Cindy on July 23rd, 2008
Lately I’ve been thinking about Sam Lamott, son of best-selling author Anne Lamott. I don’t know of many women who haven’t read Anne’s Traveling Mercies, her collection of essays on her long road to sobriety and conversion to Christianity. And for many moms in my age group, Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year, was their introduction to a whole new literary genre: the tell-all “momoir.”
Sam (who’s now 18) is often at the center of Anne’s writings. We’ve all watched Sam grow up on the page, from his first smelly diaper to the brutal arguments over his driving privileges.
Legions of us are forever indebted to Anne for admitting aloud that motherhood isn’t a long series of Hallmark moments. Still, I can’t help but wonder how the Sam Lamotts of the world — kids who’ve literally grown up in print — really feel about all this. Is Sam scrutinized more closely because of his famous mother’s writings? Is he held to a different standard of behavior? Do his friends understand (or resent) his position? Is the rest of the world also secretly wondering how he’ll turn out? Is it really any of our business?
For years, I’ve wrestled with this issue on a much smaller scale. And I’m still conflicted. My own son, now 22, recently asked me to remove a post I’d written about him on my own blog last month. The post was innocent enough. And the photo of my son was flattering. The verbiage was confined to a very short paragraph about how grateful I am that my son helped me redesign my Web site, and how much I’ll miss him when he leaves the state for his new job.
Problem was, I used his name, he said. The large corporation that had just hired him out of college was in the process of doing an in-depth background check on him, he reminded me. Therefore, he did not want his name or his photo floating around on my blog, no matter how flattering. A little paranoid? I’d say so. But at the same time, I understood my son’s point of view and why he was worried.
We’d been around and through this before. Years before I began blogging, I wrote a weekly column for our local daily newspaper. My assignment was to write about my family life — which naturally included funny or poignant moments involving my son and his friends. No matter how careful I was, my son was hurt or humiliated more than once by what was published in my column. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now.
But I haven’t. In fact, I’ve been at work on a memoir about preparing for the empty nest, and there’s no easy way to write it without mentioning my son’s first name throughout. Euphemisms like “my son” or “the kid” sound awkward in a longer work of nonfiction. For now, I’ve put the project on hold, despite the fact that an agent and a publisher are interested in it — and despite the fact that I believe my book would be of help to other women facing the empty nest transition.
So I deleted the offending post immediately. My son told me it would have been OK if I’d simply removed his name. But I wanted to prove to him that our relationship is far more important to me than a blog topic. I’m guessing he’ll outgrow this particular sensitivity, once he feels at home in his new job and settles into his new life on his own. But I’d sure love to talk to Sam about this. — Cindy La Ferle
–A shorter version of this post originally appeared on 50-SOMETHING MOMS Blog. Check the June Archives for “Sam Lamott” on the 50-SOMETHING MOMS site, to read comments prompted by the original post.–
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Cindy on July 20th, 2008
“Our national myths often exaggerate the role of individual heroes and understate the importance of collective effort.” – Robert Putnam
Riding my bike through my neighborhood earlier this week, I waved at several neighbors at work in their front yards despite the awful wave of mid-summer humidity. And it occurred to me that “community” always tops my gratitude list. My family and I have lived in the same town for more than 25 years, and I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.
Regardless, a lot of people prefer to relocate before it’s time to repaint the living room. In his book, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (Simon & Schuster), Harvard professor Robert Putnam reminds us that one in five Americans moves once a year, while two in five expect to move in five years.
I prefer staying put. I like shopping at the hometown grocery where the clerks know me by name. I’ve enjoyed writing for my hometown papers and meeting readers in line at the post office. Since I work at home, feeling connected to a community is as essential to me as having food and shelter, and, luckily, I’m not alone. I live in a place where residents are making more effort to meet one another – and where creating a safe haven is a top priority.
It’s not as if my neighbors and I are stuck in some nostalgic time warp. We know that neighborhoods, like families, are far from perfect. We know that “building community” isn’t simply a matter of throwing a great block party. Recently, our subdivision has seen an increase in theft and vandalism, which is what inspired us to get serious and band together two years ago.
We began meeting in one another’s kitchens and living rooms to brainstorm a few solutions. For starters, we joined our city’s Neighborhood Watch Program, and then established a neighborhood e-mail chain to help keep everyone informed and connected. In the process, we started learning each other’s names as well as the needs of our immediate community. Last summer, for instance, the younger moms in our subdivision established a network of babysitters. A neighborhood beautification committee began to form. Meanwhile, plans blossomed for an official neighborhood association. And we’re just getting started.
As Putnam notes in Bowling Alone, polls show that the majority of Americans long to live in safe communities where civility is valued and practiced. We want to be neighborly. But modern life conspires against us. When we’re not multi-tasking at the office, we’re cloistered at home in communion with the TV or the computer. Sometimes we skip lunch with friends in favor of posting messages on blogs. Building a better neighborhood requires that we move outside our comfort zones and get involved. Reprinted below are a few ideas from the November/December 2006 issue of Hallmark magazine:
-Support local merchants.
-Make a favorite dinner for a new neighbor and include the recipe.
-Attend town meetings.
-Log off your computer and go to a local park.
-Read the local news faithfully.
-Pick up litter.
-Share your snow blower.
-Say “thanks” to public servants: police, firefighters, and town clerks.
-When people say “government stinks,” suggest they help fix it.
As anthropologist Margaret Mead once said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” What does community mean to you, and how do you connect with the people who live in your neighborhood? — Cindy La Ferle
–This post originally appeared in slightly different form as a newspaper column in the Daily Tribune of Royal Oak, MI–
Cindy on July 18th, 2008
I stand aside
watch helplessly
as books stream from shelves
into boxes, out the door
and I envy them their invitation
to accompany him on this journey
to the rest of his life — Linda Lee Crosfield, from “Packing the Car”
Our house has been in turmoil for the past two weeks, and so has my heart. Overstuffed suitcases … random piles of outgrown shoes and clothing … boxes of wordly goods packed up and ready to go. It all signals the changes ahead for our small family. My son has been packing for the big move to Chicago this weekend, where he’ll begin his post-college career and his own life in another state. (He’s already traded his Michigan driver’s license.) Noticing his newly tailored business suit hanging in the hallway, I feel as if time suddenly sped up when I wasn’t looking. Wasn’t it just 15 years ago, when we were shopping for his school uniform — navy pants, red polo shirts, plain black shoes? There aren’t many times when I’m at a loss for words, but this is one them. Luckily, there is a poem for every occasion, and this morning, Linda Lee Crosfield’s gorgeous “Packing the Car” (from the Literary Mama anthology) says it all. — CL
Cindy on July 16th, 2008
The sad reality always hits around the middle of July: Summer is at the halfway mark. Taking inventory of what we’ve accomplished since June, we realize how precious little time we’ve spent puttering around the house. Or getting tangled in a daydream while we water the geraniums. Or frittering the better part of an afternoon at a sidewalk café in our own hometown. Wasn’t there a corny old tune about “the lazy, hazy days” of summer?
The first half of June always explodes like a bottle rocket into thin air. Graduation parties, baby showers, outdoor concerts, major-league ball games, and weddings – the season virtually booms with special events and ceremonies. Meanwhile, piles of work await on the desk back at the office.
A friend from Paris tells me that many Europeans use the entire month of July or August as vacation time. While such a long holiday isn’t usually possible for industrious Americans, I’d like to borrow a shorter page from my Parisian friend. Joie de vivre isn’t complicated, she says, but you have to make time for it. And so, before summer packs up its beach bag and clears out for a new school term, I’d like to indulge in a few non-eventful pleasures. Here’s my plan:
–With or without a hammock, I’ll watch more sunsets, spot fireflies, nap with my cats, and contemplate my world by moonlight. I’ll brush up on the names of wild birds and constellations.
–Instead of pulling weeds, or fussing over mildew on my rose bushes, I’ll sit back and admire what I’ve already planted.
–With or without company coming, I’ll cut fresh flowers for the dinner table. At least once, I’ll steam corn on the grill and make lemonade from scratch.
–Once I hit the beach, I’ll hunt for Petoskey stones, skipping stones, beach glass, and perfect pieces of driftwood. I’ll organize a group to float downriver in tubes. Later, if I can stay awake, I’ll go for a midnight swim.
–I’ll rent videos of movie classics I haven’t watched in ages.
–Just for one afternoon, I’ll read a beach-worthy novel that has no redeeming social value while I sunbathe without worrying about skin cancer.
–I’ll ride my bike for an entire morning without checking my watch. Maybe I’ll leave the watch at home.
Even while traveling for pleasure, most of us “schedule” our fun. We make lists of what we’ll accomplish — how much ground we’ll cover — on vacation. Always en route to another big attraction, we snap photographs of beautiful places — but rarely pause to fully appreciate the view. Which is a shame, really, since loafing actually enhances productivity.
“Some of the best thinking we do happens when the conscious mind is on a sabbatical,” Vienne notes in The Art of Doing Nothing (Clarkston Potter). She reminds us that Thomas Edison discovered the light bulb filament “while idly rolling kerosene residue between his fingers.” Likewise, Einstein pondered the mysteries of the universe with a cat in his lap. “So don’t get up yet,” Vienne advises. “Contribute to science. Stay prone as long as you can.”
It’s always fun to anticipate and celebrate the major milestones of our lives. But we need a break from “special” events, not to mention a reprieve from all those pithy graduation speeches about beginnings and endings. We need ordinary time. Come August, I want to say good-bye to summer knowing that I’ve squeezed every last drop of its sweetness and savored it all. – Cindy La Ferle
Cindy on July 16th, 2008
“Whenever a man has cast a longing eye on offices, a rottenness begins in his conduct.” ~Thomas Jefferson
“Politics, it seems to me, for years, or all too long, has been concerned with right or left instead of right or wrong.” ~Richard Armour
“All of us who are concerned for peace and triumph of reason and justice must be keenly aware how small an influence reason and honest good will exert upon events in the political field.” ~Albert Einstein
**Original painting “Political Fervor” by Douglas La Ferle. La Ferle’s work will be displayed at the Royal Oak Public Library this month.**
