on Pre-Camper Syndrome

It's ugly. It's unavoidable. It's pre-camper syndrome.
This terrible condition strikes predictably whenever families are preparing to go away together. My kids coined the name years ago when I flipped my lid prior to leaving on a family camping trip. (But it can strike the morning of any family trip, and is not just limited to camping.)
This lid-flipping was, admittedly, a regular thing.
But in my defense, I had good reason!
Here's a generalized scenario:
The parents plan a trip with the kids, anticipating showing them the wonders of something or other. There's plenty of advance notice. Some of the kids are old enough to take care of little details such as doing their trip-laundry, packing their bags, covering their paper routes, finding a place for their pet turtle to spend the week, all on their own.
Believing that they will do so is a common error many parents make, and a leading cause of pre-camper syndrome. I remain hopeful, and never, never learn.
Weekly, and then daily prior to the big trip, reminders are given by the parents. A month to go! Is your paper route covered?
A week to go! Do you know what you're packing?
Two days to go! Is your laundry done? Have you dropped the turtle off at your friend's? Does your bathing suit still fit?
We leave in the morning, 7 a.m. sharp! Are you all packed? Put your bags by the door.
Kids! Get up! You have plenty of time for breakfast and a shower. We hit the road in two hours.
Kids! Get UP! I've made toast. If you hurry you can still shower. Put your bags in the car, please. We leave in an hour.
KIDS! ARE YOU STILL IN BED? It's time to GO! Where are you BAGS? We're paying for this trip, and you're making us miss it!
The kids, feeling abused, reveal that they have not done laundry, can't find their bathing suit or tooth brush, forgot to drop off the turtle or cover the paper route, promised the neighbor they'd babysit tonight, and don't want to go on a stupid vacation with the family anyway. Can they stay at their friend's with the turtle?
This is when mom and dad flip their lids. After all, they've spent a couple grand, taken time off work, and spent hours preparing for a 7 a.m. departure, at the expense of a good night's sleep. Which makes them . . . cranky.
"@!%&**!!!," Dad says as he stomps around the house, pulling out his remaining hair.
Mom isn't much better.
"Get. UP! NOW!" she grits between her teeth.

Two hours later, bags are haphazardly packed and stowed in the car. The turtle is at the friends, the babysitting job and paper route are covered. They hope. And the snarly kids are stuffed into the vehicle, not speaking to anybody, all listening to separate i Pods.
Mom and Dad are crabby. They're practicing breathing exercises to calm them down while cranking out old Doobie Brothers tunes on the car's CD player.
A kid in the back glances cautiously up front before leaning over to whisper to his sibling: "See? They always get pre-camper syndrome. It never fails! And I have no idea why!"

on My Big, FAT, New (idea for an) Invention!

If only it were possible to pull this off, I'd get rich! I've got the best idea for a fabulous invention: An honesty detector! 

How great would it be to be able to build an honesty detector that would go Beep! Beep! Beep! whenever dishonesty was detected.

It would have to have a sensitivity setting, or it would be forever going off because some nearby kid fibbed to his parents about his grade on his last English paper; or some man fudged – just a bit – the amount he told his wife he’d spent on that new power tool; or someone who cheated on a math test 25 years ago got too close.

If it could be calibrated just right, it would be handy in a number of locations.

For example, shop keepers could install one in the door of their stores which would beep every time someone tried to shoplift. That would put an end to that!

Or people with cheating spouses could install one in the bedroom which would go off in the event of a new cheating episode. It would have to have the ability to be re-set often.

People hiring a new employee could have one sitting on the table in the interview room. If a candidate for a position took a seat and the device immediately started beeping, the person would simply be shown the door.

I guess it would have to have a character detection setting for that.

How handy would such a device be in a political debate? Or in a police interrogation room? Or in the principal’s office at school? Or in the security line at the airport?

Unfortunately, such a thing isn’t currently possible. But if I ever come up with a way to bottle good character judgment, you’ll be seeing my honesty detectors on the shelves of your local stores.

And you’ll be seeing me on the beach in Cozumel! Honest. 

 

 

On All the Disgusting Germs in your Daily Life!

Today I happened to come across an article on Facebook about 11 unhygienic things we all do every day. These aren't obvious things, such as putting you finger into places on your face where it doesn't belong.
These are things we all do, and don't stop to think about all the GERMS we're snacking up while going about our daily business.
Prepare to be grossed out.
1. Touching money. According to the article, a typical quarter has more germs on it than a toilet seat. Ok, maybe a toilet seat isn't where you'd expect to find germs, but hearing a quarter has all those germs on it is disquieting. Gives the term "filthy lucre" a whole new meaning!
2. Using the card reader at the gas station or a store. Because people touch them all day long, and lots of those people seldom wash their hands.

3. Drinking from a can. I've always been suspicious of this practice. It stands to reason that lots of people touch cans, from the can factory to the bottling plant to the truck drivers to the grocery store clerks to your mom. The advice is to drink from a straw. You could also pour your pop into a glass. Or hey, go nuts and put the cans into a sink of warm, soapy water and wash em off before refrigerating them. Carry wipes in the car or in your purse for single cans you get from a machine. You need them anyway, to clean off your quarters!
4. Your cell phone case and screen is apparently a hot-bed of germlife.
Again, grab a wipe. Careful not to ooze liquid into the phone, or you'll be buying a nice, new clean phone after you fry the circuits on the one you drenched.

 5. Allowing your doggie or kittie to lick  you on the face or hands. Do I really need to elaborate on this? God love em, they lick their own butts. When I see someone kissing Fido on his doggie lips, I just cringe. And if a cat bites you, you have to go on antibiotics. Why would you put your lips on that? Think, people!
6. Using your computer keyboard, like I am right now. Who washes that? Ick. Antibacterial wipe. Again, no dripping.
7. Escalator handrail: Germ city. Touch only if you have bad balance. Then go wash your hands, before buying a soft pretzel and eating it with your bare hands.
8. Pulling on gloves. Do you ever, ever wash your gloves? Yet, you touch everything with them, and then touch your own face and hands with them. Literally sickening.
9. Gas station fuel pump handles. How many people go to the bathroom first, and then fuel up, barehanded? And have you ever taken time to notice how many people don't bother to wash their hands after using the bathroom. I'm always surprised when I'm standing there, washing away, and some woman flies out of a stall and right on out of the restroom without a stop at the sink. It happens a LOT. Take time to check this out.

10. Door handles in and out of buildings and rooms in buildings are naturally covered with germs. I open them with my sleeve or a scarf if I'm wearing one. This may seem extreme, but I'm tired of getting colds!
11. Surfaces in your own home. All day, day after day, people in your home cough, sneeze, use the bathroom without always washing, pets walk on tables and counters, and in general germs build up. Clean surfaces such as doorknobs, toilet handles, faucets, etc. And don't forget your car door handles, steering wheel, etc.
So, the purpose of this isn't to make you paranoid of living in the world. You have to open doors, pump gas, handle money. But wash your hands often, and use antibacterial wipes to clean things you can't wash with soap and water. Be careful, be smart, and you won't be sick as often.

on wondering . . . what color is Jesus?

 Jesus is white. I know this from all the paintings I've seen of him, done by white painters, mostly from Europe in the last few hundred years. And I'm white, so I'm comfortable with Jesus being just like me. It makes me feel like maybe I could relate to him, or understand him somehow.

But wait: When I was in high school, I visited a school in downtown Dayton. It was an inner city school with a largely African American student body. In the art room, there was an amazing painting of Jesus, done by a student.

What caught my attention, and my imagination, was that in this painting, unlike any painting of Jesus I'd ever seen, Jesus was black.

That led me to consider the possibility that not everyone thought of God in the same way I did. Maybe to other people, it was just as obvious that Jesus was black, like themselves. 

The Bible tells us God created us in his own image. But I think this goes both ways. I think we've created God in our own image, too.

A few years ago I went on a class trip with St. Benedict School's eighth grade to Washington D.C. While there, we visited the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. I highly recommend that anyone planning a trip to Washington spend a couple of hours there, whether you're Catholic or not. The architecture is amazing, and the artwork superb.

Throughout the enormous church are little shrines for many world countries and cultures. Not every country is represented, but there are a whole lot of them. And in each one is a painting of the Blessed Mother and the Infant Jesus. What's unique is that they're done by artists who have visualized the Holy Family as the people of each country see them. In the Vietnamese shrine, Mary and Jesus are Vietnamese. In the shrine from one of the African countries, they are black. In the Irish shrine, red-headed. 

I loved it! Again, it made me ponder the physical appearance of Jesus.

Logically, I know he was from the Middle East, and Jewish. He was no blond haired, blue eyed baby, nor did he sport the red locks I've often seen him portrayed with.

He no doubt wasn't actually black or Asian, either. But since people have historically made quite free with his appearance, and since there are, as far as I know, no photos or portraits of Jesus in existence, I just feel like what does it matter?

People need to be able to relate to Jesus, and if it helps to picture him as we, ourselves, appear, I doubt he'll mind. I've always figured Jesus was a whole lot more understanding and tolerant than anybody else.

Remember how Jesus's followers were given the ability to be understood by people of all languages when they spoke? Maybe when we see Jesus, he'll appear to us all differently, too. Who knows?

In the book, “The Shack,” a powerful novel about dealing with loss, Jesus appears to the protagonist as a Middle Eastern man, while God appears as a large, black woman, and the Holy Spirit, a young Asian woman. This is an excellent book, by the way, and I recommend it, especially to anyone struggling with a personal loss. 

Jesus said something to the effect of, when you do unto others, you do unto me. So look around at all the faces you see. We're all pretty different. Yet we believe God made us all in his image.

What color is Jesus? 

What color do you want Him to be? I'm no theologian, but I'll bet He cares more that you want Him to be . . . period. Everything else is just window dressing.

on Centicidal Maniac Spiders

What are Centicidal Maniac Spiders, you ask? Specially bred wolf spiders that only eat centipedes.
We breed em, right in our basement.

Because in our basement is the nexus of the homicidal centipede species.

(Wolf spider with babies on board)

My 15-year-old son told me about it. And it explains a LOT -- like why there are so many centipedes and wolf spiders in our basement every year, spring through fall.
According to my son, many, many years ago, before Cambridge came to be, a young boy was bitten by what seemed to be a normal centipede on the land now occupied by our home. Think centipedes don't bite? Go away and don't bother me.
The centipede enjoyed the taste of human flesh so much that it taught all its young that human flesh is tasty.
This isn't the centipede from James and the Giant Peach, folks. I'm telling you. That one may have been big, but it was friendly. Small ones that can hide under your couch until they're ready to strike are much more scary.

So ever since then, the centipedes that live here, in this little piece of the world, have been man eaters. Well, they're small, so man-nibblers, I guess. It's still bad! Piranhas are small, too!
Years later, perhaps when a village stood on this site, someone realized what was breeding in the crevices of the ground. And they knew that to save mankind, a predator must be developed to deal with the freakish, blood-thirsty centipedes.
Research happened.
It was discovered that a certain variety of wolf spider did not fear the centipede. The spiders were carefully collected, bred, and developed to vanquish the awful centipede hoards.
As time passed and the area was developed, always, always, whoever lived here made sure there were some of these special wolf spiders -- the so-called Centicidal Wolf Spiders -- on this land.
And so it continues.

My older son tells me there are terrible centipedes in other parts of the world. Bigger ones. Harder to kill. For the house centipede we have here is fast, oh, yes! But it is soft and vulnerable.
But this is the one we fear.
I think there must be centipede/wolf spider battles in other parts of the world.
I have a vague memory -- one I've tried to quash -- of sleeping in a basement in Maryland about 20 years ago. I awoke in the middle of the night to see -- someTHING-- carrying away the body of a centipede. I think it was a Centicidal Wolf Spider -- or a centipede wolf.
So if you come to my house, and go into the basement, watch the floors. Hold your skirts up when you walk. And never, never kill a wolf spider. It could be the last thing you do.

on Real-life Romance Novels for Real People

I'm reading a hot, juicy romance novel by one of my all-time favorite authors, Nora Roberts. I simply love her for so many reasons. She routinely creates riveting plots; is a master at character development, building heroes and heroines you really give a darn about, and in fact wish you knew. And she writes hot sex scenes.
Yeah, she's a smut author, for readers 18 and over. But if you don't want to read that, skip those parts, and enjoy the superb story-telling for which she's justifiably famous.
My only complaint is that I'll never meet a gorgeous, 30-something hero who falls helplessly for me and takes me to Tuscany on board his private jet where he buys me a gorgeous, Italian shoes before we tour an ancient winery and toast our love under the Tuscan sun.
In fact, I'd settle for a decent-looking and mostly healthy 50-something who owns his own car and enjoys an occasional jaunt to Chicago or New York. Where he could buy me a knock-off purse from a squirrelly street vendor.
Maybe there should be romance novelists for people like me? So as not to give us unrealistic expectations of real life love.
A scene could go something like this:
The restaurant was dimly lit, which suited Renee as she sat across the table from Roy on their sixth date. Squinting across at him, she tried to determine what he'd spilled on his shirt earlier that day. Whatever it was, it was riding high on his beer belly; maybe grape juice, maybe jelly. She couldn't tell.
"What are you gonna have?" he grunted, his face buried in his own menu. "Anything you want, baby. You're worth it."
She sighed. Was this really the best she could do? 
"This is a spaghetti place. I'm thinking . . . spaghetti," she said. She studied him some more. He wasn't that bad. And she knew he meant well. He was a nice guy, if not too bright. He had a sweet face, and a nature to go with it. He was a bit overweight, but could still climb a couple hundred steps up into the nosebleed seats at a baseball game on a cool day without breaking a sweat.. 
And face it. She was 42 and divorced from a guy she'd thought was Mr. Oh, Yes!, who'd turned out to be Mr. Oh, NO!. If she wanted to pop out any babies before the clock wound down, this could be . . . it.
Roy lowered the menu and smiled at Renee. "Let's have the Disney Special, honey," he suggested, wagging his eyebrows up and down.
"The Disney Special?" Renee asked, almost afraid of the answer. 
"Yeah!" he grinned. "Two for one spaghetti, like in Lady and the Tramp! And we can go home and watch the movie when we're done. I'll even make popcorn." 
Reluctantly, she smiled. He really was very sweet.
"Sounds good," she said, putting her menu down and sipping her cheap Chianti. 
He reached across the table . . . and picked up his cell phone. 
"I'm just going to check the Indian's game," he said. 
She sighed, and thought about that internal clock.
Come to think of it, never mind. I'd rather read about some studly fellow I'll never meet. I guess everyone agrees, or Nora wouldn't sell so many books.
Let me know if you need a recommendation! I've read them all! About five times.

On why Christmas should be in February

It's the middle of January, and the winter doldrums are setting in. I have a plan to end those cold-weather blues forever! 

Now hear me out. From what I understand, nobody is quite sure when Jesus was born, though summer is the best bet from what I’ve heard. That would make sense, when you think about all those people travelling around to register for the census. Why do that in the winter, right? It would be cold, and those people all wore sandals all the time. Not exactly snow shoes, right?

So right now, we’ve got Christmas in December, probably to fit in with a pagan holiday the early church was attempting to use to help pagans convert less painfully to Christianity.

(I’m prepared to be theologically shot down on all this, believe me!) 

So moving Christmas wouldn’t be that big a deal, theologically, anyway, right? And I’m betting merchants will love the idea, too!

Here’s my argument for a February Christmas. Fall already rocks. You’ve just come off summer, and then skated through the fun of Halloween and the celebrations (in the U.S. and Canada, anyway) of Thanksgiving. We don’t really need another big holiday right on the heels of those two. Not to mention New Year’s Eve and Day, the biggest date night of the year followed by the biggest sales day for folks in the corned beef business of the year.

I propose that we stretch things out a bit. Share the holiday wealth, so to speak. We should move Christmas to February. I’m thinking mid-February, so as not to interfere with Groundhog Day. Yeah, Valentine’s Day and President’s Day will have to be moved, but that shouldn’t be a problem. We can stick President’s Day in June. Nothing big happens then. And Valentine’s Day can move to March or April, rotating around based on when Easter is each year. The pink hearts and Easter Eggs will look good together. 

This way, the stores won’t be flooded with Christmas decorations during the Halloween and Thanksgiving seasons. Instead, we can start looking at Christmas shortly after New Year’s Day. It’ll be great for merchants! Think how they’ll be able to extend their prime selling season. It’ll be October through February, rather than through December!

And it’ll help us all get through the long, northern winters. The way it is now, we seem to jump from summer to January, leaping from holiday to holiday in a festive frolic and then, suddenly, slamming up against the wall of winter with nothing to look forward to for months on end. Be honest . . . who among us gets a real valentine after the age of 25? (I don’t want to hear from you smug people who do. The question was rhetorical!)

If we move Christmas to mid-February, then when the lights come down and the carols stop playing, it will be nearly spring.
Anybody can make it a few weeks into March. That brutal January – March stretch is a killer.

And we can get the groundhog people on board by appointing their favorite, hibernating mammal Santa’s new helper. Yuletide Yertle, the Christmas Groundhog, who holds Santa’s bag when he’s going down the chimney! Think of the possibilities for Yuletide Yertle books, television specials, action figures and stuffed dolls. Why should reindeer get all the action? 

Finally, schools and parents will be on board with this plan, because it allows them to hold Santa over little kids’ heads from September until February, ensuring their good behavior in school and at home months longer each year!

Oh, yeah. This could work.

Let’s get our clergy working on this for us. I figure with enough enthusiasm we can have Christmas moved by next winter!