Organization heaven

The Container Store can make all my dreams come true.

I fantasize about having a perfect house. One where everything is neat and tidy, all the little cluttery pieces put away all the time. There are several obstacles to my achieving this; I can name three right away, but there are others — moi included. I have two desks, one in the kitchen and one upstairs, and at the moment, both are a mess. So it's not all the kids' fault.

When I visit the Container Store, I believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that this dream is attainable. All I need are the proper containers and my perfect house dream will become reality.

I don't even really go nuts there; today I picked up some jars for the bathroom (decorative as well as functional) and CD shelves. But I spent lots of time browsing, getting ideas about achieving my dream home.

I love that these stores make us feel as if this perfect home is right there, available for the masses. Just like Target and IKEA, simplifying style, making cheap shopping chic, and marketing it on a budget.

Makes life fun; makes getting my life in order feel less like a chore and more like a project.

Hurrah for mass-marketed organization; hurray for capitalism that makes it all possible.

And hurray for me, for getting the CDs on shelves and my cabinets in order. There.

Tragedy revisited

I wasn't too wrapped up in the whole sordid Jon-Benet Ramsey case way back in '97. Sure, I followed it — how could you help it? — but I wasn't glued to the details. My children were very small, but Alison was old enough to ask why that little girl kept showing up on television. So I turned it off; it was all too sad and too shocking to get wrapped up in.

Yet I listened when others formulated theories. And I confess, I was all too ready to believe the worst; I really just assumed that it was someone in her family. The intruder theory didn't hold water; there were just too many inconsistencies. So I bought into the bizarro scenarios: a crazed mother, a jealous brother, a psycho father.

And it was hard to believe that a killer in such a prominent, well-publicized case could go unpunished. Particularly if they were meeting with the police, pretending to be concerned. How perverse is that?

Fast-forward to, well, today, where there's been an arrest. Details on CNN say the alleged perpetrator has confessed. He's some sort of pedophile, apparently, and says her death was an "accident."

Just another puzzle piece in this notoriously unsolved case.

Mostly today, I've been feeling funny for not believing the Ramseys. I'm sorry that they've lived under this veil of suspicion for 10 years, suspected in the death of their own daughter.

Assuming, of course, that this guy really did do it, and that the family really is off the hook. Call me a skeptic, but he is innocent until proven guilty. So I'll not let go of my suspicions totally for the moment.

Such a sick and twisted story. The video of her in the child beauty pageants made me uncomfortable. She was just a little girl. But she shouldn't have had to live out some vicarious fantasy of her mother. And she shouldn't have had to die — certainly not in such a violent way.

A strange ending to a sad story. The end? Let's hope so.

Back to School

Is it me, or is August 16, with outside temps in the 90s, a little premature for the start of school?

I didn't think it was just me.

None the less, I think my girls were ready to go back. They need some companionship, need to see some kids their own age. And, for the most part, they like school. They're good students and they're motivated.

Oh, but 6.40 a.m. seems so early to be waiting for the bus. Better them than me (!).

For Maddie, this is a big year: The switch to middle school. She has a locker, PE uniform, lunch at the snack bar. She can wear flip flops. Sit where she wants at lunch. She's excited.

Alison is a freshman — my god, where does the time go? She is jazzed because her journalism class will be producing the yearbook. She asked me if I'd come speak to her class as an "expert." Seems funny, somehow ... but sure, why not? I was a kick-ass yearbook editor back in the day. Oh — and there's that thing I'm doing now that might be relevant ...

Sylvia seemed happy enough — likes her teacher, saw her friends. She's easy to please.

I remember so well the first day of school. Every year, for the most part — I loved going back. I liked buying school supplies, planning my outfit for the first day. And yes, Tammy, I do remember what you wore the first day of fourth grade. Though I'm a little fuzzy on some other first-day ensembles. I remember the night-before-school-starts phone calls to sort out the details, but the outfits themselves escape me (though with a little prodding I'll bet they'd come back!).

A friend posed the question recently about what classes people loved. I liked English, history, music; I liked working on the yearbook and newspaper. But I'll be honest — I was mostly uninspired by my high school teachers. These people had a chance to really ignite in us a passion for learning, and mostly they slept-walked through teaching us. What they were best at was getting embroiled in gossip and controversy and teaching lessons the exact same way they had for the past 25 years. Or longer.

I had a great science teacher — Mr. McLaren was the best — but he didn't — couldn't, through no fault of his own — inspire me to study the sciences. And I really liked Mr. Moore in math. Alas, my talents did not lie in that area. My school had terrible business, history and language teachers. And our English teachers weren't always so hot, either.

Though on occasion we would benefit from the expertise of student teachers — don't knock the innovations of novices. I can name a few in particular who really inspired me, in art, history, and English. Even going back to grade school, these college seniors brought with them a passion that was evident. I'll always remember them and the gifts they shared. Don't know what happened to all of them, but I'm guessing that at least some of them went on to become very effective in the classroom.

College was a different story, then grad school ... but I'm jumping ahead. The girls had great first days, all three of them. I hope their passion for learning continues. It's the greatest gift we give our children, a love of knowledge.

It will take them to the stars.

What's up, anyway?

Too much .... life is in a frenzy right now, getting ready to go back to school, stuff around the house (clearing the summer clutter, from being home every day), stuff for work. There is so much I want to write about, and yet, I am not making time. Today there is a Chamber lunch, meet the teacher, drinks with colleagues, a trip to buy decorations for the locker (?) Exactly.

But I'll get back in the groove. Tomorrow, in fact. Stay tuned ...

Twelve years ago ...

I woke up that morning early, and the first thing I did was put a load of clothes in the wash. Somehow I knew I needed to catch up on as much housework as I could.

We were dressed and ready to go by about 5.30 a.m., so we sat in the living room and read the paper, checked out the television. Let me tell you, there was nothing good on at that time of day.

Finally got Alison up, had some breakfast, took a walk around the neighborhood to see if we could get things moving.

Aroudn 10 Gary decided to mow the lawn, figuring he might not have time later in the week. Alison and I popped in the movie Guys and Dolls. I snoozed a little, got a call from a friend.

"What?" she cried. "You're in labor? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"

Ah, if only it were that simple. These things take time, and you're usually better off at home for as long as you can stand it.

By noon I knew we needed to go. Dropped Alison off next door and headed off to the hospital. And at 4.11 p.m. we proudly welcomed our second daughter, Madeleine Claire, into the world. She weighed 8 lbs 11 oz. She gave us a bit of scare when her heart rate dropped drastically during labor, but she pulled through.

Since then, she's given us another scare with her appendix. But she made it through that, as well. She has also given us 12 wonderful years as parents. She is bright, funny, clever and witty. Not to mention beautiful. She has a sense of who she is. She is loyal and kind.

We celebrated by going to the zoo and out to dinner — her choice. She's Maddie these days; the bigger name gets pulled out when we need emphasis or by those who don't know who her well.

She's the kind of daughter that would make any parent proud. And indeed we are.

Happy Birthday, Maddie!

Travels and travails

I have a friend who blogs. She's quite a good writer and very dedicated; she updates her blog daily. Even when they travel, each morning she takes time to give a rundown of everything they saw and did the previous day. Even though I may not find the minutiae of her family as fascinating as she does, I admire her perseverence.

Suffice it to say, I am not this friend. I blog and write sporadically. And I do not bore people with the mundane details of my daily life.

(My God! you're saying. You mean you actually spare us the boring parts? Then what is this crap I'm reading?)

We left town Saturday morning, heading east, then north, on our vacation trek. We made it to Vicksburg, Mississippi, by mid-afternoon. I'll spare you the historical details; it was a big battle, a siege that lasted several weeks. But wait —— you probably already knew that. Anyway, we enjoyed the film and the visitors center and enjoyed the drive through the battle field. It's huge.

Spent the night in Jackson (and listened to the Man in Black serenade us), got up Sunday and headed north. Stopped in Oxford —— drove through the Old Miss campus (prompting one daughter to query: What is it with you two and college campuses?). More importantly, we visited the grave and home of William Faulkner, which, again, elicited yawns from the girls. Soon enough they'll appreciate Faulkner; they'll be thanking me for this pilgrimage someday. We then drove on to Shiloh. The film there was better —— who knew that grainy color footage of the actual battle existed?!? The park has more hands-on demonstrations; the girls got to be part of a crew that loaded the cannon, and we all participated in bayonet training. Kitschy, yet fun. And we drove through the battlefield. We also drove through Tupelo; had I seen signs for the birthplace of the King I would have stopped, but alas, no brown historical marker to be seen.

My image of Mississippi has always been extreme poverty —— a state that ranks 50th in everything. But the parts of the state that we saw were charming. I guess the depressed areas are hidden.

Today we've spent visiting friends in Lafayette. It's been fun for us, fun for the kids. Makes me miss our life here. It's been good to visit. We probably should have stayed longer, but then you risk staying too long. And there are others on the itinerary who get sort of pissy about how much time they get. Such a delicate balance we must strike.

Next stop: DeSoto, Missouri. Is it as exciting as it sounds? You bet.

Vacation!

After this hectic summer (of doing what? Swimming? Nothing?) it is time to get away. We are headed out tomorrow, early, road-tripping back to Indiana, by way of Civil War sites in Mississippi, Mammoth Cave (alas, no Graceland this trip) and Nashville. We'll visit friends in the Hoosier state, then family in Missouri. Then we'll stop at the Clinton Library in Little Rock and end up in Oklahoma for a week of UU camp. Not the most glamorous vacation ever, but fun, none the less.

Or at least we hope so. All five of us, cooped up in a car, with Alison leading the fights in the back of the van?

I have fond memories of summer travels with my family: with only AM radio, there was no music (and if there had been, it would have been chosen by my father). He drove what felt like 600 miles a day and was never wiling to look for a motel until after 8 p.m. — I guess that extra 25 miles was going to make all the difference — and more than once the six of us ended up in a room without enough beds and barely enough floor space. My dad smoked in the car, and we kids were crammed in the back. This is pre-seatbelt days, so it didn't really matter whether the car was big enough. We'd fold down the seats in the back of our Pinto wagon, lay down the sleeping bags, and hang out. Or fight. Or whatever. We saw whatever my parents had put on the itinerary (I don't recall that we were ever consulted) and frankly spent a lot of time in the car. We were sick all through Colorado, and I remember the rain and cold in Plymouth, Mass., the heat of South Dakota.

But you know what? I really enjoyed it. We went everywhere — East Coast, Midwest, Northeast. Saw Boston, Washington DC, Mount Rushmore, the Rockies, the Hermitage. Michigan, Ohio, Kansas, Pennsylvania, Niagra Falls. We were very well traveled. And even if those places didn't mean anything at the time, they mean something now.

So, no regrets. I'll report on how it goes. But no matter what, it will be worth it. America in a car — it's what growing up here is all about.

Weird, crazy, busy in the forecast, with a chance of happy

Surviving company — a good thing, in this case — but it has made my life hectic. That, and uncertainty, waiting for news, good or bed.

This sounds so cryptic. Let me put it this way: I have a new job! Just found out Monday; I've been waiting to hear for a while, so I've been rather moody, on edge. But now I that I have word, I can get my act together.

I have been hired as the editor of Cy-Fair Magazine, a glossy, slick, full-color family oriented magazine, "marketed to upscale families in the Cy-Fair area." Upscale families in Cy-Fair — that's me! I am the demographic. And I have the skills (girls only want boyfriends with skills ...) to put this together. I know what people want to read.

So, before I interviewed I put together a packet marketing myself: I outlined why I would be good at the job, a list of possible story ideas, a budget for the first issue, writing samples. The publisher loved it. She thought I was so organized. I didn't hear anything, so finally I e-mailed her and asked what was up, and she offered me the job. The magazine is quarterly and I will work mostly from home. It is perfect for me.

So, this is good. Very good. A very positive turn in my career path.

And in my Houston life path. Things are looking up.

Happy Fourth of July!

The holiday I missed the most when we lived overseas. There's something about summertime Americana that makes me sentimental. Cook-outs, parades, fireworks — makes me feel like a kid again. We celebrated by swimming, grilling steaks, the neighborhood parade, and fireworks — amazing fireworks, just in our neighborhood.

Happy Birthday, America! I'm sure spontaneous fireworks is what it's all about.

Blah, blah, blah

More rain ... but it's not a bad thing, because the landscapers were here today, and we have a backyard full of new sod and many new plantings. It looks like a tropical paradise.

All of this surrounding our brand-new, glorious swimming pool! Many weeks behind schedule, but finally, finally done. The filter is not running yet; in typical fashion they were to turn it on today but didn't make it. But they'll be here first thing in the morning. Sure, sure. But they had better, as we want to take the inaugural swim tomorrow.

Counting down the days until vacation. Though I wish it were somewhere really exciting and relaxing. This year we'll visit friends, visit family and go to a week of UU camp. But it should be nice. Next year maybe we'll do something more exciting.

Mostly these days, life is just ordinary. Reading a lot, puttering around the house, taking care of routine stuff.

Blah.

Energy and philanthropy

After a busy busy weekend with guests, I am exhausted. Today we did nothing. OK — I did some laundry, cleaned up, made a return to Target, did some reading. But in the grand scheme of things, it felt like very little.

The weekend was nice — Maddie's friend, Juliana, and her mother, my friend Ann — were here. We ran like crazy — to the zoo, the beach, out to eat, the movies. It was fun — nice to see friends, good to catch up. Maddie planned the itinerary, full of everything she loves to do best. But by Sunday we opted out of the visit to the science center; we were all glad to stay put. We substituted a trip to get ice cream, and no one complained.

Their visit made me homesick, made me miss friends terribly. But we have to get over it.

So today I was still catching up. But I have enough energy to be impressed with Warren Buffett and Bill and Melinda Gates. I was off Bill Gates and Microsoft for awhile. But they've redeemed themselves. And I like Buffett's attitude about his kids' inheriting money; he says they should have to earn their own fortunes. I'm guessing his kids got quite an education and have been well provided for; they won't be suffering from their lack of inheritence.

Once again, proof that there is indeed humanity in our culture. You just have to seek it out.

Receding clouds, dryer days ahead

Or so we hope. The rain has ceased here, but it's in the forecast again, and there are still flash flood warnings for the southeastern part of the city.

Dan Rather is leaving CBS; not news at this point, but noteworthy. His career started there in 1962; it's been a sad end to one of the longest, at one time most well-respected reporting careers at a major network. We've seen a lot of changes in the past year and we'll likely see more. Sorry, but I don't predict good things for Ms. Couric. But I could be wrong — maybe I'll love her?

Heard a story today on NPR about dialects and accents, so I went online to take this Are You A Yankee or a Rebel quiz. My result: "32% Dixie. You are definitely a Yankee." And I even answered one with the appropriate Houston response; yes, I now use the term "feeder" rather than access or frontage road. When in Rome, or should I say, when in Houston. Though I can honestly say I've never been to a drive-through liquor store.

Guests arriving on Thursday, so we have to get things in shape around here. I wouldn't want people to see how we actually live — I'd prefer they see the fake house.

Too bad it won't include a swimming pool and landscaped back garden ... sigh ... this week we can blame it on the rain.

When it rains, it floods

It has rained since Saturday. Rained a little that day, rained a lot last night. And this morning, it rained a lot more. In fact, we got six inches of rain in just over an hour.

The rain was coming down all night. This was a torrential downpour. And it hadn't let up at all by the time I had to drive Alison to summer school. I listened to the closings on the radio in vain; her class was on. So we left ten minutes earlier than usual; I hope hope hoped that there would be less traffic, that fewer people would care to brave the streets.

I wish I could have been one of those people that had stayed home. Even the streets of the subdivision are full of water; it made me nervous to drive through them. Water was gathering on the street I take to the Interstate, and since I take the feeder road, the water on the right-hand side was way up. You can only drive on the middle of the road for so long before you have to get over to the right.

Got Alison to school — she wisely wore her rain coat for the run into the building — and the parking lot was much emptier than usual; many families decided not to risk it. Back in the subdivision, half an hour later, the water was up over the bottom of some driveways; the bottom of some mailbox posts was covered.

Southeast Houston has 11 inches of rain in a short period of time. Ground, drains are already saturated and can't absorb it. In the city, around the inner loop, the roads were closed — the 610, the Gulf Freeway were closed, with water over three lanes, over the exit ramps and feeder roads. Buildings are flooded. This storm has been likened to Hurricane Allison — not as strong, but the same type of storm. We've seen footage of rescues, of abandoned cars all morning.

It's scary. It's frightening to think that you can't find safety in your home. It's terrifying to be out on the roads in this. And I wouldn't if I didn't have to, that is for sure. Forces of nature are incombatible, it seems; we are at their mercy.

The rain here has stopped, for now. It's in the mid-70s, cloudy, overcast, wet, but the rain is no longer coming down. I'll be interested to see what the streets look like when I leave to get Alison in a couple of hours.

We suffer without rain, we suffer with too much. Thank goodness my family is safe, but I worry about others who might not be.

Little Bits of Random

It was an ordinary week. Nothing much of note happened.

Or so it would seem. Drove Alison to summer school every day, with differing traffic. We leave the house each day before 7.15 a.m. Most days we are there by 7.30, but yesterday, Thursday, we weren't even off the access road on 290 by 7.30. Weird — today I was driving home by 7.32. The traffic here is beyond comprehension.

Went to the Woodlands Mall to return our .mac package; when I tried to register it told me the access code was already in use. These numbers are totally random in appearance — not likely that someone could just guess it. And the package was sealed. Weird.

Browsed at the Woodlands, but didn't buy anything (except for Fathers Day gifts for the dad). I found the *cutest* marked down Ralph Lauren outfit at Foley's (our Ayres/Famous Barr alternative, soon to be Macy's). But even marked down it was pretty pricey. And I can't be sure that I like it that much.

Found out that two of the guys from ZZ Top live in the Woodlands, from our overly chatty clerk at Ayres/Foleys/Macys. (The new cards will be in the mail soon; corporate folks are coming in to start the transition. I'm surprised I don't this guy's marital status and birthday.)

Oh — got rear-ended exiting I-45 (the north freeway) onto Spring Cypress. We weren't going very fast, and the guys who hit me were very nice. Damage is very minor, but I'm sure it will require an entirely new bumper. Didn't call the police, and their boss has called twice to assure me that they will take care of it (I think they want to avoid the iinsurance company). So now I have to take the car in for an estimate and have it in the shop. Grrrr. But considering how fast people drive and how many accidents there are, I should consider myself lucky.

The pool deck is done — yay!! Now Maddie complains that the pea gravel hurts her feet. Um, it's too late to change it?

And I'm a single parent no more — the prodigal father returned from his business travels. The girls, who were wonderful all week, fought ridiculously over the temperature in the back of the van driving to dinner. It had nothing to do with said temperature, but was all about control; the fight started before the car even had a chance to cool down. What is up with that? As Gary mused, is he the problem?

So, the weekend begins. Rain in the forecast, so we'll be looking for something fun to do. Watch Crash? Furniture shopping? Time will tell.

High heels, long hair, cruel attacks

Headline on CNN Website: Has Ann Coulter gone too far?

Are you kidding? She is really something, that one. Not only do I tire of her vicious right-wing attacks, but this image she tries so hard to hone — every photo of her with the long hair draped over her shoulder, the attempt at the smouldering looks. I take it she sees herself as the hot sexy conservative alteranative.

But all that aside, the swipes at the 9/11 widows were uncalled for. Does she reallly believe that, or does she just try to write something as controversial as possible in order to stir up some publicity for her book? Which debuted as No. 1 on amazon.com, if I'm not mistaken.

I am a firm believer in free speech. But why does she go after these women in such a vitriolic manner?

I guess you could say I'm not a big fan.

And all you've got going for you is the hair, babe; high heels and short skirts do not a beauty make. You're not quite as attractive as you think.

Welcome to the working week

In a moment of insanity, I agreed to do some freelance work for a local real estate publication. This is a problem? Well, not really, but I am coming to terms with the fact that a) I'm not really feeling motivated and b) I don't work well at home. Neither one of these is really news to me. I'm also a huge procrastinator, so I have not really started (though I did do a bunch of reading yesterday in preparation for my article). Lease to buy options (boring ... I really do better with lifestyle/human interest pieces).

Gary left for Germany yesterday. The girls and I went to church yesterday, out to lunch, to the pool. Watched the Tonys — I don't live in New York, only get to see a Broadway show every few years, yet I love the Tonys. They are so much more real than the Oscars or the Emmys ... OK, who am I kidding. But I love them anyway. The show Jersey Boys won so many times that I am singing "Can't take my eyes off you" over and over. Since Harry Connick is leaving The Pajama Game this month, thus thwarting my plans to see him on stage this fall, now I think I want to see Jersey Boys, if I can figure out someone to watch the girls and get Pete to meet me and Gary in NYC.

An added bonus to the Tonys: They run on schedule, not lingering on and on. No over the top, 10-minute thank you speeches. These actors/actresses seem to have their egos a little more in check.

They're working on the pool deck today. Progress. What will I complain about when it's done?

We finally, finally made up our minds about vacation. And Alison is upset because it puts us in Lafayette on a weekday. But I'm not sure how to fix that. Gary can't take two and a half weeks off work, and we all — Alison included — want to go to SWUUSI, a UU family camp in Oklahoma. Those dates aren't flexible, so there you go.

Must finish the laundry then get to work. Real work. Only the lure of a paycheck is making it worthwhile.

This and that

I know that what happened in Iraq yesterday is important and could change the direction of things. But did I really need to wake up this morning to a photo of a corpse on the front page of the paper?

Arrest made in the school bus vandalism prank in Lafayette. Good — I didn't see the humor. Nor, I'm sure, did the school district, as they paid to repair the damage to the buses, paid teachers and staff for an extra day, paid subs for the teachers and staff who had plans they couldn't change, dealt with the logistics of adding a day to the school year. Hilarious.

The pool tile is done — they were here until after 8 last night finishing up. Yay! Next comes plaster, then the deck. The landscape crew is here today to get started; they'll have to reschedule since much of the pool work remains to be done, but they will get our irrigation system functional again so the entire front yard doesn't die in the meantime.

We need to go choose our landscape rocks, return an overdue book to the library, go to the pool. Mundane stuff. I'm getting my hair done (at last, you say); thank goodness I got it in before the Cat BBQ tomorrow night. An official office function — this is more fun than the Lafayette office, anyway. Parties!

Had some neighbors over last night — met them last weekend and they are moving into a house just up the road. They have a 16-year-old son, 14-year-old daughter and 7-year-old daughter. The kids got along, and I really like the parents. Looks good for our future social life. I kind of miss having one.

Ordinary day. That's not such a bad thing.

To Hell With all That

To Hell With All That: Loving and Loathing our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan

After reading this book, I have one big question: What's your point?

Flanagan, the anti-feminist, has set out to convince us that the women's movement has done women a disservice in showing that women might be dissatisfied with merely performing perfunctory household duties. Being a housewife should be celebrated, she says; women should be glad to fix dinner and do the laundry. Child-rearing has been elevated to an art and needs to be scaled back a notch, back to the days when being a wife was first and foremost and the children a mere by-product.

Excuse me? She really expects me to believe this tripe?

And she is the poster child?

Flanagan writes of the evils of nannies, the amount of discomfort they can bring to a household. And this in the same book where she devotes an entire chapter to the relationship she has with — you guessed it — her nanny. The woman she hired to care for her children for three years when she wasn’t even working. It is the noblest thing to be home with one’s children, she says, and points out that she stayed home with her children. But in the same breath she tells us that she had a 9-5 nanny and that she was practically paralyzed, unable to function, between 7 and 9 a.m. before the nanny’s arrival. She makes it clear that children need their mother their when they’re sick in the night … but that she did not actually put the sheets in the washer — that was the nanny’s job.

She talks of the amount of satisfaction a woman should get from taking care of her home and her family. Then tells you of the maid and gardener who actually do most of said housework.

Sometimes it seems as if her point is to make it clear that she is a woman of privilege — she can afford to be home, yet can pay all this household help. She and her husband can send their two boys to a soigné preschool, one whose very élan was disrupted by an outbreak of head lice. What — parents of children who go to public kindergarten aren’t disrupted by such things? Do we merely take it in stride?

Flanagan’s writing style, praised by some, is a bit pretentious for me (“soignée"? "élan"?). She seems more interested in painting a picture of herself as having made the right choices than in looking at what is good for all women. Her own mother tossed aside the apron in the early '70s in order to have a job and some time for herself, and all Flanagan can see is that she felt abandoned. In retrospect, can’t she see that maybe it was the only way for her mother to survive?

I don’t see a need to pit working mothers against stay-at-home moms — we all have our children’s very best interests at heart. To her credit, Flanagan does confess the realities of her life — the privilege that eludes most stay-at-home mothers of preschoolers — but she doesn’t quite see that they set her apart. She honestly sees herself as an ordinary sacrificing mother, even when she had full-time help. And today, as a staff writer for the New Yorker, she does not consider herself a working mother.

Not a book I could recommend. And not only because I didn’t agree with her point, but more importantly, because I couldn’t discern that she had one.

An inconvenient truth

Houston was the first stop on Al Gore's book tour to promote his new book and film, An Inconvenient Truth. We joined the sold-out crowd at the Hobby Center in downtown Houston to listen to the man who should have been president talk passionately about what we, human beings, have done to this planet and what we must do to save it.

And I'm so glad I did. The man portrayed as "stiff" from 1992-2000 was anything but. He was greeted with thunderous applause — clearly there are people who long for a different presence in politics. He was energetic, lively, captivating and funny; he spoke with great enthusiasm and ardor about his crusade to bring awareness to global warming and educate people about what must be done in order to turn this potential cataclysm around. The talk was fascinating and entertaining. Which leads me to wonder:

Where was this guy in 2000?

The statistics were alarming. The damage done by our misuse of carbons is astounding — most of it in the last 30 years. Of the records set for 25 hottest years on record, the top 25 have all been set in the last 30 years. Glaciers and mountaintop snows are disappearing; Greenland and Antarctica have seen significant losses. We will all pay a price, with elimination of species, global climate, storms, and loss of land mass as ocean levels rise.

Experts in the field — scientists and climatologists — universally agree: This is real. There are no skeptics among those in the know.

But the good news is, it's not too late to change. We have the knowledge and the technology available to change trends and make a difference in the well-being of our planet.

Granted, anyone who heads out on the lecture circuit with an agenda will use only the facts they know will support their claim. And I suspect Gore is no different. But it's hard to discount the overall message of what he said. He used a lot of canned stories in his opening, but it was funny nonetheless. And in the Q&A, when asked about Iraq, he responded that Iraq is the single worst strategic decision ever made by the United States. A bold statement — one that, I confess, I would have to think about long and hard before making. But I think a case could be made. We're in a quagmire, with no end in sight — today's developments not withstanding.

But I digress. Overall, it was an empowering evening. I am revved up for midterm elections, for the campaign season of 2008. Something has to change; do Democrats have the power to retool their message and show that they really are the party with our best interests at heart?

Go see the film. An Inconvenient Truth — it's an eye-opener.

Am I really a Houston mom?

With our lack of a backyard pool, and temps in the 90s (gulp — it's only June!) we're off these days to the neighborhood pool. It's a funky, hanging-out kind of pool — no real deep end, no diving board, a curvy shape with a sort-of stream, but lots of lounge chairs and a mushroom-shaped fountain. For serious swimmers there's also a lap pool up the road, but for our crowd, this is sufficient. It's not terribly crowded (not when we go, anyway) and there's plenty of water.

I love to watch the other moms. These are mostly mothers of preschoolers and young grade schoolers, so already I don't quite fit in. They arrive loaded up with pool toys, strollers, swim diapers, and enough snacks to last til tomorrow — don't these kids eat at mealtimes?

And I love to watch the fashion parade — moms who arrive in bikinis and bronze themselves to an unhealthy glow, moms in cute but practical tankinis, moms who wear unflattering, frumpy old-lady suits — even when they don't have to. Too thin, too heavy, just right ... where do I fit in? My suit is cute — well, the one I wore yesterday for sure. Grabbed it off a sale rack at the end of last year. I'm not one to name drop or brand drop, but if I were, and I did, you'd know for sure that it can't be ugly.

I watched the moms at gymnastics yesterday, too. Women here are big on heels — with shorts, with jeans, with capris. Another minus for me. And I hope the sparkly look is only the one mom — she was the kind who looked all put together, even for dropping off for gymnastics, and she had sequins on everything — the tank top, the belt, the jean capris, the purse. She probably had them on the wedge heels she was wearing, too, but I didn't get a good look. I think I was temporarily blinded.

I know it's Texas, but come on; it's still the real world. I felt so inadequate in my shorts and sandals ... well, not really, but I have to wonder if that's what she's going for. Why else would you don all those sequins in the middle of the afternoon?

More thoughts to ponder — that and Caitlin Flanagan and whatever the HELL her point is. More later.

On strip malls and spirituality

When the UU Church in Lafayette was searching for new space, Target moved into its new Super Target building, thus leaving available real estate at the corner of State Road 26 East and Hwy. 52. Some people were intrigued. Others said (and I paraphrase) it would be a cold day in non-existent hell before they would attend church services in a strip mall.

I confess, I was on board with that sentiment. Shopping for office supplies? OK. Spiritual awakening on Sunday morning? Nicht.

Yet, as we all have to do, I am evolving. We've been attending services at the UU Church in the Woodlands. The building is nestled in the woods, with tree tops visible through the very high windows in the A-frame sanctuary. There's a lovely garden in front where folks gather for coffee hour, complete with a pond and little bridge. It's relaxing and uplifting and a beautiful setting. The people are nice (I've joined a covenant gruup) and they have a very active high school group. But they have two services, with the better class for Alison during the second service, when there's no class for Maddie. The DRE just resigned and the minister is leaving at the end of the month.

All of this I could live with ... if it weren't a 40-minute drive.

Dedicated folks in Lafayette drove from Delphi, Frankfort and Crawfordsville to attend services. They were often very involved, coming to myriad meetings during the week. But it's hard for me to drive so far, what with small people at home and a husband who works late (not to mention my penchant for sleeping in on weekends!) Social events are never nearby; being involved requires a major committment.

So I figured we owed it to ourselves to at least check out the UU church nearest us. We chose the Woodlands first because it's bigger, appears more organized and was recommended by a friend in Lafayette (her friend from grad school goes there). We initially steered clear of the closer church because it's so much more fellowship-y — no minister, no DRE, no paid staff.

It's also only 20 minutes away. So, today we decided to have a look. We were non-committal, and first impressions weren't good. It's in a strip mall — ie, no windows in the interior rooms, and the space was a health club before; serious remnants remain. The schedule is funky, with RE following the service.

All doubts disappeared when we heard the service. Today was a guest minister from Austin; he must have a huge church there, as he was very dynamic and a great speaker. And the people — everyone was friendly and welcoming. It's a totally volunteer-run church, which apparently makes people closer. Lots of activities, lots of social events, lots of interest groups.

And people who live near us — two families live in our subdivision, and one family is building a house just up the street from us. We offered our three months of experience in Coles Crossing to help the new folks with their pool construction, swapped phone numbers (they have kids the same ages).

Alison and Maddie prefer Northwoods; Gary and I see advantages to both. Not a bad dilemma to have. For now, we'll be involved with both, revisit the situation at a later date.

So we're working on our issues with strip malls. At the very least, we have options. And that's always a good thing.

Ah, the weekend

We're down one kid for the weekend. Alison went on a UU weekend to Oklahoma City, to a youth group con. She loved the last one the attended. The van was to leave at 6.30 last night, so they said to arrive around 6 and get everything loaded up. We were there just after 6 and no one else was there — Alison panicked and Gary was searching frantically for a cell phone number. I told them both to just chill — we don't have to go all type A and start dialing the minute — nay, the second — we suspect something isn't right. Sure enough, minutes later someone showed up. This is a UU group, after all (!)

Last night Maddie and I (and sometimes Gary) watched the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice — loved it! Loved everything about it, from the dialogue (excellent adaptation) to the costumes to the actors. Colin Firth IS Mr. Darcy. Alison wants to watch the new version, and we will (the Netflix arrived!) Though I've heard it isn't nearly as good ... we shall see.

Should be out helping clean out the garage, but I needed a breather.

It's 90 out today; good day for a pool. Sigh ... is this my biggest problem these days? That I have no back yard pool? Exactly.

Back to the garage; real work beckons.

It's raining, it's pouring ...

Down comes the rain, to a city that has had more than it needs — all week it has poured, and we had more than four inches in one hour yesterday. Not so much in our neck of the woods, but that term is all relevant now, isn't it? Not only are there flash flood warnings in effect, bayous that are saturated, low-lying areas dangerously near calamity, but work on our pool is delayed. It's a near catastrophe. The workers are actually here, and were able to work much of the morning, but since the skies opened up again about 30 minutes ago, they're sitting on our covered patio.

The rain also means no gardener today, so the flower beds will have to hold onto their weeds.

We're supposed to go to the library today, but I think I'll wait until the downpour halts for a bit. This is no ordinary rain, so I'm not just being a sissy. It isn't like that gentle German rain, but very real stormy skies. Good news is that it should be over by the weekend.

Someone who read the freecycle ad came today to collect the empty moving boxes. The movers will make a box pick-up, but they told me they just incinerate them — !!! Can't do it, not when I know someone out there is getting ready to move and needs empty boxes. Such a shocking waste.

Yesterday we stayed in to watch a movie. Even with our collection of unwatched or seldom viewed videos and DVDs, it motivated me to join Netflix. Joined at the highest level — the Website assured me that it's the best deal as well as the most popular — and I certainly want to do the popular thing. The queue already has 40 titles, supplemented by suggestions from my children, such as War of the Worlds (Alison), Hoodwinked and Robots (Sylvia), and Mildred Pierce (!) (Maddie — the kid has taste!).

The pool workers have packed up their tools and are getting in the truck. I guess it's over for today. So sad ...

Rain, rain, go away ... please let them finish my pool and then I won't complain anymore (unless I can't actually use said pool, then I'll renege on that promise entirely ... I can't win).

Currently listening: Best of Dave Edmunds
Currently reading: To Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan

Welcome to old age

Woke up Thursday with a pain in my shoulder — you know, the kind as if you've slept on it wrong. It only hurt when I turned my head, no biggie. On Friday, the day I turned 40, we giggled that it was all downhill from there.

On Monday when I woke up, I could barely move. Couldn't lift my arm higher than my shoulder; every move I made was excruciating. Couldn't lift a spoon, had to drink from a straw. Spent the day on the couch in agony, barely able to move.

Today, after a miserable night, woke up feeling just the same. Until I remembered that we might have held onto Maddie's post-surgery painkillers. They did the trick — took one this morning and was totally functional all day. The shoulder still hurts, but at least I can get by. Drove the car, did laundry, cooked dinner. The joy of the mundane.

But I am concerned about what this forebodes ... am I doomed to an enternity of aches and pains? Unexplained injuries? Minor ailments?

Four days into my 40s and already I'm an invalid. Where does it go from here?

The birthday concludes

Such a lovely birthday. Such a lovely weekend.

John and Barbara (my older brother and his girlfriend) are two of the most fun people I know. They were here from Thursday through Sunday, providing endless entertainment.

The girls love them. Adults who have no children and are perpetual adolescents themselves make for good playmates. Sylvia crawls up in their laps and snuggles as if she's a cat; the girls love them, and the affection seems to be mutual.

Alison was inspired by Barb's visit to pull out the Riverside Shakespeare and read; not a bad deal. Maddie delights them with her laugh.

We went to the pool, went to the Houston Museum of Fine Art (MFAH, not MIII ...) which has an impressive collection — a respectable survey of most major periods, covering everything from ancient Greece and Egypt (though why those pieces are in Houston I'm not quite sure ...) most of the Impressionists — Monet, Van Gogh, Mary Cassatt, Degas, Cezanne, Pisarro, etc. — Toulouse Lautrec, PIcasso, Klee, Mondrian, Chagall, Georgia O'Keeffe, Remington, Jackson Pollock, Roy Lichtenstein. A list that is by no means comprehensive. We merely skimmed the surface. The museum is free on Thursdays — lucky for us,

We went to the beach in Galveston. Downtown, the historic district, is charming, all turn of the century architecture. The water was warm and shallow, perfect for playing in the waves, which were strong enough to be fun, but not too dangerous for our crowd (though I did want to keep an eye on the girls, and I certainly wouldn't want them out there alone. We brought home much of the beach with us so as not to forget (and realized that our snow brush can be reincarnated with a new purpose: beach brush!)

Ate out (a lot), went to old town Spring (kitschy!), played my new Yahtzee game. Fun.

Fun, fun. Just a good weekend. The perfect start to a new decade.

Life begins at 40. I know it's true.

Happy Birthday to me!

It ain't so bad being 40.

I had a wonderful day as I transitioned to the over-40 demographic. The girls were wonderful, showering me with gifts ... and reminders that I am no longer in my 30s. My brother John and Barbara are here, so we went to the pool, to dinner, and to play trivia. I got a brand-new fancy Yahtzee game (which we broke in, and I lost. Dreadfully.) I got a new wallet, a DVD, a firepit for the back yard. I got some Godiva chocolate. My friend H sent a very sweet package, and my friend T from high school called.

And I woke up with a dreadful crick in my neck Thursday that hurt more than ever yesterday. A preview of coming attractions, perhaps? It's all downhill from here?

It's the age you feel and all that, right? Being old happens to others; just because your age goes up a number means nothing. I still feel good, still look OK.

I think I'll just ascribe to the belief that life begins at 40. I think I'm in a good place.

Happy Birthday!

The week begins

The week of my 40th birthday. It's a week-long celebration. Today's festivities include staying home with a sick daughter, buying sandals for another child, attending fifth-grade graduation and tidying the upstairs. By the end of the week, I should be all partied out.

We are having company — my older brother and his significant other. We're looking forward to seeing them. One of Barb's friends from grad school lives in Houston, so I am to collaborate with her in planning fun outings for the out-of-towners.

Over the weekend we kept busy — trying to get the girls to clean their rooms, choosing tile for the pool (mission accomplished), playing trivia at BW3, going to the Astros game. The girls had never been to an MLB game before, and the Astros won, complete with a home run, so the girls got to see the train run. It was fun. Make no mistake, one of the high spots of being an American is baseball. We all wore our new Astros hats, and as we were in the first 10,000 fans, Gary and I got T-shirts. Alison already commandeered her dad's ... I guess he thought I'd let him have mine. I guess he thought wrong.

Let's see what tomorrow has in store ...

Familiar friends

My week of single parenting is nearly over. Gary will be home from his business trip tomorrow night — his plane lands at 4.30, so not even late tomorrow.

And we have a brand-new shell of a swimming pool in our backyard. All we have to do is hose it down two times a day. I'll be happy to cede that job to him over the weekend.

Even better, I am no longer friend-free. I've been spending time with the mother of Sylvia's friend, who is very nice. We walked this morning, over two miles. It was fun, and she is easy to talk to.

Plus I've been in touch this week with one of my friends from college, Pete. We were the best of friends all through college, tried to stay in touch for a while, but I haven't talked to him since before we went to Germany.

We've picked up just where we left off; it's like we just talked yesterday. We've sent photos back and forth (he looks just the same) and he sounds just the same — he's the same old Peter.

He has changed, of course. He's a hospital VP. And he works out, runs marathons. Let's face it: We're both nearing 40, so life has changed in many ways. We're not the naive, careless 18-year-olds we were when we met, and life has caught up with both of us. I know that in many ways we are different people, all grown up. But in other ways we are just the same.

I remember from a class reunion that there was one guy who seemed to have ditched the annoying parts of his personality yet stayed the same — he was like Christopher always us just without any of the juvenile crap.

I feel that way about Pete — he has managed to hold onto what I remember as funny and charming, yet he has grown up at the same time. He is comfortable with who he is, secure, and successful.

I am so glad he is back in my life. Friends, after all, are what it's all about.

How I know I'm loved

There's nothing like a 7-year-old. She is so sweet, so sincere. All her emotions, all her thoughts, they are right there, laid out on the table for all to see. She wears her heart on her sleeve.

I, for one, love it.

Every drawer I open in my bedroom, every cabinet, had a note for me on Mothers Day. Some were little cards, some short letters, some were the letters M-O-M cut out and decorated. Even the kitchen cabinet where I keep my tea had one. The gist of the notes — all hand-written by my youngest daughter — is that I am the greatest mother in the world. Maybe the greatest mommy ever.

If that doesn't make one feel good, I can't imagine what would.

And as I often remind my children, being a great mommy is easy when you have the greatest kids in the world.

Dad in charge

I landed in Houston at 8.15 a.m. Sunday. If you do the math, you’ll realize this meant I had to get up at 4 a.m. in order to leave Lafayette by 4.45 a.m. in order to be at the airport by 6 to catch my 6.45 flight. And if you know anything about me, you know I’m not an early morning person — I managed just fine, even though I had stayed up until midnight — but it wasn’t easy.

Gary and the girls met me at the airport; he had a noon flight to Germany, so it was the easiest way to hand off the kids anyway. They gave me flowers and lots of Mothers Day cheeer. And we had plenty of time, so we went to breakfast — breakfast buffet on Mothers Day, perfect. And they gave me my gift: a pedometer. Now I can count my daily steps. What I learned is 10,000 steps a day is pretty easy when you’re chasing three kids and a dog (!) (Donald Rumsfeld on the Daily Show last week admitted one day he had only 1500 — egads! — I get 1,500 by 9 a.m.

The girls and I were home before noon … and I was greeted by a house where my husband was alone with the girls for three days. And boy, it looked like it. I’m sure they had fun over the weekend, but the house might have suffered a bit.

Sunday we just hung out; I took a nap, we watched A Little Princess, ate popcorn, Maddie made me strawberry shortcake for dinner. Nice day.

Then Monday I had to deal with what Gary left for me. I vacuumed, did laundry, folded all of last week’s laundry that had piled up in the laundry room. Tidied up, got Saturday’s mail.

He’s a good guy, spends lots of time with the girls. He’s a good husband and a great dad. He also can’t keep house. But it’s OK. They need me, and it’s clear they missed me.

Which I will try to remember the next time I clean the floors.

Visiting home

The weather was rainy and cold, but it was a lovely weekend in Lafayette.

It wasn’t that the roads were less crowded; it wasn’t that the town is smaller or even the locations familiar.

It was about friends.

I met friends for lunch on Friday. I went to a birthday party with lots of familiar faces Friday evening. I met H. for lunch on Saturday. Visited my former next-door neighbor and went to a neighborhood party Saturday night. Then J. and I went to the Jeff Show on Saturday night, where I saw even more friends.

Even when I popped into Interior Objects to run a quick errand for J., Michael, the owner, recognized me at once and we chatted briefly.

The weekend was all about remembering and spending time with people who meant something in my life. Lafayette was home for ten years — a decade — and many, many deep connections remain. At one point on Friday I was feeling strange and disconnected, as if I didn’t belong. But the more time I spent with friends — wonderful, strong women who have meant so much to me — the more I was reminded of just what life was like there.

Fortunately, with airplanes, telephones and e-mail, the world is much smaller than it used to be. For those of you who are reading this — you know who you are — I want you to know how much I value and cherish your friendship, and how much your support has meant over the last few months.

But I also know that I need to work harder at making life here in this new place all that it can be. I need to cultivate new friendships, find all that is positive here.

Which doesn’t mean I’ll ever give up on or forget the people who have meant so much to me in Indiana. You don’t get off that easy; you’re part of my life forever. And I won’t let you forget it.

Starting Tuesday

I've got to get my day started. Here it is, after 10 a.m., and I've done so little. In my former life I would have been up for hours, already well underway at work. And here? Zip. Didn't even exercise — I guess two days in a row would be too much for me. The landscape guys have come and gone; now I'm just waiting for the tree removal. I've read the Lafayette paper online, read some e-mail. Not much to show for mid-morning.

I have a ton of errands to take care of today. Sylvia has gymnastics, Maddie has the band visit at the middle school. Gilmore Girls season finale later. I need to return some stuff to the mall, buy stamps, mail some bills.

I am off to Lafayette for the weekend — my friend J. has a big birthday (which number, in the interest of privacy, I will not reveal — though it's not a big secret). It will be nice to get away for a bit, visit friends, see the Jeff High School spring show, take care of some left over business. Then I'll come home early on Mothers Day ... and an hour later Gary will leave for a week in Germany. Such is the life of a Cat executive. However, he is taking some time off for my birthday, when my brother and his significant other visit. Should be fun.

I am going to hire a gardener today. Check that off the list, anyway.

Time to dive into Tuesday. Later!

Remembering the Holocaust

Alison is reading The Diary of Anne Frank in English class. So, for extra credit, we visited the Houston Holocaust Musuem Sunday afternoon.

The design of the museum is inspired by the shape of the crematoriums; it is surrounded by faux barbed wire. The room of the permanent exhibit is wedge-shaped; when you enter and see the story of Jews in Europe in the early 20th century, the ceiling is tall. It lowers as you begin to read about Hitler coming to power and is at its lowest when you get to the photos of the final solution and the camps being liberated.

The exhibit told the story well, mostly through photographs with just a few donated artifacts — Nazi armbands and memorobilia (a baby spoon with a swastika, a children's book with propaganda). The most gruesome photos are in flat display cases — bodies discovered when the camps were liberated, victims of Mengle's experiments. Truly shocking.

There is a large community of Holocaust survivors who settled in Houston after the war. Their stories are told now in one of the rotating exhbits. Many of them gave the money to set up the museum, and their stories are told in a film made up of interviews, which give horrendous anecdotes.

The most recent addition is the donated rail car used to transport prisoners to the camps. It is outside, and as it was a hot day, we immediately felt what it must have been like to travel for hours or days, packed in with up to 100 other people.

It was a sobering visit, one that brought back all the horrors we have only read about, never experienced.

It's good to be reminded from time to time. Just how cruel people can be.

A lovely night

Not a bad week here in Houston. Hot and muggy — the norm for this time of year — but sunny and pleasant all the same.

And I was busy — or what for me counts as busy. I was a parent reader for the first grade. Attended the Night of Stars grade school open house ("And we're the stars!" said Sylvia, with great excitement). Received excellent mid-term reports for two of the girls. Went to my first small-group ministry at the UU church. Attended a band concert. Met with the landscaper.

Went to the Friday neighborhood happy hour. And I'm glad I did. It was at a house with a new pool, so the girls swam while the other moms and I shared our frustrations about the pool process — and I am not the only one to feel put out by the homeowners association. Solidarity at last. They are like the neighborhood Gestapo, and many others share these same sentiments.

I also chatted later with another neighbor who helped me understand some of the neighborhood dynamic. She had been hesitant to tell me all of this when I was brand-new (wanted me to form my own opinions) but I think I have a much better feel for what is going on. So I feel better, less excluded.

And to top it off, Gary and I went out to dinner in the city. We went to the Heights to a restaurant called Shade, a sleek modern restaurant whose "globally inflected comfort foods radiate freshness and joy." It was very nice, the perfect Friday night. I even whipped out one of my favorite black dresses to make the evening special — and to feel good about all my efforts at working out.

It rained last night — poured — so we probably won't go to the newly opened neighborhood pool. Instead, we'll spend today tidying up around the house — time to take care of those final details. The last of the pictures will go on the wall, and the office bookcases will be bolted into place.

We'll feel all moved in, at last.

The lure of shopping

I love to shop. Love it. Call it vanity, call it therapy. It's what I love.

Yet I say that with a few caveats. I do not shop recklessly. And I do not feel a need to be wasteful or repetitive. I don't need 15 pair of black sandals — not when 14 will do (!) And I don't make major purchases without running them by Gary first. I do like to consult with him ... even if it is merely a courtesy. I am the decider, after all.

Shopping has changed over the last few years. Some of the changes are for the better; now that we use the VISA for everything, transactions are a lot quicker. I am stunned when I see someone writing a check at the supermarket — I catch myself wondering what is wrong with their credit. Ditto someone paying with lots of cash.

But what is up with swiping my own credit card? Can't the clerk do that for me? Makes them look lazy. Ditto the self-checkout at the grocery. Why should I be ringing up my own purchase when there are clerks paid to do that? The novelty wore off that real quick, let me tell you.

And let's just return to paper shopping bags. Those plastic things are a nuisance. It takes nearly 25 of them to get all my groceries home. Maybe it would help if the baggers wouldn't put one bottle of dishwashing liquid or one box of Eggos in a bag. They could be more efficient. And there is no need to individually wrap the bags of holiday candy. Give me a paper bag anyday; what am I to do with all those plastic ones? Yes, the occasional plastic bag to wrap a wet swimsuit in or use when walking the dog comes in handy. But I get enough from Target — where strangely enough, I don't mind them. Back to paper!

But that's grocery shopping. And I'm really more into clothes shopping. Or accessories. Or household items. Or books.

Houston has great stores. I love the Container Store. The Galleria is great — fantastic shopping, the best. The area around the Galleria is full of very elite shops. Even Willowbrook Mall is much more high-end than any local mall I've ever had — Williams Sonoma is just blocks, not hours, away. FM 1960, the main drag near here, has Costco, Ann Taylor, DSW. We've got it all.

But it isn't all about me anymore. My last big shopping trip was with my eldest. She's a true teen. I used to see things that I thought the girls might like so I'd pick them up. Well, not anymore. They are too picky, too unpredictable. When I pointed out capris I thought were cute at Macy's or Famous Barr, Daughter #1 said she didn't really care for them ... but they might be OK if they came from Hollister or Abercrombie.

She chose all her clothes at American Eagle. (I saw those prices at Abercrombie and was stunned: $59 for a tiny denim miniskirt? $49 for capri pants? I think not.) She was happy enough — found some capris that were acceptable, found a similar tiny skirt. But her choice of tops was limited to T-shirts. Sure, they're cute, but T-shirts only? Couldn't she find anything else? Her favorite was the Coke T-shirt and the one I bought for myself — a vintage looking Beatles shirt.

She can't wait to wear it. But I told her she has to wait until I wear it first.

Mostly, I am feeling my age. She and I have very different visions of style. It's OK — I don't mind letter her dress her way, giving into what's trendy. I guess what troubles me is that I actually envision myself as a little trendy. And she has put me squarely in my place.

But I know just how to make myself feel better. All I need is the VISA to buy myself some happy!

The affliction that is celebrity

I'm not breaking any new ground here, but since when is George Clooney an expert on Darfur?

Let me be upfront: I think Clooney and I are actually on the same page politically, in some respects. But I'm not sure when I missed his transition to political pundit. Last I checked he was an actor making movies. Does he have any qualifications for spouting off his opinions on world affairs?

I'm not even sure he went to college (pause ... and a quick check on imdb.com shows that he studied "for a few years" at Northern Kentucky University); one of his first acting jobs was on "The Facts of Life" — and as a supporting character! Yet he is sharing his vast knowledge of how the U.S.A. should handle foreign relations?

He is no more qualified than Tom Cruise is to discuss psychiatry and post-partum depression and childbirth; just because your girlfriend has a baby does not an expert make.

I read somewhere that Reese Witherspoon was listed as a person of influence. For what?!?

We need to get over our obsession with all people famous. I've said before that Katie Couric acts like an airhead, but at least she did study somewhere reputable and she has worked on the news. The goofy "I'm cute and famous" act came later.

Just because an actor/actress makes a lot of money doesn't make them experts on any issue. Terri Hatcher, Patricia Heaton, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins, Richard Gere. I actually agree with some of these people, but I'm not sure I trust them to help me navigate the complicated world.

I read an interview with Gillian Anderson where she described the making of Bleak House and how difficult and demanding it was for her to get into character. And I'd like her to step back and remember that SHE IS ACTING. Her whole career is about playing dress-up. Pretend. It's not saving the world. You, actors, are not that important. Not in the way that my daughters' teachers or librarians are. Or people who volunteer at the Crisis Center. Or teach preschool. These are jobs that really do change the world.

Get over yourselves already.

And the number one most hated job is ...

I hate housework. I hate it all.

It's a necessary evil, I know. Someone has to do it. And in our division of labor (ie, Gary goes to work everyday, I don't), that someone would be me. I'd hire it out, but since I am home all day with virtually nothing to do, I can't really justify it. It would be nice if the girls would help — which they do, sporadically — but frankly, getting them to help involves more time and effort than if I just do it myself.

I hate vacuuming. Don't care for dusting. Despise cleaning the bathrooms. And the list goes on. Maybe because I know as soon as I'm done I'll have to turn around and do it all over again. There is no sense of completion.

I kind of don't mind laundry — I suppose that's because it involves caring for my clothes, which is important to me. Gotta care for the wardrobe. There is a certain amount of satisfaction in having my clothes neatly put away. It's the never-ending chore — there is always something in the bottom of the hamper — but it's the one job I can tolerate. Maybe because the machine does most of the work.

I derive a sense of calm on those occasions when the house is in order. When our last house was for sale, it looked practically perfect all the time. But it took a lot of energy — every day before I left the house for work, after the girls were gone, I had to spend more than half an hour putting every last thing away. The house looked great, but I had zero energy for anything else.

Today I had to grocery shop — my number one most hated task. I don't like cooking — unless we're having company, but then it's entertaining, which I love — consequently, don't care much for the shopping. But as we are a family of five, and I don't want to eat out every meal, grocery shopping is a necessary evil.

But there is one bright spot: since I shopped today, I don't have to do it again for a week. At least.

(Unless you count the run to pick up the forgotten trash bags and mini-applesauce ...)

Sigh. A housewife's work is never done.

When did Blondie go mainstream?

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it surreal that Blondie's "One Way or Another" is now being used to hawk some sort of domestic housecleaning item in a daytime commercial?

It's also annoying that some God-awful song from Footloose is used to sell M&Ms. But that's because it's a bad song.

Too weird.

An ordinary day

It was Tuesday. Just Tuesday — nothing too special. But nothing bad.

I went to the grade school to help out interviewing kids for Exchange City, the model city the fifth-graders live in for a day. They get write resumes, interview, get jobs, earn paychecks, pay taxes. It sounds like a good learning experience. So today they needed parents to come conduct interviews, so I played recruiter and met with six different kids. They were funny — when I asked one boy why he was the best candidate for the job of police officer, he said he didn't know if he'd be the best, but he'd be a good police officer (!) I give him credit for honesty. And one girl said she had no real knowledge of what a broadcaster would do, but she was willling to learn. I didn't, per Gary's suggestion, ask where they planned to be in five years, but I did ask them about their conflict resolution skills.

And yes, the Queen was there.

I came home, made Chex Mix. Mailed in my League of Women Voters membership. Assembled yet another IKEA bookcase — I am a whiz with the allen wrench. Took Sylvia to gymnastics, where I chatted with Sue, the mother of Sylvia's friend Julie. Sue is delightful — she's from Barbados, her husband works for an oil company. They've lived our life, traipsing all over the world, two or three years per place, never near family. I thought she was Scottish, and yes, they lived in Aberdeen. She is officially my best friend in Houston.

Went to the high school parent meeting — conveniently scheduled the same night as the middle school parent meeting. (However, in their wisdom, the ISD has scheduled a duplicate meeting for the middle school next week.) A typically ill-run meeting. The principal was fine, stayed on task, but we had to sit through a useless power point presentaton that consisted of what appeared to be those annoying inspirational posters — "Learn," "Love," "Live," "Dream" — to a sappy soundtrack. And then the assistant principal droned on for what felt like hours, saying nothing, losing everyone — she was nearly drowned out by the parents talking around me. They never did shut up, not through the presentations by every department of the school, where they each gave a meaningless rundown of their course offerings — totally general, no specifics, just a vague rah-rah account of what they will offer in order to make Cy Woods the greatest high school in the district, the city, the state, the country! By the time the athletic staff was introducing the defensive line coaches, I had about had it. Keep in mind that I stood this entire time, as the place was overcrowded. We were a full half hour behind schedule by the time it was time to break out into our four small groups. No one showed up for choir, we couldn't figure out where the miscellaneous clubs group was (even asked, and no one knew ...) so I went late to theater and left early. The school will be fine — the staff is enthusiastic and they appear to have a lot to offer. Even poorly run, the meeting gave me lots of enthusiasm to bring home to Alison.

Gary is on his way to Lafayette. I am going to curl up with my tape of Gilmore Girls. Tomorrow: oil change for the car. The excitement never ceases.

Queen Bee Moms

There is a disconnect here between me and the schools. I volunteered a fair amount at the schools in Lafayette. I chose Miller, the grade school, over Tecumseh Middle School and Montessori — Montessori always had plenty of over-achiever parent types who were happy to pick up the slack. And even Miller had its core group of dedicated volunteer parents. But there was a place for me.

The schools here are big. And we are definitely in an upper-middle class area here. So the volunteer moms are multiplied; there are many, many super-involved moms who have dedicated their lives to their children and are more than happy to be at the school every day, taking care of every little detail better than someone like me could. After all, they love their children just a little bit more than the rest of us.

Now I have to admit, I've just read Rosalind Wiseman's latest, Queen Bee Moms and Kingpin Dads. So I'm looking to apply my newfound knowledge of parent world to the local suburban grade school. I'm just a casual observer, but I had the Queen Bee Mom picked out from day one.

I've been to three volunteer activities, and she was at all of them. She wears not a regular nametag, but a laminated "volunteer" tag on a lanyard with her children's names on ribbons. (To be fair, others have the tags on lanyards, but not the ribbons with the names.) She wears the proper mom uniform of coordinated sweatsuit or capri pants and flip flops. She is loud, laughs a lot, is on a first-name basis with the secretary. She takes charge, barking orders, making it clear that she is willing and able to do any task that no one else will do. And I'm sure she does — and does it faster. Better.

She's the It Mom, the Queen, and everyone knows it.

None of this means she isn't pleasant; she seems nice enough. And I'm sure she is — til you cross her.

Mostly she fills in the picture for me. She's there, she and others like her, and I can see that I am not needed. People like me —I'm not quite sure which category I fall into, invisible, maybe? — women like me can "help out," but we're not really needed.

It's OK, though. Sylvia saw me there, and she knows I am helping with her performance.

And even better, I know what my next writing project is. And every time I see these people, I gather more anecdotes. We'll just call it research.

Oh yes, it's Ladies Night ...

Here in Section 26 of Coles Crossing, there is a monthly Ladies Night — an informal gathering of all the moms/housewives who dwell in the identical houses that line the curving suburban streets. My name made its way onto the Evite list, so last night I ventured out.

My first concern was over what to wear; you don't want to be underdressed and look as if you don't care, thus branding yourself as lazy, and you don't want to overdo it and be seen as trying too hard, or too sexy, thus the neighborhood Edie Britt. I think I know enough at this point in my life so choose capri pants and sandals — I am who I am, after all.

The women were nice enough. I don't know anyone well, so it all feels a little strange. All our houses look just alike, so I find it interesting when people gush over someone's house. The floor plans are identical!

I feel at times as if I am living in a combination of Stepford-land and Wisteria Lane. As I said, people are pleasant enough. But I really feel as if I don't fit it. It all seems a bit superficial — people chat with me for about five minutes, then are clearly ready to move on. And the conversation lacked substance. It's not as if everyone is young, thin and beautiful — I'm sure these are all normal women, with normal lives and normal problems. They all put on a show as if everything is perfect, but it can't be. I cannot be the only flawed woman in this community.

Yet it feels that way sometimes. I'm still looking for my place. It's here — I just have to find it. There are so many women around here; someone must have something in common with me. Nicole Kidman found Bette MIdler — I just have to keep looking. God — this is worse than dating ...

Life in the big house

An ordinary day here in the Southwestern United States. Didn’t do anything too exciting — grocery store, tidying up, that sort of thing. My big project was to organize all my loose recipes. Mission accomplished; but at this rate I’ll have all those little tasks done by the end of May, and then what will I do with my time?

It’s hot here. Big temperatures. Big everything down here — big traffic. Big city. Big schools. Big cars. Big fascination with sports.

And a big house. The neighborhoods are huge, and they’re all full of big houses. Really big. Ours is no exception. It’s really lovely; it’s pretty in a very glamorous sort of way. So it’s very different for us. We’ve always lived in historic homes; houses built before 1920, with very typical old-house architectural details — hardwood floors, woodwork, built-ins. That was our style.

Now we live in suburbia, in a Sopranos-style house. We looked condescendingly at one of Gary’s high school acquaintances who lived in such a house, and now I guess the shoe is on the other foot. Two-story vaulted ceiling in the foyer and family room. A very grand curved staircase leading to the second floor. A second-story game room for the kids. Modern kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Huge master suite with giant walk-in closet and luxurious bathroom. Backyard with a pool.

It’s a great house — I’m very comfortable living here. And there is no basement. When we were looking at houses we wanted a certain number of rooms — four bedrooms, computer room/guest room, living room, dining room. Once it all came together, it was what it was — room that we needed to live. But sometimes it does seem excessive. And I am slightly less comfortable when relatives or friends from Lafayette are here. They all comment on how big it is, how much it would have cost back where they came from … I suppose they are waiting for me to confirm, but all I can say is real estate is cheaper here.

The only thing that isn’t big here is the yard. It’s just too warm here to have a giant yard. And even those with small yards hire help; when you factor in the commute time, there is just no time for yard work.

This is our reality. I’m wondering, still, how much I have in common with my neighbors. I haven’t bonded with anyone yet. It likely just takes time. I’m going to the neighborhood monthly Ladies Night tomorrow; surely someone there will be friendly and up for a new acquaintance. I don’t have to feel self-conscious around these women; they all live in the same type of house, same neighborhood.

And just when I’m feeling funny about so much space, I run across an article where Kenny Rogers says they are scaling back their new house — they don’t want to live with such excessive affluence, so they are down to 11,000 sf … on the main floor.

Suddenly I don’t feel so hedonistic after all.

Molly Ivins can, in fact, say that

One of the benefits of life in the big city is options. Options in entertainment and speakers, such as the Progressive Forum. Last night's speaker was Molly Ivins, and she does not disappoint.

I've long been a fan of Molly Ivins. Yes, she is known for Bush-bashing. Yes, she is a mouthpiece for the left wing. But it's OK — she is unapologetic. and she does what she does well. She is incredibly entertaining in person; even weak with cancer, she can still deliver her trademark acerbic wit in such a manner that you wouldn't be surprised if she let loose with a string of profanities that would put Harry Truman or Lyndon Johnson to shame. Oh wait — she does (!)

She talked at length about Texas politics. She had dozens of anecdotes about her life as a liberal in the conservative world of Texas. She spared no punches when describing her distaste for the way the Republicans have run the state. She was wonderfully funny as she described some of the more humorous aspects of local politics. And she was witty when she described how Texas exports some of its biggest mistakes. It's no surprise that she is no fan of Bush 1 or 2, but she illustrates her point with great examples — syntax mistakes and all. It was a delight to listen to her.

She opened up for an audience Q&A, which gave her the opportunity to veer from her notes and be more spontaneous. Russ Feingold? Maybe. Kinky Friedman? She supports him. Tom DeLay? A shame to see him go.

It was a wonderful evening. I'm so glad we went — I was needing a reason to be here. Al Gore is on the schedule for June; we'll be there. At last, a place I could feel at home in Houston.

Weekend in the Hill Country

It was time to get out of Houston. I am home day after day, seeing nothing new. Maybe I just don’t have the energy to get out and do things on my own. So I made reservations in Fredericksburg.

I’ve not seen a lot of Texas. In high school I made one trip to San Antonio, but other than that, my Texas traveling is limited — in particular, limited to house-hunting trips to Houston. For Christmas we got a subscription to Texas Highways magazine, which ranks the Hill Country and Fredericksburg as one of the more popular tourist destinations in the state. So, with a three-day weekend, the Hill Country it was.

Fredericksburg is charming — it feels like Branson in the middle of Texas, only with more character. The town (pop. 8,000) was settled by Germans in the 1800s, who said the hills reminded them of their native Germany. Today it capitalizes on its German heritage with lots of aptly named shops (Kuchenladen), hotels and B&B’s (Gasthaus Schmidt) and restaurants (Ratskellar). The downtown main drag is lined on both sides with quaint shops. It’s a good place to go if you need Americana Christmas ornaments; I, for one, had no idea that one could decorate an entire Christmas tree as an homage to the military. Lots of jewelry, folksy Texas art, and cowboy accoutrements. Luckily we were able to get by with just looking. Though we did enjoy the very authentic five and dime; haven’t seen a genuine dime store since I was a kid. In this age of Wal-Mart, it was rather refreshing.

We spent much of Saturday at the Lyndon B. Johnson Ranch/National Park. Very interesting; the tour includes the birthplace and the Texas White House (though you won’t be able to go in until after Lady Bird dies and it is turned over to the park service). A special treat for us — Lady Bird was sitting on the front porch. She is 93 and in frail health, but it was cool to see her there, even if no one came to talk to us (sometimes, the daughters will greet the visitors).

There’s a film, circa 1967 or so, that is shown in the visitors center. LBJ gives a tour of the hill country and the birthplace. Pretty cool. Maybe my status as a Johnson baby makes me perhaps a tad nostalgic, but I really enjoy this period of history.

The displays detail what he did as president. Yes, the focus is very positive, but the man did a lot that as U.S. citizens we still benefit from: The Great Society, Medicaid, school lunch program, head start, clean air act. It’s a legacy he should have been proud of. Yes, there was the fiasco in Vietnam. But there is so much more. What will GWB be remembered for, other than getting us into an unjust war? Depleting the nation’s wetlands? Jack Abramoff? A rising national debt? “No child left behind”?

Dinner Saturday night was at an outdoor restaurant; lovely, eating outside, under the stars. The girls were pretty well behaved.

The Easter bunny found us, and we had a nice Sunday brunch downtown. Then it was off to Luckenbach — Gary has us play the song while we drove through … well, more accurately, we got in about 5 seconds of the song as we drove into town. Fun bumper stickers — "Luckenbach: pop. 3" and "Everybody is somebody in Luckenbach." We walked around, looked in the dance hall, and contributed to the local economy by buying everyone a T-shirt. Kind of fun.

Buddy Holly was our soundtrack for the weekend. Maddie's a big fan now, particularly of That'll Be the Day.

And now we’re home. Such a nice get-away. We still need to see San Antonio, Padre Island, Corpus Christi, Galveston, Austin. Too many places to list here. But our Texas travel adventure is off to a good start.

Like brother, like brother

My Uncle Jerry, my dad’s younger brother, stopped to visit for a bit. He lives in Wisconsin and was in Houston visiting a friend from grad school.

It was just like talking to my dad.

Maybe it’s because I know both of them — relatives are the people you’ve known all your life, the people who are part of your pre-consciousness. Maybe Russel and Jerry have changed as they’ve gotten older. Gary had pointed it out. But I’d never noticed before just how alike they are.

They have the same mannerisms, the same inflection in their voice. They change subjects, jump from fact to fact. They are both university professors, both have Ph.D.’s in geography. Perhaps that’s what makes them so similar. (That, and the fact that they have the same upbringing.)

We don’t see Jerry a lot, and when the girls walked in from school, none of them was sure just who he was. Maddie told me she thought it was her grandpa sitting on the couch. Only shorter with more grey hair.

They would probably claim they are nothing alike. But I would defer to my children. They calls ’em as they sees ’em.

The new CDs are here!

Joy of joys — my Amazon order arrived today!

Like anybody else, I love to shop — I love to buy clothes, furniture, gadgets for the kitchen. I like to buy presents. I like to buy souvenirs when we travel.

But there is something special about buying books and music. Let me loose in a book store and it's like hitting a time warp — all bets are off as to when I'll come out. If we take our children into a bookstore, we all scatter. For the girls, and their parents, it's like a little piece of heaven.

So, while shopping online isn't quite the same, sometimes it's worth it. Especially when you're shopping for a CD or book that is sort of obscure, might be out of print, or at the very least, not stocked by your basic mainstream bookstore.

I got a hankering the other day to listen to Lone Justice, an album I loved way back in 1985. It was alternative and edgy, part of the cow-punk sound that was big around that time. I have the LP, and the band's follow up, and they used to be played often.

But at the moment we don't have our turntable hooked up. And I am even in the midst of debating the future of our vinyl collection — all four linear feet of them. I love them, many of them, but we don't play them. Sound quality, perhaps, but mostly convenience. Who wants to put a record on the turntable, turn it over 20 minutes later, put it back in the sleeve, when you can pop in a disc? Or — even better — pop in six and listen for hours?

So I decided to splurge and, for a mere $6.99, replace the aged vinyl with a shiny new CD. No big cover art, but no skips. And I can enjoy Maria McKee's voice once again. She's a bit like Janice Joplin meets Dolly Parton singing Tom Petty; in fact, Tom Petty wrote one of their biggest hits (Ways to be Wicked) and Mike Campbell and Benmont Tench of the Heartbreakers play on a couple of tracks; that distinctive organ sound is a dead give-away.

I also ordered best of the English Beat — this is what happens when one discovers VH-1 classic. And, in the spirit of embracing Texas, I got the best of Buddy Holly. Once again, replacing the vinyl version.

Now we can upload these tracks to the computer and get them into iTunes, onto the iPod. Now I can relive my college music days, when the search for new music was the all-important quest. And now I don't have to buy Gary about getting the turntable hooked up.

Wonderful world of bureacracy ... or, what I'd like to say to school administrators

To Whom It May Concern:

In following the rules of registering my children for school in your district, I took in my Texas drivers license and — in lieu of a utility bill — a service agreement with the water company, an agreement that shows our name, address and account number.

All of these items were given to the woman in the attendance office at Goodson Middle School, who told me that the service agreement did not meet the requirements. Perplexed, I decided to go home and call the district office, just so I could better understand the criteria. The woman in Dave Schrandt’s office told me that this should be adequate; she said she would call Goodson to clarify.

I took the document back over to Goodson. I explained to the woman in the attendance office that I had spoken with Mr. Schrandt’s office, and asked if this was OK. She said — very curtly, I might add — that no, this was not sufficient. “I’ll take it, because you said you called. But it won’t work.” I was confused at this point — why not?

Because, she said, it won’t. “But I’ll take it. You had to go and call over to the office. But the woman you spoke to has about 18 months in that office and I have 15 years, so I know that this is not sufficient.”

By this time I was thoroughly confused. And the more I asked, the briefer she got with me. This isn’t personal, I said. I just don’t understand.

She told me she was busy. Aren’t you helping me, I asked?

And then she said, “No. Because you came in here with a chip on your shoulder. Nothing I say is going to make you happy.”

I was speechless. And I’d like to clarify a few things.

My family is new to Cypress Fairbanks ISD, new to Texas. My children are in the middle of a mid-year transition, one that has taken its toll on them; unfortunately for them, their father’s job has required this. We are trying to make the best of it.

We chose CFISD thinking it would be a good place to rear our children and where they would have access to excellent educational facilities. It is very different than any school in which we’ve registered before, and it’s been a challenge. Other school districts require much less paperwork, much less documentation. Please understand that we are simply trying to make sense of a system we don’t quite comprehend. I am still struggling to understand why buying a house,
licensing my cars, getting a drivers license, having checks printed, and having a phone number do not prove residency.

I know that you get new students all the time, and to you we are just another new name, another number. But you must understand that we are not just “another name.” We are a family, and we want what’s best for our children. They should be welcome and valued in their school, and here I have been made to feel that, frankly, they are just a burden to the lower-level administrators who have to process yet another batch of paperwork.

At some point in my dealings with the woman at Goodson, all she had to do was politely explain to me why the rules are as they are. That’s all I ask — just an explanation delivered with courtesy. Instead I was treated with hostility as if I were challenging her. I really just wanted to understand. I know she doesn’t make the rules; she is just following a set of directives given her by a superior. But perhaps she needs to know how to explain to parents why the rules are in place without resorting to being unkind and insulting.

Luckily, this has not been our experience in the classroom; at Sampson my girls have the privilege to be in classes with Mrs. Chumley, Mrs. Galloway, Mrs. Young and Mrs. Daues, all of whom have made great efforts to make sure my girls are up to speed and are feeling comfortable. At Goodson, counselor Rita Lane has expressed a genuine concern in my daughter’s fate.

Thank you to assistant principal Greg Gruss, who took the time to sit and talk to me and attempt to clarify why all the bureaucracy is in place. Thank you, too, to Dave Schrandt, who also made our transition into the schools as easy as possible, even when we lived in a hotel for two weeks. We had thought school would be a safe haven while our lives were in flux, and he made that possible when he allowed our girls to register.

But my day-to-day experience with some administrators — such as last Friday — has been less than satisfactory, serving only to further disconnect me from my children’s schools. These people are the face of the school district, and when they fail, they leave a negative impression with parents and students.

A child’s experience in school can make or break them. It provides the bulk of their childhood memories and lays the foundation that makes success later in life possible. In dealings with parents — and children — please keep this in mind. Please treat my children — all new children — as the treasures they are, not as yet another piece of paperwork. Please embrace them as the valuable individuals they are.

(I feel so much better now!)

So long, CBS

Today's announcement: Katie Couric will be leaving NBC and heading over to CBS, where she will be anchor and managing editor of the CBS evening news and work on 60 Minutes.

And that may be it for me and CBS.

I've been watching CBS news since I was a little kid, back in the days of Walter Cronkite. We come from the era of the three networks, and I was never sure if we watched it because we loved Walter Cronkite or because of the reception (pre cable, you know). We stuck with Dan Rather, and I've always gone to CBS first for big news — I'll never forget those Watergate updates that interrupted daytime TV so many summers ago. It was CBS that told me about the Berlin Wall coming down, about Nelson Mandela leaving prison, about the attacks on the World Trade Center.

And now, this bastion of news, this American icon, is being handed over to an idiot.

This isn't personal. I don't know Katie Couric. I'm sure she is a lovely person. And I'm sure she is very bright. But I can't stand her on the Today show.

I know, I just said how we always watched CBS. But in the mornings we watched NBC and Today. Keep in mind that years ago CBS had Captain Kangaroo; they were late-comers in the morning news game. And I quite liked Tom Brokaw and Jane Pauley. Never could stand Bryant Gumbel — it always felt like he wanted the show to be all about him (Jane wasn't even allowed to introduce the show — he always had to do it). So when Jane Pauley was ousted, I switched to Harry Smith and CBS in the mornings, where he and Paula Zahn seemed to share responsibilties.

So I didn't watch a ton of Katie Couric on Today. But I got the idea — and she is very popular, so it was hard to miss her. And on occasion, in a hotel or visting someone, I would see her do an interview. And she asks dumb questions. Her interview with J.K. Rowling when the fifth HP book came out was just embarrassing. I think my former classmates at the esteemed University of Missouri School of Journalism would agree: she acts like an airhead.

And CBS is putting this person in charge of their evening news. I shudder. I know she's a woman, but come on, there are more credible women. Connie Chung. Diane Sawyer. Lesley Stahl. Just not Katie Couric.

Maybe I'm being hasty. I guess I should have a look before I judge her too harshly.

But one giggle, and I'll be on NPR for good.

On the highway of life, nothing is free

And that includes driving on so-called freeways. I suspect they were so-named because they weren't toll roads. But I'm telling you, I pay every time I get on those roads — I pay with a year of my life. The traffic, the speeds, the stress.

But I do it. I do it because I live in a highway-dependant suburb. I always said I loved big cities, major metropolitan areas. Topping my list were New York City — Manhattan — Washington DC, Paris and London. But what I realize now is that I imagined an urban existence, one where I could live in an apartment and rely on walking and using public transportation. No scenario in which I lived in one of these cities involved my owning or driving a car.

Well, I got half my wish, as we now live in the fourth-largest city in the U.S.A. But we live 25 miles from downtown, and we live in a houses-only subdivision. The grocery store is more than two miles from here; everything — and I do mean everything — is further. It's possible to avoid the Interstates, but then it takes longer, and you deal with in-town traffic.

I've never much liked driving. After that initial thrill when I turned 16, there is no fun in getting behind the wheel. I am quite happy to be chauffeured from place to place. And it's not so much that I'm scared (not really) or a bad driver (well, maybe). I think it's more of my princess attitude; let someone else do it for me.

My mother-in-law asked me if I drove much; the answer, naturally, is yes. I don't like it, but there are lots of things I don't like — cleaning house, going to the grocery store, paying bills. But I still do them. So I get out on the crazy-busy highways. There is a feeling of sheer terror, then it subsides. I refuse to be paralyzed by my fear. And I don't wish to rely on my husband everytime I need to do something. Makes life tough for everyone. I drove in Germany; I can drive here.

Today I had to — needlessly — drive down to the inner loop to get the car registered. Except that the Website misdirected me, and I could have taken care of everything right here in the neighborhood. (When I expressed this to the civil servant at the window, he just sighed and said that was a problem with the Website. Um, not a very satisfactory answer to someone who just spent the better part of two hours on this task — driving time, time in line, drive home.) Every mile on that road took a minute off my life.

But, I have to look for the silver lining — you know me, the eternal optimist. It got me out of the house, on an errand. And I got to listen to the Texas mix-CD my dad made me (can't listen in the house — it contains some naughty words that my daughters shouldn't hear, so it's relegated to the car).

And it's another step in my initiation to Houston.

Watching Glenn Tilbrook

It was by luck — sheer luck — that I caught 90 minutes of Glenn Tilbrook on VH-1 Classic. It is sheer luck that VH-1 Classic replays all its programs three or four times in a 24-hour period. The stars were clearly aligned this week for the nation's No. 1 Squeeze fan.

In the 1980s, when I was a teenager, in high school, they were my band. The band that I stumbled upon watching MTV videos, as they weren't really getting lots of airplay on KWTO/Rock 99 in Springfield, MO. They had it all — cute guys, witty lyrics, tight musicianship. Why they never hit it big in the U.S.A. is beyond me; they were so much better than much of what was played on hit radio. But — let's face it — success would have ruined them for me. In the long run, it's probably better that they had that sort of fringe, fleeting fame; people knew who they were, could name a song or two, even if it was the one — the only one — sung by Paul Carrack. And that was that.

But I loved them. I played my cassette of Singles over and over. I bought everything I could find, including a now rare 10-inch EP. I remember watching their final performance on Saturday Night Live, with my older brother. I remember hearing the announcement they were getting back together in 1985. They were part of the music scene that grabbed me during high school and college — that group encompassing the likes of Nick Lowe, Dave Edmunds, Elvis Costello, Graham Parker.

Mostly I remember the music. Pop music, no statements, no political agenda, Just music. I saw them, re-formed, in St. Louis in 1987 or '88, opening with "Pulling Mussels." Then, much later, we caught them while on vacation in San Francisco, at the Fillmore no less — just Difford and Tilbrook, with another guitarist, but billed as Squeeze. It was an amazing show, near the top of the live performances I've seen in my life (but not above Alex Chilton, who played a song just for me — we'll save that story for another time ...)

And now, the man that rocked the Fillmore is reduced to a VH-1 special where he appears to be singing "Is that Love?" for someone's family reunion and has jumped into the back of a van in Boston to play "Goodbye Girl." Hmmm.

But no matter — not to me. I know that life for a former pop semi-star can be tough and you've got to do what you can. To be artistic. To pay the bills.

The real fans know him as he once was. And the music lives on.