Naughty Words

As I was tucking him in last night, the goob was telling me that some kids in his class use bad words and he doesn't like it. He told me they use "the f word" and "the b word" and "the d word and the s word." So I was thinking he meant fuck, bitch, damn and shit.

I asked him what he thought "those words" meant. He explained that "the f word is the naughty word you can say instead of boop." So the f word they are using is FART.

The b word is the one they say when they should say bottom. BUTT.

The d word and the s word are the ones that mean not very smart. DUMB and STUPID.

He was so sweet and concerned about it. I explained that those aren't really cuss words, but they are impolite and not really the best words to choose. He was so surprised. He thought they were cuss words because we don't use them. He said he still wasn't going to say those words because they weren't nice.

I had to leave the room soon to bust up laughing. He was so freakin' cute. "The F word."

Perhaps I am insane

I spent all day Saturday hosting and attending the annual "retreat" meeting for the giant music festival we help put on. We will start meeting monthly soon, then weekly. Sunday I spent four hours in a PTA budget meeting. Yesterday I did PTA bookkeeping and miscellaneous phone calls. Today I will work in the classroom. Tomorrow I will be at the school helping with the vision testing. The next day I will be there helping with the Vermont lesson.

If I am going to work this much, I should get a dang job. One where I get money and free coffee.

Alas, I am a volunteer at heart. I like doing nice things. And I do feel that those of us who can volunteer should. There are many moms out there working really hard to put food on the table who would love to spend a day with the kids, seeing what's happening in the classroom, providing a little extra help here and there. I can do it. I can contribute to the school, not just for my son, but for all the kids. So I do. And it's fun, even on the days when I'm dragging my feet to get there. I feel good when I leave.

another reminder

If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal -- that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. --Thoreau

Read this.

This is an excellent reminder that doing things beats the hell out of waiting for things.
Starhawk's second New Orleans update exposes the government's lack of ability to help in the most basic of ways, and how an organized group of volunteers can make a huge difference.

It's National Breast Cancer Awareness month. I'm not really into the whole pink ribbon thing. Finding a cure is good, of course. How 'bout finding out why it's happening? I have a long-held interest in the issue of the environmental causes of cancer.

My friend Jenny died of breast cancer. She was featured in the outstanding documentary Rachel's Daughters. Jenny blamed her cancer on early exposure to agricultural chemicals as a child growing up in the rural South County of San Luis Obispo. My friend Lona was diagnosed with breast cancer at 22 with no family history and died at 30, leaving three kids. My friend Thea died of cancer in her 30s. And Betsy from high school and, well, the list goes on. Many of my friends and relatives have been affected. My mother-in-law and my friend Lesley are survivors, but they went through so much to stay with us. This wasn't happening when our parents were in their 20s and 30s. Their friends weren't dying of cancer.

While I support efforts to treat and cure cancer, I want more done to stop it before it starts. This means asking some tough questions regarding exposure to common chemicals we don't think twice about. Here's a link to a good organization, Breast Cancer Action. They provide excellent information and encourage us to "Do Something Besides Worry -- Educate, Agitate, Organize."

Google "cancer environmental causes" and see what you get. Pretty scary stuff.

Our friend Carol died of breast cancer this summer. She and my husband were very close friends for many years. Carol was a beautiful, bright, insightful and hilarious woman. Twenty years or so ago, my hubby and his friends helped her record some of her songs. You can download some of them here. Join me in enjoying them. Tap your foot, laugh at the cat song, nod along with the art song. Carol would approve.

Dismissed

So, I heard back about my parking ticket. It was dismissed. The handwritten note at the bottom of the form said, "Dismissed in the interest of justice as a one-time courtesy." Will somebody please explain this? Either it's justice or a courtesy. Since when is justice a one-time courtesy?

WTF?

I was one of the first people to call the cops to complain about the idiot parkers at the local soccer field. People were parking in fire lanes, in no parking zones, all over. I don't do that. It's dangerous and stupid. I want those stupid shits to get tickets because they are endangering people. If my kid gets his clock cleaned on the field, I want the ambulance to be able to reach him.

Today, my car was in a legal parking area, off the road, not encroaching the bike lane. There was no sign prohibiting parking. The curb was not red. And I came out to find a $35 ticket on my windshield. WTF? It said "prohibited parking." Parking was not prohibited there, it was legal. Luckily, my hubby had his Palm Pilot with a built-in camera, so we took some photos. But I'm so pissed that now I have to deal with fighting this totally stupid wrong ticket while other idiots were blocking the freaking fire lane.

Here's something cool...

In 1967 my dad, in his early 30s, was building a totally groovy house he had designed at the base of a hill in San Luis Obispo. One day a guy stopped by. He said he was passing through town on his way to the Bay Area and had stopped for breakfast at a pancake place across the freeway. He had spotted this interesting construction project and had to check it out.

He and my dad walked around the site, chatting about the project. The visitor was very enthusiastic about the house, the design, the innovation. They hit it off as unconventional artists who appreciate the challenges of inspiration. He gave my dad his card and said to look him up if he ever made it to Santa Monica (I think it was Santa Monica).

Years later, my dad was digging through a pile of accumulated stuff. He stopped short at a business card. "How the hell did I get Frank Gehry's card?" he thought. And then it hit him. That nice guy that had stopped by the house on San Miguel Avenue. At the time, the name meant nothing to my dad. Since then, Gehry's architecture has become world famous.