Are you worried about Y2K 2012?

At my staff meeting today, two writers talked about preparing for either a natural or man made disaster. They shared the blogs and news stories they have read about trends they are seeing and what they are doing or have done in case the worst happens.
Is this on your radar?
Something you are concerned about?
Have you stocked food, water, supplies?
Eager to read your thoughts.

Chance or fate?

Bryan was ready to say no.

He had even typed a terse text message to Kate telling her that she needed to remember her text books and that he wasn't going to run home and get her chemistry book for her.

For some reason, he told us, he erased the text message and wrote another one telling Kate he would go back to the apartment and get her book. "She's a good kid and she's getting an A in Chemistry so I figured why not?"

At the apartment complex, he climbed the first set of cement steps, rounded the corner to climb the second set of steps and saw a toddler - about 16 months old - crawling up the stairs.

"She stood up and started falling backward right when I was behind her," Bryan said. "I caught her and carried her down the stairs."

He knocked on a few doors. No one answered. He was ready to take the little girl to the manager’s office when a 20 year old man opened a door and told Bryan he thought the little girl was in her room.

Bryan told the kids and I that he was in such shock that he didn’t say anything.

All he thought about, he said, was what if he wasn’t there at that moment? The little girl could have fallen, could have crawled where the cars are, someone could have taken her…

Chance or fate?

Confession of a Chocoholic

This was not the week to decide to go on the wagon.

I just finished writing 11 stories on graduating seniors, each around 350 words. I still have a 1,200 or more word story to write on vals and sals plus a story on the school district plus a story on the birth center plus I have to lay out the paper by Thursday and another paper by Friday.

And I chose this week of all weeks to eat healthy – translation no chocolate.

Yes, I am a chocoholic.

I decided to clean up my act after I downed a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy on Saturday plus I ate a few of Blake’s toffee ice cream bars and that's not counting the chocolate covered pretzels. I am guilty of standing in line at the grocery store and grabbing a chocolate bar and quickly eating it before I get home.

My way of dealing with my stress - trying to sell a house and getting frustrated living in an apartment – is to eat chocolate. So add the deadlines at work with the feeling of being out-of-control when it comes to selling a house and I turn to chocolate. Lots and lots and lots of chocolate.

Even before we were selling a house, a normal deadline week would consist of a bag of peanut M&Ms plus a Snickers bar.

This week, I am attempting to clean up my act so I am taking carrots, cucumbers and fruit to work to eat on instead of chocolate.

So far, my plan has worked. It hasn't been easy. There's still ice cream in the freezer and chocolate pretzels in the cupboard calling my name. Here’s to making it to Friday without falling off the wagon. If you have any tips on how to avoid chocolate, let me know.  

A priceless day ...

Yesterday was an amazing day.

Not because our house finally sold or we won the lottery. It was the small, every day moments that made it priceless.

Getting up at 8 and making breakfast for Blake before he headed out the door for four basketball games.

Going to the Lake Oswego Farmer's Market.

Helping Kate write a resume to send to Nike for a part-time job at the Woodburn store.

Driving with Kate to Blake’s games in Beaverton, getting there and seeing her run to her dad to grab the Jamba Juice he got for her and then watching her and Bryan laugh about the silly message he wrote on her Jamba Juice.

Listening to them talk about this and that. Inquire about the morning game in Salem. Kate asking Bryan for help on a report she has to write about whether or not there is a Kennedy curse, he sharing the latest news. They make jokes about the referee and critic the game.

Watching Blake play two games with his Wilsonville friends while sitting on the bleachers with the parents – who are great and caring people. Seeing Blake smile after sinking a 3, listening to Kate laugh at the stories a friend is sharing with her.

After the game, Kate gives Blake a hug and tells him how much he has improved since she has last saw him play. They get in the front seats, I sit in the back of the car, close my eyes and listen to them talk about music, the game, Kate giving her little brother some pointers, Blake telling her about a musician he likes, Kate jokes with Blake she has more arm muscle than he does, he jokes back. Kate looks at the rip in Blake’s jersey, tells Blake he did a good job not letting the guy he was guarding push him around.

Get back to the apartment, Blake changes uniforms, Kate makes a sandwich, they agree on music for a CD they are making. Back in the car to drive to Salem – the music – well, listening to fingers racing across a chalkboard mixed with a dozen screaming kids would have sound better to me – but they like it, talk about it, critic it. They chat about this and that. Get a glimpse of what it might be like next fall when Kate is a senior and Blake a freshman and they drive to school together.

Watch Blake play against a freshmen team. Watch another game of juniors. Leave around 9:30 p.m. Kate drives home from Salem, I tell her I am thankful and grateful for her driving. They decide on a movie to watch. I go to sleep knowing despite all the times they have fought over socks, T-shirts, basketball shorts, this and that, and the computer – they really do love one another and will look out for each other.

What more can a mom ask for.

Why teens are embarrassed by their parents

Apparently I am on crack.
This was the assessment of my 14-year-old son, Blake, this morning after he looked in his lunch bag even though he knows I never have used illegal drugs. Lots of coffee and chocolate - guilty.

In his lunch bag were a Tiger’s milk peanut butter and honey bar, goldfish crackers, water bottle, Granny Smith apple and two large pieces of pizza housed in a red, rectangular container.

Pulling the red container out of the bag, Blake glares at me and asks “What are you thinking? I can’t take this to school. Are you on crack?”

Translation from grumpy teen language to English – “Mom, my friends would give me crap if I pulled this out of my lunch bag. This is so embarrassing."

Putting the pizza in sandwich bags was out-of-the-question because each slice of pizza was about the length and width of a paperback novel. I didn’t have any tin foil to wrap it in.

Next best solution – natural wax paper.

"You aren't going to use that, are you," Blake asked.

"Every problem has a solution," I told him, only to cause him to roll his eyes and shake his head.

Yes, I took a large sheet of wax paper, put the pizza slices on it, grabbed some tape and wrapped the pizza up.

“Mom,” Blake said as he watched me neatly fold the corners and tuck them in, “it’s not a Christmas present.”

Looking at his serious expression sent me into a fit of giggles so serious, tears came to my eyes. My uncontrollable laughter only caused him to roll his eyes again and shake his head. (Note to readers: Blake is silly and goofy in the afternoon but he’s not a morning person.)

The more serious his expression was, the more I started laughing. His attempt to stifle his grin only made me laugh harder.

“Really, mom,” he said, grabbing his lunch and heading out the door.

"Sometimes, you just have to laugh at what life brings you," I told him. Time and time again, my children have heard me say laughter really is the best medicine.

Driving to school in silence – except for the radio blaring the latest bubble gum music – we got to school.

“Bye, I love you,” I said.

Quietly, “I love you too,” he said as he got out of the car and raced toward school and his friends.

Can I please talk to a real person?

There are few things I truly hate in life.

Most things I can tolerate, take a deep breath and say OK I can deal with this.

I hate calling the bank, the pharmacy, the schools, the doctor's office... and hearing "Welcome to XYZ. If you would like A, push 123; if you would like B, push 356; if you would like C....

And then after I pick the first option, that option gives me five more choices to select from, leaving me wanting to scream at the phone, please just let me talk to a real person.

I think what makes me the most angry is I think of all the people who could have a job if the automatic receptionists were unplugged.

Just got off the phone with my bank. I was selected to give my opinion on the customer service. The automatic receptionist skipped letting me talk to a real person and went straight to the customer service survey. When I was done pushing one for horrible service, I had no way to go back and talk to a real person.

So I had to hang up, call again and push more buttons.

Needless to say, the automatic receptionists really pushes my buttons.

I think my parents did a terrible job raising me

I am beginning to think my parents and grandparents did a terrible job raising me.

Taught me the wrong values.

My dad, Douglas Thomas, died when I was 12 years old. A few months before his death, I remember driving with him up Burnside and I was staring at the homeless men and women lining the streets.

"You are no better than they are," he told me. "Just because you have a nice house, a nice car and clothes doesn't make you a better person than someone who is homeless just as someone who has more than you is no better or no less than you are."

My parents taught me to respect other people, treat them the same way I would like to be treated and not to judge people. They taught me to give what I could every day to make a difference, to be kind to everyone I meet and to be respectful of other's views.

Just because I chose to live my life one way doesn't mean everyone else has to make exactly the same choices, believe the same things, read the same books, worship the same way...

I can't understand why so many people are upset with President Obama choice to support same sex marriage. I don't agree with arguments that two people who love each other and want to make a commitment to one another is a slap in the face to me and my marriage. I don't see this as a war on marriage. I see this as saying enough is enough on discrimination.

As my daughter wrote on her post, "Proud to be an American today. Our President inched us closer toward the ideal of "liberty and justice for all" by coming out in favor of gay marriage. I'm mostly thankful that I live in a pluralistic democracy where people can believe and speak freely. Thank God we don't make laws based on religion, otherwise we'd be like Iran where women are stoned to death for violating religious tenets."

Rush Limbaugh said on his program "We've arrived at a point where the president of the United States is going to lead a war on traditional marriage." This from a man on his fourth wife and let's not even get started on how he left each of them - but he's a fine example of marriage.

As one of my friends on Facebook said, "Love is love." And when two people are truly in love, it's a joy to see, to be around, to celebrate.

Another Facebook friend wrote, "God does not judge, and neither should we. If you truly followed His word your heart would be open to all people, whether they bear white skin or black skin or red skin or yellow skin; whether they love men or women or both. Let's not forget that we are judging when we judge a way of life."

Look, I am tired of the sex talks - what people do in their bedrooms is none of my damn business - as long as it is legal and not causing harm to anyone mentally or physically or emotionally it's no one's damn business.

It's time this country start talking about the important issues like education and funding it or creating new jobs.

Who is sleeping with whom? Don't care. The value of my house declining due to a poor housing market - that's what keeps me up at night.

So America - wake up. Focus on the real issues facing our country - not just the sexy ones.

Lessons on avoiding the problem

I strongly dislike driving my husband's convertible Volvo for many reasons - it's too low to the ground compared to my SUV; it's difficult for me to see out of the back window and most importantly I know if I put a scratch in his precious baby that I am as good as done for.

Saturday night Blake had a date at the Bridgeport movie theater and asked me to drive him there. Not wanting to take my messy car, I took the Volvo. Drove there and back. Went around 8:30 to pick him up. Parked the car. Blake tried to open the door.

"I can't open the door," he said. "It's too close to the pole."

Parking at the apartment complex is a challenge because of the small spaces.

Worried about being too close to the pole and too close to the car on my left, I pulled closer to the curb - imagine the sound of fingernails scraping across a chalkboard and you'll get an idea of what it sounded like when the car's front end meet the curb.

"Oh xxxx!," I said as I backed up the car once again hearing the scraping sound.
Got out of car, looked at the undercarriage and saw a white spot about the size of my fist.

Being the great mom I am, I told Blake that let’s wait to tell dad until the morning. Note: Bryan wasn’t feeling too great that evening with swollen, infected eye.

Given the choice of any sort of disagreement and avoiding the problem – I generally chose the latter.
Sleeping that night wasn’t easy. I knew I wasn’t setting a good example for Blake.

So Sunday morning I went downstairs, looked at the car, saw the damage and went upstairs.

“Bryan,” I said. “I hit the curb last night and there is a white scratch.”

“Are you talking about a white spot on the undercarriage,” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I am sorry and I will pay for the damage.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You didn’t do that. That is from a sticker that was on the car. I have hit the curb a couple times myself.”

Why is it that people avoid problems when we all know eventually we have to deal with them?
I am guilty of procrastinating any bad news – for example I waited to take Kate’s car in to be fixed because I was worried that the diagnosis would be extremely expensive. Turns out it was a defective battery that was on warranty and the battery was replaced.

On the other hand, when it comes to chores I always do the ones I dread the most - cleaning the bathrooms, scrubbing sinks and taking out the garbage.

In the last week, there have been a couple examples where I avoided the truth only to find the truth was something I could deal with and much less stressful than worrying about what I was worrying about.

The way I have been dealing with bad news is like slowly pulling off a Band-Aid. From now on, I realize it’s just best to quickly rip it off and deal with whatever happens next. No more procrastinating.

No mattet how painful or expensive the truth may be.

Women - it's time to unite, not fight

Ask five women to make an apple pie and each one will have their own way of making it from the apples they use, to how they shape to the crust to the ingredients...

But they all will use apples, have a crust and put their heart into making the best pie possible to serve their friends and family.

Just like women may not agree on the best way make an apple pie, there are many issues women disagree on or have an opinion.

But women always find a way to get the job done.

Yes, there are many issues we disagree on. But we can’t let those issues get in the way of working together to make positive changes for our children, our country.

Let me provide you an example.

Two of my dearest friends are Beaver fans. Yes, Beaver fans.

Lisa and Val are two of the kindest, sweetest and most thoughtful women I know. They would give the shirt off their back to a stranger and lend a hand whenever and wherever needed.

I am sure there are many things we disagree about – besides Ducks vs. Beavers – but we don’t let those issues separate us.

We agree on the important things in life – family, friends, good food, wine and books and the importance of a quality education. We believe in treating people with respect, volunteering in our communities and raising our children to be contributing members of society.

It’s only May and I dread - yes dread – the upcoming presidential election season. I am tired of the negativity. And what really irks me is if you or I were to apply for a job, we wouldn't rip the other job candidates to pieces by saying awful things about them. We would talk about our achievements, what we would bring to the job, our vision.

Ok, ladies here it goes. We have to stop letting politicians divide us. I believe it’s time for women to stand up and say enough is enough.

We should be standing together and working for things we agree on.

For example, I am willing to bet a chocolate bar that all women want to know the food they buy at the grocery store is safe for their family to eat. I bet we can all agree that food regulations need to be tougher– think pink slime or recent food recalls.

And I am guessing most women agree that they want their children to receive a quality education – whether they are homeschooled or attending a private or public school. Is it fair to say women want to be able to send their children to college without worrying about incurring an enormous debt? Am I assuming too much when I say women want to know the town they live in is safe and has a low crime rate? Or that the water that comes from their tap is safe to drink? Or the air they breathe is free from pollution? 

In 1972, women fought together to get Title X1 approved –the law that allows our daughters the same opportunities as our sons on athletic fields and courts. Forty years later, we are fighting each other. Think of it this way, you are sitting at the table with lots of dirty dishes and pots and pans. Instead of everyone working together to clean up the mess, everyone is pointing fingers about who caused the mess and who should clean it up and how it should be cleaned up rather than just reaching agreement and getting the work done. That's what happening in our country, in my opinion.

It’s time for us to stop fighting – cease the battles between stay at home moms vs. working moms – note to all – regardless of the situation we can all attest we do more than men. (This is where you are supposed to laugh and raise a glass of wine or grape juice.)

Recently, I worked in a concession stand with women of various backgrounds. Just by listening, I garnered a little about them. While we may go to different churches or have different political views, we all agree on volunteering to support our kids. We all worked to get the job done and raise money for athletic teams.

That’s the kind of energy and focus I believe women need to take on issues we can reach common ground on.

Instead of focusing on issues that we will never agree on –let’s focus on what we do agree on. I think women have learned more than men – in my opinion –how to compromise, to find common ground and I believe we have more common sense.

So the choice is do we stand together and get something done or do we continue to fight one another? What example are we providing for our daughters and granddaughters?
Let me know what you think.

Why I never write "spokesperson" in a story

Any time I hear or read the word “spokesperson,” I hear a cane pounding on the newsroom floor.

After college, I spent a year working at a public relations firm in Boston where using the word spokesperson was the norm – expected.

The first time I used the word in a newspaper story, managing editor Bob Moore yelled across the room “Thomas, come here.”

Moore had been an editor at The Boston Globe before he started working at The Tab. A little shorter than me, he had silver hair, blue eyes and wore glasses. He looked like the nicest guy in the world – yet he struck fear in the heart of every reporter.

“Sit down,” he told me. “See this word – spokesperson – do you know the difference between a man and a woman?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Obviously you don’t because if you did, you wouldn’t have used spokesperson. Don’t ever use it again,” as he pounded his cane on the floor. “And if you do, don’t expect to work here.”

I got his message. I never have used the word again.

Over the years, I have had many editors – some who taught me valuable lessons and others who made me question every word I wrote and some who made me doubt I could write.

And over the years, I have had readers tell me my writing was awful - after writing a story on the northern spotted owl and the BLM - a reader wrote to me saying my story wasn't good enough to line his bird cage.

As a rookie reporter, the words stung. As I grew as a writer, I learned some people will like what I write, some people won't and some people don't care.

The lesson I have learned is whose advice or criticism I should take to heart. I have also learned who I should say thank you for your feedback but not let their negativity get to me.

As the managing editor of Our Town, I think carefully about what I am going to say before I talk with a reporter about his or her story.

My goal is to encourage, support, teach and inform. Sometimes, when I am editing a sloppy copy story, I want to call the reporter and ask him or her if she knows how to follow directions, ever looked through an AP Style Manual, reads a newspaper and knows the period goes inside the quotation marks … I get especially grouchy when I have eight pages to layout and a story arrives late – full of mistakes.
Then I remember how I felt the times an editor, a friend or even a teacher used words to make me feel insignificant, stupid, … and how those words hurt.
I know every one of my reporters is doing the best work he or she can and he or she makes a mistake it’s not intentional. And if I chew them up one side and down another, what good will that do?
Words have power – they can open doors; shine light through a dusty window and they can cause people to add locks to door and never open the curtains on their windows.

I know in my lifetime I have said things I deeply regret. I have used words to cause harm.

And I know after doing so, I don't feel any better - just the opposite - much, much worse.
Here’s hoping we all think before we speak or write and we realize we can make or break a day with the words we say.
Sounds a little corny – yes – but it’s true. At least for me.