the mother of a severely handicapped child.
She devotes as much of her life as she can to helping other families with autistic children, both informally as she meets them, and formally, in her work with many others in the battle to establish that thimerosol, a preservative in the children’s vaccinations, is what has caused the explosion in cases of autism over the past few years: a 700 percent increase in the nation, and a 10,275 percent increase in Nebraska alone. Estimated overall cost: $2 trillion.
In Linda’s case, the thimerosol was in the shot she received to compensate for her Rh negative blood during pregnancy; for some reason, she hadn’t had that shot with her older two boys. Her research indicates that more than 80 percent of autistic children are boys; it is thought to be that the estrogen in little girls protects them from developing it. Had Adam been a girl, it is likely that he wouldn’t have been autistic, Linda says. There may be a link between these substances in immunizations, and conditions ranging from ADHD to Alzheimer’s.
Linda appears on radio talk shows. She writes op-eds. She speaks. Adam’s physician depends on her to talk with parents of newly-diagnosed autistic children, hook them up with the support network and show them the ropes.
She recently traveled to Washington, D.C., to lobby congressmen and work for more public education on the topic. She is participating in a class-action lawsuit against the drug firms that is being developed. She has a mountain of research at her fingertips and is a tremendous resource person for her community.
When I first met Adam, he was perched on top of their refrigerator in a Batman costume. He wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t come down. I reached my arms out to him to lift him down; he didn’t acknowledge them. He was speaking rapidly and staring off into space. It was similar enough to how other males have treated me over the years that I didn’t think anything of it.
But Linda has shared with me, in her letting-down-her-hair moments, what it’s like to be the mother of an autistic child.
“When you hold them, they arch their back. They wriggle to get themselves out of your arms,” she said. “When you talk to them, they avert their eyes. When he gets on a schoolbus, I’m waving like crazy, but he doesn’t wave back. If somebody is angry, and coming toward them with hands on hips and a big frown, they don’t get it: they neither use gestures nor ‘read’ gestures.”
For many years, they could barely go anywhere as a family because of his erratic behavior. She has had to do countless hours of special therapies with Adam and has had respite helpers for a few hours a week to give her a break.
Her husband and two older sons have coped, and she feels for them. “They’ve given up everything,” she said of the boys. “They don’t like having friends over because of Adam. They’re terribly embarrassed by his actions, but of course, they love him, so it’s confusing. The stares when we go out and he tantrums . . . he gets in people’s way. He stands too close. He doesn’t know things other people know. He says exactly what’s on his mind: ‘Eww, your breath stinks.’ It would almost be easier if he were terribly deformed.”
Linda’s lucky; half of autistic children don’t speak, but Adam does. He’ll even parrot back her “I love you” at bedtime, which thrills her.
But like most autistic children, he can be overly aggressive. Linda tells of driving 20 miles a day to take her older son to school, and all the way down the Interstate, Adam, who kept wriggling out of his carseat like a mini Houdini, was pummeling her and pounding her, throwing things at her, nearly driving her off the road.
“They’re just aggressive and they don’t know why,” Linda said. “He’ll throw anything: videotapes, shoes, glasses. . . . If anything is ever different from the way he left it, like his chair pulled away from the table, he goes nuts.”
So there’s a lot of pain. But sometimes, life with Adam is funny and sweet, too. Once, at the neighborhood swimming pool on a crowded Saturday, Adam was running on the wet pavement. The lifeguard, a popular teenage boy, shouted at him: “Adam! Don’t run!”
All of a sudden, there was a silence as everyone looked. Adam then shouted back with a line from the movie, “Heavyweights”:
“YOU ARE A STUPID LOSER WITH A USELESS, SKINNY WEINER!”
Everyone burst out laughing. The lifeguard turned purple. He is still getting teased about it.
Linda next went to the grocery store, and was telling the clerk the story and the punchline, when all of a sudden, she noticed that the man behind her in line had tears running down his cheeks.
“My little boy was just diagnosed as autistic and I don’t know what to do,” he said.
There was a moment of truth: Linda could have just said, “That’s too bad,” and rushed off – avo������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������
THE CHICKEN DANCE
Love never fails. . . .
-- 1 Corinthians 13:8a
My good friend Linda Moreland Weinmaster has a little boy, Adam, who has autism. I admire her more than any other mother I’ve ever known. Every day of her life is like a hurricane: humoungus meltdowns, screaming fits, and lots of stares. I admire how she holds it together for Adam and for her two older sons, who are healthy, and her patient husband, former Cornhusker football standout Kerry Weinmaster.
With grace and a heaping helping of a hilarious sense of humor, this former Omahan, now of Lawrence, Kan., has thrown herself in to her life as the mother of a severely handicapped child.
She devotes as much of her life as she can to helping other families with autistic children, both informally as she meets them, and formally, in her work with many others in the battle to establish that thimerosol, a preservative in the children’s vaccinations, is what has caused the explosion in cases of autism over the past few years: a 700 percent increase in the nation, and a 10,275 percent increase in Nebraska alone. Estimated overall cost: $2 trillion.
In Linda’s case, the thimerosol was in the shot she received to compensate for her Rh negative blood during pregnancy; for some reason, she hadn’t had that shot with her older two boys. Her research indicates that more than 80 percent of autistic children are boys; it is thought to be that the estrogen in little girls protects them from developing it. Had Adam been a girl, it is likely that he wouldn’t have been autistic, Linda says. There may be a link between these substances in immunizations, and conditions ranging from ADHD to Alzheimer’s.
Linda appears on radio talk shows. She writes op-eds. She speaks. Adam’s physician depends on her to talk with parents of newly-diagnosed autistic children, hook them up with the support network and show them the ropes.
She recently traveled to Washington, D.C., to lobby congressmen and work for more public education on the topic. She is participating in a class-action lawsuit against the drug firms that is being developed. She has a mountain of research at her fingertips and is a tremendous resource person for her community.
When I first met Adam, he was perched on top of their refrigerator in a Batman costume. He wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t come down. I reached my arms out to him to lift him down; he didn’t acknowledge them. He was speaking rapidly and staring off into space. It was similar enough to how other males have treated me over the years that I didn’t think anything of it.
But Linda has shared with me, in her letting-down-her-hair moments, what it’s like to be the mother of an autistic child.
“When you hold them, they arch their back. They wriggle to get themselves out of your arms,” she said. “When you talk to them, they avert their eyes. When he gets on a schoolbus, I’m waving like crazy, but he doesn’t wave back. If somebody is angry, and coming toward them with hands on hips and a big frown, they don’t get it: they neither use gestures nor ‘read’ gestures.”
For many years, they could barely go anywhere as a family because of his erratic behavior. She has had to do countless hours of special therapies with Adam and has had respite helpers for a few hours a week to give her a break.
Her husband and two older sons have coped, and she feels for them. “They’ve given up everything,” she said of the boys. “They don’t like having friends over because of Adam. They’re terribly embarrassed by his actions, but of course, they love him, so it’s confusing. The stares when we go out and he tantrums . . . he gets in people’s way. He stands too close. He doesn’t know things other people know. He says exactly what’s on his mind: ‘Eww, your breath stinks.’ It would almost be easier if he were terribly deformed.”
Linda’s lucky; half of autistic children don’t speak, but Adam does. He’ll even parrot back her “I love you” at bedtime, which thrills her.
But like most autistic children, he can be overly aggressive. Linda tells of driving 20 miles a day to take her older son to school, and all the way down the Interstate, Adam, who kept wriggling out of his carseat like a mini Houdini, was pummeling her and pounding her, throwing things at her, nearly driving her off the road.
“They’re just aggressive and they don’t know why,” Linda said. “He’ll throw anything: videotapes, shoes, glasses. . . . If anything is ever different from the way he left it, like his chair pulled away from the table, he goes nuts.”
So there’s a lot of pain. But sometimes, life with Adam is funny and sweet, too. Once, at the neighborhood swimming pool on a crowded Saturday, Adam was running on the wet pavement. The lifeguard, a popular teenage boy, shouted at him: “Adam! Don’t run!”
All of a sudden, there was a silence as everyone looked. Adam then shouted back with a line from the movie, “Heavyweights”:
“YOU ARE A STUPID LOSER WITH A USELESS, SKINNY WEINER!”
Everyone burst out laughing. The lifeguard turned purple. He is still getting teased about it.
Linda next went to the grocery store, and was telling the clerk the story and the punchline, when all of a sudden, she noticed that the man behind her in line had tears running down his cheeks.
“My little boy was just diagnosed as autistic and I don’t know what to do,” he said.
There was a moment of truth: Linda could have just said, “That’s too bad,” and rushed off – avo������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������
SUNDAY (8/24/03): Radiant Beams
SADDLE YOUR OWN HORSE
Take fast hold of instruction; let her not go: keep her; for she is thy life.
-- Proverbs 4:13
It’s back-to-school time and I bet there are tons of mothers nationwide feeling the same feelings I’m feeling right now. Our two older daughters are off to college in faraway states. No. 3, age 15, is a phantom heavily into the Three S’s: “sophomore year,” “softball” and “cell phones.” Who has time for "spelling" with all that going on? The husband is back at work after driving – count ‘em – 9,000 miles this summer.
Which leaves me in the house on my own with Maddy, age 3, the Princess of the Kingdom of Random. Under those perky pigtails and 17 of the cutest freckles you ever saw sprinkled across her nose is a will of iron that makers of Prozac and Zoloft ought to duplicate and seed the clouds with, nationwide. Kids that age are good for business.
You get the furious unibrow and the scream, “NOOOO! I DOOOO it mySELF!” if you so much as begin to help her out of her carseat so she can go into “Burber King” and play for hours in the tubes that smell like feet.
You get the laser eyeballs of doom if you step on a measly crack of crooked tar in the pavement on a walk around the block. “You’re SUPPOSED to stop and hop OVER it, Mom. Didn’t you KNOW that? OK, let’s back up and try it again, now. GEEEEEEZ.”
The local newspaper may soon have this sad, strange headline:
“Woman Found, Dazed and Disoriented, Wandering the Highway With Toys in Her Hair, Muttering, ‘Where Have All My Babysitters Gone?’”
But losing the tender loving babysitting care of our Neely was only one reason there was a gusher out of my eyeballs rivaling all the “all” wells in Texas as she got smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror as we drove away from her new home at Baylor University in Waco, Texas.
And missing our Jordan, 20, a junior at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, goes far beyond all the help she gave us this summer with Maddy, including this classic exchange:
Jordan: “Maddy, do you want to hang out with me tomorrow?”
Maddy: “Yeah! We’re gonna go to the swimmin’ pool!”
Jordan: “We’ll have fun. I’m glad you want to hang out with me.”
Maddy: “Yeah, well, somebody’s got to drive.”
No, it’s more than the self-pity and grief of being babysitter-poor. What I’m really feeling this week after sending two mighty fine daughters off to two mighty fine universities is a lot of pride and relief. Despite having a wacky mother who develops a twitch most days by noon, and an incorrigible baby sister who can’t go to sleep unless she’s cradling the guest bathroom soaps because she thinks they're her friends and pounds us so long and so loud to get an Oreo before dinner that the Strategic Air Command many miles away goes to DEFCOM 3 . . . despite these challenges . . . they are both confident, competent and successful, so far from home, managing the transition into adulthood with grace and style.
When we were in Waco, the paper was full of stories about the scandal currently rocking Baylor. There was a murder of a basketball player and an attempted cover-up of irregularities by the Baylor coach, extremely surprising, given Baylor’s squeaky-clean image. We had talked with our girls about how much you can learn from other people’s mistakes, and how important it is to know the people you let into your life very, very well.
Also in the paper down there was an obituary about a 101-year-old woman who died . . . after being thrown by her favorite horse, Dr. Pepper.
Turns out she had taught 30,000 girls to ride over the course of her career and was a well-loved role model who literally died with her boots on. I loved her motto:
“Saddle your own horse.”
I take that to mean you should be careful and deliberate in all the things you do to prepare yourself, whether it’s for a day of school, choosing a marriage partner, setting your class schedule or choosing your life’s work.
Saddling a horse takes forethought and muscle. There are lots of different ways to tack up. It depends on how and where you’re going to ride, and on which horse. There are lots of things you have to check, and lots of different accessories to suit the riding adventure that’s at hand.
The process of saddling also allows you to build a relationship with that horse, which is the most important preparation of all. I still get teased about the time I was late and hastily saddled a lesson horse I had never ridden before. He was a breath-holder — a trick horses try to wheedle a looser fit — but I didn’t know that.
I jumped on and joined the class. We trotted in a line. Suddenly, the cinch that was good and tight went slack as the horse let his breath out and his belly got a lot smaller.
Bloop! Bloop! Blooooooop!
Suddenly, I was riding sidesaddle -- sideways because the saddle had slipped.
Not only should you saddle your own horse: saddle smart.
So that’s what I want for our daughters this year. Every class, every test, every study session, every extracurricular experience, how they get along with their roommates, their time management, their weekend pursuits . . . I just pray that they’ll be wise and prepare themselves well so that, when they finally get into the stirrups of adulthood, they'll be ready, and life will take them exactly where they want to go.
Saddle your own horses, darlin’s.
Cowgirls up!
Yee haw!
SADDLE YOUR OWN HORSE
Take fast hold of instruction; let her not go: keep her; for she is thy life.
-- Proverbs 4:13
It’s back-to-school time and I bet there are tons of mothers nationwide feeling the same feelings I’m feeling right now. Our two older daughters are off to college in faraway states. No. 3, age 15, is a phantom heavily into the Three S’s: “sophomore year,” “softball” and “cell phones.” Who has time for "spelling" with all that going on? The husband is back at work after driving – count ‘em – 9,000 miles this summer.
Which leaves me in the house on my own with Maddy, age 3, the Princess of the Kingdom of Random. Under those perky pigtails and 17 of the cutest freckles you ever saw sprinkled across her nose is a will of iron that makers of Prozac and Zoloft ought to duplicate and seed the clouds with, nationwide. Kids that age are good for business.
You get the furious unibrow and the scream, “NOOOO! I DOOOO it mySELF!” if you so much as begin to help her out of her carseat so she can go into “Burber King” and play for hours in the tubes that smell like feet.
You get the laser eyeballs of doom if you step on a measly crack of crooked tar in the pavement on a walk around the block. “You’re SUPPOSED to stop and hop OVER it, Mom. Didn’t you KNOW that? OK, let’s back up and try it again, now. GEEEEEEZ.”
The local newspaper may soon have this sad, strange headline:
“Woman Found, Dazed and Disoriented, Wandering the Highway With Toys in Her Hair, Muttering, ‘Where Have All My Babysitters Gone?’”
But losing the tender loving babysitting care of our Neely was only one reason there was a gusher out of my eyeballs rivaling all the “all” wells in Texas as she got smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror as we drove away from her new home at Baylor University in Waco, Texas.
And missing our Jordan, 20, a junior at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, goes far beyond all the help she gave us this summer with Maddy, including this classic exchange:
Jordan: “Maddy, do you want to hang out with me tomorrow?”
Maddy: “Yeah! We’re gonna go to the swimmin’ pool!”
Jordan: “We’ll have fun. I’m glad you want to hang out with me.”
Maddy: “Yeah, well, somebody’s got to drive.”
No, it’s more than the self-pity and grief of being babysitter-poor. What I’m really feeling this week after sending two mighty fine daughters off to two mighty fine universities is a lot of pride and relief. Despite having a wacky mother who develops a twitch most days by noon, and an incorrigible baby sister who can’t go to sleep unless she’s cradling the guest bathroom soaps because she thinks they're her friends and pounds us so long and so loud to get an Oreo before dinner that the Strategic Air Command many miles away goes to DEFCOM 3 . . . despite these challenges . . . they are both confident, competent and successful, so far from home, managing the transition into adulthood with grace and style.
When we were in Waco, the paper was full of stories about the scandal currently rocking Baylor. There was a murder of a basketball player and an attempted cover-up of irregularities by the Baylor coach, extremely surprising, given Baylor’s squeaky-clean image. We had talked with our girls about how much you can learn from other people’s mistakes, and how important it is to know the people you let into your life very, very well.
Also in the paper down there was an obituary about a 101-year-old woman who died . . . after being thrown by her favorite horse, Dr. Pepper.
Turns out she had taught 30,000 girls to ride over the course of her career and was a well-loved role model who literally died with her boots on. I loved her motto:
“Saddle your own horse.”
I take that to mean you should be careful and deliberate in all the things you do to prepare yourself, whether it’s for a day of school, choosing a marriage partner, setting your class schedule or choosing your life’s work.
Saddling a horse takes forethought and muscle. There are lots of different ways to tack up. It depends on how and where you’re going to ride, and on which horse. There are lots of things you have to check, and lots of different accessories to suit the riding adventure that’s at hand.
The process of saddling also allows you to build a relationship with that horse, which is the most important preparation of all. I still get teased about the time I was late and hastily saddled a lesson horse I had never ridden before. He was a breath-holder — a trick horses try to wheedle a looser fit — but I didn’t know that.
I jumped on and joined the class. We trotted in a line. Suddenly, the cinch that was good and tight went slack as the horse let his breath out and his belly got a lot smaller.
Bloop! Bloop! Blooooooop!
Suddenly, I was riding sidesaddle -- sideways because the saddle had slipped.
Not only should you saddle your own horse: saddle smart.
So that’s what I want for our daughters this year. Every class, every test, every study session, every extracurricular experience, how they get along with their roommates, their time management, their weekend pursuits . . . I just pray that they’ll be wise and prepare themselves well so that, when they finally get into the stirrups of adulthood, they'll be ready, and life will take them exactly where they want to go.
Saddle your own horses, darlin’s.
Cowgirls up!
Yee haw!
SATURDAY (8/23/03): FUN-damentals
HIS ‘N’ HERS BRIDAL BRUNCH
A Southern bride comes from a close-knit neighborhood whose families decreed long ago that whenever one of their number was getting married, everyone would collaborate on a wedding brunch.
So on a Saturday morning coming up soon, on the wrap-around porch of one of the neighbors’ houses will be set up an elegant outdoor brunch picnic with a wedding theme for out-of-town guests, the wedding party, neighbors and the family.
To be true to tradition, though, the groom will be there from 10 a.m. to 10:45 a.m., and the bride will be there after 11 . . . so they won’t see each other.
The groom’s mother described the neighborhood as being like the one in the movie, “Steel Magnolias.”
Lucky is the bride the sun shines on . . . and neighbors unite around.
HIS ‘N’ HERS BRIDAL BRUNCH
A Southern bride comes from a close-knit neighborhood whose families decreed long ago that whenever one of their number was getting married, everyone would collaborate on a wedding brunch.
So on a Saturday morning coming up soon, on the wrap-around porch of one of the neighbors’ houses will be set up an elegant outdoor brunch picnic with a wedding theme for out-of-town guests, the wedding party, neighbors and the family.
To be true to tradition, though, the groom will be there from 10 a.m. to 10:45 a.m., and the bride will be there after 11 . . . so they won’t see each other.
The groom’s mother described the neighborhood as being like the one in the movie, “Steel Magnolias.”
Lucky is the bride the sun shines on . . . and neighbors unite around.
FRIDAY (8/22/03): Vitamin Mom
THE FOURTH 'R' -- REST
Veteran teachers can tell which students are not getting enough sleep at night. Their work is often substandard and their attention and participation often lag behind the rest of the class. It's just pure human nature and common sense, anyway: the fastest way to get on the wrong side of a teacher is to fall asleep in class.
It is thought that few children can get by with less than eight or nine hours of sleep per night, and many may need 10 or more. But because disciplining a child to go to bed on time each night can be a dreary task, especially for single parents, that resonsibility of parenting often goes by the wayside -- to the child's detriment.
So moms, make your top priority this school year to be very, very strict with your child about lights-out bedtime.
Tactics may include serving dinner an hour earlier than you did last year to get the child's body used to an earlier "set-clock" for day's end; banning caffeine (soft drinks, coffee, chocolate) from your child's diet to ensure a better sleep; limiting TV and computer time in the evening because both are overstimulating, and insisting on the good, old-fashioned bedtime bath or shower and glass of milk.
You can read to your child nightly well into the teen years for a small dose of closeness and attention that helps the child's feelings of security and a quick drift off to a satisfying sleep.
School-aged children may not need a lullabye -- but along with Readin', Writin' and 'Rithmetic, they certainly need Rest.
THE FOURTH 'R' -- REST
Veteran teachers can tell which students are not getting enough sleep at night. Their work is often substandard and their attention and participation often lag behind the rest of the class. It's just pure human nature and common sense, anyway: the fastest way to get on the wrong side of a teacher is to fall asleep in class.
It is thought that few children can get by with less than eight or nine hours of sleep per night, and many may need 10 or more. But because disciplining a child to go to bed on time each night can be a dreary task, especially for single parents, that resonsibility of parenting often goes by the wayside -- to the child's detriment.
So moms, make your top priority this school year to be very, very strict with your child about lights-out bedtime.
Tactics may include serving dinner an hour earlier than you did last year to get the child's body used to an earlier "set-clock" for day's end; banning caffeine (soft drinks, coffee, chocolate) from your child's diet to ensure a better sleep; limiting TV and computer time in the evening because both are overstimulating, and insisting on the good, old-fashioned bedtime bath or shower and glass of milk.
You can read to your child nightly well into the teen years for a small dose of closeness and attention that helps the child's feelings of security and a quick drift off to a satisfying sleep.
School-aged children may not need a lullabye -- but along with Readin', Writin' and 'Rithmetic, they certainly need Rest.
THURSDAY (8/21/03): Cre8iviT
SCHOOL PILLOW
A neat way to mark the new school year is to take an old T-shirt with the school’s name or logo and make it into a throw pillow. Cut the T-shirt open at the seams and find an old pillow around the house, or purchase a plain one, to fit within the fabric. You can machine-stitch or hand-stitch three sides, place the pillow inside, and then blind-stitch it in place. New college freshmen might enjoy a pillow with both the high school and the college names or logos, side by side.
SCHOOL PILLOW
A neat way to mark the new school year is to take an old T-shirt with the school’s name or logo and make it into a throw pillow. Cut the T-shirt open at the seams and find an old pillow around the house, or purchase a plain one, to fit within the fabric. You can machine-stitch or hand-stitch three sides, place the pillow inside, and then blind-stitch it in place. New college freshmen might enjoy a pillow with both the high school and the college names or logos, side by side.
WEDNESDAY (8/20/03): Family Funnies
GUILT TRIP
After six days out of town on vacation, the mother was beginning to feel a little guilty about leaving the 3-year-old at home with a babysitter. Little did she know HOW guilty she was feeling. I mean, we're talking nightmarish proportions. That night, she dreamed that the babysitter yelled at her for not buying an alphabet-block necklace for her daughter that all the OTHER mothers had, and for not giving her child enough cooked, cubed carrots.
GUILT TRIP
After six days out of town on vacation, the mother was beginning to feel a little guilty about leaving the 3-year-old at home with a babysitter. Little did she know HOW guilty she was feeling. I mean, we're talking nightmarish proportions. That night, she dreamed that the babysitter yelled at her for not buying an alphabet-block necklace for her daughter that all the OTHER mothers had, and for not giving her child enough cooked, cubed carrots.
TUESDAY (8/19/03): Hot Potatoes
SCHOOLS SHOULD BE TAKING CANDY FROM BABIES
Most people probably don’t know that most public schools sell soda pop and candy in the school cafeteria during lunch hour, and also in the vending machines accessible to children before and after school, and on the secondary level, all day.
It never used to be that way. The profit motive from exclusive contracts, which began infiltrating public schools a decade or so ago, overcame the common sense that was behind the traditional resistance to peddling junk food to kids while they were captive in public schools, on the public’s time.
Nobody’s for nothing but mystery meat, spinach and canned peas on that lunch line, of course. But there are lots of nutritious and still tasty choices that schools could be making in menus of what’s being offered to children, but aren’t, apparently for the profit motive.
If you’ve ever been an officer of a parents’ group and tried to talk to school administrators about getting rid of the pop and candy for the obvious health reasons – obesity, diabetes, cavities, sugar-induced bad behavior – you know how horribly stubborn they can be about “easy money” to be made from junk food. It’s a bona fide sacred cow.
But now there appears to be a groundswell of opinion against the practice. Last year, Los Angeles Unified School District took away sweets from 748,000 students, saying that children’s health was far more important than money made from selling it to them. Administrators squawked and said the cash would never be found for extras such as band uniforms and dances. Other critics said that it should be left up to parents to tell their children not to spend their lunch money on pop and candy and to keep them available as choices for those children whose parents don’t care.
Those attitudes are being replaced more and more, though: the Texas Education Department has come down hard at the start of this school year against junk food and will allow children to bring it in sack lunches, but will not allow schools to sell it at lunchtime. In addition, the nation’s largest school district, New York City, has banned soda pop, most candy and doughnuts from vending machines in the schools, where 800,000 meals are served daily.
Is your local school district still pushing pop and candy on kids? Find out. A few calls to popular dentists and pediatricians in your neighborhood, with requests to call the local principal and school board, might be enough to sweet-talk schools into giving up sweets.
SCHOOLS SHOULD BE TAKING CANDY FROM BABIES
Most people probably don’t know that most public schools sell soda pop and candy in the school cafeteria during lunch hour, and also in the vending machines accessible to children before and after school, and on the secondary level, all day.
It never used to be that way. The profit motive from exclusive contracts, which began infiltrating public schools a decade or so ago, overcame the common sense that was behind the traditional resistance to peddling junk food to kids while they were captive in public schools, on the public’s time.
Nobody’s for nothing but mystery meat, spinach and canned peas on that lunch line, of course. But there are lots of nutritious and still tasty choices that schools could be making in menus of what’s being offered to children, but aren’t, apparently for the profit motive.
If you’ve ever been an officer of a parents’ group and tried to talk to school administrators about getting rid of the pop and candy for the obvious health reasons – obesity, diabetes, cavities, sugar-induced bad behavior – you know how horribly stubborn they can be about “easy money” to be made from junk food. It’s a bona fide sacred cow.
But now there appears to be a groundswell of opinion against the practice. Last year, Los Angeles Unified School District took away sweets from 748,000 students, saying that children’s health was far more important than money made from selling it to them. Administrators squawked and said the cash would never be found for extras such as band uniforms and dances. Other critics said that it should be left up to parents to tell their children not to spend their lunch money on pop and candy and to keep them available as choices for those children whose parents don’t care.
Those attitudes are being replaced more and more, though: the Texas Education Department has come down hard at the start of this school year against junk food and will allow children to bring it in sack lunches, but will not allow schools to sell it at lunchtime. In addition, the nation’s largest school district, New York City, has banned soda pop, most candy and doughnuts from vending machines in the schools, where 800,000 meals are served daily.
Is your local school district still pushing pop and candy on kids? Find out. A few calls to popular dentists and pediatricians in your neighborhood, with requests to call the local principal and school board, might be enough to sweet-talk schools into giving up sweets.
MONDAY (8/18/03): Show 'n' Tell for Parents
BACK TO SCHOOL TIP: PAYING ATTENTION
Q. Do the kids really have deficits in their ability to pay attention in class? Or is it something the schools are doing wrong?
Both. Few students are in the habit of “the ready position” – eyes forward, hands together, elbows on desk – whenever the teacher begins to talk. Few purposefully “track” the teacher by keeping eyes on him or her at all times. But then again, teacher authority is undermined by the “child-centered education” philosophy rampant today, cooperative group learning, and the minimization of lectures in favor of hands-on projects. Schools are rarely set up to encourage students to pay attention any more. And boy, does it show.
But here’s how parents and teachers can maximize a child’s ability to focus, concentrate and learn. New information? Hardly. These tips are from a 1936-37 document, “Manual of the Common Schools” of LaSalle County, Ill., found by an education activist in an antique shop:
-- Control and direct your thinking so that your mind “pays attention" only to the things that belong to the lesson.
-- In study hall and at home, shut everything else out and pay attention to your homework or reading material; the better you get at focusing on your own, the better you’ll be in class.
-- At the start of each class, think through what you learned in the last class. At the end of each class, pay attention to the two or three main points you learned to fix them in your mind.
-- If you speak aloud the main points of a class period, you are much more likely to remember them. Train yourself to tell what you “know new,” in an orderly fashion, even if it’s privately to the bathroom mirror every night after school.
-- Be an active listener, keep your mind alert to what’s being taught, and contribute every class period to the discussion by making comments or asking questions.
-- Think of others and be considerate to fellow students and your teachers, and you will help everyone pay attention better.
Homework: For more pearls from the past, download the manual:
http://www.wccta.net/gallery/fwr/loop/l7011205.htm
BACK TO SCHOOL TIP: PAYING ATTENTION
Q. Do the kids really have deficits in their ability to pay attention in class? Or is it something the schools are doing wrong?
Both. Few students are in the habit of “the ready position” – eyes forward, hands together, elbows on desk – whenever the teacher begins to talk. Few purposefully “track” the teacher by keeping eyes on him or her at all times. But then again, teacher authority is undermined by the “child-centered education” philosophy rampant today, cooperative group learning, and the minimization of lectures in favor of hands-on projects. Schools are rarely set up to encourage students to pay attention any more. And boy, does it show.
But here’s how parents and teachers can maximize a child’s ability to focus, concentrate and learn. New information? Hardly. These tips are from a 1936-37 document, “Manual of the Common Schools” of LaSalle County, Ill., found by an education activist in an antique shop:
-- Control and direct your thinking so that your mind “pays attention" only to the things that belong to the lesson.
-- In study hall and at home, shut everything else out and pay attention to your homework or reading material; the better you get at focusing on your own, the better you’ll be in class.
-- At the start of each class, think through what you learned in the last class. At the end of each class, pay attention to the two or three main points you learned to fix them in your mind.
-- If you speak aloud the main points of a class period, you are much more likely to remember them. Train yourself to tell what you “know new,” in an orderly fashion, even if it’s privately to the bathroom mirror every night after school.
-- Be an active listener, keep your mind alert to what’s being taught, and contribute every class period to the discussion by making comments or asking questions.
-- Think of others and be considerate to fellow students and your teachers, and you will help everyone pay attention better.
Homework: For more pearls from the past, download the manual:
http://www.wccta.net/gallery/fwr/loop/l7011205.htm
SUNDAY (8/17/03): Radiant Beams
THE CHICKEN DANCE
Love never fails. . . .
-- 1 Corinthians 13:8a
My good friend Linda Moreland Weinmaster has a little boy, Adam, who has autism. I admire her more than any other mother I’ve ever known. Every day of her life is like a hurricane: humoungus meltdowns, screaming fits, and lots of stares. I admire how she holds it together for Adam and for her two older sons, who are healthy, and her patient husband, former Cornhusker football standout Kerry Weinmaster.
With grace and a heaping helping of a hilarious sense of humor, this former Omahan, now of Lawrence, Kan., has thrown herself in to her life as the mother of a severely handicapped child.
She devotes as much of her life as she can to helping other families with autistic children, both informally as she meets them, and formally, in her work with many others in the battle to establish that thimerosol, a preservative in the children’s vaccinations, is what has caused the explosion in cases of autism over the past few years: a 700 percent increase in the nation, and a 10,275 percent increase in Nebraska alone. Estimated overall cost: $2 trillion.
In Linda’s case, the thimerosol was in the shot she received to compensate for her Rh negative blood during pregnancy; for some reason, she hadn’t had that shot with her older two boys. Her research indicates that more than 80 percent of autistic children are boys; it is thought to be that the estrogen in little girls protects them from developing it. Had Adam been a girl, it is likely that he wouldn’t have been autistic, Linda says. There may be a link between these substances in immunizations, and conditions ranging from ADHD to Alzheimer’s.
Linda appears on radio talk shows. She writes op-eds. She speaks. Adam’s physician depends on her to talk with parents of newly-diagnosed autistic children, hook them up with the support network and show them the ropes.
She recently traveled to Washington, D.C., to lobby congressmen and work for more public education on the topic. She is participating in a class-action lawsuit against the drug firms that is being developed. She has a mountain of research at her fingertips and is a tremendous resource person for her community.
When I first met Adam, he was perched on top of their refrigerator in a Batman costume. He wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t come down. I reached my arms out to him to lift him down; he didn’t acknowledge them. He was speaking rapidly and staring off into space. It was similar enough to how other males have treated me over the years that I didn’t think anything of it.
But Linda has shared with me, in her letting-down-her-hair moments, what it’s like to be the mother of an autistic child.
“When you hold them, they arch their back. They wriggle to get themselves out of your arms,” she said. “When you talk to them, they avert their eyes. When he gets on a schoolbus, I’m waving like crazy, but he doesn’t wave back. If somebody is angry, and coming toward them with hands on hips and a big frown, they don’t get it: they neither use gestures nor ‘read’ gestures.”
For many years, they could barely go anywhere as a family because of his erratic behavior. She has had to do countless hours of special therapies with Adam and has had respite helpers for a few hours a week to give her a break.
Her husband and two older sons have coped, and she feels for them. “They’ve given up everything,” she said of the boys. “They don’t like having friends over because of Adam. They’re terribly embarrassed by his actions, but of course, they love him, so it’s confusing. The stares when we go out and he tantrums . . . he gets in people’s way. He stands too close. He doesn’t know things other people know. He says exactly what’s on his mind: ‘Eww, your breath stinks.’ It would almost be easier if he were terribly deformed.”
Linda’s lucky; half of autistic children don’t speak, but Adam does. He’ll even parrot back her “I love you” at bedtime, which thrills her.
But like most autistic children, he can be overly aggressive. Linda tells of driving 20 miles a day to take her older son to school, and all the way down the Interstate, Adam, who kept wriggling out of his carseat like a mini Houdini, was pummeling her and pounding her, throwing things at her, nearly driving her off the road.
“They’re just aggressive and they don’t know why,” Linda said. “He’ll throw anything: videotapes, shoes, glasses. . . . If anything is ever different from the way he left it, like his chair pulled away from the table, he goes nuts.”
So there’s a lot of pain. But sometimes, life with Adam is funny and sweet, too. Once, at the neighborhood swimming pool on a crowded Saturday, Adam was running on the wet pavement. The lifeguard, a popular teenage boy, shouted at him: “Adam! Don’t run!”
All of a sudden, there was a silence as everyone looked. Adam then shouted back with a line from the movie, “Heavyweights”:
“YOU ARE A STUPID LOSER WITH A USELESS, SKINNY WEINER!”
Everyone burst out laughing. The lifeguard turned purple. He is still getting teased about it.
Linda next went to the grocery store, and was telling the clerk the story and the punchline, when all of a sudden, she noticed that the man behind her in line had tears running down his cheeks.
“My little boy was just diagnosed as autistic and I don’t know what to do,” he said.
There was a moment of truth: Linda could have just said, “That’s too bad,” and rushed off – avoided the effort and the pain – but oh, no. Not Linda.
She took him aside, put her arm around him, comforted him, and started writing down phone numbers and websites.
“I felt for him because I know what a devastating blow that is,” she said. “These kids will never be able to live on their own. It’s only a dream that they can do something. You really get tested because it just keeps going – problem after problem after problem.”
How about her faith? How has this affected that?
Tears roll. “It makes you think,” Linda said. “Why, God, why give this to me? I want to have fun in my life. How can You let these kids suffer in such pain?”
She said that, although she plans to “have words” with the Lord when she gets to heaven, she understands why she’s in the place she is. “It’s because I’ll fight,” she said. Earlier, her oldest son was misdiagnosed as learning disabled, but she had a mother’s gut feeling that it was something else – improper instruction – and so she researched and fought and got him to a phonics school, and now he’s one of the top students in his class. Along the way, she helped start the Core Academy in the Millard Public Schools, which has benefited many, many other children with quality curriculum and instruction.
But this is different. Adam won’t ever get better. Most parents of autistic children are so beat down, they aren’t politically active or able to do research. So Linda’s there, doing it for them. She understands what they’re going through.
She said, “You do almost go through a grieving process of losing your child already, while they are here on earth. They’ve never had an experience of life. He’ll never have it. It’s living torture. You’re under attack by your own child.
“I just keep thinking that someday, Adam will be in a better place and we’ll all understand.”
And until then, she’ll keep on going . . . keep fighting . . . and keep making even this enormous life challenge just as enjoyable as she can. For example, Adam loves her to give him “puppy and kitty licks,” even in public. So she does.
“Every day, he does this thing to me,” she says, demonstrating a one-two punch that Adam thrusts in her direction. “It means I’d better get my chicken act ready.”
The two of them burst through the door into the yard, and Linda runs around the yard flapping her arms and dancing around . . . like a chicken. Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!
The neighbors are used to it. They know they’re seeing the unbeatable human spirit, refusing to suppress the most powerful force in the universe, even in the form of a silly-looking chicken dance.
It’s love. Love in action, love under stress, love that never gives up, love that keeps going even when life isn’t understood, love that is admirable, love that is inspiring . . . love that never fails.
THE CHICKEN DANCE
Love never fails. . . .
-- 1 Corinthians 13:8a
My good friend Linda Moreland Weinmaster has a little boy, Adam, who has autism. I admire her more than any other mother I’ve ever known. Every day of her life is like a hurricane: humoungus meltdowns, screaming fits, and lots of stares. I admire how she holds it together for Adam and for her two older sons, who are healthy, and her patient husband, former Cornhusker football standout Kerry Weinmaster.
With grace and a heaping helping of a hilarious sense of humor, this former Omahan, now of Lawrence, Kan., has thrown herself in to her life as the mother of a severely handicapped child.
She devotes as much of her life as she can to helping other families with autistic children, both informally as she meets them, and formally, in her work with many others in the battle to establish that thimerosol, a preservative in the children’s vaccinations, is what has caused the explosion in cases of autism over the past few years: a 700 percent increase in the nation, and a 10,275 percent increase in Nebraska alone. Estimated overall cost: $2 trillion.
In Linda’s case, the thimerosol was in the shot she received to compensate for her Rh negative blood during pregnancy; for some reason, she hadn’t had that shot with her older two boys. Her research indicates that more than 80 percent of autistic children are boys; it is thought to be that the estrogen in little girls protects them from developing it. Had Adam been a girl, it is likely that he wouldn’t have been autistic, Linda says. There may be a link between these substances in immunizations, and conditions ranging from ADHD to Alzheimer’s.
Linda appears on radio talk shows. She writes op-eds. She speaks. Adam’s physician depends on her to talk with parents of newly-diagnosed autistic children, hook them up with the support network and show them the ropes.
She recently traveled to Washington, D.C., to lobby congressmen and work for more public education on the topic. She is participating in a class-action lawsuit against the drug firms that is being developed. She has a mountain of research at her fingertips and is a tremendous resource person for her community.
When I first met Adam, he was perched on top of their refrigerator in a Batman costume. He wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t come down. I reached my arms out to him to lift him down; he didn’t acknowledge them. He was speaking rapidly and staring off into space. It was similar enough to how other males have treated me over the years that I didn’t think anything of it.
But Linda has shared with me, in her letting-down-her-hair moments, what it’s like to be the mother of an autistic child.
“When you hold them, they arch their back. They wriggle to get themselves out of your arms,” she said. “When you talk to them, they avert their eyes. When he gets on a schoolbus, I’m waving like crazy, but he doesn’t wave back. If somebody is angry, and coming toward them with hands on hips and a big frown, they don’t get it: they neither use gestures nor ‘read’ gestures.”
For many years, they could barely go anywhere as a family because of his erratic behavior. She has had to do countless hours of special therapies with Adam and has had respite helpers for a few hours a week to give her a break.
Her husband and two older sons have coped, and she feels for them. “They’ve given up everything,” she said of the boys. “They don’t like having friends over because of Adam. They’re terribly embarrassed by his actions, but of course, they love him, so it’s confusing. The stares when we go out and he tantrums . . . he gets in people’s way. He stands too close. He doesn’t know things other people know. He says exactly what’s on his mind: ‘Eww, your breath stinks.’ It would almost be easier if he were terribly deformed.”
Linda’s lucky; half of autistic children don’t speak, but Adam does. He’ll even parrot back her “I love you” at bedtime, which thrills her.
But like most autistic children, he can be overly aggressive. Linda tells of driving 20 miles a day to take her older son to school, and all the way down the Interstate, Adam, who kept wriggling out of his carseat like a mini Houdini, was pummeling her and pounding her, throwing things at her, nearly driving her off the road.
“They’re just aggressive and they don’t know why,” Linda said. “He’ll throw anything: videotapes, shoes, glasses. . . . If anything is ever different from the way he left it, like his chair pulled away from the table, he goes nuts.”
So there’s a lot of pain. But sometimes, life with Adam is funny and sweet, too. Once, at the neighborhood swimming pool on a crowded Saturday, Adam was running on the wet pavement. The lifeguard, a popular teenage boy, shouted at him: “Adam! Don’t run!”
All of a sudden, there was a silence as everyone looked. Adam then shouted back with a line from the movie, “Heavyweights”:
“YOU ARE A STUPID LOSER WITH A USELESS, SKINNY WEINER!”
Everyone burst out laughing. The lifeguard turned purple. He is still getting teased about it.
Linda next went to the grocery store, and was telling the clerk the story and the punchline, when all of a sudden, she noticed that the man behind her in line had tears running down his cheeks.
“My little boy was just diagnosed as autistic and I don’t know what to do,” he said.
There was a moment of truth: Linda could have just said, “That’s too bad,” and rushed off – avoided the effort and the pain – but oh, no. Not Linda.
She took him aside, put her arm around him, comforted him, and started writing down phone numbers and websites.
“I felt for him because I know what a devastating blow that is,” she said. “These kids will never be able to live on their own. It’s only a dream that they can do something. You really get tested because it just keeps going – problem after problem after problem.”
How about her faith? How has this affected that?
Tears roll. “It makes you think,” Linda said. “Why, God, why give this to me? I want to have fun in my life. How can You let these kids suffer in such pain?”
She said that, although she plans to “have words” with the Lord when she gets to heaven, she understands why she’s in the place she is. “It’s because I’ll fight,” she said. Earlier, her oldest son was misdiagnosed as learning disabled, but she had a mother’s gut feeling that it was something else – improper instruction – and so she researched and fought and got him to a phonics school, and now he’s one of the top students in his class. Along the way, she helped start the Core Academy in the Millard Public Schools, which has benefited many, many other children with quality curriculum and instruction.
But this is different. Adam won’t ever get better. Most parents of autistic children are so beat down, they aren’t politically active or able to do research. So Linda’s there, doing it for them. She understands what they’re going through.
She said, “You do almost go through a grieving process of losing your child already, while they are here on earth. They’ve never had an experience of life. He’ll never have it. It’s living torture. You’re under attack by your own child.
“I just keep thinking that someday, Adam will be in a better place and we’ll all understand.”
And until then, she’ll keep on going . . . keep fighting . . . and keep making even this enormous life challenge just as enjoyable as she can. For example, Adam loves her to give him “puppy and kitty licks,” even in public. So she does.
“Every day, he does this thing to me,” she says, demonstrating a one-two punch that Adam thrusts in her direction. “It means I’d better get my chicken act ready.”
The two of them burst through the door into the yard, and Linda runs around the yard flapping her arms and dancing around . . . like a chicken. Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!
The neighbors are used to it. They know they’re seeing the unbeatable human spirit, refusing to suppress the most powerful force in the universe, even in the form of a silly-looking chicken dance.
It’s love. Love in action, love under stress, love that never gives up, love that keeps going even when life isn’t understood, love that is admirable, love that is inspiring . . . love that never fails.
SATURDAY (8/16/03): FUN-damentals
TOFFEE-CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM DESSERT
For a late summer dessert that’s simple and different, try this:
12 ice-cream sandwich bars
1 jar hard-shell milk chocolate syrup
1 container (8 oz.) frozen whipped topping, thawed
1 bag (16 oz.) toffee-chocolate candy bars (such as Heath bars), placed between layers of waxed paper and smashed with a rolling pin into bits
Layer ice-cream sandwiches on bottom of 9” x 13” pan. Pour chocolate syrup over. Set in freezer for 15 minutes. Blob or spread whipped topping. Sprinkle toffee-chocolate bits on top. Cover. Freeze. Serves 12.
----------
BACK FROM VACATION!
----------
TOFFEE-CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM DESSERT
For a late summer dessert that’s simple and different, try this:
12 ice-cream sandwich bars
1 jar hard-shell milk chocolate syrup
1 container (8 oz.) frozen whipped topping, thawed
1 bag (16 oz.) toffee-chocolate candy bars (such as Heath bars), placed between layers of waxed paper and smashed with a rolling pin into bits
Layer ice-cream sandwiches on bottom of 9” x 13” pan. Pour chocolate syrup over. Set in freezer for 15 minutes. Blob or spread whipped topping. Sprinkle toffee-chocolate bits on top. Cover. Freeze. Serves 12.
----------
BACK FROM VACATION!
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Saturday, August 16, 2003
FRIDAY: Vitamin Mom
NO DOGS ALLOWED, SOMETIMES
In some families, there appears to be more caring and concern for the family canine than for other human beings. While love for pets should definitely be instilled in children, love for people ought to trump it.
It's a good idea to lock up your dog when you know people are coming over, because many children and more than a few adults, even in their old age, are afraid of dogs and wouldn't enjoy themselves with yours around, no matter how sweet-tempered. After a few minutes, you can ask if they'd like the dog to come out, but make sure to make it your guest's call with no pressure applied, not an automatic thing.
Teach your child that when someone is coming over who is allergic to dog or cat hair, you will stash your pet at a neighbor's or in the garage, and do a thorough vacuuming before the guest arrives. You might give the person with allergies a head's up about four-legged members of your household so that they might arrive with an inhaler, medication or whatever else they need should an allergic reaction develop from dander in the arm or on fabrics, for example.
When a family picture is scheduled at a professional photographer's involving more than one branch of a family, it is mandatory that all adult children, inlaws and others be instructed NOT to bring their beloved pets to pose for the picture, no matter how important they are in their particular part of the family circle. It's a recipe for disaster to combine somebody else's unfamiliar -- and often big and sometimes mean -- dog with other family members' small children and try to get a picture without the dog upsetting the spotlights OR the grandchildren and everyone winding up in an argument . . . or the hospital emergency room.
Manners first when it comes to man's best friend.
NO DOGS ALLOWED, SOMETIMES
In some families, there appears to be more caring and concern for the family canine than for other human beings. While love for pets should definitely be instilled in children, love for people ought to trump it.
It's a good idea to lock up your dog when you know people are coming over, because many children and more than a few adults, even in their old age, are afraid of dogs and wouldn't enjoy themselves with yours around, no matter how sweet-tempered. After a few minutes, you can ask if they'd like the dog to come out, but make sure to make it your guest's call with no pressure applied, not an automatic thing.
Teach your child that when someone is coming over who is allergic to dog or cat hair, you will stash your pet at a neighbor's or in the garage, and do a thorough vacuuming before the guest arrives. You might give the person with allergies a head's up about four-legged members of your household so that they might arrive with an inhaler, medication or whatever else they need should an allergic reaction develop from dander in the arm or on fabrics, for example.
When a family picture is scheduled at a professional photographer's involving more than one branch of a family, it is mandatory that all adult children, inlaws and others be instructed NOT to bring their beloved pets to pose for the picture, no matter how important they are in their particular part of the family circle. It's a recipe for disaster to combine somebody else's unfamiliar -- and often big and sometimes mean -- dog with other family members' small children and try to get a picture without the dog upsetting the spotlights OR the grandchildren and everyone winding up in an argument . . . or the hospital emergency room.
Manners first when it comes to man's best friend.
Thursday, August 14, 2003
THURSDAY: Cre8iviT
RECONNECTING WITH REUNION DEADBEATS
If a bunch of your old friends “punted” your school reunion this summer, you can still reunite with them – via U.S. mail.
Photocopy the reunion booklet that’s usually distributed at such events, including the list of addresses of all those classmates the committee could find.
Send it to an old friend who didn’t show up, with a sweet note saying how much he or she was missed, and a suggestion that, after he or she has read it, the booklet could be sent on to yet another “no-show,” and so forth.
Who knows? That booklet might travel the world and still bring people a lot closer together than if you hadn’t taken the time and effort to reach out, reach out and touch the old gang.
RECONNECTING WITH REUNION DEADBEATS
If a bunch of your old friends “punted” your school reunion this summer, you can still reunite with them – via U.S. mail.
Photocopy the reunion booklet that’s usually distributed at such events, including the list of addresses of all those classmates the committee could find.
Send it to an old friend who didn’t show up, with a sweet note saying how much he or she was missed, and a suggestion that, after he or she has read it, the booklet could be sent on to yet another “no-show,” and so forth.
Who knows? That booklet might travel the world and still bring people a lot closer together than if you hadn’t taken the time and effort to reach out, reach out and touch the old gang.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
WEDNESDAY: Family Funnies
YOUR GRANDPA EXPLODED?
The elderly father-in-law was in the hospital with heart troubles. She had to go somewhere, but wanted to be sure the kids reached her in case anything went wrong while she was gone.
The phone rang, and a teenage friend of the family answered it. It was the father, very agitated and in a big hurry. Something had gone very wrong at the hospital, he told the boy, using a little bit of medical jargon. He would call his wife on her cell phone so that she could hurry there.
Well, the father-in-law survived and is doing well. That’s the main thing.
But the other thing is that the teenage friend misunderstood what had happened and didn’t tell others exactly accurately. Word spread far and wide that his friend’s grandfather had “exploded.”
Sympathy notes and phone calls came pouring in from puzzled friends who hadn’t seen an obituary in the newspaper, but had heard the terrible news.
Actually, the man hadn’t “exploded.” He had “coded” – as in “Code Blue” – necessitating emergency medical care to save his life, which, fortunately, kept him all in one piece and still ticking.
Everyone’s laughing about the misunderstanding now. After all, we all want to go out with a BANG!
YOUR GRANDPA EXPLODED?
The elderly father-in-law was in the hospital with heart troubles. She had to go somewhere, but wanted to be sure the kids reached her in case anything went wrong while she was gone.
The phone rang, and a teenage friend of the family answered it. It was the father, very agitated and in a big hurry. Something had gone very wrong at the hospital, he told the boy, using a little bit of medical jargon. He would call his wife on her cell phone so that she could hurry there.
Well, the father-in-law survived and is doing well. That’s the main thing.
But the other thing is that the teenage friend misunderstood what had happened and didn’t tell others exactly accurately. Word spread far and wide that his friend’s grandfather had “exploded.”
Sympathy notes and phone calls came pouring in from puzzled friends who hadn’t seen an obituary in the newspaper, but had heard the terrible news.
Actually, the man hadn’t “exploded.” He had “coded” – as in “Code Blue” – necessitating emergency medical care to save his life, which, fortunately, kept him all in one piece and still ticking.
Everyone’s laughing about the misunderstanding now. After all, we all want to go out with a BANG!
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
TUESDAY: Hot Potatoes
DO WE HAVE TO PAY TAXES, OR NOT?
It’s a fair assumption that most Americans believe that they have to pay federal income taxes or they’ll be breaking the law. But a recently-decided court case in Tennessee is raising new questions on that point.
According to an Aug. 9 article on www.newsmax.com, a federal jury in Memphis found a local Federal Express pilot not guilty of evading income taxes on $920,000 in income from 1996 to 2001.
The pilot, Vernice Kuglin, said that she studied government documents at length and couldn’t find anything that said she was liable to pay federal income taxes. She testified that she wrote the IRS twice, asking questions, but received no response.
Her attorneys argued that she decided that mandatory payment of income taxes did not apply to her, because the federal tax code doesn’t explicitly say so.
Apparently, the jury agreed. The 58-year-old pilot had been facing up to 30 years in prison and $1.5 million in fines in the criminal prosecution. Now that she has been found innocent, she still may now face a governmental civil lawsuit.
DO WE HAVE TO PAY TAXES, OR NOT?
It’s a fair assumption that most Americans believe that they have to pay federal income taxes or they’ll be breaking the law. But a recently-decided court case in Tennessee is raising new questions on that point.
According to an Aug. 9 article on www.newsmax.com, a federal jury in Memphis found a local Federal Express pilot not guilty of evading income taxes on $920,000 in income from 1996 to 2001.
The pilot, Vernice Kuglin, said that she studied government documents at length and couldn’t find anything that said she was liable to pay federal income taxes. She testified that she wrote the IRS twice, asking questions, but received no response.
Her attorneys argued that she decided that mandatory payment of income taxes did not apply to her, because the federal tax code doesn’t explicitly say so.
Apparently, the jury agreed. The 58-year-old pilot had been facing up to 30 years in prison and $1.5 million in fines in the criminal prosecution. Now that she has been found innocent, she still may now face a governmental civil lawsuit.
Monday, August 11, 2003
MONDAY: Show 'n' Tell for Parents
ARE TODAY'S SCHOOLS LESS RIGOROUS?
Q. Every now and then I get an email that lists several very difficult test questions that supposedly were given to high-school kids a century ago. The implication is that the questions would be impossibly hard for today’s students, and that today’s curriculum has been dumbed down from yesteryear. Is it worthwhile to compare tests from the past vs. the present?
You’re probably referring to the “Eighth Grade Final Exam” from 1895 in Salina, Kan. The veracity of those definitely difficult test questions has been borne out. On the surface, it does appear that today’s eighth-graders would be stumped by the content-rich questions, the academic equivalent of “Shock and Awe.”
Nine rules for the use of captal letters? What school levy will produce enough money for a district budget of such-and-such? Who were Morse, Whitney, Fulton, Bell, Lincoln, Penn and Howe?
Hard? And how! But does this prove that today’s schools are worse than they used to be, and hopelessly dumbed down?
Not necessarily. After all, we don’t know how varied the curriculum was back then. It is possible that the questions on that final exam, albeit very rigorous, might have been the heart of the curriculum for the whole school year. Students might have gone over and over and over that material at the expense of the whole world of other curricular experiences. Today’s variety may be more valuable.
On the other hand, there’s a good reason to get a public debate going about the sharp contrast between those old, explicit, challenging, objective tests and today’s much more subjectively worded and graded “assessments,” which are more a measurement of a student’s performance than of his or her knowledge.
The contrast spotlights a huge “disconnect” between what people want from schools, and what schools are actually giving to our kids. Will today’s schools stand the test of time? Let’s talk about it.
Homework: For an interesting commentary on the differences between modern-day tests and the tests of yesteryear, see: http://www.snopes.com/language/document/1895exam.htm
ARE TODAY'S SCHOOLS LESS RIGOROUS?
Q. Every now and then I get an email that lists several very difficult test questions that supposedly were given to high-school kids a century ago. The implication is that the questions would be impossibly hard for today’s students, and that today’s curriculum has been dumbed down from yesteryear. Is it worthwhile to compare tests from the past vs. the present?
You’re probably referring to the “Eighth Grade Final Exam” from 1895 in Salina, Kan. The veracity of those definitely difficult test questions has been borne out. On the surface, it does appear that today’s eighth-graders would be stumped by the content-rich questions, the academic equivalent of “Shock and Awe.”
Nine rules for the use of captal letters? What school levy will produce enough money for a district budget of such-and-such? Who were Morse, Whitney, Fulton, Bell, Lincoln, Penn and Howe?
Hard? And how! But does this prove that today’s schools are worse than they used to be, and hopelessly dumbed down?
Not necessarily. After all, we don’t know how varied the curriculum was back then. It is possible that the questions on that final exam, albeit very rigorous, might have been the heart of the curriculum for the whole school year. Students might have gone over and over and over that material at the expense of the whole world of other curricular experiences. Today’s variety may be more valuable.
On the other hand, there’s a good reason to get a public debate going about the sharp contrast between those old, explicit, challenging, objective tests and today’s much more subjectively worded and graded “assessments,” which are more a measurement of a student’s performance than of his or her knowledge.
The contrast spotlights a huge “disconnect” between what people want from schools, and what schools are actually giving to our kids. Will today’s schools stand the test of time? Let’s talk about it.
Homework: For an interesting commentary on the differences between modern-day tests and the tests of yesteryear, see: http://www.snopes.com/language/document/1895exam.htm
Sunday, August 10, 2003
SUNDAY: Radiant Beams
Precious Eons
Since thou wast precious in my sight, thou hast been honourable, and I have loved thee. . . . Fear not: for I am with thee. . . .
-- Isaiah 43:4-5
We have these friends. He's a regular guy. She's the biggest ''fem'' I've ever known. By that, I mean that she's into clothes and shopping and parties and giving hugs and decorating her house with cute things.
Grosses out an old tomboy like me.
Her idea of a fun side trip on a Missouri lake country vacation is to go to the . . . gulp . . . to the . . . I can't say it . . . to the . . . to the . . . OK, take a deep breath . . . to the Precious Moments Inspiration Park.
AAAIIIEEE!!! I'm sure my dripping sarcasm will get me in big, big trouble with the many, many people who love Precious Moments.
But I can't help it. Even though I'm a card-carrying person of the female persuasion, too, with estrogen jets gushing full blast at all times, the figurines that are the world's top-selling collectible are just, well, not that precious to me.
So when our friend started describing how his wife and her friend DRAGGED him and the other husband to Carthage, Mo., when they visited Branson recently, to the stupendous Precious Moments shrine, his account was so hilarious my cheeks still hurt from laughing.
They saw the Precious Moments chapel, with the disciples and so forth rendered in Precious Moments style. They saw the Precious Moments Fountain of Angels, with its 10-story theater and choreographed water show. They saw the Precious Moments Wedding Island, where you can conduct Precious Moments nuptials with something old, something new, something caring and something sharing.
Mostly, though, they saw Precious Moments figurines, above them, below them, beside them and all around them. Thousands of them. Thousands of precious, precious moments.
My friend confided that, after a few minutes, he literally had to dash outside and gasp for air. The gale-force assault of cuteness, caring and sharing had that much of an effect.
He and the other husband were patient for a long, long time while their wives enjoyed seeing all the precious moments there were to see. But boy, did they suffer. They were nearly overcome by Precious Moments fumes. They so, so wanted to lay scratch and get out of there before the cuteness, caring and sharing brought them to their knees.
They dubbed their experience ''Precious Eons.''
They're my kind of guys. And I'm glad to report that I have since encountered at least one other person of the female persuasion who joins us.
Here's how I found her:
A while ago, this friend of mine accompanied her husband of more than 25 years to his hometown in outstate Nebraska for the wedding of the son of a dear chum. He had been the high-school quarterback and Big Man on Campus back then, and she was curious to see how his old friends had turned out.
Translation: his old girlfriend.
She had been a real knockout – a Miss America type knockout – with a face and form of the traditional heartland corn-fed beauty.
She had this sweet, sweet smile, and her brunette hairdo was done up in just the most adorable little flip.
Let’s call her ''Lula Belle.''
Well, for the first six months that my friend dated her now-husband, she was mad because he kept his picture of Lula Belle in his wallet the whole time. They had been high-school sweethearts, but he broke up with her after he met my friend. He kept her picture anyway, though.
Finally, he relented and showed my friend the empty space in his wallet, though for years, she suspected that he had just put Lula Belle into some other secret hidey hole, and then whenever they would get into a fight, she wondered if he slunk away to his hiding place to mope and took out his picture of his REAL dream girl and rued the day and all that.
He just loved to tease her about it, too. Lula Belle’s dad also owned an automotive store in the hometown, and word was, whoever won Lula Belle's hand would get to own and operate that automotive store someday.
Of course, my friend's husband has been a tremendous business success in the city in which he settled, with a net worth in the squillions. But the fact is, he passed up a sure deal to marry someone else.
Well, anyway, they drove out to the town for the wedding in their grubbies and sunglasses, and went into the local drugstore for some things before they headed to the hotel to get dressed for the ceremony.
They went to the checkstand with their items, and an older lady waited on them. She was, as my father would delicately say in his tremendously Politically Incorrect way, ''an ax handle and a half.'' Her graying brunette hair was done up in just the most adorable little flip. And she had a sweet, sweet smile.
My friend and her husband were almost out the door of the shop when another employee hollered over to the clerk, ''Hey! Lula Belle!''
They froze. Their eyes, well hidden behind their sunglasses, darted back over to the checkstand.
Yep.
Not only that, but at the wedding that evening, they learned that Lula Belle had, indeed, given her hand to a local yokel and he, indeed, was running her daddy's automotive store, and she, indeed, had been working at the drugstore pretty much since high school.
Not only THAT, but they learned that her home was filled to the rafters – to the brim – every available surface -- every nook and cranny – filled -- with Precious Moments figurines.
My friend was quick to point out to her husband that, if it hadn't been for her, HE could be living in that same town, married to Lula Belle, running her daddy's automotive store, and living in a house that was chockablock full of Precious Moments. Knee deep in them. To the rafters. Lots and lots and lots of Precious, Precious Moments.
All he could do was shudder.
And my friend is giving him Precious Eons – the rest of their lives – to think about that.
Precious Eons
Since thou wast precious in my sight, thou hast been honourable, and I have loved thee. . . . Fear not: for I am with thee. . . .
-- Isaiah 43:4-5
We have these friends. He's a regular guy. She's the biggest ''fem'' I've ever known. By that, I mean that she's into clothes and shopping and parties and giving hugs and decorating her house with cute things.
Grosses out an old tomboy like me.
Her idea of a fun side trip on a Missouri lake country vacation is to go to the . . . gulp . . . to the . . . I can't say it . . . to the . . . to the . . . OK, take a deep breath . . . to the Precious Moments Inspiration Park.
AAAIIIEEE!!! I'm sure my dripping sarcasm will get me in big, big trouble with the many, many people who love Precious Moments.
But I can't help it. Even though I'm a card-carrying person of the female persuasion, too, with estrogen jets gushing full blast at all times, the figurines that are the world's top-selling collectible are just, well, not that precious to me.
So when our friend started describing how his wife and her friend DRAGGED him and the other husband to Carthage, Mo., when they visited Branson recently, to the stupendous Precious Moments shrine, his account was so hilarious my cheeks still hurt from laughing.
They saw the Precious Moments chapel, with the disciples and so forth rendered in Precious Moments style. They saw the Precious Moments Fountain of Angels, with its 10-story theater and choreographed water show. They saw the Precious Moments Wedding Island, where you can conduct Precious Moments nuptials with something old, something new, something caring and something sharing.
Mostly, though, they saw Precious Moments figurines, above them, below them, beside them and all around them. Thousands of them. Thousands of precious, precious moments.
My friend confided that, after a few minutes, he literally had to dash outside and gasp for air. The gale-force assault of cuteness, caring and sharing had that much of an effect.
He and the other husband were patient for a long, long time while their wives enjoyed seeing all the precious moments there were to see. But boy, did they suffer. They were nearly overcome by Precious Moments fumes. They so, so wanted to lay scratch and get out of there before the cuteness, caring and sharing brought them to their knees.
They dubbed their experience ''Precious Eons.''
They're my kind of guys. And I'm glad to report that I have since encountered at least one other person of the female persuasion who joins us.
Here's how I found her:
A while ago, this friend of mine accompanied her husband of more than 25 years to his hometown in outstate Nebraska for the wedding of the son of a dear chum. He had been the high-school quarterback and Big Man on Campus back then, and she was curious to see how his old friends had turned out.
Translation: his old girlfriend.
She had been a real knockout – a Miss America type knockout – with a face and form of the traditional heartland corn-fed beauty.
She had this sweet, sweet smile, and her brunette hairdo was done up in just the most adorable little flip.
Let’s call her ''Lula Belle.''
Well, for the first six months that my friend dated her now-husband, she was mad because he kept his picture of Lula Belle in his wallet the whole time. They had been high-school sweethearts, but he broke up with her after he met my friend. He kept her picture anyway, though.
Finally, he relented and showed my friend the empty space in his wallet, though for years, she suspected that he had just put Lula Belle into some other secret hidey hole, and then whenever they would get into a fight, she wondered if he slunk away to his hiding place to mope and took out his picture of his REAL dream girl and rued the day and all that.
He just loved to tease her about it, too. Lula Belle’s dad also owned an automotive store in the hometown, and word was, whoever won Lula Belle's hand would get to own and operate that automotive store someday.
Of course, my friend's husband has been a tremendous business success in the city in which he settled, with a net worth in the squillions. But the fact is, he passed up a sure deal to marry someone else.
Well, anyway, they drove out to the town for the wedding in their grubbies and sunglasses, and went into the local drugstore for some things before they headed to the hotel to get dressed for the ceremony.
They went to the checkstand with their items, and an older lady waited on them. She was, as my father would delicately say in his tremendously Politically Incorrect way, ''an ax handle and a half.'' Her graying brunette hair was done up in just the most adorable little flip. And she had a sweet, sweet smile.
My friend and her husband were almost out the door of the shop when another employee hollered over to the clerk, ''Hey! Lula Belle!''
They froze. Their eyes, well hidden behind their sunglasses, darted back over to the checkstand.
Yep.
Not only that, but at the wedding that evening, they learned that Lula Belle had, indeed, given her hand to a local yokel and he, indeed, was running her daddy's automotive store, and she, indeed, had been working at the drugstore pretty much since high school.
Not only THAT, but they learned that her home was filled to the rafters – to the brim – every available surface -- every nook and cranny – filled -- with Precious Moments figurines.
My friend was quick to point out to her husband that, if it hadn't been for her, HE could be living in that same town, married to Lula Belle, running her daddy's automotive store, and living in a house that was chockablock full of Precious Moments. Knee deep in them. To the rafters. Lots and lots and lots of Precious, Precious Moments.
All he could do was shudder.
And my friend is giving him Precious Eons – the rest of their lives – to think about that.
Saturday, August 09, 2003
SATURDAY: FUNdamentals
GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY DINNER
A 50th wedding anniversary is special, indeed, and deserves to be celebrated in golden style. If there is one coming up in your family, ask well in advance – perhaps a year in advance – if they would like their children and grandchildren to put on a golden anniversary party for them. It can be a large open house, a party for their closest friends, a small, intimate, family dinner, or anything in between.
Here’s how to make a family dinner really special for this most special of all occasions:
Have each grandchild make a dish and have them decorate for the party and serve the food.
Sample menu: hors d’oeuvres of your choice . . . salmon bisque . . . beef tenderloin . . . potato casserole . . . baby artichokes with lemon garlic butter . . . tropical fruit salad . . . rolls and butter . . . wedding cake and champagne.
Use a white tablecloth, the most luxurious you can find. Borrow if you have to.
Ask around and find a cake baker, preferably someone who works in her home and will make yours really special. It’s fun to get a photo of the wedding cake from 50 years ago and have your baker copy it on a smaller scale. Most bakers will supply a “50” cake topper or other decoration.
Order from a florist these items: an all-white “buffet” bouquet that will be tall, with large blossoms of hydrangea, lily and statice or other graceful flowers . . . a six- to eight-foot garland of more all-white flowers and greenery . . . one or two bags of table greenery, such as asparagus fern, ivy and lemon leaves . . . and a handful of tiny white sweetheart roses.
Put the buffet bouquet on your serving table. Put the greenery on your dining table, with white candles. Weave the garland in and around the greenery and candles. Use remaining greenery around your dessert table where you display the cake as well as candy, mints and cookies if you wish. Use some of the sweetheart roses on your dessert or candy dish, and some wrapped together with a doily for a tiny bouquet for the top of the cake. Any remaining greenery and roses could be wrapped around a cake knife; you can plan to reenact the cutting of the cake scene from the wedding album.
Obtain the wedding album in advance and have one or more photos blown up into 16-inch by 20-inch size. Then frame. If you have an easel, it’s neat to have this photo displayed at the door as the guests arrive. It’s nice to have the wedding album handy for family members to enjoy during the evening.
If you can afford it, most limousine services have an antique car that could be rented to bring the honorees to your home for the dinner. A white Rolls Royce makes a clear statement about the elegance and importance of the event.
If you can afford to hire a pianist, it’s very touching to play the love songs popular when the golden couple were courting; a vocalist makes that even more fun and you might even get a dance out of the honorees, a touching photo op. But a CD of the songs from that golden era would be great background music, too, and would fit most budgets.
Entertainment also could be provided by a trivia game in which details of the happy couple’s lives could be the questions; it’s a great way to pass on family stories to the next generation.
Always a hit is a scrapbook where friends of the couple are asked well in advance to supply a letter of congratulations, a funny story, old photographs or whatever else they’d like to share.
Some families ask each family member to write a love letter to the honorees, telling how their marriage and lives have been an inspiration.
Another surefire hit is a video of old photos, set to music, honoring the couple.
It’s always nice to have a photographer come and take a family photo at this event. It doesn’t have to be a professional, although that’s nice. Keep in mind that the more people are in the picture, the larger the photo size is going to have to be in order to see everyone clearly.
End the evening with a series of loving toasts, and let the bride and groom top everyone’s toast with their own. There won’t be a dry eye in the house. It’ll be a golden moment in family history that will be cherished forever.
GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY DINNER
A 50th wedding anniversary is special, indeed, and deserves to be celebrated in golden style. If there is one coming up in your family, ask well in advance – perhaps a year in advance – if they would like their children and grandchildren to put on a golden anniversary party for them. It can be a large open house, a party for their closest friends, a small, intimate, family dinner, or anything in between.
Here’s how to make a family dinner really special for this most special of all occasions:
Have each grandchild make a dish and have them decorate for the party and serve the food.
Sample menu: hors d’oeuvres of your choice . . . salmon bisque . . . beef tenderloin . . . potato casserole . . . baby artichokes with lemon garlic butter . . . tropical fruit salad . . . rolls and butter . . . wedding cake and champagne.
Use a white tablecloth, the most luxurious you can find. Borrow if you have to.
Ask around and find a cake baker, preferably someone who works in her home and will make yours really special. It’s fun to get a photo of the wedding cake from 50 years ago and have your baker copy it on a smaller scale. Most bakers will supply a “50” cake topper or other decoration.
Order from a florist these items: an all-white “buffet” bouquet that will be tall, with large blossoms of hydrangea, lily and statice or other graceful flowers . . . a six- to eight-foot garland of more all-white flowers and greenery . . . one or two bags of table greenery, such as asparagus fern, ivy and lemon leaves . . . and a handful of tiny white sweetheart roses.
Put the buffet bouquet on your serving table. Put the greenery on your dining table, with white candles. Weave the garland in and around the greenery and candles. Use remaining greenery around your dessert table where you display the cake as well as candy, mints and cookies if you wish. Use some of the sweetheart roses on your dessert or candy dish, and some wrapped together with a doily for a tiny bouquet for the top of the cake. Any remaining greenery and roses could be wrapped around a cake knife; you can plan to reenact the cutting of the cake scene from the wedding album.
Obtain the wedding album in advance and have one or more photos blown up into 16-inch by 20-inch size. Then frame. If you have an easel, it’s neat to have this photo displayed at the door as the guests arrive. It’s nice to have the wedding album handy for family members to enjoy during the evening.
If you can afford it, most limousine services have an antique car that could be rented to bring the honorees to your home for the dinner. A white Rolls Royce makes a clear statement about the elegance and importance of the event.
If you can afford to hire a pianist, it’s very touching to play the love songs popular when the golden couple were courting; a vocalist makes that even more fun and you might even get a dance out of the honorees, a touching photo op. But a CD of the songs from that golden era would be great background music, too, and would fit most budgets.
Entertainment also could be provided by a trivia game in which details of the happy couple’s lives could be the questions; it’s a great way to pass on family stories to the next generation.
Always a hit is a scrapbook where friends of the couple are asked well in advance to supply a letter of congratulations, a funny story, old photographs or whatever else they’d like to share.
Some families ask each family member to write a love letter to the honorees, telling how their marriage and lives have been an inspiration.
Another surefire hit is a video of old photos, set to music, honoring the couple.
It’s always nice to have a photographer come and take a family photo at this event. It doesn’t have to be a professional, although that’s nice. Keep in mind that the more people are in the picture, the larger the photo size is going to have to be in order to see everyone clearly.
End the evening with a series of loving toasts, and let the bride and groom top everyone’s toast with their own. There won’t be a dry eye in the house. It’ll be a golden moment in family history that will be cherished forever.
Friday, August 08, 2003
FRIDAY: Vitamin Mom
THE HANDSHAKE HABIT
The teenage boy from another high school was introduced to the girl’s parents. They had never met. He stepped toward them, smiled, stuck out his right hand to the mom, then the dad, said his name clearly, gave a firm handshake, and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. _______.”
A minute later, when they had picked their jaws up off the floor, they realized that it had been far too long since a teenager had exhibited such nice manners and social confidence.
Turns out his mom had been schooling him in the art of meeting people since he was a little boy, recognizing how important that social skill really is. By age 16, he had no qualms about meeting new people of all ages and always put his best foot forward, because of that.
So ask yourself: does your child have a good handshake habit? If not, now’s the time to . . . get shaking.
THE HANDSHAKE HABIT
The teenage boy from another high school was introduced to the girl’s parents. They had never met. He stepped toward them, smiled, stuck out his right hand to the mom, then the dad, said his name clearly, gave a firm handshake, and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. _______.”
A minute later, when they had picked their jaws up off the floor, they realized that it had been far too long since a teenager had exhibited such nice manners and social confidence.
Turns out his mom had been schooling him in the art of meeting people since he was a little boy, recognizing how important that social skill really is. By age 16, he had no qualms about meeting new people of all ages and always put his best foot forward, because of that.
So ask yourself: does your child have a good handshake habit? If not, now’s the time to . . . get shaking.
Thursday, August 07, 2003
THURSDAY: Cre8iviT
FLOWER MAGNETS
For back-to-school gifts . . . going to college gifts . . . gifts for grandmas whose refrigerators double as photo galleries . . . you can make pretty little magnets with that special, homemade touch.
You will need:
Wooden disks from a crafts store
Craft paint
Coordinating colors of silk flowers
Coordinating cloth ribbon as wide as the edge of the disks
Glitter glue and/or regular glitter
Magnetized strips
A hot-glue gun
Give each disk two coats of paint. Hot-glue ribbon around the edge of each disk. Cut silk flowers away from their stems. Hot-glue the center of a flower to each disk. If the ends of the petals stick up too much, you can glue the ends down, making an arch shape. Decorate with glitter. Apply a magnetized strip to the back.
FLOWER MAGNETS
For back-to-school gifts . . . going to college gifts . . . gifts for grandmas whose refrigerators double as photo galleries . . . you can make pretty little magnets with that special, homemade touch.
You will need:
Wooden disks from a crafts store
Craft paint
Coordinating colors of silk flowers
Coordinating cloth ribbon as wide as the edge of the disks
Glitter glue and/or regular glitter
Magnetized strips
A hot-glue gun
Give each disk two coats of paint. Hot-glue ribbon around the edge of each disk. Cut silk flowers away from their stems. Hot-glue the center of a flower to each disk. If the ends of the petals stick up too much, you can glue the ends down, making an arch shape. Decorate with glitter. Apply a magnetized strip to the back.
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
WEDNESDAY: Family Funnies
REALITY CHECK
Big Sister, Age 20, assigned to babysit:
“Maddy, do you want to hang out with me tomorrow?”
Little Sister, Age 3:
“Yeah! We’re going to go to the swimming pool!”
Big Sister:
“We’ll have fun. I’m glad you want to hang out with me.”
Little Sister:
“Yeah, somebody’s got to drive.”
REALITY CHECK
Big Sister, Age 20, assigned to babysit:
“Maddy, do you want to hang out with me tomorrow?”
Little Sister, Age 3:
“Yeah! We’re going to go to the swimming pool!”
Big Sister:
“We’ll have fun. I’m glad you want to hang out with me.”
Little Sister:
“Yeah, somebody’s got to drive.”
Tuesday, August 05, 2003
TUESDAY: Hot Potatoes
GETTING THE COURTS WE WANT
What’s the first rule of journalism?
“Follow the money.” If you want to see how power flows, find out who’s paying for the things that are happening.
What’s the first rule of democracy?
“Balance of power.” There are checks and balances on each function of government to make sure that the right things happen and that the overall flow of power is optimal.
So now that good journalists have exposed for us certain apparent errors made recently by our nation’s judicial branch of government, citizens still have recourse: the power of our pursestrings, which under our constitution are held by the legislative branch.
That’s what Rep. John Hostettler, a Republican from Indiana, is doing. According to an Aug. 5 article on www.worldnetdaily.com “A hero in the House,” Hostettler has amassed lots of bipartisan support for cutting off federal dollars from enforcing two recent federal court rulings that most Americans find repugnant and anti-American.
Hostettler and other leaders believe it is wrong for federal tax dollars to be spent to remove the Ten Commandments from the Alabama Supreme Court building, and to enforce a California judge’s edict to remove “under God” from the Pledge of Allegiance.
The congressman’s method is simple and brilliant: since the legislative branch pays for government operations, it can cut off payment for government operations of which it doesn’t approve.
So in the case of the judiciary branch’s recent controversial decisions, Congress is within its rights to cut off funding to the U.S. Marshal Service, in effect blocking the execution of those judicial orders. The U.S. Marshal Service is part of the executive branch. If those orders can’t be executed, or delivered, then they cannot take effect.
It’s simple. It’s elegant. It’ll work. Since an excellent court system and the balance of power are bedrocks of the American way, it’s an all-American solution, too.
To view the entire article, visit http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=33926
GETTING THE COURTS WE WANT
What’s the first rule of journalism?
“Follow the money.” If you want to see how power flows, find out who’s paying for the things that are happening.
What’s the first rule of democracy?
“Balance of power.” There are checks and balances on each function of government to make sure that the right things happen and that the overall flow of power is optimal.
So now that good journalists have exposed for us certain apparent errors made recently by our nation’s judicial branch of government, citizens still have recourse: the power of our pursestrings, which under our constitution are held by the legislative branch.
That’s what Rep. John Hostettler, a Republican from Indiana, is doing. According to an Aug. 5 article on www.worldnetdaily.com “A hero in the House,” Hostettler has amassed lots of bipartisan support for cutting off federal dollars from enforcing two recent federal court rulings that most Americans find repugnant and anti-American.
Hostettler and other leaders believe it is wrong for federal tax dollars to be spent to remove the Ten Commandments from the Alabama Supreme Court building, and to enforce a California judge’s edict to remove “under God” from the Pledge of Allegiance.
The congressman’s method is simple and brilliant: since the legislative branch pays for government operations, it can cut off payment for government operations of which it doesn’t approve.
So in the case of the judiciary branch’s recent controversial decisions, Congress is within its rights to cut off funding to the U.S. Marshal Service, in effect blocking the execution of those judicial orders. The U.S. Marshal Service is part of the executive branch. If those orders can’t be executed, or delivered, then they cannot take effect.
It’s simple. It’s elegant. It’ll work. Since an excellent court system and the balance of power are bedrocks of the American way, it’s an all-American solution, too.
To view the entire article, visit http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=33926
MONDAY: Show 'n' Tell for Parents
IS TEACHING GETTING OVERPOLITICIZED?
Q. When I went into teaching, it was a noble profession. Now it seems to be shifting into becoming a trade union or a mere government function. Can we steer teaching back to its roots?
Yes. It will take an enormous amount of grassroots activism, but you’re right: increasing numbers of teachers are getting dissatisfied with the national teachers’ unions. The unions often stray away from the meat-and-potatoes issues in K-12 education, and into nonacademic, noninstructional, peripheral issues that have more to do with politics than with meeting children’s academic needs.
This has happened because of the monopoly power – and strike threat in many places – wielded by the teachers’ unions. Monopolies are un-American and educators are recognizing that.
It would be exciting to see a group of local teachers step forward, admit to the public that the union’s collective bargaining power has destroyed local control, and push for an exodus by its district’s teachers out of the union. They would get the union de-certified, and proceed with contracting for teaching jobs with the local school board – the way it used to be, and probably should be.
But that’s not likely to happen. The unions are just too entrenched. And in many locations, they actually operate pretty well.
But in those places where they do not, teachers have options:
-- Lobby for right-to-work state statutes, through which teachers do not have to pay for union collective bargaining.
-- Lobby for paycheck protection power, which allows teachers to “opt out” part of their union dues that would otherwise be spent on political activity that they oppose. Example: union endorsement of educators distributing condoms in school to other people’s minor children.
-- Compete! Form an independent teachers’ association or local affiliate of the Association of American Educators (www.aaeteachers.org) and beat ‘em at their own game.
Homework: Good information on “opting out” of unions is on the Evergreen Freedom Foundation website, www.effwa.org
IS TEACHING GETTING OVERPOLITICIZED?
Q. When I went into teaching, it was a noble profession. Now it seems to be shifting into becoming a trade union or a mere government function. Can we steer teaching back to its roots?
Yes. It will take an enormous amount of grassroots activism, but you’re right: increasing numbers of teachers are getting dissatisfied with the national teachers’ unions. The unions often stray away from the meat-and-potatoes issues in K-12 education, and into nonacademic, noninstructional, peripheral issues that have more to do with politics than with meeting children’s academic needs.
This has happened because of the monopoly power – and strike threat in many places – wielded by the teachers’ unions. Monopolies are un-American and educators are recognizing that.
It would be exciting to see a group of local teachers step forward, admit to the public that the union’s collective bargaining power has destroyed local control, and push for an exodus by its district’s teachers out of the union. They would get the union de-certified, and proceed with contracting for teaching jobs with the local school board – the way it used to be, and probably should be.
But that’s not likely to happen. The unions are just too entrenched. And in many locations, they actually operate pretty well.
But in those places where they do not, teachers have options:
-- Lobby for right-to-work state statutes, through which teachers do not have to pay for union collective bargaining.
-- Lobby for paycheck protection power, which allows teachers to “opt out” part of their union dues that would otherwise be spent on political activity that they oppose. Example: union endorsement of educators distributing condoms in school to other people’s minor children.
-- Compete! Form an independent teachers’ association or local affiliate of the Association of American Educators (www.aaeteachers.org) and beat ‘em at their own game.
Homework: Good information on “opting out” of unions is on the Evergreen Freedom Foundation website, www.effwa.org
Sunday, August 03, 2003
SUNDAY: Radiant Beams
SAIL ON
(T)hat we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.
-- 2 Corinthians 1:4b
When I was a girl, my dad got a beautiful new mahogany speedboat with a snazzy red interior. He took it out on a nearby lake one day at a big party and gave everybody boat rides, towed skiers, and just had a great time. At about 10 p.m., he went out to put the boat away, but it was a beautiful night so he decided to take one more spin around the lake.
What he didn't know is that two of his friends, also attending the party, had decided to take a sailboat out for a last spin, too. They had no lights.
Dad's boat struck the sailboat. The boom swung around right into one of the men's heads, knocking him out. He fell overboard.
The next morning, they dragged the lake and recovered his body.
I just remember my dad laying on the couch in his study for the next few days as a steady stream of his friends came over to comfort him. The pocket door would slide open; I could hear Dad sobbing; the door would close, and a while later, it would slide open again. After a while, another friend would come.
We thought it would be important to attend the funeral, but at the last minute, Dad couldn’t, so Mom and us four kids arrived and had to be seated near the front.
I remember so clearly that, as the funeral was ending, the man's two teenage daughters walked by us, and looked at us. There wasn't anything in their eyes but empathy, acceptance and forgiveness.
Years later, I ran into one of them, and she was as gracious as could be. ''We felt that your dad was totally innocent,'' she told me. ''It was just an accident. Our dad loved your dad. He wouldn’t want any of you to feel bad.''
It was a turning point . . . a growing-up moment . . . my first exposure to real-world tragedy, and the grace and grit that it takes to get through it.
I tell this now because another tragedy has hit our neighborhood, so soon after the death of our 19-year-old neighbor, Cara Nabity, after heart surgery.
A few days ago, a family who lives a few blocks south were on their way to Colorado with their son's friend in the car. But there was an accident. The car rolled three times. They all had their seat belts on. The 13-year-old friend did not. They survived. He died.
Talk about the salt of the earth . . . these neighbors are wonderful people. She's so intelligent, she was her church's secretary as a teenager, and is the new president of the local school's PTO, a big honor. He's one of those neighbors who always shows up for the clean-ups and service projects, and does a lot of good things for kids and so forth.
When bad things happen to good people. . . .
Because of Dad's boating accident, I knew that what they needed was the physical presence of friends and neighbors who could reassure them that everything was going to be OK. So I went over there.
I thought they'd be raging against God for what happened. They weren't. They were sad, all right, and exhausted. But they had a story to tell which once again showed God's mercy and grace at work, even in the very worst of times, such as that accident that killed their young friend Nate.
The mother said that they'd left the Omaha area early that morning and had stopped at a Runza in Ogallala in western Nebraska for lunch. Her young daughter had talked at lunch about a book with a time machine, an ''Unner,'' which could ''undo'' things in your life. A boy in the book had used it to ''undo'' a car accident that had taken the life of his sister.
Nate had said, ''You wouldn't want to use that to go too far back in your life, because then you'd have to live your whole life over.''
My friend thought that was very wise of him. They got back into the car. It was her turn to drive.
About an hour west, in the rolling hills near Sterling, Colo., she must have dozed off for just an instant in the midday sun. The vehicle hit gravel on the right shoulder. She woke with a start and steered left . . . too far left . . . so she steered right again . . . but the vehicle tipped over and rolled three times.
Nate's body lay by the side of the road. Her husband and son tried to do CPR. As she watched in horror, her cell phone rang.
It was Nate's mother, calling from Omaha.
''Is everything OK?''
She had had a premonition.
My friend could only say, ''There has been an accident. I'll call you as soon as I can.''
Nate died soon thereafter, and she could only think of the ''Unner'' machine and what he had said about it, and the timing of his mother's call.
Somehow, she knew that the Lord had been preparing all of them for what was to happen. She couldn't understand it, but she felt His presence, and it calmed her.
But that's not all. Everyone was rushed to the hospital in Sterling. In a daze, she looked up from her stretcher . . . and saw that her nurse was her best friend from grade school in David City, Neb.
She said she felt as though God was showing her that He was in charge, that she and her family were totally in His care, and even though it was tragic and horrific that Nate had been killed, somehow, it was going to be all right.
Sure enough, Nate's family has been fantastically warm, accepting and gracious. The bond between the two families and their friends will always be strong, both because of what was lost – a son, a dear friend, a wonderful boy – but also because of what was found – precious, priceless forgiveness and comfort, honoring the Savior.
I was glad that day to be able to tell them about the impact of the boating accident on my dad's life. He definitely changed course away from the hard-driving, hard-partying direction he had been headed, and more into service for the Rotary Club, Boys Club, church choir, developing young men in his CPA office, and, of course, dedicating his life to loving and guiding the four of us.
It was a defining moment. He responded well.
Yes, he got another boat, and ran it for more than a quarter-century. I'm quite sure he thought about the accident from time to time when he was on the water. I'm sure he had dreams about it, and was depressed from time to time.
But he did not close himself off from people or from the things he loved. He sailed on.
He accepted what happened . . . he grieved . . . and he sailed on.
I adored my dad so much. He was awesome. I thought my dad hung the moon. What I want my friends dealing with this tragedy to know is: I, and everyone else, thought the same of him after the accident as we did before. Maybe even more.
It's the same way now, for them.
Feel all there is to feel, dear ones. Grieve. Cry. Any time a child dies, it's an enormous loss. Face it. Process it through.
Rest. Let the Arms of the Master hold you tenderly, and restore your souls.
Remember that you're never alone, no matter how bad it gets. There's always someone who's been there before, and come through it OK. Learn from the trials of others. Purpose to get through this.
Accept the comfort of forgiveness which is offered to you each day here on earth and above . . .
. . . and then, when you're ready, when it's time: sail on.
SAIL ON
(T)hat we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.
-- 2 Corinthians 1:4b
When I was a girl, my dad got a beautiful new mahogany speedboat with a snazzy red interior. He took it out on a nearby lake one day at a big party and gave everybody boat rides, towed skiers, and just had a great time. At about 10 p.m., he went out to put the boat away, but it was a beautiful night so he decided to take one more spin around the lake.
What he didn't know is that two of his friends, also attending the party, had decided to take a sailboat out for a last spin, too. They had no lights.
Dad's boat struck the sailboat. The boom swung around right into one of the men's heads, knocking him out. He fell overboard.
The next morning, they dragged the lake and recovered his body.
I just remember my dad laying on the couch in his study for the next few days as a steady stream of his friends came over to comfort him. The pocket door would slide open; I could hear Dad sobbing; the door would close, and a while later, it would slide open again. After a while, another friend would come.
We thought it would be important to attend the funeral, but at the last minute, Dad couldn’t, so Mom and us four kids arrived and had to be seated near the front.
I remember so clearly that, as the funeral was ending, the man's two teenage daughters walked by us, and looked at us. There wasn't anything in their eyes but empathy, acceptance and forgiveness.
Years later, I ran into one of them, and she was as gracious as could be. ''We felt that your dad was totally innocent,'' she told me. ''It was just an accident. Our dad loved your dad. He wouldn’t want any of you to feel bad.''
It was a turning point . . . a growing-up moment . . . my first exposure to real-world tragedy, and the grace and grit that it takes to get through it.
I tell this now because another tragedy has hit our neighborhood, so soon after the death of our 19-year-old neighbor, Cara Nabity, after heart surgery.
A few days ago, a family who lives a few blocks south were on their way to Colorado with their son's friend in the car. But there was an accident. The car rolled three times. They all had their seat belts on. The 13-year-old friend did not. They survived. He died.
Talk about the salt of the earth . . . these neighbors are wonderful people. She's so intelligent, she was her church's secretary as a teenager, and is the new president of the local school's PTO, a big honor. He's one of those neighbors who always shows up for the clean-ups and service projects, and does a lot of good things for kids and so forth.
When bad things happen to good people. . . .
Because of Dad's boating accident, I knew that what they needed was the physical presence of friends and neighbors who could reassure them that everything was going to be OK. So I went over there.
I thought they'd be raging against God for what happened. They weren't. They were sad, all right, and exhausted. But they had a story to tell which once again showed God's mercy and grace at work, even in the very worst of times, such as that accident that killed their young friend Nate.
The mother said that they'd left the Omaha area early that morning and had stopped at a Runza in Ogallala in western Nebraska for lunch. Her young daughter had talked at lunch about a book with a time machine, an ''Unner,'' which could ''undo'' things in your life. A boy in the book had used it to ''undo'' a car accident that had taken the life of his sister.
Nate had said, ''You wouldn't want to use that to go too far back in your life, because then you'd have to live your whole life over.''
My friend thought that was very wise of him. They got back into the car. It was her turn to drive.
About an hour west, in the rolling hills near Sterling, Colo., she must have dozed off for just an instant in the midday sun. The vehicle hit gravel on the right shoulder. She woke with a start and steered left . . . too far left . . . so she steered right again . . . but the vehicle tipped over and rolled three times.
Nate's body lay by the side of the road. Her husband and son tried to do CPR. As she watched in horror, her cell phone rang.
It was Nate's mother, calling from Omaha.
''Is everything OK?''
She had had a premonition.
My friend could only say, ''There has been an accident. I'll call you as soon as I can.''
Nate died soon thereafter, and she could only think of the ''Unner'' machine and what he had said about it, and the timing of his mother's call.
Somehow, she knew that the Lord had been preparing all of them for what was to happen. She couldn't understand it, but she felt His presence, and it calmed her.
But that's not all. Everyone was rushed to the hospital in Sterling. In a daze, she looked up from her stretcher . . . and saw that her nurse was her best friend from grade school in David City, Neb.
She said she felt as though God was showing her that He was in charge, that she and her family were totally in His care, and even though it was tragic and horrific that Nate had been killed, somehow, it was going to be all right.
Sure enough, Nate's family has been fantastically warm, accepting and gracious. The bond between the two families and their friends will always be strong, both because of what was lost – a son, a dear friend, a wonderful boy – but also because of what was found – precious, priceless forgiveness and comfort, honoring the Savior.
I was glad that day to be able to tell them about the impact of the boating accident on my dad's life. He definitely changed course away from the hard-driving, hard-partying direction he had been headed, and more into service for the Rotary Club, Boys Club, church choir, developing young men in his CPA office, and, of course, dedicating his life to loving and guiding the four of us.
It was a defining moment. He responded well.
Yes, he got another boat, and ran it for more than a quarter-century. I'm quite sure he thought about the accident from time to time when he was on the water. I'm sure he had dreams about it, and was depressed from time to time.
But he did not close himself off from people or from the things he loved. He sailed on.
He accepted what happened . . . he grieved . . . and he sailed on.
I adored my dad so much. He was awesome. I thought my dad hung the moon. What I want my friends dealing with this tragedy to know is: I, and everyone else, thought the same of him after the accident as we did before. Maybe even more.
It's the same way now, for them.
Feel all there is to feel, dear ones. Grieve. Cry. Any time a child dies, it's an enormous loss. Face it. Process it through.
Rest. Let the Arms of the Master hold you tenderly, and restore your souls.
Remember that you're never alone, no matter how bad it gets. There's always someone who's been there before, and come through it OK. Learn from the trials of others. Purpose to get through this.
Accept the comfort of forgiveness which is offered to you each day here on earth and above . . .
. . . and then, when you're ready, when it's time: sail on.
Saturday, August 02, 2003
SATURDAY: FUNdamentals
BIRTHDAY TRIVIA
When you ask around for people’s favorite birthday memories, people smile the biggest when they remember unique ways their loved ones found to make them feel special.
One of those is a Birthday Game Show format, which would work for any age. Think up 10 or 20 items of trivia or facts about the honoree’s past. Have prizes for party guests who can guess each answer.
Examples:
What was the most embarrassing moment of her life?
What’s his middle name?
What sport does he hate?
What’s her favorite song?
Where does his mother’s mother live?
How many unmatched socks are there in his sock drawer?
How many items are there right now in her shower, from tiny little slivers of soap to empty shampoo bottles to rubber duckies?
Everyone will laugh, but the honoree the most of all, as the questions are asked and answered, or at least attempted.
BIRTHDAY TRIVIA
When you ask around for people’s favorite birthday memories, people smile the biggest when they remember unique ways their loved ones found to make them feel special.
One of those is a Birthday Game Show format, which would work for any age. Think up 10 or 20 items of trivia or facts about the honoree’s past. Have prizes for party guests who can guess each answer.
Examples:
What was the most embarrassing moment of her life?
What’s his middle name?
What sport does he hate?
What’s her favorite song?
Where does his mother’s mother live?
How many unmatched socks are there in his sock drawer?
How many items are there right now in her shower, from tiny little slivers of soap to empty shampoo bottles to rubber duckies?
Everyone will laugh, but the honoree the most of all, as the questions are asked and answered, or at least attempted.
Friday, August 01, 2003
FRIDAY: Vitamin Mom
BACKWARDS NIGHT
If you want your child to grow up with excellent ethics and lots of consideration for others, you need to constantly be doing things in your home to give your child empathy with a capital “E.”
A fun way to do that is to have Backwards Night once a month. Get together in advance and talk this out. Make lists so that it will work right.
The first time, the adults in the household should act like the kids, and the kids act like the adults.
So if your kids regularly come home, stomp through the house, go to their rooms and slam the door, then when YOU come home, go ahead and stomp through the house, go to YOUR room and slam the door.
At least, do it the first time, just to make your point.
Meanwhile, your child will be responsible for cooking dinner with three or more courses. It may be pb&j, chips and carrot strips every time, but your child is the boss with no “help” or interference from you.
If you normally have to shout three times to get family members to come to the table, be a slowpoke yourself and drive your kids crazy.
If your child normally eats, then shoves away from the table, leaving the dishes where they are, and shrinks back to his or her hideout with earphones on, then on Backwards Night, you do the same – and leave your child to stare at the dishes, counter clutter, piles of laundry, unfed dog, overstuffed trash, etc.
Now, on the other hand, you may be subject to your child’s incessant nagging on Backwards Night to do this, do that, stop doing this, start doing that and I mean NOW, etc., to the point where you’d rather be anywhere but home.
Getting the idea?
At bedtime, get back together and talk about how you feel. How did the evening illustrate what’s wrong and what’s right with your family life? What specific changes can each of you make to create an atmosphere that would make you really, really want to come home?
One time should do the trick. From then on, Backwards Night can be fun: serve breakfast for dinner one month . . . make everyone put their clothes on backwards for the evening . . . serve dessert first, then a main course, then chip and dip . . . make everyone walk backwards and go up stairs backwards . . . put the dog’s dish on the table and your plates on the floor . . . take turns thinking up the fun.
The whole idea is to turn things around from time to time, so that you can move forward a little closer together.
BACKWARDS NIGHT
If you want your child to grow up with excellent ethics and lots of consideration for others, you need to constantly be doing things in your home to give your child empathy with a capital “E.”
A fun way to do that is to have Backwards Night once a month. Get together in advance and talk this out. Make lists so that it will work right.
The first time, the adults in the household should act like the kids, and the kids act like the adults.
So if your kids regularly come home, stomp through the house, go to their rooms and slam the door, then when YOU come home, go ahead and stomp through the house, go to YOUR room and slam the door.
At least, do it the first time, just to make your point.
Meanwhile, your child will be responsible for cooking dinner with three or more courses. It may be pb&j, chips and carrot strips every time, but your child is the boss with no “help” or interference from you.
If you normally have to shout three times to get family members to come to the table, be a slowpoke yourself and drive your kids crazy.
If your child normally eats, then shoves away from the table, leaving the dishes where they are, and shrinks back to his or her hideout with earphones on, then on Backwards Night, you do the same – and leave your child to stare at the dishes, counter clutter, piles of laundry, unfed dog, overstuffed trash, etc.
Now, on the other hand, you may be subject to your child’s incessant nagging on Backwards Night to do this, do that, stop doing this, start doing that and I mean NOW, etc., to the point where you’d rather be anywhere but home.
Getting the idea?
At bedtime, get back together and talk about how you feel. How did the evening illustrate what’s wrong and what’s right with your family life? What specific changes can each of you make to create an atmosphere that would make you really, really want to come home?
One time should do the trick. From then on, Backwards Night can be fun: serve breakfast for dinner one month . . . make everyone put their clothes on backwards for the evening . . . serve dessert first, then a main course, then chip and dip . . . make everyone walk backwards and go up stairs backwards . . . put the dog’s dish on the table and your plates on the floor . . . take turns thinking up the fun.
The whole idea is to turn things around from time to time, so that you can move forward a little closer together.
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