Are we having fun yet?

“Happiness is there for the taking–and making “ Oprah

When was the last time you did something just because it was fun?   I was out to dinner last weekend with my husband, long-term friends and a new couple (guests of our friends).  The female newcomer was also recently retired. She shared with us that she was giving  up bocce ball because she was too competitive. She couldn’t sleep worrying about matches. Her angst over games  had started interfering with her marriage. The bocce team she and her husband participated on won the city championship this year.  They brought home a gold medal to join a room of gold medals from previous years.  In other words,  bocce was a shared activity at which both she and her husband excelled but her competitive spirit had taken away the fun. Unable to harness her competitive ways, she chose to quit the sport.

Also, this week I  received an email from a disgruntled parent about my daughter’s coed soccer team. The parent didn’t feel our volunteer coach was providing adequate guidance and we weren’t winning enough games.  To be accurate, I don’t think the team has won any games.  I was astonished to receive this email because I feel fortunate to have a “volunteer” coach. The team can’t play without a regular coach and the rest of us are either too old, too unschooled at soccer, or too busy with work to volunteer. Independent of the notion of complaining about a volunteer when the rest of us hid in corners when asked to help out, co-ed soccer is to be played for “fun”.  Unlike club or school soccer, co-ed is intended to provide an opportunity for young men and women to interact on the field and learn to play nicely together.  My daughter has been attending practices regularly, even though she can’t play because of a major injury last spring.  She goes because she has fun.

Many years ago on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, my husband and I were driving from Disney Land to Sacramento for a traditional family celebration.  We had driven for four hours with two little kids in the backseat whining all the way and we hadn’t even inched half-way across Los Angeles because of the holiday traffic.  My husband, Pete, looked at me and said, “Are we having fun yet?” The answer was a clear, “No!” But we were certainly trying hard to get to “Yes!”

We all have the human capacity to pursue fun for the pure joy of emotional escape. We know the heady feeling of spontaneous laughter and the calming quiet of rest after an exhilarating day. But we seldom ask ourselves are we having fun?     We execute our careers successfully moving towards clear goals.  We strategize about which people to meet and  network with to get ahead.  We  watch and play games to win.  We make bucket lists of what we want to accomplish before we die.  We carefully plot out expensive trips to foriegn locales. But we infrequently say to each other let’s just be silly.  Let’s have fun.

My son, Scott, excels at having a good time.  This summer he entered a pinewood derby race at a local pub “just for fun”.  He brought home the small cardboard  box with a chunk of wood and four wheels the night before the race and transformed it into the “Weenie Wagon” with a few hours effort.

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Scott and the Weenie Wagon

My husband, Scott’s friends, and I all went downtown to see the big event.  When we got there, I learned I could buy a pre-made red car, “Robin Red” for $10.  Scott’s best friend from grade school, Daniel, piloted my vehicle.  Both cars won one heat and then we were up against each other.  The “Weenie Wagon” with it’s outrageous design beat out my more traditionally styled racer (no wonder it was so cheap). The Weenie Wagon went down to defeat in the next heat.  But spending a glorious night in Boise outside racing cars with young men was FUN!  Later, Scott won the award for most creative vehicle name and a $100 gift card much to our delight (Good Karma runs on the male side of our family).

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Robin Red goes against Weenie Wagon on a beautiful night in downtown Boise.

Also, this week I received a picture of Scott’s new hair do.  He moved from a man bun described in a blog this summer to a bird’s nest.  He texted that several freshman have opted for similar hair cuts.  You know the old saying “Birds of a feather flock together.”  When I opened the my son’s text it made me LOL.

In retirement, I am trying out new activities and undertaking lots of silly ventures.  I get asked a lot “Why are you doing THAT?”  My answer is, “For fun”.

I am finding out where my joy resides.  I am taking Robert Louis Stevenson’s advice and giving joy “a voice”. This week I might soak in the sun, smell the coffee, listen to the rain, read a good book, play with pets, visit friends or go to a movie. My one promise to myself is to have fun.

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Balloons rising over Boise at the Boise Balloon Festival. A great way to greet the day!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dead Ends

Recently, my sister encouraged me to start streaming a series on Acorn TV entitled “800 Words”. The star of the show, George Turner (played by Erik Turner) is a writer who turns out weekly columns of exactly 800 words. He originally lived in Sydney, Australia.  On a whim, George sells his house, buys a new home sight-unseen in Weld, New Zealand, and moves he and his two teenage children overseas. The rationale behind the move is that in a place he cherished as a child on family vacations maybe he and his children can find solace and eventually heal from the sudden accidental death of his wife.

The show is a human interest comedy so not surprisingly in the first episode his decision, which everyone including himself questions, is fraught with humorous accidental encounters, snarky real estate deals, natural disasters and extreme bullying of his teens  as they try to get acclimated to a new school.  George has unwittingly bought the wrong house in  need of massive repairs without the promised view. The rental car is destroyed by a random piece of art, resulting in a major community event.  George insults the entire village by writing about how Weld is a “dead end”.  George rescues himself only by attending a community gathering and stumbling through a message about his dead wife and how a dead end can serve as a new beginning.

The theme of dead ends providing new directions reminded me of a stickie note, I keep posted on my computer.  “The farthest road to take is the road back to yesterday.” Our antecedents no matter how accomplished, guilt riddenaumatic and/or regretful are behind us never to be recovered.

In this week’s Bible Study, the irretrievably of the past reached out from the Old Testament story of Sodom and Gomorrah.  Lot’s wife is ordered not to look back at Sodom as she and Lot escape destruction.  Yet even with a stern warning from God, she can’t comply. Because of her backward glance, Lot’s wife is turned to stone, symbolic retribution, a rock stuck in the proverbial “hard place” unable to choose the future. Part of the human condition  is to cling to traditional patterns and past habits.

Rationally, we know we can’t recreate or return to “Happy Days.” But emotionally, moving forward when faced with life’s challenges may be the hardest calling each of us faces.  Alcoholics are asked to give up drinking and this may mean giving up friends and changing life patterns, such as transitioning from socializing in bars to extreme sports and regular meetings.Women in violent relationships may need to flee their homes in the dark of night with their children and nothing else to a shelter and uncertain future hoping to find safety.  Refugees cram into small boats sailing to  unknown places that promise a better future. The boat may capsize. Too many foreigners may have come before.  The welcoming vision may transform into  a nightmare of fences with barb wire surrounding camps.  Life’s journey is thwart with the possibility of dead ends and the siren call to return to what one knows, no matter how intolerable.

Human progress can be traced to those who are able to see what appears to be a dead end as a culdesac, a bend in the road, an opportunity to move in new untried directions.The miracle of human creativity is our ability to seek new directions when all seems hopeless. We have created a term for this ability, “resiliency”, the ability to overcome adversity and move on. We do not have to remain rooted in one place  emotionally like a stone or spin wildly out of control as if we were clinging to a rubber raft launched on white water without any  oars or life jacket. We can make choices even bad ones and recover. We can’t go back but we can stride forward in an uncertain world with a hopeful heart.

Rollin’ in the Last, Lazy, Hazy Days of Summer!

Rollout those lazy, crazy days of summer…You’ll wish that summers could always be here (Nat King Cole, 1963)

2016 was my first summer of retirement.  What a glorious time, I have had! Pete and I opened summer with a grand circle tour of the Wyoming and Colorado Rocky Mountains.

Driving from Boise to Jackson Hole, the  Teton’s highlight was biking at twilight along the Snake River. Then on to Buffalo, Wyoming to visit family and enjoy Wyoming’s wonderful summer weather where cool breezes keep the air moving and the need for air conditioning down.  In Cheyenne, Wyoming where I grew up, I am still blessed with many long-term friendships.  These friendships have remained strong  over 20 years of living in different cities with annual visits home.   All but one friend  and my husband beat me to retirement. Some of my friends have had health struggles.  One friend is recovering from a stroke, another a heart condition, another just getting over a knee replacement surgery.  All have new grand children to report on. When I sit down with my Wyoming friends, it feels like yesterday when we left.  Over the years and across the miles, our shared adventures and linking life lines have kept us together.

We finished our roadtrip with our annual visit to a Colorado Rockies game, a must for us and plans to meet Wyoming friends in Arizona next year to watch spring baseball.  Our final stop before heading home was Golden, Colorado where Pete has family and the hops from Coors Brewery fills the air.  Clear Creek runs through town, like the Boise River but much smaller.  These rivers provide the focal point for both communities though their original historical roots are quite different. Golden was a mining town and Boise was the  Lewis and Clark route, the Oregon Trail and home to Fort Boise. Our drive home took us across Utah,  setting of glorious rock formations.  Traveling in Utah always leaves me thinking about Mormon families pushing their hand carts across the vast landscape, a hardy group for sure.

The  friendship/family tour was our only trip this summer.  Boise (consistently ranked as one of the top outdoor cities) is a fabulous place to spend the summer and we also own a cabin in McCall, Idaho welcoming us over the long holidays including Memorial Day, the Fourth of July,  a late July family vacation and most recently Labor Day.  Labor Day trills  the siren call of summer’s end.  The air is starting to turn and Boise hosts the fabulous Boise Balloon Festival.

 Our cabin in McCall is tiny (about 1200 square feet) but it has big arms, welcoming 5 co-ed college students (guests of my son) and Pete and I two weeks ago. Labor Day we hosted Kayla’s 17th birthday extravaganza with  4 of her friends. Kayla’s birthday is September 6th. We celebrate her birthday every Labor Day in McCall. In recent years,  neighbors from Boise have bought a place too. We share or more accurately mooch  dinners and boat rides from them.  Our kids are together in college and they have a daughter from China who is a freshman in high school. The weather never cooperates with our beach and water plans. But somehow we manage to get out on the water. One Labor Day, we were wrapped in blankets on a boat. This year I actually got a brain freeze as I shot across Payette Lake on a jet ski.

So what I have I learned from my first summer of retirement?

  • Family and friends matter  more as one ages, make the time to cultivate and grow existing relationships.
  • Good health is a blessing and shouldn’t be taken for granted.  Exercise regularly, eat right and make time for preventive health visits.
  • Be thankful for every day God  has given me.  Jump out bed and enjoy the day!

Mustang Girls

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My sister, Jane, at her 50th high school reunion in Cheyenne, Wyoming with our 1965 Ford Mustang.

I grew up in Wyoming, the cowboy state. Wyoming has a population of about half a million; spread over approximately 100,000 square miles (about 6 people per square mile). Winters are long and cold. The wind blows most of the year, great in the summer for blowing away mosquitoes.  Wyoming cowboys and girls (the few there are) are a hardy, independent, eccentric group.

I was reminded of how quirky Wyomingites are with a story my sister shared from her fiftieth high school reunion last week in Cheyenne.

First, she sent me a picture of a 1965 yellow  Ford  Mustang with a black faux leather roof. Her note said, “This is our car.”  The picture did look amazingly like the car Jane and I drove in high school and college.  I texted her, “Does look just like our car.”  She texted back, “It is our car.” A guy at her reunion had bought the car from our dad for $600 in about 1977, refurbished it and kept it in pristine condition all these years.  Only in Wyoming with such a tiny population would you run into someone who knew you and owned your car for almost 40 years.

I remember the day in 1965 when, Dad brought the mustang home. He drove up in front of our house in Cheyenne.  I looked out the picture window and was thrilled.  The car was only a year old, very few miles,  yellow with a hard top, automatic gear shift in the center console,  creamy leather interior smoothed like butter over bucket seats.  Quite a “ride” for two girls from Wyoming!  The mustang went back and forth to high school though we lived about four blocks away from school.  Then it traveled to college when my sister needed a car her senior year for student teaching.  I was a freshman at the same school so I was one of the few freshmen on campus with access to “wheels”–a literal joy ride!

The Mustang stayed with me all through college after Jane, graduated. The car had two busy summers while I was in college. During that period, I was Lady-in-Waiting (1971) and then Miss Frontier (1972) for Cheyenne Frontier Days, the world’s largest out-door rodeo.  I spent those summers traveling with a Native American Dance troupe, attending civic functions around Wyoming, Nebraska and Colorado, and riding my quarter horse, Debbie.  The car took me everywhere “pony  style”, the nickname for the Mustang’s compact design . Because the “Frontier Days Royalty” had all kinds of outfits for the rodeo, the tiny trunk was frequently filled to the gills with a variety of colored boots and hat boxes filled with expensive felt cowgirl hats.  The back seat carried white silk blouses and buck skins (the official outfit), along with several hand-tailored western suits for night shows and rain gear.

The Mustang and I travelled down to Arizona when I attended graduate school at Arizona State University in Tempe, Arizona. The problem with the Mustang in Arizona was it didn’t have air conditioning.   I only went to graduate school during the school year so the heat problem was limited to late August and early June.  But driving back to Wyoming was a bear.  My sister flew down to drive with me the spring I graduated (1975).  The car broke down in transit back to Wyoming.  Now ten years  old, Dad got me a  brand-new Mercury Bobcat to go to Washington State University in Pullman where I worked on my doctorate.

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 Bobcat and I in Pullman, Washington

 

After the Mustang retired from driving girls, the car was parked behind our house in Cheyenne, out in the open.  Dad used it as his golfing car, carrying his golf clubs out to the Country Club every day in summer.  A young man at the time cruising the alley spotted the car and stopped to inquire if Dad wanted to sell it.  And so a good long-term family friend went to another apparently forever home.

If the Mustang could talk, it would have many tales to tell. Jane and I would drive  from Cheyenne to Hastings, Nebraska for  college and back  on I-80.  We were almost always speeding. The speed limit at that time was 75.  One time, when we were going almost a 100 miles an hour, I could feel us barreling off the road.  I remember shouting at Jane as we were heading off, “Slow down!”  She calmly replied, “Too late now!”  as we swerved into the high grasses.  Fortunately for us, much of the road between Wyoming and Nebraska is flat plains.  We just rolled to a stop, backed up and were off down the road again.  Thinking of our escapades now gives me shivers.  But in the late sixties we would drive like the wind, with reckless abandon, racing everywhere to the next big adventure.  After all we were Mustang girls, who grew up on the wild, windy, Wyoming plains.

Ride around girls,

Ride around girls,

Don’t you ever slow that Mustang down!

 

Trumpster perfect for the Dumpster!

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Trumpster paperweight, made in America, is a true collectible for your political friends.

 

Right before my son, Scott, left for college he came up with idea that I should create a paper mache Trump figure.  Wacky Trumpster featured in this blog would make a great gift  for politicos from either major party.  Trumpster is a convenient paperweight to keep track of all those nasty receipts you need at your finger tips when you are audited by the IRS. If Trump had a Trumpster, we may have seen his tax returns by now. Remember Trumpster comes with real hair which you can wash and comb. If you are loosing your hair, here is your opportunity to style someone else’s hair to your heart’s content. Trumpster is made entirely of recyclable products when you grow tired of him just toss him in the Dumpster. Each Trumpser is unique and lovingly made with only the finest old, used products. Don’t wait to order yours!

More reasons that Trumpster is this Election’s trendiest gift.

Trump Supporters: Give them a Trumpster along with a carton of legos.  Trumpster is entirely made in American by a 6th generation American (me).  The legos are so your Right Wing friend and Trumpster can build walls to their hearts’ content at no cost to tax payers.

Trump Detractors.  Give them a Trumpster to help them work off anger and frustration with the current Congress:

  1. Made of paper, Trumpster  can serve as a bulletin board to remind you of key dates. For example, the Presidential election is Tuesday, November 8, 2016.    If Trump looses, political commentary won’t be near as much fun.
  2. If you have a ghoulish side you could just push pins in Trumpster any time you are upset. I don’t think Trumpster contains any voodoo magic but punching holes in a wind bag is bound to make your day better.

To Order your own Trumpster or Trumpster for your friends and loved ones message me on Facebook  or WordPress or go to:

https://www.etsy.com/shop/myprivateidahopm?ref=hdr_shop_menu

Background on Trumpster’s Build

I started working in paper mache this summer to create sellable items for a Christmas Bazaar where the funds go to charity. So far I have created assorted cats and woodland angels. These items have not proven very popular on Etsy or Facebook. I am beginning to have a craft room full of colorful  cats and flying nymphs made of paper, paint and paste.

My college son, Scott, is of the opinion that anything “Trump” no matter how bizarre will sell. Scott may have a point. Trump seems to hold a weird fascination even for his detractors. All across America we wait with baited breath to hear the next outrageous Twitter or giggle at Trump’s explanation of how Obama created ISIS only to learn that these wild statements are a new form of “sarcasm”.

I took Scott up on his challenge and created “Trumpster”. Paper mache Trump is functional which is more than can be said for his real-life counterpart. He is a paper weight. Mr. Trump sits on a replica of Trump tower, a raspberry box filled with rocks(I liked both the  symbolism of Trump perched on raspberries and his tower covered with a gold facade but really holding nothing but rocks like many of his failed real estate deals). Trump’s body is made from a recycled brew cup. We have lots of these from coffee every morning, might as well put them to good use.

As Scott noted, the only  things you need to denote Trump are big hair, pointing fingers and orange skin. The reality bar is quite low because Trump has made himself into his own reality TV character. The hardest part of the project was the hair. I finally  clipped hair off my Sheltie, Shani, and glued it on  a wig form. When I told Scott this, he worried that I had given Shani bare spots. Do not be alarmed, Shani has more hair at any one time than most dogs grow in a life-time. As you can see by the picture, Shani looks no different after providing Trump with his gilded hair than she did before my gentle clipping. Once the hair  was glued in place, the wig fell off the model into a cup of water. Not to worry, made from real hair, the wig dried out and remains perfectly groomed unaffected by this potential castrophy.

 

 

Redneck Lives Matter

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Playing on Payette Lake provides a metaphor for life

I have lived in Idaho almost 22 years, a third of my life. Idaho is the most Republican state in the nation.The state where a perfectly normal question is “Have you heard of the group Black lives Matter? Well, in Idaho Redneck Lives Matter.”  In rural Idaho, PETA stands for “People eating tasty animals.” (Probably shot with a concealed weapon, all perfectly legal.)

In this staunchly  Red environment,  I have transformed into a strong Democrat. I drive a blue car with a novelty license plate that says BLUEGRL. I am proud to be a Blue girl (Democrat)in a Red State.  I sometimes worry about the car getting keyed for advertising my political opinions.

I have a Republican friend who says Idaho Democrats could hold the state convention in a phone booth if we could find a phone booth anymore. Idaho Democrats running for statewide office get consistently  about 30% of the vote if the individual candidate runs a good campaign.   We haven’t had a Democrat elected statewide since our Democratic Superintendent of Public Instruction, Marilyn Howard, retired in 2006. No other position has  even been competitive in the 20 years I’ve lived here

The miracle of Bernie Sanders in Idaho is that thousands of people showed up for Democratic caucuses all over the state. In Boise, there are still Bernie yard signs up. Before the Democratic National Convention several hundred people marched in Boise in support of Bernie.While I still see Bernie stickers on cars and yards signs, I haven’t seen any Hilary stickers. I got an email  last week that Hilary had hired an Idaho  field organizer, a young woman, recent  graduate of  the University of Idaho.  The email said Hillary could use some help in Idaho. NO KIDDING! Hillary and  Idaho? Talk about an oxymoron! The fact Hillary has paid staff in Idaho shows the fundraising process of the Democratic Presidential campaign.  Maybe Hillary has a field organization in Idaho to recruit Bernie fans. But the few I know wouldn’t vote for Trump. They may choose to not vote and thus the need for Hillary to have a grassroots  organization.Paying to organize Idaho Democrats for a national election is like seeing how many people you can get in a Volkswagen. You can run around a lot, create frenetic energy, spend a great deal of time but in the end the number will be quite small.

In this environment,  where there are no decent Democrats running for national office why do I remain a Democrat? Afterall, I will be voting for Republican Congressman Mike Simpson in my Congressional District. Congressman Simpson is a retired dentist who supported expansion of the Children’s Health Insurance Program. He recently got Congress to  pass the White Cloud Wilderness Bill, designating three areas in the Owyhee Mountains  as wilderness. This legislation took years of  work. In other words, Simpson is a good guy.  Why bother with  the Democratic label at all when I am clearly the minority?

I have wrestled with my Democratic values for some time. I am forced to when I am consistently in  the minority. Saying my political alliegence aloud can lead to crazy arguments and loss of friendships.

I grew up a Republican in Wyoming. I can remember standing on the tamarack at the Cheyenne airport. My sister was dressed in white holding glittery  gold poms poms along with other teenage girls. I tasted  the bitter bile of jealousy as the wickedly cold wind made my eyes leak because I wasn’t old enough to be a Goldwater Girl and stand with the cheering girls. Goldwater went on to win only  six states,  Arizona (his home state) and five southern states.  He even lost Wyoming and Idaho.

Early in my early professional career I worked for both Democratic and Republican Governors. I considered myself an independent, supporting the individual rather than the party.

I capitulated to dyed-in-the-wool, bright Blue Democrat as I saw the Idaho legislature become progressively conservative giving tax breaks to business, failing to appropriately fund our public schools, repeatedly defeating Medicaid Expansion. Last year in the legislature an emergency room physician testified that at least a 1000 low-income Idahoans  die a year because of lack of health care. Our Republican  Governor Butch  Otter’s response was, ” Lots of people die every year.”

My husband  and I give monthly to Idaho Democrats.   I am volunteering to stuff envelopes for state legislative races. All of this money and energy with no expectation of it making a difference. The question is why bother?

I got the answer on Saturday at Payette Lake in McCall.  I was sitting on the dock at Ponderosa State Park watching my daughter and her friend  jet skiing across the lake. A woman with head covered, black leggings and a beautiful white lace top got on the back of a new jet ski behind her husband. I presume she was Muslim and the man was her husband. After bouncing across the water at full tilt, she came back to the dock sporting a huge smile. At that moment it became crystal clear to me why I am a Democrat. Jet skiing provided  a great metaphor for living in our complex world. My Chinese daughter was out on the same water with the Muslin couple and behind me some black families who were speaking a language other than  English, also in full dress,  probably refugees, were playing on the beach and wading in the shallow water, laughing and splashing. All of us from very different backgrounds were sharing  the lake  linked by our human capacity for laughter and joy.

I am a Democrat because I believe all lives matter. Hurrah for Rednecks, Blacks, Latinos, Asians, Muslims, Jews, Gays and everyone else! You all matter and American should be a big enough place that we can embrace and live with our differences.

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Everyone at the lake had a moment of shared joy across cultural boundaries.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Man Bun vs. Mom Bun

 

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Our competing Muns at the breakfast bar

My son Scott headed out for his last fall at the University of Idaho this week. He is President of his fraternity, Phi Kappa Tau and had to be at U of I early to get the fraternity  house ready for Rush.  Before he left he took time for our Man Bun versus Mom Bun (MUNs) head shots.

The family teased him all summer for his long hair on top, cropped short on sides.

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Scott’s hair , looking great!

His hair looks great for work but for lacrosse or workouts flops down his face in a long veil unless it is held back by a bun and sometimes bun and headband. When he has his hair up, he is part of the man bun crowd started a few years back by hipsters in New York, moving to San Francisco and becoming popularized by  celebrities Jaquin Phoenix, Jared Leta, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik. (both of One Direction, boy band fame).

MUNs are popular enough now that you can purchase one on Amazon.com if you don’t have enough hair.  Nick Cannon has been wearing  a  MUN the last few weeks on America’s Got Talent.  Mr. Cannon told folks on Good Morning America that it takes a couple of hours to get his corn rows and man bun in place.  Man buns aren’t for everyone. Since many men have a hereditary tendancy to loose their hair as they age, there have been recent cautions that wearing a too-tight man bun can pull out your hair permanently, prematurely.  Scott doesn’t have to worry about that. The hair loss gene comes from the mother’s side of the family.  My dad had fabulous wavy hair until he died.  The popularity of the man bun has moved it into the realm of humor.  If you want to see  politicians with man buns including Donald Trump check out this link: http://twistedsifter.com/2015/11/if-politicians-had-man-buns/

My hair is a different story.  By the time I hit thirty, I was in professional jobs and kept my hair short to ensure  I had some semblance of a coiffeur at work.  Before short hair, I had extremely thick, long, and amazingly unruly hair.  In my late twenties when I had long hair and  was at a meeting of all men, I turned my head and a rocket shot across the room.  Everyone in the room asked what it was.  When we finally rescued the flying object from under a table across the way from me, it turned out to be an electric roller caught under my very thick mane, left in-place unnoticed as I hurried out the door to work.  Turning my head displaced it and propelled it across the board room.  Since the late seventies were a time when women were just clawing their way into management positions, it was essential that I look as prim and polished as possible.  I challenge you to  remain dignified when claiming a sailing roller from your supervisor at a major meeting.  The roller incident was the beginning of my many efforts to tame my wild mane by keeping it short.

By my early thirties, I was starting to get premature white hair.  Both my mother and grandfather had gorgeous white hair by 35 but  I chose to color my hair to be in step with the times.  I have now been coloring my hair for almost 35 years.  I actually have no idea what color my hair is now.  I thought about letting it grow gray when I retired but decided to wait to see my true color until my daughter Kayla is out of high school.

I started growing my hair the day I retired.  My hair is now down to my shoulders but hard to pull up into a bun.  It takes two small buns to make one.  My hair is long enough to whip around in the Wyoming wind on vacation.  I love the freedom of feeling my hair blow when we are out on our bikes or on a boat.  I have also gotten my hair long enough that my daughter can braid it though it ends up with a little tiny pig tail rather than an long beautiful streamer.  I plan on growing my hair to about the length of Meryl’s Streep’s hair at the Democratic convention, slightly below my shoulders.   The ability to grow my hair and let it do as it pleases in retirement has been a great joy.

I miss my son already though he has only been gone a couple of days.  I have no competition now in the MUN contest.  When he is around the house, there are moments every day of great laughter about silly things.  University of Idaho you are lucky to have him this fall and I was fortunate indeed to spend the summer growing my hair along with him.

 

 

Zip lining at Tamarack: A Bucket List Experience

 

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Tamarack zip line

Zipping from tree top to tree top, I felt like an eagle soaring high but going so fast I would never be able to spot prey.  While in my fantasy I was an agile winged bird of prey, in reality I looked like a rotating chicken on a spit because I never could keep the line straight as directed and found myself twisting around.  I could only take in the splendor of Cascade Lake and the mountains when standing on the wooden perches waiting my turn.  There were  9 in our group but the tour can accommodate up to 10. The first zip, the tour guide, had to pry off my hands from what he described as the “clutch of death”.

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My helmet is askew from spinning
For safety purposes, everyone is tethered onto the tree platforms in-between zips. The highest perch was 125 feet. The platforms are  sky-high tree houses about 12 feet square with a tree rising through  middle of the platform and serving as the structure.  The tree is partially covered with padding to avoid out of control humanoids slamming into bark and surrounded by tethers to keep the tour group from accidently pitching over the side and becoming a causality of the exercise.

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Tree top platform for taking off.
The correct position is a tucked canon ball with one hand on the zip tether for guidance and the other free floating for an airbrake if necessary.  An air brake means you stick you your hand out and madly grab for air to slow yourself down in an awkward flapping maneuver. The demonstration of this  technique looks like  sky diving without a parachute.  Fortunately, I was never going fast enough to try to stop myself.  On the other hand, if you aren’t going fast enough to reach the landing you are to grab the safety cord so the tour guide can pull you in.  The second zip,   zipping in my own little zone, I didn’t hear the guide shouting at me to grab the safety line.  I came to my senses just in time to avoid an incident of hanging out in the middle of line needing to be fetched in by guides.  When this happens, you are called “fish on a line”.  That gives you some idea of how ungainly a non-moving zipper can become, hanging in mid-air waiting to be rescued. My daughter was on a different trip where a younger member (not enough weight, certainly not my problem) had this happen.  Apparently, it took considerable time to fetch the kid from mid rope back up to the platform.

Trying zip lining was on my bucket list partially because my balance problems have eliminated so many of my challenges I easily accomplished when I was younger. Since one is held up when zipping, I thought I could accomplish this adrenal pump even with my limitations.  I did drag my husband, Pete, along.  At first, he said he would take me to the site and drop me off to do it by myself.  But after shrieking at him that this wouldn’t help me at all, he came along reluctantly. In a bind, I can count on him to hold my hand  and pull me up or down areas I can’t accommodate on my own.  It turned out there was another gracious guy on the trip who kept stopping to help me.  His wife had stayed at home and the guides were top notch and helped everyone.

I would like to report that the next day given my excellent condition I jumped out of bed not feeling anything.  Unfortunately, I am 65.  The next day my body felt like I’d been flung around in a dryer.  I had bruises on my thighs from the equipment and a cut on my leg from the suspension bridge.  One cannot be an adventurer without being willing to take the pain with the adrenal pump.  Would I do it again?  Oh yes.  My bucket list also includes  is sailing over the rain forest in Costa Rico.

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My husband, Peter and I, after our zip line experience with a gorgeous view of Cascade Lake in the background.

Why the Republic Convention reminded me of the Hunger Games

The-Hunger-GamesThe Republican primary season wrapped up last week with Donald Trump crowned the Republican nominee  for President in Cleveland.  Over the course of the last year, the American public has watched the 16  Republican presidential candidates drop to 1. After listening to a week of gloom and doom about the state of America presented by speakers at the Republican convention, I am reminded of the authoritarian spectacle presented in the first Hunger Games movie.

Donald Trump Acceptance speach
Trump accepting Republican nomination.
For those of you who haven’t seen the first Hunger Games (2012).  The movie is set in a futurist society, the  Capital of Panem. The leadership keeps the peace by annually hosting the Hunger Games.  Participants in the games, called Tributes, are a randomly selected  boy and girl from each of 12 districts.  The Tributes fight to the death until only one remains in a nationally televised event called the Hunger Games.  The Games are kicked off with much fanfare, drawing the viewer in by being both terrifying  and fascinating in the leadership’s total lack of humanity.  The battle to the last person standing takes place within a televised  bubble in which new barriers for contestants emerge on a regular basis, reports of the progress and trials of the teens is routinely  broadcast throughout the nation.  A solitary cannon boom notifies the nation as each child is killed by another.

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President Snow, presides over the Panem and the Hunger Games with an iron fist.
This event is presided over by President Coriolanus Snow, the ruthless, tyrannical and primary antagonist. He is a cruel and manipulative dictator who has no qualms about using force to maintain discipline.   The Games are intended to give citizens a little bit of hope by allowing the victor to live but not so much hope that citizens revolt.

You may ask what is the similarly between this dark movie franchise and the Republican primary season?  The Republican primaries proved to be a hard test not only for the candidates but for the Republican Party. The divisions created during the primaries have recently been discounted by National Republican  Party Chairman Reince Priebus . But the fracture lines are still there.  Many prominent Republican chose to stay away from the convention. Senator Cruz’s caution to the convention goers of “vote your conscience” resulted in boos, personal rejection by  mega-funders and media assessment of the fall-out of Cruz’s speech possibly  ruining his political career.

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Senator Cruz is booed for telling Republicans to “vote their conscience”.
In between the opening of the convention and the Cruz political theater, Melania Trump became involved in a plagiarism controversy.  Her eloquent speech lauded for it’s sincerity upon close review was remarkably similar to Michelle Obama’s speech in 2008.  While imitation is the greatest form of flattery, I am sure the attendees at the convention would not have liked to have Michelle Obama be their  guiding light. Mrs.Trump’s speech became the major media story for at least 24 hours. Finally, the story was put to rest when a loyal Trump employee, Meredith McIver, was offered up as the responsible person for the mistake. This tempest in a tea pot is still not over.  A major Democratic super pack, the Democratic Coalition against Trump has filed a complaint with the Federal Election Commission charging Trump broke the law by using his personal corporation to help with the campaign.

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The best parts of Mrs. Trump’s speech were from Mrs. Obama 2008.
On the final night of the convention, Ivanka Trump presented a winning view of her father.

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Ivanka Trump presenting a positive image of her father at the convention.

She described Trump as a family man committed to gender equally; evaluating workers results rather than positions, degrees, gender, ethnicity or color;  understanding the need to make child care affordable and accessible for working women (a position ardently opposed by Idaho Republicans  and probably nationally) and committed to making America great again by focusing on results and talent rather than degrees and bureaucracy.  Though I strongly disagree with her dad on many of his political positions, I found Ivanka’s  portrait of her father quite compelling.  To put my faith in Ivanka’s  Trump, I have to forget that this is the man who described women during his highly publicized career as fat, pigs, dogs, slobs, disgusting and when asked about these characterizations by Fox News Megyn Kelly described her as “a bimbo”.  Angry about Kelly’s tough questions during the debate, Trump took to twitter saying, “You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes. Blood coming out of her wherever. ” (August 7, 2015).  These are not comments of a man who understands and respects professional women.

Like the Hunger Games, the entire Republican primary season has been hosted under the magnifying lens created by  the intense and constant attention of national media.  There is no escape either for the willing participants (the candidates) or Americans.  Every sound bite, twitter, picture, comment is captured and reflected out to the world to see.  We know who was fired and why, who said what and when. Similar to the Hunger Games, the media keeps score of each day. During the convention, the Washington Post ran a daily analysis of the winners and losers.  This constant attention to ever minor and major detail has moved campaigns from a civil discussion of legitimate policy differences to the rancor  of realty TV where every day people shout that the opposition should be shot or sent to jail.  Conveners at the Republican convention ganged up on each other  and on those of us with different beliefs outside the convention as if having a difference of an opinion makes one an enemy rather than an neighbor who pays the same taxes, sends their children to the same schools, drives on the same highways  or sits in the same pew  at church.

After listening to the Republican presentations at their  convention, one would think that Hilary Clinton is President Snow come to life on American soil.  In this fiction, Mrs. Clinton is single-handily responsible for every ill in this country rather than one of the most respected women in the world.  Scapegoating, laying the blame for societal ills on one person, is much easier than developing cohesive national policy.  At the Republican convention, we heard many platitudes about “Making America Great!” and very few specifics about how we would achieve a new unified vision of the future.  I wanted to hear specific proposals on how to bring  our nation with admittedly many challenges together so we can build on the multitude of strengths we share.

This election is not a reality TV show, it is not a game with winners and losers, it is not a movie with three sequels, it is about what we as Americans want for our future.  I, for one, am not yet ready to give up on civil discourse and the ability to look for concrete solutions to the many pressing problems facing us.  Like Katniss Everdeen at the end of the Hunger Games, I refuse to follow the rules presented at the Republican Convention.  I will not demonize the opposition.  I am anxious to hear real solutions to real problems.

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Katniss Everdeen, heroine of the Hunger Games, leading the effort at reform by refusing to follow the rules of the Game.

Malleable Barbie Adapts to the Times

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1959 Barbie.  An icon for 57 years of America’s focus on women’s breasts and looks, over achievements

First introduced in 1959, over the past 57 years, Mattel has tried to update Barbie to adjust to the times. To that end, the company introduced last week, Barbie for President with a female running mate. This combination is intended to be an inspiration for young girls. “By introducing the new President and Vice President Barbie dolls, the first all-female ticket, we hope to inspire girls to imagine themselves as leaders,” Erin Loos Cutraro, co-founder and CEO of She Should Run, tells Babble.

Throughout her life-span, Barbie has become ethnically diverse, moved from a beauty queen  and model to a professional.  Her hair originally a classic long pony tail which couldn’t be combed has transformed to long, short, curly, black, red, blonde, silky and brushable to totally changeable. Barbie’s  originally stiff body is now flexible.

But one thing that has not changed is her shape.  Research suggests that a real woman with Barbie’s figure would be 5’9″,  host  a 39 inch bust, 17 inch waist and wear a size 3 shoe. Given the wildly disproportionate trunk to base,  a real woman with this shape couldn’t walk, would have extremely frail bones, half a liver and probably be anorexic. Mattel is currently working on changing Barbie again by incorporating more diverse body types, though the exact nature of these changes has yet to be specified.

Rather than  launching a new wave of socially engaged little girls, Presidential Barbie seems antiquated.  This is particularly true when viewed in combination with Jennifer Aniston’s For The Record in the Huffington Post (7/12/2016 ).  Aniston writes about unwanted speculation from the media and complains about the objectification of her body in particular and women’s bodies in general.  Given these two pieces of evidence,  it appears  Americans have not progressed very far in their expectations of what an attractive young woman should look like.

I am left in a quandary about what American cultural expectations do to little girls self image.  We are pushing young girls in to pursue STEM programs (we want girls to go into math, science and engineering).  Women’s sports are on the rise with girls participating in every imaginable activity.  Cheerleading is still around but not the sole way for a teenage girl to be involved in a sporting event.  Yet with all these changes, Aniston writes just this week  The objectification and scrutiny we put women through is absurd and disturbing. The way I am portrayed by the media is simply a reflection of how we see and portray women in general, measured against some warped standard of beauty”. 

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President Barbie and her female running mate continue the oddly proportioned Barbie shape.

I would argue the newly released presidential Barbie doesn’t encourage young women to be whoever they want but rather reinforces strongly held  cultural beliefs that attractive women sport large breasts, narrow waists and are stilted rather than engaged in life.  These icons of American woman have fabulous hair styles and always dress correctly.

The Republican and Democratic conventions are rolling into our media space the next two weeks.  Speaking only last night, we learned within minutes of  Melania Trump’s presentation that she wore an off-the-rack white Roksanda dress costing between $1500 and $2000. The dress was described as “perfect for the White House.”  I am willing to bet we  will read about Tiffany and  Ivanka Trumps’outfits as well i.e. who designed it, cost and whether the dress looked appropriate for the setting.  All three women are drop-dead gorgeous so I can’t image any tacky comments about hair or appearance.  I doubt we will read anything about Marco Rubio’s, Newt Gingrich’s or Donald Trump’s suits (what they cost and what fabric they were made of, how did the tie go, did they get wrinkled or hang perfectly on TV).

While snide comments are frequently made about Donald Trump’s hair, these remarks don’t seem to have any traction. In comparison, an article about Hilary Clinton wearing an Armani suit went viral.  Mr. Trump’s suits routinely cost at least $7,000 but this does not seem to be of interest to the American public.  Sara Palin had a budget of $150,000 to purchase clothing for her Vice Presidential run.  Demonstrating that focusing on the importance of women’s appearance  rather than just judging individuals based on competence is not limited to party but rather to gender.

Michelle Obama has made being a Presidential wife or candidate accessible for the everyday woman by wearing clothes from Target along with custom designs from high end designers.   A gorgeous woman and outstanding representative of America women,  Mrs. Obama has also received considerable criticism from the right for “being angry” and  emphasizing “being black”. Passionate women when they speak are frequently seen as “angry” rather than committed.  One can hardly blame Mrs. Obama for sharing her black experience with all of us when so many of us seem to have such limited understanding of diversity. Brown versus the Board of Education, the landmark decision requiring integration of American schools  was decided by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1954, five years before Barbie was launched.

More than fifty years later, Americans  are still struggling with their vision of women and race. Feminism was largely a white movement  and only recently recognized that American women as a group are quite diverse, representing many cultures and colors and have immensely dissimilar experiences.  American women’s commonality is their struggle to be seen as unique individuals with vastly under-recognized and under-utilized potential, capable of crafting a great American future.  It’s seems time to ditch the long-standing, stultifying stereotypes adopted into our culture many years ago.  Maybe instead of saying “Hello”  to Presidential Barbie and her look-alike running mate,  we all should  say”Goodbye” to Barbie and what she represents.