Procrastination is the Enemy of….

Posted on April 27, 2012 by Lynn McLean

 

….living.

How often have you said, “That would be nice….” or “Someday I will….”

Now, realistically, a few things on our lists are indeed “someday” kinds of events. A trip to Paris, perhaps, or a Mediterranean cruise. But more often, we procrastinate on those things that are right under our noses.

I’ve lived near the beach for almost six months now, and I’ve seen plenty of sunsets. But the loose idea of spending a morning at the beach was always on the list of things to do…someday.

Until yesterday. I pulled into a parking space early, at a time that I’d usually still be browsing the morning paper or (I admit it) checking Facebook. I set up my chair, but didn’t even sit down before heading out to walk a few miles up the beach and back. Morning is different from evening. The tide has just made its delivery of shells….different from what I see at day’s end. The pelicans paddle close to shore and dip gently into the shallows for breakfast (a far cry from their kamikaze dives later in the day).  The ebbing water and clear sky made me wonder exactly what words one uses to describe those shades of blue.

What simple things have fallen to the bottom of your “someday” list?

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Sticks and Stones

Posted on April 10, 2012 by Lynn McLean

My niece Kathy describes it as “brutality.” She noticed it a while ago, and said she needed to cut back on television. It was just too brutal, she said, even admitting that her favorite shows were those with story lines centered around violent crime….NCIS, SVU, Criminal Minds. I’ve always liked crime shows, too.

But brutality extends far beyond those crime shows in our TV lineup.  

Nowadays, it goes viral. It attracts viewers by the millions, launches stars and books deals and even gives us a bit of a laugh. Last week, you probably saw the Facebook post in which Simon Cowell rolled his eyes at “Shy Kid” – who it turns out, really can sing. It reminded me of his initial reaction to Susan Boyle: He and Piers Morgan traded knowing glances, as if no 47 year old woman with a dream was worthy of a moment of their time.  And remember Cowell’s cruel ridicule of Jennifer Hudson at her Idol audition? Cowell told her that her outfit looked like something you would wrap a turkey in.

Even though Simon has moved on, America still celebrates each new season of Idol, where audition shows and Hollywood week focus on contestants who are light on talent, but offer a hefty dose of humiliation-as-entertainment to an eager public.  

I hate to admit that I followed “The Biggest Loser” for several years. I watched as Jillian screamed at desperately obese contestants to “move your ass” and “don’t you dare stop, don’t you dare!”  – then claimed a “breakthrough” moment when a contestant collapsed or vomited. Tears weren’t enough. Storming out of the gym wasn’t enough. Jillian, quite literally, brought contestants to their knees. (We excused it, though, if the weigh in for the Black Team was a happy one.)

And of course, reality TV is rife with “alliances.” Suspense builds as we wonder who will be “voted off the island,” or which beautiful girl will receive a rose.

 It occurs to me that a lot of what we see on TV these days is, in fact, pretty brutal. That TV shows instruct us in the fine art of…

Get ready for it….

Bullying.

We didn’t hear much about bullying until the early 2000’s, after the massacre at Columbine High School. The press speculated that Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold had been ostracized by their peers; that the so-called Trench Coat Mafia was made up of kids who were bullied by the more mainstream student body at Columbine.  In retrospect, according to journalist Dave Cullen, Harris and Klebold weren’t the victims or social outcasts portrayed in the media at the time. In our horror we tried to compose a logical explanation for an illogical act, and came up with bullying: it would have made sense – maybe – if Harris and Klebold were motivated by revenge. We told ourselves that maybe those kids out in Colorado were just too mean. We didn’t dare say it out loud, but may have wondered if some of them got what they deserved.

Since then, the issue of bullying has taken center stage. Schools adopt zero tolerance policies. Parents struggle with what to do when the classic advice of “Just ignore them” doesn’t work. These days the stakes are higher. Technology opens the doors to bullies 24 hours a day. There is no escape. No respite. Kids have died. This is serious stuff.

Has it always been this way?

Isn’t it true that everybody goes through it?  Boys will be boys, you know. Those girls will get what’s coming to them.

I asked some adults (ages 23 to 50 plus) if they had experienced bullying in their lives. Here’s what they said:

  • It was a nightmare.
  • I had to endure a lot of torment on the bus.
  • In 4th grade they made fun of my underwear.
  • I was too smart.  
  • I was raised by a single mother.
  • They made fun of what my mom packed in my lunch.
  • They blamed me for being weird.
  • I was raised without parents….in foster homes.
  • I was short. I was about 4 feet tall until high school.
  • We moved a lot. There was always a bully waiting for the new kid.
  • I never did figure out why they threw rocks or spit on me.
  • Catholic bashing was a favorite pastime.
  • My own sister called me hippo in high school.
  • I was pale skinned and skinny, with large red lips.
  • It became a game for the boys to walk into history class and see which one could hit me in the head and either make me cry or make my nose bleed. There were plenty of takers on that one
  • I wore the clothing mom bought, not what was stylish because I was fat.
  • They stole my lunch. I was scared to report it so I didn’t eat.
  • I was excluded from things…ignored.
  • The boys would put their hand on my seat so when I sat down they would be groping my butt. This happened for a whole year.

And what happened to those bullies as a result? Not much.

  • An older girl just sat there oblivious, gazing out the window pretending she didn’t see a thing going on right next to her!
  • The PE teachers and coaches made it worse – they fostered it and actually set some kids up.
  • I would lie awake at night thinking up revenge tactics, but I never did anything.
  • For months I avoided going to school anyway I could.
  • The school principal denied that anything was happening.
  • I spent a lot of time in the bathroom or making sure I was by the yard duty teacher.
  • The principal took me into a closet and threatened to beat me with a clothes hanger. The bully was the principal’s nephew.
  • My self-worth was so low that it never occurred to me to tell anyone.
  • My home life was so bad that I did not think anyone would listen to me

The bullying victims, even years ago, felt that they had nowhere to turn. Only two people mentioned that they told a parent what was going on. Part of the equation was – and is – that the victims may indeed believe that adults who are supposed to protect them may be as powerless as they are.

I feel a bit of relief that my own children are adults, and less vulnerable to cruelty from their peers. But I feel a pang of sadness that we send such mixed messages to the next generation.

On one hand, we lament that we have to work so hard these days to teach kids to be civil, respectful, good people. But on the other hand, brutality is captivating. We don’t like to admit it, but we have adopted a cultural acceptance of cruelty. We reinforce that acceptance with a click of the remote.

We talk “zero tolerance” – but our walk takes us to a different destination altogether.

Posted in Learning, Media, Parents and children, Teachers | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Read And Follow Directions: The Meme Redux

Posted on March 24, 2012 by Lynn McLean

I’ve said it a thousand times: Read and follow directions.

In my teaching days, of course, teaching students to follow directions was built into the content of whatever else they were supposed to learn.

Fast forward to today, and I can tell you for sure that few of us actually read even the short blurbs of directions that appear in pop up windows on our computer screens. (They make us anxious, I think. We just hit “cancel” and suffer the repurcussions later.)

But a closer look at the meme phenomenon assures me that I don’t always follow my own advice. There is more to it than simply answering the set of questions I posted yesterday. There are three phases, actually.

Phase I: List 11 things that others may not know about you.

OK, I can do that.

1.         In college, I started out as a pharmacy major. I took tons of chemistry, physics, and human anatomy, including a human dissection.

2.         I used to sew almost all of my own clothes. Then I had children.

3.         I chose my children’s names long before they were born. I still love their names, and think of them when I hear the Elton John song, “Blessed.”

4.         I am completely UN-athletic. To this day, my nightmare come true is a picnic with volleyball. The times I have actually hit a baseball with a bat have been total freak accidents. It took forever to get the training wheels off my bike. I have mixed eye/hand dominance which is, I believe, the root of this problem.

5.         Continuing with #4, I cannot brush my teeth with my right hand, although I am mostly right handed.

6.         I was very shy and self-conscious in high school – more so than in junior high. That social stratification thing set in in a big way.

7.         I taught myself to read at age 3.

8.         My earliest memory is of my 3rd birthday.

9          I am fairly frugal, but not especially good at managing money.

10.       I am interested in languages; I was once able to construct my thoughts in German, and now would like to start learning Spanish.

11.       I would like to sing in a choir again someday.

Phase II: Answer the 11 questions posed by the person from whom you got the meme.

I had skipped over Jenni’s questions entirely. And so, dear reader, you get a double dose and a 2nd set of 11 questions answered today. I greatly fear that I have spent way too much time indulging my own ego in the last 24 hours!

1) Sunshine or starlight?

Although I love seeing the Milky Way on a dark, dark night (preferably over Lake Champlain)….I’m a sunshine girl at heart.

My favorite day of the year is, without exception, the Summer Solstice. I consider it my own private holiday.
2) Do you have a pet? If not, would you prefer to have one? If so, would you prefer not to have one?

Over the years, I’ve become a definite dog person. We adopted our boxer girl, Holly, just about five years ago. She is aging now, and may very well be our last pet. Even now, we rely on very kind neighbors to keep her company (and thus, keep her out of trouble) on long work days or when we travel.
3) What food have you tasted that you will never eat again?

Oh, I fear a very un-trendy answer: Sushi. Just not a fan, and it’s very expensive.

Another un-trendy answer: Calimari.It’s usually fried. And fried, rubbery food has two strikes against it right off the bat.

Other foods I just don’t like:

 gravy and sauces (bad mouth feel),

too-spicy foods (just don’t like the hot hot peppers),

strong onions (no interested in bad  breath for three days afterwards),

lamb (don’t ask),

lobster (too rich),

scrapple (despite its PA dutch “charm” – blechhhh),

anything beyond a touch of salad dressing or mayonnaise (see gravy and sauces).

That’s enough for now.
4) What food have you not tried that you’d like to taste?

Well, this is a shorter list than #3.

Ethiopian food. At an authentic restaurant where you eat with your hands.

Homemade baked sweet potato chips.
5) What’s the farthest you’ve ever walked?

Six miles I think. At a time when I routinely did three or four, this was a big effort. Right now I have my eye on a five mile beach walk.
6)  What surprises you the most about your life now?

What’s not a surprise!

In the past year I have made a major (and needed and positive) career change, and am living in a different state. Those are two biggies, for sure.

In the past five years, I’ve lost a lot of weight, I’ve learned to love exercise, quit eating sugar and refined carbs. Each of these is a biggie in and of itself.

In the past ten years, I’ve moved twice and left my home state of Michigan. I took a risk and it has paid off many times over. I’ve formed many precious friendships I’ve grown spiritually and emotionally. I’ve learned a lot about listening (I hope) and still work on that. I know a lot of great kids who call me Grandma; most of them weren’t even born ten years ago.

Yes, life is full of surprises and delight.
7) What’s the best concert or performance you ever attended?

Do I have to pick just one?

If theater counts in this list, I will say that attending a world Premier of Arthur Miller’s “Up From Paradise” at the Power Center in Ann Arbor, Michigan is right near the top. While the play itself was not widely produced, Arthur Miller himself took the role of narrator. I was thrilled to see him on stage.

My favorite musical is Les Miserables, which I have seen on stage at least four times. Each time, I’ve cried. Each time, I’ve cheered. And when the Fulton Theater staged Les Mis a few years back, I could have burst with pride hearing my dear friend (and wonderfully talented) Hannah Young sing in the role of Young Cosette.

And I won’t forget my first Broadway show. I had travelled to Manhattan on a Sunday to prepare for a presentation at a prestigious private boys’ school on Monday morning. My hotel room was actually a penthouse apartment with a breathtaking view; the Headmaster told me that they had some “connections” in the hotel industry, and they were right. And so on that Sunday night, I seized the moment and got a cab to the Theater District. Tickets were available for several shows that night. I chose Beauty and the Beast, and was able to get a seat in Orchestra Center. I was transported that night, with Times Square just up the block and Belle singing her heart out in front of me.

But then there are concerts.

Mike and I share a love of Motown music, and the oldies in general. We’ve become groupies of the semi-annual Jerry Blavat review shows at the Kimmel Center in Philadelphia. Jerry Blavat began his career in music as a dancer on American Bandstand, pre-Dick Clark. He became a legend in Philadelphia radio, and continues his show today on WXPN. Twice a year, he assembles a group of the legends of the early doo-wop/rock and roll era at the breathtaking Kimmel Center. Among my favorites have been Jay Black (of Jay and the Americans), Kenny Vance (also of the original Jay and the Americans) and the Planotones, and Ben E. King (who brought tears to my eyes he was so grateful to his audience).

Along that same line, Mike and I travelled to Maryland one Saturday night to hear the Funk Brothers live. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to hear the backup band that has recorded more #1 hits than the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Beach Boys, and Elvis combined. Not sure who the Funk Brothers are? Try a google search. Or check out the movie “Standing In The Shadows of Motown.”

Other great concert moments:

Cry Cry Cry at the Keswick Theater in suburban Philadelphia. The evening was really and truly all about Dar Williams, and followed a packed day of travel between Philly (my first visit) and Princeton, NJ.

Mary Chapin Carpenter at the Meadowbrook Music Festival. It was late in her tour, and she just kept singing. The night grew cold, and she just kept singing. Three hours on stage, and she just kept singing.

Cheryl Wheeler at the Canal Street Tavern in Dayton, Ohio. An after work road trip on a Friday, sitting on the floor at the edge of the stage, and hearing Cheryl in her prime.

Allison Krauss and Union Station in Detroit, Michigan. I probably own more music by Allison Krauss than any other single performer.

Cat Stevens at Detroit’s Masonic Temple. I camped out overnight on the street to get these tickets at the back of the balcony. Who cares? I saw him!

Santana at Pine Knob/DTE Music Theater. This one was at the peak of his “Supernatural” fame. It was a perfect summer night for a dance party.

Moxie Fruvous, a now-defunct Canadian group, at the Ark in Ann Arbor.

The Four Tops with the Detroit Symphony at Orchestra Hall.

Judy Collins. Her voice was like silver.

The Carpenters. These tickets came to me because a neighbor couldn’t use them at the last minute. It ended up being less than a year before Karen Carpenter’s death.

Smoky Robinson and the Miracles. Actually, this was my very first live concert, at the Michigan State Fair. Later on, I was able to see them two more times. I’d go again in a heartbeat.

Gladys Knight in Las Vegas. Total class, that lady.

Now, what you have to know about each of these concert memories is that yes, the music was memorable. But each memory is also associated with the person with whom I shared that music. Obviously I could go on and on.


8) How do you feel about speaking in front of groups?

They say that speaking in front of a group is the most common fear among adults.

Always a talker, my own stance has been, “Go ahead. Give me a hundred people and a topic.”

I dare say, I could do it.
9) How old is the oldest person you ever met? Who was that?

I believe that person, today, is my mom.

She wouldn’t want me to divulge her age, but let’s just say she is “retired.”

In the span of her life she has seen events that made history: the rise of transportation, communications, and the dawn of the information age. She has lived through times of war and peace…and war again.

Her perspective and wisdom are invaluable to me; she has keen insight into human nature and is usually right. She keeps an eagle eye on political events. She reads the newspapers daily. She seeks out learning, and carefully budgets her days so that there is enough time to do the things she loves most.

She is generous. She is an encourager. She is genuinely interested in others. She draws people to her, and always has.

She lives her life with the kind of quiet dignity that I can only dream of having. (See above, as I work on that listening thing.)
10) Who’s your favorite comedian or comic actor?

Comedy is difficult to pull off. My favorites are the classics, from the days when comedy didn’t rely so heavily on how many times “that word” could be worked into a monologue.

The best of my lifetime: Lucille Ball

The best currently living: Carol Burnett and Bill Cosby

One I wish I could see more of: David Hyde Pierce
11) Do you own a functioning record player?

Nope. But I did hold on to the core of my LP collection for many years, eventually passing the best of these on to my son Bryce. There is a comfort knowing that he has, and that he values, The Concert for Bangladesh, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and Teaser and the Firecat.

He, by the way, does own a turntable.

Phase III: Pose 11 questions of your own for others to answer.

Feel free to take these on and reply via comment, FB note or message, or e mail.

1.         What is your favorite photograph of yourself? When and where was it taken?

2.         What is your greatest artistic or musical talent?

3.         Are you thrifty, or does money burn a hole in your pocket?

4.         What is the last new thing you learned?

5.         What are three songs that you count among your lifetime favorites?

6.         Do you wear lipstick? Any special color or brand?

7.         Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes.

8.         Are you afraid of heights?

9.         Is your closet neat, or more like an episode of Hoarders lurking behind that door?

10.       What is your guilty pleasure?

11.       Are you a Rosie O’Donnell fan?

Feeling much better now that I’ve done it right!

Posted in Friendship, Opinion | Tagged | 2 Comments

It’s Called a Meme

Posted on March 23, 2012 by Lynn McLean

Pronounce it “meem.”

It’s something that spreads via the Internet. It might be a word, a picture, a concept. This one is adapted from my friend Jenni, and takes the form of a questionnaire. Not profound, perhaps, but maybe you’ll enjoy a point or two, and maybe you’ll pass it along in some form or another with your own thoughts. Mostly, it just gets us writing a bit. Thank you Jenni!

1) If you could time travel, what would you do?

 Assuming that this means I could go back to some point in my own life time, I would probably return to my college days.

 Be more independent.

 Less fearful.

 More social. More fun.

 Embrace all that it meant to be in Ann Arbor at that time.

 Probably get a job and live there during the summer.

 And, most likely, wait a while to get married.

2) Who is your most surprising friend?

 I like to think that if you gathered my friends together, they might be surprised to meet one another.

 Some are in their teens. Some are in their 80’s and beyond. They cover a huge spectrum of political thought and personal philosophies.

 They are men and women. Gay and straight. Liberal and conservative. Christian and Jew and none of the above.

 More than a few with tattoos.

 Education folks, of course. Some doctors. Some writers. Some musicians. Some artists. An ordained minister. A rapper.  

 Many wonderful thinkers.

 And many who ride the waves of life with grace and wisdom, and who have taught me a lot along the way.  

 Perhaps the friendship that has come as a bit of a surprise is that with author Joyce Maynard. I first read Joyce’s books in the early 1980’s. I renewed them from the library and read them over and over (which, she says, is why she has only one fan from Rochester, Michigan). Joyce influenced my writing, my parenting, my way of making my house a home. Our children were the same ages. We indulged the same neuroses. She became a friend long before I met her in person. Spending time with Joyce and studying with her in New Hampshire fulfilled a lifelong dream, and I am delighted to count her among my friends. I can hardly wait to do it again.

 3) What is your lifetime favorite article of clothing?

 In 10th grade, I had a great pair of jeans. HIS for Her, size 9 or 11. (9 if I was lucky.) Button fly, bell bottoms, hip hugger style without being uncomfortably low cut. After many washings, those jeans became flannel soft and fit like a pair of lambskin gloves. I may have sewn a peace sign patch on the flared leg at one time or another. The hems frayed just a bit, but the length was perfect. I wore them with brown leather shoes, tees, and an occasional white button down shirt.

 Funny thing though. Those jeans just disappeared once when I put them in the wash. About the same time one of my Led Zeppelin albums went missing – the one with Whole Lotta Love on Side 1.

 (Did I say something “went missing”?)

4) If you had a terrible earworm, what song would you sing to try to get rid of it?

 My first thought, actually, is what the earworm would be.

 The quintessential “It’s A Small World After All”?

 Maybe one of those irritating 1970’s oldies…”Take A Letter Maria”? “Afternoon Delight”? “Hey Little Woman”?

 Lately, it would be “Blow” by Ke$ha. I get stuck on the chorus, which I’ve used to measure how many squats I can do without stopping.

 Anyway, to get rid of it, I’d probably resort to the very first song I remember singing out loud. In fact, it’s the first song I downloaded when I got an iPod.

 Tom Dooley.

 The Kingston Trio version is as vivid to me today as it was when I was 4, bouncing around the back yard singing, “Hang down your head and cry.” I do know all the verses now, though, and love the harmonies. When I sing along, I switch between parts.

 5) Is there a celebrity whose death you would mourn with unusual depth?

 Our cultural obsession with celebrities gets me on my soapbox, so this is a tough one.

 I did, however, mourn the passing of some of the legends of comedy over the years….Lucille Ball and Bob Hope come to mind. And so I think I will mourn other “greats” from that genre, when the time comes, such as Carol Burnett and Betty White. The ability to make others laugh is a unique gift. And I do value laughter.

 I think we will all catch our breath when Sir Paul McCartney dies. I will remember his debut with the Beatles on Ed Sullivan when I was eight….Sgt. Pepper and The White Album that saw me through my high school years, Band on the Run in college, his lyrical love songs later on. I regret that I haven’t seen him in concert. Maybe I will next time he tours. We all know now that Paul is much more than “the cute one” of the Beatles. THe man is, simply put, a genius.

6) What’s the best thing about your home?

 We actually have two houses right now, and they have some things in common that I like a lot.

 One is the fact that they are just the right size. I’ve lived big houses and on big pieces of land, and they are hard to maintain. Cleaning takes a while, or has to be hired out. A big house entices me to collect stuff to fill it, and I end up with too much crap. A smaller house is easy to clean; I can do it top to bottom in about two hours. Maybe less.

But the really wonderful thing about home is the way the windows open up the back of the house. In Pennsylvania, the atrium windows invite you to explore the deck. It’s an elevated deck tucked into the trees; I call it my treehouse. It’s private; almost no one can see you there. It’s at its best in springtime, when the cherry tree blossoms.  

 In Florida, the back of the house is bathed in natural sunlight and the views of water, palms, and the manicured greens of the golf course is like having a huge back yard. At sunset, the horizon glows silver, peach, fuschia, and purple.

7) What is your most vivid memory about learning to drive?

 Even before I took drivers’ ed, my sister Dee took me to Mount Avon Cemetery and let me drive around the dirt roads there. We would pull in through the gate, and she would turn over the wheel of her Plymouth Valiant. It was a great place to get a little practice without worry about other traffic. Pretty smart, actually. A definite advantage of having an older sister.

 8) What do you think about ironing?

 Saving this one for a stand-alone piece. Ah, I know the suspense is killing you!

 9) When did you first feel really grown-up?

 After my 40th birthday. I finally felt like I had lived enough life to do things my way.

That’s code for: I decided to be less vulnerable to criticism over trivial things.

10) Where do you want to travel but fear you never can?

 I don’t like this question. I don’t fear not traveling, but I have wondered if I will see the Rocky Mountains again anytime soon. I loved hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park and Yellowstone….the surprise of the rugged Tetons on the horizon…the relentless Canadian Rockies of Alberta.

 And I would love to take Mike to Scotland, to visit the McLean of Duart Castle on the Isle of Mull (A true Scotsman, that is his “clan.”)  Is there a kilt (and all the accessories that go with it) in his future?

 These trips will take just the right blend of time, money, and planning. No fear about any of it, really. In the meantime, I have the Gulf of Mexico just ten minutes down the road.

Posted in Friendship, Opinion, Uncategorized | 3 Comments

How Willing? How Able?

Posted on January 7, 2012 by Lynn McLean

There isn’t a corner of Ann Arbor, Michigan that isn’t touched by the University of Michigan. From the big block “M” on the Diag, the campus weaves through town like tangled yarn.  

When I started college there, my dorm held more residents than a lot of small towns. I learned a lot in those first few years. I made my first Jewish friends. I learned to use public transportation, and ate shrimp for the first time. I hunted out the best places to study, in the dental school library or small classrooms that weren’t used much at night. I fell in love. I learned to be a little careful, too, and to follow the cardinal rule of dorm life: Don’t scream unless you really mean it.

I didn’t know, though, that I would live for a few  years without what I considered “regular” lettuce.  I guess what they served in the cafeterias at Bursley Hall was romaine, or maybe endive. I was never sure. It was most often served at room temperature and felt dry when it rested on my tongue. It left a slight bitter aftertaste.

In those years, I learned, the University, major religious groups, and  national political figures boycotted iceberg lettuce to show support for the United Farmworkers Union. Those who sought to improve conditions for farm workers were organized with a capital “O.” They had passionate leadership in Cesar Chavez, who founded the AFWU. During the lettuce boycott, and later during the grape strike, Chavez followed the example of nonviolent protest exemplified by Gandhi and Martin Luther King. He endured multiple hunger strikes that lasted over 25 days at a stretch. Senator Bobby Kennedy joined him in his fast shortly before his assassination.

Over the last few months, the “Occupy” movement has stirred memories of the lettuce and grape boycotts of the 1970’s.  I have wondered whether (and how) the Occupiers would achieve their goals. But that’s part of the problem. Depending on who you talk to, the goals of Occupy might have to do with protesting corrupt financial practices by American banks. Or the widening gap between the earning power of the 1% and the 99% (of which I am clearly a member). Or maybe it is about corporations. Corporate greed, selling out to corporations, and all that stuff. Or forgiving student debt, or maybe forgiving all debt. Or the housing crisis: everyone is entitled to the American dream. (No, wait. That’s what caused the mortgage collapse.)  Or Congress and their role in it all. Or George Bush, or Ronald Reagan, or maybe both of them. Trickle down….didn’t. Or if it did, someone turned off the economic faucet sometime in the last 30 years. Not sure. Or maybe, as I saw on one Occupier’s sign, it’s about “One Love, One World.”

I don’t know anyone personally who resided at an Occupy site, but I have seen those sites in five different cities. In December, my cab driver in Washington, DC told me that at night, the DC Occupiers went home. The tents were turned over to the homeless. On that night, Washington was awash in cold torrential rain. I quietly bet that every one of those tents was filled with at least 3 inches of standing water . It’s not likely that many of the homeless found much comfort there that night. In Detroit, Occupy set up space in a park area often frequented by the homeless, and just blocks from the bustling theater district and sports fields; I am not sure if the homeless got to use the tents on cold nights or not. In Lancaster, PA, Occupy took on the tone of a street fair, especially on busy “First Friday” nights. I never saw it in the paper, but I wondered if they went home too, the first night temperatures dipped to 17 degrees.

Now, I certainly don’t want to leave my readers with the notion that I support corrupt banking practices, or that I have somehow escaped the economic crunch that plagues our nation.

But I have been thinking about the differences between the Occupiers and those of us who ate a lot of bad lettuce back in the 70s, and who skipped grapes altogether for a good long while.

From the get go, as I watched news footage of OWS, I wondered about the clarity of the movement. The Occupiers are certainly as entitled as anyone to exercise their first amendment rights. But I saw mixed messages right from the start. It didn’t make sense to launch an anti- corporate movement and document the cause on a MacBook via an AT&T or Verizon data plan. Ditto to doing so with a Starbucks latte in hand, or even a McCafe coffee.

Just an observation.

And then…a question:

 Could a nationwide boycott – like the one against lettuce and grapes – happen in America today? Would a systemically planned boycott of certain targeted corporations (or banks, or  products, or whatever) work in the 21st century the way it did in the 1970’s?

 Would we, as a country or as individuals, be willing to do without lettuce or grapes or anything at all for an extended period of time?

 Are we willing to take a stand in a way that touches our personal lives and lifestyles? To change the clothing we wear, or bypass our favorite stores, or do without some of our favorite products?

 Or is that sort of thing passé?

 After all, Occupy supported a nationwide boycott of Black Friday shopping to let the wealthy magnates of corporate America know where the rest of us stand. But you know what happened.

We didn’t stand on principle. We stood in line at Target and Toys R Us and Best Buy and WalMart to get great deals on HDTV and  XBox.

 Americans might be struggling, but the bottom line is this:

  • We want what we want.
  • We want a great deal on it.
  • And we want it. now.

 The first time I saw the Rocky Mountains, I knew I couldn’t have been a pioneer. I certainly couldn’t have done what my husband’s ancestors did, walking west as part of the Mormon handcart companies.  But as he often says, those people didn’t consider themselves “pioneers” at the time. They were everyday people, doing what they had to do. They did it a step at a time, even in winter. They bore children and buried loved ones along the way, without stopping. They sang every night.

Could I have done that?

Could have risked my life with the Freedom Riders in the 1960’s?

Could have endured being taken a prisoner of war in Japan, or Germany,  Korea or North Vietnam?

 Could I have been as brave as Rosa Parks was the day she sat firmly in her seat on that bus in Montgomery, Alabama? (Which, by the way, launched another boycott.)

 Could I have done that? Could I do it now?

 How willing am I – or any of us – to change my habits and step out of my comfort zone for a principle I claim to believe in, or for the well-being of others? Will we still buy those nice underpants at Victoria’s Secret, even knowing that the cotton is harvested by slave labor? In these days of counting our cash a bit more carefully, are we willing to spend more for slave-free chocolate bars, or would we rather just grab what’s closest at the checkout counter when we want a treat?  Genetically modified produce sounds rather like “Brave New World” – but can I afford to buy heirloom tomatoes every single time I want a sandwich? I mean, it’s January. If I want a tomato, I have to take what I can get.

 Cuts a little close to the bone, you know?

 No easy answers.

But oh, so very important to ask the questions.

Posted in Commitment, Decisions, Issues, Memoir | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Exactly 400 Words About What Lights Me Up

Posted on December 19, 2011 by Lynn McLean

A while back, I tried to make a list of my “favorite things.” I mean, Oprah Winfrey came up with a fantastic list every year, right? But for me, the task was harder than I thought. A few things came to mind, of course….but then the ideas just stopped.

So when my friend Amy Oscar posted this invitation on her website, I wasn’t sure what would happen but took it as a writing challenge. Exactly 400 words, huh?

Here’s my list….I am curious about what would be on yours. Please share in a comment! (And no, you don’t have to use 400 words unless you want to!)

 A cashmere turtleneck.

Wigwam socks.

A workout with loud music and good sweat.

Savasana.

Summer solstice.

Sliding under a down comforter on a winter night.

Live music.

The melody of words read aloud.  

Books. I cannot be without books.

The fleeting moment when spring trees blossom.

Cowboy boots.

Remembering the details of a dream.

Lanz flannel gowns.

An uncrowded beach.

The steady breath of sleep. 

Throwing a tennis ball and watching my dog run for it in delight.

Neatly trimmed nails.

My writer friends.

Contented quiet.

Being amazed by my children as adults…the ways they are better than me.

Holding hands with my grandchildren.

Little Violet deep in sleep on my chest.

Fresh snow on evergreens. 

Lake Michigan

Buttery leather.

A flat-ish belly.

Eating well.

Beautiful cookware.

Reading poetry out loud, slowly.

A clean house. Organization. Space.

Days when the air is so clear it sparkles.

Dancing to Motown.

Patsy Cline. Cat Stevens The Beatles.

Theatre, more than the movies.

Radio, more than TV.

Early morning, more than late night.

The breeze off the Gulf of Mexico.

Learning.

Writing.

Careful listening before speaking.

An open mind and heart.

A conversation where I learn something from my mom.

Someone who calls me “friend.”

Friendships that go way back. Friendship that is new, growing.

The smell of a campfire.

Tulips.

 The North Star.

Fireworks.

Thanksgiving.

 Art in unexpected places.

Ann Arbor.

Christmas carols sung in German.

Good tears.

Being asked, “What do you think?”

Real calligraphy, with ink from a bottle.

Wading in the Gulf holding my husband’s hand.

Road trips. Good music on the radio.

The iPad.

Christmas cards.

Moisturizer.

Sunday nap.

Simplicity.

Words flowing from a fast pen.

The deep satisfaction of seeing our children’s children living in joy.

Singing the Hallelujah Chorus and realizing I know all the words. 

The moments when life feels just about perfect.

Stars in the Vermont winter sky.

Time to write, and really writing. 

Cinnamon.

Cilantro.

Fresh bread.

Watermelon.

The Continental Divide.

Full moons.

Pitching in, and knowing that even a small service bears great gifts.

Following through.

Being invited.

 Truth.

New understanding.

Winnie the Pooh.

Feeling strong and healthy, confident and capable.

No cavities.

Giving a gift that hits the mark.

Good memories.

Old photographs.

The words, “You’ve done a good job.”

Traditions that live.

Faith that runs deep.

Optimism.

Knowing when I have done the right thing.

Staying calm.

Counting my blessings.

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments

The Moment Would Have Passed Me By

Posted on December 9, 2011 by Lynn McLean

I used to drink a lot of coffee, and if there’s one thing that a coffee drinker knows, it’s that you never buy a cup late in the day from the counter at a 7-11, Circle K , or any other gas station/convenience store type place. Once the early rush passes, those pots sit on the burners too long. The stuff inside gets so hot it scorches. The color shifts to a brackish burnt brown  and a bitter taste takes over. A real coffee drinker can smell it from a distance.

So even at the height of my coffee-holic days, I wouldn’t have considered getting in line for a cup the other night when my husband Mike stopped in at Turkey Hill for a Coke. He had worked a long day without lunch. The night air carried a chill and he pulled his leather jacket around him, slammed the car door and stepped up to the curb. He was eager to get back in the car and head home; the drive would take at least an hour, and even a fast food drive through would slow him down. Just a Coke would have to do the trick for now.

It was then he noticed the woman approaching from his left.

“Excuse me,” she called out. “Do you know how much a regular coffee costs in there?”

“Sorry, no,” he replied. Mike isn’t a coffee drinker either. “But they’ll tell you inside.”

He noticed then that she didn’t carry a purse, and her hands were bare. She didn’t look homeless, really, but he sensed her tension and knew she must be cold.

“Probably down and out” was how he described her later on. “Normal, really. In her 40’s.”

He held the door open for her.

Once inside, Mike rounded the corner toward the soft drinks. As he reached for his Coke, he glanced briefly toward the coffee counter.

The woman looked pale under the fluorescent lights. She studied the overhead menu of coffees, fountain drinks, and slushees. The red and green display touted gingerbread cappuccino as the flavor of the month for December.

She opened her hand, and Mike saw that she clutched a handful of coins. He watched as she counted them, and counted them again.

He watched her shoulders sag slightly. He watched her head drop forward, and her eyes close. He almost heard her sigh. He saw her fingers curl around the coins until the knuckles turned white. He knew without a doubt what she had just discovered – she didn’t have enough.

The counter clerk sat on a stool and leafed through People magazine. Mike approached to pay for his Coke.

The woman, meanwhile, had drifted to the candy aisle. She stood back from the display of Kit Kats and Butterfingers, deep in thought. Mike wondered if she had decided to opt for candy instead of the coffee, but his instincts told him otherwise. He noticed her posture, her position in the aisle, her hand still gripping the precious coins.

Then he knew.

She wasn’t looking at candy bars.

Her eyes scanned the floor.  She was looking for a dime, a quarter, or a few pennies someone may have dropped.

He knew that she hoped against hope that she might still be able to buy a cup of coffee before the night got much colder.

He took two steps toward her. “Did you get your coffee?”

“Nah. It’s a dollar thirty five.” She didn’t have to say she didn’t have enough.

 Mike reached out and placed two dollar bills in her hand. “Here you go,” he said.

The woman handed a single dollar back. “I only need one. I have the rest. I was just looking to see if someone had dropped some change. Sometimes people drop their change along here.”

“I know. We’ve all been there. But you can get your coffee now. It’s cold out. Maybe you can even get two.”

She hesitated, then accepted the second dollar. She placed her hand on Mike’s arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I won’t get two. I think I’ll just get the large.”

Mike shrugs off this story, assuring me that I would have done the same thing. And I like to think I would extend kindness to a stranger on a cold night. But as I listened to him talk about the woman at Turkey Hill, I had to admit that in the same situation, I would likely have just gotten my Coke and rushed back to the car. 

I’m not proud to say that I wouldn’t have noticed her standing at the counter, or clutching her coins, or studying the floor near the candy bars.

I’m not proud to say that for all the cliches I know about “being present,” for all I know about the value of giving, for all I know about paying attention….the moment – and the opportunity – would very likely have passed me by.

Posted in Busy, Learning, Overwhelmed, Spirituality | Tagged , | 4 Comments

Making A List….Checking It Twice

Posted on December 9, 2011 by Lynn McLean

 ‘Tis the season for making lists of all kinds. I’ve always been a “list” type of person and still find joy in crossing things off of my various lists as they are completed. Friends Jay (www.twowomenblogging.blogspot.com) and KJ Dell’Antonia (http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/12/02/should-kids-write-their-own-holiday-gift-lists/ ) recently shared their thoughts on Christmas lists. Here are a few of my own.

When I was a teenager, my best Christmas gifts didn’t always arrive on Santa’s sleigh. Most years, they came the day after Christmas. That’s when Mitzelfeld’s Department Store on Main Street launched its year end sale. The pile of gifts under the tree grew considerably on December 26th, with the addition of a plaid Garland kilt (an annual tradition through junior high and high school), a coordinating sweater or two, and a pale blue ski jacket in 11th grade. If I got lucky, there might be a pair of button fly hip huggers or tall boots, too, all packed in Mitzelfeld’s signature black and white striped shopping bags.

My bigger Christmas gifts in those days were often a collaboration. The year I wanted stereo components, my mom let me pick out the receiver, turntable (yes, you read that right), and speakers that would fit best in the dorm when I went off to college. It was perfect, even though the gift wasn’t a total surprise. She learned what my priorities were, and we hit it right on the button.

But at 19, I married (yes, you read that right too) into a family whose Christmas shopping was guided – no, dominated– by elaborate Christmas lists. Suddenly, I was expected to make a list of my own without any allowance for my favorite sales or the benefit of advance conversation.

The whole process was like setting up a bridal registry, with careful notations of the item desired, the store at which it was available, and the preferred color and size. The in- laws were big on catalog shopping, and encouraged me to add items from the pages of Eddie Bauer and LL Bean holiday gift guides, including page numbers.

And sure enough, I received some nice items from those lists. A fair isle sweater. A down jacket that got me through college. Camping gear.

In my husband’s family, nobody  shopped for much of anything for themselves after Labor Day, so their lists included an odd array of functional items like a spatula, flashlight batteries and even Sears Cling-alon thigh high nylons for my mother-in-law. It struck me as odd that the family flashlights would burn dim, or not at all, so that another gift could be added to the pile under the tree, or that Roger’s mother would scrape her mixing bowls with an inferior spatula for months. My own mom would have simply picked up batteries and a spatula (not to mention the stockings) on the next shopping trip. But in Roger’s  family – now mine – the lists took precedence over practicality. So each year around Thanksgiving I  headed out to find the “right” Pendleton plaid shirt or Monet butterfly broach or set of burnt orange towels. (Trust me, finding those towels was a challenge in the years that the entire world was bathed in mauve and country blue. But Roger’s mom never changed her color scheme.)

By the time my own children came along, the Christmas list had worked its way into our annual traditions. Creating a list for each child became a part of holiday preparations as Santa and I conspired about what would be under the tree on Christmas morning. I provided grandparents with gift suggestions, sorted according to recipient and approximate cost . Now, this approach did carry a level of functionality. It minimized the chance of duplicate gifts and gave family members an idea of what would work out best as we rolled into a new year. What could the kids share? Were they into art projects or playing dress up or Strawberry Shortcakes? Still, the very best gifts over the years had nothing to do with those lists. We never asked for hand knit sweaters from Aunt Marie, but we kept them all as treasures for the next generation. 

Like most children, mine eventually started creating Christmas lists of their own. Mostly, those lists included just the top priorities to be delivered from the North Pole.  A Barbie house. The USS Enterprise. American Girl accessories. Nintendo. Today, Mike and I laugh over his favorite Christmas list story from his own children’s early years; his #2 son Matt submitted a letter to Santa asking for only two things: a pair of jeans that nobody had ever worn before, and a picture of Jesus. Needless to say, Matt’s wishes came true that year.

These days I love to go for the surprise when it comes to Christmas giving. In the role of grandma, my shopping isn’t as elaborate as it was in the days of those whispered conversations with Santa, but it covers a lot more people between our flock of grandchildren and grown up kids.

I pay attention all year and notice the remarks (even Facebook posts)  that give clues to what gift may be just right. I like to keep track of who likes dark chocolate or Mexican food. Most of the time I know which sports occupy the boys’  time, and what favorite colors the granddaughters are wearing. I keep my eyes open for terrific books, for those “little somethings” that can be tucked into a package and shipped across the country. Once or twice I have even made a gift myself that turned out well enough to actually give. 

I am the first to admit that I probably don’t always get it right.

But really? deep down?

I hope that the real gift lies in the paying attention part.

Posted in Holidays, Memoir, Obsessions, Parents and children, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

And So…This Is Christmas

Posted on November 29, 2011 by Lynn McLean

 

 

 

It’s that time of year…we have turned back the clocks  and dusk settles in well before dinner time. Shoppers circle the mall in search of the ideal parking spot. The 24/7 Christmas music channels are up and running.

And so, as John Lennon sang, this is Christmas. And with the season comes the delicate state of mind and heart that we call the “Christmas spirit.”

For Ebenezer Scrooge, the Christmas spirit arrived literally in the form of ghosts that haunted his sleep one Christmas Eve. But when I think of Christmas Past, it’s not with haunted memories. I remember shopping at the local five-and-dime, caroling on cold Michigan nights with Girl Scouts, and poring over the annual Sears Wish Book I remember the breathtaking red and green lights strung across Main Street in my hometown; it looked a lot like Bedford Falls in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I remember the Christmas Eve when we anticipated  my daughter’s birth; she stubbornly arrived ten days later.

I love the traditions that take over the weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day. We move furniture to accommodate a tree that is probably a lot bigger than it looked outside. The brave among us mount ladders to trim the eaves and shrubbery with lights. We pull out special recipes, and the rules about counting calories and not eating after dinner are suspended for a while. We hum along with our favorite Christmas songs.  For years, I was a bit obsessed with the goal that my children would learn all the words to all the verses of all the carols, and to that end played only Christmas music after Halloween. (They did indeed learn all the words.)

A few of us still send Christmas cards and letters the old fashioned way.

It all adds up, somehow, to create the spirit of Christmas. It is, according to my wise husband Mike, the spirit we wish we could maintain all year long. It is the spirit of love, of contentment, of generosity, of faith. In the end, Ebeneezer Scrooge agreed, and vowed to “honor Christmas in my heart and keep it all the year.”

We pray that you are able to nurture the Spirit of Christmas Present this year, and to realize that the most generous gifts of the season have nothing to do with material extravagance.

We wish you the gifts of health and happiness, and remind you that your next breath is a little miracle all its own.

We wish you the gift of contentment, and pray for peace in a troubled world.

We wish you the gifts of giving and receiving love from those around you. We remind you of the special blessings that come from reaching out to a friend from days past, or a family member that you haven’t seen or heard from in too long.

We wish you the gift of recognizing the blessings that grace everyday life. Indeed, those who are unable to count their blessings are more handicapped than those who have no legs.

And finally, we wish you the gift of faith. Faith for a brighter tomorrow. Faith that propels you to action. Faith that keeps a  bit of the spirit of this Christmas alive in your heart all year long.

Merry Christmas to all….

 

 

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

The World of Barbie – Literally

Posted on November 28, 2011 by Lynn McLean

It’s been a while since I thought about Barbie dolls, but today’s trivia question on our local radio station got my attention. It turns out that 2 Barbie dolls are sold every second, worldwide. That’s 1.5 million Barbies each week. Fully half of all dolls sold on earth are Barbies.

 My own Barbie would now be considered a “vintage” model, with her black and white striped maillot and bouffant hairdo. I spent hours zipping Barbie into her tiny outfits and arranging the furniture in her cardboard dream house. Back then, Barbie’s plastic legs didn’t bend at the knees and she had only two players in her supporting cast: BFF Midge and best beau Ken.

But Barbie was the star, and it was Barbie who would teach my generation exactly what it meant to be the kind of girl who turned heads and lived life at center stage. Those girls were tall. Lean. They had long necks and flat bellies. Their breasts tapered into narrow waists and trim hips. They had flawless skin and manicured nails. They knew how to walk in stilettos, drove sports cars, and, yes, lived in a dream house.

We know now that if Barbie were an actual person, she would be in real trouble. Conservative estimates put her at 5’9, and 110 pounds; others claim she would actually be close to seven feet tall and weigh in at 125. Either way, her BMI falls into the anorexic range; her body fat percentage would be so low she would not menstruate. Estimates of her measurements vary a bit, but fall into the general range of 38 – 18 – 33. Some speculate that with Barbie’s proportions, she wouldn’t be able to stand up, or that her neck would be unable to support the weight of her head. I remember something about this from high school physics, when we learned about strength-to-weight ratios. It’s the same reason those gigantic spiders from old horror movies couldn’t possibly walk.

I imagine my vintage Barbie trying to crawl from room to room in the dream house, starting out in an awkward downward dog pose. “Damn knees!” she would mutter as her unbending legs and arms inched forward with a gait more suited to an aardvark than a beauty queen. Give it a try. It’s almost impossible to make any forward progress from that position.

Her delicate feet – actually the same size as her hands – were permanently molded to the shape of her signature Barbie high heels. Each outfit came with at least one pair – sometimes two. I was lucky enough to have Barbie’s ballerina outfit, and her satin toe shoes slid into perfect position for pirouettes. But with those feet, Barbie wouldn’t have done well on the tennis court, and if she took a morning jog her legs would ache with the pressure of running on tiptoe. No trainer would allow Barbie to do her squats and lunges until her feet were flat on the floor. But Barbie couldn’t do squats and lunges anyway, could she?

Who knows what Barbie did to maintain that figure. Maybe she was like my neighbor Debbie from freshman year of college. Debbie had a definite Barbie look: long blonde hair, lean build, chiseled features. Debbie was generous too. If you had a guest at dinner time, she would gladly lend you her meal ticket for the cafeteria. She had to study, she always said. And I assumed it was the pressure of being pre-med that made her throw up so often.

When the time came, I gave my own daughter an updated Barbie and Santa brought the new generation of dream house as well as a pink Corvette. My rule – established only partly in jest – was that Barbie couldn’t have nicer underwear than mine. It’s somewhat disconcerting to realize that as an adult, I was comparing my real life working mom wardrobe with that of a Barbie doll. And probably at some absurd level, comparing my post-childbirth body with hers too.

For me, for my daughter, and now for her daughters, Barbie inhabits her dream house for only a few years of childhood play.  I never imagined that the statuesque Barbie image would define the way generations of girls look at our bodies, our wardrobes, our homes, our relationships, and our lives.  

You can’t blame Barbie.

There is no Barbie. We all know that.  But Barbie continues to hold court at center stage for 120 girls every minute around the world.

Posted in Body Image, Obsessions, Parents and children, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments