Becky's Greatest Hits Vol. II

Now that I'm coming to the end of the 10th year of this blog, I think I'm reaching the end of my blogging career.  I've been pretty proud of this blog though.  It's the 3rd one I've written and the one I've stayed with the longest.  It has taken me through some high and low points in my life and through a lot of changes.  It was a place for me to rant, to be silly, to brag and to dream.  I'm not sure if it inspired many people, but it certainly inspired me.  My ideas kept churning because I knew I had a place to put them.  Now I will be seeking a new and different outlet for that.  Who knows what the future might hold? I never wanted to put ads on my blog and I turned off commenting a long time ago.  It was for me.  It was for my edification.  And personal edification doesn't seek argument or agreement.  So because of those choices, I never really knew how many readers I had and if they enjoyed this blog.  I often felt a bit like Carrie Bradshaw when

Ted: The day before she died, she asked to see me alone, remember? She said she knew we were safe with you and always would be because once when she asked you to, you gave up the thing you wanted most. Newland:  [ after a long pause ] She never asked. She never asked me.

(Another re-post after an unfortunate zoo accident in 2016.  Like most topics these days, it's still terribly relevant.) As Americans, we love so many inappropriate things.  We love fatty, deep-fried foods.  We love dirty jokes.  We love spending lots of money on unnecessary things.  And we love shaming. After the tragic incident at the Cincinnati zoo a few weeks ago, NPR pointed out that it turned many folks to a particular shaming that thrives in America: parent shaming.  Oh, yes indeed, as a culture we love to point out who's doing a bad job at their mommying.  And yes, it is usually the mommying that we zoom in on foremost. But the truth is, we love to shame just about anything we can lay that tag upon.  The word has become fairly overused these days.  Even back in 2013, Slate made a point about how it was not only overused but might also be mislabeled.  And I think they have a bit of a point.  I have been one to say that no one accepts criticism anymore, even

Part of me wants to keep him a little boy forever. Don't we all?

(Continuing my stroll down memory lane to find enjoyment in our current culture takes me to television shows.  Some of these shows began in the 1970's and continued as re-runs that I watched after school as a kid.  Also, there was a lot less parental advisement in the 80's.) I loved Happy Days so much. My crush jumped between Richie to Fonz weekly.  A great spin-off from Happy Days was Laverne & Shirley. I loved the idea of girlfriends living and working together.... their lives looked so fun! Joanie Loves Chachi was a less-good spin-off from Happy Days, but I still dug it.  I was probably like 8 or something. Mork and Mindy was yet another spin-off from HD, but it was actually hilarious.  It's still sad to think about the loss of Robin Williams when you see his early genius. I don't remember much about this show except that the dad was a cartoonist that drew at home, and I thought that was cool.  I loved watching Kate &

"We made a deal when I was 7 and a half,  night life was The Muppet Show!"

(I still feel strongly about this re-post from 2016 even if some friends don't agree.) In recent times, we've become a culture of people that bare all and share all.  Nothing, and I do mean nothing, is sacred anymore.  I've heard some surmise that this is the fault of the Millennial Generation in that they want to be looked at all the time.  I was thinking this was the grumpy old man way of looking at things until I began to see it again and again.  I guess like most things, we have to blame Facebook. Who else has encouraged us all to post the best and worst of ourselves at all times?  Who else tells us to check in everywhere we go? (Even the grocery store and the emergency room, I have noted.)  Who else encourages us to humble brag to make sure everyone knows we're top-notch: parents, employees, rock stars, gardeners, couponers, marathoners, shoppers, vacationers, siblings, children, drivers, etc? So if you were coming of age right around the time that FB

(A re-post from 2011 when I was sharing a talking a lot more about my son's autism.  Now at at 17, I've learned and grown and so has he.  The autism will always be there.  But how we feel about it and handle it, will continue to evolve.) It is 9:05 am on Saturday morning, and “it” has started. Actually “it” started about 45 or so minutes ago. Or maybe “it” started as soon as Little Boy began to wake up around 6:30. But probably for Little Boy, “it” never ends. Not through the night, through sleep, through joy, through hurt, through everything. The “it” is the autism. The indescribable part of the disorder that cannot explain the fussiness, the loss for words. The I-don’t-know-what’s-wrong-myself-and-I-can’t-tell-you part of autism. It’s bigger than a lapse in audio or visual processing that teachers and therapists so glibly tell me that my son has. It’s bigger than the communication delay that I can clearly see for myself. Bigger than the stimming. Bigger than the tantrums.

(Re-post from 2012.) Probably my best find at the library book sale this week was this one, which was one of my favorite books as a child.  Unfortunately, Little Boy hasn't allowed me to read it to him all weekend.  He has, however, carried it around quite a bit and leafed through it countless times.  

Based on an actual contest that was held in New York City for decades, this crazy-ass fantasy novel takes off from a plain and fairly boring life into something pretty sensational.  It's kind of hard to describe without giving much away, but I will say this: it's just the kind of novel you would expect from a weirdo like David Duchovny. This much more serious novel could probably only be written by a guy who was born in Sweden but raised in America.  A creative writer/adjunct professor/millennial who is basically white-knuckling his so-called sobriety decides to go and find himself in Sweden just before the Syrian refuge crisis in 2015.  To say this novel hits on some heavy issues (racism, nationalism, terrorism, xenophobia) is an understatement.  But somehow being told from a vulnerable white male gives them some kind of heart that news, blogs and social media just can't.  I know, I know......everyone is tired of the white male perspective.....and sometimes it

(A frequent re-post that holds up year after year.)  Aaaaah, the fall.  My favorite time of year has arrived.  October is my December.  It has 31 days and culminates in the most fun holiday of all: Halloween.  It doesn't require shopping and pans of pans of baking.  The fall doesn't ask you to show your love by how much you can buy (or charge).  It only asks that you look around and enjoy.  Oh, and maybe toss a handful of fallen leaves into the air, but that is totally optional of course.   The fall doesn't make you feel guilty for all the things you can't do and all the people you can't be.  It doesn't ask you to be in three different locations at once and to act as mother/sister/aunt/friend to relatives you barley know and only see once a year.  It doesn't ask you to participate in rituals that mean nothing to you.  The autumn holidays are full of fun and choice. The season of fall is full of fun activities!  It has kid