One Flew Out Of The Cuckoo Nest!

Offspring No. 1 is now in Chicago. She has officially begun her college career. U Chicago has it together in terms of making the incoming first year's feel comfortable. From the moment she was accepted to the university, they have done all in their power to make these kids feel like they are part of a community. It was no different when we arrived on campus Saturday morning. The day began with the students getting their schedules for orientation week. The week is divided between taking placement tests and getting to know the campus and the city of Chicago. In addition to calculus tests and physical fitness tests, they also have the opportunity to partake in a coffee shop crawl, service projects in the city, movies with their class and the other members of their house, and a trip to Target for those items that did not make it into the suitcases.

After receiving a schedule, the next thing on the agenda was to get a UChicago ID. This was done in the library. Smart move on the university's part - teach them where the library is early in the process! In the quad outside the library was a gathering of student organizations and technology information. I was amazed at the level of organization evidenced by it all. I was also pleased to learn that the university has in place a program called UCalert. This is a program that requires all students to register an email and a cell phone number capable of receiving text messages in the event that there is an incident such as that which happened at Virginia Tech last spring.

Here are the girls as we entered the quad. In several insatnces, people were not sure which one of them was the enrolling student.

Next we helped Brooke unpack her stuff in her dorm room. She has a single room - good for her her and better for the person who might have been unfortunate enough to be her roommate! Every room in her house is a single room. She is lucky to be right around the corner from an awesome community kitchen. I was not worried about her missing any of us, but the kitchen is a whole different story! The four ovens, four sinks, and personal kitchen lockers for all who want them is a great feature of this particular residence hall. SHe won't miss home at all.

Brooke took a few of the comforts of home - her Care Bears, some posters, a Justice League jigsaw puzzle, enough tea to prepare high tea for the masses every afternoon throughout the year, and her Batman blanket.

What more could a girl want?

"This place is pretty cool, especially if they keep giving me toys!"
She got a free yo-yo at the earlier activities.

The process of leaving the kids is quite an ordeal. At 3 pm there was a Convocation for the class of 2011 that lasted about an hour. At its conclusion, the students and their families formed a procession led by bagpipes. The procession worked its way from Rockefeller Chapel to this gate.

If you notice the small print on the sign, at this point the students continue through the gate where they are met by other students from their respective houses. Once all the students have said their good-byes, the entire class makes their way to the football stadium for a class picture. The families took a right turn and headed for a wonderful reception complete with a large amount of food, beer and wine - a little something to ease the pain.

Before we left Brooke, her sister bullied her into promising to stay in touch. Brooke is not the best at communication

She promised to give us a call every now and then. I hope for the price of tuition that they will teach her how to use a phone!

All of the day's activities were staffed exclusively by students and they all took their jobs seriously. This guy may have had the most important job of all - making Kleenex available as parents and kids went their separate ways.

Even though I was leaving Brooke in Chicago and won't see her until Thanksgiving, it was a nice day. It is obvious from her demeanor that she feels comfortable there; that is no simple thing. I trust that she will have an amazing experience while at UC.

Though Brooke has not actually picked up the phone and called, she did text message Erin after having been away from us only an hour and a half to say that she had met a friend. That too is no small feat. At 10:30 last night she was helping her new friend, a drag queen (his description) decorate his dorm room. That's my girl!

You're Blowing Hot Air

Tonight is Brooke's last night at home. Tomorrow we leave to take her to Chicago to begin her a college career, a time that should be both challenging and fun. This is the moment that on one hand every parent looks forward to and on the other, dreads. At the moment of conception, and sometimes even before, parents start to wonder what their children will grow up to be. In what will they be interested? Will they be athletic? Will they do well in school? Where will they go to college? In less time than you think, the answers to these questions are answered. So, here I sit proud of Brooke for being successful in life thus far, being accepted to the eighth ranked university in the world and realizing that, except for paying her bills, my work with her is essentially done. No longer will I be the primary adult influence in her life. (I know there are those of you reading this that are thinking, "Thank God! Maybe there is hope for that kid after all!") She is ready to move on and I am ready to let her.

For a brief moment, I said to myself that if I had not allowed her to skip a grade in school, I would have her home for another year. In all honesty, that would not have been good for her. In fact, it probably would have been disastrous. She needs to make her way in a challenging academic world. Another year of high school would have bored her to tears. I am sure that the teachers are also glad to see her move on.

For the last month or so, she has been halfheartedly gathering the things she wants to take with her. It is amazing how different the presumed needs of a college freshman and the presumed needs of a college freshman;s mother are.

The biggest point of contention is over cold weather clothing. This child, born and raised entirely in Texas, has NO IDEA how cold it will be during a Chicago winter. She refused to buy a winter coat because "They are all ugly." I'm thinking that when you are freezing your butt off at 7:30 some morning when the temperature us -10, ugly is the least of your problems.

And then there are socks. Being the mother, I felt that it was my duty to say that she needed warm socks. "But I hate long socks!" I then think, how do you feel about frozen feet, and ankles and and legs? You may learn that socks are your friends.

What about boots? "Boots are dumb! I am not going skiing or hiking." Let's see if that -10 morning with a few inches of snow and her 15 minute walk to campus doesn't feel like a hike.

She did actually purchase yarn while we were in Taos to make herself a hat and a scarf. If she makes it, at least there is a good chance that she will actually wear it. (No cold ears to go with cold feet, ankles and legs.)

I did finally convince her to order a heavy coat, which should be delivered to her next week, and buy some long socks that she says that she will wear. But, no boots or winter shoes. She does, however, have two pairs of soccer shoes - cleats for outdoors and turf shoes for indoors. She said her cleats kept her feet warm during the 32 degree soccer games. We'll see how they do in snow. Then there are the knee high combat boots. Considering how heavy they are, she should be warm. A possibility . . .

All I can hope for is that when she gets cold, she will hear my nagging voice saying, "You need a heavy coat and some boots. Maybe you should also add an extra layer. Do you think maybe you should wear your hat and your hood? Mittens are actually warmer than gloves. I love you." Perhaps all of the perceived hot air that I have wasted on this subject will relieve some of the cold air that she is sure to encounter.

We leave tomorrow with whatever she has packed. In the age of Internet ordering, shopping in the city and mommy mailing things from home, I am sure she will have all that she needs.

Maternal ranting aside, I hope most that she learns during these next four years who she is what ignites a true passion in her.

September 11, 2007

By the time any of us has reached adulthood, there has been at least one historical event for which there will be a lifelong discussion of "Do you remember where you were when . . " In my lifetime such events have included:

• the assassination of John F. Kennedy- I was not even two years old and I have no idea what I was doing
• the end of the Vietnam War - I was about ten and lived in Hawaii. Each of the planes carrying returning POW's landed in Honolulu, the first U.S. soil that these men stepped on. I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to meet every one of these planes. Though at the time I was too young to understand all of the ramifications of this war, it did touch me on a personal level because my dad had been to Vietnam. Fortunately, he returned home safely. For several years during that time, I wore a POW bracelet bearing the name of a U.S. prisoner of war. On the second night of meeting these planes, the man whose name I had carried with me walked off the plane and I was able to give to him that bracelet.
• the release of the hostages in Iran - I was in college. We were supposed to be having a wind ensemble rehearsal. The director felt that watching this moment in history was more important to our education than rehearsing Sousa marches so he rolled a TV cart into the band hall and we all sat and watched.
• the Challenger explosion - I, like most involved in education, watched the launch of the shuttle carrying the first civilian teacher at school. I was in graduate school at the time.
• September 11, 2001

On that Tuesday morning six years ago, BK and I took the girls to school and stopped at Cracker Barrel for breakfast on the way home. While were doing the New York Times crossword puzzle over coffee, BK got a frantic call from her sister asking where John, BK's husband, was. BK said that he was in Chicago. MH starting telling us all of the sketchy details of the first attacks on the World Trade Center. In the first moments of the morning's events, there was talk of possible attacks in several big cities. Like I said, John was on the ground at a conference in Chicago and Mike was supposed to be in the air on his way to New York. Thankfully as it turned out, he was on a plane that was grounded in Atlanta. We left our unfinished puzzle on the table at Cracker Barrel and headed home to watch the news. It was several hours before I was able to reach Mike and know that he was safely on the ground. We reached John almost immediately. Throughout the day, several friends called to talk about how upset they were. Like people all over this country, we did our best to console one another.

It was interesting to me that though BK and I both had husbands traveling, few people asked how we were and if they were OK. We were to be the consolers, not the consolees. And, we were. During the four days following 9/11, we served forty dinners to various people. This community was what made these days bearable. I sometimes wonder, looking back, how I managed to be so hospitable at that time. I now know that that was all I could do. Somehow, I believe it was an extension of my faith.

Both John and Mike arrived home on Friday of that week - John after renting a car and driving and Mike on one of the first planes back in the air. At the point he flew home, the TSA had not even decided what could be carried on by passengers. Mike may have been one of the first people to test whether or not we can fly with knitting needles. Security pulled his metal sock needles from his bag. The officers had a discussion about whether or not they should be permitted on board. Mike, not being the patient type, offered to take them to the Admirals Club and have them mailed home. They too arrived home safely a few days later. I am amazed at how vivid the details of this day and those following still are to me.

I turned on CNN this morning to hear a debate over whether or not we should continue to have public commemorations of 9/11. In a viewer call in poll, the two sides were tied at 50/50. Those against continuing to hold these public "spectacles", as one person called them, said that we need to let the families who lost loved ones and this country move on. Those in favor argue that the events of that day will be forever ingrained in us and we need these ceremonies to acknowledge that which we all carry deep within.

No matter how many more years the names of those lost are read in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania, commemorations will continue to happen. If you are old enough to remember September 11, 2001, I don't think that it is possible to meet this day each year and not stop for a moment and remember where you were then . . .and be thankful for where you are now.

Goats and Dreams

A couple of weeks ago I was strolling through our local Barnes and Noble bookstore. As I recall, I was not looking for anything in particular. For some reason, I found myself in the nature section. Though I enjoy reading on this topic, it is not one that I frequent when wandering aimlessly through the bookstore.. Not shelved such that only the spine was visible, but facing full front like it was placed there just for me, was a book titled The Year of the Goat by Margaret Hathaway and Karl Schatz. It caught my attention because I have this not so secret fantasy of having a goat or two. I picked it up, read the jacket notes, and was immediately drawn in.

The book chronicles the year-long travels of the authors as they sought to escape the hectic lifestyle of New York City and find meaning in a simpler place where they could live closer to the land. In New York, Margaret worked in an upscale bakery in the city and Karl was a photographer for a major publisher. Both enjoyed fine food, especially cheeses, in particular goat cheese. After serious but not abundant research, they came to the notion that maybe they could find the life that they yearned for by raising goats for cheese making.

They set out to traverse the country visiting goat and cheese conventions, farms across the country, and anyone else who would talk to them about their dream to become goat farmers. Margaret and Karl left New York with a few personal belongings, their dog, Godfrey, and a dream - not a real plan, just a dream. Their travels took them across the country from coast to coast and south to north from Texas to Minnesota. The purpose of this year on the road was to gain practical insight into the life of goat farmers. Margaret and Karl did indeed find these insights, but they also found so much more. It is the "much more" that made this book a great read for me.

I was most struck by the fact that these two people had a dream and set out to make it come true. Though they had some basic ideas of what they would do during their year on the road, Margaret and Karl trusted that they would be lead in the right direction. And, they were. I wish I had this kind of courage - the courage to dream this big and then go for it. For someone who is not a risk taker, it is almost impossible to comprehend such a decision. This book is affirmation that all of us can make our dreams come true if we allow the magic to happen.

Dreams often come true in fiction; it is nice to see them realized also in non-fiction.

Bite Me!

Nothing else need be said.

Ode To The Kitchen Table

Because of new school schedules and rehearsal schedules, it seems that we have not eaten a real meal (i.e. a meal that involves a full place setting of silverware and must be eaten from a plate rather than a paper towel) at home all week. Tonight, the pattern was broken. We had chicken and corn on the cob, both grilled. As we got ready to put the meal on the table, it became obvious to me that we had a little problem. The table was covered with s. . . .stuff. Except for a cookbook and a dirty glass, none of it had anything to do with food or eating. As I began to clear things, I was amazed at the things I removed:

• the new Mac Powerbook belonging to the kid about to leave for school
• a stack of miscellaneous papers from the University of Chicago that are touting the university life
• a French dictionary
• a ball or two of yarn
• knitting needles, which have nothing to do with the yarn on the table
• a stack of mail needing attention
• magazines ranging from Back Home to Yoga Journal
• a couple of books ranging from a CSI novel to What The Best College Teachers Do
• a few writing implements that may or may not actually write
• a cat

We have a 7 foot pine table that was made by Erin's fifth grade teacher's husband; so, there is plenty of room for all of this stuff. For me, the question of how do all of these things fit on the table is not nearly as intriguing as why the heck is all of this stuff here in the first place. We have a huge house - a house in which every one of us has our own space and there is a place, other than the kitchen table, for everything.

The reality is that the table is the center of our family life together. It sits between the kitchen and the family room - i.e. in close proximity to both food and television, the basic staples of any teenager's life. So, this is where we congregate to talk, to play, to watch TV, to do homework and grade papers, and to eat a home cooked meal, though not so much lately. I realized that in the things on the table, there is a piece of every one of us. The table is a monument to all that goes on here. Though the dogs did not have a contribution ON the table, they did have quite a collection of polyfil from gutted toys and plastic pieces from a chewed Frisbee under the table. We all had fair representation. As I continued to move things, I was reminded of a conversation I had with Erin when she about six.

For some reason we were talking about inherited things. Brooke said that all we had was a couple of looms, a spinning wheel, a bunch of yarn, and way too many books. She said she had no interest in the fiber related things (which has since changed) and she would have already read all the books she wanted to read before inheriting them would be an issue so there was nothing that she really wanted. Erin announced that she wanted the kitchen table. (She was not speaking of the table we have now.) When I asked her why she wanted the kitchen table, she told me it was because it was full of stories and memories. She started pointing to the drip of fingernail polish from Christmas Eve, the streak of marker from where she colored a birthday card for a friend, the glitter from various art projects, the globs of hot melt glue from making Halloween costumes, the dings from pounding play-doh with a real hammer.

Tonight, as I look at our table with its mound of "stories and memories", I am thankful for all that our kitchen table represents. Though it would be nice not to have to engage in an archaeological dig every time we sit down for a meal, as long as the table continues to be our favorite gathering spot, I suspect the nightly digs will continue. As long as this is so, stories and memories will continue to be made. And that is what family life is all about.

People Say The Stupidest Things!

It seems that every direction we turn, from our kids to magazines to TV to our friends, people are saying that we, as a culture, do not listen well. If you are having a problem with a partner it is because one or both of you don't listen carefully to what the other says. If your teenager is angst ridden it is because he or she is not understood by his or her parents. The bottom line is that we are losing our ability to communicate effectively by oral and aural means. Life moves at such a fast pace that people no longer eat leisurely meals together, gather around the hearth in the evenings, make an actual phone call. Much communication happens via "a quick email" or a text message. In both cases, vocal inflections and body language, essential elements in human interaction, are absent. No wonder people misunderstand or don't "hear" one another.

Having said all this, there are times when we are better off not listening carefully because quite often, people say really stupid things. Today was the day for "I can't believe s/he just said that" moments.

Thursdays are the day for Spirit of Knitting editorial meetings. We gather at our remote location - the local Borders bookstore. We really do get work done but we also knit, which, as you might imagine, peaks the interest of many who are strolling through the bookstore. Alissa was working on a sock today. A fifty-ish woman struck up a conversation with the three of us. "Oh look. Socks soar on two needles." (A reference to a book by that name. The woman then proceeded to tell us how she hates to sew things together - that she never makes anything that requires sewing seams. After a brief but polite conversation, she then said that she was heading home to finish the front of her sweater. Okay, if you are making a sweater front and you never sew things together, this could be interesting. No back? No sleeves? Or, are the pieces just set in place but not actually connected? Does she not realize how stupid this sounded?

Then, we were looking at a knitting magazine. Alissa came across the following in print: "a cucumber shaped box" Never mind the images that this conjures up. Let's think purely about the geometry of the situation. Angles. No angles. Cucumber-shaped box. Perhaps this is a square peg-round hole issue. No matter how you look at it, this description sounds stupid.

That's not all folks!

BK and I were sitting at a local coffee shop after doing a little set and prop work for Mash.. She was finishing the last few rows of a baby afghan that is nearly 36 inches square and was spilling off her lap to the floor. Her needles were flying in the hope that she could get it bound off before we met Mike and the girls for dinner. Again a woman who was 55-60 struck up a conversation. "Are you knitting or crocheting?" BK replied nicely, "I am knitting." With a burst of energy, the woman exclaimed, "I love to knit!" You love to knit? If you can't tell the difference between knitting and crocheting by the tools someone has in their hand and the look of the yard long fabric, are you sure you love to knit? C'mon. Are you listening to yourself?

Are people so desperate for someone to talk to that they will risk sounding like an absolute idiot just to have a real face-to-face interaction? Perhaps the woman from Borders and the one from the coffee shop could get together. They would have lovely conversations with one another. The two of them could explain to us the cucmber-shaped box. Then those of us who really do listen to what people say would not have to endure stupid moments like the ones that have dominated today. The fact that these three incidents happened all in a day scares me! Maybe the smart people will be out tomorrow. If not, I may have to borrow my daughter's Happy Bunny T-shirt that says, "Make the stupid people shut-up!"

Okay. I know I am sounding like a mean snob, but really . . .