Seeking Life Coach With Actual Life Experience

I just finished reading an article about Jillian Michaels. If you don't know who she is, her biggest claim to fame is being the hard core physical trainer on the Biggest Loser television series. She's great at what she does apparently, and she's not too shabby of a business person either, as she's built herself up a tidy little empire around health and wellness with a number of books, blogs, websites, celebrity endorsements, etc. Or at the very least, she's smart enough to surround herself with very smart people who have helped her achieve this status. You go, girl.


The article mentioned that she's now become a life coach. Interesting, I thought. A natural progression for her in this new world of experts for everything and people willing to pay for that expertise.

Then it mentioned that she's in the process of adopting. Her first child. Alone.

Now, I don't have any problem with someone of means adopting a child on their own. This has nothing whatsoever to do with her being single, or her sexuality (she claims to be open to love from either gender). In fact, I applaud her for her decision to experience motherhood and give a child a chance at a better life with someone who can provide. I'm ignoring her references to "go domestic", which she did not do - that I can't stand...children are not products, and to refer to them with that kind of label (either domestic or international) drives me nuts - even though I'm sure she's referring to the adoption process rather than the type of child she's adopting. And I find it interesting that she's got two adoption processes started, in two different countries, to ensure she gets a child in the end...which is a whole other discussion. But again, you go, girl. Make Mommyhood happen.

Which brings us to the thought that spurned me to write. And again, this is not a personal attack on Ms. Michaels. She is one of many in the same category as you'll soon see, and was but a catalyst for the train of thought.

She's 37 years old. Never married. No children. For the most part, she has never had to put anyone or anything on the back burner. She has had the luxury of pursuing her desires in her adult life regardless of the outcomes because she has only had herself to answer to. Is it possible she's been the sole support for an extended family that's not publicized? Absolutely. But even so, her passion and her drive have been relatively unfettered by the most universal of comprismising situations - marriage and/or raising children.

Now don't get all bent out of shape about my referring to marriage and children being comprising situations. No matter how "cool" or supportive, or awe-inspiring your legal or civil union may be, the very concept of sharing anything at all alludes to compromise. You simply can't have it your way all the time. If you do, you're either delusional or you have a very lopsided marriage that won't last. If you share your bed, one night, all the sheets will be taken by someone...someday.

And children - well, if you're a parent, you know what I'm talking about, and if you're not, and you know people who do have children then you know as well. Even the most selfish of parents, from time to time, will put the needs and desires of their children first. Or they split their savings. Or they have to find a babysitter. For the most part, they know their children require more attention and care than a houseplant.

So...all that being said. How does someone, who has never had to compromise, in his or her adult life, become qualified to coach anyone else about Life, other than perhaps, those in the same situation. And why do we, as a public, continue to regale this folks as the ones with all the answers (Oprah, are you listening?). Because we want their lives? Because we want what they have? The noteriety? The pretty things? The flexibility and ability to have breakfast in NY and attend a premiere in LA that night? Quite possibly.

But would these very same people, have all these things, if they had to compromise? If they had to second guess their steps because of the way the outcomes might affect their spouse, their children, the roof over the heads of their families, where their children go to school?

And I'm not just speaking of celebrity.  My husband and I have been working with a consultant regarding our business who is extraordinairly good at what she does.  She's a savvy entrepreneur with a love of life and health who is charismatic and clever.  One question she never adequately answered for me was "how to do you balance your work and your family?"  She always provided nice, avoidance laden answers to that one question.  Her words were shiny and slick and virgin to the concept of having to drop everything to go pick up a child sick at school.  Or being groggy for a meeting because of staying up all night with a child afraid of the dark. She's been married for a bit, and now just had her own child and it will be interesting to see how her style and advice, if at all, changes.  It has to.  And it has to some extent - you can see her using other folks more, leaning on their expertise, giving up the micromanagement function that provided her the impressive success she's achieved.

Further into the Jillian Michaels article she mentions that she doesn't know how anyone would manage this process (the adoption) if they had to do it alone.  She refers to her phalanx of assistants, without whom, she wouldn't be able to make a sound go of it.  I'm sure she needs them - with all the plates she got up in the air it's obviously necessary.  Normal?  To her.  Relatable?  To whom?  Not most of the folks who pay $55 quarterly on her website for her advice.

Are there any extraordinarily visible folks who put themselves in the life coach category who have literally, done it all and more importantly, done it all well?  Or be willing to admit that they've made mistakes, and provide their folly as fodder for improvement?  And for those of the male persuasion, who did not or do not have a long-term spouse whose very presence and attendance to all things familial allowed them to vehemently pursue their goals?  Someone must be out there. 

Find me a life coach who can have a happy, balanced marriage, raise happy, healthy and productive children, AND have a rewarding, fulfilling career, while adequately supporting the needs and path of their spouse - whether it be during or after the major child-rearing years, be phenomenally physcially fit, be spiritually fulfilled and still maintain that happy marriage/family/home/sense-of-self while all the time having been the sole or primary provider of income and/or child support (the attending, not the financial - or perhaps both), who can smile broadly, look me in the eyes, and tell me they are so darn happy and successful that they can tell me what to do to achieve the same based on actualy, personal experience...and I might consider finding room in the budget for that. 

Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?

I invite you...

to join me in a movement of positive change. 
to stop not doing, and take a chance on success.
to stop talking, listen for a while, and reply thoughtfully.
to play nice.
to remember or realize that not everyone does things the way you do.
to see people for who they are, not necessarily what they appear to be.
to remember that under our skin we are all the same - bones, muscle, and blood.
to share your dreams.
to raise aware, learned, and respectful children.
to reduce, reuse, and recycle.
to help others when in need.
to be excellent to each other.
to be a role model.
to expect good behavior and demonstrate good behavior.
to tolerate, and even embrace differences.
to celebrate all this life has to offer.
to stay in touch with your loved ones.
to be kind.
to pursue solutions.
to investigate the unknown.
to encourage discovery.
to smile more and cry less, but cry when you need to.
to stop filling that hole in your soul with material things.
to bring beauty into this world.
to disdain ignorance.
to hold yourself accountable for your choices.
to be aware of your choices.
to love and be loved.
to thank people, and say you're welcome.
to mind your manners, in general.
to not be afraid.
to expect a high quality of care.
to provide the best of whatever you deliver or provide.
to be inspired.
to just be.

What's Wrong With This - Magzland's 5-Point Health Care Plan

Forgive me for not having done the appropriate research, and I'm stating right here up front that I haven't made myself particularly familiar with all the different proposals and ideas regarding health care in the U.S. but I got myself to thinking...as I'm going through of my own, unexpected health care issues...of a plan that seems to make too much sense.  It's not left, it's not right.  Those that subscribe to the reigning parties (and even the not so reigning) will hoot and holler, and cry foul I'm sure at different aspects, but that's what I'm looking for, in a way.  I need to understand what I'm missing.  So please, please DO comment, just keep it civil and reasonable - point out the flaws and provide solutions.  Okay...here goes:

1. Eliminate insurance companies.  Okay, I know that's a huge one.  And maybe I shouldn't lead with that because I can feel some haunches already reared.  But bear with me.  From my understanding, its this particular, ornery piece of the puzzle that's really causing the problem in the first place.  The middle man is unnecessary - especially one taking such a sizeable chunk from everyone.  Have you ever offered to pay cash at a doctor?  Try it. You'll be amazed at the difference.  If you are a generally healthy person you will pay SIGNIFICANTLY less per year to cover even biannual checkups, with labs, that what you pay your insurance provider.  Who are they really helping?  Themselves.

2. Only one mandate needs to be passed, and that is that all U.S. citizens have access to health care, and that all providers must offer some level of opportunity so that basic services are always available.  A national standard of poverty/wealth can be used to gauge qualification, and individual providers can either use a sliding scale, or provide a financial assistance plan, or however they wish to handle it.  Bottom line is, it's controlled by the provider.  But they cannot deny anyone a service.

3. Providers should create managed care service plans.  Once one does it, all will follow to compete.  IT service companies do it.  Veterinarians do it.  Air Conditioning Services do it.  Why not doctors and dentists?  I know it doesn't seem the same, but why not?  Offer a flat annual fee (or a monthly fee - which of course would be a bit more expensive to entice everyone to take the annual route), all preventative services.  We all know what those are - the insurance companies certainly have made us all well versed on that.  Basically, wellness check ups.  And every provider could throw in whatever they feel would make their offer better - certain vaccinations, additional screenings, etc. Totally at their discretion.  As a participant in the managed care plan, you get discounted rates on additional services if other things come up.  These plans can even be tiered to allow for different levels of affordablity. 

4. Providers should create their own "networks".  Hence, if an issue comes up that a specialist is needed, you can choose from their select network, at the same discounted rate because you are a managed care participant.  Or are free to go to whomever you choose, but then you are subject to whatever fees those providers will charge.  Providers should naturally look for the best partners to connect with as that will make their programs most attractive.  Part of the reason there's a lot of crappy providers out there is that they have no incentive to be any better.  People are forced to go to them because their insurance dictates as such, and they know they are getting paid regardless.  Where is the incentive for them to run a better business and provide better service?

5.  All hospitals should be run as non-profit institutions, supported by funding from our government and other private resources that they are responsible for soliciting.  Hospitals, in this picture, should be the option of last resort.  If everyone is able to take care of themselves reasonably, there will be a significantly reduced need for hospitals in the first place.  I wonder if anyone surveys the cases who arrive at the hospital - who can't afford the hospital - but wind up there because they couldn't afford anything leading up to what put them in there in the first place?  Read that again if you need to.  In the event of emergencies - they are the go to.  And they should be run to handle it as such.  No patient, if they are admitted to a hospital, are hooked up to monitors, IVs, should ever have to handle the discussion of how they expect to pay for their services while they are laying in a hospital bed.  How does anyone think those conversations really go?  And what is the impact to their patients?  I wonder if anyone's ever simply dropped dead from the conversation.  It really wouldn't surprise me.

And well, that's pretty much it.  It's astoundingly simple.  And it will take some work on the front end for doctors to essentially, go into business for themselves.  It may well even create more jobs - and hey, they'll be quite a few people looking for them with the elimination of the insurance companies - for those folks to manage the service plans, and market the practices.  In the end, it will make the medical industry competitive, which will force them to provide better and better care if they wish to stay in business.

You can still regulate them (as I believe they should be), and enforce accreditation, etc.  It's certainly not an industry where anyone can just hang a shingle and be open for business.  But essentially, it's treating the business of medicine and health care - as just that.  A business.  That certainly should appease the capitalists. And the fact that no one can be denied should appease the more socialist (is that the working opposite of captialist? I know it's such a charged word.  How about humanist? - I'm not even going to go near communi...see the problem with that?)

So there you have it.  I seriously want to understand the flaws and open the debate.  I'm having a hard time seeing what's wrong with this picture - which makes it even harder to understand the gigantic mess that's been made by all 50 states and their elected officials.  I think they are so far into the ridiculous rats nest that they can no longer even see the light of reason.  You should see what it takes to plan a meeting, much less pass a resolution!

Smiling At the Sky

What is it about fireworks that keeps us so entertained?  Is the pyrotechnic power illuminating the sky?  Is it the sheer impermanence of something so beautiful?  Perhaps its the just the apparent magic of all those sparkly things.  Maybe it's all of them.  But for me, the thing that gets me the most - and makes me cry every time - is the connection of the experience.  Millions of us, big, small, rich, poor, happy, sad, millions of us, crane our heads to the sky and watch, enraptured - like small children gazing at what seems like the most amazing thing we have ever seen (no matter how many times we've seen them).  The colors reflected in our eyes, mouths hanging open (I bet a lot of you don't realize how many of us do that during a display), in utter awe...it's almost religious.  For almost 2,000 years.  For almost 2 millenia, we have taken time from our lives to look to the sky and share an experience that is unlike anything else.  For a few moments, relatively, we are all the same, gathered for the same reason, sharing the same experience...in joy, and in peace, as we have done for a significant portion of recorded time.  You can explain it.  You can watch documentaries on how fireworks are designed, assembled, prepared, and launched.  You can study the science.  But the end result, no matter how diagnostic you've been, is always, ultimately, magical and uniting.  And maybe that's the magic that keeps us engaged...

What happened to French?

My kids came home today with their final report cards from the year. Excellence all around - one very proud mamabear for sure. They also came home with their final scores on some standardized tests that they took earlier this year. Again, excellent, excellent - out of 202 questions, for instance, my daughter only missed 4. But I digress.

What I thought was interesting is that they had the information about the test, how to interpet the scores, etc. in English, Spanish - and not French as I expected. Not Chinese, Arabic, or Hindi (among the top 10 spoken languages in the world). It was in Haitian Creole. Which, without the label, I would never have identified (even with an ear and eye for language, and some time spent devoted to linguistic studies - albeit it WAS 20 years ago). A true Creole for certain, such an amalgamation of phonemes and morpheme from what appear to be about 12 different source languages...an intriguing sight to see. But it wasn't so much the actual language that caught me off guard - just the choice of language printed on a national, standardized test result. I know English is becoming the second most spoken lanuage in the US - with Spanish vaulting into the spotlight in that category.

I just wouldn't have guessed Haitian Creole. Maybe one day my little girl will say to me, "Mwen vle vin yon dokté"...and a doctor she will become. Because you know what, I guess that ol' Haitian saying is true - "Pale franse pa di lèspri ou." "Speaking French doesn't make you smart."

The Ferris Wheel

So I changed my Facebook photo the other day to be a Ferris wheel. A few of my friends, as well as my husband asked me why. The simple answer is, it's how I feel lately. That's been met with pauses.

How do I feel like a Ferris wheel? Not really me, per se, but my life. You look at it from afar and it's big and twinkling and turning, a graceful machine moving along, giving the greatest vantage point to those who ride along. But when you're actually on it, it can be a different story. It can be exhilerating, and relaxing, and exciting, and daunting. It can make you feel as free as a bird, and sick to your stomach. You can see far, and you can see below. You can see where you're going, and you can see where you've been.

But in the end, you keep moving in the same path, over and over. And someone else is ultimately in control. Someone else stops speeds the wheel up or slows the wheel down. Someone else stops it when someone wants off. Once you're on, you've got to at least make it around once, and even then there's no guarantee you're getting off after that turn.

That's just kinda how things are feelin' right now. Round and round we go...

Suck It Up And Deal.

I used to use that phrase a lot when I was younger. Then for some reason I stopped. Perhaps because it could be a bit offensive, and my maturity set in. But really, it's fully applicable - perhaps now more than ever.

We've become such a society of whiners. Privileged whiners - which I suppose are really the only kind there are. Those without privilege may complain, but I doubt they whine as much.

We whine about our lack of our overwrought scheudles, our boredom, our lackluster marriages, our lonely singledoms, our aching backs, our neighbors choices, our kids friends, our kids in general, our parents, our government, our community, our taxes, our jobs, our shapes, our hair, our progessing age, our youth, our limitations, our lack of direction, our traditions, our lack thereof, etc.

Where else in the world do we have so many kids that are too fat; so many people that are too skinny by choice; so many people with multiple degrees that can't get jobs because they can't find one that fits their ideal vision; so many failed marriages; so many people spending so much money they don't have on things that don't really matter; so many in rehab; so many taboos on natural human behavior; so many hang ups derived from religion; so many people who want to be heard, but refuse to listen?

Good grief, people.

Where else in the world can you wake up and, for the most part, not worry if your house will be standing by the end of the day? That the water that comes to your house is clean (and comes at all)? That the grocery store is stocked with food, and you don't have to fight anyone for it? That you can take your kids to school and expect to pick them up or see them come home safely, without having to ford a river, avoid dangerous animals, or dodge bullets? That you can choose to waste your time and not suffer any immediate consequences? That you can pop a readily available pill for a head/back/anywhere ache or drink an elixer that will help you sleep at night? That you can express your opinion, no matter how idiotic or wrong it may be, loud and proud, and either be heard or ignored, but regardless, go on your merry way?

I'm not saying it's perfect everywhere. I'm not saying we've all got it so good. But for the most part, as Americans - we take so much for granted. And yes, there are parts of this country that are blighted and troubled, and need significant help. But even in the worst of the worst, there are options. You just have to be willing to see them.

But for those of us not in those most dire of situations? Suck it up and deal, people. Suck it up and deal.

The New Holy Three?

That's it. I'm official. The Major Triumverate of Media...Facebook, Blog...and now Twitter. I resisted Twitter for so long, but I'm in. This could get interesting...

Looking for a few good things...

These good things include: a sponsored RV, a camera (or two, or crew), lots of peanut butter and Diet Coke. My kids and I will use these things to create family-adventure/educational progamming Summer 2011. Four Corners of the Country - Florida to San Diego to Seattle to Maine and back to Florida. C'mon, take a chance!

Must be more fun.

No more long winded. No more diatribes. Okay, maybe some of those. We'll keep it short and sweet, and hopefully find some sunshine (read: laughter) here and there. God knows we need it!

Leave It To A Redneck

I've been informally polling people for a while now about what makes them proud to be where they're from. Admittedly, it's been a small pool, and I've been specific about their source. I haven't had the best of luck. Or any luck, really.

Some responses, upon direct face-to-face questioning have resulted in answers that completely surprised me ranging from, "I never really thought about it," to "I don't have anything to be proud of," to "I don't tell people where I'm from because I'm kind of ashamed and embarrassed."

I did have a few folks tell me to contact them again as they wished to share some positive memories and perceptions - but they needed more time, which came across, unintentionally, of course, as somewhat negative in its own right. Surely, they could encapsulate or bullet point their proudest points, and then consider lengthier discussions afterward. The blatant immediate ommission, the need to delay for further clarification or necessary elucidation carried it's own, albeit unconscious, message.

I'm talking about living in Florida. I've lived here now for 8 years and in that time have met many folks who, like myself, have transplanted themselves here for one reason or another, many who are here transitionally by assignment (read: military), and of course, those who were born and raised here, and quite a few whose roots go back a number of generations.

I even have one myself...my daughter was born right here in the Sunshine State, and has lived her entire life among suburban saw palemetto groves, armadillos, anoles, alligators, and air conditioning. She's traveled out-of-state, and even internationally, but basically, her outlook is Floridian. Though curious about snow, she hates the cold. Flip flops or bare is her footwear of choice, and who cares about the humidity, there's always somewhere and sometime to swim. I'm not saying that's all there is, but well, she is after all, only seven.

With all my connections, I couldn't find one person I knew who could or would just sum it up simply. No superlatives came from anyone. Not even about the foundational industries - the best oranges, world class tourism destinations, pristine beaches - none of that, even as a place holder for future conversation.

This was not boding well. The primary reason I began this quest to find a connection of pride to my newly chosen home was in light of the unerring slide of disappointment as of late with the direction the state is going. With a legislature full of self-serving, short-sighted, close-minded puppets passing law after law designed apparently to send this state back its pre-Civil War era roots...I needed (and still do) to find something to connect myself and my children to with positive ramifications for the future.

And I think I just may have. I spent this weekend in Miami and got to meet a lot of folks from all over the world from all walks of life. I posed the same question to many of them (Floridian or not) just to see if the question was really that difficult. And it wasn't. Most folks were able to cough up at least one or two nuggets of pride - whether it be literacy rates, healthcare, great partying, easy lifestyle, low cost of living...most everyone had a reason.

Except the Floridians. Uncanny, no?

Until I met Richard (not to be confused with my husband, Richard - who is born and bred Brooklyn, and will, in all likelihood, if he passes away in Florida, put as such as his epitaph). This Richard is from central Florida - or as he put it, east of town. Which from what I gather is somewhere between Orlando (town) and the Atlanic coast. He didn't even hesitate for a moment when I asked him. Here's a basic recollection of the conversation:

Me: "What makes you proud to be a Floridian?"
Richard: "Just look to the rednecks."
Me: "Excuse me?"
R: "Look to the rednecks, they say it all."

Admittedly, I took pause in the conversation as, well, I wanted to tread lightly. I wasn't sure of his demeanor and whether he was being sarcastic or not. And to be honest, based on my own sense of stereotypes, "rednecks" are not high on my list of pride points for any area, let alone where I now call home.

M: "Um, well...I'm not sure where you're going with this - but,"
R: "Put your prejudice away," (I didn't realize I displayed it so terribly), "and look at what they can do."

I still didn't get it.

R: "They can do anything. They're entirely self-sufficient. They're hungry, they can kill a boar, skin it, clean it, cook it and eat it. They blow a gasket on the truck, they'll fix it. They need a new compressor, they work for it. Don't matter what they do, if it pays they'll do it. They have no shame in toil. Toil is what made America. Toil is what we're built on. Rednecks aren't ashamed of work and toil. They don't need anyone to tell them how to do anything. They don't gotta pay anyone to fix something, or bring them something, or take care of something. Hole in the roof? Patch it. And they'll patch yours and charge you three times as much."

I wasn't sure Richard would stop - but was slightly relieved he took a pause here. Richard is a big man, and a passionate one. And his breathing was getting a bit labored and he got more and more into his points.

"You gotta get out of the town, the city, and certainly the suburbs to find Crackers who are proud of their heritage. All those others, they're too dang soft. They can't do anything for themselves, they're always trying to outdo one another, always showing shit off, paying through the nose for the most ridiculous things. What do they have to be proud of? That they can buy things? That because of the sweat of crackers and all them migrants who do all the jobs they won't they can keep their fancy cars and pools, and have their hand-picked produce fresh at the market? What can they do? What can they make? What can they do for anyone else?"

I couldn't fault him yet. There really wasn't anything he said that was outrightly incorrect, other than some poor grammatical choices. I think he sensed my sudden uncomfort, as much of what he was saying applied to me. I fit right into the stereotype he was presenting. Born and raised in suburbia. We paid folks to take care of things. I wasn't raised with any particular survival skills - my biggest exposure of my youth being that one summer at Girl Scout camp where we learned how to set gypsy moths on fire using someone's glasses. I was cultured, yes. I was educated, surely. And now, after some years of exploration and adventures in lifestyles, and some real-life experiences between freshman year of college and now, I've returned to that comfort. Where the houses and lawns are all beautiful and manicured, and there's not a lot of radical anything...we're all sort of same-ish, some with a little more, some with a little less. The kids want for nothing really, and they knew how to order off menus before they learned how to make a scramble egg or even a peanut-butter sandwich for themselves.

Richard continued, "Don't get me wrong...I'm all for education, and for culture (damn, was he reading my mind?)...it all has its place. But you gotta DO something with it if that's what you're gonna be about. It doesn't LOOK like rednecks do anything with their skills, but they do. Like I said, they ain't afraid to toil. And everything they do makes all that other stuff possible. What do all those fancy suburb and town people do with their skills? Do they give anything back to anyone else? Does what they do make a redneck's life better? I'm proud, I tell you, I'm proud to be a cracker. To be a redneck. I can make it."

And then we had to go. I think I've got a place to start now, and I think Richard may have made some bigger points about society and America at large than he even meant to. We'll explore that soon. But for now, I'll just leave you as he left me. With those words and the time to absorb them and contemplate them. Or not.

Good night for now...Meet you at the Featherball...

Fred Astaire, Where Are You Now?

I think I lead a pretty decent life. And in saying that, I'm referring to the decisions I make every day. I don't have fancy cars, or that inground pool with a spa, or get my hair did every other week - and maybe if I made some different decisions I'd have more means to accomodate those kinds of whims and flights of fancy. But I'm happy with the majority of the choices I make every day.

I'm not an impulsive sort - I do take a moment or two to consider the outcomes, and how they will affect other people - their feelings, their workloads, their lives, etc. And again, maybe if I didn't so much I'd have some different things of my own. And I'm not implying that all those with greater means, necessarily live their lives with any less thoughtfulness. I know it seems that way, but bear with me.

It's just that things aren't as important to me as my big three - being kind, being courteous, and being thoughtful. No church taught me that. No big reference book gave me guidelines. They're just what feel right, and I try to live them every day. There's not a lot of it these days. There hasn't been in years, and you see it less and less. Crabby people and characters are glorified and celebrated, acts of violence and terror are everywhere we turn, adultery and betrayal get the air time.

So sometimes I feel like I need to double up. Though for the most part, it's like spitting into the wind, or digging a hole at the edge of the ocean - at least it feels that way quite often. But I can't give up. I won't give up. I just can't be that person.

Don't get me wrong, I ain't no saint by any means. I don't judge folks and don't hold myself on a pedestal. I've made some lousy choices of words and actions in my life - we all do, but I strive to make them better. Every day. Especially in the presence of children.

I observe many children in our local elementary school - through volunteering at the school, girl and boy scout programs, sport leagues, etc. And each and every opportunity dampens my spirit. For every bright, shining moment, there's three or four dark clouds that roll in. Pouting, hissy fits, sarcasm, rudeness, demands, posturing...seem to have become the norm, rather than the occasional occurance. I've even seen children choose to act that way because they've seen other children act that way, and succeed.

Children are not naturally like this. At least, that's what I choose to believe. They pattern what they see, what they are surrounded with most. As they get older these behaviors become more apparent. The words that they utter, the phrases - are not organic to eight, nine, and ten year-olds. The contstant outright defiance and lack of willingness to cooperate is out of line with what seems to be the natural way of things. The selfishness and impatience have no grounding in source - it's just demonstrated because they can.

But I look around at the adults, including myself. We tend to NOT censor ourselves, or rather we don't do it enough. We may not discuss sex or the torrid encounters of our own youth, but we do gossip, libel, and complain...constantly in front of impressionable children. We tear others down, both celebrity, politicians and commonfolk, often without even knowing why. We are rude to those who serve us; we are impatient with those who don't serve us fast enough; we are cruel to those serve us wrong (though we may not understand the circumstances as to why).

We dress inappropriately - both men and women. We've lost respect for many traditions (when was the last time you saw someone take their ballcap off in a restaurant, or during the national anthem?). We burp and fart flagrantly without excusing ourselves. We have forgotten please and thank you and may I. We often don't even say good bye, much less say hello. We refuse eye contact with strangers. We walk with our heads down and move swiftly by. We ignore our children and suffocate them with supervision at the wrong times. We get drunk in front of them.

Fred Astaire once said, "The hardest job kids have today is to learn good manners without seeing any." That was a long time ago. I can't imagine what he'd have to say today.

Yes I Watched It Too

Well, technically I haven't yet...the DVR'd account of the wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton is still sitting on the machine. I chose to record the BBC America version, rather than the major American networks. I figured I'd catch enough of their feed through the internet. And well, it is a British wedding, with British royals, and British people...so I figured a British perspective might be more interesting.

And yes, I teared up when I saw the snippet of them at the altar, reciting their vows. The new Duchess of Cambridge, ever so beautiful in her last few moments as just Kate; and the dashing Prince, heir to the throne, respelendent in his military finery. So young, so in love, so patient...and so seemingly well adjusted.

I don't call it a fairy tale wedding - I think it's far from it. And I'm tired of the reports of how Common Kate was just that, and now grew up to marry a Prince and become the Queen of England some day. But she's not reeeeeally common. She may not be royal by blood, but it ain't just any broad that attends St. Andrews. Now, if Wills fell for a dove that he met in some bar in one of his college jaunts that was uneducated but spunky...that might fall into the fairy tale category.

But I think it's just a lovely story for a troubling time. A symbol of hope that love can happen, and outlast the ridiculous media assault that added to the demise of Wills' parents marriage and inevitably, and tragically, his mother's death. A success admist a cacophany of failures in the world; a moment in time when we all weren't concerned with oil, or caves, or weaponry, or despots.

If nothing else, the entire wedding from plan to execution was pulled off in a miraculous amount of time - enough to make you believe that no florist or caterer should ever tell you you have to wait two years to get them. But then again, I guess it's easier to clear calendars when you have the entire monarchy behind you.

So many of us witnessed the marriage of Charles and Diana, and then the consequent births of William and Harry...almost they have become like distant family. To see him grow up to be a respectful and respectable man, one who seems to love life and, like his mother, do what he can with what he has to improve the lives of others, and then make the very prepared and mature step to marriage was moving, to say the least.

I sincerly hope the best for them. And for all of us.

A Seder Of My Own

I finally did it. I got to cross off an item on the bucket list. Not as dangerous as say, skydiving (on my actual list), or as adventurous as summiting Everest (not on my list), or even as bold as publishing a book (yes, on the list too). It was to hold a Passover seder, in my home, with friends and family invited. Simple in concept, way more complex in execution than anticipated, but a gracious challenge I relished for days (as all the preparation literally took that long), an exhausting effort (I crashed for most of the following morning), and a personal inspiration that I hope to replicate year after year.

I recall years of family seders, held at my great-Aunt Harriet's, up in Blauvelt, NY - which at first I didn't understand, but knew them to be fun because all of the family was together. My aunt always opened her table to friends (Mamma Mia was always a hit - though I never learned her real name), and the family grew with each passing year. Wonderful stories were shared of all of our lives, impromptu performances were held in the living room, the annual "debate" over whose matzoh balls were better, and the traditions and rituals shared by those who conduct a Passover seder all of the world became ingrained our memories.

Not having been to Hebrew school myself, this was always my biggest exposure to Jewish custom - and I would venture to say the most impactful (as opposed to the twice yearly sitting at the synagogue, the accompaniments to friend's synagogues or Hebrew school classes, or the weddings and bar/bat mitzvahs that I would attend through my lifetime). The only Hebrew I ever learned was through this night (and I still find it funny that it's the prayer blessing the wine that stuck), and I was grateful for the phonetic accompaniments in the Haggadah, that eventually I didn't need to use.

I learned all about the Exodus from Egypt, I eagerly anticipated the dipping of my finger into the wine for the plagues, and I watched my father and his first cousins, and his father and brother (the great-uncle I've spoken of), and their father helm the table leading us rousing song and through the passages of the book. I searched for the afikomen (even though we always knew Uncle Lowell always put it in the piano bench), I welcomed Elijah at the door and shrieked when cousin Michael showed himself there instead. I collected my silver dollar with all the other "kids" secretly knowing my parents would toss me theirs too at the end of the night. I ate and ate until I couldn't move anymore, and I loved to listen to the many generations together, speaking as one when reciting the various blessings.

Funny that I always refer to it as my Aunt's home, as she was barely visible during the seder, handling all of the fixings in the kitchen, her dog Ginny (no idea if that's how it was spelled, but that was what I heard) always at her heels as she would reel in and out of the kitchen with the next course. My great-Uncle, Lowell, was as kind a man as they come, and the two of them built and created a home that I always felt held a sort of magic that I couldn't quite pin down, but nevertheless thoroughly enjoyed. But I do always refer to it as her home. Perhaps it was because so much of her artwork and handicraft was all over the house, maybe it was all the smells from the fabulous food that she created, maybe it was her strong personality combined with her distinctive look; her practical haircut, her colorful clothes, her sandals...women where I grew up didn't look like her. They were always trying to be skinnier, fancier, more well-dressed and well-made up than the next one, teetering about in uncomfortable clothing ordering food from restaurants, hiring cleaning ladies and purchasing art from somewhere in Manhattan...trying so hard to be fabulous and interesting...and never quite getting there.

When Harriet and Lowell finally decided to leave the New York area and follow two of their children to Texas (which astounded us all - parents following their children? Unheard of back in the day!) it was never quite the same. No one who was left was willing to take on the responsibility and task (likely seen as a chore, rather than a gift) of the seder, and it was moved to the country club our family belonged to. Lots of Jews, lots of golf, lots of jewelry, and lots of hairspray. Lots of food, and lots of seder particpants, but it was all so sterile and institutional compared with the family tradition, which was never made clearer than during the first rendition of Dayenu and my family barreled through with their usual verve ending with a rousing HEY!, while the rest of the participants droned into line three. With each passing year, the family and table count grew smaller.

After leaving for college, apparently my grandmother hosted a seder (which must have been something else, because in all of my years up until then the only thing I thought she could make was reservations), but I wasn't able to come home, or maybe I just didn't choose to as life takes funny turns. My parents were separating, and it's all kind of a weird blur in those years.

Then nothing.

In the spring of every year, I would recall the fond memories of seders past. I had moved across the country and was involved with a very un-religious group of people...spiritual yes, but not consigning to any particular modern faith and so never thought to seek out another family's seder to sit in on. We all did Thanksgiving in a big way, and solstice celebrations, Halloween was a big one, and New Year's...well, I can't recall a lot about them in particular, but do remember the recoveries on New Year's Day. There was no Passover, no Easter, no holidays at all involving religious observance to speak of and it was all fine with me. Nothing would touch or top the memories of my youthful seders with my extended family in New York.

When I moved to Florida, I landed squarely in a font of Christianity - not the Florida I remember, which was laden with happiness and tears of what seemed like every Jewish retiree from Massachusetts to Delaware and who brought their culture with them kicking and screaming to sit among the palm trees and take in the god-awful humidity. No, I was on the other side of the state, where churches abound like Starbuck's coffee shops, and quite often the first question from a stranger, was not "So what do you do for a living,", but "What church do you go to?". Boca...this was not. A knish was unheard of. People mistook my quest for a nosh as a need to regurgitate.

And now I was in the family way. A husband and two young children, and my entire social network either 3,000 or 1,500 miles away depending on which coast you chose. Whereas many folks immediately seek to find a church or synagogue, which will provide them with a instant community, (whether that was their intention or not), we simply weren't of that ilk. My husband was and is what he calls a recovering Catholic, and at best, I considered myself a Convenient Jew - you know, the kind that can call upon the heritage when needed - like for a day off of work or school, and be able to back it up with some actual information and knowledge.

The thought of a Passover seder was farthest from my mind. It wasn't until a few years into living here, that my grandparents, residing on the coast of the Chosen People in Florida, invited us to their seder - at "the club", a common component of retirment communities. I'm not sure why it took so long, maybe they were waiting for a high sign, the right time, I don't know...but nevertheless it happened. We ferried the kids over the three hours, we sat in the room with 700 people, and ate the bland unseasoned chicken and chopped liver designed for the senior colon that left my husband seriously jonesing for some fast food afterwards...on both nights. But for me, suddenly there was a glimmer. Family was together, food was on the table, and stories and traditions of old were being shared. What was to come next?

The next year, we returned again, my son now able to read (he was a young reader), particpated in the seder, in front of the 700 people, yamacha sliding off his head, holding the microphone that was as big as his arm, reading for the first time in his life the four questions, as if he'd been reading them from birth. I glowed. I felt a transformation come over me as I watched him through the eyes of generations of Jewish mothers, beaming with pride, basking in his confidence, and lovingly accepting the numerous compliments of those we knew and the countless strangers who offered them as well.

Don't get me wrong - I wasn't running back to temple to sign up for Hebrew lessons to finally make my Bat Mitzvah (I wrote that off a long time ago - not because I think its not achievable, I just don't think it's necessary for me personally), and I didn't go seeking a congregation to become a part of. But I did reconnect. I reconnected with a culture almost 6,000 years old, that runs through my veins as surely as my eye color, my hair color, and my propensity for the more zaftig of physiques. And I promised myself then and there that I would restart that seder tradition. That I would open my home to family and friends, and create an evening that would be remembered fondly, and that my children would eagerly anticipate each year. That I would figure out how to instill a sense of tradition, by hook or by crook, into my family in a way that makes sense to us, and keeps us connected to each other, to the generations, and to the world.

This year was actually NOT my first hosted seder. Technically, it was last year. I consider it my dress rehearsal. I invited no one (except my grandmother, who I actually knew wouldn't likely make the trip over - not that she wouldn't want to, but she's not much of a traveller these days), as I had no idea if I could pull it off. I wanted to be sure we didn't need to order Chinese take out for sustenance because of a massive kitchen failure. I'm not really a cook, and I'm certainly not a traditional dinner on the table at 6 kind of mom. For years my kids favorite meal that Mommy makes was Outback. And the idea of cooking multiple courses and conducting a ceremony, making sure all the i's were dotted and the t's were crossed - was completely foreign to me. It had always just been done for me. Even back in the days in Blauvelt I was still too young to get into the kitchen - and the one time I did go in - I admit was at once fascinated and terrified - all those women prancing about, stirring, and chopping, and preparing, and rolling, steam rising, and the smells converging...I vowed never to do so again, unless asked to and given a task.

But I pulled it off, much to my own surprise. I think my son was a bit disappointed to read the questions only in front of us - people he sees every day, but we all enjoyed it, I think my daughter most of all - she loves her some traditional Passover foods. I made all different types of food that we never had at my Aunt's, or the country club, or at my grandmother's community club...just to further separate it maybe, and make it more of my own. And at the conclusion of that meal I promised myself it would officially grow every year.

Which brings us to now. Three solid days of preparation, one full day of cooking, and consequently one full day of cleaning for what amounts to a two to three hour meal was worth every single moment. It certainly appeared from the oneset as though I knew what I was doing. The table was set beautifully (and thank you Target, for carrying an affordable seder set available at the last minute), and the food all ready on time and together. As the night wore on, my apprentice-level skills became more evident by the moment. Yes, I overcooked the brisket (glad I added a roast chicken). But I was on a curve, and all of the other pieces turned out okay and considering I was preparing for three times the people, all in all, a culinary fait accompli. We used a new Haggadah that maybe I should have read through in its entirety beforehand (just to get a sense of the rhythm - there were no surprises contained therein), and I should never have planned on actually sitting, but since my husband lost his voice, and as it is has only a few seders under his belt (and all of them the ones from my grandparent's club) with no sense of what happens next I felt I needed to guide things along. Five young children up and down up and down through the meal, participating at different levels (funny to see my son the oldest child at a gathering), all eager to be given tasks and give good college tries to the foods put before them (overall success was found with the matzoh ball soup), and who all had to get up for school the next morning, certainly added a liveliness to the pacing of evening. My friends lending their calmer hands to so many tasks, including the breakdown and clean up and their patience and laughter throughout the ordeal, my mother and stepdad pitching in all day in so many ways...

It was beautiful. Chaotic at times, yes, but we hit all the points: the stories, the songs (okay, we need to brush up on the songs), the food, the ceremony, the friends, the family. My desire to do it again? And again? And again? More than intact. I even put everything away in one place, inlcuding the recipies so as to have a one-stop-shop for years to come. My son now calls it the Passover Pantry- which could not make me happier. And we'll see where this takes us. Will it be as big as my Aunt's? Well, we might need a bigger house for that, but I could reconfigure some things I suppose. Will it be as memorable? I'm sure. Will it be our connection to a culture and world beyond our front door. Absolutely.

Next year, Jerusalem? Likely not. But next year, Definitely.