Liz Under the Bridge

The power of a story, simply told.

No one needs me to remind them that Sunday is the tenth anniversary of the September 11 attacks. For ten years now, I have pretty regularly had occasion to walk by that giant pit with many different people and it always struck me how often a companion would launch into his or her own September 11 story: where they were, how they heard, who they knew. It's so central to our nature to tell a story, and so soothing to hear one; it's like balm on a wound. 

That's why I think one of the most wonderful projects out there is StoryCorps:

StoryCorps is an independent nonprofit whose mission is to provide Americans of all backgrounds and beliefs with the opportunity to record, share, and preserve the stories of our lives. Since 2003, StoryCorps has collected and archived more than 30,000 interviews from more than 60,000 participants. Each conversation is recorded on a free CD to share, and is preserved at the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress. StoryCorps is one of the largest oral history projects of its kind, and millions listen to our weekly broadcasts on NPR’s Morning Edition and on our Listen pages.

We do this to remind one another of our shared humanity, strengthen and build the connections between people, teach the value of listening, and weave into the fabric of our culture the understanding that every life matters. At the same time, we will create an invaluable archive of American voices and wisdom for future generations.

I've been listening to these stories for years, and they never fail to move me. NPR replayed this particularly poignant story this week: "Both of the boys would call me when they were working." The first time I heard it, it stopped me in my tracks. Please take a moment to listen. If you ever doubted the strength of a story, simply told, well, you never will again. And if you ever wanted to be inspired by another's courage, this will accomplish that as well.

I'm making a donation to StoryCorps today in honor of the people who were affected by 9/11 so that we will always remember their stories.

Boulder Stole My Baby

It's true. Well, sort of true. Son #2 has moved to Boulder. He came to us just a couple of months ago with this crazy plan: his best friends were moving to this supposed "paradise on earth," and he'd gotten the green light from his employer to work virtually, so he was going to just . . . go. Just like that.

Now, first of all, Boulder, you're going to have to play a little bit more fair. The pictures are coming in and this is the kind of thing I have to look at:

I mean, seriously? A hike up Mt. Audobon with a view of the Continental Divide? That's just not cool. Sure, throw spectacular scenery and beautiful weather at an outdoorsy kid, and yeah, whatever, he'll love it and all.

And pictures like this? Really?

I mean the grinning ear-to-ear is a bit over the top, don't you think? I suppose if being all gloriously happy is your "thing."

And finally, c'mon!

Relaxing at the end of your hike at the reportedly "crystal-clear-formed-by-a-glacier" Blue Lake (I think you could be a little more creative, Colorado) sounds okay, I guess.

So there you have it. Gee Brooklyn! We have some work to do! Where are your mountains? Where's the "fresh air"? C'mon! We can surely muster up something to lure him back. 

But in the meantime, I guess I'll have to admit I'm just a little envious. Ah, remember a time in your life when you could just up and  . . . go? No? Neither do I really, but wow, I'm proud of him for doing it. 

Good for you, Paul. Just remember: the restaurants in Brooklyn are better. 

At the Beach

Just wrapping up a week at the beach...mainly with the under the bridge spouse, but joined for the weekend by the boys. When the kids were growing up, this was an almost yearly ritual: the trek out to Montauk to sit on the beach, frolic in the waves, and eat steamers and corn. It's still my favorite thing to do. And it's so satisfying that even though everyone is grown up and very decidedly different from each other, it's a love we still share.

Here's to our week at the beach and yet another plate of steamers at Gossman's Dock.

p.s. The kids actually found the best steamers ever at a place called the Fish Farm in amagansett. Amazing.

Ask Liz: Must Siblings Be Rivals?

Dear Liz,

I have 2 daughters, 7 & 9. They are not kind to each other and it breaks my heart.

As is probably often the case in these situations, the younger one brazenly provokes the older one. Obviously, no good comes of that situation, but I rationalize it as some sort of testing that little folks just have to do—kind of a Napolean complex for those who make the General seem tall.

What's harder for me is  bearing witness to the contempt that the older one has for her sister. It chills me. I worry that she has no compassion, that she is fundamentally ungenerous.

I love both my daughters so much; they are smart as anything, quirky, beautiful. But spending a weekend with the 2 of them in the same place, if they are in the kind of mood they were in this weekend...well, it makes me want to ask for help! I mean advice. For them and me!

Mama at Wits' End

Oh Mama,

You are bringing back all sorts of horrible memories, like standing in an airport after a particularly awful week of bickering, sobbing "Stop! Stop! I'm begging you to stop!" And I'm totally with you about feeling so much worse about the older one's behavior, because, let's admit it, the younger child is younger, and more vulnerable and when the older one picks on her or him, well, it all smacks a little bit of bullying, no? I know my sweet younger son drove my older son crazy, but c'mon! It's one thing to provoke and taunt and another to be mean. And we both know that that younger kid just wants more than anything in the world to be around the older one; to be her buddy; to be liked.

But today: Wow. My two boys, I think, are actually friends! Even though they are so different from each other, they hang out (WITHOUT my asking them to), have dinner together, call each other. All those great things that you dream about their doing when they're little. So, here's the first bit of good news: in 17 years, they'll be great friends!

Okay. I admit. "Wait 17 years" is not good advice. Here's some real advice:

1. Stay out of it. Unless they're physically hurting each other, they have to learn to work it out. When the younger one cries, give her advice about how to talk to her sister, but make her do the talking.

2. Don't treat them equally. They're different. I have always thought that a lot of sibling rivalry springs from feeling unfairly treated, and a lot of unfair treatment springs, ironically, from parents trying to be equal. The older one can do things or get things the younger one can't and vice versa.

3. Institute house rules that may allay some of the really petty bickering. We had an "even day" "odd day" rule (the older was even, the younger was odd) that worked for a whole series of of chores/privileges: On even days, the older one got first choice, front seat, had to take the garbage out, could pick the movie, whatever; and on odd days, it was the younger one's choice or chore.

4. Finally: cut your older daughter some slack. I'm pretty sure she's really not ungenerous and has loads of compassion. But she also legitimately can't stand her sister! It's okay. Better sometimes to say "boy, you seem really annoyed," or "ack! you must really hate to play with your sister!" instead of "be nice!" Because it is okay for her to feel that way, even if it pains you.

Don't know how much this will help, but good luck. Someday (and you probably won't really have to wait 17 years) they will be so grateful to have each other. Just not today.

Ask Liz: Bitten!

Dear Liz,

One of my worst fears has been realized and we have bedbugs. I have two recommendations: the New York magazine "best for bedbugs" group, which is expensive and not available immediately, and an exterminator a friend used when she had bedbugs who  is reportedly "just fine," though she did say the exterminator sprayed her house without wearing a mask and while smoking a cigarette, which seems overly reckless to me. But they seem good on the phone, and more importantly, can come in a couple of days. What to do? I want this to be done fast!

Signed, Bitten in Brooklyn

 

Dear Bitten,

First of all, my condolences. Bedbugs are looming over all of us, especially in New York, so I understand the fear. But now that it's happened it's time to take a breath. As anxious as you are to rid yourself of these invaders, nothing will get that much worse in a day or two. And what I'm hearing is that neither of these options sounds perfect to you. You need to feel confident about the people who are going to possibly spray your house and inspect your bedding. Ask around a little and get more recommendations. The thing about being in NYC is that you won't have to go far to find more people who've dealt with this problem and emerged bug-free.

Good luck!

Readers? Anyone have bedbug advice?

Do you have a question? Email me.

Get the Fuck Over It

A little confession up front: I'm a bit of a curser. Maybe I can attribute it to growing up with a salty grandmother or coarse Italian uncles, but the fact is, I'm not one of those people who says things like "garsh dang it all" or "what the heck." My mother was certainly one to curse from time to time: again, it was "shit!" if she burned the toast, not "sugar!" And even though she peppered an occasional curse or two into the course of our days, I would never, ever, ever have cursed in front of her, or another adult, any more than I would have poured myself a glass of bourbon before dinner. I got it: cursing was something adults were allowed to do, and kids could try it out behind their backs, but never to their faces.

Now, I'm also not advocating for adults cursing constantly, inappropriately, and disrespectfully. Yes, I bristle when I'm with young kids and the person at the table next to me or in the elevator with us is really being crude.

But here's the thing: I could never understand parents who had "curse jars," into which ADULTS were supposed to put a dollar if they uttered any kind of profanity. Hey kids, guess what? I waited all these years, and grew up, and earn a living, and get to drink wine, and stay up late, and say "fuck" any time I want. It's one of the joys of being a grown-up. Again, I'm not saying I would have looked at my kids at told them to "get the fuck out of here." But that's because that's not respectful or nice and I treated my kids nicely and with respect. But if I stubbed my toe and uttered a not nice word, hey, I CAN. I'm a grown-up.

And I'm just astounded that movies are actually rated "R" solely because the word FUCK passes anyone's lips—even for historically accurate reasons in a movie that's not only totally appropriate for children, but would be great for them to see. (Yes, I'm thinking of The King's Speech.) In fact, I'd even argue that the curse makes it a little fun—it would make a lot of kids more likely to watch and enjoy. I can't even imagine the stupidity that led to the decision to dub in less offensive words so kids can watch. Shouldn't we be more worried about a gun or cigarette? Then a fucking word? Consider the things that  ratings boards look at when assessing a movie: violence, smoking, sexual content, language. Of all those things, bad language is the only one that is actually not going to hurt a kid if he or she tries it out. And, guess what parents? You can teach your kids that certain words are for adults only.

So really? We do need to get the fuck over it. Cursing can be fun, it can be exactly the right word to tell a story, and it's a perfectly fine thing for an adult to do from time to time. And another thing to look forward to when you grow up. Damn straight.

Ask Liz

After my last post, I had some interesting feedback about my willingness and abilty to advise. It seems that, to some, I'm a pretty good advice-giver. I think I have a few things to recommend my skills:

1. I've actually got a degree in Library and Information Science. I don't know if that officially makes me a librarian; it was a thing I enjoyed studying way more than doing. But it left me with the propensity to hunt down answers with great alacrity.

2. I've done a bunch of different things in my life, from being a full-time mom to an editor, writer, teacher, project manager, and, well okay, for a short time, librarian.

3. I love to offer advice with cheer, but never wonder if people really take it. Do with it what you will! I won't take it personally.

4. I've raised two pretty fantastic kids and have a happy relationship with someone whose time I genuinely enjoying sharing.

That's it! It seems to me that's as good as Dear Abby or Ann Landers offered. So, ask away! I'm willing to entertain any questions from my readers and share the results.

What can you ask? Itineraries for a day in NYC, ideas for your bookgroup, how to handle recalcitrant kids, where to go on vacation—whatever strikes your fancy. Oh, and I will happily mask your identity with a clever pseudonym, like "Bored in Brooklyn," or "Stymied in Seattle." What more could you ask for? Email me.

 

Take my advice

I admit it. As a parent, I've doled out my share of advice through the years. It generally falls into two categories:

• Take my advice and be like me; I turned out okay, so the way I did everything was probably pretty right.
• Take my advice and don't make the mistakes I made; the wisdom of my years has shown me the light.

Then there's the general smart advice that could basically be written up in a little pamphlet called "Words of Wisdom." In general, I'm happy to give advice, but when I sat back to think about it, I wondered: How often do I take my own advice? As a parent (or friend, or partner), it's so eeeeaasy to be a big ol' hypocrite, spouting all sorts of words of wisdom and then happily going along your merry way listening to NONE of it yourself.

So there I was, for the last six months, maybe even a year—hey, who am I kidding—maybe even two years, being all sorts of miserable at work. I had turned from that smug happy person who loved her job to that miserable person who just wanted OUT. Things had changed (a lot of that had to do with what was going on in the world. Thanks, Lehman Bros!), people had left, the nature of the work morphed, and to top it all off, management become more and more insufferable. I became that person you avoided at parties because I was probably going to try to get you to give me a job. Anything! Just not where I am!!

And, what does everyone tell you when you're in this position? It sounds like this:

"You're lucky to have a job!" and

"It's easier to find a job when you have a job!" and

"It's so much worse out there!"

Except at one point you realize this is your LIFE. And, look, I get that there are people who have to do what they have to do to pay bills and keep things going. But if you've been reading this blog, then you know that I've hit that point in my life where I don't have to worry about kids or tuition. (Plus, I'm lucky that UTB spouse has a regular job.) I really, really, really hated to part with a paycheck, and boyoboy was I afraid to part with a job, but echoing in my ears were some of the bits of advice I'd handed out through the years, and I thought, what would I tell my kid if this was happening to him?

I'd say: "Fear is a bad reason to stay in your job." and "Don't ever let money be the main reason you do something." And, well, just so you don't think it's just me being all brave and smart, it also got really bad. Because let me tell you, you could kick me every single day, but if you tell me I'm great at the end of the day, I'll probably come back for another kick the next day. When new boss came in and told me I sucked, on top of everything else, and she would be happy to coach me to be better, well, straw, camel, back. You know where this is going. I had to leave.

And here I am a month later to tell you: It's been kind of GREAT. All that smart advice I was giving for years? I was so fucking right.

My last bit of advice? (Well, for today.) Listen to that voice in your head. It's probably whispering something really smart.   

The Minimalist Makes His Exit - NYTimes.com

Sooner or later, a weekly column starts to turn into a body of work. This one charts the history not only of my personal development in the kitchen, but of recent cooking trends. So indulge me while I toast The Minimalist with a Champagne cocktail — developed with help from the bartender Jim Meehan, it is appropriately celebratory and bittersweet — and a few reflections.

via www.nytimes.com

So sorry to see The Minimalist column go! I love Mark Bittman and all that the Minimalist represents: good quality, minimal fuss, and no pretension. Just seeing the list of his favorites is inspiring me to crack an egg and get to work. Spaghetti with eggs. Yum. Maybe I'll work my way through the list and share some of the results.

A Look on the Bright Side

 

Whenever Under-the-Bridge Spouse and I are driving somewhere and encountering bad traffic he will invariably ask me to call our destination to let them know we're hopelessly late. Now, I can look at the little GPS screen embedded in the car's console and see perfectly clearly that it says our arrival time is 45 minutes away. And know that we are already late. But when I call, I can't help but say we're about 15 minutes away. "Why do you do that?" UTBS groans . . . "You know we're going to be at least another hour!" Now, there's a rational part of me that recognizes the wisdom in his words. But the fact is . . . well . . . I really and truly believe in my heart that we are only 15 minutes away. I believe traffic will magically clear up any second. That beyond all reason, we will speed through the next 20 miles and pull into someone's driveway sooner rather than later.

Which of course we never, ever do. Things invariably take longer than you expect them to, traffic rarely clears up, but I do think that feeling optimistic about it made me just a little bit happier as we watched the minutes tick away.

I have been thinking a lot about this whole "optimism" thing, if that's what you want to call it. I think of myself as a sunny sort of person, who's always pretty sure that things will be okay, and the traffic will clear. But is it better to be realistic in the face of stopped traffic? Lower expectations and be pleasantly surprised if good stuff happens? UTB spouse's discomfort is certainly ratcheted up when I promise we'll be arriving shortly. What strategies do you use when it looks like things are not looking smooth up ahead?