Freeky Friday - Summer Traditions

What's the best thing about summer in my neck of the woods? That's simple: ice cream. Probably the best memories of nearly every summer involve a trip to get this delicious treat. While I would probably eat it any day of the year, it just doesn't taste the same. More importantly, my life is chock-full of rituals surrounding the act of obtaining this delight.

When I was very small, my parents had these friends, Garner & Nell. They were this kind Southern couple, a few years younger than my parents. We all thought Nell pretty cool, as she drove a 53 MG, you know, the one with two seats and the running boards. After playing a baseball game, she would pile us all into her car (we were pretty small) and drive to the local parlor to get cones.

Fast forward about 30 years and I'm taking my children out for ice cream in the summer. When we lived in Charlotte, I would have special time with a young Julia by driving her to Larry's in Mint Hill. In Raleigh, I would take her and younger sister Amanda to Goodberry's (home of the Carolina Concrete!) for frozen custard. Summers in Scituate took us to Dribble's on Front Street. Summers at home in Florida (well, most of the year) frequently resulted in a B-R run. For a really special treat, it was Jaxson's in Dania Beach, which is like no ice cream parlor I have ever experienced.

I have not discovered a special place in Atlanta for my summertime sins, but I am optimistic. It seems my son-in-law has just acquired a new pickup truck. I have asked that my first ride result in a trip to some place that sells ice cream. Then, forever after, I will refer to his Ride as The Ice Cream Truck.

I think it's probably more the memories of the company than the actual ice cream, but it's a summer tradition that I will always treasure.

Freeky Friday

I have been asked, in the spirit of Freekware, to Spread the Soul by posting on Freeky Friday. The topic of the week is: what is the best thing that has happened to you the past year?

All in all, it has been a wonderful time to be alive. My niece Michelle gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. While I'm thrilled for both Keira's Mom & Dad, it was as remarkable to see the joy on the faces of my sister and brother-in-law at this little bundle of wonder.

Also, daughter Julia & son-in-law Dave bought a lovely house that rapidly became a home. I was honored to have a few holiday meals there, which I hope are harbingers of many more to follow.

The best thing, though, occurred a few weeks ago. I swelled with (lion's) pride at my daughter Amanda's completion of graduate school at Columbia. She took a tough path to lead to the lofty goal of changing the world, one student at a time. That she was able to find a job caused her dear old dad's heart to stop fluttering quite so rapidly. She undertook a huge challenge and conquered it.

While we were all together in New York for her big event, we visited the Museum of Natural History. Afterwards, she asked if I wanted to see Strawberry Fields, as it was but a few blocks' walk away. As this was the same day she had graduated and we were enjoying a respite from the deluge that had soaked us a few times that day already, perhaps I was feeling a bit more introspective than usual.

This simple plot of land in Central Park ranks among the most moving spots I have ever visited. Those around us seem to have been similarly affected. We decided to wander a bit deeper into the park, when we noticed this oddity that there were no cars; we never did learn why it was closed to vehicles, but it made the day even more distinctive.

But wait, it gets better: we decided to walk back to our hotel, which was a few miles south. Amanda and I were having this rambling conversation about topics ranging from the works of Olmstead to Simon & Garfunkel, from Tavern on the Green to Sheep's Meadow, even to a long-ago weekend I spent at the Sherry Netherland. Somehow, we got on the topic of life's work, or something like that. I confessed that I felt I had missed my calling in life; I should have been a history teacher. Without missing a beat, Amanda said, no, you didn't miss out on anything; your mission in life was to have us.

Thank you, Amanda, for that generous sentiment. That was the best thing that happened to me all year.

That clinking clanking sound is all that makes the world go round

The Baby Boomers were going to save the world. The earlier members of my generation marched with Dr. King, stopped a war and ousted one crooked President. Two of the figures who stood for what was right were Ben & Jerry. You remember them, of course. They were the two kind, bearded souls who started a company that made good, albeit expensive, ice cream. They used natural ingredients, adding nothing remotely harmful to any environment beyond its consumers' arteries and waistlines. The names selected for their products were humorous, Cherry Garcia being a particular favorite. Ben (a person) and Jerry (a person) also ran their company (not a person) that followed strict ethical guidelines. A portion of their profits were donated to charity. They have partnered over the years with several charitable organizations to allow them to benefit from their annual free cone day. They also had a rule that the highest paid employee of their company could not earn more than seven times what an entry-level employee was paid.

My brain itched this past week when I read an article describing the amounts paid to CEO's in the past year. The average compensation for a CEO at a publicly-held US company last year was $9.587 million. That is not a typo. That works out to over $3072 per hour, or $51.21 per minute.

Sadly, I was not shocked by this astounding accumulation of wealth shared with so very few. Instead of allowing myself to be consumed by righteous indignation, I decided to determine what I could do with that amount of money. My list:

Since I would be compensated (note: I did not use the word "earned") this staggering amount, I could afford the best tax accountant in the land, who would arrange for me to pay a tax rate not to exceed 15%. After my tax liability of $1,438,050 was paid, I would be stuck with a paltry $8,148,950.

Let's take care of my retirement. I'm going to sock away $2 million. That would be enough to pay me $100,000 a year for 20 years. Of course, the previously mentioned tax accountant would cause that wealth to accumulate, so I could live much better than that, for much longer. Balance: $6,148,950.

Next, I would like to pay off my children's grad school loans. They actually do good things (teacher, physical therapist), but will never earn buckets of lucre. While I'm at it, I'll pay off my son-in-law's law school loans too. Rough estimate: $350,000. Balance: $5,798,950.

I should get a new car. Now, I could afford a Bentley (I guess they cost $500,000?), but I would not wish to be perceived as someone who flaunts their wealth so shamelessly. So, let's get my dream car instead: Honda Civic Hybrid. When fully loaded, this will run me $29,000. Let's round it up to $30K (includes: taxes, tag, title, dealer prep and destination fees); balance: $5,768.950.

My children should have some money, too. I'm going to give each of them $1 million. I'm also going to insist that they follow the advice of George Clooney's character in The Descendants: "You give your children enough money to do something but not enough to do nothing." Balance: $3,768,950.

I know many who have lost loved ones, none dearer than my sister's son Mark, a youthful victim of a form of Hodgkin's Disease. Let's give the Leukemia/Lymphoma Society $1 million. Maybe it will help them to find a cure or to ease some other family's pain. Balance: $2,768,950.

Speaking of nieces and nephews, I'm quite fond of mine and my children are close to all their cousins. There are 5 cousins; let's let each of them have $200,000, again, following the caution uttered by Mr. Clooney. Balance: $1.768,950.

I want to take a great vacation. I wish to visit: Aix, Normandy, Salzburg, Florence, and see my ancestral stomping grounds in Ireland. Assuming I take a friend, fly business class, stay a month in the equivalent of Ritz-Carlton hotels, I should be able to consume another $100K, if I really work at it. I still have over $1.6 million left.

I should buy a new home. Assume $500K for a pair of them, which will bring me down to around $1.1 million. But, that's still far too extravagant an amount to use for such mundane purchases like groceries, clothes, shelter and reloads to my Starbucks card. Let's give $1 million to Children's Miracle Network, or some other organization that benefits children at risk.

All of which leaves me with a mere $100K to pay for the basic expenses of life; I think that's sufficient. I have stashed away far more than I will ever need to retire, taken care of my children for life, bought a new car, taken a dream vacation, helped out the cousins and donated a ton of money. I do not fear, however, that I will soon be applying for food stamps. You see, the average CEO salary goes up by about 20% per year. Next year, I'll be paid over $11 million!

At the risk of sounding like Marx (Groucho, not Karl), I ask the question: how much do you really need?

Better Angels of My Nature

My apologies to Mr. Lincoln, for pirating his line for the title of this blurb. Much of what I have read about the man expresses wonder at the wealth of his knowledge and the extent of his erudition, considering the grim poverty of his upbringing.

I'm not certain how educated my grandparents were. On my mother's side, her father probably made it through elementary school, but I would guess not much further. I know even less about her mother, as she died long before I came along. On my father's side, I don't think his mother attended school at all, as she grew up on a farm in Ireland. Her husband, my grandfather, perhaps did not go to what we consider high school either. But, both sets instilled something in my parents. Although my father's father died when he was but 8, there was money set aside for him (and his sister) to attend college, which they did. My mother had no interest in college, but she did go to secretarial school, where she embarked on a career at which she excelled, even with all the interruptions of raising children.

In our household, it was assumed that my sister, brother and I would attend college. I believe my father thought it best that we go far away from home to do so, as he did not, as he put it, want us bringing our laundry home on weekends. He did have ulterior motives: he often said that the smartest thing he ever did was to move far away from his family and upbringing, as it forced him to be on his own. He wanted his children to have similar advantages.

I married a woman whose passion was teaching. I was not certain how deeply she felt about that until we had daughters of our own. I was astounded at the number of craft projects, the amount of flannel board stories, the variety of the books and the constant educational "plays" through which she led our daughters. Many an evening, I would come home from work, unable to interrupt them, as they were in the midst of some saga or another. I stepped on many a Barbie through their childhoods; I read all the American Girl books with them, repeatedly, plus countless others. And, I answered all their questions, wondering how those young minds could be so inquisitive.

Our daughters grew, venturing to the swamps of Gainesville to expand their minds further, in the midst of all that Gator Nation mania. This was not to be enough for either one of them. Julia went to grad school to become a Doctor of Physical Therapy, so that she can now teach people how to function, despite the impairment of one or more motor skills. This week, however, is all about the younger one, Amanda, who will wrap up her 18 years of school.

Amanda was on an arc to a career in advertising. It made perfect sense: she is brilliantly creative, has an insatiable curiousity and has mastered every media she has encountered. Then, she took American Sign Language as an elective. At her ripe age of 19, she threw the ad biz out the window and found a new calling. She took every ASL class that UF had to offer, volunteered for as many teaching assistant opportunities that she could find and led a crew of younger TA's like some mother hen.

I had never seen her sign until I attended a father/daugther weekend during her senior year. She was signing the national anthem before a gymnastics meet. I was amazed at the fluidity of her motions and the expressions on her face. I could barely take a picture, I was so moved by her polished performance. A few months later, she was the bookends at her college graduation, as she signed the national anthem before and the alma mater after the ceremonies. Her quest has taken her to Columbia Teachers' College, where she will receive her Masters' Degree this week. During her two years in New York, she spent a semester teaching at Montclair State (oddly, about two miles from where my mother grew up). This past year, she has been a student teacher at PS 47, an urban school with a population that could be described as economically challenged. And, she loves it. Another oddity: that school is close to where my father attended high school. Is this kismet, serendipity, or some non-Disney Circle of Life?

In a few days, all those years of formal education will be over. I cannot express the pride I feel in both of my daughters, who have chosen careers that likely will not pay them even a tenth of what someone who trades futures on a commodity exchange will get. I doubt that either will purchase a new Mercedes or a luxury box at some sports arena. Instead, both my daughters are becoming the persons who will change people's lives for the better, who will find ways to connect with individuals, for which they will long be remembered.

So, a belated congratulations to Julia, for the degree she received two years ago and an advance tip of the hat to Amanda, who will receive hers this week. Their great-grandparents would be astounded at how far their descendents have traveled, while being thrilled at the fruition of the value they placed on education a few generations ago.

I am reminded of the line at the end of It's A Wonderful Life. Harry Bailey bursts into the room, holds his glass high, and toasts his big brother George, the richest man in town. I know exactly what he described, for I, too, am wealthy beyond my wildest dreams. I can summarize that sentiment in a simple phrase, which I will utter again this week, as I will say, to someone, "that's my daughter".

The Half Century Mark

A Few Of My Favorite Things

The richness of our language has long held a fascination for me. Partly, I'm attracted to voices that have a certain tone or timbre. Shelby Foote, the late author of the 3-volume compendium of the Civil War, had such a voice. I was exposed to him, like so many others, by his frequent appearance as a story-teller in Ken Burns' documentary of that conflict. I said at the time that I could listen to Mr. Foote read a grocery list and find it engrossing. Another such talent belongs to Carl Kassel, the host of several news programs on NPR over the years. He currently appears on a weekend quiz show, called Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. Winners have the honor of having Mr. Kassel record their personal voice mail message, a prize worth pursuing.

At an early age, my father would frequently correct my grammar, syntax and pronunciation. Even though he may have been fascinated by the Okie Twang spoken in the city where I was raised, he was determined that his own children never utter the word "ain't" and that we place emphasis on the appropriate syllable for words such as "insurance" and "cement". When it came time for me to acquaint myself with the rules of grammar, it was a foregone conclusion that I would be hooked.

True, I was that precocious brat who used words that brought head-scratching to the adults around me. As I stumbled into the age of majority, that charming child became an annoying pedant, frequently using words that I felt would either illuminate my own candle power or the relative dimness of those around me. Antipathy is a word that comes to mind. While I do try to be less obnoxious about such things now, I do relish the joys of our language. Some words raise the hair on the back of my neck; others possess a charm all their own. A few of my favorites:

Gerund - I had the good fortune to work with a colleague from Boston whose passions were theater and language. He often recounted his early days as a substitute teacher, whose first assignment was to instruct his students in the proper use of gerunds. Yes, I immediately referred to the gigantic Random House Dictionary to learn the meaning of the term. In case you have forgotten,a gerund is an active noun.

Kerfuffle - I think I heard Senator Franken use this in some hearing a few years ago. It is certainly a better term than dust-up or dispute, although brouhaha has obvious qualities to recommend it.

Infelicitous - Some words hang in the recesses of our brains for decades, only to be dusted off at appropriate occasions. I used this one a few weeks ago in a text message, of all things, to my older daughter, Dr. Princess. Yes, it was felicitously applied.

Conundrum - Why use enigma, problem or poser (a word that has issues of its own) when this one rings so true? It's mere pronunciation brings to mind a corkscrew of thoughts.

Solipsistic - Ah, my favorite! I encountered this nugget in a book I was reading 5 years ago. I immediately looked it up in an online dictionary (that Random House tome long since donated) and stored it away. A short time ago, it was a perfect fit in a note I was writing to my younger daughter, Concrete Jane. Her immediate response: great GRE word! Why, thank you.

Enough for now. Are there any treasured words that you trot out on occasion?

Did You Forget Everything Your Mother Taught You?

I apologize to the memory of Will Rogers, to whom I have mistakenly attributed a quote for many years. The proper reference is, instead, from Winston Churchill, who said "If two people agree on everything, then one of them is unnecessary." I substituted the second phrase "...then one of them ain't thinkin". I always liked that line; it captured the wry, yet kind nature of the wit of this unique American character. The point of all this: it's acceptable, even rational, to have disagreements.

I have been rigid in my opinions for as long as I can remember. I can still recall my father's stern admonition that other people were not necessarily stupid, just because they had a different point of view than my own. He must be spinning in his grave now, given the current state of discourse in the land.

It's been eight years since Jon Stewart famously caused Crossfire to disappear from the airwaves. If you have forgotten that incident, he accused this standard of political debate of failing their opportunity to elevate the discourse. Within weeks, the show was gone. I purposely ignored that show, as I did not observe any debate on issues; instead, the people representing the different sides mostly tried to speak louder than the other one.

Since that time, the conversation has become much less civil and, if possible, more polarized. Issues have become so charged that it is no longer acceptable to disagree. Some examples:

• The most-watched evening political tv show host tarred a physician in Kansas with the epithet "Tiller the Killer". After the man was gunned down, this host denied any responsibility for the act, while inferring that it was a good deed.
• During a Presidential address to a joint session of Congress, a representative from South Carolina loudly yelled "you lie" during part of the speech. This rude character saw a large spike in his fundraising.
• It may have been in the same address, when the President stated that a recent Supreme Court decision would have severe consequences, leading to more involvement of money in politics, one of the Associate Justices mouthed the words "that's not true". Actually, it has proven to be so.
• The leading Republican Presidential contender has spent more money on negative television ads than all his competitors have spent on all media ad buys. While "going negative" is believed to be a winning formula, the end result is that fewer eligible voters participate in each successive election cycle, as they have become so disenchanted with the process. I think the fairy tale about the golden goose is applicable here.
• The most popular host on talk radio recently spent the better part of three days accusing a young woman of having negotiable virtue. His apology, issued only after the bulk of his advertisers ducked for cover, was, at best, half-hearted.
• Regarding that episode, the host's minions immediately responded with the argument that folks on the other side have done the same thing, which, apparently, makes it acceptable.

Good grief. In all my years, I have found that most everyone had a mother who instilled the same basic tenets of good manners in their children. Such aphorisms as:

• If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
• It's rude to interrupt another person while speaking; allow them to finish before you speak.
• Don't call people names. While sticks and stones may hurt more, words can still harm.
• Everybody's different.

Finally, about that whole notion of equivalency, that many have used to rationalize that radio host's uncivil harangue: The fastest and easiest way to lose an argument with my mother was to justify my behavior by stating that someone else did it or said it. If it was something verbal, I would get the threat to wash my mouth out with soap. As I truly believed she would do this to me, I would not repeat the offense.

Disagreeing with another is a hallmark of a free society. I can have a differing point of view than someone else (which I do, with many), but I do not hold up a sign of them with a Hitler moustache. I do not shout them down. I do not accuse them of being a socialist, fascist, wingnut, parlor pink or idiot.

While I wish I could state this as eloquently as Will Rogers, I'll merely wonder why so many people who are in politics or television seemingly neglect everything their mothers taught them. It's nothing a time out or a good bar of soap couldn't cure. In the meantime, I would prefer to hang out at the final bastions of courtesy remaining on the planet: a golf course or a Chick-Fil-A.