Raising Romulus and Remus

Old Town School of Folk Music gala opening-Beatles Extravaganza

2012-01-24T21:20:00.001-06:00

Arnie II

2012-01-18T09:09:00.001-06:00

A few years ago, I had a re-occurring dream that I lost one of the boys in a crowded place and was frantically searching for him. I would wake up exhausted, then relieved, realizing it was only a bad dream. For the past month, I have had a similar experience, only that every morning when I awake, I realize it has not been a bad dream. It just feels that way. My brother has really died.

In the first few days, I was on auto-pilot, checking off related tasks on my daily to-do list. My brother Ted and I had the unenviable task of calling family members, then trying to identify Arnie's friends and co-workers and notify them. Telling Hart and Jeff was one of the hardest parenting tasks I have had to do.

It was a great comfort that friends here rallied around me. As people heard the news, they expressed their condolences or went out of their way when they saw me to speak to me. My Weight Watchers group sent a card signed by the whole gang.

Now things have quieted down. I have sent thank-you notes and Ted is working on the logistics of Arnie's estate. I have returned from a visit to my mother in California. I have resumed eating. The news isn't really news anymore.

People still solicitously ask how I am doing. Not so well, thank you. The mourning period is brief, but the loss is permanent. I am still walking around in a vivid nightmare. But thank you for asking.

December 2011 (photos)

2012-01-05T13:12:00.002-06:00

Performing at the Old Town School

New Year's out east with Julian and Chloe

Cleveland Rocks!

2011-12-09T23:00:00.005-06:00

Mom, there is a sign here that says NO SINGING. I put it up myself.

Patrick Scanlon,
Manager of Visitor and Member Services,

I want to thank you particularly, and one of the guards, for making our visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum very special.

As I mentioned, we had spent the past two days in Akron, attending my brother's funeral. Needless to say, it had been a terrible week for me and a rough couple days for Jeff.

I cannot express how thrilled Jeff was with his personalized tour and private Sting costume viewing. Afterwards, he said, "You know, they don't do that for everyone."

You really made our visit memorable and special.

Arnie

2011-12-09T08:29:00.011-06:00

Obituary and guest book, Dec 6, 2011

"Remembering Arnie," Jan 25, 2012

Ted:

Before I share some thoughts about Arnie, I would like to give a special thanks to the relatives and friends who have come from near and far to Akron, even though it has been many years since the Stux Family has called it home.

But our roots are here, and I am grateful that you are all with us today as we remember Arnie.

I want to make special mention of Arnie's beloved Aunt Greta. As Allison has so accurately described it, Greta has a special and protective love for Arnie. She was not up to making the trip from California.

I knew one Arnie, and was always surprised by the others I discovered. He could be private, guarded, and even mysterious. We often joked that he worked for the CIA, and that all his supposed business trips just cover for his secret missions. If we had learned that it was in fact the truth, there would be no surprise.

My brother Arnie was always gentle and kind, without a bad word for anyone. He loved our kids, and Julian and Chloe loved their "Uncle Ernie." He could make them laugh, dance and sing, and always knew the perfect memento or gift to give them. During his visits, Uncle Arnie was at eye level with them, on hands and knees.

I can't ever remember him being angry, Or raising his voice, and I never remember arguing with him. As we got older we would see each other a couple of times a year, and talk on the phone and email, but Arnie never gave much detail about what he was doing, either professionally or personally. But I always had a sense of satisfaction and pride knowing that even though he was a man of mystery and didn't always share his exploits, Arnie had become a good man, living a life full of education, travel, sports, faith and friends.

Arnie went to Northwestern, then to the University of Pennsylvania, and finally to Johns Hopkins where he got his PhD. I always seemed to forget that he was Dr. Stux, my little brother, Dr. Stux.

Arnie travelled extensively around the country and internationally, giving talks to various engineering and professional groups, speaking on things that I can barely pronounce, let alone understand. He was a member of Toastmasters, something I just learned in the last few days, constantly honing his craft.

When he worked at Naval Research Labs, he was selected to attend a prestigious conference in Switzerland that Was a conclave of Nobel Prize winners in the Sciences.

Arnie was obviously very smart, but after his countless explanations of what he did for a living, I still could not figure out his work. Anytime I saw friends I grew up with, they would ask about my mom, Lydia, and Greta. When it came to Arnie, I would shrug, smile and say, "He is doing great. I don't know what he is doing, but he is doing great."

Arnie was involved with a martial arts group, and would sometimes go on what I called Ninja outings, which involved being outside at night, engaging in some sort of combat, from what I gathered. He played in a soccer league for many years, and was an avid hiker and runner. And let's not forget Ping Pong. Arnie played competitively until fairly recently, with success in each tournament entered.

Arnie's interests were endless. Piano and violin started at an early age. He was religious, active in the local Hillel, and could even read trope. He constantly took road trips, visiting friends all over the world. Turkey was a favorite place. He was rarely at home, and never just sat in front of the TV.

This renaissance man was just truly beginning to bloom, and has left us all too soon. His life cut too short, Arnie will be remembered by all who met him, worked or played with him, laughed or hypothesized with him. He loved his rich and full life every day, and your being here and all the messages of support we have received tell us how truly he will be missed.

Lydia:

What can I tell you about my little brother? We knew him and yet, he was unknowable. He possessed prodigious intellect, but told me several times about his joy in playing sports. I remember Arnie, ever the scientist, explaining to my boys how Lego blocks are made, but being equally comfortable shooting baskets with them.

I cannot enumerate Arnie's many hobbies and interests. I don't think I even know many of them. But that describes the Arnie I know and love. The things he liked, he pursued. Without showiness or fanfare. His passions weren't necessarily trendy or mainstream. If Arnie was interested in doing something, he did it.

Our mom says she is glad the music lessons paid off in a life-long love of music. In these past few days, I have looked for solace, comfort and quiet in my own music collection. The poetry of this song spoke to me so eloquently and profoundly.

The Valley
Jane Siberry

I live in the hills
You live in the valleys
And all that you know are those blackbirds
You rise every morning
Wondering what in the world will the world bring today
Will it bring you joy or will it take it away
And every step you take is guided by
The love of the light on the land and the blackbird's cry
You will walk in good company

The valley is dark
The burgeoning holding
The stillness obscured by their judging
You walk through the shadows
Uncertain and surely hurting
Deserted by the blackbirds and the staccato of the staff
And though you trust the light towards which you wend your way
Sometimes you feel all that you wanted has been taken away
You will walk in good company

I love the best in you
You love the best in me
Though it is not always easy
We will walk in good company

Photos of Arnie

HONK! November 2011, Deerfield Theater (photos)

2011-11-23T13:44:00.002-06:00

New ESSC team skinsuits (photo)

2011-10-28T09:49:00.000-05:00

WHERE ARE YOU, INKY BABY?? by Leila Handelman

2011-10-10T14:20:00.004-05:00

YOM KIPPUR. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 8, 2011

“Hurry up, Leila. We have to leave for SHAARE TIKVAH BNAI ZION. Services start at 8:30 am. It’s already 9:10, and I have to be there when the past presidents are on the bima! It takes at least 20 minutes to get there!” exclaimed Neil.

“OK. I have to leave Inky’s food and water and clean her litter box before we leave. She’s upstairs in the brown room and didn’t come down with me yet. Having done the tasks, we left hurriedly, calling to Inky, “Inky Baby, your food is ready for you. We have to go to synagogue and will be back very late. Take care of the house. We love you!”

Checking all the doors first and then rushing out the front door, we were off to the long, long Yom Kippur day at STBZ.

Services were over at 7:30 pm. We had been invited to join Bill at a friend’s home for breaking of the fast way up north. Bill came out to get me, while Neil searched for a parking space. Upstairs to a very busy, crowded scene--to the buffet table groaning with all sorts of luscious dairy home-made dishes. Neil arrived. Our hostess invited everyone to come to the back porch where she blew the shofar for a Gadollah performance.

“Leila, Bill is going with me to our car, then we’ll take him to his car. It’s too far for you to walk. We will come back for you, so please wait outside. “Goodnight, my Father. Goodnight, my Mother,” and a kiss from Bill.
“Thank you, My Bill. I love you,” a goodnight kiss thrrough the open door, and back to 3501 and Inky.
It was 10:00 pm. “Inky Baby, we’re home!” we kept telling her as we climbed the front steps. Neil opened the front door, expecting to see Inky waiting in the hallway. No Inky.

“Inky Baby, Where are you?” NO INKY. Searched EVERYWHERE, constantly calling her.
Her usual places were empty--her Queen’s chair, the blue tunnel, climbing tower, chairs, couches, dining room table, Brown room upstairs, Bill’s room, our room, closets, basement, office…NO INKY!

“Neil, I don’t understand it. Where could she be?” “She’ll be someplace new that we don’t know about,” he responded. “It’s late, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed. First I have to take care of something. Leila! Look here in the mud room. We left the door open! I thought I had locked everything when we left!” He went out onto the porch, saw nothing, came back in and locked the door.

“Leila! Someone broke into the house! Come see what happened! One of the windows to the dining room has been smashed open, but it looks like nothing has been taken!
There’s signs of someone monkeying with the watches here on my desk. The bag with the camera is still here on the stool, there’s nothing out of place in the dining room or the kitchen. The computers are still here. Let’s look everywhere…maybe the burglars took Inky with them!”

“INKY BABY…WHERE ARE YOU?” Again a complete search of every possible place in the house,but now also in the back yard, the porch, the tubby-room, the alley …NOTHING!!!

“Let’s call the police immediately!” We were instructed, “Don’t touch anything, leave it the way you found it.” Two policemen arrived, with all sorts of questions, cameras, etc. to see if there was any evidence. NOTHING! “We’ll have another officer come to check for fingerprints, footprints, anything that might help,” they promised.

The outside storm window had been taken off, carefully leaned against the round table, the glass completely smashed out leaving a pile of the shards laying on the green “grass” carpet on the porch. The window had been unscrewed and opened up, the glass smashed out, the shards falling on top of the ones on the porch as well as the dining room floor. They had apparently been wearing gloves (no blood anywhere) and proceeded to crawl into the dining room through the smashed window frame. They took nothing, destroyed nothing, went through the watches box on Neil’s desk and then left through the mud room, unlocking the door to get out, pushing open the screen door, and disappearing.

“Here’s Inky’s picture. Can you help us and report her missing? She’s more important than anything that happened to the house.”

“No, we don’t do that. I will take a picture of your picture, but sorry. You have to do the searching yourself. We have all we can do to search for missing people! We an report whatever we can report and get the other policeman here for further research.”

And the police left.

We waited …and waited …and waited…No policeman came!
Neil went to his computer and printed up instructions on what to do when you have a missing cat.

It was after midnight when a police officer finally came.

“Sorry, I can’t find any evidence anywhere. I advise you to contact your neighbors to help you in the search for Inky. Contact the animal shelters; but we cannot help you find her. “

And SHE left.

Out on the back porch again. “Inky Baby, come to Momma” over and over and over.
“Neil dear, please put the floodlights on in the backyard so if she is there we can see her and she can see us.” Nothing.

Neil had to go to sleep. I couldn’t. Computer time to pass the hours. Out on the porch every 15 minutes calling “Inky Baby…Where are you? Come to Momma.“ No response. Composed an email to the family and very close friends informing them that INKY IS MISSING and that any plans we had might have to be postponed.

The information Neil had printed about what to do when your cat is missing had some excellent ideas so I put a pair of my shoes and the dress I had been wearing outside the back door. Filled her food dish and water and put it outside the back door also. Brought her cutie basket with her favorite toy mice (sprayed with catnip) to the porch in hopes that these items would entice her.

Back to the computer. Now it’s 3:45 am. Time to check the back porch again.

Opened the back door, and the screen door--nothing touched in the Enticement Department Items.
Looked at the Tubby House bathed in the yard lights, and gracefully coming around the corner was my lovely ball of calico fur heading for the stairs leading up to the porch and the back door.

“Inky Baby…Come to Momma!” Thank goodness there was no sign of any damage physically to her. She climbed the stairs, checked out the Enticement Items, ignored them, and walked into the mud room as though nothing had happened.

“Just taking a little walk, Momma” she seemed to say as she headed into the kitchen, the dining room, the bathroom to use her litter box and over to the broken window to possibly go outside again????

It was imperative to block that open window as best as possible until Neil could replace the broken glass. What is available at 4 :00 AM? Ah yes …put the 20” box fan in front of the window, pull the shade as far down as possible, move the drapes in front, and push the small cabinet against it all.

And who do you think is inspecting the entire operation right under my working hands? INKY HANDELMAN… pushing close to probably jump right outside again.

“No Inky. Don’t you dare!” I pushed her away. Thank goodness she knows what “No” means.

She was hungry. The wet food dish was filled quickly and she dug in very delicately. Then off to the living room to check out her belongings. Quickly she climbed up to the top of her cat tree and began an extended cleaning of her paws and tummy

It was time to bring in the Enticement Items from the back porch, and put them where they belong, but I was too tired to put my shoes and dress anywhere except on the stool at the door.

“Oh my … I’d better notify the friends and family that Inky is back!” So another email was sent to them …HOORAY … INKY IS HOME! Now we can all relax!

It was 5:00 am, and I finally climbed upstairs to go to bed. Had to read a few more chapters when I felt Inky Handelman, climbing on top of me for her nightly petting, then she disturbed Neil by trying to climb on his head and he quickly moved her off. “Everything is back to normal, Momma. I don’t know what you made such a fuss about!”

And so…today Neil and Bill have replaced the broken glass from all the windows and this epistle has been created Isn’t it lucky that we had no plans that required changing?

And that Inky is home safe and sound …until her next adventure.

Addendum from Lydia
What a relief and horrible adventure! I hadn’t seen your earlier email about the broken window and escape, but then I read through this one. I know Inky is happy to be home. She is a princess and I know she does not enjoy socializing with the lower-class outdoor rabble.

Senior year starts! (photo)

2011-09-08T09:30:00.003-05:00

Jeff's first day of school, senior year at Cove

More Car Talk

2011-08-17T16:46:00.007-05:00

I'm not going to sleep tonight. I'm going to dream about those cars ______Jeff

How did I miss this? All summer long, local owners of classic cars gather in a Skokie parking lot for a weekly, free, informal car show, sponsored by the local classic car club.

When Jeff and I happened to drive by last week, Jeff nearly leapt from the moving car. So we had to stop.

How perfect is this arrangement? Turn Jeff loose for an hour to revel in his element and hang out with a bunch of other guys who love to talk about their cars!

Nice note from the organizers of the show:
You so made my day! We work really hard to make a fun show for everyone and getting your note and pictures really makes it all worthwhile.

See you next Monday!

So Jeff set up his own mini car show in the basement.

Thing One, Thing Two

2011-08-17T10:03:00.006-05:00

When people ask why I don't do outings with both boys together, I am hard-pressed to explain. Do they egg each other on? Is it because they set each other off? Um, sort of. Yes. Not exactly.

It has something to do with the extreme difficulty of having two closely-bonded, yet incredibly socially-inept children.

Recently before our daily phone call to Hart, I cautioned Jeff, "Hart has been having a rough time. We must really try to help him feel better."

So Jeff obediently took the phone, and without preamble said, "I got two new cool things this weekend."

SIGH. At least now, this kind of interaction is played out in two different zip codes. When both boys were here with me, no matter how angry, hysterical, or unhinged one was (or even, both were), they insisted on being in the same room, ideally occupying the same square meter of space.

I have tried to help Jeff make kinder, more empathic and socially-aware choices--if you were sad, would hearing that make you feel better or worse?--Jeff understands, but the concept doesn't stick.

Children With Autism, Connecting via Transit (NYT)

2011-08-15T10:16:00.005-05:00

Children With Autism, Connecting via Transit

Front page article of the Sunday New York Times!

Jeff and I have been to the London Transport Museum and we make a pilgrimage to the Petersen Automotive Museum whenever we are in Los Angeles. It is interesting that museum officials are now catering to this specific target audience.

Jeff is older than the children featured in the article, so I have some perspective. I applaud the parents and museum staff for nurturing these kids' passion in positive pro-social way. However, we parents also have to urge our kids with stereotypical interests to see other things, try other experiences.

It may have been charming ten years ago that Jeff liked to talk about cars, but a decade later, I still have to cue him to change the subject or respond to the topic at hand.

A wise parent once told me that we have to give our autistic kids time in their world, but on the other hand, we have to patiently insist that they spend time in our boring, neuro-typical world, too.

Hart and Jeff at 18 (photos)

2011-08-11T22:14:00.001-05:00

SEUSSICAL the Musical (photo)

2011-08-07T22:57:00.000-05:00

GAP Adventures "The Best of Turkey" (slideshow)

2011-07-10T14:05:00.003-05:00

Designs of Turkey (slideshow)

2011-07-10T10:48:00.003-05:00

New Chapter

2011-06-18T09:57:00.004-05:00

I could hear Hart screaming and swearing in the background when I answered the phone. He had been at his new residence less than 24 hours and now a third "incident report." I wonder if that's a record.

After a career in special education and residential settings, Hart speaks the specific dialect of therapy, as do I. "The staff is abusive!" Hart shouted into the phone. "Use your strategies," I urged. "Advocate for yourself. Say 'I'm new' or 'I need some alone time.'" But, as ever, my words to Hart are like whispering into a hurricane.

Hart has been "high-anxiety" for months, anticipating his move. It has been no picnic for me either, alternately calming him and visiting potential new residences. When we determined that Hart would move to a nearby suburb, I entertained all sorts of fantasies of frequent visits, dinner dates, outings to movies and theater; essentially resuming the enjoyable field trips we were able to undertake when Hart lived at home with me. As with most of my good intentions, this seems absolutely ludicrous now. I have had to arrange for special permission to take Hart off-campus for an upcoming orthodontist appointment. "Will you need a staff person to accompany you?" Oh, no no no. But after a moment, I agreed that if Hart was an elopement risk or aggressive, I would re-schedule the appointment.

It must be a hellish curse to consistently act against your own self-interests. "What possible benefit is it to you to antagonize your new roommate?" I asked Hart as evenly as I could. "These are the people who will care for you here. You just met them, and you are swearing at them?"

Note to self: reasoning with an unreasonable person will never work. Get additional cell phone minutes for frequent "incident" calls.

Jeff does not care for thunderstorms

2011-05-25T09:02:00.001-05:00

"If I'm dead, you'll hear from me later."

Wolf, Boat, Truck (art)

2011-05-19T17:40:00.001-05:00

Julian and Chloe (photos)

2011-05-15T11:40:00.001-05:00

The GWEN TEN*

2011-04-26T16:25:00.007-05:00

* or, things I have learned from my voice teacher over the past few years.

I am thy teacher who brought thee to the stage. Thou shalt have no other directors, critics, advisors before me.
Honor thy microphone and keep thy mouth four inches from it.
Flap not thy lyric sheet, but hold it still by thy side.
Remember the bright lights, thou womenfolk, and keep thy face to shine with makeup.
Sing not directly to thy loved ones, nor make eye contact with them.
Dwell near each other, thou duet partners, lest there be a great expanse between ye on the video.
Thou shalt not wear hats, boas, maribou, nor any rainment of poultry in the Cabaret.
Thou shalt not make any introduction, nor make apology prior to singing.
Thou shalt not look upon thy accompanist, nor shall ye call attention to any error made thereon.
Thou shalt not wear white nor pastel colors

for these things are an abomination to me.

JELLIES, Shedd Aquarium (slideshow)

2011-04-24T18:49:00.002-05:00

Careers

2011-04-24T14:04:00.001-05:00

All of us parents of special needs high school juniors and seniors are in a cold sweat. What are our kids going to do post-high school? I am ahead of the game since I can see Hart's and Jeff's strengths so clearly. My prediction for future careers:

Jeff, grifter. Jeff shows amazing aptitude for the confidence game. He is a genius at elaborate cons, involving his parents, caregivers, teachers and classmates. Although I am chagrined at this, I do have to marvel at the skill involved.

Hart, neighborhood crazy person. I recently told Hart's social worker that even I am creeped out by the strange gait, bizarre outbursts and non-sequiters mid-conversation, and constant muttering. Every community has a strange, harmless resident. I suspect I know who that will be.

William S Shore, 1921-2011

2011-04-20T13:58:00.004-05:00

In the famous line from the 1967 movie "The Graduate", the character Mr. Maguire says to the young protagonist Ben - "I have just one word for you Ben - Plastics". Nearly 20 years before that, a brilliant young chemistry and medical student, William S Shore, at The Charles University in Prague was dreaming up ways to synthesize new chemical compounds, especially hormones, plastics and polymers, that would propel mankind into a new future of technological and medical achievement. William Shore turned those dreams into reality as the principal plastics engineer in the development of the Chevrolet Corvette body. In addition, he was one of the principal developers of the Clorox plastic bottle (1959) and the blow molding process by which it and the plastic milk bottle (1964) was created. In his later years, Shore's environmental concerns led him to create Home Environmental Products, a corporation devoted to lessening water waste and pesticide use in agricultural settings. A brilliant polymath and Renaissance man (Shore's family and friends refer to him as the Google search engine before Google existed - ask him any obscure fact and he would know it) Shore was also a world-renowned cosmologist andastrophysicist. Shore died of natural causes in Chatsworth California at 90 years of age on Friday, April 15, 2011.

Shore was the eldest of four sons, born into a Jewish family on February 26, 1921 in Czechoslovakia. After completing his undergraduate work in chemistry and physics Shore was taken to his first concentration camp in 1942 as a Jewish prisoner. Virtually all of the other Jews brought into this work camp died in the minefields, having been forced to walk in front of the advancing German fronts. Shore would always express his optimism as it was his destiny "to be at the right place at the right time". Shore had sustained a right hip injury that gave him a limp. The sergeant in charge of sending the young men out to walk long distances in front of the Army did not believe Shore could make the walk and kept him back at the camp to work there. Shore, and the rest of his family, was taken by train in the middle of the night to the Auschwitz concentration camp. His parents and one of the brothers and hundreds of relatives and friends perished in the camps. Shore survived the Holocaust, including the Auschwitz-Birkenau and Crakow-Plaszow (made famous in Schindler's List) concentration camps. Shore was then faced with a new threat when the Communists took over Czechoslovakia in 1948. Just before completing his doctorate, his visa to immigrate to the United States came through and took advantage of it making his way to Cleveland, Ohio.

The DuPont Corporation's famous advertising slogan" Better Things for Better Living . . .Through Chemistry" were his watchwords. His initial interest was in medical pharmaceuticals, specifically the development of synthetic steroids. In 1950 he worked on a process of synthesizing various 17 keto steroids at the Case Western Reserve School of Medicine. However, he made a decision to focus his chemical engineering brilliance on synthetic polymers useful in the industrial setting--specifically, plastics. He knew that theoretically polymers could be used for practically any purpose - from the early computer motherboards to automotive parts. He quickly became an expert in the following modification of plastic polymers to achieve very precise specifications required for industrial applications. In 1951, he
was hired as the director of research and development at the Dynakon Corporation in Cleveland Ohio. There, he perfected the art of creating plastic resins, specifically polyester,vinyl ester, and epoxies for use in fiberglass reinforced plastics.

Shore and Dynakon were at the right place at the right time in Cleveland Ohio, one of the major manufacturing centers in the United States in the post - World War II era. Its proximity to the big three Detroit automobile headquarters made it a natural for the subcontracting of automobile parts manufacturing. This became fortuitous for several Cleveland-based companies when General Motors saw the tremendous response to the original Corvette concept car at the New York auto show and decided to put it into production. Originally conceived in steel body, it was then decided at the last minute to produce the body panels in fiberglass reinforced plastics. This was done principally to save startup costs and provide the added benefits of a new technology and reduced weight.

In February, of 1953, Robert Morrison of the Molded Fiberglass Company in Cleveland received a $4 million contract for producing the 1953 and 1954 Corvette body panels. Morrison and company already had considerable experience in the production of fiberglass reinforced plastics but they were under significant pressure to achieve specifications necessary for automotive body panels that they had not previously produced. Morrison subcontracted with William Shore and his team at Dynakon to perfect the plastic resin. Initially there were many problems with the precise percentages of the Isothallic plastic resin, inert ammonium silicate, and fiberglass fibers. Eventually, Shore's engineering team developed the perfect resin blend. The final percentage was 41% plastic, 30% fiberglass and 29% inert silicate. The body panels were tested by GM engineers and found that they met all of their specifications.

On June 29, 1953 the first ofthe initial 300-1953 model Chevrolet Corvettes rolled off the assembly line. It was the first series production automobile made with a "fiberglass" body. Shore would always jokingly object to the designation of "fiberglass" body. He would say "after all it's 41% plastic and only 30% fiberglass". He much preferred another term of endearment for the Corvette body: "the plastic fantastic". To honor his work, Shore was offered one of the first 300 Corvettes at General Motor's invoice cost. His answer was "what am I going to do with the car with no backseat and a small trunk". When he found out that one of the early serial number 1953 Corvettes had sold recently for $1 million Shore said, "Like so many things in life, if only we knew then what we know now"! Shore had virtually no interest in automobiles - his focus was purely on the polymer material technology. Soon thereafter, Shore developed the plastic compounds for melamine dinnerware, structural building materials, plastic protective automobile side moldings, and many new applications used by the United States military.

In 1959, again at the right place at the right time, Shore was working on the development of highdensity polyethylene plastics. He realized that this material was far safer, lighter, and less expensive than glass or metal alternatives as containers for various liquids including milk or bleaches. Clorox .Corporation, the largest manufacturer of bleach in the United States, contracted with Shore to be one of their early producers of blow molded high-density polyethylene white Clorox bottles. Shore also helped to perfect the blow molding process for these applications. Five years later in 1964, these blow molded plastic bottles began to replace the glass milk bottle.

After a trip to Israel in 1981, William Shore's life was transformed. In this small country with no significant natural resources and little water supply, Shore saw the need to save water. A master photographer, Shore's prize-winning photographs were almost universally taken in nature. He published a book "Expressions of Nature Through Photography and Words", a compilation of his life's photographic work. His love of nature and the environment spurred his interest in the recyclability of plastic products as well as their potential for saving what he saw as the most precious product necessary for mankind: water, using plastics. He patented a production system for the use of plastic film of precise rigidity, flexibility, and porosity for the growing and storing of agricultural products. Fundamentally, his "plant packaging system" was a scalable combination of a greenhouse and terrarium that would preserve the water content and recycle it. In addition, it was a natural barrier to insects that would eliminate the need for pesticides and all of their environmental consequences.

Shore was a polymath and Renaissance man with a nearly perfect photographic memory. An incessant reader he became so expert in astrophysics and cosmology that he was elected president of the Cleveland Astronomical Society during the 1980s. Again, being at the right place at the right time was important for William Shore. In 1987, he worked tirelessly along with Case Western Reserve University personnel to create one of the most famous meetings of world prominent physicists: the 1987 Centennial Anniversary of the Michelson Morley Experiment. In 1887, the Michelson Morley experiment on the splitting of light was critical information for all the new physics, including Einstein's theories of relativity. This experiment performed by the Case Western Reserve University scientists has been called the "beginning of the second scientific revolution". Many Nobel prize winners attended the meeting including Murray Gell-Mann, Ph.D. Shore and Gell Mann discussed their mutual belief in string theory at these meetings and subsequently.

William Shore spent his final years studying writing and lecturing on his wide variety of interests. Of particular interest near the end of his life was proving that the biblical Genesis story and the Big Bang cosmological theory were expressions of the same reality and completely consistent. He famously said "if God wrote the Bible, he couldn't express it in terms of 20th century physics to people living thousands of years ago."

William Shore is survived by his first wife Carol Wilson Hudson and his second wife Erica Stux- Shore, two sons; Philip S. Shore, M.D. (wife Diana), and Robert M. Shore (wife Julie), and two grandchildren Adam Shore and Allison Shore.

Just Sing II

2011-04-17T15:23:00.005-05:00

Cathy and I sing "I Never Do Anything Twice."

Caribbean Cruise, March 2011 (slideshow)

2011-04-05T08:18:00.009-05:00

For the past two years, during Jeff's spring break, he and I have gone to Europe. These trips, while not elaborate or luxe, are masterpieces of research, planning and organizing. I know that Jeff would not want to "wing it" and he doesn't care for unstructured meandering. I found out in London that Jeff won't tolerate impromptu consultation with a map or guidebook either. So around January this year, I pored over the Internet to work out a trip to Belgium and the Netherlands.

But it was not to be. Jeff went off the rails for most of February and a European trip just seemed too daunting. I assumed we would spend spring break here, with Jeff playing with his cars and complaining of boredom, and me, pouting.

In February, I had an inspiration: a cruise! So my friend Meiya, Jeff and I headed to the Port of Miami for a week's cruise to Roatan, Honduras and Cozumel, Mexico on Celebrity Cruises' CENTURY. Meiya and I had a great time lounging, playing trivia games (best score ever on the Broadway musicals trivia contest), singing karaoke and eating. Jeff had a wonderful time, doing whatever it is he did aboard ship. We saw him for meals and occasionally he passed by us.

Nice Girls by John Moe (New York Times)

2011-03-02T21:19:00.000-06:00

Nice Girls by John Moe

Life with Inky and Jeff

2011-02-08T08:42:00.002-06:00

"It's cat duty time. I think she's on cat patrol."
"Inky is taking a bath. She looks like a a chicken."

Prodigal Son

2011-02-02T12:51:00.001-06:00

J: You know the nice Jeff is back. He was on a cruise.

L: I am so glad to have him back.

J: Since he was on a cruise he sent the obnoxious Jeff to take his place.

L: Well, welcome back! How was the cruise?

J: Nice and warm in the Bahamas.

Evanston Speed Skating Club news

2011-01-11T13:41:00.003-06:00

Every January for the past eighteen years, special needs skaters arrive from all over the Midwest for Franklin Park's Special Needs Skating Competition, to participate in one or more of four ice sports: hockey, figure skating, speed skating and sled hockey. This event is a precursor to the Illinois Winter Special Olympics which are held in Galena in February.

At this year's event on January 8, Jeff took first place in the H division, the tier of the fastest skaters. Special Needs skaters are grouped by ability rather than age. He won first place in all three distances; 333m, 500m, 700m.

Jeff is a long-time member of the Evanston Speed Skating Club, and ESSC's only special needs member. "Regular competitions all season with his age-mates have really motivated Jeff to work hard and improve his times," says ESSC coach George Babicz. "I'm proud of his win, but not surprised."

Jeff is currently a high school junior at The Cove School in Northbrook. Cove School serves students with moderate to severe learning disabilities. Jeff joined ESSC as a third grader: this is his ninth season skating.

"I initially thought of speed skating for Jeff because the demands of a team sport would have been very difficult, due to Jeff's disability," says his mother, Lydia. "I didn't know anything about speed skating. But the individual endeavor of the sport appealed to me."

Jeff also plays guitar and is on Cove's basketball team, but speed skating is his favorite activity. He has met Olympic medalist Shani Davis a number of times, often enough to have a running game of tag with Shani over the past six years. "The friends and experiences Jeff has had skating are wonderful, but annoying Shani is fun for him, too."

Universal Orlando, Florida (slideshow)

2010-12-29T19:17:00.004-06:00

THE WIZARDING WORLDS OF HARRY POTTER

Heartbreaking evidence

2010-12-16T17:00:00.006-06:00

I spent this afternoon again in the depth of the archive of the Jewish community. I found there something not really pleasant.

Samuel Stux - married to Katharina Loeb - had 7 daughters & 1 son.

One of these daughters was Malvine and another one was Amalie (born 25 Oct 1869).

This Amalie was married to Sandor (Alexander) Braun and 1 daughter & 4 sons.

Daughter Emma (b. 1 Jan 1899) got married to Emil Philippovic. These 2 had a daughter called Ilse Ernestine, born 1929 and died already at the age of 12 years in 1941. (family book p 102.)

The archivist looked in his files and found a file where Ilse is buried and there is mentioned why she died: Bromalpneunomie bei Idiotie = pneumonia with idiocy.

And according to that file she died at Baumgartenhöhe which is know here as where the mentally sick people are treated. A 12-year old girl?

So the archivist searched in his computer and found more information which is provided by the documentation archive (DÖW) and there it says she was indeed in the part of Baumgartenhöhe called 'Spiegelgrund'.

This 'hospital' Spiegelgrund was the place where the Nazis 'fulfilled' their children euthanasia programme . . .

Spiegelgrund, Deutsch

Spiegelgrund, English

Untangling the Myths About Attention Disorder

2010-12-14T09:05:00.001-06:00

The New York Times,Tuesday, December 14, 2010,
Health

"Class" from CHICAGO Nov 2010

2010-11-20T12:42:00.000-06:00

Go, Jeff, go! (photo)

2010-11-13T21:52:00.002-06:00

ESSC Bulletin-16 November 2010

Having waves of genius, Jeff reacted spontaneously to the opportunity to win his second race. This is just not something coaches can teach. Jeffrey has been working at speedskating for a long time and has acquired a lot of experience. With confidence, Jeff continues to prove dominant, winning the remainder of his races. The crowd went crazy. Brilliant racing, Jeff!

Koala Lore

2010-11-07T16:50:00.011-06:00

The big koala on the left is Two Thumbs. He was present on my first or second birthday from my cousins in Australia. Australian cousins--how exotic! Obviously, Two Thumbs has been with me a very long time. Two Thumbs was named after a koala character in a picture book, also a present from Australia.

A number of years ago, I found another koala at an estate sale. This smaller one appeared to be of the same material, design and vintage as Two Thumbs, so I bought him. Hart and Jeff dubbed him Two Thumbs' Little Brother. Shortly after that, Hart gave me the tiny koala, explaining that Little Brother should have a companion, too.

It's a charming story, a bit of family lore with chapters added by the succeeding generations. As family stories go, it's not quite as exciting as, "Grandpa's Escape from Auschwitz," or as amazing as, "My Two Brothers are YOUR Two Uncles." Stories of my childhood and my background aren't meant to displace the boys' lost lore. I don't know the background or stories of their birth family or native country. So I'm encouraging them to appropriate my narrative, and append their own chapters.

Maybe the koala collection is complete, but it's possible that there will be others added to it. Jeff and Hart can explain that it all began with Two Thumbs, the de facto patriarch of the koalas, and that other toy koalas joined him, each with their own history and narrative (just as the boys joined my family).

Snowflake makes her first kill . . .

2010-10-22T09:21:00.002-05:00

I Can't Wait

2010-09-20T17:00:00.007-05:00

My friend M hates to be scolded. Of course, most people do. However, I can tolerate scolding--and just about anything else--except waiting. I often feel as though years have been taken off my life sitting patiently, waiting, waiting, waiting. I am not one of those people who arrives for ten hours of jury duty empty-handed either. I am armed with a book and an MP3 player at all times, but even so, after more than an hour, murderous thoughts towards the receptionist or airline attendant begin to cloud my concentration.

Contrary to the conventional wisdom that one gets more patient with age, I am beginning to feel like the waiting time has become cumulative. I can't take it anymore.

The past few weeks have been especially grueling. This morning, in the MINI dealership, I worked my way through the Sunday New York Times, a few chapters of a novel, and several potential performance songs on my MP3 player, but I was still there after two and a half hours, gazing wistfully at my car on the hydraulic lift. There are only so many times one can peruse the overpriced MINI and BMW merchandise, or admire the new cars in the showroom before going completely bananas.

Since I got the idea to resume my less-than-distinguished theatrical career, I have begun to suspect that I don't have the sitzfleisch for it. My recollections of auditions past are of being summoned into the auditorium to sing, then read, then being sent home to wait for a callback. First come, first served, so that if you arrived for the audition ten minutes before the official start time, you could be on your merry way in half an hour. That is not how it's done here. I have recently been to three auditions: First everyone sang, one at a time. After two hours of sitting in the lobby during the singing, we were all herded to meet with the choreographer to learn a few dance steps, then each person performed again for the director. Simply put, everyone who showed up to audition was held hostage for the entire four hours. Before I ever got in front of the director, I could feel the energy draining out of me and the vocal warm-up I'd had with my voice coach ebb away.

This weekend, due to a printing typo on the invitation, I arrived an hour and a half before an event. Ever the good sport, I decided to wait. But after an hour, I couldn't take it anymore and went home. The anticipation and pleasure of attending the event had dissipated after forty minutes wait.

So, as Bill Maher says, NEW RULES. After the below-listed time is up, I will either go home or go postal.

Waiting in a restaurant for a friend--12 minutes past appointed time
Concert or play-- commences within 10 minutes of announced curtain time
Doctor's waiting room--35 minutes
Movie--trailers must begin at exact publicized start time, actual feature film within 25 minutes
Wedding--bride must sail down the aisle within 40 minutes of invitation time
Flight-- two hours delay acceptable; going home not an option, see above

Once about fifteen years ago (before the cell phone era), a group of friends rolled up in front of the restaurant almost two hours after our appointed meeting time. I was sitting on the curb in front of the restaurant, seething. "Do not disrespect me in this way, ever again!" I fumed. And, in fact, they haven't.

New fridge, old rules

2010-09-16T18:31:00.006-05:00

I finally replaced my early 80s refrigerator, which meant I threw away more than half of the fridge magnets I've accumulated in twenty years, a number of not-so-hilarious-anymore New Yorker cartoons, and other detritus than was affixed to my fridge. I realize it's time to dispose of two documents: a list of household rules that I devised for Hart and Jeff years ago, and a behavior scale that Jeff used in his social skills group a while back. They bear duplicating. The magnets are not so interesting.

Household rules
Follow directions
No hitting, kicking or spitting
No swearing
Ask before you use something that doesn't belong to you
Answer when called
Burp or fart in the bathroom ONLY
Use inside voice

Practicing Friend Behavior
Fill in each number with the behaviors you think fit each level . . .
5 Against the law. Hurtful, Threatening, Screaming in people's faces. "I'm gonna kill you!" "I'm going to hurt you."
4 Scary Behavior. Yelling "Shut Up!" Yelling "I Hate You!" Running away
3 Odd behavior. Copying "bad" behavior. Chewing paper. Talking and laughing to yourself. Copying silly things. Silly communications.
2 Reasonable Behavior. What people would expect from a high schooler. Behavior makes sense. Telling people your feelings in a nice, calm voice. Inviting friends to "Lunch Bunch." When something doesn't feel right: Ignoring others. Moving away. Finding an adult to help.
1 Social Behavior. Hanging out with friends. Saying "hi." Asking a friend, "What did you do?" Sharing information in a relaxed way.

שנה טובה

2010-09-13T08:25:00.002-05:00

Erev Rosh Hashana:

After the expected hoo-hah with the Westboro Baptist Church, it was almost a letdown to see a tiny knot of people who dispersed at 7:45pm. I thought we'd have to run the gauntlet of haters. Anyway, a few crazies would have been no match for a few hundred liberal Jews each carrying a very heavy prayerbook.

They came in a box . . . . (photo)

2010-09-10T20:44:00.003-05:00

Hart (photo), Labor Day 2010

2010-09-06T16:53:00.001-05:00

First Day of School

2010-08-25T09:36:00.004-05:00

Memorandum: All school staff

While I am justifiably proud of Jeff's summer accomplishments, I confess that his swindling and petty crime skills have also improved. I am attempting to be proactive in heading off the usual fall crime spree:

Jeff does not have discretionary spending money. If he needs money for school, I will send a check or a sealed envelope with a note. If Jeff has cash, be suspicious.

No gifts, souvenirs, prizes, toys from anyone. No trading or buying or selling or bartering with other students. Ever.

Jeff is not permitted to enter any retail establishment. Food court only, on sanctioned trips to the mall.

Jeff may not carry toys around school. I suspect he will sneak them to school, but you have carte blanche to confiscate anything that causes inattention or disruption. Just don't send it back home.

I also want to say how much I appreciate everyone's fondness for Jeff, but please don't give him stuff or ask me if it's OK to do it. This is a serious issue in our household. Don't be an enabler.

Machu Picchu, July 2010 (photo)

2010-08-13T21:50:00.000-05:00

Words I've longed to hear

2010-08-13T10:47:00.000-05:00

J: This is the best book ever, it's like a movie in my mind.

Aqua Calientes (slideshow)

2010-08-03T18:05:00.001-05:00

Machu Picchu (slideshow)

2010-08-03T17:55:00.000-05:00

Morning at Machu Picchu (slideshow)

2010-08-03T17:41:00.001-05:00

The Sacred Valley/Ollantaytambo (slideshow)

2010-08-03T17:24:00.001-05:00

Cuzco, Peru (slideshow)

2010-08-03T17:11:00.001-05:00

Not in Kansas anymore (slideshow)

2010-07-30T19:40:00.007-05:00

We had a grand time with Jakob and Patrick, aka Mr. D.J. and Mr. H as they were known at Cove School. I loved watching the entire two seasons of FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS with the subtitles on, and learning the "Danish word of the Day." 4th of July food, Sweet Tomatoes restaurant and chili dogs were a success. Root beer, Fig Newtons . . . not a hit.

Jeff went off to camp, then I went off to Peru, leaving the guys in charge of the house. Now that I have returned, it's awfully quiet here. How can we entice them to come back? We do have Big Red gum and low-priced Vans sneakers here.

Favorite quotes from the visit:

On being introduced to Cove 7th and 8th graders, "Does anyone
know where Denmark is?"

Yes, in Kansas.

Jeff on being asked if he likes having two Danish guys stay at his
house.

No! I love it!

So long, JDate.com (a very short play)

2010-06-28T17:59:00.004-05:00

My Fantasy Date

MFD: Hello, Lydia, I'm your Fantasy Date tonight. Nice to meet you.

LS: Hi. I must say, you are very attractive. In fact, you are considerably more attractive than anyone I have ever gone out with.

MFD: Thanks for saying so. I am also well-groomed and I smell good.

LS: Are you on a dating site? How did you find me?

MFD: It's beshert! Nah, I read your terrific bio online. Your pictures are really cute and your fake age is easily believable. And, I'm into short women, as long as they aren't too slender.

LS: Cool. What about you? What do you like to do in your free time?

MFD: Hey, I am your Fantasy Date. Our interests, politics and outlook on life are absolutely compatible. Besides, I'd much rather pretend to be interested in what you have to say.

LS: Well, um, er . . .

MFD: . . . don't worry at all about making a good impression. I like you a lot already.

LS: This is turning out very well. Did you have anything in mind to do this evening?

MFD: Dinner and theater? I'm thinking either sushi or Middle Eastern. Then, would you prefer a big downtown musical or a little off-loop storefront production? I have heard great things about both. If you prefer, we can stay home. I'll cook dinner, then we can make out.

fin

Old Family Photos (slideshow)

2010-06-12T11:27:00.002-05:00

My cousin Steve recently had his father's old slides converted to digital format. Here are a few, and some other older family pictures. No particularly theme, but they are in rough chronological order.

Truth and Consequences

2010-06-09T09:28:00.012-05:00

Someone told me a lie. Not a you-don't-look-fat lie, but a transparent falsehood. Sure, it's dismaying to be lied to, but after a while, I began to appreciate the grace and kindness in the lie.

We tell ourselves, and our children, that we want complete honesty, but do we? I have decided that I'd much rather hear, "I'm sorry, I'm busy," than, "Dinner with you? Not if Halle Berry, Angelina Jolie and Johnny Depp are coming, and Paul McCartney offers to pay!" Clearly, sometimes it's more compassionate and less hurtful to fib.

Hart and Jeff are unlikely ever to master such sophisticated social interaction. Both are fans of the unvarnished truth. Well, in Hart's case, the truth as he believes it to be, and in Jeff's case, the truth as he wishes it to be. Either way, blunt, thoughtless blurtings are my household's M.O., as a musician friend found out when he offered,"I'll get my guitar and play a bit for you," and Jeff replied, "No." (I'm long past being mortified by these gaffes.)

"Let's try to cheer up Hart on the phone by talking about his upcoming visit," I recently suggested to Jeff. "Too bad you can only come for one day," Jeff said when Hart came to the phone.

I am concerned that my own social skills have deteriorated because I am in the habit of making direct, bald statements to the boys. "We are done talking about that now." "Your voice is too loud." "That sounds like teasing." I actually said to an adult visitor recently, "No more questions now" because I have so internalized the household limit of three. (Sorry about that.) I often feel like the playwright, director and actor in our conversations. I have even learned to distill complex emotional ideas into simple statements. "I hear that you are angry, but your words are mean and disrespectful and make me feel bad."

This is not the type of dialogue adults appreciate, so I really came to admire the nuance and subtlety of that lie. There is a life lesson I would like to impart to Hart and Jeff:

To communicate a harsh truth, sometimes you have to tell a gentle lie.

My Lazy Day (video)

2010-06-07T17:48:00.000-05:00

Carolyn and Lydia re-enact some funny moments from past barn dances. They performed this song for the '09 summer Sunday Social . . .

WHQODJYS Singers, YouTube channel

"Rabbi, is there a blessing for AWESOME?" (slideshow)

2010-05-31T21:02:00.004-05:00

2010 JRC Kallah, Memorial Day at Camp Beber with Hart

Hart and I had an amazing time this weekend. Hart was an active participant the whole weekend. He volunteered for "Kamp Kallah," helping with children's activities and babysitting, which meant doing a patrol shift of the sleeping kids. He went to all the social activities for the older kids: an ice cream social, a dance AND a midnight party at Taco Bell just for the counselors. He did a demonstration of Jedi Knight moves for the Talent Show.

I think people who don't know us were surprised to hear that Hart has disabilities because you might not have known it from his behavior (although I heard his toy elephant went to Taco Bell, too). The weekend isn't very structured and the kids, especially the older ones, have a lot of latitude to do what they want.

I told Hart that when he gets angry or frustrated back at school, he should remember that he is capable of good behavior and making new friends and good choices!

I can really see that Hart got a lot out of the weekend. Last year, he was merely "attending," and this year he was a full participant. I confess I didn't see much of him. He took his childcare obligations and partying very seriously.

I wish I could bottle and package whatever is in the air at Camp Beber over Memorial Day and dole it out to Hart throughout the year. If only.

Bat valentine (photo)

2010-05-27T09:19:00.001-05:00

Bat valentine, from Jeff to Hart

Roll On, Big O . . . redux

2010-05-26T17:15:00.006-05:00

Lawson's Orange Juice Commercial from the 1970s.

In theory, this blog is about my adventures with Hart and Jeff, but since my very old post about finding Lawson's stores on every corner in Japan, the hits just keep a-comin'.

So here's the classic commercial. Ohioans, feel free to sing along.

Let's Do the Time Warp, Again . . .

2010-05-25T17:53:00.014-05:00

My dearest and most enduring friendships are with people I met years ago doing theater. I love performing. So maybe it is no surprise that this year I decided to return to community theater. My last stage appearance was about twenty-seven years ago. Theater productions were important, cherished experiences of my former life; before coming to Chicago, marriage, house and children. I don't know that I missed theater really, I never thought I was exceptionally talented, and I've been busy enough in those intervening years.

However, to my delight, I was cast in Oakton Community College's production of FIDDLER OF THE ROOF as Grandma Tzeitl. If you know the play, Grandma makes an appearance in Tevye's "dream" to convince his wife to allow their daughter to marry the man of her choice. If you don't know the show, she's a singing ghost in one scene.

So now I'm back. Back home after weeks of rehearsals and twelve performances. But I am really back from a strange trip through time. Community theater is just as I remembered it, albeit with two notable exceptions: no gay men--oddly, sadly; no drugs--thankfully. Other than that, it was just like old times: frustrating and exhilarating practices, precociously ambitious teenagers, owners of amazing voices, smarty-pants 20-somethings and 20-somethings with extraordinary commitment and focus. I even feel fondly nostalgic for the usual suspects who may or may not make their entrances on time, or bother to memorize their lines. Those of us onstage just hold our collective breath every night! I believe it was Will Shakespeare himself who famously said, "Prithee, pick up your fecking cues!" and Aristophanes who had to threaten the chorus members with the introduction of another main character if they didn't speak their lines in unison.

I remember this as all part of the alluring charm of non-professional theater. Take a diverse group of people, have them spend eight intensive weeks together, then disperse them. I felt exactly as I did at age nineteen, which was a bit alarming when I saw my post-nineteen-year-old face in the bright lights of the dressing room mirror.

One of my castmates leaned over early in a rehearsal while I was scribbling in my score, "You read music?" I nodded, but I was thinking, in my best Tallulah Bankhead/Katharine Hepburn/Sophie Tucker imitation, "Honey, I've been annotating musical theater scores in soft pencil since before Reagan was in office!" It was so great to be back. Magical.

THE LARK by Jean Anouilh

FIDDLER ON THE ROOF (slideshow)

2010-05-18T22:08:00.010-05:00

Oakton Performing Arts Center Production Media

Click the link for photos and sound files from the show!

Hart and Jeff summer '09 (photo)

2010-05-18T14:43:00.000-05:00

Travels with Jeff

2010-05-10T18:03:00.011-05:00

I have heard for years about the unrepentant anti-Semitism of the Viennese, so Jeff and I were prepared to be on the "down-low" on our trip, despite traveling during Passover. What I wasn't prepared for, in both Vienna and Prague, was the enlightened attitude towards disabled people. As my Prague ex-pat friend (also Jewish) explains, "Even skinheads here assist blind people across the street and lift wheelchairs into the tram."

Everywhere we went, it seemed, Jeff was offered an unpublished discount. I believe the cashier at Křivoklát castle was asking, "Child?" indicating Jeff. "No, sixteen," I told her, pointing at the posted admission prices. Even so, she charged the "under-12" price for him. I came prepared with euros for our community Seder attendance, but despite being "post-Bar Mitzvah," the synagogue treasurer asked half-price for Jeff.

The Seder at Or Chadash was lovely, although long. The Rabbi led the service in Hebrew, followed by explanations in both German and English. I allowed Jeff to amuse himself with his Yu-Gi-Oh cards and toy horses. We were seated with a Viennese family with younger twin boys, who had lived in Boston for many years. I was growing more embarrassed by the minute as Jeff distracted the boys from the proceedings with his toys. At long last, I leaned over to the boys' mother in hopes of explaining our circumstances. She waved her hand immediately as if to say that no explanation was needed. (I found out later, she is a psychiatrist. She must have figured things out as soon as we sat down.)

There is a bit of a trick to traveling with Jeff in unfamiliar places. Unlike here, I don't have the advantage of casing the joint ahead of time. Who knows what objects of desire will hurl themselves in Jeff's path? I have come to steer us to the other side of the street if a hobby shop or toy store looms into view. However, a quaint, little music store in Vienna seemed like a safe bet. We had passed it several times while it was closed and when Jeff said he wanted to look for a gift for his guitar teacher, I acquiesced. To my dismay, Jeff immediately honed in on a display of miniature instruments. I confess they were adorable, but I explained to Jeff that even the smallest violin would use up all his spending money for the whole trip and then some. Just as I was considering how to maneuver Jeff towards the exit, the proprietress came over to assist us. "How much for the big one, or this one, or this tiny one?" Jeff was saying, unlikely to be deterred. But I heard a snippet of German between the woman and her husband that sounded like, " . . .the little one that's broken" and moments later she was pressing a tiny violin in a miniature case into Jeff's grateful hand. That four-inch fiddle turned out to be the most treasured souvenir of our visit to Vienna.

I have learned over the years, through bitter experience, to make our needs known. It's now instinct to insist on aisle seats on the airplane, a booth at restaurants, and to make note of closest exit in public places. What an extraordinary relief to be accommodated without having to ask.

Russian orphanage offers love, but not new families

2010-05-04T13:25:00.004-05:00

For the many people who have asked my opinion on the Tennesse mother who sent her Russian adopted son back, I offer this article in today's New York Times, which states, more eloquently, what I have been saying for some time.

By CLIFFORD J. LEVY
Published: May 3, 2010
"The case of an adopted boy who was sent back by a family in the U.S. has focused attention on a troubled system."

MOSCOW — There is nothing dreary about Orphanage No. 11. It has rooms filled with enough dolls and trains and stuffed animals to make any child giggly. It has speech therapists and round-the-clock nurses and cooks who delight in covertly slipping a treat into a tiny hand. It has the feel of a place where love abounds.

What it does not have are many visits from potential parents. Few of its children will ever be adopted — by Russians or foreigners. When they reach age 7 and are too old for this institution they will be shuttled to the next one, reflecting an entrenched system that is much better at warehousing children — and profiting from them — than finding them families.

The case of a Russian boy who returned alone to Moscow, sent back by his American adoptive mother, has focused intense attention on the pitfalls of international adoption.
But the outcry has obscured fundamental questions about why Russia has so many orphans and orphanages in the first place.

In recent days, senior Russian officials have begun to acknowledge how troubled their system is.
The chairwoman of the parliamentary committee on family and children, Yelena B. Mizulina, spotlighted what she said was a shocking statistic: Russia has more orphans now, 700,000, than at the end of World War II, when an estimated 25 million Soviet citizens were killed.

Ms. Mizulina noted that for all the complaints about the return of the boy, Artyom Savelyev, by his adoptive mother in Tennessee, Russia itself has plenty of experience with failed placements. She said 30,000 children in the last three years inside Russia were sent back to institutions by their adoptive, foster or guardianship families.

“Specialists call such a boom in returns a humanitarian catastrophe,” she said.
She reeled off more figures. The percentage of children who are designated orphans is four to five times higher in Russia than in Europe or the United States. Of those, 30 percent live in orphanages. Most of them are children who have been either given up by their parents or removed from dysfunctional homes by the authorities.

Her comments offered a sense of the frustration over the state of Russia’s orphanage system, which has long been resistant to reform. Over the years, proposals to reduce the system’s size — the deinstitutionalization that occurred decades ago in the United States and elsewhere — have gone nowhere.

Despite the horror stories recounted about Russian orphanages, social welfare experts say that conditions in many are not terrible; some are excellent. The more pressing issue is the warehousing of young children in large-scale facilities, which experts say can hold back their social and intellectual development.

But the system’s defenders said that until the government figures out how to cut down on social problems like drug and alcohol abuse to improve family life, there is no alternative.
“It would be a lot better if there were no orphanages, and every child were happy in the family that he or she has,” said the director of Orphanage No. 11, Lidiya Y. Slusareva. “But if there are bad families, then it is better that the children are here.”

The scrutiny of the Russian system comes as Russian and American diplomats are working out new rules for adoptions. Russian officials, who have often seemed embarrassed that their country cannot care for all its children and has to give some up to foreigners, demanded the new rules after Artyom was returned.

The Foreign Ministry said adoptions by Americans would be suspended until an agreement is reached. It is not entirely clear whether adoptions are actually frozen, or whether the process is just being dragged out.

In recent years, the Russian government has repeatedly pledged to bolster efforts to help families stay together, to increase the number of children who are adopted and to expand foster care. But it has not had notable success.

Indeed, while Russia has its share of social problems, the large number of orphans stems in part from a policy that does not place a high value on keeping families together. The Russian government spends roughly $3 billion annually on orphanages and similar facilities, creating a system that is an important source of jobs and money on the regional level — and a target for corruption.

As a result, it is in the interests of regional officials to maintain the flow of children to orphanages and then not to let them leave, child welfare experts said. When adoptions are permitted, families, especially foreign families, have to pay large fees and navigate a complex bureaucracy.
“The system has one goal, which is to preserve itself,” said Boris L. Altshuler, chairman of Right of the Child, an advocacy group in Moscow, and a member of a Kremlin advisory group.
“That is why the process of adoption in Russia is like going through the circles of hell,” he said. “The system wants these children to remain orphans.”

He said that in 2008, 115,000 children in Russia were designated as without parental care, typically after being removed from their homes by caseworkers. Only 9,000 children were returned to their parents that year. In the United States, where reuniting families is a primary goal, the percentage is far higher, he said.

Over all, 13,000 children were officially adopted in 2008 — 9,000 by Russians and 4,000 by foreigners, officials said. The system’s stagnation can be seen at Orphanage No. 11, which houses 45 to 50 children. Most have health or behavior difficulties, but the staff coaxes wonders from them. In the auditorium on a recent day, a group rehearsed a dance wearing 18th-century ball costumes, then went back to the dressing room before returning in Russian peasant outfits for a traditional dance. It was hard not to be charmed. Even so, only a single child has been adopted from the orphanage this year.

Since the Soviet Union’s collapse in 1991, a total of 74 children have been adopted — an average of about four a year, said the director, Ms. Slusareva, who plays no role in their placement. The total comprises 20 adoptions to Russians, 24 to Americans and 30 to other foreigners.

The case of Artyom at first spurred a strong reaction, with some Russians saying that a country whose population is shrinking should never send its children abroad.

But Ms. Slusareva did not agree. The primary goal, she said, should be to locate good homes for these children — preferably in Russia, but if not there, then elsewhere. “The hardest thing is when a child asks, ‘When will a mama come for me?’ ” she said. “So the best moment for me is when a child leaves the orphanage with a family.”

A version of this article appeared in print on May 4, 2010, on page A1 of the New York edition.

Tomasz/Thomas the Tank Engine

2010-04-10T10:58:00.004-05:00

Historic steam engine: a trip from Prague to Krivoklat Castle, Easter 2010

Jeff's drawings of Vienna and Prague (slideshow)

2010-04-07T17:22:00.002-05:00

Not in the phrase book

2010-04-07T12:57:00.002-05:00

At Schoenbrunn Palace in Vienna:

Entschuldigung, ich habe my sohn verloren. Er hat ein blaue Jacke und ein kleines Pferd.*

* I'm sure that isn't grammatically correct, but I meant to say "Excuse me, I have lost my son. He has on a blue jacket and has a toy horse." Now I realize that I must have said, "Excuse me, I have abandoned my son."

"Doing an About-Face on 'Overmedicated' Children"

2010-02-23T08:57:00.005-06:00

WE'VE GOT ISSUES: Children and Parents in the Age of Medication

Duh. Finally a book that supports what I have been saying for many years! Research debunking the myth of overzealous parents, irresponsible child psychiatrists and "not good enough" children. Bravo, Judith Warner!

Read Abigail Zuger, M.D.'s review

Learning Disabilities series in NYT

2010-02-20T10:48:00.000-06:00

What to Do if You Suspect Learning Disability

Part of an excellent series in the New York Times.

Shani wins!

2010-02-18T11:49:00.010-06:00

In the run up to Shani Davis' exciting speed skating wins, it was fun to put on my old PR hat and try to get some attention for the Evanston Speed Skating Club and our little-known sport. After the Olympic "bump," speedskating, along with curling and Nordic-combined, will fade back into obscurity, at least for another four years.

Luckily, our club has several telegenic and articulate young skaters: Jeff is not one of them. So I suggested a number of others who were delighted to give interviews to the networks and numerous other media who contacted the club.

From a parental point of view, I was especially thrilled with CHICAGO PARENT's video story which features Mia Krone, one of ESSC's new up-and-coming skaters. But Jeff has the last, poignant, word. Like "Rosebud" in Citizen Kane.

Going for the Gold . . . Jeff skates

2010-02-13T20:45:00.007-06:00

Alec and Matt Dinnerstein with Shani Davis, a week before the Winter Olympics 2010.

WGN features Evanston skaters

Inky, beware! II

2010-02-08T13:10:00.001-06:00

Jeff to Inky: I am going to make "catatouille."

The Two-Fer

2010-02-01T13:09:00.005-06:00

My father was a practiced hand at a technique I call the two-fer, whereby he could simultaneously embarrass a guest, and with the same remark, mortify his children. "Do children behave like this where you come from?" he would ask. "Have you ever heard of this?" (Refusing food, making plans with friends, declining to be the musical entertainment, and so forth). The polite guest would shrug helplessly, as if to say, "On my home planet, children are delighted to sit quietly and observe elders conversing," or God forbid, "I have heard of children watching TV, now that you mention it." Once, apropos of nothing, my dad exclaimed to a visitor, "Do you know the word 'booger'?" Our guest, a German speaker, allowed that he did not. Case closed.

Now I am the constant victim of the "reverse two-fer," as artfully practiced by Jeff. It works like this: Jeff can deftly embarrass me and render another adult speechless at the same time. For this mother, practiced in the parental technique of redirection, I can say that redirection works only with children small enough to maneuver away from ground zero of social devastation.

This summer, I misunderstood a party invitation, so Jeff and I showed up a week early. It could have been a social learning experience: apologize briefly and sincerely, then beat a hasty retreat. Only Jeff wouldn't have it. "I am so sorry, it's my mistake," I said, when the hosts came to the door in their lounge-around-the-house-on-the-weekend clothes. "Can I come in?" Jeff offered, brightly. "Jeff, there is no party today," I said firmly, trying to back Jeff and the cake I was holding down the front steps. But Jeff already had a foot over the transom. "Let me see your toys!" My hands occupied, I could only hiss, "Back away from the front door, now!" "See you next week!" I cheerily called, to cover Jeff's "Do you have toy cars?" while desperately urging Jeff into the car.

A few weeks ago, I heard our hostess urgently call my name. Jeff, clearly disappointed with the toys on offer, had let himself into the attached garage in search of better things. "Jeff, come out here now! This is not a play area. I am so sorry." En route in the car I had expressly told Jeff not to go exploring in the bedrooms. I had foolishly neglected to mention the garage.

My fave lefty guitarists (photo)

2010-01-20T10:36:00.002-06:00

Figure of Speech

2010-01-15T12:48:00.008-06:00

I was quizzing Jeff in preparation for an English quiz. "What does 'cat got your tongue' mean?"

"You can't talk . . . and besides, Inky has her own tongue."

Cats vs. Dogs

2010-01-14T19:10:00.006-06:00

I am a life-long cat lover, but the boys both adore dogs. I often tell them that they don't really have to choose; they can like both cats and dogs. It's a bit disingenuous, I know, a bit like an inter-married spouse encouraging the child to sample both religions, then being disappointed when the child chooses the "other" one. I understand, though. The boys love all dogs generally and one cat, Inky, specifically. I love all cats generally, and only one dog, Bob, specifically. Bob was a small black poodle who lived on our block when I moved in. He was already old then, sort of a genial senior citizen and neighborhood canine ambassador. He was owned by a lovely family, although I admit I miss Bob much more than his humans, who have long since moved way.

However, Jeff is known to all the neighborhood dogs and their owners. He times his morning wait for the taxicab to coincide with the morning constitutionals of the local dogs and their owners. He knows the dogs by name, but the people are "Max's dad" or "Rusty's boy."

On Hart's and my recent trip to Carlsbad Caverns, the ranger explained that no food, candy or gum is permitted in the caves. There must have been an illustrated sign explaining the rule: food attracts animals into the caverns. I didn't see the sign but Hart did, because he kept pointing out ledges and crevasses in the caves and explaining, "That's where the cave cats live." I reminded him that there were no animals in the caves except the bats, but Hart was not convinced. "I see where they are, the wild cave cats." Dutifully, I would look where he pointed. It was rather charming to imagine wild cave cats watching us with their luminous eyes, sweet-faced felines who had waited patiently for Hart and me to visit them.

Aunt Diana, Hart and Domino

Dec 09, LA and Carlsbad Caverns (slideshow)

2010-01-10T23:12:00.002-06:00

My son, the classics reader

2010-01-04T14:11:00.002-06:00

Jeff's diorama "book report" for THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK.

Amor

2010-01-02T12:48:00.003-06:00

H: I have a new girlfriend.
L: You do? That's great. But does she like you back?
H: Yes, she likes me. She adores me.

Hart visits Piggy (photo)

2009-11-30T19:34:00.001-06:00

Halloween 2009, scary! (photos)

2009-11-02T08:56:00.004-06:00

J: I am going to tease S. with this giant spider.

L: That's not nice. Why would you do that?

J: I am the encyclopedia of teasing.

FACEBOOK, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways

2009-10-25T12:01:00.002-05:00

1. How can I be old enough to have friends whom I have known 25, 35, 45 years?

2. Lots of messages in Danish, which is very cool, even though I can't read them

3. I didn't think I had friends in high school, and now it appears that I did.

The A-Word

2009-10-21T08:39:00.004-05:00

This is the second time someone has said in Jeff's presence, "My son is autistic, too." Although I am the last one to get sniffy about "labeling"--I will do anything to get social services for the boys--this comment is so jarring. My attitude has always been, "I know my kids, so it doesn't really matter what words are used to described them." I confess that I have used the A-word myself on occasion, but usually as shorthand, in the case of frustration or immediacy. On two occasions long ago, adults (once at a playground, once in a bookstore) have tried to grab Jeff and, knowing that this was not going to have the result they intended, I yelled, "Don't touch him. He is autistic."

However, that term is not anywhere in the boys' medical or educational records. It's just as well; it would be much too simplistic. There is no doubt that they are somewhere on the continuum of autistic spectrum disorders, but it's a small piece of a constellation of issues.

As Jeff has gotten older, many of his "autistic" behaviors have diminished. He is somewhat immature for his age and socially clumsy, but that word suggests many traits which Jeff doesn't have. I have overheard Jeff and his respite worker chatting, teasing and joking, like young men anywhere, and I think, "Who is that regular person?" Eye contact is not an issue. Explosive tantrums--nope. Sensivity to noise and texture--not really. It's still hard for Jeff to follow adult conversation, but with a prompt or two, he can participate, and more significantly, he wants to. Autism suggests a lifetime of social isolation--the confusion and bewildering morass of nuanced human behaviors--but Jeff is eager to interact and make friends.

So I'm going back to my own diagnostic description which I employed for many years while waiting for the doctors to come up with something better: autism-lite.

Jews at Hogwarts?

2009-10-12T14:40:00.002-05:00

While housecleaning recently, I found a letter from one of my cousins in England. She must have sent it a few years ago, when I told her I was a huge Harry Potter fan. LS

No one makes a big deal out of it, but there have always been Jewish kids at Hogwarts. Not many, and not any of the famous ones, but still there are students from the entire U.K. there and from some of the former colonies, so it shouldn't be a surprise that I attend.

A huge effort is made to keep the wizarding world secret, so only my immediate family knows. It hasn't been easy keeping that secret from the extended family who seem to know every single religious school in the world, who attends it and who has graduated from there. But I got a letter when I was almost eleven, just like every other muggle-born wizard in England. My parents in Golders Green assumed it was some advert and tossed it, but a few more identical letters arrived and they finally took a look. I was attending the local Akiba Day School and was intending to go the same Bais Rivka that all sisters and cousins and aunts had attended.

Haha. Now I know better. Hogwarts does not take NO for an answer. I never got to meet Headmaster Dumbledore. That would have been something! He spoke over sixty languages, including Hebrew and a good bit of Yiddish. Some of the Jewish alumni told me that he would astonish their families with his linguistic ability and that would soften them up for the Hogwarts pitch. Professor McGonagal doesn't have quite that ability, but she did win points with my mum when she said that faculty and housemates would be "mispocheh" while I am at school. That didn't impress my dad though. What kind of Jewish kid goes to a school called Hogwarts?

In the end, they relented, although I found out later that all muggle parents do. It's part of the process and Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses have the recruiting and convincing game down pat, thanks to a bit of harmless magic.
However, I think my mum is the first muggle mother to ever inspect the Hogwarts kitchens. Professor Mc had to relent on that. My parents weren't going to allow me to go anywhere that didn't provide kosher food. Believe it or not, she trained two house elves and made sure that my dishes and silver and cooking utensils are kept separately. Becher and Benscher even got special tea towel uniforms with the London Rabbinical Kashrus seal. I thought they'd complain about all the extra trouble but they are very proud of their special status.

Hogwarts: A History mentions a bit of Jewish history at Hogwarts. All the Jewish students there have been muggle-born, and they have all been in Ravenclaw House. In the whole recorded history of Hogwarts, there has only been one Jewish student on the Quidditch team, but lots of notable Gobstones players.

So that's it. I guess everything thinks that English boarding schools are totally goyishe, but I just want to put a word in that the most famous one isn't, completely.

San Francisco, Oct 2009 (slideshow)

2009-10-08T15:01:00.002-05:00

Jeff and BF Tim (photo)

2009-09-17T09:58:00.001-05:00

Jeff likes Rodgers and Hammerstein

2009-09-08T14:11:00.003-05:00

Don't you have this music on those flat, black things?

Warning to the Bully Posse

2009-09-07T17:18:00.002-05:00

I do not know you, any of the five of you, and the victim wasn't my kid, so I didn't say anything to you. But don't think I didn't notice. As for that plausible deniability coda at the end, it wasn't very convincing either.

Maybe you think the world of children exists unnoticed, below the radar of adults. Uh-uh. Just because I had on a hat and sunglasses doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention.

Before you reply with the earnestness of Eddie Haskell, I will tell you my perception of the incident:

You approached the deck chairs where my son and his buddy were sitting. Maybe the smaller kid's singing or over-loud voice attracted you. Whatever excuse you have, I saw you come over to us. Did you tease him later when you were out of my earshot? Did you pretend you were being friendly? Did you wait for him to say something you found foolish? I saw him throw the ball at you and had that been my kid, I would have reprimanded him, but when you pounded it back, I knew that it was your intention all along to goad him into an altercation.

You walked by me three more times, smiling and joking about that little provocation. I saw you slap each other five right in front of me. As I say, just because I am out of junior high doesn't mean I don't recognize bullying. I saw you wander around the pool a few more times, looking for more action with him.

You weren't picking on my son, I know. Five junior high kids taking on a 16-year-old a head taller would have been foolhardy. So you needn't have apologized to him, as being mad at "that other kid." That other kid is nowhere near your age and it was five-to-one. That's cowardly.

Consider yourself lucky. I saw you circling like a pack of wolves, trying to separate the weakest one from the pack and I did not like it. So now you know: I am watching you.

More Wildlife Tales

2009-08-27T11:27:00.010-05:00

So I phone Animal Control to complain about some horrible smell coming from my front stoop. An hour later, the officer removed a dead raccoon from my window well.

Artist's rendering of the scene:

The Clothing Fairy retires

2009-08-26T09:53:00.005-05:00

Unlike my famous sister, the Tooth Fairy, I get very little press. I suppose it's the money. There is no money and no attention for me, the Clothing Fairy. In most cases, it's a short gig. I select and provide the kids' clothes until about age four when they have their own preferences and desires and can be taken shopping.

However, thanks to me, clothes have been magically appearing in Hart's and Jeff's dresser for many, many years. Additionally, every evening a matching outfit for the next day mysteriously appears, all laid out and assembled. It's been a long relationship, well over a decade.

Mind you, it's not an easy job either. In addition to the rules and regulations of my own chapter (no camoflage, no licensed characters, no polyester), I have to take into consideration the preferences of my clients (no "clownish" colors, no patterned underwear, no white socks, no zippered flies). I am not unreasonable, but the rule about elastic waistbands grew more and more onerous after Hart and Jeff outgrew Gymboree sizing.

Also, Hart is now out of my service area. I am frequently reminded of a bit of dialogue from RAIN MAN. "Tell him, Raymond! K-Mart Sucks." But, never mind. Clearly the Wisconsin Clothing Fairy is much more lax than I.

But now I am retiring. The writing was on the wall a year ago, when Jeff announced that since he was in high school he needed black jeans. The Clothing Fairy cannot magically provide jeans: the client must try them on first. Jeff actually had to go a a store, select a few pairs and go to a dressing room to vet them out. I wasn't sure if this was simply an anomaly, so I remained on the case for almost another whole year, dutifully laying out daily outfits.

Now I am done. Jeff went to overnight camp for four weeks and although the photos prove he isn't the professional clothing selector that I am (why was he wearing a pajama shirt on the ropes course?), it's been a smooth transition. I am overdue for a quiet retirement. Although Jeff wears his STING t-shirt a little too often for my taste . . .

Hart explains it all

2009-08-07T09:37:00.003-05:00

L: It's almost Chloe's 3rd birthday. Let's call her and wish her a 'happy birthday.'

H: No.

L: No?

H: I want to send her a gift.

L: OK. What do you have in mind?

H: Something for girls.

L: Something pink? A unicorn? What do girls like?

H: Fashion!

Quito, Ecuador (slideshow)

2009-08-04T21:13:00.001-05:00

Galapagos Islands (slideshow)

2009-08-04T21:03:00.005-05:00

Sao Paulo, Brazil (slideshow)

2009-08-04T20:36:00.000-05:00

Camp (photos)

2009-08-03T13:43:00.001-05:00

There have been a few photos of Jeff at camp. He arrived and he had fun on the ropes course, by the looks of it. Alas, no pictures of him dancing on Friday night, or of him dressed up, but more visuals than last summer. One week left!

She Hate Me

2009-07-17T13:22:00.006-05:00

Sally does not like the way I sort books. She takes pains to tell me this three times a year when we both volunteer to set up a fundraising book sale. Junior High School politics are long past for me, so I swallow the urge to bray, "You are not the boss of me!" I smile and go on my merry way, sorting books in a manner that apparently annoys her. A lot.

I have been volunteering for this organization a very long time, long before Sally ever bought her little book sale bar code scanner and went into the book collecting/selling business. Before that, a handful of volunteers gabbed and sorted, recommending books for each others' children and grandchildren and whiling away a few hours. After sorting and arranging, I purchase books for myself, the boys, Hart's house and the Dawes School PTO used book sale. But it's all become very cutthroat now. Sally means business.

At the last sale, I had Hart along with me. He announced that he wanted the final two Harry Potter books. Sally is affirmatively NOT in the market for anything Harry Potter-related. Sally is a Christian fundamentalist home-schooler (and a Muggle). She is looking for science books that show co-existing dinosaurs and humans. (I am not making this up.) So it was a mild surprise that the two Harry Potter books I'd set aside by my purse were gone not three minutes later. "I didn't know they were yours," Sally said. Right.

I suspect that Sally hopes I will just leave the volunteer cadre. Of course, now this will never happen. Are we competitors for the same books? Maybe, but book collecting is really just a hobby for me and I have no interest in My First Bible or anything related to creationism and Sally is happy to leave the books on Jewish holidays and crafts to me.

Everyone else I have told this story to has a differing theory. Jewish people shake their heads and say, "That is just mean and petty." But non-Jews have a different read. "Does she know you are Jewish?" Of course. "There's your answer," a friend told me gravely. A devout Christian friend laughed heartily. "You know she believes you have no purpose to exist." This makes me feel vaguely icky, but sad. I can't win her over. I haven't done anything to deliberately antagonize her.

So today, when I found an entire carton of books I know Sally collects, I bought the whole box. When the inevitable directive about my book sorting came, I took my ear buds out and said, "No. I don't want to do it that way." I still felt icky and petty, but at least with the music on, I could not hear her response.

Julian Turns 6!

2009-07-12T10:34:00.000-05:00

Happy . . . scrappy

2009-07-09T15:57:00.011-05:00

I am in the market for a scrapbook. Scrapbook, noun: bound book of blank sheets of sturdy paper. I wish to glue down photos, clippings and awards in such an album. "Scrapbooking!" the clerk at the craft supply store said delightedly. "We have several aisles for that."

So now I know: Scrapbook, verb, is quite different from its archaic noun form. Scrapbooking, verb, requires lots of expensive supplies and arcane equipment. There are racks of backing paper, fancy scissors, stickers, glitter, glue and doodads manufactured specifically for members of the scrapbooking sorority, known as "scrappers." All very well, I thought when this was explained to me. I'll just buy a album or two and be on my way before Jeff has a meltdown in the dinosaur-themed aisle.

Alas, no. These new-fangled items have clear mylar sleeves. "But there are no pages. Do you just slide stuff in?" The clerk smiled, "You have to buy the paper." Aha. That explains the wall lined with racks of themed papers. "I don't want that. I am looking for . . . ," I was feeling desperate now. "Like your grandmother has, a bound book with construction paper pages, and a gold string holding it together . . . ." She shook her head sadly, "I scrapbook and I have never seen something like that."

The lady at the Hallmark store had about forty years on the craft store clerk. "I am looking for something I call a 'scrapbook'," I offered tentatively. "Who is it for?" Huh? I could see things were not going to end well here either. Scrapbooking is all about the theme. This dawned on me whil I examined albums of plastic sleeves with Mickey Mouse, wedding bells or sports logos on them. When I rejected all the displayed albums as having the dreaded plastic instead of paper pages, the Hallmark lady snapped, "You will have to make that yourself!"

The young man at Marshall's was much more helpful. "I have just come here in my time machine," I told him. "I am looking for a thing I call 'scrapbook'." "Ooooh, I have seen one," he told me. "It had paper pages with stuff glued on them." Exactly. "We don't have them. Have you tried a craft supply store?"

So I bought two of what Marshall's calls scrapbooks, along with two discounted packs of themed paper. Sure, there are storks with blue banners reading "It's a boy!" but the reverse side is solid gray. Now all I need is rubber cement. Do they still make that?

Sunday Social at the Old Town School (photo)

2009-07-06T08:52:00.003-05:00

Away, again

2009-06-27T12:41:00.001-05:00

"Hart ran out of the house today. He made it a few blocks away, but according to our procedures, police had to be summoned. He's safe now," said Hart's case manager when he phoned yesterday. Whew, that's a relief.

"That's the good news." That's the good news! &#%$*#!
Welcome to my world, where news of elopement and police capture are the good news. What possible mayhem can follow as "the bad news?"

"The group home doesn't seem to be working out."
I must have let out a long quiet sigh of relief. I have quietly considered this myself over the past few months. That phone call must have been a mere formality: Hart's behavior has been so unpredictable and difficult that the decision has already been made to move him back to the main campus.

Sigh. This is Hart's theme: Sabotage your own best interests. My theme: keep trying new and less restrictive options for Hart, hope for best, until the inevitable phone call comes.

Hart is NOT going to like being "demoted" back to the main campus. But I also know that the issue is not what he wants but what he needs: a more structured and restrictive setting. It was his success in this environment that enabled him to move to the group home! In hindsight, should I have been more adamant about delaying the move? Hart wanted to move to the group home so much . . .

"You can explain that it was our decision," offered the case manager. "That way, he won't be angry with you." Thanks, anyway. But I prefer the message that even though I am far away I am always Hart's mom, still active in and aware of his plan of treatment. I am, sigh, used to being the bearer of disappointing news.

You Look Just Fine mailbag

2009-06-22T21:21:00.002-05:00

Dear YLJF,

Today, while running errands, the grocery store cashier mentioned that I looked "comfortable." Is this a euphemism for looking sloppy or unkempt?

___________________________________ Mortified

Dear Mort,

Of course not! This is the 21st century--comfort is the greatest goal of fashion. Or are you still wearing a girdle and white gloves when not running errands? Perhaps you have not been to church lately either. If shorts and flip-flops are good enough for God, they are good enough for the Piggly-Wiggily. Lighten up.