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December 8, 2008
Not Goat the Brave, but probably a cousin Saturday I strolled alone through a golden vineyard. Let me tell you, if you’ve got a nice sunny day going for you this time of year, get out in it! I mean really out in it. The more natural the environment the better. Drag your family along too.
In the short term, the quietude will re-center you. In the long-term it might keep you saner when you’re locked in traffic, cooped up inside, or stuck anywhere you’d rather not be. Enjoying the bounties of nature (even in winter) might also keep you safer. Because let’s face it, trolling malls can be scary dangerous. Just last week a bunch of Long Island bargain hunters trampled a store employee! Yes, they actually killed a guy who stood between them and 30% off of such gotta-haves as a pair of Hulk Smash Hands. Nothing like that ever happens in vineyards, even when grapes with attitude are still on the vine. Of course, I wasn’t hunting for anything on Saturday, which is probably why finding the goats was so cool.
There were 15 of them in a spacious, grassy fenced-in area. It looked like a perfect home for goats. I’m just assuming, of course. But really, they all seemed pretty happy. OK, I don’t know that for sure, but I can verify that none actively complained. Except for this one goat. He looked at me with what could only be called longing. Like he suddenly realized that his goat-life was not complete. Maybe the others felt it too, but they just stood and stared. Goat the Brave, on the other hand, trotted right over to the fence. He looked up at me and said, “I need some love. Can you help?”
Naturally I reached through the railing and petted him. He tilted his head and smiled. “Ahh, that’s great. Now how about behind my left ear, if you don’t mind?” I didn’t mind. I was into it. As we bonded by the fence for the next few minutes the world went away. Then I happened to look over his head into another galaxy where the rest of the herd stood frozen, watching G the B get all that hands-on love and special attention. Their collective desire to be patted and cooed at was palpable and yet, they didn’t have whatever courage it took to step right up and say, “Me too!”
After five, ten minutes max, I left the goats and headed back to the tasting room where the guests sipped their Chardonnay and Merlot, downed salami and cheese, and enjoyed the music of The Pellegrini Band comprised of select members of the Las Gallinas Valley Sanitary District Non-Marching Band (aka The Sewer Band) and the Corte Madera Town Band.
Between sets I read on a bench in the late afternoon sun. A 5 year old girl (aka Little Spunky) spotted me and like the brave goat, also wanted attention. But because she’s human, she was naturally more coy in her approach. She ducked behind my bench and sang quietly to herself but not all that quietly. When I turned to her, Little Spunky lowered her voice and pretended to pick flowers. Two can play this game! I turned back to my book, but faked her out and immediately shot her another glance. Ha! I caught her looking at me! But this time she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled knowingly and simply said, “Santa’s coming!” The message was clear… “Don’t miss it, lady!” Then she climbed out of the flower bed and ran into the tasting room.
I followed. And within seconds, the band started “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and there was Santa. And who do you think was the first to talk to the fat man, receive a kindly pat and a candy cane? You guessed it. Way to go, Little Spunky. Way to go, Goat the Brave. You know how the world works. You want love? You want attention? Speak up.
December 2, 2008
 Corte Madera Town Band The Sunday after Thanksgiving isn’t supposed to look like … April. Not even in the San Francisco Bay Area. Most likely it’s global weirding. And while there’s absolutely nothing in that inconvenient truth to lift my spirits, it’s hard to get too worked up when it’s 60 and sunny and I’m sipping Earl Grey and watching chilled out families in their t-shirts and flip-flops.
In addition to the first rate people-watching opps here at Corte Madera Town Center, I’m also listening to David play trombone along with the 49 other members of the Corte Madera Town Band. This is the annual outdoor concert where they all wearing Santa hats and serenade the shoppers. Sure, I’ve heard them play these same tunes at least twen… ‘Scuse me, had to quit typing for a minute to lead the applause for “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire…” or whatever that song is actually called. But charred chestnuts aside, the Sunday crowd is loving this and so am I.
The music radiates vibes of peace and love, and also apparently the urgent need for a deli sandwich and a cold drink. The familiar melodies permeate the mammalian brain where they joggle good time memories and turn off the urge to put one foot in front of the other. So people stop and stand in friendly knots, smiling to themselves and to their kids and to total strangers who are standing, singing along and smiling to their kids. Eveyone is, for the moment, bobbing, swaying, tapping and connecting without digital technology to something pretty cool. A surprising gift, unfolding, in real time, right here.
Like all emotions, togetherness is fleeting… as evidenced by the folks who park and unpark in the two empty seats beside me and my laptop.
Blonde Mom#1 with her little boy. The kid is really into his chocolate cupcake. Doesn’t seem like he has any spare brain cells to take in the Christmas hit parade. But clearly I misjudge his ability to multi-task because when Mom says, “Let’s go now,” he pipes up, “One more song!” Mom’s not thrilled, but they strike a compromise. She lets him sit through “Winter Wonderland” (sleigh bells and all) while she scrubs the chocolate off of his mouth, chin, nose, cheeks and ears.
Very old woman… a walking ad for the importance of sunscreen… lights up when she spots the empty chair. But as soon as she eases herself in, she pops up again and tries to move it. I’m all for getting what you want in life, but furniture arranging during a concert… maybe not the best idea. Especially when we’re talking about a wrought-iron chair amongst other closely placed wrought–iron chairs standing on uneven cobblestones. Tough going. I was about to offer to help, when she starts looking around with a worried expression. Maybe she’s picturing the chair police swooping down on her. Though I’m thinking it’s more likely that she’s looking for Grandpa, who she left at the Apple store without mentioning that she was going to hang out by the band. A minute later she’s gone.
A couple of gay guys, both carrying ultra-cool cell phones, stop by.
Gay guy#1 (flashing a warm smile and touching my hand): May we sit here?
Annie (smiling back): Sure thing!
Gay guy#1 (squeezing my hand): Cool!
Gay guy#2 (enthusiastically clapping along with “Let it Snow”): This is such a surprise!
Gay guy#1: Yeah. Very Cool!
Indian mom with her daughter.
Little Girl: (looking at me): Mom, why is that lady writing?
Annie: (to LG) Because I’m a writer. I’m watching all these people and writing down what I see… it’s how I get ideas for stories. (Actually I knew this would turn into a blog, but I thought the story concept would be easier for the kid to understand. And really, it’s all a story, right?)
Annie: Do you like to write stories?
LG: (shaking her head)
Annie: But I’ll bet you like to READ stories, don’t you?
LG (lighting up): Yes!
Annie (thinking): Well, where do you think stories come from? From people like me who take notes while talking to people like you.
Blonde Mom#2 (carrying Little Blondie, her 11 month old daughter): Is someone sitting here?
Annie: You are.
Little Blondie: (bopping along to “It’s Beginning to Look A lot Like Christmas): Yah, yah! Yah!
Annie: She seems to like music.
Mom: She LOVES it! My husband is a professional musician. We’re trying to figure out what instrument we should start her on.
Annie (thinking) Maybe she should learn to walk and talk first.
After the band played Feliz Navidad (throughout which the grandpa across the way crooned into the ear of his little grandson) Little Blondie’s face fell.
LB (little clouds gathering on her brow): MFPLR?
Mom: (to Annie): She wants more music.
Annie: Ah.
Phew! Good thing the musical Santas launched into “My Favorite Things” or little Blondie was heading for a meltdown. As long as the band played on, it looked like Mom would have a challenge getting on with her day, but when she was ready…
Mom (matter of factly):Time to leave after this next song.
Mom (picking up LB after the song ended): Time to leave. Say bye bye.
Super Nanny would have been impressed.
Annie: Bye bye.
The band was saying bye bye too. It’s the end of a long holiday weekend and people are acting like it’s been a good one. And it has… even if the weather is totally weird.
November 24, 2008
 Ezra Fox makes a pie (from scratch) for Thanksgiving Just read a cautionary tale in today’s Dear Abby. The letter was from a martyr… I mean a mother describing how her two adult daughters arrive for Thanksgiving each year expecting the guest-treatment. For some mysterious reason, these “girls” never offer to help their mother with the annual banquet she produces for 20+ people. That is, not until Mom, frazzled, frustrated, and fatigued totally loses it, slumps to the kitchen floor in her gravy-stained apron and whimpers like a pathetic dog. At which point the princesses exchange eye-rolls (not nearly as appreciated as Parker House) and deign to lift sponge or dish towel.
As I read about this family situation my blood-pressure escalated to vein-throbbing levels. I too became frustrated and resentful, but I reserved all my exasperation for the mom. I mean, really, where did she think her lovelies learned to blithely ignore household tasks? How in God’s name had they reached adulthood without a modicum of common courtesy and awareness that demands that even if you truly are a dinner guest in the home of someone you’ve never met before, you offer to help. (In addition, as my mom taught me, you are also required to bring bakery goodies in a pink box.)
So, Dear Abby Mom, if you’re wondering where Drizella and Anatasia picked up their entitled attitudes… look in the mirror. But don’t get distracted by the smudges you see there and reach for the Windex. This is a time for self-reflection about the kind of parent you have been. But wait! Fault-finding is a waste of time and you’ve only got 3 days left til Thanksgiving! So here’s how to change the situation this holiday season and forevermore. And for the rest of us who could use some help getting some help around the house these tips are for you too.
1. Apologize to your daughters today. (I’m serious!) You’ve taught them that your job is to serve them throughout eternity. So it’s not their fault that they bought into it. But you were wrong. Your job, as their mom, is to prepare them to be fully functioning adults. By compulsively doing for them that which they should learn to do for themselves, you do them no favors. In fact, you’ve held them back in their development of a cooperative spirit. They’re adults now. They make their own choices, so how they act now is not your doing, but you certainly contributed to their self-centeredness. Admit it. Apologize. And move forward.
2. Make a list of all the things that need to be done between now and the dinner bell on Thursday. Oh, and don’t forget to add one general last item: “Clean up after dinner.”
3. Share the list with your daughters and any other able-bodied family members who will be at dinner. Say, as assertively as possible (no shouting, pleading, guilt-tripping, etc.) “This is what needs to be done. Which of these tasks are you going to take responsibility for?” If you have no confidence in their offers (due to past flakiness) then get it in writing. After each self-selected assignment, say, “Thanks. We’re all counting on you.”
4. Make a statement. Get used to saying, whenever necessary (holiday or not) “Hey guys, I need some help in here.” (Notice that it isn’t a question.) There’s a good reason for that. Annie Fox Research shows that when you want something done by your spouse, son or daughter, your chances of compliance drop to a mere 20% when you pose your request in the form of a question that has a “yes” or “no” answer. Dear Abby Mom shouldn’t be asking, “Can I count on you to help?” “Will you please help me?” “Can I ask you a favor?” “Do you have a minute?” No, no, no, not now, Mom. See what I mean?
5. Know that you are loved. You don’t need to do it all to be loved, appreciated, admired. You are already all of those things. And guess what? No one will love you more if they know that you personally crushed each cranberry, and did everything else without help. But you will probably love everyone and your time together as a family much less if you do it all the work.
6. Teach them! If you don’t get the whole family involved in the process, how can they learn to a) make a killer Thanksgiving dinner on their own some day and b) teach your future grandkids how to be cooperative members of the family?
Happy Thanksgiving, from our home to yours!
In friendship,
Annie
P.S. Want more info on how to stress less this holiday season? Listen here. to my recent blogtalkradio conversation with innovative parenting coach Joe Bruzzese.
November 18, 2008
Before I became a parent I studied to become a teacher and I became one. Back then (we’re talking about the 70’s), education was strongly influenced by humanistic psychology. The result? A generation of teachers inspired by the ideals of Summerhill to create student-centered learning communities where nurturing self-esteem trumped reading, spelling, and multiplication.
This notion that teachers and parents are required to dole out nothing but gold stars came from a recent conversation David and I had about Sarah Palin. We were trying to understand how someone reaches adulthood apparently with no clue that she was (and probably still is) aspiring to a job that’s totally beyond her ken. How can rational people truly believe that they can do anything and succeed at it? Is it because their parents never stopped saying “Sweetheart, you can do anything you want”?
For years we took our kids to the County Fair and hung out at the Kids Exhibit Hall. We admired the vegetable creatures, Lego constructions, and framed crayon drawings with 2 inches of glitter glopped on top. All of them sported blue ribbons. “Everyone’s a winner!”
That’s really sweet for pre-schoolers, but really, how does it actually serve kids to believe that any hunk of junk deserves a blue ribbon?
We parents have been so intent on building little Jason’s and little Emily’s self-esteem that we’ve neglected to tell them the whole truth about the way the world works. “Yes, you can do anything you want… as long as you are willing to do the prep work to make yourself qualified and to work your butt off if someone gives you the job!”
Isn’t that the real American Dream? That this is a land where everyone has the opportunity to succeed?Unlike other places, you don’t have to be born into an artistocratic family. You don’t need political connections. You don’t have to be a White Ango-Saxon Protestant. You don’t have to be male. You don’t have to be heterosexual. You just have to do the prep work. And then, when someone takes a chance on you… you give with all you’ve got.
Students still desperately need parents and teachers who truly encourage and support the whole child. And we still need to keep providing that encouragement because we want all kids to feel grounded in their sense of self and… fearless in their confidence that they can make a difference in the world.
But authentic and lasting self-esteem has many sources. Success is sweet but a child who only hears “Good job!” is getting short-changed. Self-esteem, it seems, also needs mistakes and failures to shape it. It needs an environment where children receive honest feedback. How else can they possibly realize their strengths (and work to make them stronger)? How else can they acknowledge their weaknesses. And yes, my Golden Child, everyone has weaknesses, including you. And when I or your teacher or your coach respectfully point out one of the weaknesses to you, we give you a gift more valuable than any blue ribbon. We encourage you to take action to strengthen what needs strengthening. We do this because we love you, and we know you have a mark to make in this life. Whatever you commit yourself to doing well, is going to require hard work.
When our daughter was in the 6th grade she took a test to determine whether she qualified for the GATE program that was starting up in her school. The program offered enrichment curriculum to small groups of kids who then, in turn, would bring back what they’d learned to all the students in their class. Our daughter qualified and even though the school had already received state funding for the program, the administration decided to cut the program. Why? Because some parents complained that their kids didn’t score high enough on the test and therefore, to avoid “hurt feelings,” the school district returned the state’s money and canceled the GATE program.
So everyone’s a winner, right? Except in that case, where everyone lost.
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