House Hunt

After living for 16 years on 40 acres of forest, it’s hard to imagine living in town with neighbors and yards and noise. But that’s what Ron and I are imagining these days. Our home is too remote for aging folks, too much work, too far from emergency medical services (it took the paramedics a half an hour to get here one night last summer when we needed them). So we’ve been looking at houses every Thursday with our wonderful realtor Cindy. Cindy has so much imagination that she really should have been a writer, artist, or architect. Or all three. “This potting shed could be a great in-law unit,” she says with glee. Or “If you plant fir trees along that fence you’ll have a natural barrier in just 20 years.” Or “Convert the laundry room into an indoor pool and put the washer in the garage.” She’s actually very practical. When I trip over a step in the middle of a bathroom she notes, “You would need to ramp that.” But really, she’s very supportive. So far we have found the house of our dreams in a subdivision with no plant life larger than a rose bush. I can’t live without trees. Then we found the yard of our dreams with actual mature Redwood trees and a view of a hillside of Live Oaks, but the house had no windows and a long, dark main hallway as narrow as a corridor on a submarine. Also, cottage cheese ceilings. A remodel would cost a fortune. So we’re still looking. We have a date with Cindy again today. Will this be the day that we find the house and the yard both in one property?

Reagan on W

In celebration of Presidents’ Day, I want to share with you a quote taken from Ronald Reagan’s diaries. This entry was made on May 17, 1986. I always thought that Reagan was asleep at the wheel but perhaps he was more awake than he seemed. Or perhaps even a man in the early stages of Alzheimer’s could see what half the country couldn’t (twice). Here’s Reagan’s perception:

A moment I've been dreading. George brought his ne'er-do-well son around this morning and asked me to find the kid a job. Not the political one who lives in Florida; the one who hangs around here all the time looking shiftless. This so-called kid is already almost 40 and has never had a real job. Maybe I'll call Kinsley over at “The New Republic” and see if they'll hire him as a contributing editor or something. That looks like easy work.

Memoir Scandals

Perhaps you followed the scandal about James Frey’s memoir (A Million Little Pieces) touted by Oprah that later turned out to be pure fiction. Poor Oprah was duped into feeling such compassion for Frey’s unbelievably gruesome and horrid experience. If it hadn’t really happened no one would believe it. But in fact it didn’t happen. Columnist Levi Asher published guidance for authors about how to avoid memoir scandals. The guidance is based on real occurrences. You can read Asher’s full article at: Guardian

Here are his eight rules:

1. Do not use the word "memoir" unless you mean it.
2. If you're not sure whether what you're writing is a memoir or not, guess what? It's a novel.
3. No more than half a page of plagiarism per book.
4. Don't make up exact dates that you can't remember. Instead, be general: "The most important day of my life was the day of my son's birth, in the summer of 2005 . . . "
5. Just say no to sending a friend out in public with a wig as you.
6. If you're in a flame war and you're about to go sock puppet, take a 10-minute break and go to a coffee shop without a wi-fi facility. Maybe the walk will cool you down.
7. Go ahead and make up dialogue. Everybody except Tom Wolfe does.
8. Pick a name. "Benjamin Black is John Banville" is just not a good look.

Post Valentine Post

My husband was so disappointed that I didn’t post to my blog on Valentine’s Day. I think he wanted me to send a message to the wide world about how much I love him, which I do of course, and I don’t care who knows it. But I couldn’t’ think of what I wanted to say for Valentine’s Day until very late in the day. And this is it. Here is a quick list of what husbands can do for their wives if they really love them:

1. Pay us a real compliment about our physical beauty (often). Not something like “you smell like a girl” (which my daughter’s boyfriend, now ex-boyrfriend, actually said) or “I like your breasts.” Something more along the lines of “you look beautiful in that dress” or “I have to kiss those lips,” or “you are so voluptuous.”

2. Go to the doctor. Get regular check-ups, have him check your prostate even though it’s humiliating. If you aren’t feeling well, find out what’s wrong. Ancillary: do what the doctor says to do, like take aspirin every day to protect your heart and quit eating hamburgers. Don’t smoke. Get exercise. Don’t make us worry about your health.

3. When in the presence of non-football fans, limit your conversations about football to under two minutes. When in the presence of football fans, don’t stop, don’t stop.

4. Get up in the middle of the night with the baby. Don’t put beer in the baby bottle, just walk the floor with her.

5. Load the dishwasher. (Not just on Sundays.)

6. Put the screwdriver back when you’re done with it so someone else can find it. And stop swiping my hammer.

7. Open your socks up all the way before you toss them in the laundry.

8. Compliment your daughter more often on her brains and talent than on her looks. Compliment your son more often on his thoughtfulness and talent than on his athleticism.

9. Be willing to compromise on finances and recognize that for your wife the children’s financial needs are more important than yours.

10. If you have a job that you hate and it’s making you crazy. Quit. The stress is killing you and your wife. Get a job that makes you feel better. (But do get a job. Unemployment is not an option.)

11. Go to the sleep center and do the test so you can get a forced air machine, stop snoring, sleep better, and give your wife a good night’s rest for a change.

12. Remember that watching old movies on TV is not a substitute for a romantic evening and a satisfying roll in the hay.

13. Stop waiting for the children to leave home and the dog to die so you can get your wife all to yourself. She’s having the time of her life with the children and the dog. Don’t kid yourself, you won’t be nearly entertaining enough to fill the void when things settle down. And you won’t be able to eat all the food she is accustomed to cooking.

Just remember that a little appreciation and help with the daily work goes a long way. It’s a team effort. It’s a game of inches (as they say in football). I could go on but I’ll stop here. Ladies, what would you add to this list?

Getting Old, or Not

Yesterday was my daughter’s 24^th birthday.  I was doing a pretty good job of not feeling too old. Especially since she emailed to tell me I’m “awesome” after she opened her present that we fedexed to her. In 24-year-old language that means I’m still cool. (My 16-year-old would probably say I’m “sick” and that would be a good compliment too, especially if I’m feeling healthy.) But this morning I woke up with a painful kink in my back, remembered I had a 24-year-old daughter, got depressed at how old I felt, and went back to bed, where the kink was worse. That’s when I realized the back problem had little to do with age and a lot to do with the fact that I had slept the night on my husband’s crossword dictionary. When I emailed him to complain, he chided me because he had spent the night with my earplug case mashed against his cheek. If he didn’t snore like a gargling goose, I wouldn’t need the earplugs. By the same logic, I suppose that if I knew every word in the English language then he wouldn’t need the dictionary. I’ll start with the A's.