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 thought 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 arrived in the birthing room about an hour after I got there, in plenty of time for the birth.

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 31 today.  The first word that always comes to mind when I think of him is proud.  I am so very proud of the fine man and husband he has grown up to be.   Here’s wishing my son a wonderful birthday with less troublesome weather than the day he was born.

Rip's Rules for Running (a Presidential Campaign)

 Let me tell you, the Democratic Debate was a breath of fresh air in the current national political scene.  The Democratic candidates vying to get their party’s nomination to run for President were downright civilized.  They discussed the issues and they didn’t attack one another or Anderson Cooper, their moderator.

Now I think this sort of demeanor and behavior should be par for the course for people who aspire to be the leader of our great country. However, before these most recent debates, many of the politicians running seemed to have forgotten some of the most basic manners they should have learned in Junior High.  I am frankly appalled at some of their behavior.

As a concerned American citizen, a grown-up and someone’s mother, I can no longer sit by idly and watch this misbehavior on the playground -um, I mean, national political scene.  Someone has got to tell these children - er, I mean, Presidential candidates- the proper way to behave.  So Presidential Candidates, listen up! Here are the rules (an infraction may result in a time out):

No Name Calling – It is never okay, under any circumstances, to call anyone else involved in the campaign process a demeaning name, even if they ask you a Tough Question during a Debate.  That is their job, and if you can’t handle a Tough Question with aplomb and poise, you have no business trying to be President.

No Personal Attacks – Please feel free to take on your opponents on the issues.  That really is what we, responsible voters, want to hear.  However, when you personally attack someone for any other reason than their stand on the issues, you’re being a bully.  As an aside, please know that is as unacceptable to attack someone based on gender as it is to attack someone based on their race, ethnicity, or religion.  I would never vote for a woman just because she is a woman.  That said, I would never vote for a man who ever suggests that a woman is not a viable Presidential candidate because she is a woman.

No Witch Hunts- Sometimes it seems to me that a certain political party will resort to absolutely anything to discredit a strong opponent from the other party, especially if that opponent has a wealth of applicable experience and qualifications and might be a real threat to them in the general election.  They may have been trying to bring this particular candidate down for years and years, spending lots of the taxpayers’ money and wasting inordinate amounts of time.  They persist, even though none of their accusations stick because they are bogus and blatant attempts to bring this strong, sure, capable candidate down.  To them I say, knock it off.

So, Presidential Candidates, are you now thinking, “Well, goodness, if I can’t just call people names or personally attack them or conduct expensive campaigns to discredit them, how can I win the election?”

Try a new approach to the campaign process.  Focus on why you’re running, not on why your opponent shouldn’t be.  Talk about what you stand for, about the issues and about your plan to address these issues if you should be chosen by your fellow citizens as their leader.  Then if you should be elected remember that you have a responsibility to all the people in the nation.  Make it about leadership, not winning, and in the end you just may win.

Dream a Little Dream

I am a boring dreamer.

Here's what I can tell you about my dreams.  Sometimes they are vivid nightmares and sometimes I have dreams that are beyond mundane, like dreaming that I am at work on a typical workday.  When I wake up I am usually happy to realize it was a dream. In the five minutes after I wake when I can remember the details of the dream there is no mystery about its deeper meaning.  There really is no deeper meaning- it usually relates directly to something going on in my life.

One thing’s always the same.  An hour after I wake up I don't remember the dream or anything that happened in it. 

The reason I'm telling you all of this is because I just woke up from a dream I actually want to remember, so I thought I'd better write it down.

In my dream, Mr. Rip and I were walking into our local Eat n Park to get some coffee to take out and I noticed that Paul McCartney was standing at the bakery counter.  Just as we passed, Paul (I feel that I can call him “Paul” now) saw that I recognized him and reached out and touched my elbow playfully and said, "Hey!" in that Liverpool accent of his.

Now I am not one to get too impressed by celebrities, and I generally don't bother them if I run into them at my local Eat n Park, but this was Paul McCartney, and he just recognized my existence and touched me.  I couldn't help but glance back at him. 

Then he started to walk over. Was Paul McCartney coming over to chat with me? "Hello," he said.

"Um, hi," I answered.  I hesitated, trying to think of what to say now that it seemed I was going to be making small talk with Paul McCartney in the Eat n Park in Wexford. Telling him that John was my favorite Beatle didn't seem appropriate.

He saw me struggling to find something meaningful to say, and (helping me along in a self-mocking cocky way), said "I know, you know all me music."

I was ready with a comeback.  This should have tipped me off that this was a dream since this never happens in real life.

"Well, I've heard some of your music, and you know I think it's pretty good."  He looked at me for a minute and then broke into a hardy laugh.

Then I woke up.  It was actually appropriate that Paul would appear to me in a dream, as I read an interview with him once where he revealed that the song “Yesterday” came to him in a dream. If I ever had an iconic song come to me in my sleep, I forgot it an hour after waking up.

I do feel pretty self-satisfied that I could engage in witty repartee with a legendary Beatle, if only in my dreams.

The Mature Non-Gambler's Guide to Las Vegas

I don't always believe it when people they try to convince me that I will actually enjoy something that I loathe - like the taste of mushrooms or the movie Raising Arizona - if I just "give it one more try."  This has never ever been true. So, when people told me that you don’t have to gamble to enjoy Las Vegas, I was skeptical.

Then my son J.J. and his wife (my lovely daughter-in-law, aka DIL) told us they thought that we would have a good time in Las Vegas.  They know us pretty well, and in fact J.J. has known me his entire life.

Then it dawned on us that the Grand Canyon was an easy side trip from Vegas.  Not only would we have the opportunity to see a Natural Wonder of the World, I would be able to add two states to the list of states I've visited (to address a deficit in this area brought to my attention by a Facebook quiz). 

It was decided.  We were going to Vegas! Unfortunately my arthritic knees and Mr. Rip's bad back insisted upon coming with us, so there we were – just a couple of arthritic non-gamblers ready to shuffle into and tackle Sin City.

Once there we discovered many helpful hints for more mature non-gamblers with mobility issues and potential gastrointestinal disorders that help to assure a pleasant and productive stay in Las Vegas:

Follow the advice of the experts

In our case, this meant "listen to the kids."  JJ and DIL acted as our unofficial travel agents - we pretty much planned our entire itinerary around their sage advice.  As long as we followed their helpful suggestions things turned out extraordinarily well. And when we didn’t, well….

You really don’t have to gamble when in Vegas.

People kept telling us that we had to gamble once “just to say we did.”  I sat in front of a 25 cent slot machine waiting for Mr. Rip the first day we were there.  I contemplated it for a moment, and considered taking the dollar out of my purse, but didn’t. The casinos were noisy and filled with cigarette smoke (which I can’t tolerate).  So I did not gamble once, “just to say I didn’t."

Go wild!

You know what they say.  What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.  Actually, what happens in Vegas gets posted on Facebook, but nonetheless it is a place where you can let your hair down and go a little crazy. 

Now I didn’t gamble, and I did not have an alcoholic drink while I was there.  No, I stepped outside my comfort zone when I compromised my complete boycott of the Hooters franchise by hailing a cab in front of their hotel. Crazy, right?  

Vegas also provides the chance to try new things.  Haven’t had a chance to visit France or Italy or even Hoboken? No problem!  Ride a gondola with a real live Italian gondolier and visit Carlos’ Bakery (of “Cake Boss” fame) at the Venetian Hotel and or visit the “Eiffel Tower” at Paris.  We had a mighty fine time on that gondola ride.

See the shows. Rub elbows with celebrities.

Take your pick.  Magicians, Cirque de Soleil, “headliners,” comedians, Las Vegas showgirls – whatever strikes your fancy.  Get some great seats for shows at greatly reduced prices by buying your tickets the same day at the Tix4Tonight booths all over town (this handy tip comes to you courtesy of DIL)

Because we missed Bette Midler by two days we enjoyed TWO Cirque de Soleil shows - Ka (recommended by DIL) and Love (the Beatles-inspired show), both pretty spectacular to watch, with some tricks that even Bette wouldn’t attempt.

We had a chance to meet Rita Rudner (a talented comedienne, for you whippersnappers out there saying “Who?”) after her show and we have the autographed photo to prove it.  But Rita (we’re on a first name basis now) was not the only celebrity with whom we got to hobnob.  No we also met Sandy, the MGM employee who was featured on an episode of Undercover Boss that we happened to catch when we first arrived (and we have the pictures to prove that too).

Use the money you save on gambling to pay for transportation.

We wanted to stay in a hotel that was not a casino. JJ suggested the Desert Rose Resort just off the south end of the strip. JJ also suggested that we might want to take advantage of the Monorail when traveling the Strip, which was long and difficult to navigate.

Nonsense, we thought.  We were trying to walk more and the Strip was only 4 ½ miles long. We headed off to the Bellagio which is just halfway down the Strip, equipped with our Fitbits and sporting our lightweight clothing and sensible shoes.  We came to a point where we could see the Bellagio, but we could not figure out how to get there. Was it a mirage, a phenomenon we understand sometimes happens in the desert?  A few walkways, a couple of escalators, a tram inside an upscale shopping mall and a couple of hours later, we finally got there.

The next day we listened to JJ and bought a Monorail pass.  We got where we were going in a timely fashion, figured out that we could hail a cab if needed and walked a record 20,000 steps.  Worth every penny.

Go to the Hoover Dam and Take the Whole Dam Tour

If you are making a side trip from Vegas to the Grand Canyon you really must stop on the way at the Hoover Dam.  It is one of the most magnificent examples of ingenuity and human achievement that you could ever hope to experience.  As long as you’re seeing the natural wonder of the Grand Canyon, you might as well add a man-made wonder to your itinerary while you’re there.  Well, Vegas is actually full of man made wonders, but you don't have to walk through a casino to get to the Hoover Dam.

The Boomers and the Millenials Should Be Friends

My visit to the Verizon store on my way from work should have been pretty straightforward.  It was time to upgrade my phone, and I knew I wanted either an iPhone 5 or an iPhone 6.  The store wasn't crowded and I should have been in and out of there in less than 30 minutes.

My salesman was very helpful and knowledgeable as I compared models and selected a carrying case.  He was perfectly willing to sell me the model that cost 99 cents if that's what I wanted, and saved his hard sell for a super strong screen protector, as he evidently sized me up (correctly) as an accident waiting to happen.

Then I chose to select the Verizon Edge option, and that's when we hit a snag.  It turns out that Mr. Rip, as the account owner, had to sign for this option.  Yes, that's right - I couldn't buy Verizon Edge without my husband to give me his permission in person despite the fact that my name and phone was clearly on the account.

Mr. Rip had stopped at the Asian Food Market on his way home from work on the other end of busy McKnight Road, but said he'd be right over.

The salesman and I had some time to kill together.  Our conversation turned to music.

My salesman thought that Led Zeppelin “borrowed” much of their music from other artists, and decided to prove it (although I don't remember questioning his theory).
   

“Now, you won't know this band,” he said to me as he was finding the piece of music he wanted me to hear.  “This is Spirit, and this piece of music was published about 1960.”

I had to admit that the passage he played sounded a whole lot like “Stairway to Heaven.”

We went on to discuss the concept of copyright infringement, and somehow got on the subject of Lady Gaga.  I said I thought that she was a versatile vocalist, equally adept at singing her own stuff, a Stevie Wonder cover, standards with Tony Bennett and the Sound of Music medley she so beautifully delivered at the Oscars.  They agreed although the second salesman wondered if she'd ever live down that meat dress.  We also all thought that Katy Perry was a pretty good singer, and my salesman thought Katie may be a just a bit “bigger” than Gaga right now because of the Super Bowl half-time show.

Mr. Rip arrived and before our transaction was complete we found out that my salesman was a 2011 Penn State grad.

How about that?  I just spent two hours in a professional transaction and personal discussion with a Millennial where we related like two human beings with little regard to age.  He even taught me a little something about music made in the 1960's, and I knew a little more about what Gaga's been up to lately than he did.

This wouldn't have been so surprising if I wasn't constantly being barraged with articles and instructional seminars to teach me how the Millennials (people coming to adulthood about 2000) think so that this old dinosaur can manage to communicate with them. 

You see, according to these authorities, Millennials are rare and exotic creatures who are an entirely different species than all the made-up generational groups who came before them, you know, the Baby Boomers, Gen X, Gen Y, whatever. They have the world at their finger tips and want immediate gratification.  If we oldsters don't keep up we will perish and lose them forever.

I read one ridiculous blog by an actual Millennial pretty much putting the rest of us on notice that they’re here now and they’re just not going to live by our archaic rules.  They will do what they want, and we had just better get out of their way. After reading it, I had a flashback to the 60’s when the young people of the day (aka the Baby Boomers) had a mantra of their own.   “Don’t trust anyone over 30.”  Maybe the Millennials aren’t so different than their forerunners after all.

Want to hear a secret? I see people of all generations living and working together peacefully and productively all the time, and I know a lot of older people who have smart phones and short attention spans, too.

We really should all just get along. With the Millennial's tech skills, social media saavy and short term memory and the Boomers' wisdom, experience and ability to format a standard letter, together we can pretty much rule the world.

What Color is This Sweater?

What color is this sweater I'm wearing in the picture above?  I'll give you  a moment to look at it and think it over.

Did you guess some shade of blue, or aqua, or teal?  Wrong!

In reality, in person, the sweater in the picture above is very, very purple.  This is the same sweater:

OMG!  This very purple sweater just LOOKS blue in the first picture.

Why? I have absolutely no idea.  Both pictures were taken with my I-Pad Mini.  Maybe it was the lighting in the restaurant, maybe it looked blue against the backdrop of the booth.  Maybe there is some blue in the purple.  I don't see colors in other colors, but Mr. Rip does.  He is always saying things like "That top goes with those pants because there's a lot of brown in that red."

When I first saw the photo, I said to Mr. Rip, "Hey, my purple sweater looks blue in this picture."

"It sure does," Mr. Rip replied.

We didn't give it another thought, and resumed living our lives.

Then along came the Great Dress Debate. In case you somehow missed it, someone posted a picture of a dress on Tumblr with the caption "What color is this dress?"  Some people thought the dress was black and blue while others thought it was gold and white.  The debate raged across the nation. Houses were divided.

The truth?  Well, there is a very good scientific photographic explanation for it all. I am neither scientist nor photographer, but let me see if I can explain it to you in everyday language.  The dress was actually dark blue and black.  If the dress was photographed with the colors reversed it was now white and gold.  The picture posted on the internet was in an exposure that made it appear between the two extremes.  So some people saw the black and blue, and some saw the gold and white.  It was all in the eye of the beholder.

Simple, right?  Well, unless you're me.  My mind's quirky eye saw the dress as being blue and BROWN.  Perhaps I saw what actually was - in that exposure was the trim of the dress  somewhere between black and gold? Who's to say that isn't brown?  Perhaps I just have a totally unique perspective.  I'm sure that the Today show will be calling for their interview soon.

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 thought 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 plenty of time for the birth.

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 30 (!) today, a milestone birthday to follow a milestone year when he married the love of his life.  One word always comes to mind when I think of him- proud.  I am so very proud of the fine man he has grown up to be.   Here’s wishing my son, who's spending the day in a warmer climate this year, a wonderful birthday.