Of Hard Hats, Habitat for Humanity, and Border Patrol

One of the reasons I've stopped volunteering at Habitat for Humanity work sites, other than the fact I don't look good in a hard hat, is that in those times I did volunteer and show up at the site, there were so many other volunteers (more often than not youth groups) that I found myself looking around for things to do.  I hate standing around waiting for someone to make up something for me to do.  Now, if I volunteer at all, it is at one of the stores.  There is still almost nothing to do, but at least I don't have to wear a hard hat.

Which brings me to my current concern.  I'm thrilled about the immigration bill's success in the Senate, even though I can't see it ever getting through the House, but I wonder about the promised surge in border patrol.  20,000 more agents!  A longer fence!  How much will this cost?  I thought we were trying to be austere.  When we cut even more money from the federal budget, will these 20,000 additional agents get furloughed?  Imagine the mob scene frantically crossing the Rio Grande during federal furlough days.

I'm afraid, just like my experience at Habitat, all these extra agents will have nothing to do.  In this month's ATLANTIC you will find a nifty little chart entitled "America's Emigration Problem."  This chart goes on to explain that border crossings from Mexico, both legal and illegal, have fallen by 80% since 2000!  Why?  It sure as hell isn't because of increased vigilance.  Since the recession in 2008, Mexico's economy has grown at twice the rate as its neighbor to the north.  In fact, preliminary data show that there are more people moving south across the border than people moving north.

Those poor, bored agents.  While they're standing there shoulder to shoulder on the fenceless stretches of our unprotected border waiting to retire and start collecting PERA benefits, will southern governors come up with make work projects.  Maybe they could clean up some of the tumbleweeds collecting against the fence.  But if they do, I think we should make them wear hard hats.

Playing Jacks and Packing Light: The Odd Outlier Abilities I Have and Have not Got

Katherine today.

Several unrelated events met up recently to bring back the Malcolm Gladwell book about why folks succeed and where unique abilities originate.  Outliers makes me feel smart because it champions quantity as a vehicle to success.  10,000 repetitions of a skill creates extraordinary performance.  That means all those millions of Big Chief pages I made sophomores write were really valuable.  I believe strongly that schools suffer because drill work and repetition and quantity have been replaced with a bogus belief that poured-over long-time quality efforts lead to the same effect with less homework.  The effort to teach literacy without reading as homework is among the most baffling things I see in education.

I'm wandering though.  I was thinking about playing jacks and Jim's first comment to me this morning: "I'm going to take a record low number of things to Jenny Lake this time."  Good morning to you too sweetie.

I'll start with the packing.   Jim would never say anything like that in the morning if he hadn't been thinking about it and there is absolutely no sub-level manipulation or condemnation of my increasingly futile attempt to pack well.  I suck at packing.  I haven't even come close to 10,000 repetitions so my chances for improvement are limited and I just can't stomach the idea of practice packing.  Jim is a natural.  He hates clothes.

Jim has so many packing advantages.   His daywear consists of one outfit and he's just dealing with variations on a theme.  There are long shorts that go to the gym or go kayaking or go hiking or play tennis.  Most are black.  He couples these shorts with T-shirts--mostly grey.  Some have sleeves.  Some don't.  Sometimes he wears tennis shoes.  Sometimes he wears Keens or hiking shoes or flip flops.  He grabs a stack of black shorts and grey T-shirts and adds a lightweight jacket and he is done.  He brings some jeans and "good" T-shirts and a sport coat to cover nice nights out.  Maybe some dress loafers.  If he forgets anything, it's underwear.  This pretty much has him covered for two whole weeks.  If the weather is cold and wet, he's good.  If the weather is hot and icky, he's good.  He is the lowest maintenance fellow imaginable.  When he declared he was taking less than usual it occurred to me he might really mean it.  He is not a practiced packer honed by limitless travel opportunities--he just hates wearing clothes.  Two weeks is a long time to do with less than he normally brings in my mind.  I will try not to worry about this.

He also needs no potions or lotions.  He can use the shampoos and soaps at the hotel and his skin doesn't seem to wrinkle or look much different.  He doesn't have the nasty skin problems I deal with since the two cancer battles.  Recently,  I saw an age spot on his right arm and it took me aback.  I'd point it out to him, but he'd worry about it for several days.  I'm pretty sure I shouldn't mention it here either, but I can't edit my every thought.

On my side, there are all sorts of packing hurdles so I pack too much.  I need all sorts of potions for wrinkles and eczema (radiation treatments suck).  Eczema and fragrances are a really bad combo--no hotel products for me.  I really miss getting all excited when the hotel has really good shampoos and lotions and it feels like a treat.  There's something depressing about buying your skin creams at Walgreens instead of Nordstrom.

I also pack the wrong stuff.  I try to be prepared.  I make lists.  I look up weather reports.  The weather changes and my lists match some ideal for every situation that makes the usual and probable difficult to deal with when I arrive.  This is where Cosmic Banditos is the best book ever.  Almost every chapter ends with this phrase: "And then things didn't go according to plan."  These are words to live by.

I find myself with several problems.  I know lady light packers who mix and match and everything they bring along  (think Janet Simmons).  It's a lot like Jim's black/grey motif.  This is hard for me to do.  I'm a girl who doesn't really believe in matching so I can't pull out a stack of anything that would work that way.  You come stare at my closet and find a way to mix and match your way through that forest.

Shoes are a packing problem for me when I fly  If you don't believe in matching, you need to bring a lot of pairs of shoes to figure things out so you DON'T match.  Flying and multiple shoe options are out.  I use up any spare weight on a plane in my eczema stuff anyway.  My limited footgear is only one reason I'm not wild about flying.

When we are on the road, I bring the shoes I want.  I'm good enough to limit myself to one pair of cowboy boots, but that's about the only limit I acknowledge.  I bring multiple flip flops, some spiky heels, some tennis shoes, some water shoes, and one pair of yummy cowboy boots.  It's really hard to explain why this is necessary, but it is and I know this hampers the light packing ability.  I really like shoes.  Really.

The weather never works the way it's supposed to either.  I look it up online.  I plan accordingly.  Then I worry about what will happen if the weather is wrong and it always is.  I decide to pack for all kinds of weather to compensate.  I end up with a little bit of stuff for every possibility and it never works out.

At Jenny Lake the weather ranges are wide and I worry about weather stretches.  It's always chilly when we arrive, but that can last a day or a week.  It's always too hot when we leave and the deer flies are annoying, but you can never tell if that will be just hitting as we leave or whether the heat will have been there for over a week.  It's the time lengths that do me in and there's never been a clear cut pattern there and I'm a girl who likes patterns.  I wonder if we will be in the wind and rain a lot?  This year, I feel pretty good about the wind and rain part at least.  I used our yearly REI dividend to help pay for these cool light weight wind/rain jackets that take no space at all.  The North Face description indicated they were great for scaling peaks.  That's us.  Besides,  I'm hoping the teeny jacket lowers my packing mass considerably.

Enough of that.  If Outliers is correct, I need a lot more travel to improve.  Jacks, on the other hand, is something I am practiced at and I'm getting ready to get in playing shape.

There are few devotees of jacks left.  When I was a kid, we played for hours and hours and hours.  I bet I got 10,000 reps in third grade alone.  Later on I played jacks with students during informal lunches we had with kids in our adjoining classrooms.  I beat most of determined teenagers wanting to bring down their Honors English teacher.  I laid some in waste.  Two or three boys became so obsessed they beat me.  I have really good memories of playing jacks with so many kids.

Yesterday when we went to Chris's house for a Father's Day Brunch, I realized it was time to think about teaching Brooklyn and Sammi to play and love jacks.  There are challenges.  Sammi is partially paralyzed and modifications will be necessary if she wants to play.  I can do that.  Brooklyn, on the other hand, is reluctant to do anything that doesn't require princess attire.  Brooklyn's starts all conversations with me about potential outings by asking if walking will be involved.  Walking is on Brooklyn's no-fun list.  That limits almost every good time I can think of.  Jacks, however involves no walking.  I just need to find a pink outfit covered in princesses or find a movie where a princess plays jacks.  Normally I just get out my jacks and start to dazzle my audience.  Brooklyn doesn't dazzle easily.  I'm not worried though.  She's young and I've got time to strategize.

It seems so odd to me that I can't pack a suitcase with normal restraint, but I can still sit on the floor and play a nasty round of jacks.  Repetition is everything.  Schools should take note.  Kids will read better if they read until their eyes fall out.  Kids will write better if they write until their arms fall off.  Practice is everything.  Quantity is everything when you are a beginner.  Homework is good.  I feel sure of it.

That's enough for now though.  I am going to restrain myself at least here.  Besides, I want to practice some jacks.

Father' Day

I don't put much stock in special days like Father's Day, Mother's Day, most national holidays, and birthdays.  Christmas and Thanksgiving I can tolerate, but it is getting harder every year.  I just don't like the idea of sending cards, giving flowers, or candy, or presents in general on those days.  I know this sounds cheesy as hell, but I think that if someone is special, you shouldn't wait for a birthday to do something about it.

Father's Day is the worst.  It is nothing more than a marketing attempt to cash in on the previous marketing of Mother's Day.  Who is the biggest beneficiary of such days?  Hallmark Cards, of course.  Oops!  I just spoke disrespectfully about a business, a Job Creator.  I'm going to quick get off the keyboard and genuflect.  I'll be right back.

There, that's better.  I think Father's Day is my least favorite because it brings all my father issues to the surface.  Remember the great feeling you used to get--still get--when you give the perfect present to your mom or dad?  That perfect aspen leaf pin for mommy.  A paisley tie for dad.  You saved up, or borrowed the cash from your grandmother.  You made the purchase yourself.  Went home and gift wrapped it and spent the whole night in bed dreaming about how happy mom would be when she fastened that pin on her blouse.  I mean, how sharp does that look?

I'm not soliciting sympathy here, but I never had that experience with my father.  I made my mom cry over the perfect gift lots of time, but my father left long before I had a chance to give him something special.  If I had gotten him something, it probably would have been a roll of stamps so he could stop deducting the ten cent postage from the child support checks he sent my mother.  $24.90 every week like clockwork.  Oh well, at least he was punctual.  But enough of that.

The only real problem not having a father caused me was that I never developed an attraction for power tools.  I do go to Home Depot and Lowe's to get stuff for home projects, but you won't find me wandering through the power tool section sizing up the latest innovations in cordless drivers. (My favorite is the cordless screwdriver.  I remember my grandmother had one of those back in the fifties.)  I also never felt an urge to have a mancave where I could hang out with my buddies, drink beer, eat lots of nachos and guacamole and act like I care about who wins.  In short, Father's Day, like leaking sinks that refuse an easy fix and flapperballs that are less than reliable, makes me feel somehow inadequate.

I was looking through the Post yesterday and noticed on the feature pages a list of gift suggestions for Dad.  I knew the list would piss me off, but I read it anyway.  A Bosch articulated-arm miter saw was first on the list.  The article said it was perfect for a small workspace.  That would certainly apply to my, ahem, workspace.  If I had the slightest idea what an articulated-arm miter saw was I might want one.

Here is a better one:  the Rockler Insty-Drive, 18 Piece Self Centering & Countersink Set.  My mother always told me that I was too self-centered.  Maybe this piece of equipment would help.

The list left the power tool motif for a moment and suggested a JBL Charge Portable Wireless Bluetooth Speaker.  It will not only supply the driving bass line that any decent mancave requires, but it is sturdy enough and produces enough sound to go with Dad on his latest handy man project, like turning out table legs on his new lathe.

And the coup de grace, The Bottoms Up Home Unit Kit for dispensing draft beer in your mancave.  It fills the cup from the bottom up for a perfect glass of beer every time.  Finally, something practical.

There were other suggestions, but they pretty much followed the same theme:  Things To Insulate Dad From His Family On Weekends.  I just don't belong in the demographic that this list is speaking to.  I would mostly like Father's Day and all other such days to disappear, but since that isn't going to happen anytime soon (think what it would do to the economy), I do have one item I'd like.  I have a water color by my uncle (my mother's twin and my namesake) that I would like to put in an oversized mat and frame and hang on our big living room wall.  This is not the kind of gift you talk about with your buddies over a beer.  It would probably cost around $500.  I know, I know, I could probably pick up a perfectly good table saw for the same price, but it would look lousy in my living room.

Hey.  Happy Father's Day.  I hope everyone has a great day with their kids.  We're going to Chris' for brunch, but before I go I'm gonna get over to Lowe's and check out Black & Decker's Cordless Lithium-Ion Gyro Screwdriver.  My grandmother never had anything like that.

I Love Jeans, Shorts, Spiky Heels and Flip Flops--So There!

Katherine today.

It's chilly and rainy and not even 60 degrees outside and it's almost noon.  It's summer though.  Today is the first day I can remember when my fate is my own.  When I woke up, I didn't begin with a mental catalogue of the things that had to get done.

On most days, the items on my list are usually good and make me happy.  Cooking, knitting class, seeing family, meeting friends, planting posies--I love all these things.  They have to get done though.   Today I woke up and the to-do things could be done tomorrow.  Life will go on if I don't change the sheets or clean our bathroom or fold the last load of laundry.  I could do those things, but I don't have to do them.  To quote Willa, "Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy."  It's a good mantra to cultivate.

So here I am with choice number three on today's list.  I've knitted two rows and one had beads and I'm new at beads so that was a goodly amount of time.  Two rows before 6:00 AM--Ahhh.  Then the gym.  And now--I'm writing away instead of thinking about chores.

I was running around the track at the gym (pleased as punch that I was running a bit better) and decided I wanted to write about a Sunday column in The Denver Post about social "rules" that needed enforcing.  I broke the only four I read.  All were about appropriate clothing.  I decided I would postpone all bathroom work and spout off on the fashion rules this social guru insisted I broke. I broke them all.  To quote Willa, "Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy."

The first rule was about jeans.  Jeans are bad.  No one should wear them.  If you are in the woods and under 40, maybe.  If you were foolish enough to spend more than $58 on them--well, I stopped reading at that point.

This is sacred territory for me.  Saying anything negative about jeans is like saying you don't like skin.  I think a huge problem with old people is that they don't wear jeans.  What's up with that?  Where is the magic line that says this is the moment you stop wearing jeans?  Good-bye True Religion and Hello Dockers.  No thank you.

Whoever wrote the column clearly didn't understand other things about jeans.  They work with cowboy boots.  That's important for a girl like me.  I have some impressive boots (the baby blue ostrich with lime green goatskin Luchese's top the list) and unless you're really and truly line-dancing, you don't wear boots without jeans unless they have spiky heels.

Jeans force you to think about your weight.  What can I say?  I have jeans for my various weights, but I'm not buying a bigger pair than anything I have now.  It's as good a weight loss system as any of the others I've tried.

Look around.  People wear jeans.  They will always wear jeans.  So silly.

The second rule was about shorts.  To be avoided at all costs.    Absolutely not after 40.  Again.   Excuse me.  This is also silly.  Who gets to decide this stuff?  I didn't even check the reasoning.  People love shorts or they don't.

My mother wore shorts with pantyhose underneath--"Horrible, horrible, oh most horrible."  It was the pantyhose that made her shorts approach awful.  I never understood it at all.  It was the wosrt when we traveled.  She played tennis and walked in Yosemite that way and she looked at the geysers in Yellowstone that way.  I think if you're going to wear shorts, you should just wear shorts.  If you must make a rule about wearing shorts, I think a no pantyhose rule would be okay with me.

My father never wore shorts at all.  I never ever saw my father's legs until he was dying.  He wore his suits to work and khakis on the weekend when he went fishing in the mountains.  I only saw his forearms when he retired and took up golf.  It was okay he hid them all those years, you know. It's kind of amazing I love shorts so much given my background.  Maybe I'm just being a passive aggressive kid.

Like I said, people like shorts or they don't.  I'm okay with anybody wearing them unless they wear pantyhose underneath--I just get a Barney Fife feeling all over when that happens.  For me, there are perfect shorts for almost any function.  I have shorts for running, hiking, kayaking, dining on a patio with pretty plants, hanging out, playing tennis, going to a cool early evening cocktail party (it could happen), watching grandkids, gardening,  and typing.  Doesn't everybody?  To quote Willa, "Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy."

I skimmed through footwear too.  I didn't read much because it was clear I was a scofflaw in the shoe department through and through.  Spiky heels followed the jeans and the shorts pattern for rules.  We should all avoid them, but if they must be worn, make sure only young folks don them.  I don't wear spiky heels often, but I have two amazing pair and I wear them to Mizuna or at Jenny Lake sometimes or if there's a fancy-dancy wedding.  When I pull them out and put them on, I remember I have really nice legs for an old lady.

The last fashion taboo was flip flops.  For anyone at anytime.  Talk about making a rule folks won't follow.  Try that in Kauai.

 A world without flip flops would be like a world without jeans.  Stupid.  People were meant to be barefoot.  I'm sure of it.  Flip flops are the closest thing to barefoot that will still get you into a fine restaurant.  Like shorts, there are flip flops for any occasion.

I love Chacos for daily life.  They are made in Colorado.  They are sturdy and last forever and cost a bundle for what is essentially a flip flop.  They feel right on my feet.  The arch is right.  The width of the straps is good.  I like my black ones best.  There's a part of life that is a quest for the perfect daily flip flop.  If you don't have a favorite flip flop, part of me thinks something is wrong with you.

I love Tori Burch flip flops for dress up.  All of mine came from the Nordstrom Rack last year.  I somehow discovered when the weekly shipment Tori Burch shoes would arrive and my work schedule met up with the flip flop delivery schedule.  I like these because the soles of the shoes are incredibly thin and the straps are thin and I feel barefoot in a downtown kind of way.  I wouldn't go for long walks in these, but I feel good going to Bones.

That's all I read.  It's hard to read something that attacks the very core of your being.  No jeans, no shorts, no spiky heels, no flip flops.  I'm not giving these up--not yet.  To quote Willa, "Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy."