Words With Friends

I have an iPhone. I am not necessarily proud of having partaken of that indulgence, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I am grateful to have it. My iPhone keeps me in constant contact with family, friends, and students. The text messages that pop up with “I love you!” at random times of the day and the “How’s it going”, even the “What’s for dinner?” let me know that someone is thinking about me in the midst of his or her busy day. Having access to my email at any point in the day is also a much appreciated luxury. I know which students will not be in class, what time rehearsal is, what’s on sale at Staples, and often there are just kind words from friends. Occasionally I even get a phone call. Having this technology is often a diversion, but I would hate to live without it after having become, admittedly, so dependent on it.

A month or two ago, while I was in the midst of my horrendously busy semester, a friend sent me a message inviting me to join in something called “Words With Friends”, an online game like Scrabble. At that point I declined the invitation because I just didn't have time for any distractions in my life. The semester ended Friday giving me some time to take a deep breath, relax a little, and engage in a little distraction before redirecting my undivided attention to all the events of this summer. On Tuesday my friend, knowing my school schedule or lack thereof, again invited me to play. I accepted. Big mistake!

She and I began a game on Tuesday. Though I knew the basic premise of the game, it took me a few moves to figure out the mechanics of the phone version. It also took me only a few moves to realize the addictive power of this game. Wednesday morning I talked Weber, who is not much of a game player, into playing with me. And then, Offspring No. 2 joined me in a third game. Despite the initial reluctance that both Weber and I had to playing Words With Friends, we are both hooked now.

Throughout the day yesterday I continually received messages saying that one of the three different people that I am playing with had made a play and that it was my turn. It was entertaining and it was fun. In fact, last night during an absolutely miserable rehearsal, playing these games was the only thing that kept me from either saying something that would have not been nice at all or running away screaming. During our rehearsal break, someone who sits behind me stopped me and said, “You are just killing me down there playing Words With Friends!” To which I replied, “Sorry. I was so doing my best not to kill anyone!” With a chuckle, we both headed to the water fountain and back to the misery that was rehearsal.

Weber and I finally got home last night at nearly eleven after leaving the house at 6 am. We accomplished the obligatory end-of-day chores – dishes, swapping laundry, tending the cat box, and making the next day’s lunches – and headed downstairs to get ready for bed, both with phones showing a low battery message. Offspring No. 2 turned off the TV and also headed to her room for the night. As Weber and I took turns in the bathroom, we also took turns making “one last play.” Fifteen minutes later we found ourselves, teeth brushed and in our PJs, lying side by side on the bed making game moves as if we were amidst a great volley in ping-pong rather than a sedentary game of Words With Friends. We were playing against the clock in many ways – the diminishing power levels on our phones, the alarm clock that read midnight, and our own “power levels”, which, in my case, was lower than my phone’s at that point. (Somewhere in this lurks a New Yorker cartoon!) Addiction being what it is, we finished the game before turning out the lights. I lost but had great fun in the process!

As Weber set the alarm clock, I got the last word in, or so I thought; I started a new game for today. Little did I know that my precious daughter was still awake and as I plugged in my nearly dead phone, it chimed with the message alert letting me know that she had played and again it was my turn. A quick glance revealed that she had played the word “mated.” With that, we went to bed. . .

. . .and continued this morning.

Happy Mother's Day

Despite the often quite vocal pleas for independence, here is proof that teenagers still want to be our babies.

No matter how old or how big they get, we will always remember them as being our babies.

Happy Mother's Day to all!

Prom Night

Tonight is prom night. Tuxes have been rented, hair and make-up have been done. Dinner reservations have been made. A boutonniere was ordered - but Erin forgot to pick it up. Oh well, the night will go on. And, pictures have been taken . . .

. . . and they have headed off for their big night.

I expect them, and several others, back at the house sometime after midnight to continue the adventure of prom night. I'm glad that they want to be at home. They may not get any sleep, but I will because I won't have to worry about them! That is a great Mother's Day gift.

My dad had one piece of advice when I told him about the gathering of teenagers here - lock up the pantry!

While the kids were dancing the night away, Weber and I went to the grocery store. There should be enough food to keep them full from the midnight munchies time through to brunch tomorrow morning.

Prom Time

Weber and I are slowly getting our act together for the wedding. Erin has a dress. That is the mot important thing according to our wedding planner – Erin. I have a dress. Erin helped me pick it out and we are both happy with it. I kind of remember what it looks like. I just need to be conscious of how many Hershey’s kisses I eat between now and the wedding. I don’t remember all the details of the dress, but I do remember that it fit. It needs to still do that in July. Brooke is never one to follow the lead of others. She said that she will have an “appropriate” dress in the “appropriate” color. I will trust her on this one. Now all we need to do is dress the groom.

A few weeks ago we walked in to a tux shop just to get some ideas. It was swarming with adolescents who wanted that perfect look for the senior prom. Girls clutching dresses in colors that no human being should ever wear were hoping for matching ties and vests for their terrified looking dates. Fortunately the tux shops are aware that some colors should just not be worn and politely suggested classic black to “compliment” their date’s dress. When the salesman approached us with the obligatory, “How may I help you?’, I jokingly said that we needed a tux for the prom. It was obvious that at that point this poor guy had no sense of humor left and we gave him the real scoop. He gave us the information that we needed and we told him that we would be back after prom season – at least with regard to tuxedos.

We are on the dress side of the prom season. When Erin went with me to select my wedding dress, she stole a few moments to look for a prom dress though she did not get one on that trip. She was good and gave me her almost undivided attention. A few weeks later, I promised her the same undivided attention in shopping for her prom dress that she gave me in shopping for my wedding gown. And as an added bonus, she got Weber’s fashion opinion as well. Such an adventure is the true test of a stepdad’s character! (And he passed with flying colors!) After several stores, many dresses, and a bit of pouting over lack of dresses in her size, the prom queen finally found the right dress in the right size.

After recovering from dress shopping, the prom queen was ready to take to the stores again to accessorize. She called me on my way home from school the other night and asked if I would meet her at the mall to help with finding shoes, jewelry and an evening bag. For Erin, finding shoes poses the exact opposite problem than finding a dress – too many choices. After about 45 minutes of trying on shoes, she made a selection. The dilemma here was not so much style, but the best shoe color to match her dress. She finally settled on black. Once that decision was made, the actual shoe selection took no time. Erin paid for her shoes and off we went to find jewelry.

Finding the perfect necklace and earrings to go with her dress was challenging. We needed something that was dressy enough but not so expensive that we would have to disown the kid if she lost it. Our first stop yielded not even any possibilities. Our next stop was a little more fruitful. We looked for several minutes and Erin found a few things that “would do” but it was clear that she was not seeing exactly what she wanted. On our last pass through the jewelry department, she spotted the perfect necklace and matching earrings in a glass case behind the counter. We all know that the jewelry in the glass case behind the counter is usually the expensive stuff. Seeing the disappointment on her face, Weber asked the sales woman to let us see it. She placed the necklace around Erin’s neck. This was the perfect necklace and it was not ridiculously expensive. Erin really wanted it. Once this was settled, the saleswoman ushered us over to the purse section where Erin debated over two bags. She finally made her choice. This time she chose the more expensive option. As we headed for cash register to check out, Erin reached for her wallet. Weber beat her to the punch. Erin had a surprised look on her face when he slid his card first – “But I got the more expensive purse!” With a smile on his face, Weber replied, “That’s OK. I want to get these things for you.” We all headed to the car happy that we had accomplished the afternoon’s task. On the way Weber got a big hug and a big thank you. I think he got bonus points on the “stepdad does prom” test.

When it comes time to pick out Weber’s tux for the wedding, I suspect that we will again engage Erin and her fashion sense. Surprisingly, at age 52 he has worn a tuxedo exactly one time in his life – last year when we went to a black tie affair together.

This was our first official public outing as a couple. We affectionately refer to this picture as our prom picture.


The senior prom is in two weeks. Stay tuned for Erin’s prom pictures.

Ode to the Microwave

It was 1980. My parents had just moved from Virginia Beach, VA, to Arlington, VA. and I was a freshman in college at East Carolina University in Greenville, North Carolina. I was an only child so when I left for school, my parents were empty nesters. How did they cope? My mom got a microwave oven, which back then seemed to be just a really big, really expensive popcorn popper. The early years of microwave ovens were marked by overheated bread that at best could be used as a rock in your garden décor, scrambled eggs that would bounce higher than any super ball, and meat that when cooked swam flowingly in a bowl of fat. How did this piece of machinery ever survive? People had no choice but to learn how to cook effectively in them because they took up so much room on the kitchen counter that there wasn’t any room left in the kitchen to cook.* (*Cook here refers to the 1980’s meaning of the word cook. A time when preparing a meal meant gathering ingredients, perhaps perusing recipes, engaging measuring devices, knives, spices, and an oven – the kind that was attached to the stove where other parts of the meal were prepared. Wow! Thirty years later, the 1980’s sound only one step removed from when dinner was prepared by roasting pigs over an open fire.

I got my first microwave oven in 1983. By then it had progressed from being a really big, really expensive popcorn popper to a really big, not quite as expensive way to heat leftovers. Keep in mind that to have left avers, one still had to cook. I was in graduate school from 1983-1989. During that time, the microwave oven revolutionized the American cooking experience. Suddenly everything came with microwave cooking instructions that cut cooking times by as much as 90%. Frozen dinners no longer came in aluminum trays and they were transformed from TV dinners to microwave entrees. Despite the more refined sounding name, microwave entrees were no more nutritional or tasty than their predecessor. Now manufacturers think that anything can be prepared in a microwave oven. They are wrong! Despite the numerous varieties of cakes that are designed to be cooked in a microwave, cake cannot be cooked in a microwave. Microwaved cake is awful. Cakes have to be baked in a real cake pan in a real oven and preferably having not spent their formative years in a box on the shelf in your pantry.

So why all this reminiscing about microwave ovens? We are looking at appliances as we begin the home renovation extravaganza. It has been ten years since I bought my current microwave. Boy have things changed! They are definitely smaller and more powerful. It is clear by the dedicated buttons on nearly every brand of microwave oven that popcorn must still be its most frequently prepared food. Most makers also have a dedicated button for dinner plate. Leftovers, or at least some food product that didn’t come in a plastic container, must then still be popular with some segment of the population. I personally am prone to rely on the microwave to heat my cup of coffee that I poured and forgot to drink. There is no button for that. You just have to know that to get a room temperature cup of coffee hot enough but not too hot that it must be cooked for a minute. And FYI, nachos take 44 seconds in a standard microwave. Smart Ones breakfast sandwiches take one minute with just the egg white and another two minutes to heat the muffin and meat all the way through. It is not hard to remember these important numbers. And for the most part, any food item that requires heating or cooking comes with microwave cooking instructions on that packaging. I am not crazy about the microwave oven being the preferred vehicle for food preparation, but I am learning to live with it.

I do, however, have a problem with the “features” of the newest microwave ovens. They are catering to the lowest common intellectual and culinary denominator. It is not even necessary to read the cooking instructions on the boxes anymore. Microwave ovens now have specific buttons for cooking popcorn as well as macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets. Who cooks chicken nuggets in the microwave? Done this way they taste like sponges. If you are going to eat chicken nuggets, admit that they are a nutritional void and eat the totally bad for you deep fried ones from a fast food restaurant. Microwaving chicken nuggets does not count as a home cooked meal! Even if you serve them with microwaved macaroni and cheese!

These specific buttons on microwaves causes me to ask two particular questions:

Is this really what home cookin’ is coming to? And, who is the target demographic for microwaves? Is it adults or children?

I think I know the answers to both of these questions and that scares me. We are raising a generation of children who don’t know what a sifter is much less how or why you would use one. They don’t know how to separate eggs or that cookies require baking soda to rise.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not willing to give up my microwave oven. But on the other hand, neither am I willing to give up my double wall ovens, Kitchen Aide mixer, pantry stocked with baking goods, and more shelves than I care to admit that are double stacked with cookbooks. I will continue to rely on the ability of the microwave to quickly defrost the hamburger that I forgot to set out to thaw earlier in the day, to warm the leftovers from last night, and to reheat my coffee.

And for the record, I will never eat a microwaved chicken nugget!

Thrilled By The Joy

Simply stated, my plate is quite full right now. We are in the midst of home remodeling, preparing for Offspring No. 2's high school graduation and impending departure for college, and planning our wedding. In the midst of all this, our students still want to be taught (Okay, maybe WANT is a little strong), the kids and the dogs here still want to eat, laundry still needs to be done, the grass still needs to be mowed, and despite the consumption of ridiculous amounts of caffeine and sugar, I still seem to require sleep every night. Somehow with all of this on my mind, I found time to ponder an important question:

What is the difference between thrill and joy?

Like any good academician, I turned to a primary source, Dictionary.com, to help enlighten me. Here is what I discovered.

Joy is:

• the emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying; keen pleasure; elation:
• the expression or display of glad feeling; festive gaiety.
• a state of happiness or felicity.

Thrill is:

• a sudden wave of keen emotion or excitement, sometimes manifested as a tremor or tingling sensation passing through the body.
• something that produces or is capable of producing such a sensation:

Well, that clears it right up! Except for the tingling that a thrill causes, I''m still not sure what the real difference is; however, I know there must be one. We talk about "thrill seekers" not "joy seekers" and going "joy riding" not "thrill riding". We are encouraged to look for joy in all things but discouraged from hoping for a thrill in all things. This approach to life will surely lead to disappointment. The classic book is entitled The Joy of Sex but most people want to talk about the thrill of sex. Perhaps that is where the part about tingling sensations helps clarify the difference in the two words. We don't sing "Thrill to the World" or "Thrilling, Thrilling We Adore Thee". We are intrigued by thrillers on the big screen, not joy-bringers. We don't congratulate new parents on their bundle of thrills. We can be over-joyed. Can we be over-thrilled?

So again I ask, what is the difference between joy and thrill? Is a thrill a physiological manifestation of elation and joy a psychological manifestation? Is joy something positive and thrill something negative? Is thrill merely a transitory sensation and joy a lingering state?

I think I am more confused now than when I started this semantic inquiry. Perhaps it is best to let all this swim around in my rather cramped head while I joyfully seek the thrill of clean laundry.

Mind Your I's and O's!: A Lesson in Humility and Humor

Late the other night after a long day at school and a magnificent church service that left me both energized and exhausted, I was checking my email at about 10 pm in the car on the way home. I received an email that concerned me so I shot off a quick reply before any serious damage from that email could be done. Most of you know that quick replies to unnerving emails are never a good idea. In this case, it was not my sharp tongue that got me in trouble; it was my fat fingers on my iPhone keyboard. I meant to say, “Please don’t go swapping things around.” But, like in the song “Old McDonald Had A Farm”, the i and the o on the keyboard are right next to each other and I actually typed, “Please don’t go swapping thongs around.” This has a little different connotation!

Oh, did I mention that this email was to a group of Franciscans? People who follow St. Francis. People who pledge to live a life based on humility, love and joy. People who vow to make our Lord known and loved everywhere. People who pray – a lot. People who are very religious! I suspected that I was going to have to go to Confession and say lots of “Hail Mary’s” for this one. Oh, wait. We are Episcopalians. We don’t have to go to Confession. Since there will be no priest charged with hearing this story, I’ll share the chain of email responses here.. (The names have been omitted to protect the . . . I’m not sure what the best word is to use there. You can decide after you have read the thread.

Here goes:

“Please don’t go swapping thongs around.”
“I promise not to swap any thongs”
“You may swap all the thongs you want just don't swap THINGS , , ,?
“I'll bring my own thongthing along. (Will there be a thingalong?)”
“I told Kris yesterday that we should have a thingalong. Bring your music and guitar. Thongs optional-- and preferably covered.”
“XXX says if we are wearing thongs, she's coming!!! She’s just got to see that! If we are doing a "thingalong" can you bring your guitar XXX???”
“Everyone should have at least one opportunity to see the heavenly thongs of angels!”
? The JOY already begins!!!!”
“O. K. I'm getting my combat boots on folks. XXX says we should invite Scott Brown (R) Mass in his Cosmo outfit.”
“Thank God I can't be there. What a way to lose your lunch - seeing me in a thong. I shudder thinking about it.”
“A ThingThong Song

Buy a thong with sixpence
you'll get a surprise
just some cheap elastic
'round your upper thigh

If you try to wear them
You'll get lots of laughs
"what in all the world
is it that's running up your ___"

“And cause blisters, too!”
“Beware where you wear your wittle thongy. Leslie wore his to 6th and Congress and got busted in his wittle bottom.”
“Kris, Remember the thong thing in Assisi!!!! LOL Thongs seem to be a theme!!!!"
“Would that be a "theme thong"?”
“OK guys and gals, I am getting "out" of this "thingy" XXX says, I don't look that cute in it!”
“Thongs could become a bad habit.”
“Tho it theems. Blame it on Vatican II. (...he said blithely, a thong in his heart.)”
“It is my personal opinion that Franciscan brown is a crappy choice for a thing color.”
“I'm printing out this whole conversation for my St. Francis class so they can see what Franciscans are really like.”
“You're gonna have some 'splainin' to do :-)”
“We are thinking about using it in this week’s disciple class under the title "what does a Christian look like?"
“I agree: how about Pope Benedict Purple. Would that make a statement?
“Gee, I did not know he wore a purple thong?”
“Ah for those teachable moments!”

So there you have it. Aren’t you all feeling the love of God? Aren’t you glad that we have dedicated our lives to praying for you? And more importantly, aren’t you glad that the mystery as to what monks and nuns wear under those habits has finally been solved once and for all?

Ah for those teachable moments.

One last thing:

What did the thong say to the Franciscan?

Make me a channel of your piece.