Taking a bite out of crime

This is the week I went to "war" for kids I don't even know. Turns out our school district has a policy of making kids wash lunch tables if their parents don't have their lunch accounts up to date. These are middle school kids--ages 11-14. You know...minors! I couldn't believe it was true so I called our disctrict superintendants office and found out it was. The way they put it, they are offering "the choice...or opportunity" for the kids to have a lunch if they can't charge a hot lunch anymore. The choice is...clean tables or starve. Some choice. In my opinion, adults are responsible for feeding kids, and kids don't deserve to be humiliated in front of their peers. So I went to a communty meeting and complianed. I called my local school board. I called Washington DC. And you know what? It felt great! I'm not sure if it will end this practice, but I do know one thing--this is one mom who will not give up until children are protected. In the meantime--I hope everyone will inquire and find out if this is going on in your school district, and if it is---complain!!! Kids deserve to eat, and parents need to deal with the lunch accounts. It's time to get rid of the bullies on the playground and in the cafeteria.

You're Elected to Call

Five years ago I suffered the biggest loss of my life—my mom died. Somehow I functioned through the necessary tasks involved with the packing up, travel arrangements, burial and even a four year old’s birthday party the next day at Chuck E. Cheese. What I remember the most was the silence of the empty days when I was alone. Days when I longed for just one phone call from a friend. They didn’t have to have any answers or great wisdom or abilities to take my pain away. That wasn’t possible. I just needed them to call. Some did. Many didn’t. The cards helped and I cherish them today. But what my soul really longed for was a voice. People often say they don’t call friends who have suffered a death because they don’t know what to say. I can relate to that. My neighbor committed suicide a few years ago and although her husband and two children lived only four houses down from me I never knocked on their door. I told myself it was because I didn’t want them to think people were gossiping about the way she died, or make them uncomfortable about the fact we knew it was suicide. But really—I was taking the easy way out. Until last summer. The family held a garage sale and I walked right up to her beautiful fourteen year old daughter sitting by a coffee can of change and wrapped my arms around her and told her how much I appreciated her mother. How if it wasn’t for her mom I wouldn’t have any teeth (she was my dental hygienist sometimes). It felt so good to finally say it.

Which brings me to this election. Millions of Americans got their way. Millions didn’t. What group are you in? For me it was a great loss. The death of a dream in a way. I have friends who no doubt were joyful and jubilant over the outcome. They received good news. I received a knock out blow. Even though my Obama friends knew I had to be in terrible pain last Wednesday they never called. Maybe they think I should have called them with my congratulations—like the losing team of a tennis match. Except-- this is not a game. This is life and death. My mind can’t help going to the story of two mothers of very ill children in a hospital featured in a magazine recently. Both children needed a heart transplant but only one was available. The surgery team had to choose which child got to receive it. They made their decision. One set of parents got wonderful news—their child would live. One set of parents got devastating news—their child would die. Should the parents of the child who was chosen for the transplant skip out of the hospital and go celebrate without a thought or a word to the other family?

I know there are people who still say they don’t know what to say to a friend who is suffering from these election results. Well, let me help you. How about this:

“I’m so sorry you’re hurting. Hang in there.”

There. Was that so hard? Oh, and keep the script. Your day will come too you know. And I’ll be there for you.

An open letter to the people of Pennsylvania

I'm writing to you today, as Archbald is on my mind after hearing Pennsylvania discussed so much in the upcoming election. The newscasters all seem to say "What will the people of Pennsylvania do? Who will they vote to send to the White House?" I don't understand their confusion. I don't understand how they could have any doubt as to the intentions of the faithful citizens of your state. As a resident of Oregon--one of the most atheistic states in the nation--I was overjoyed to walk into a cafe on your Main street and see photos of the sacred heart of Jesus prominently displayed. The love of our savior in Archbald is unashamedly part of the very fabric of who you are. I only hope my children will one day get to visit and experience your rare example.

Please pray for the people of Oregon. They are in darkness and will no doubt vote to give our precious five electoral votes to a man who walks with abortionists, terrorists, Marxists, and people who hate our flag. A man who vows to keep killing children--unborn, and newly born. May Almighty God have mercy on our land!

I know the prayers of the good people of Archbald and Scranton are stronger than the enemy. I know truth and light will win in the end. But with your hearts and love for Jesus, the rest of the country may just get one more chance on earth we don't deserve...a President who loves God and His word.

Thank you so much for your beautiful state. I am with you in spirit as we hold hands across the nation on our knees for life.

Let's Ask God

I have a great idea for rigging the election this year and I'm not afraid to use it. It dawned on me that we as humans can only do so much to persuade people to vote for the person we think ought to be the next President. I've protested, gabbed on the phone, worn buttons, done monologues on my talk show and left campaign cards in un-suspecting restrooms. (That last tactic might not be the best). All in all, I've done the human part. Now it's time to pull out all the stops and do the God part. Yes, I believe in God and I believe He's everything He says He is. I believe He loves America and will give us His divine protection again...even though we don't deserve it. So what's my plan? Well, when I run into people I know are going to vote for the rotten guy---yes, I do mean that... I have a new tactic. Here's what I tell them: Let's let God decide. Let's pray that God will bless and give divine intervention to elect the candidate HE KNOWS is best for America. How can we lose then? Everybody is happy because they are all thinking God will help their person. Of course, He won't. God hates the shedding of innocent blood and the blood of 50 million dead unborn children is crying out for justice. If we're lucky enough to get His blessing He will help the person who has a good heart. Who truly hears His word. I'm pretty sure I know who that is. And his running mate wears really cute red shoes. Just like for Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, those red shoes are going to take us home to safety with God's mercy. But just in case...I'm leaving a few brochures in the ladies room one last time. Just to help out.

Frozen in time

I just had dinner with a snowflake. Her name is Hannah, she's a perky nine year old blonde little girl with a huge smile and a courageous spirit. Hannah is the world's first adopted "snowflake" baby. This means, her mom adopted her as a frozen embryo along with 18 of her frozen embryo brothers and sisters. Sadly, her siblings didn't survive the process but Hannah did, and she was on my TV talk show to tell the world how glad she is to be here. She proudly wore a t-shirt that says "A person's a person no matter how small." She sure has a right to wear that shirt! I'm so grateful I got the chance to meet this beautiful little girl and her mom and only wish others could have been there to experience their love and hope for all the other frozen embryos who need to be adopted and loved by someone. It saddens me to read that the American Diabetes Association thinks these precious souls are no more than spare body parts to be experimented on. Adult stem cells have offered over 70 cures of horrible diseases and don't require any human life to be taken. If embryonic stem cells offered such great promise, then why aren't private investors flocking to them, since it's always been legal to experiment on them? Nope, it's been a failed, morally bankrupt path and now they want the taxpayers to pick up the tab for more. No way. Please pray for Hannah as she bravely tells her story to the press, and please pray for all the frozen children waiting to be held in the loving arms of people who will love and care for them.

Pop goes the eardrum

It's so fun to feel grateful. We were on the plane about to land flying from Portland to Phoenix and Kelley, the nine year old started grabbing her ears and was crying in intense pain. We thought we had been so prepared and bought gum, but it was those tiny pieces of sugarless and it just wasn't helping a bit. A nice woman behind us reached her hand around my seat and offered a huge roll of bubble gum. I gratefully tore off a piece about three feet long and helped my screaming daughter stuff her mouth with the grape flavored strips. Instant relief. So you'd think we'd know better on our next flight a few days later to San Diego, right? Here we were again on the descent and the screaming started, and we only had given her that dumb little gum purchased from the overpriced giftshop hours before the flight. A few minutes of hearing her cries and again there's a hand around my aisle seat---this time a gentlemen was offering packets of gummy worms. Again...instant bliss. Her poor little ears---and ours---were spared again. Twice I was stupidly unprepared to help my daughter, and twice absolute strangers saved the day. Good grief--to think I'm the mom of six and this was my youngest, there really is no excuse. I'm so grateful to these kind people and will now always try to carry supplies for my kids and others on every plane ride. Isn't it great to witness the kindness of strangers? ! I can't wait to pass it on.

Falling off the Bridge

I am absolutely flabergasted at Parade magazine. In their May 4, 2008 issue on page 26 under "Parade Picks" they have a suggestion for a great Mother's Day DVD to buy. The opening line is "Every mom--and most dads--fell for The Bridges of Madison County, a beautiful love story..." HAVE THEY LOST THEIR MINDS?!!! "The Bridges of Madison County" is about an Iowa housewife who cheats on her husband with a traveling photographer, while her husband takes their kids to the state fair. He demonstrates nothing but kindness to her, and the movie shows him being a great dad---not that an affair would be justified if he wasn't. And make no mistake about it, Parade is calling the affair the beautiful love story, not the loving acts of her husband--oh no--wouldn't want to praise that. The very idea that Parade thinks this is a great idea to hand a mother on Mother's Day adds even more insult to injury. This is the most disgusting show of disdain for marriage I have ever seen in this magazine and is an insult to all married couples---even, heaven forbid---ones who occasionally find married life "boring." Parade may have thought moms and dads "fell for The Bridges" but it sounds to me like the writers over at Parade are the ones who fell offf the bridge on this one. Let's let Parade know we don't think too much of their "pick" for moms at parade.com. Scroll to the bottom and click on "contact us" and please let them know what you think. I'd say a well worded printed apology to married couples is in order!

Make mine polka dot

There they go again...these people on HGTV walk into a house they're looking at at exclaim with relief "Oh yeah, that's great, the kitchen has hardwoods, stainless and granite counter tops." I just don't get it. I went to a private girls high school where we wore uniforms and yearned for those occasional "free dress days" where we could go wild with our wardrobe selections--well, as long as you didn't hike up your skirt to your waistband--but the point was, we liked to be different after looking like everybody else all week. Now it seems like some "principal" has declared that all kitchens wear the same uniform, and the public is buying it--literally! Just for once, I'd like Mr. and Mrs. first time homebuyer to walk into that kitchen and say "You know, I was really hoping for leopard print formica countertops, can we get some of those? Or, maybe some good old fashioned vinyl floors, that actually are made to take pitchers of orange juice your toddler spills at 9pm and you don't discover till the next morning. I guess I'm just too old for this mass trance of remodeling. I've seen too much. It really wasn't that long ago we were looking for our first house and the fancy schmanchy homeowners all ran out to update with---textured almond appliances with pouffy window "treatments" in country blue and mauve. Yep, I'm holding on to my fix-it-up dollars and waiting till this all passes and we see what the next kitchen "uniform" looks like. Personally--I'm really counting on the leopard look to be the one.

packing up

I walked out to get into my car parked in the driveway today and noticed I did it again...forgot to lock it up! I'm just so glad nobody broke into it. A couple of years back someone actually did and it was a terrible feeling. Makes me realize how lucky I am in that regard. When I was on tour with Holiday on Ice we were playing Prague and four of us were sharing a room and someone broke in during the night while we were sleeping. We can't believe that nobody woke up but we know they were there, because stuff was taken that had been laying on the dresser, etc. It was such a creepy feeling. Then, a few years later, I was staying with some dancer friends at an apartment in West Hollywood and the same thing happened. They had come in through a window over the sink--they have these alley way things, so a thief can really kind of hide. Anyway, my entire purse had been dumped out right next to my bed. My cash was taken, but my credit cards were still there. To think someone was standing right over me two times while I slept really makes me wonder if it's such a good thing to be a sound sleeper. I guess I really believe the old saying, when it's your time it's your time and when it's not, it's not. Maybe that's why when Gary is out of town I check and re-check the doors over and over. I also don't like candles very well, which may have something to do with the fact that I caught on fire when I was four! Oh, the traumas of life. Well, it only burned my slip and my poor mother put it out with her hands and we were fine. But still...I can pass by a candle shop oh so quickly...
Today it's sunny out (well at least for Oregon) and I'm escaping to the coast for a conference and the speaker is Carol Kent--she has such a great message of hope, I can't wait! Oh dear...the dryer stopped--- I'd better get packing....and I get to interview her too! What fun!

The Door is Open

I can't believe it--I looked out my front window and there it was, staring back at me like an angry neon sign. My neighbor painted his front door fire engine red. It's not that I have anything against red on a front door, but his house is PEACH COLORED. Ahhhhh! I can't stop looking at it and wondering how to not notice anymore. Should I say something? He's a thirty something bachelor who has a steady girlfriend who I think may be the real culprit in this adventure. The only time I spoke to him was to say "thanks" as he dropped a Snickers bar into my daughter's Halloween trick or treat bag. I guess that doesn't really count as knowing someone. My kitchen window faces that silly door too, and no matter how hard I try I can't see anything else across the street as I'm scrubbing pots and pans. As if that weren't enough torture! Hmmm, in the mean time I'm going to "keep on mushing." My other neighbor (who has a reasonably colored front door) recently brought me a ziplock bag full of white squishy stuff that she said was Amish friendship bread starter. Day after day I have to "mush it" on my kitchen counter. I'm wondering if I'm going to like it when it gets done and who else I should give some to. Maybe I should make a deal with "Mr. Red Door! "

Ouch!

My right foot hurts. Now this may seem like a weird thing to say, but to me it's significant. In the "old days" my foot would hurt for a reason. I would say things like "My foot hurts because I hurt it skiing, at the ice rink, during dance class, etc." Now, it just hurts for no reason. I find this really upsetting. It must mean I'm getting old, and I worry about that. For instance, will cute sandals start to make my feet ache and I'll suddenly turn to orthopedic lace ups? Will I limp around a dance floor at the next wedding I attend not able to finish the whole song without collapsing into my padded chair and panting into the poppyseed cake? What does this mean? And why is it only my right foot? Hasn't my left one logged as many miles around the mounds of laundry, dirty dishes, and grocery check out lines? And, to tell the truth I have another upsetting discovery. My right finger hurts sometimes. The one we called "pointer" when playing "Where is thumpkin?" during my preschoolers circle time. Now I'm really worried. What if my whole right side goes out at once? How will I exist? Can I get a "right side" transplant? Is anybody doing research on this? I think I'd better hurry up and use my "right brain" abilities to solve this problem while I still can. In fact, I think I hear it telling me to hurry up and go skiing!

Movin On Up

• I swore it would never happen to me. After all, I was the daughter of a car dealer and should know better. But circumstances happen and poof there I was doing what nobody should ever do—buy a car under desperate circumstances.
  
  It all started when my neighbor Teri and I were in my 1990 Mazda MPV van on a rainy afternoon thirty miles from home on December 22nd and the car quit in the middle of the road. No warning. We got out and pushed it into a nearby parking lot with the help of a nice guy who stopped by. It was the transmission of course. Unfortunately, Santa did not have an extra $1400 in my stocking for the repair bill, but we went ahead and replaced it anyway.
  
  Four days later our “good” car the 96 Oldsmobile starting acting worse than usual and that transmission went out. My father in law was visiting from Phoenix and he and my husband said the dreaded words: "You must buy a car…NOW!"
  
  At the nearby car lot I looked and looked and finally test drove a 2000 Acura with only 43,000 miles on it. It was the same price as the newer used cars that had a lot more miles on them, so I thought “why not?” Wow. Talk about the luxury life. Leather heated seats and all. I talked them down on price and up on the trade in and signed about three thousand documents in blood. I think I feel okay about this, but I did learn something in the process for next time.
  
  Go home and look up the model’s history on the internet. I found out this car has massive transmission problems and a recall. Not a good thing.
  
  Ask for a warranty period to return the car for any reason if you aren’t happy and have it put in writing. My salesman said I had a 90 day return period, but I have nothing in writing, so I have NOTHING.
  
  Look for details. I have no owners manual and no floor mats. Seems like little things, but if I would have asked for them during negotiation, chances are I would have gotten them.
  
  And now? Well, the lower drivers seat doesn’t heat up, and I found out it could cost as much as $395.00 to fix. Because I didn’t discover it on the night I bought it, I’m again…out of luck. I called the dealership and asked the sales manager if they would consider doing it anyway and he said he’d get back to me today. Except he didn’t. Maybe tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m trying to be positive and just love my new used car and not worry too much. But really, the daughter of a car dealer should know better, right? Buyer beware!!