And the Winner Is....

When you read this, the Oscar broadcast will be over, but they are not the only awards that were bestowed last week. I found out that my essay “Honestly, Do You Really Want the Truth?” won an Honorable Mention in America’s Humor Press’ December/January contest, the first writing contest I’ve entered since starting this blog in 2009.

As a character on The Mentalist said last week, “I won’t let false modesty tarnish this moment...”

They like me, they REALLY like me.  THANK YOU to the judges at America’s Humor Press for choosing me.  I am honored to have been in the company of my fellow awardees, all of whom are pretty damn funny.  Thank you to all my faithful readers, and to all my teachers and mentors who encouraged me to write, and to all my family and friends for their love and support.  Thanks to my Dad, for giving me the gift of gab…my in-laws for being my number one fans…my sisters for agreeing to be mentioned in my column as long as they are not actually named…my most precious son for being so interesting and giving me so much good material (starting with the day he was born)… and to my most wonderful husband – you are my heart, my soul, and the one who first said, “Why don’t you write a blog?”

What?  What do you mean I’m running long and need to wrap this up?  There are no time limits in my blog.  I could make this blog one big acceptance speech if I like – it’s my blog!  Sure I know it isn’t an Oscar or anything, but you have your awards, and I have mine.

Back to the Oscars, I always wanted to do one of those columns where I predict the winners – you know, where I tell you who will win and who should win, but the Academy foiled me this year with so many nominations  from so many different movies. I did not have enough time to watch all 9 Best Picture nominees, much less dig up all the movies with nominated performances.  But here are my thoughts, written before the broadcast, based upon what I’d seen (and the actual results follow, reported as they happened):

BEST PICTURE:  I saw five of the nine nominated films:  The Artist, The Descendants, The Help, Midnight in Paris, and Moneyball.  The Artist will and probably should win.  It was unique and totally brilliant.  Personally, I enjoyed watching The Help the most- it would sweep the Movies Rip Liked in 2011 Awards. 

Reporting LIVE! from my couch: The Artist wins.

BEST ACTOR:  I saw three of the nominated performances:  George Clooney in The Descendants; Jean Dujardin in The Artist; and Brad Pitt in Moneyball.  Either Clooney or Dujardin will win, but George Clooney should win.  As an actor essentially playing in a silent film, Dujardin had to be and was over-the-top, with huge emotions, expressions and actions.  As a real-life husband coping with the loss of his wife, and developing relationships with his two daughters, Clooney was exceptional – nuanced and subtle, and sometimes conveying the emotion his character was feeling with just a subtle change in the expression in his eyes, or a quiet sigh.  He couldn’t even rely on his physical appearance to aid him because there is nothing than you can do to make George Clooney look anything but ruggedly handsome.

Reporting LIVE! from my couch:  Jean Dujardin wins. He loves our country, as well he should.

BEST ACTRESS:  I only saw Viola Davis in The Help in this category.  Without knowing anything about the other nominated performances, I’m rooting for her because when I see the actress she is nothing like the character she played so well.  Either Meryl Streep (The Iron Lady) or Davis will win.

Reporting LIVE! from my couch:  Meryl Streep wins, and it’s hard to begrudge her that.  I’m sure her performance was brilliant because it always is.  She acts like she can’t believe she won.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:  I only saw Jonah Hill in Moneyball, and I predict that he will not win, because I don’t understand why he was even nominated.  Subtlety is one thing, but being practically catatonic is another.  Christopher Plummer (Beginnings) will win.

Reporting LIVE! from my couch:  At the age of 82, Christopher Plummer becomes the oldest person to win an acting Oscar.  He says he’s been practicing his acceptance speech since he came out of the womb.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS:  I saw four of the five nominated performances!  Berenice Bejo in The Artist, Jessica Chastain in The Help, Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids, and Octavia Spencer in The Help. Octavia Spencer will win, and Jessica Chastain should win.

Reporting LIVE! from my couch:  Octavia Spencer wins.  She looks great, and is too verklempt to give a coherent acceptance speech.

So that’s a wrap on my Awards blog.  I know George Clooney may be as disappointed as I am at his loss, but I hope that he takes some consolation in the fact that I have been appreciating his work since his Facts of Life days.

Not My "Type"

Last Sunday, on CBS Sunday Morning, Bill Geist reported on “A Typewriter Renaissance,” a resurgence in the popularity of typewriters mostly with young people who obviously don’t know any better.  One 27-year-old in the typewriter repair shop that Geist found in Mesa, Arizona had just purchased a Smith Corona typewriter (that came with its own carrying case) at Goodwill for $7.99.  She explained that she enjoyed the fact that you can see the words in front of you as you type them when you use a typewriter.

“Isn’t that what you can do with a computer?” asked Bill.  He took the words right out of my mouth.

Some of the typewriter aficionados interviewed for the story had other cockamamie rationales for their appeal.  For instance, typing on a typewriter is more of a craft because you have to get it right the first time you type as there is no going back to correct it.  Here, all this time, I thought that this was the typewriter’s hamartia, its fatal flaw.

One teacher was subjecting his high school students (many of whom had never seen one before) to using typewriters on the premise that it made them better writers because they had to really THINK before they put their words down on paper.  Huh.  I thought a really good writer is one who hones his or her work after the first draft - you know, the way you can when you write on a computer.

Another typist was waxing poetic about the feeling of returning the carriage, and the “dinging” sound it makes and the sensual nature of the keys beneath your fingers.  I’ll bet you anything you can buy a computer app that will simulate that experience for you.

I remember typewriters.  My family owned a heavy black Underwood manual typewriter when I was growing up.  I’m going to reveal something about myself to you now. I can’t type.  Never could.  Don’t tell anyone though, because I type for a living.

When I took a Typing class in high school, I was doing just fine until about halfway through the year when they suddenly thought we should type fast, as well as accurately.  That simply wasn’t happening for me.  Wite-Out became my best friend, but you had to realize you had made the mistake before you could correct it.  I cannot even begin to count the number of sheets of paper that I had to scrap in the quest to produce an error-free document.  Talk about killing trees.

I was delighted when the electric typewriter became more popular.  I had an enormous one at work that actually had a self-correcting tape built into it.  That made it easier and much less messy to correct my mistakes, but didn’t reduce the number of mistakes I made in the first place.

Then a miracle happened.  I discovered that someone had invented a wonderful new contraption called the word processor, and my life changed forever.  Much to my astonishment, I realized that on a word processor I could save, copy, delete and edit text!  My memory is not what it used to be, but I do think I may have wept for joy that day.  I got one the following Christmas – pretty much like a typewriter in a monitor box.  I could now make mistakes and…wait for it…fix them later.  I could save whole documents for all eternity. From the word processor it was an easy leap to computers, even this one that is sitting on my lap right now.

So I would no sooner trade in my computer for a typewriter than I would trade in my car for a horse and carriage, or trade in my washing machine for a rock by the river.

My friend Jeanne has the right idea – to celebrate the typewriter, she finds and buys old ones and makes the keys into very cool and unique jewelry.  Check out all her jewelry (which is made from recycled and found materials) at http://www.juNxtaposition.com.

On This Day My Child Was Born

It was February 13^th.  I was 8 ½ months pregnant and returning to work after my weekly gynecologist appointment.

My doctor said he thought I may come a little earlier than my February 28^th due date.  That was okay with me.  I had had enough of the whole pregnancy thing- the tremendous weight gain, the sharp pain in my abdomen they called “heartburn,” the inability to sit, stand or sleep comfortably.  I really did Ache All Over.   I was more than ready to have my baby.

Snow was beginning to fall as I headed back to work, but I wasn’t worried.  The roads weren’t bad yet, and my workplace was just four miles from my house.  Nonetheless, I was pretty happy when I arrived at work safely, just in time for lunch.

When I stood up after lunch, I felt an unfamiliar sensation.  I realized with a shock that my water was beginning to break.  I calmly called the doctor’s office, and they advised me to return to the hospital immediately.  I wasn’t able to reach my husband, who was making deliveries for his family’s business in a time before cell phones.  I left the message with his mother that I would go home and pack my bag and he could just meet me at the house.

I let my boss and my friend and co-worker Joan know what was going on and left.  I got in the car, turned the key and…the car wouldn’t start.  I had turned the headlights on when I was on my way back to work in the snowstorm and left them on.  My car battery was dead.

Okay, so now I was beginning to panic.
  

I found Paul, my co-worker with jumper cables.  Paul felt strongly that a woman in labor should not be driving herself anywhere, especially in the snow.  He refused to jump my car.  I explained that I just planned to drive the few miles to my house, and probably wasn’t even technically in labor.  Paul didn’t care.  He offered to drive me anywhere I needed to go.  I explained to him that this was my only car, and I could not leave it there, dead, , especially if I actually had the baby.  Paul was adamant.  We argued for several minutes.  I was getting desperate.  I begged.  I cajoled.  I cannot swear that I didn’t at one point grab Paul by the lapels and yell “Jump the damn car, Paul!”   Finally, Joan,  a very persuasive person, intervened and Paul grudgingly agreed to jump my car.

I drove home and packed my suitcase but hadn’t heard from my husband.  I called the doctor’s office.  “WHAT??!!!,”  the nurse said, “You mean you haven’t even LEFT yet?”  The last professional I saw get this excited was the whitewater rafting guide after I fell into the Youghigheny River.  I though better than to mention the dead car battery.  She asked how long it would take me to get to the hospital.  About 30 minutes when it wasn’t snowing, I told her.   “Oh honey,” she said, “You need to get here RIGHT NOW!”

I called my mother-in-law to tell her that I was leaving for the hospital and to tell my husband to meet me there.  She offered to come pick me up, but after my conversation with the nurse I didn’t think I should wait. 

My mother also offered to drive me, which was very sweet but not really feasible.  My mother was terrified of driving in the snow, and lived in Swissvale, which was just about an hour away from my home in Washington, PA.  It would have taken my Mom 2 hours or more to pick me up and take me to the hospital in the snow, and I was certain that Mom would not want to drive in the snow and deliver her grandchild herself, at least not on the same day.

It was snowing a lot harder now.  When I finally arrived at the hospital, I told the doctor that aside from my water breaking and driving 30 miles in the snow, I was feeling fine.  He examined me and informed me that I was indeed having contractions and I was “officially” in labor.  Perhaps I was in shock as I drove to the hospital in the snow, and therefore numb to the contractions, or perhaps I had unknowingly been employing those breathing exercises they taught us in Lamaze class.

Meanwhile my husband had arrived back at the shop, and was so upset at the news that his parents did not trust him to drive himself to the hospital.  His family accompanied him, and his father drove.   He burst into the birthing room about an hour after I got there, in quite a state, I might add.

I will not share all the minute details of the labor and delivery, because I hate when women do that.  However, I will tell you that I had to have a Caesarian section because the baby was large, and my birth canal was small.   I only mention this because I want everyone to know that there is actually a body part of mine that is too small, ironically located inside my body where nobody can see it.

At 10:15 p.m. on February 13, 1985, my beautiful, brown-haired, brown-eyed baby boy was born, 8 pounds and 9 ounces despite coming 15 days early.  When they put him into my arms, I was smitten- crazy about the kid from the start.  Every bit of the pregnancy and that day had been worth it.

That baby turns 27 today.  One word always comes to mind when I think of him- proud.  I am so very proud of the fine young man he has grown up to be.   Here’s wishing my son a wonderful birthday, and hoping that the weather today is better than on the day he was born.

My Sister the "Doctor"

My sister isn't really a medical professional, but she plays one in our family.  Her dual degrees in Advertising and History do not qualify her to dispense medical advice.  Nonetheless, she does so with a confidence and panache rarely observed in real doctors with whom I interact.  I am proud to say that she is self-taught - a voracious reader and collector of medical books, and an audience member at local community medical seminars.

Scoff if you will, but in our family we are believers.  She’s very often our first port of call for medical questions or concerns.  We can sometimes save ourselves the time, trouble and possible expense of seeing a doctor.  This is because she is usually right, at least as accurate and sometimes more accurate than the actual medical professionals.  I can say this without fear of it going to her head because she is already convinced that she is always right.  If anything, she might be questioning my use of the modifier “usually” right now.

The really nice thing about my sister and her medical acumen is that when you are facing a medical condition or situation, you have a tireless advocate working on your case with you.  She is with you every step of the way- always available and asking for updates. She is diligent in her research, determined to get to the root of the problem and find a diagnosis and/or treatment.  Her intellectual curiosity never flags, and she never, ever gives up.

Take the case of My Mysterious Recurring Foot Infection, which lasted the better part of three months.  Even when the doctors, including a podiatrist, had thrown in the towel, basically saying that they simply had no idea what was causing it or why it kept coming back, my sister never gave up the quest.   She continued to suggest possibilities to explore that might help to diagnose or treat the problem, or at least prevent another reoccurrence.

This led to one of those infamous conversations I sometimes have with doctors.

“My sister thinks I might be allergic to the anti-inch ingredients in the topical products, because my foot gets worse whenever I use them,” I explained.

There was a pause as the doctor looked at me blankly for a minute. “I see. Is your sister a medical professional?”

“Well, no, but she knows a lot about medicine. She reads medical books and attends lectures.”

The doctor considered this for a minute, clearly skeptical but willing to entertain any viable theory at this point.  He wrote me a prescription for a “pure” topical ointment that I now keep on hand at all times, and which I use at even the slightest hint of a problem to successfully keep my foot healthy and infection-free. This is all thanks to my sister.

As you can imagine, she has been following my recent Adventures with Arthritis with great interest. I shared with her that I was pleased with my progress since I began physical therapy four weeks ago.  Now when the physical therapists work on the Knot that runs down the one side of my back it is only very painful.  It used to be excruciatingly and unbearably painful.  I am optimistic that after two more weeks in therapy, that it might be just somewhat painful. 

My sister suggested that I help the process along by getting a long handled massager so I could massage the knot myself at home.  I had never thought of that.  So I stopped at Rite-Aid on my way home, and there it was- a long-handled, heated, vibrating massager, just waiting for me to give it a home.  And what a fine new family member the massager has become –working its magic on the Knot in a matter of minutes.  It’s a miracle, really.  I think this massager and I have a long future together.

Honestly, it is too bad that more people can’t benefit from my sister’s gift.  She really should have her own show.  We could call it Symptom Tracker – kind of a cross between Mystery Diagnosis and History Detectives. People could send in their symptoms, my sister could work on finding a diagnosis and treatment backed up by a team of actual medical professionals.  I would be the producer.