Episode XXVI: An Old Controversy
It is a dark time
for the Playgroup’s
Rebel Alliance. Previous
attempts to move the meeting day
from Wednesday have been repulsed
by the evil Galactic Mother’s Empire.
But the Rebel Mothers, strengthened by
a mighty host of squeaky toddlers, have launched
a counterattack by email. Will the Rebel’s
democratic system triumph over the iron fist of tradition?
_______________________________
To: Playgroup
From: Princess Leia
Subject: Down With the Imperialist System!
I think we have a pretty good idea of the playgroup days now. Friday turned out to be the favorite with seven votes (Anne L.,Anne R., Lynn, Jenie, Kathy, Janice, Jenny). Monday came in second with six votes (Anne L., Anne R., Victoria, Amy, Kathy, Elizabeth). Wednesday had five votes, Thursday had three and Tuesday had two.
I think if we alternate Mondays and Fridays we should accommodate everyone for at least one of the days.
Leia
_________________________________
I’m not sure why Leia listed the victorious names. Those who voted for Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday weren’t worthy of mention. Anne L., Anne R. and Kathy have obviously established a power base with an eye toward world domination. I assume we peons should display proper obeisance at the next meeting.
The new schedule is just nuts. It took me 20 minutes to record the names and dates into my new Franklin planner. I think I need a secretary. Most weeks we end up with two playdates, which means a steady stream of emails from hosting mothers harping about RSVPs so they know how many muffins to bake.
Also, Ron and I had scheduled a vacation for my assigned date in March, which apparently wrecked everybody’s life and required a dozen more emails and frantic swapping.
Advice to new mothers: If you decide to join a playgroup, choose a dictatorship. Don't worry if the Playgroup Empress demands handwritten RSVPs and soy-enriched Cheerios. Count yourself lucky.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Friday, January 20, 2006
Stalking the Wild Compy
In today’s press-one-if-you-hate-phone-menus world, we’d all like a little more personal attention. But be careful what you wish for. Sometimes problems just shouldn’t be solved and the customer isn’t always right.
My problem was simple; I needed some teeny mailing labels --Avery 6527, for return addresses. After writing my family’s address for the zillionth time, I was getting a little hysterical. So I walked into my local computer store. (Let’s call it CompNation, or maybe CompUniverse. Comp-Fifth Dimension?)
Red-shirted Compys circled us instantly: Hmmm … labels, you say? For return addresses? What about these giant labels for dot-matrix printers? Oh, you need tiny labels for an ink-jet printer? Wait here.
So I waited by the customer service desk, melting snow running down my neck, Benny squirming in the shopping cart. I fended off waves of Compy salespeople and Benny played with toner cartridge brochures. Our chosen saleswoman returned.
“Those labels are on back order,” she said. “But Sean’s looking into it. Just wait a few minutes.”
Then she ducked behind the service desk, put on a puffy coat and LEFT THE STORE.
We waited. Benny abandoned the brochures and started tugging at a PDA display. Two Compys approached, asking if I needed help.
“Oh no,” I said. “Sean is helping me.”
The two men looked confused. “We don’t have anyone named Sean. Who was helping you?”
“I don’t remember,” I said, feeling stupid. “She … uh … left.”
“She left the sales floor?”
“No. She left the store.”
The salesmen looked baffled. Benny shrieked and lunged for a robotic dog on display. “Do you mean …” one asked, looking around and lowering his voice. “Sean In The Back?”
“Sure,” I said recklessly.
The men conferred and left hastily, and we waited. Benny lost interest in the robots and started going through my wallet. Finally Sean In The Back appeared, wearing a snappy tie and a “I could be running Cray supercomputers” expression. He led us through an “Employees Only” door and into a cubicle maze.
I stood by his desk, hands clenched on my shopping cart. Sean pounded furiously on his keyboard. Benny pulled inspirational sales posters off the wall.
“I can give you 8,000 by Tuesday,” Sean said.
“EIGHT THOUSAND LABELS!” I squawked. Office workers popped up around us like prairie dogs.
“I can get you a good deal on that. Or you can get 2,000 for $10.79.”
“Fine,” I said.
So we waited. Geologic ages passed. Glaciers advanced and retreated. Lunchtime approached. Benny’s moans increased as he listed every food product he could name: cheese, meat, peas, cake, Ruffles. Sean hunched further over his keyboard, fingers flying. A grandmotherly lady wandered by and gave us pretzels.
“Our usual vendor doesn’t carry those labels,” Sean said finally. “I’ll go with someone else.”
We waited. Tap tap tap. Sean requested a credit card and drivers license. Tap tap tap. Sean peered at the screen, frowning, then picked up the phone.
“Jasper? Sean here at CompNation. Listen, I’ve got an order 9847B here with a GR reference prefix. The computer won’t let me enter the product registration number without an order equation and the square root of pi. Can I bypass all that and just type in the VST code?”
Jasper didn’t know, but he apparently had some handy tips, because Sean pulled down a hefty reference tome. Tap tap tap went the keyboard. Rustle rustle went the pages. Benny had finished his pretzels and was trying to launch himself out of the shopping cart.
Finally, Sean turned to me with a smile of triumph. “The labels will arrive by Tuesday at the latest,” he said proudly.
“Do I pick them up here?” I asked.
“Oh no,” he said smugly. “They will be delivered to your home.”
“How did you get my – oh.” I hated to say it. “Sorry, Sean, but our real address is on the back of the license. The one on the front is no good.”
Sean looked crushed. More frantic typing and another quick call to Jasper about canceling an order 9487B. “Perhaps you’d like to walk around the store a bit,” he said, eyeing Benny, who sat slumped over the shopping cart seat, a portrait in despair.
“No,” I said firmly. “We’ve been here an hour already.”
Sean grunted and returned to tapping and rustling. Finally, he handed me a three-page receipt.
“You said the labels were $10.97, right?” I said.
“Yes, plus taxes and shipping,” Sean said crisply.
“How much is that?”
“Well, with a six percent sales tax …” Sean gave me a look inviting me to pipe up with my own figure. I just glared. “That’s 11.63,” he finally said.
“And shipping?”
“Not sure. It varies. I’d need to check.”
“We’ll wait.”
Sean reluctantly turned back to the computer and mumbled, “Eight-fifty.”
“I’m paying EIGHT DOLLARS to ship 10 dollars worth of labels? I’m paying $20 total?”
Which adds up to one cent per label, my husband said after a giant box arrived on Tuesday. Inside was a large quantity of balled-up paper and a thin blue envelope.
So now I have 2,000 return address labels. I use them for envelopes, file folders and photo albums. I draw trains on them and give them to Benny as stickers. I use them as bookmarks, message pads, bandages and lint brushes. I'm ready to paint the labels pink and line the bathroom cabinets with them. If Ron sees me handwrite a return address before 2020, he'll probably divorce me.
#
My problem was simple; I needed some teeny mailing labels --Avery 6527, for return addresses. After writing my family’s address for the zillionth time, I was getting a little hysterical. So I walked into my local computer store. (Let’s call it CompNation, or maybe CompUniverse. Comp-Fifth Dimension?)
Red-shirted Compys circled us instantly: Hmmm … labels, you say? For return addresses? What about these giant labels for dot-matrix printers? Oh, you need tiny labels for an ink-jet printer? Wait here.
So I waited by the customer service desk, melting snow running down my neck, Benny squirming in the shopping cart. I fended off waves of Compy salespeople and Benny played with toner cartridge brochures. Our chosen saleswoman returned.
“Those labels are on back order,” she said. “But Sean’s looking into it. Just wait a few minutes.”
Then she ducked behind the service desk, put on a puffy coat and LEFT THE STORE.
We waited. Benny abandoned the brochures and started tugging at a PDA display. Two Compys approached, asking if I needed help.
“Oh no,” I said. “Sean is helping me.”
The two men looked confused. “We don’t have anyone named Sean. Who was helping you?”
“I don’t remember,” I said, feeling stupid. “She … uh … left.”
“She left the sales floor?”
“No. She left the store.”
The salesmen looked baffled. Benny shrieked and lunged for a robotic dog on display. “Do you mean …” one asked, looking around and lowering his voice. “Sean In The Back?”
“Sure,” I said recklessly.
The men conferred and left hastily, and we waited. Benny lost interest in the robots and started going through my wallet. Finally Sean In The Back appeared, wearing a snappy tie and a “I could be running Cray supercomputers” expression. He led us through an “Employees Only” door and into a cubicle maze.
I stood by his desk, hands clenched on my shopping cart. Sean pounded furiously on his keyboard. Benny pulled inspirational sales posters off the wall.
“I can give you 8,000 by Tuesday,” Sean said.
“EIGHT THOUSAND LABELS!” I squawked. Office workers popped up around us like prairie dogs.
“I can get you a good deal on that. Or you can get 2,000 for $10.79.”
“Fine,” I said.
So we waited. Geologic ages passed. Glaciers advanced and retreated. Lunchtime approached. Benny’s moans increased as he listed every food product he could name: cheese, meat, peas, cake, Ruffles. Sean hunched further over his keyboard, fingers flying. A grandmotherly lady wandered by and gave us pretzels.
“Our usual vendor doesn’t carry those labels,” Sean said finally. “I’ll go with someone else.”
We waited. Tap tap tap. Sean requested a credit card and drivers license. Tap tap tap. Sean peered at the screen, frowning, then picked up the phone.
“Jasper? Sean here at CompNation. Listen, I’ve got an order 9847B here with a GR reference prefix. The computer won’t let me enter the product registration number without an order equation and the square root of pi. Can I bypass all that and just type in the VST code?”
Jasper didn’t know, but he apparently had some handy tips, because Sean pulled down a hefty reference tome. Tap tap tap went the keyboard. Rustle rustle went the pages. Benny had finished his pretzels and was trying to launch himself out of the shopping cart.
Finally, Sean turned to me with a smile of triumph. “The labels will arrive by Tuesday at the latest,” he said proudly.
“Do I pick them up here?” I asked.
“Oh no,” he said smugly. “They will be delivered to your home.”
“How did you get my – oh.” I hated to say it. “Sorry, Sean, but our real address is on the back of the license. The one on the front is no good.”
Sean looked crushed. More frantic typing and another quick call to Jasper about canceling an order 9487B. “Perhaps you’d like to walk around the store a bit,” he said, eyeing Benny, who sat slumped over the shopping cart seat, a portrait in despair.
“No,” I said firmly. “We’ve been here an hour already.”
Sean grunted and returned to tapping and rustling. Finally, he handed me a three-page receipt.
“You said the labels were $10.97, right?” I said.
“Yes, plus taxes and shipping,” Sean said crisply.
“How much is that?”
“Well, with a six percent sales tax …” Sean gave me a look inviting me to pipe up with my own figure. I just glared. “That’s 11.63,” he finally said.
“And shipping?”
“Not sure. It varies. I’d need to check.”
“We’ll wait.”
Sean reluctantly turned back to the computer and mumbled, “Eight-fifty.”
“I’m paying EIGHT DOLLARS to ship 10 dollars worth of labels? I’m paying $20 total?”
Which adds up to one cent per label, my husband said after a giant box arrived on Tuesday. Inside was a large quantity of balled-up paper and a thin blue envelope.
So now I have 2,000 return address labels. I use them for envelopes, file folders and photo albums. I draw trains on them and give them to Benny as stickers. I use them as bookmarks, message pads, bandages and lint brushes. I'm ready to paint the labels pink and line the bathroom cabinets with them. If Ron sees me handwrite a return address before 2020, he'll probably divorce me.
#
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Short and Not-So-Sweet
[BabySpace is back! Here are few vignettes to bridge the gap to February.]
** Somebody told me about a joke going around Canada -- they were worried I'd be offended. It's a game really. You sit around in a busy public space and watch women. (It's not kinky, I promise.) The name of the game: "Midwest or Lesbian?" I died laughing.
** Benny went to a New Year's party with us and obligingly went to sleep in a guest bedroom. When I checked on him at 11:30, he was awake, so I asked if he'd like to join the party. He sat up and excitedly asked, "Party?" Then he grabbed his little paper party hat and ran for the bedroom door. He watched the ball drop with the rest of the party and then we brought him home. He's still wearing the hat today.
** I get nervous when people suddenly decide I'm the soul mate they've been looking for. That's happened once or twice at Benny's playgroup. One mother keeps coming up with the craziest things for us to do, like "Let's go to the grocery store together!"
I'm serious. I can't imagine a more annoying prospect; Benny and I have a very set grocery routine, involving cheese slices from the deli, a shopping cart that looks like a car and small bags from the snack aisle for Benny to smush. Now, how am I supposed to work another mother and her cranky kid into that?
Another mother's schemes involve ideas for our monthly girl's nights out; her last one was a visit to a paint-your-own-pottery place. Frankly, my idea of a girl's night out involves pottery only if said pottery contains copious amounts of gin. This mother hosted a cookie exchange in December that I carefully missed.
##
** Somebody told me about a joke going around Canada -- they were worried I'd be offended. It's a game really. You sit around in a busy public space and watch women. (It's not kinky, I promise.) The name of the game: "Midwest or Lesbian?" I died laughing.
** Benny went to a New Year's party with us and obligingly went to sleep in a guest bedroom. When I checked on him at 11:30, he was awake, so I asked if he'd like to join the party. He sat up and excitedly asked, "Party?" Then he grabbed his little paper party hat and ran for the bedroom door. He watched the ball drop with the rest of the party and then we brought him home. He's still wearing the hat today.
** I get nervous when people suddenly decide I'm the soul mate they've been looking for. That's happened once or twice at Benny's playgroup. One mother keeps coming up with the craziest things for us to do, like "Let's go to the grocery store together!"
I'm serious. I can't imagine a more annoying prospect; Benny and I have a very set grocery routine, involving cheese slices from the deli, a shopping cart that looks like a car and small bags from the snack aisle for Benny to smush. Now, how am I supposed to work another mother and her cranky kid into that?
Another mother's schemes involve ideas for our monthly girl's nights out; her last one was a visit to a paint-your-own-pottery place. Frankly, my idea of a girl's night out involves pottery only if said pottery contains copious amounts of gin. This mother hosted a cookie exchange in December that I carefully missed.
##
Friday, December 09, 2005
Doormats Unite!
I had to edit a friend's 10-minute play today. She was having it read tonight, so I had to hurry. So I slashed away, sick as a dog, coughing desperately, with Benny on my lap humming the tune to "Jakers!"
I don't want you thinking I go around running down people's work, because I don't, but this is a really bad play. This gal writes the dullest dialogue on the planet and still manages to get stage readings and become a Force in the local playwriting world. I just don't get it.
This particular opus, her latest, is called "Roadside Shrine" (actually a good title). It's about two men who died in a car crash and their ghosts appear at the roadside memorial.
It's a decent premise, and I couldn't say no to reviewing the script, because so many people have helped and supported me. But this means I read 13 pages of:
TERESA
If only I’d been there ... I could’ve stopped you from
drinking so much ... like I always did.
STEVE
Tell her the damn truth!
GARY
No.
STEVE
Tell her about our girl.
GARY
Shut up! She wasn’t YOUR girl.
TERESA
What’s he talking about, Gary?
STEVE
Why don’t you tell her about Susan, Gare?
TERESA
Gary. what’s he talking about?
GARY
Nothing.
As I said, an interesting premise, but with flat stereotypes as characters. Men are lusty beasts and women are either doormats or whores. Which would STILL be okay ("Doormats unite and rise up against your oppressors!"), if the dialogue was better.
SIgh. Time for Benny and I to take our medicine and go to sleep
##
I don't want you thinking I go around running down people's work, because I don't, but this is a really bad play. This gal writes the dullest dialogue on the planet and still manages to get stage readings and become a Force in the local playwriting world. I just don't get it.
This particular opus, her latest, is called "Roadside Shrine" (actually a good title). It's about two men who died in a car crash and their ghosts appear at the roadside memorial.
It's a decent premise, and I couldn't say no to reviewing the script, because so many people have helped and supported me. But this means I read 13 pages of:
TERESA
If only I’d been there ... I could’ve stopped you from
drinking so much ... like I always did.
STEVE
Tell her the damn truth!
GARY
No.
STEVE
Tell her about our girl.
GARY
Shut up! She wasn’t YOUR girl.
TERESA
What’s he talking about, Gary?
STEVE
Why don’t you tell her about Susan, Gare?
TERESA
Gary. what’s he talking about?
GARY
Nothing.
As I said, an interesting premise, but with flat stereotypes as characters. Men are lusty beasts and women are either doormats or whores. Which would STILL be okay ("Doormats unite and rise up against your oppressors!"), if the dialogue was better.
SIgh. Time for Benny and I to take our medicine and go to sleep
##
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
The Grinch column that won't get Ron fired
[This entry appeared as a column in the Business Review newspapers. It's a takeoff on a newspaper memo I found when Ron was cleaning out his files at home. I am indebted to EO-Chicago, an entrepreneur's organization, for the new material. This crowd used to be WEO and YEO (don't ask) and now calls itself just plain EO. It's a branding move that they explore vividly on their web site yeochicago.org. The branding FAQ is especially good for laughs. And yes, one of their core values used to be "sexy-hot."]
To: All Employees, Mr. Grinch Inc.
From: Cindy Lou Who, President
Grinchy Greetings!
As company president and chair of the Grinch Branding Task Force (Special Operations Unit), I am proud to announce an exciting new initiative to replace last year’s “Let’s All Be Green and Weird” campaign.
Remember, we cannot hope to convince customers of Mr. Grinch’s change of heart (yes, it really did grow three sizes that day!) if our own people continue to shriek in horror whenever he visits our corporate offices. Thus, we have created a new way to present our brand message in a sparkling, spellbinding fashion (see figure 34XY9 and spreadsheet RM450).
We will begin with 27 meetings with 4.5 employees each during the course of a week. At these meetings I will provide a brief slide presentation (see “spellbinding,” above and offer each employee a happy Grinch mask and fuzzy green vest.
The new brand message, or “vision” if you will, is particularly powerful because it has both an internal and an external purpose. Internally, it deepens our influence and impact on each other. Externally, this vision will empower us to expand our influence on the world. We can now channel our collective focus, energy and resources on building one powerful external brand. Next step: world domination!
Vital to developing any branding initiative is an intuitive grasp of Mr. Grinch’s core values. Such values inspire the instant sense of kinship and trust you feel when you meet another member of this organization. (Needless to say, hiding in broom closets should no longer be necessary.)
OUR 2006 CORE VALUES
Boldly Go!
Roast Beast
Cool
The more insightful among you will see the pivotal changes made to the 2005 Core Values. We shortened “Sexy-Cool” to “Cool” and changed “Free Sleigh Rides!” to “Boldly Go!”
All these changes were made after copious feedback requiring thousands of man hours. However, lively dialogue with employees on branding issues remains our most precious resource. We now offer a quick example of appropriate and inappropriate dialogue:
APPROPRIATE DIALOGUE
Thoughtful Employee:
How can we be sure that the branding initiative will not diffuse or confuse who we are as an organization?
Empathetic Manager:
We all love and value this organization. Our goal is not to change who we are, but rather, to more accurately express who we are today and provide a platform to increase our reach, influence and value to members moving forward.
TE: I worry that this initiative will threaten our core promise and the brand recognition/value that we have already established. Seriously, it keeps me up at night.
EM: This evolution in no way changes our core member promise to not keep Christmas from coming. This brand simply opens up a new dimension in which Whoville and the Grinch can pursue other avenues to revenue enhancement.
TE: Thank heavens for this meeting. I feel more serene and confident regarding my part in the company’s future.
INAPPROPRIATE DIALOGUE
Apathetic Employee:
Why do you keep making us come to stupid meetings when we have work to do?
Testy Manager:
You think you’re suffering? I have to brainstorm kicky initiatives while the special ops group rappels down walls with bumper stickers in their teeth.
AE: When are we gonna talk about my raise? I gotta houseful of Whos to feed.
TM: Sit down and shut up.
IN CONCLUSION,
Please don’t hesitate to contact me with questions. Remember, if you display any curiosity about any aspect of the branding initiative and don’t immediately ask a question, a member of the special ops unit will land on your head.
Happy Holidays!
##
To: All Employees, Mr. Grinch Inc.
From: Cindy Lou Who, President
Grinchy Greetings!
As company president and chair of the Grinch Branding Task Force (Special Operations Unit), I am proud to announce an exciting new initiative to replace last year’s “Let’s All Be Green and Weird” campaign.
Remember, we cannot hope to convince customers of Mr. Grinch’s change of heart (yes, it really did grow three sizes that day!) if our own people continue to shriek in horror whenever he visits our corporate offices. Thus, we have created a new way to present our brand message in a sparkling, spellbinding fashion (see figure 34XY9 and spreadsheet RM450).
We will begin with 27 meetings with 4.5 employees each during the course of a week. At these meetings I will provide a brief slide presentation (see “spellbinding,” above and offer each employee a happy Grinch mask and fuzzy green vest.
The new brand message, or “vision” if you will, is particularly powerful because it has both an internal and an external purpose. Internally, it deepens our influence and impact on each other. Externally, this vision will empower us to expand our influence on the world. We can now channel our collective focus, energy and resources on building one powerful external brand. Next step: world domination!
Vital to developing any branding initiative is an intuitive grasp of Mr. Grinch’s core values. Such values inspire the instant sense of kinship and trust you feel when you meet another member of this organization. (Needless to say, hiding in broom closets should no longer be necessary.)
OUR 2006 CORE VALUES
Boldly Go!
Roast Beast
Cool
The more insightful among you will see the pivotal changes made to the 2005 Core Values. We shortened “Sexy-Cool” to “Cool” and changed “Free Sleigh Rides!” to “Boldly Go!”
All these changes were made after copious feedback requiring thousands of man hours. However, lively dialogue with employees on branding issues remains our most precious resource. We now offer a quick example of appropriate and inappropriate dialogue:
APPROPRIATE DIALOGUE
Thoughtful Employee:
How can we be sure that the branding initiative will not diffuse or confuse who we are as an organization?
Empathetic Manager:
We all love and value this organization. Our goal is not to change who we are, but rather, to more accurately express who we are today and provide a platform to increase our reach, influence and value to members moving forward.
TE: I worry that this initiative will threaten our core promise and the brand recognition/value that we have already established. Seriously, it keeps me up at night.
EM: This evolution in no way changes our core member promise to not keep Christmas from coming. This brand simply opens up a new dimension in which Whoville and the Grinch can pursue other avenues to revenue enhancement.
TE: Thank heavens for this meeting. I feel more serene and confident regarding my part in the company’s future.
INAPPROPRIATE DIALOGUE
Apathetic Employee:
Why do you keep making us come to stupid meetings when we have work to do?
Testy Manager:
You think you’re suffering? I have to brainstorm kicky initiatives while the special ops group rappels down walls with bumper stickers in their teeth.
AE: When are we gonna talk about my raise? I gotta houseful of Whos to feed.
TM: Sit down and shut up.
IN CONCLUSION,
Please don’t hesitate to contact me with questions. Remember, if you display any curiosity about any aspect of the branding initiative and don’t immediately ask a question, a member of the special ops unit will land on your head.
Happy Holidays!
##
Monday, December 05, 2005
The Long Slog
Well, I’m back, after a two-month hiatus. October was one of those long slogs with a new worry around every corner. My writing, my house, even my military reading list fell by the wayside.
My birthday, sadly, was one of the lowest points. The whole damn month just skittered out of control, with Benny’s surgery on the first Wednesday. The next day, he came down with a horrific cold. Sunday came and clobbered me with the same cold. Benny’s recovery from both surgery and sickness was slow, but he was just well enough to have cabin fever, since he couldn’t go to daycare.
A week later, just to make a party of it, Benny got an ear infection and I caught something that made me cough uncontrollably for two days. The doctor gave me a Magic Elixir with a heavy narcotic which beat down my cough, but gave the world a slightly glazed aspect. Still with Benny now in daycare three days a week and me thoroughly drugged, life calmed down, and we all slid out of October in a calmer state of mind.
In fact, we’d all recovered enough so I could tackle National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. This crazy program challenges people to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. I’d actually “won” NaNo in 2002 by writing a science fiction novel called “The Secret Soldiers.” Back then, of course, I had no kid and no job (we’d just moved to Michigan from California), so I had time to write detailed outlines and dream up zany subplots. It was very lovingly written, actually, requiring index cards and labeled file folders.
This year was quite different. After a heady burst of enthusiasm in the first week, I wrote my novel “Escaping Olympus” through an effort of sheer will. No outlines, character sheets or maps – just a pile of reference books and a rough list of plot points. Half the time I was exhausted; the rest of the time, I would rather do anything else. Without the support of Ron, Cindy and my friend Jessica in California, I never would have finished it. I grew to loathe Max and Daphne, my main characters, and all the crazy folks they had to deal with. Now the finished draft is buried in my hard drive and I’m afraid to look at it.
December is looking much better, thankfully, and I have high hopes for 2006. Happy Holidays!
##
My birthday, sadly, was one of the lowest points. The whole damn month just skittered out of control, with Benny’s surgery on the first Wednesday. The next day, he came down with a horrific cold. Sunday came and clobbered me with the same cold. Benny’s recovery from both surgery and sickness was slow, but he was just well enough to have cabin fever, since he couldn’t go to daycare.
A week later, just to make a party of it, Benny got an ear infection and I caught something that made me cough uncontrollably for two days. The doctor gave me a Magic Elixir with a heavy narcotic which beat down my cough, but gave the world a slightly glazed aspect. Still with Benny now in daycare three days a week and me thoroughly drugged, life calmed down, and we all slid out of October in a calmer state of mind.
In fact, we’d all recovered enough so I could tackle National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. This crazy program challenges people to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. I’d actually “won” NaNo in 2002 by writing a science fiction novel called “The Secret Soldiers.” Back then, of course, I had no kid and no job (we’d just moved to Michigan from California), so I had time to write detailed outlines and dream up zany subplots. It was very lovingly written, actually, requiring index cards and labeled file folders.
This year was quite different. After a heady burst of enthusiasm in the first week, I wrote my novel “Escaping Olympus” through an effort of sheer will. No outlines, character sheets or maps – just a pile of reference books and a rough list of plot points. Half the time I was exhausted; the rest of the time, I would rather do anything else. Without the support of Ron, Cindy and my friend Jessica in California, I never would have finished it. I grew to loathe Max and Daphne, my main characters, and all the crazy folks they had to deal with. Now the finished draft is buried in my hard drive and I’m afraid to look at it.
December is looking much better, thankfully, and I have high hopes for 2006. Happy Holidays!
##
Friday, October 14, 2005
The Rise and Fall of a Really Long Book
Well, I just closed up Book No. 2, written by military history writer Paul “I wish I was Gibbon” Kennedy. Paul Kennedy wrote “The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers” and “The Rise and Fall of British Naval Mastery”, among others. (1)
Described as “a work of almost Toynbeean sweep,” the Great Powers book purports to describe economic change and military conflict from 1500 to 2000. Well, jolly. Apparently just reading a military history book isn’t tough enough, Let’s throw in some economics for fun. (2)
Kennedy is definitely an economist -- never met a list he didn’t like. When discussing 15th-century China, a lesser historian would refer to “the formidable Ming navy.” Not Kennedy – he’ll list how many combat vessels, how many floating fortresses, how many cruisers, how many private ships, etc., along with a list of the countries the private ships traded with. Bleah. Remember Clause’s “dreary pedantry?”
Kennedy lists the world’s most “broad and fertile river zones,” to no real purpose (his point was that Europe didn’t have any), just to show off. He lists North America’s biggest exports, Europe’s busiest ports and types of missile-throwing instruments. (What the hell is a trebuchet? Who cares?) (3)
Then he goes on to the Hapsburgs and turns slightly less boring, happily listing the reasons the empire failed. (sounded a little smug, too; after all, the empire survived in some form for 400 years. The U.S. should be so lucky.)
I liked some of the economic backdrop, how sheep grazing willy-nilly all over 16th-century Spain hurt that country’s ability to fight in the Netherlands. (4) He made a nice point that Wellington’s army in 1815 wasn’t much different than Lord Marlborough’s a century before. Nelson’s fleet wasn’t much more advanced technologically than Louis XIV’s. It was the military organization that changed.
But Kennedy would constantly undermine his own writing. He wanted to be both Good Cop and Bad Cop whenever he analyzed a country. Which is fine, you want to know both the positives and negatives.
However, it’s pretty discouraging to sit through tiny-type pages filled with long lists, praising the Power to the skies (such wonderful diplomacy, arms production, railroads, military development!), only to read that actually, the country has no money and a crazy leader and won’t amount to anything.
This isn’t Good Cop/Bad Cop, it’s Good Cop/Bad Sargeant, where a cop lists 43 reasons why you aren’t really in trouble and then Sarge strides in and barks, “Lock ‘im up!”
After a while, you conclude that nobody’s any good, everyone’s riddled with tragic weaknesses, and we should all go back to pounding rocks with sticks. Kennedy turned much more confident and readable with World War II, but after that I kind of gave up and watched “Hot Properties” on ABC.
________________________
FOOTNOTES
1) Gibbon wrote “The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.” I know, it was a cheap history joke. Sue me.
2) And no, I don’t know who Toynbee was. The line’s funnier if you don’t know. I see great possibilities for intellectual references. “How was that parenting article on the dangers of stickers?” a playgroup mother might ask me. “Ah,” I’ll say in awed tones, “It was a work of almost Toynbeean sweep.”
And yes, I really did read an article last week warning parents about stickers. We are a nation at risk, surely.
3) It’s some sort of medieval catapult. You can buy a desktop model at trebuchet.com for 30 bucks. Yawn. God, footnotes are boring.
4) Don’t ask me how. Read it yourself. I’m not going back in there.
#
Described as “a work of almost Toynbeean sweep,” the Great Powers book purports to describe economic change and military conflict from 1500 to 2000. Well, jolly. Apparently just reading a military history book isn’t tough enough, Let’s throw in some economics for fun. (2)
Kennedy is definitely an economist -- never met a list he didn’t like. When discussing 15th-century China, a lesser historian would refer to “the formidable Ming navy.” Not Kennedy – he’ll list how many combat vessels, how many floating fortresses, how many cruisers, how many private ships, etc., along with a list of the countries the private ships traded with. Bleah. Remember Clause’s “dreary pedantry?”
Kennedy lists the world’s most “broad and fertile river zones,” to no real purpose (his point was that Europe didn’t have any), just to show off. He lists North America’s biggest exports, Europe’s busiest ports and types of missile-throwing instruments. (What the hell is a trebuchet? Who cares?) (3)
Then he goes on to the Hapsburgs and turns slightly less boring, happily listing the reasons the empire failed. (sounded a little smug, too; after all, the empire survived in some form for 400 years. The U.S. should be so lucky.)
I liked some of the economic backdrop, how sheep grazing willy-nilly all over 16th-century Spain hurt that country’s ability to fight in the Netherlands. (4) He made a nice point that Wellington’s army in 1815 wasn’t much different than Lord Marlborough’s a century before. Nelson’s fleet wasn’t much more advanced technologically than Louis XIV’s. It was the military organization that changed.
But Kennedy would constantly undermine his own writing. He wanted to be both Good Cop and Bad Cop whenever he analyzed a country. Which is fine, you want to know both the positives and negatives.
However, it’s pretty discouraging to sit through tiny-type pages filled with long lists, praising the Power to the skies (such wonderful diplomacy, arms production, railroads, military development!), only to read that actually, the country has no money and a crazy leader and won’t amount to anything.
This isn’t Good Cop/Bad Cop, it’s Good Cop/Bad Sargeant, where a cop lists 43 reasons why you aren’t really in trouble and then Sarge strides in and barks, “Lock ‘im up!”
After a while, you conclude that nobody’s any good, everyone’s riddled with tragic weaknesses, and we should all go back to pounding rocks with sticks. Kennedy turned much more confident and readable with World War II, but after that I kind of gave up and watched “Hot Properties” on ABC.
________________________
FOOTNOTES
1) Gibbon wrote “The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.” I know, it was a cheap history joke. Sue me.
2) And no, I don’t know who Toynbee was. The line’s funnier if you don’t know. I see great possibilities for intellectual references. “How was that parenting article on the dangers of stickers?” a playgroup mother might ask me. “Ah,” I’ll say in awed tones, “It was a work of almost Toynbeean sweep.”
And yes, I really did read an article last week warning parents about stickers. We are a nation at risk, surely.
3) It’s some sort of medieval catapult. You can buy a desktop model at trebuchet.com for 30 bucks. Yawn. God, footnotes are boring.
4) Don’t ask me how. Read it yourself. I’m not going back in there.
#
Thursday, October 06, 2005
On War: The Thrill of Victory
Barney Brodie, author of the reading guide to Clausewitz’s “On War,” said it best: “With Book Eight we are back in the realm of pure gold.”
“Book Seven was not exactly wandering in the wilderness,” he continued, “but ... Clausewitz himself seemed to be eager to hurry through it.”
I agree, except I thought all three middle chapters were wandering in the wilderness, and I nearly didn’t make it.
Clause pounds home a familiar maxim: “Destruction of the enemy is what always matters most.” If he repeats this, it’s because war leaders get distracted so much. They want to strut around, or scare the enemy or capture some sexy fortress – none of which destroys the enemy.
With “War Plans,” Clause says, we will put all the influential factors in war in a nice tidy, order. (Insert maniac Prussian cackle here.)
But Clause knows we’re scared, so he says: “When we contemplate all this, we are overcome by the fear that we shall be irresistibly dragged down to a state of dreary pendantry, and grub around the underworld of ponderous concepts.” (Exactly, Clause, where the hell was this fear in Book Six?)
In the end, he says, theory isn’t a bunch of formulas for solving problems, “nor can it mark a narrow path on which the sole solution is supposed to lie by planting a hedge of principles on either side.”
And so we begin the last sprint to the finish line. Clause talks about the gap between “absolute war” where people go to war for sound, logical reasons and conduct the war in a focused, efficient manner; and “real war” where everything goes weird and incoherent and nobody knows what’s going on.
He tries to explain why this happens, generally because people love to take the easy way out when they can. He crabs sniffily about the wimpy wars before Napoleon, where nobody went and laid waste to the enemy’s land.
War back then was instead conducted by separate, clearly defined forces and nobody was hurt too much, least of all the people in the countries engaged. It was easy to figure out what the enemy had, so a general knew exactly how many guys to send to tussle over a useless supply depot.
But once Europe became a happy land of plunder and carnage, generals could identify the enemy’s center of gravity (the army, or the capitol, or both) and destroy it.
And don’t divide your main force, for god’s sake. Clause just won’t let that go. When a “trained” general staff scatter their forces like chess pieces, when the leaders use “self-styled” expertise to get all devious for no reason, when armies separate to show “consummate skill” by reuniting two weeks later at utmost risk, well, Clause says, that’s just “idiocy.”
Clause wraps things up with one of his favorite examples, Napoleon’s doomed advance into Russia in 1812. Napoleon entered Russia with half a million men and returned to France with about 50,000. Most people think he just advanced too quickly and too far, that he took Moscow and found himself over his head. Clause doesn’t think so. He thinks Napoleon basically did things well (although he definitely could have started sooner and saved more men). Napolean thought taking Moscow would topple Russia, but he miscalculated. Czar Alexander and his people were tougher than that. So it was the PLAN that was wrong, not the execution.
And on that happy note, I closed “On War,” the first book on my terrifying military history reading list, adopted simply to get me through an awful TV season. I finished it (more or less), but it still scares me. The benefits remain to be seen.
So what’s up for book two? Nothing less than the “Rise and Fall of the Great Powers” by Paul Kennedy, which I borrowed from Andy. I really have no choice, you know. Anything’s better than Kelly Ripa in “Hope & Faith.”
##
“Book Seven was not exactly wandering in the wilderness,” he continued, “but ... Clausewitz himself seemed to be eager to hurry through it.”
I agree, except I thought all three middle chapters were wandering in the wilderness, and I nearly didn’t make it.
Clause pounds home a familiar maxim: “Destruction of the enemy is what always matters most.” If he repeats this, it’s because war leaders get distracted so much. They want to strut around, or scare the enemy or capture some sexy fortress – none of which destroys the enemy.
With “War Plans,” Clause says, we will put all the influential factors in war in a nice tidy, order. (Insert maniac Prussian cackle here.)
But Clause knows we’re scared, so he says: “When we contemplate all this, we are overcome by the fear that we shall be irresistibly dragged down to a state of dreary pendantry, and grub around the underworld of ponderous concepts.” (Exactly, Clause, where the hell was this fear in Book Six?)
In the end, he says, theory isn’t a bunch of formulas for solving problems, “nor can it mark a narrow path on which the sole solution is supposed to lie by planting a hedge of principles on either side.”
And so we begin the last sprint to the finish line. Clause talks about the gap between “absolute war” where people go to war for sound, logical reasons and conduct the war in a focused, efficient manner; and “real war” where everything goes weird and incoherent and nobody knows what’s going on.
He tries to explain why this happens, generally because people love to take the easy way out when they can. He crabs sniffily about the wimpy wars before Napoleon, where nobody went and laid waste to the enemy’s land.
War back then was instead conducted by separate, clearly defined forces and nobody was hurt too much, least of all the people in the countries engaged. It was easy to figure out what the enemy had, so a general knew exactly how many guys to send to tussle over a useless supply depot.
But once Europe became a happy land of plunder and carnage, generals could identify the enemy’s center of gravity (the army, or the capitol, or both) and destroy it.
And don’t divide your main force, for god’s sake. Clause just won’t let that go. When a “trained” general staff scatter their forces like chess pieces, when the leaders use “self-styled” expertise to get all devious for no reason, when armies separate to show “consummate skill” by reuniting two weeks later at utmost risk, well, Clause says, that’s just “idiocy.”
Clause wraps things up with one of his favorite examples, Napoleon’s doomed advance into Russia in 1812. Napoleon entered Russia with half a million men and returned to France with about 50,000. Most people think he just advanced too quickly and too far, that he took Moscow and found himself over his head. Clause doesn’t think so. He thinks Napoleon basically did things well (although he definitely could have started sooner and saved more men). Napolean thought taking Moscow would topple Russia, but he miscalculated. Czar Alexander and his people were tougher than that. So it was the PLAN that was wrong, not the execution.
And on that happy note, I closed “On War,” the first book on my terrifying military history reading list, adopted simply to get me through an awful TV season. I finished it (more or less), but it still scares me. The benefits remain to be seen.
So what’s up for book two? Nothing less than the “Rise and Fall of the Great Powers” by Paul Kennedy, which I borrowed from Andy. I really have no choice, you know. Anything’s better than Kelly Ripa in “Hope & Faith.”
##
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
On War: Rationing the Horse Fodder
I just wasn’t prepared.
The author of the “On War” reading guide, Bernard Brodie, was a cheery companion for the first three sections. But even Barney couldn’t drum up much enthusiasm for Book Four. He called various chapters “rather less consequential” or “not particularly memorable.” I can think of some stronger language, like “fairly gruesome,” “droolingly dull” and “coma-inducing.”
I did like one chapter on the use of the battle, where Clause gets all indignant about silly folks who don’t like to fight. They get nervous when it’s time to roll the dice. “The human spirit recoils from the decision brought about by a single blow,” he says.
So governments and commanders sought out other means of avoiding a decisive battle, finding other ways to meet their goal or abandoning it altogether. All this, Clause says, turned a battle into a kind of evil, something that a properly managed war could avoid.
“Recent history has scattered such nonsense to the winds,” Clause snaps. Warriors must not fall into the same stupid thinking again.
“We are not interested in generals who win victories without bloodshed,” he goes on. “The fact that slaughter is a horrifying spectacle must make us take war more seriously, but not provide an excuse for gradually blunting our swords in the name of humanity. Sooner or later someone will come along with a sharp sword and hack off our arms.”
Ah, good old bloodthirsty Clause.
He makes another important point: that now victory is effective without pursuit. Troops on both sides are exhausted and disorganized after a battle. But this isn’t the time for the victor to pause. Any time lost after the battle is in the loser’s favor. He’ll get a nice rest and maybe some gruel or something. Then the victor has to go beat him all over again.
Clause constantly repeats this point throughout the book, but it’s worth hounding us about. Apparently he didn’t go far enough anyway, since I remember some Civil War generals who’d beat the enemy, then sit around and let him go.
So okay, not bad. But then I hit Book Five (“Military Forces”). Barney called the early chapters “somewhat dated.” I call them “thoroughly useless.”
Modern armies are huge, Clause writes breathlessly. Why Napolean had 200,000 men! And then he tells us in detail how to go into winter quarters.
But I’d rather read about marches, billets and horse fodder all day then deal with Book Six (“Defense”) again. Defense is the stronger form of waging war, Clause tells us, an idea that World War I generals took a little too much to heart.
Clause tells us how to defend fortresses, set up fortified positions and establish entrenched camps. We defend ourselves in the mountains, by the rivers, in the swamps, in the forests and along a cordon. Even Barney admits tiredly that in the last chapter, “Clausewitz is not at his inspired best.”
I myself skimmed much of Book Six, eager to get on to the more interesting problem of attack. Oh God, what a mistake that was. What I got is how to ATTACK a force on the river, attack an entrenched camp, attack a mountainous area, attack the enemy in swamps, forests and cordons. Barney was bored too: “This book is but the obverse of the preceding book,” he grumbled.
I liked the part about the “culminating point of victory,” which says the attacker can overshoot the point at which, if he stopped and assumed the defensive, he might still succeed. The trick is, of course, knowing when to quit.
I nearly quit myself halfway through Book Six, and again early in Book Seven. I was very discouraged, given to snapping at slow ATM machines and griping about long traffic lights. Perhaps this was a stupid idea. I’m a 21st-century housewife with a toddler to raise, not a Napoleanic general with cavalry forces to manage. Maybe I should acknowledge my culminating point and go watch “So You Think You Can Dance?”
But I slogged on, and was rewarded by Book Eight: “War Plans.”
##
The author of the “On War” reading guide, Bernard Brodie, was a cheery companion for the first three sections. But even Barney couldn’t drum up much enthusiasm for Book Four. He called various chapters “rather less consequential” or “not particularly memorable.” I can think of some stronger language, like “fairly gruesome,” “droolingly dull” and “coma-inducing.”
I did like one chapter on the use of the battle, where Clause gets all indignant about silly folks who don’t like to fight. They get nervous when it’s time to roll the dice. “The human spirit recoils from the decision brought about by a single blow,” he says.
So governments and commanders sought out other means of avoiding a decisive battle, finding other ways to meet their goal or abandoning it altogether. All this, Clause says, turned a battle into a kind of evil, something that a properly managed war could avoid.
“Recent history has scattered such nonsense to the winds,” Clause snaps. Warriors must not fall into the same stupid thinking again.
“We are not interested in generals who win victories without bloodshed,” he goes on. “The fact that slaughter is a horrifying spectacle must make us take war more seriously, but not provide an excuse for gradually blunting our swords in the name of humanity. Sooner or later someone will come along with a sharp sword and hack off our arms.”
Ah, good old bloodthirsty Clause.
He makes another important point: that now victory is effective without pursuit. Troops on both sides are exhausted and disorganized after a battle. But this isn’t the time for the victor to pause. Any time lost after the battle is in the loser’s favor. He’ll get a nice rest and maybe some gruel or something. Then the victor has to go beat him all over again.
Clause constantly repeats this point throughout the book, but it’s worth hounding us about. Apparently he didn’t go far enough anyway, since I remember some Civil War generals who’d beat the enemy, then sit around and let him go.
So okay, not bad. But then I hit Book Five (“Military Forces”). Barney called the early chapters “somewhat dated.” I call them “thoroughly useless.”
Modern armies are huge, Clause writes breathlessly. Why Napolean had 200,000 men! And then he tells us in detail how to go into winter quarters.
But I’d rather read about marches, billets and horse fodder all day then deal with Book Six (“Defense”) again. Defense is the stronger form of waging war, Clause tells us, an idea that World War I generals took a little too much to heart.
Clause tells us how to defend fortresses, set up fortified positions and establish entrenched camps. We defend ourselves in the mountains, by the rivers, in the swamps, in the forests and along a cordon. Even Barney admits tiredly that in the last chapter, “Clausewitz is not at his inspired best.”
I myself skimmed much of Book Six, eager to get on to the more interesting problem of attack. Oh God, what a mistake that was. What I got is how to ATTACK a force on the river, attack an entrenched camp, attack a mountainous area, attack the enemy in swamps, forests and cordons. Barney was bored too: “This book is but the obverse of the preceding book,” he grumbled.
I liked the part about the “culminating point of victory,” which says the attacker can overshoot the point at which, if he stopped and assumed the defensive, he might still succeed. The trick is, of course, knowing when to quit.
I nearly quit myself halfway through Book Six, and again early in Book Seven. I was very discouraged, given to snapping at slow ATM machines and griping about long traffic lights. Perhaps this was a stupid idea. I’m a 21st-century housewife with a toddler to raise, not a Napoleanic general with cavalry forces to manage. Maybe I should acknowledge my culminating point and go watch “So You Think You Can Dance?”
But I slogged on, and was rewarded by Book Eight: “War Plans.”
##
Sunday, October 02, 2005
On War: Don't Skip Lunch at A&W
There’s a reason why people read Clausewitz in the abridged version. Anybody tempted to read the middle sections of his book “On War” should lie down until the feeling goes away.
I felt rather smug as I marched steadily through Book One, nodding sagely at Clause’s big concept, “Friction in War.” “Everything in war is very simple,” Clause said, “but the simplest thing is difficult.”
Nice work, Clause. You’re a regular Oscar Wilde. (1)
But I did like that basic idea, how difficulties accumulate in war until they make victory nearly impossible. Let’s say you’re driving to Kalamazoo on Interstate 94 and decide not to stop for lunch at the Albion A&W, although you love A&Ws. You’ll be in Kazoo in an hour, you’ve got a Snickers bar under the passenger seat, you’ll make it. Easy.
But then you hit some road construction, and then traffic slows down for an accident, and then you’re stuck behind two halves of a modular home that blocks both lanes. A funny light starts blinking on your dashboard, and you instinctively slow some more. Finally, after two hours and many difficulties, you arrive in Kalamazoo and scarf down two scary hot dogs at a 7-Eleven. Austria’s defeat at Austerlitz couldn’t be more tragic.
Or, to illustrate this idea more poetically (Clause is the genius after all, not me):
“Each war is an uncharted sea, full of reefs. The commander may suspect the reefs’ existence without ever having seen them; now he has to steer past them in the dark.”
Nice. Then I strode confidently into Book Two (“The Theory of War”), full of dishy stuff about tactics and strategies and sniggering comments about geniuses. (2)
Book Three (“Strategy in General”), while not a rollicking good time, had neat stuff about boldness, perseverance, surprise, cunning and the science-fiction-sounding “Unification of Forces in Time.”
In his chapter on the strategic reserve, Clause talked about a reserve’s two purposes: to prolong and renew the action and to counter unforeseen threats. What he didn’t like was maintaining a strategic reserve for the hell of it. He mentions the Prussian loss at Jena in 1806, where the Prussians had 20,000-man reserve just over the river, but couldn’t get it to the battle in time. Meanwhile, another 25,000 men were in east and south Prussia, just sitting around, acting as another reserve. Stuff like that makes Clause crazy.
All good stuff. But then I turned to Book Four (“The Engagement”) and began an unhappy relationship that sapped my confidence and broke my heart.
_________________________________________
(1) That’s no compliment really, since I dislike the playwright Oscar Wilde. His stuff sounds witty on the surface:
“Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow.”
“Whenever people agree with me I always feel I must be wrong. “
“I can resist anything but temptation.”
But Oscar’s a big phony; anybody can write like that. Just take an idea and turn it upside down. Here’s two from me:
“My faults are my only virtues.”
“Nothing is cleaner than a dirty mind.”
Go on. Try it.
(2) Here’s a real footnote with a nice Clause quote. He was sneering at his fellow military theorists. If something couldn’t be addressed by their fancy rules, his fellows said the issue was the stuff of genius and defied all rules. Here’s Clause’s response:
“Pity the soldier who is supposed to crawl among these scraps of rules, not good enough for genius, which genius can ignore or laugh at.”
Go get ‘em, Clause.
##
I felt rather smug as I marched steadily through Book One, nodding sagely at Clause’s big concept, “Friction in War.” “Everything in war is very simple,” Clause said, “but the simplest thing is difficult.”
Nice work, Clause. You’re a regular Oscar Wilde. (1)
But I did like that basic idea, how difficulties accumulate in war until they make victory nearly impossible. Let’s say you’re driving to Kalamazoo on Interstate 94 and decide not to stop for lunch at the Albion A&W, although you love A&Ws. You’ll be in Kazoo in an hour, you’ve got a Snickers bar under the passenger seat, you’ll make it. Easy.
But then you hit some road construction, and then traffic slows down for an accident, and then you’re stuck behind two halves of a modular home that blocks both lanes. A funny light starts blinking on your dashboard, and you instinctively slow some more. Finally, after two hours and many difficulties, you arrive in Kalamazoo and scarf down two scary hot dogs at a 7-Eleven. Austria’s defeat at Austerlitz couldn’t be more tragic.
Or, to illustrate this idea more poetically (Clause is the genius after all, not me):
“Each war is an uncharted sea, full of reefs. The commander may suspect the reefs’ existence without ever having seen them; now he has to steer past them in the dark.”
Nice. Then I strode confidently into Book Two (“The Theory of War”), full of dishy stuff about tactics and strategies and sniggering comments about geniuses. (2)
Book Three (“Strategy in General”), while not a rollicking good time, had neat stuff about boldness, perseverance, surprise, cunning and the science-fiction-sounding “Unification of Forces in Time.”
In his chapter on the strategic reserve, Clause talked about a reserve’s two purposes: to prolong and renew the action and to counter unforeseen threats. What he didn’t like was maintaining a strategic reserve for the hell of it. He mentions the Prussian loss at Jena in 1806, where the Prussians had 20,000-man reserve just over the river, but couldn’t get it to the battle in time. Meanwhile, another 25,000 men were in east and south Prussia, just sitting around, acting as another reserve. Stuff like that makes Clause crazy.
All good stuff. But then I turned to Book Four (“The Engagement”) and began an unhappy relationship that sapped my confidence and broke my heart.
_________________________________________
(1) That’s no compliment really, since I dislike the playwright Oscar Wilde. His stuff sounds witty on the surface:
“Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow.”
“Whenever people agree with me I always feel I must be wrong. “
“I can resist anything but temptation.”
But Oscar’s a big phony; anybody can write like that. Just take an idea and turn it upside down. Here’s two from me:
“My faults are my only virtues.”
“Nothing is cleaner than a dirty mind.”
Go on. Try it.
(2) Here’s a real footnote with a nice Clause quote. He was sneering at his fellow military theorists. If something couldn’t be addressed by their fancy rules, his fellows said the issue was the stuff of genius and defied all rules. Here’s Clause’s response:
“Pity the soldier who is supposed to crawl among these scraps of rules, not good enough for genius, which genius can ignore or laugh at.”
Go get ‘em, Clause.
##
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
On War: Napoleon was God in Funny Pants
[Keep in mind, this post has footnotes on the bottom. Every military treatise has footnotes.]
Oooh, what a big book. Hefty. Almost as big as the latest Harry Potter novel. It’s the unabridged text of Carl von Clausewitz’s “On War.”
Damn thing scares me half to death. It’s been edited, translated and indexed, and includes a commentary, a preface, introductory essays and a reading guide.
Published in 1832, its lessons have guided Karl Marx, Otto von Bismark and French political theorist Raymond Aron. (I didn’t know who Aron was either; I had to look him up. His most popular picture shows him with a pipe and a big nose.)
I skipped the editor’s note (who reads those anyway) and headed straight to the first introductory essay. I plowed through Clause’s Prussian military career, yawning mightily. But then I hit a section about his contemporary theorists – generally, why Clause was right and they were idiots.
The biggest idiot, apparently, was a Swiss-French staff officer named Antoine Jomini. According to Tony Jomini, Napoleon was God in funny pants, and he set the standard for all future conflicts. Clause thought that was ridiculous.
The interesting thing was Jomini’s obsession with Napoleon, and his remark, “Methods change, but principles remain the same.” (1) Jomini was followed by both sides during the American civil war. I liked that. I liked that these military writings could influence events far into the future, although Jomini’s principles didn’t help the Civil War much.
So I turned to the first chapter, which asked “What is War?” That reminded me of my old geology textbooks: “The scientist must first consider, what is erosion?” I liked the chapter. It was filled with nice, simple paragraphs headed by titles in all caps.
Clause liked to talk about the element of chance: “Guesswork and luck play a great part in war.” He thought strict formulas were nutty because you never knew what was going to happen when you marched your little army over the ridge. Commanders rolled the dice on everything, including the weather, although Clause didn’t care much about weather. (2)
He also emphasized that war isn’t just a bunch of battles, but an instrument of policy. You can kill a bunch of guys, capture their hill and blow up their supply dump, but unless all this actually advanced the policy, or purpose of the war, it was all for nothing. Too bad that great military minds forgot this simple fact during the Civil War and World War I.
So basically, although this book still freaks me out, Clause is a guy I can do business with. He doesn’t read like a typical military historian – he actually sounds like a lawyer. He’s the kind of guy that if you asked him, “Is it raining outside?” He wouldn’t answer. He’d run to his pen (or quill, or whatever) and write this:
ON RAIN By Clause
Before we answer the query “Is it raining,” we must ask ourselves, “What is rain?” One might assert that rain is liquid precipitation from the clouds, but things are rarely so simple. The careless observer might spy water on the windowpane and thus answer the query. But such an action is little more than rank folly; it fails to take into account that someone may be dumping bathwater from the second story, or the moisture may stem from the wild and reckless use of a watering can, or finally, although unlikely, that an elephant may be standing in the daffodils and spraying from its tusk. Therefore …
Well, you see what I’m up against here. Perhaps I should just give up and watch “The Apprentice.”
________________
FOOTNOTES
(1) The snooty historian called this remark “endlessly quoted.” I agree. Why just the other day, when I was pushing Benny through Meijer, I heard a cashier refer to the phrase.
CASHIER: You gotta make sure they swipe the card right on the new machines. You remember what military historian Antoine Jomini always said.
TRAINEE: Oh yes. It’s endlessly quoted.
(2) Except fog, Clause had this weird obsession with fog. To hear him tell it, there’s a 19th century army still wandering around some foggy lowlands, wondering where Boney is.
##
Oooh, what a big book. Hefty. Almost as big as the latest Harry Potter novel. It’s the unabridged text of Carl von Clausewitz’s “On War.”
Damn thing scares me half to death. It’s been edited, translated and indexed, and includes a commentary, a preface, introductory essays and a reading guide.
Published in 1832, its lessons have guided Karl Marx, Otto von Bismark and French political theorist Raymond Aron. (I didn’t know who Aron was either; I had to look him up. His most popular picture shows him with a pipe and a big nose.)
I skipped the editor’s note (who reads those anyway) and headed straight to the first introductory essay. I plowed through Clause’s Prussian military career, yawning mightily. But then I hit a section about his contemporary theorists – generally, why Clause was right and they were idiots.
The biggest idiot, apparently, was a Swiss-French staff officer named Antoine Jomini. According to Tony Jomini, Napoleon was God in funny pants, and he set the standard for all future conflicts. Clause thought that was ridiculous.
The interesting thing was Jomini’s obsession with Napoleon, and his remark, “Methods change, but principles remain the same.” (1) Jomini was followed by both sides during the American civil war. I liked that. I liked that these military writings could influence events far into the future, although Jomini’s principles didn’t help the Civil War much.
So I turned to the first chapter, which asked “What is War?” That reminded me of my old geology textbooks: “The scientist must first consider, what is erosion?” I liked the chapter. It was filled with nice, simple paragraphs headed by titles in all caps.
Clause liked to talk about the element of chance: “Guesswork and luck play a great part in war.” He thought strict formulas were nutty because you never knew what was going to happen when you marched your little army over the ridge. Commanders rolled the dice on everything, including the weather, although Clause didn’t care much about weather. (2)
He also emphasized that war isn’t just a bunch of battles, but an instrument of policy. You can kill a bunch of guys, capture their hill and blow up their supply dump, but unless all this actually advanced the policy, or purpose of the war, it was all for nothing. Too bad that great military minds forgot this simple fact during the Civil War and World War I.
So basically, although this book still freaks me out, Clause is a guy I can do business with. He doesn’t read like a typical military historian – he actually sounds like a lawyer. He’s the kind of guy that if you asked him, “Is it raining outside?” He wouldn’t answer. He’d run to his pen (or quill, or whatever) and write this:
ON RAIN By Clause
Before we answer the query “Is it raining,” we must ask ourselves, “What is rain?” One might assert that rain is liquid precipitation from the clouds, but things are rarely so simple. The careless observer might spy water on the windowpane and thus answer the query. But such an action is little more than rank folly; it fails to take into account that someone may be dumping bathwater from the second story, or the moisture may stem from the wild and reckless use of a watering can, or finally, although unlikely, that an elephant may be standing in the daffodils and spraying from its tusk. Therefore …
Well, you see what I’m up against here. Perhaps I should just give up and watch “The Apprentice.”
________________
FOOTNOTES
(1) The snooty historian called this remark “endlessly quoted.” I agree. Why just the other day, when I was pushing Benny through Meijer, I heard a cashier refer to the phrase.
CASHIER: You gotta make sure they swipe the card right on the new machines. You remember what military historian Antoine Jomini always said.
TRAINEE: Oh yes. It’s endlessly quoted.
(2) Except fog, Clause had this weird obsession with fog. To hear him tell it, there’s a 19th century army still wandering around some foggy lowlands, wondering where Boney is.
##
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Christine’s Military History Seminar
I’m reading Clausewitz these days and I’ll tell you whose fault it is: TV network execs.
I had high hopes for this year’s TV season. Disgusted by last year's tripe, I’ve been watching movie and TV discs from Netflix, emerging only for “West Wing” and the occasional “Supernanny”.
But it’s a real drag, all that DVD renting, just so I could relax after Benny went to bed. (This wasn’t an issue in Benny’s first year. I was too busy washing 300 bottles and folding 600 burp cloths every night to watch anything.)
This year’s season, I thought, had to be better.
It wasn’t.
The Fonz stages a comeback on CBS. Martha launches hers on NBC. William Shatner sports awful ties on ABC. “Law & Order” spawns more shows (“Law & Order: Petty Theft and Parking Meter Vandalism Unit” and “CSI: Vicksburg, Mich.”)
This unholy crew only edges me closer to 18th-century Prussian military officer Carl von Clausewitz (really).
I thought, maybe I could read at night instead. But two hours of reading a night – that’s two books a week. That’s 100 books necessary to get me through one TV season.
Obviously, I needed a reading list, preferably one packed with weighty tomes. What about military history? Nobody blathers in tiny, dense text like a military historian.
So I turned to some very nice folks at Ohio State University, which has a boffo military history department. They’ve posted online a terrifying list: 100 books on European and American military history. Caesar. Engels. Thucydides. McPherson. And at the top of the list, categorized under General Works: Carl von Clausewitz’s “On War.”
Hey, don’t blame me. Blame the TV execs.
##
I had high hopes for this year’s TV season. Disgusted by last year's tripe, I’ve been watching movie and TV discs from Netflix, emerging only for “West Wing” and the occasional “Supernanny”.
But it’s a real drag, all that DVD renting, just so I could relax after Benny went to bed. (This wasn’t an issue in Benny’s first year. I was too busy washing 300 bottles and folding 600 burp cloths every night to watch anything.)
This year’s season, I thought, had to be better.
It wasn’t.
The Fonz stages a comeback on CBS. Martha launches hers on NBC. William Shatner sports awful ties on ABC. “Law & Order” spawns more shows (“Law & Order: Petty Theft and Parking Meter Vandalism Unit” and “CSI: Vicksburg, Mich.”)
This unholy crew only edges me closer to 18th-century Prussian military officer Carl von Clausewitz (really).
I thought, maybe I could read at night instead. But two hours of reading a night – that’s two books a week. That’s 100 books necessary to get me through one TV season.
Obviously, I needed a reading list, preferably one packed with weighty tomes. What about military history? Nobody blathers in tiny, dense text like a military historian.
So I turned to some very nice folks at Ohio State University, which has a boffo military history department. They’ve posted online a terrifying list: 100 books on European and American military history. Caesar. Engels. Thucydides. McPherson. And at the top of the list, categorized under General Works: Carl von Clausewitz’s “On War.”
Hey, don’t blame me. Blame the TV execs.
##
Friday, September 16, 2005
A table by the highway, please
Whew! Well, I'm better now and can take good hard look at my life. Hmm, I think I'll go back to bed.
It's shocking when you realize that you're only one to-do list from total ruin. Make it three days and I might as well chuck it all and move to Miami. I could pitch a tent outside the home of Dr. Arthur Agatston, creator of the S.O.B. diet, until I lose 30 pounds or get eaten by a crocodile, whichever comes first. But I hate Florida and I can get Dave Barry's column online, so I guess I'll stay here.
At least I could drive today, to the hair salon, the car wash and finally, to Benny's daycare. I was a little late, and the minute the door chime rang at my entrance, I heard "Mama!" from the kitchen area.
I hustled back there and saw Benny, hat and shoes on, woefully staring out the window. Then he saw me and I swear, it was a moment worthy of a Celine Dion ballad. His lip stuck out and his eyes filled up. "He's been like this since the first parent came," said a teacher as I held my sniffling boy.
To make up for my tardiness, I took Benny to Applebee's, where the waiter cunningly gave us a table with a clear view of Ann Arbor-Saline Road. Benny's eyes goggled at all the rush-hour traffic.
He did eat some garlic toast and miniscule shred of chicken, but mostly he ignored me. At one point, I played "Snake II" on my cell phone while Benny looked out the window ("Car! Truck! Car! Truck! Wow!").
The guy at the next table ordered a Jack-and-Coke. The woman behind us droned on about her urine samples. Ron called to say he had that damn flu now and he'd been home for hours, and where the hell were we? Ah, those precious mother-son moments.
Meanwhile, dishes cover the kitchen, laundry covers the basement, and despair covers the land. But I'm not sad because I'm Well! Well! Well! Yay!
##
It's shocking when you realize that you're only one to-do list from total ruin. Make it three days and I might as well chuck it all and move to Miami. I could pitch a tent outside the home of Dr. Arthur Agatston, creator of the S.O.B. diet, until I lose 30 pounds or get eaten by a crocodile, whichever comes first. But I hate Florida and I can get Dave Barry's column online, so I guess I'll stay here.
At least I could drive today, to the hair salon, the car wash and finally, to Benny's daycare. I was a little late, and the minute the door chime rang at my entrance, I heard "Mama!" from the kitchen area.
I hustled back there and saw Benny, hat and shoes on, woefully staring out the window. Then he saw me and I swear, it was a moment worthy of a Celine Dion ballad. His lip stuck out and his eyes filled up. "He's been like this since the first parent came," said a teacher as I held my sniffling boy.
To make up for my tardiness, I took Benny to Applebee's, where the waiter cunningly gave us a table with a clear view of Ann Arbor-Saline Road. Benny's eyes goggled at all the rush-hour traffic.
He did eat some garlic toast and miniscule shred of chicken, but mostly he ignored me. At one point, I played "Snake II" on my cell phone while Benny looked out the window ("Car! Truck! Car! Truck! Wow!").
The guy at the next table ordered a Jack-and-Coke. The woman behind us droned on about her urine samples. Ron called to say he had that damn flu now and he'd been home for hours, and where the hell were we? Ah, those precious mother-son moments.
Meanwhile, dishes cover the kitchen, laundry covers the basement, and despair covers the land. But I'm not sad because I'm Well! Well! Well! Yay!
##
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Danger: Mad Elephant
Well, I have unfairly maligned the S.O.B. diet. I thought it was the weird veggie dishes and lack of caffeine that made me sick. Instead, it was a monster flu.
I tried to stick to the diet on Tuesday, munching ham-and-egg dishes and watching "North and South" while Benny was at daycare. At 4 p.m., I surrendered my honor for chicken soup and Coke.
But I wasn't out of the woods yet. I started Wednesday at 6 a.m. tossing my cookies all over the kitchen. Then I held an encore performance in the bathroom. Then I nearly passed out.
Ron skipped work that day and put a baby gate across our bedroom door so I could watch them have fun without me. Every so often Benny would run to the gate and talk to me as I lay in my bed of pain. ("Truck! Bye-bye Car! Frog! Quack!") Then we'd sing songs. Really pathetic. I felt like Dumbo's mother locked in the "Mad Elephant" cage. Sometimes I lurched around the house like Quasimodo, but then I'd get dizzy and had to return to bed.
So that's three days lost to my life, and although I can't blame it on the S.O.B. diet, I'm not all that anxious to start it up again.
##
I tried to stick to the diet on Tuesday, munching ham-and-egg dishes and watching "North and South" while Benny was at daycare. At 4 p.m., I surrendered my honor for chicken soup and Coke.
But I wasn't out of the woods yet. I started Wednesday at 6 a.m. tossing my cookies all over the kitchen. Then I held an encore performance in the bathroom. Then I nearly passed out.
Ron skipped work that day and put a baby gate across our bedroom door so I could watch them have fun without me. Every so often Benny would run to the gate and talk to me as I lay in my bed of pain. ("Truck! Bye-bye Car! Frog! Quack!") Then we'd sing songs. Really pathetic. I felt like Dumbo's mother locked in the "Mad Elephant" cage. Sometimes I lurched around the house like Quasimodo, but then I'd get dizzy and had to return to bed.
So that's three days lost to my life, and although I can't blame it on the S.O.B. diet, I'm not all that anxious to start it up again.
##
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
The S.O.B. Diet
Well, it's the first day of the South Beach diet, or as I fondly call it, the Son-of-a-Bitch diet. I walk around muttering "Gee, I'd like a coke -- son of a bitch!"
I try to follow the plan to the letter, but my blood sugar plunges at awkward times, making me spastic and generally tough to live with. A pounding headache from caffeine withdrawl isn't helping either.
The SOB diet is a lot like Dante's journey to Heaven (yes, we're back to that again). Phase one is Hell, where you purge your body. No fruit, no alcohol, no starches. You can't even eat carrots.
Phase Two is like purgatory, where you add back fruits and some other good stuff until you reach the weight you want. Then on to Phase Three Heaven, where you bask in your svelteness and eat in (gasp!) moderation.
So here I am, chopping mushrooms and grilling chicken all day. I basically eat chicken, veggies, eggs and mozzerella sticks.
They allow you to eat more than that, but I can't handle the recipes. There's just no way I'm getting up in the morning and whipping together a cheesy frittata.
I don't even know what a frittata is. Do I look like the kind of woman who'd chop bell peppers at 6:30 a.m.? Should half-starved people be forced to handle sharp knives six times a day?
I spent the whole damn day today dicing ham and slicing cucumbers and fileting chicken breasts. 10 a.m. found me cutting up celerly stalks and filing them with some vile light cheese.
Benny had chicken fried rice for dinner tonight. I had chicken kebobs -- just chicken and mushrooms, minus the marinade or potatoes or anything else that makes kebobs good.
Let's return to the frittata. First they want you to slice onions, bell peppers and zucchini, then dice plum tomatoes, then chop some fresh basil. Then you get out a skillet and busily melt stuff, brown stuff, and stir stuff.Then preheat the broiler and whip up a six-ingredient egg mixture in the blender.
Pour the egg mixture over the veggies and cook it. Then broil it. Then sprinkle cheese on it and broil it some more. Serve it for lunch, since you've spent the entire morning on this frittata and your toddler is lying on the kitchen floor, throwing tupperware at the cat and screaming for attention.
Yeah, that's reasonable. And all the recipes are like this. The Chicken en Papillote looks nerve-wracking and the Cherry Snapper Ceviche (which you begin by soaking the fish in lime juice for three hours) looks just insane.
So I'm eating a lot of scrambled eggs and plain chicken breasts. I also drink a lot of ice water, to keep my spirits up. The diet allows more than this, of course, but I hate tomato juice and vegetable cocktails and nobody's catching me with a baggie of fake sugar.
What I wouldn't give for a coke.
##
I try to follow the plan to the letter, but my blood sugar plunges at awkward times, making me spastic and generally tough to live with. A pounding headache from caffeine withdrawl isn't helping either.
The SOB diet is a lot like Dante's journey to Heaven (yes, we're back to that again). Phase one is Hell, where you purge your body. No fruit, no alcohol, no starches. You can't even eat carrots.
Phase Two is like purgatory, where you add back fruits and some other good stuff until you reach the weight you want. Then on to Phase Three Heaven, where you bask in your svelteness and eat in (gasp!) moderation.
So here I am, chopping mushrooms and grilling chicken all day. I basically eat chicken, veggies, eggs and mozzerella sticks.
They allow you to eat more than that, but I can't handle the recipes. There's just no way I'm getting up in the morning and whipping together a cheesy frittata.
I don't even know what a frittata is. Do I look like the kind of woman who'd chop bell peppers at 6:30 a.m.? Should half-starved people be forced to handle sharp knives six times a day?
I spent the whole damn day today dicing ham and slicing cucumbers and fileting chicken breasts. 10 a.m. found me cutting up celerly stalks and filing them with some vile light cheese.
Benny had chicken fried rice for dinner tonight. I had chicken kebobs -- just chicken and mushrooms, minus the marinade or potatoes or anything else that makes kebobs good.
Let's return to the frittata. First they want you to slice onions, bell peppers and zucchini, then dice plum tomatoes, then chop some fresh basil. Then you get out a skillet and busily melt stuff, brown stuff, and stir stuff.Then preheat the broiler and whip up a six-ingredient egg mixture in the blender.
Pour the egg mixture over the veggies and cook it. Then broil it. Then sprinkle cheese on it and broil it some more. Serve it for lunch, since you've spent the entire morning on this frittata and your toddler is lying on the kitchen floor, throwing tupperware at the cat and screaming for attention.
Yeah, that's reasonable. And all the recipes are like this. The Chicken en Papillote looks nerve-wracking and the Cherry Snapper Ceviche (which you begin by soaking the fish in lime juice for three hours) looks just insane.
So I'm eating a lot of scrambled eggs and plain chicken breasts. I also drink a lot of ice water, to keep my spirits up. The diet allows more than this, of course, but I hate tomato juice and vegetable cocktails and nobody's catching me with a baggie of fake sugar.
What I wouldn't give for a coke.
##
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Benny Goes to School
It must be tough to be a toddler. Everyone’s huge, you don’t speak the language, and just when you got a good set of truck-crashing going, someone wants to change your pants.
So I can imagine Benny’s surprise on the first day of childcare. Usually he hops out of bed and runs to the baby gate across his bedroom door. I stumble over, change him, then cart him into the living room for 20 minutes of truck racing while I chug a Snapple and set out Cheerios.
Then I fall into a chair opposite Benny while he eats. “Do you know what time it is?” I moan, “Do you have any idea what time it is? It’s 6:30 a.m., that’s what time it is. Do you know how early that is? Do you have any idea how …” And so it goes.
But this charming domestic ritual was shattered Thursday morning, when Benny was bundled into the car at 7 a.m. with a lunch box. “School!” I chirp as we drive out of town, “School!” We pull up to a brightly painted building and I unload labeled blanket, pillow, stuffed puppy, extra outfit, emergency generator, etc. Then I kiss Benny, wave goodbye and drive off.
Well. You really have to admire toddlers. I don’t know what I’d do if Ron woke me up and put me into a suit, then drove me to a building full of strangers and told me to write 20 inches on Detroit’s housing controversy. And then left. I’d probably wail.
Which is exactly what Benny did, but I’m told he recovered quickly. Until naptime, that is. He refused to lie down; instead he put on his hat and shoes and stood at the door, calling my name. He was ready to go.
The second day he did much better. He ate and napped, and when Ron and I picked him up at 5 p.m. he treated us like pushy guests at a cocktail party. (“Ah yes. Didn’t we meet at some hospital somewhere? Of course I remember you, and how’s Ed?”)
That day we also received a pamphlet called “Innovations: The Infant Curriculum” with tips about helping your toddler’s adjustment to school. I don’t want to seem unsympathetic, but some of these kids sound a little nuts. “In general,” the authors conclude, “most children are well on their way in about six weeks.”
Six weeks? If Benny has an adjustment problem now, what will he be doing in October? Wearing a fake mustache and trying to go home with other people?
##
So I can imagine Benny’s surprise on the first day of childcare. Usually he hops out of bed and runs to the baby gate across his bedroom door. I stumble over, change him, then cart him into the living room for 20 minutes of truck racing while I chug a Snapple and set out Cheerios.
Then I fall into a chair opposite Benny while he eats. “Do you know what time it is?” I moan, “Do you have any idea what time it is? It’s 6:30 a.m., that’s what time it is. Do you know how early that is? Do you have any idea how …” And so it goes.
But this charming domestic ritual was shattered Thursday morning, when Benny was bundled into the car at 7 a.m. with a lunch box. “School!” I chirp as we drive out of town, “School!” We pull up to a brightly painted building and I unload labeled blanket, pillow, stuffed puppy, extra outfit, emergency generator, etc. Then I kiss Benny, wave goodbye and drive off.
Well. You really have to admire toddlers. I don’t know what I’d do if Ron woke me up and put me into a suit, then drove me to a building full of strangers and told me to write 20 inches on Detroit’s housing controversy. And then left. I’d probably wail.
Which is exactly what Benny did, but I’m told he recovered quickly. Until naptime, that is. He refused to lie down; instead he put on his hat and shoes and stood at the door, calling my name. He was ready to go.
The second day he did much better. He ate and napped, and when Ron and I picked him up at 5 p.m. he treated us like pushy guests at a cocktail party. (“Ah yes. Didn’t we meet at some hospital somewhere? Of course I remember you, and how’s Ed?”)
That day we also received a pamphlet called “Innovations: The Infant Curriculum” with tips about helping your toddler’s adjustment to school. I don’t want to seem unsympathetic, but some of these kids sound a little nuts. “In general,” the authors conclude, “most children are well on their way in about six weeks.”
Six weeks? If Benny has an adjustment problem now, what will he be doing in October? Wearing a fake mustache and trying to go home with other people?
##
Sunday, September 04, 2005
A FranklinCovey Fairy Tale
[This entry appeared as a column in the Business Review newspapers.]
Ah, autumn. Time for that annual source of hilarity: The Fall FranklinCovey catalogue. This thin volume holds a fairy tale more magical than any sleeping beauty or enchanted frog.
Everyone dreams of a wonderful, rewarding, well-organized life. And if you lack the imagination to design your own, FranklinCovey will do it for you. Just flip through its pages and choose your perfect life.
After all, says the cover, “Right now belongs to you. Be proactive.”
Inside you read such gems as:
“Today is always present”
and
“You live right now.”
The catalogue begins with “Simplicity Girl” on page six. Simplicity heads to the gym at 5:30 a.m., where she tweaks her cardio routine and wonders “Do I need new shoes?” She researches Gore-Tex fabric and picks up birthday treats for the office. Hey, you cheapskates paying only $34.95 – this is your life.
For five more dollars you can be a “Seven Habits Guy” on page 8. He has 6:30 a.m. yoga class, an 8:30 zoning commission meeting and a 10 a.m. partner meeting. He doesn’t run out for grocery store cupcakes; he sets up birthday lunches at Bistro 31 – reservations for nine. After an afternoon of mentoring flunkies, he dines at Don Miguel’s at 7 p.m.
But perhaps you’re a woman with a family. Well, then, you need a kicky, spiral-bound planner that patronizes you on every page. Meet “Collages,” with its daily sketches of purses, shoes and wooden benches. The Collages Lady jogs in the park, schedules a manicure and reviews notes for cooking class. In her spare time, she plans her husband’s birthday dinner, Kira’s baby shower and the Collins’ anniversary party.
Other planners may quote Emerson: “The man of genius inspires us with boundless confidence in our own powers.” The Collages planner says, “A little of what you fancy does you good.” By the way, it comes with a free purse.
But hey, we’re wasting time here. Time to shake hands with “The Leader.” This mighty man swims at 7 a.m., builds parking structures until lunch and then runs his firm’s capital improvement board. Leader doesn't waste his time with birthdays or anniversaries. He’s gotta buy swim goggles.
His planner tells us that if you want to build a ship, don’t gather the men to actually build it. Instead, “Teach them the desire for the sea.”
So go, go and seek your planner self. And when you find it, write … write the detritus of your daily life, the stupid branding meeting, the shopping list (nose drops, corn pads, Swanson’s Frozen Chicken Delite) and the aerobics class you haven’t attended in months.
And remember, if you want to heat a frozen dinner, don’t ask your spouse to turn the oven on. Read him a fairy tale about the Prince and the Enchanted Chicken Wing.
##
Ah, autumn. Time for that annual source of hilarity: The Fall FranklinCovey catalogue. This thin volume holds a fairy tale more magical than any sleeping beauty or enchanted frog.
Everyone dreams of a wonderful, rewarding, well-organized life. And if you lack the imagination to design your own, FranklinCovey will do it for you. Just flip through its pages and choose your perfect life.
After all, says the cover, “Right now belongs to you. Be proactive.”
Inside you read such gems as:
“Today is always present”
and
“You live right now.”
The catalogue begins with “Simplicity Girl” on page six. Simplicity heads to the gym at 5:30 a.m., where she tweaks her cardio routine and wonders “Do I need new shoes?” She researches Gore-Tex fabric and picks up birthday treats for the office. Hey, you cheapskates paying only $34.95 – this is your life.
For five more dollars you can be a “Seven Habits Guy” on page 8. He has 6:30 a.m. yoga class, an 8:30 zoning commission meeting and a 10 a.m. partner meeting. He doesn’t run out for grocery store cupcakes; he sets up birthday lunches at Bistro 31 – reservations for nine. After an afternoon of mentoring flunkies, he dines at Don Miguel’s at 7 p.m.
But perhaps you’re a woman with a family. Well, then, you need a kicky, spiral-bound planner that patronizes you on every page. Meet “Collages,” with its daily sketches of purses, shoes and wooden benches. The Collages Lady jogs in the park, schedules a manicure and reviews notes for cooking class. In her spare time, she plans her husband’s birthday dinner, Kira’s baby shower and the Collins’ anniversary party.
Other planners may quote Emerson: “The man of genius inspires us with boundless confidence in our own powers.” The Collages planner says, “A little of what you fancy does you good.” By the way, it comes with a free purse.
But hey, we’re wasting time here. Time to shake hands with “The Leader.” This mighty man swims at 7 a.m., builds parking structures until lunch and then runs his firm’s capital improvement board. Leader doesn't waste his time with birthdays or anniversaries. He’s gotta buy swim goggles.
His planner tells us that if you want to build a ship, don’t gather the men to actually build it. Instead, “Teach them the desire for the sea.”
So go, go and seek your planner self. And when you find it, write … write the detritus of your daily life, the stupid branding meeting, the shopping list (nose drops, corn pads, Swanson’s Frozen Chicken Delite) and the aerobics class you haven’t attended in months.
And remember, if you want to heat a frozen dinner, don’t ask your spouse to turn the oven on. Read him a fairy tale about the Prince and the Enchanted Chicken Wing.
##
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Grandma
My earliest memory of Grandma was in her kitchen, of course. I was three years old, dogging her steps from stove to cupboard to cookie jar. It was during one of our frequent visits to Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Sodus, blazing a path from Detroit through rain and snow for holidays and vacations.
Lunch was finished, the dishes washed and the leftovers stashed, but Grandma was still wiping counters and wrapping pies. I chased her around the small kitchen until she finally wiped her hands and sat in a wooden chair beside the phone. The second that happened, I climbed onto her lap and we’d sit quietly through the 20-minute twilight between the cleanup of one meal and the launch of the next. Grandma’s lap was an oasis of comfort, love and peace, capable of quieting even this most talkative of three-year-olds.
And through the years, as smaller children vied for Grandma’s lap, I still returned to her, nattering on about my classes, my travels, my wedding, my career. Heaven knows what she made of it all.
When I speak of my Grandpa, I love to list his many accomplishments, from fishing to winemaking. I often speak of what he did, but for Grandma, accomplished as she was in her own right, it is different. I speak of what she was, to me and to everyone: strong, loving, ever-patient.
Since the birth of my son last year, Grandma has become a role model for me as I grapple with the challenges of home and family. My sister calls Grandma a perfect example in this regard, and I agree. I could never meet Grandma’s standards, so I halve them, and halve them again, and still feel I’ve accomplished great things. And if someday some small child follows me around a kitchen, waiting for me to sit down, and climbs onto my lap in search of love and peace and hope, I will have met those standards.
##
Lunch was finished, the dishes washed and the leftovers stashed, but Grandma was still wiping counters and wrapping pies. I chased her around the small kitchen until she finally wiped her hands and sat in a wooden chair beside the phone. The second that happened, I climbed onto her lap and we’d sit quietly through the 20-minute twilight between the cleanup of one meal and the launch of the next. Grandma’s lap was an oasis of comfort, love and peace, capable of quieting even this most talkative of three-year-olds.
And through the years, as smaller children vied for Grandma’s lap, I still returned to her, nattering on about my classes, my travels, my wedding, my career. Heaven knows what she made of it all.
When I speak of my Grandpa, I love to list his many accomplishments, from fishing to winemaking. I often speak of what he did, but for Grandma, accomplished as she was in her own right, it is different. I speak of what she was, to me and to everyone: strong, loving, ever-patient.
Since the birth of my son last year, Grandma has become a role model for me as I grapple with the challenges of home and family. My sister calls Grandma a perfect example in this regard, and I agree. I could never meet Grandma’s standards, so I halve them, and halve them again, and still feel I’ve accomplished great things. And if someday some small child follows me around a kitchen, waiting for me to sit down, and climbs onto my lap in search of love and peace and hope, I will have met those standards.
##
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Playgroup II: 'N' is for Nutty
The drama continues at Benny’s playgroup as we face the loss of a cherished member. The other mothers are fighting complex feelings: Elation at Padme’s husband Darth’s great career move to Minnesota, but also a deep sadness at losing little Luke from our group.
At least that’s what I gather from recent emails. I can’t say I’m equally devastated, mostly because I can’t quite remember who Padme and Luke are. Is Padme the frazzled mother who arrives early to every playdate, awestruck by the host mother’s accomplishments? (“My God, you have a toy box! I wish I’d thought of that! We just shove our kid’s stuff under the sofa!”)
Perhaps Luke is the little boy who bites toys. Let’s be grateful he doesn’t bite other children, but it’s still weird to see a small toddler gnawing on a doll’s leg like it’s corn on the cob.
Well, no matter, because every member is precious, even Anny, who loves to send emails but never shows up anywhere. So one mother proposed the following:
___________________________________________________
Date: Wed, 18 May 2005 10:24:30
From: Leia@everthoughtful.com
To: Soon-to-be-Bereaved Playgroup
Subject: Padme and Luke
We could each do a page in a small photo album like a mini scrapbook. I have scrapbooking supplies so I can bring them to an upcoming playdate...or maybe we can even organize an evening to meet and put together the album. I was also thinking about the book, "M is for Mitten". It's about Michigan and we could all write a message from the kids to Lukey.
Leia
___________________________________________________
This idea was pounced on with great enthusiasm exactly 11 minutes later.
___________________________________________________
Date: Wed, 18 May 2005 10:35:30
From: Mona@alsothoughtful.com
To: Grief-Stricken Playgroup
Subject: Re: Padme and Luke
Oh yes, but I am worried about how quickly that is coming up, so am wondering if maybe people want to start getting their pictures together and mail them to Leia to put in a album if we can't find a time to all meet?
We could also each write a little note that is the size of a picture on a nice piece of paper and that way it could either go into a mini-scrapbook if we can pull it off or be put right into the photo sleeve of an album.
Mona
___________________________________________________
And you know, of course, what the notes will be like. They’ll resemble the group birthday cards you get at the office, the big ones with all the little messages scribbled inside. Most workers don’t even need to sign their names anymore, because they always write the same thing to every recipient: “Way to go!” or “One more year ’til death!”
I bet I could write up a fake card for Padme and Luke and nobody would know the difference:
“Good Luck!”
“We’ll all miss you!”
“Sorry about the grape juice Sammy poured on your cat!”
But anyway …
___________________________________________________
Date: Thu, 2 Jun 2005 22:02:36
From: Leia@.lotsotime.com
To: Grief-Stricken Playgroup
Subject: Scrapbook night for Padme
Ok...I have the scrapbook for Padme. The size of the pages is 8.5 x 8.5. So, if you'd like to put your own page(s) together just make sure it's not too big. Also, if you can't make it to my house next Tuesday you can give your pictures to someone at Playgroup or send them to me at 823 Duck Waddle Way.
___________________________________________________
Now it’s all over, thank goodness. The scrapbook was created and duly presented, prompting a lovely thank you email from Padme.
I feel a little guilty for ignoring the whole thing, but I doubt Padme cared. If my name ever came out, she probably thought, “Christine … hmmm … is she the woman with the hooded sweatshirts and the napkin fetish or the gal with the pink sunglasses and the nervous twitch? … and is Benny the one who's prone to creepy rashes or allergic to oxygen? …”
##
At least that’s what I gather from recent emails. I can’t say I’m equally devastated, mostly because I can’t quite remember who Padme and Luke are. Is Padme the frazzled mother who arrives early to every playdate, awestruck by the host mother’s accomplishments? (“My God, you have a toy box! I wish I’d thought of that! We just shove our kid’s stuff under the sofa!”)
Perhaps Luke is the little boy who bites toys. Let’s be grateful he doesn’t bite other children, but it’s still weird to see a small toddler gnawing on a doll’s leg like it’s corn on the cob.
Well, no matter, because every member is precious, even Anny, who loves to send emails but never shows up anywhere. So one mother proposed the following:
___________________________________________________
Date: Wed, 18 May 2005 10:24:30
From: Leia@everthoughtful.com
To: Soon-to-be-Bereaved Playgroup
Subject: Padme and Luke
We could each do a page in a small photo album like a mini scrapbook. I have scrapbooking supplies so I can bring them to an upcoming playdate...or maybe we can even organize an evening to meet and put together the album. I was also thinking about the book, "M is for Mitten". It's about Michigan and we could all write a message from the kids to Lukey.
Leia
___________________________________________________
This idea was pounced on with great enthusiasm exactly 11 minutes later.
___________________________________________________
Date: Wed, 18 May 2005 10:35:30
From: Mona@alsothoughtful.com
To: Grief-Stricken Playgroup
Subject: Re: Padme and Luke
Oh yes, but I am worried about how quickly that is coming up, so am wondering if maybe people want to start getting their pictures together and mail them to Leia to put in a album if we can't find a time to all meet?
We could also each write a little note that is the size of a picture on a nice piece of paper and that way it could either go into a mini-scrapbook if we can pull it off or be put right into the photo sleeve of an album.
Mona
___________________________________________________
And you know, of course, what the notes will be like. They’ll resemble the group birthday cards you get at the office, the big ones with all the little messages scribbled inside. Most workers don’t even need to sign their names anymore, because they always write the same thing to every recipient: “Way to go!” or “One more year ’til death!”
I bet I could write up a fake card for Padme and Luke and nobody would know the difference:
“Good Luck!”
“We’ll all miss you!”
“Sorry about the grape juice Sammy poured on your cat!”
But anyway …
___________________________________________________
Date: Thu, 2 Jun 2005 22:02:36
From: Leia@.lotsotime.com
To: Grief-Stricken Playgroup
Subject: Scrapbook night for Padme
Ok...I have the scrapbook for Padme. The size of the pages is 8.5 x 8.5. So, if you'd like to put your own page(s) together just make sure it's not too big. Also, if you can't make it to my house next Tuesday you can give your pictures to someone at Playgroup or send them to me at 823 Duck Waddle Way.
___________________________________________________
Now it’s all over, thank goodness. The scrapbook was created and duly presented, prompting a lovely thank you email from Padme.
I feel a little guilty for ignoring the whole thing, but I doubt Padme cared. If my name ever came out, she probably thought, “Christine … hmmm … is she the woman with the hooded sweatshirts and the napkin fetish or the gal with the pink sunglasses and the nervous twitch? … and is Benny the one who's prone to creepy rashes or allergic to oxygen? …”
##
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Crazy Uncle Assembles Toddler Bed
ASSEMBLY INSTRUCTIONS
Thank you for purchasing Little Kid Inc.’s Z240 Race Car toddler bed. This product is designed for easy assembly using common household tools.
1. Before assembling Little Kid’s patented metal supports, the enclosed 2-pound iron bars must be manufactured into a steel mesh and frame. (Smelting pot not included.) See enclosed pamphlet for instructions, safety guidelines and anti-pollution regulations.
2. Using your household blow torch (not included), weld the steel mesh onto the frame. Always use a federally approved blast helmet (not included) during this step. Be sure to clear the bed’s cardboard box out of the work area before welding. Do not use near curtains.
3. The four plastic parts comprising the Race Car toddler bed’s outer frame should snap together easily along the molded grooves. In the rare instance that the parts do not snap together easily, located a 2-ton elephant. (Not included, but they often gather at watering holes near dusk.) Train the elephant to sit on a plastic part as you attach the adjoining part. (Make sure the welded steel mesh has cooled before bringing in the elephant.)
4. Next, secure the plastic parts using the D34659 and EF693 screws. The D34659 can be easily distinguished from the EF693 screw by the crosshatching beneath the screw head. Use your household electron microscope (not included) for easy identification.
5. Drill the holes for the screws using a 1/7.5-inch drill bit. Your local hardware store will say there’s no such bit, but they lie. Use a 1/8-inch drill bit at your own risk.
Congratulations! You have now completed basic assembly of your Z240 Race Car toddler bed. Now it only remains to customize your child’s bed with kicky decals.
Carefully peel each sticker from the backing, making sure the sticker back does not touch your fingers, stray tools or overly humid air. A zero-gravity generator (not included) has proved helpful during this step.
Some mechanically inept customers have suggested using the wheel-rim decals to fasten the plastic frame, since once adhered, the stickers cannot be removed by anything short of a C4 plastic explosive (not included). We feel that such comments cheapen the loving, memorable experience of assembling your child’s precious bed. Please report any such comments by calling 1-800-65-LOSER.
Congratulations again! Your child will surely adore his or her new bed for the recommended six months of use. After this, Little Kids recommends its Bright Wheels Dump Truck older toddler bed for a new low price of $339.99.
##
Thank you for purchasing Little Kid Inc.’s Z240 Race Car toddler bed. This product is designed for easy assembly using common household tools.
1. Before assembling Little Kid’s patented metal supports, the enclosed 2-pound iron bars must be manufactured into a steel mesh and frame. (Smelting pot not included.) See enclosed pamphlet for instructions, safety guidelines and anti-pollution regulations.
2. Using your household blow torch (not included), weld the steel mesh onto the frame. Always use a federally approved blast helmet (not included) during this step. Be sure to clear the bed’s cardboard box out of the work area before welding. Do not use near curtains.
3. The four plastic parts comprising the Race Car toddler bed’s outer frame should snap together easily along the molded grooves. In the rare instance that the parts do not snap together easily, located a 2-ton elephant. (Not included, but they often gather at watering holes near dusk.) Train the elephant to sit on a plastic part as you attach the adjoining part. (Make sure the welded steel mesh has cooled before bringing in the elephant.)
4. Next, secure the plastic parts using the D34659 and EF693 screws. The D34659 can be easily distinguished from the EF693 screw by the crosshatching beneath the screw head. Use your household electron microscope (not included) for easy identification.
5. Drill the holes for the screws using a 1/7.5-inch drill bit. Your local hardware store will say there’s no such bit, but they lie. Use a 1/8-inch drill bit at your own risk.
Congratulations! You have now completed basic assembly of your Z240 Race Car toddler bed. Now it only remains to customize your child’s bed with kicky decals.
Carefully peel each sticker from the backing, making sure the sticker back does not touch your fingers, stray tools or overly humid air. A zero-gravity generator (not included) has proved helpful during this step.
Some mechanically inept customers have suggested using the wheel-rim decals to fasten the plastic frame, since once adhered, the stickers cannot be removed by anything short of a C4 plastic explosive (not included). We feel that such comments cheapen the loving, memorable experience of assembling your child’s precious bed. Please report any such comments by calling 1-800-65-LOSER.
Congratulations again! Your child will surely adore his or her new bed for the recommended six months of use. After this, Little Kids recommends its Bright Wheels Dump Truck older toddler bed for a new low price of $339.99.
##
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