Women in the Army, Mother and Daughter

How You Gonna Keep ‘Em Down On The Farm?

My daughter, Chenoa, recently completed a hitch in the Army and is home from Georgia for the summer while she plans her next big adventure. From what I can see, she left the Army with two things. First, an annoying southern accent. I’m not too worried about that because with a little nonstop nagging, I can convert her back to her native tongue, an annoying New York accent, so that’s covered. The other thing she brought home is a boatload of wisdom she is sharing with me.

“Mom, a good work ethic is really important. You have to show up on time, identify the mission and keep a good attitude.”
“Really? I never thought of that.”
“And know your responsibilities.”
“Be responsible? Wait, this is getting good. Let me get a pencil, I gotta write this down.”
“Speak clearly to the people you work with. Don’t be afraid to exercise your vocabulary and articulate precisely what you want to say.”
“Vocabulary, speak clearly, get exercise, got it. What else did the Army teach you?”
“Organization helps a lot, Mom. Organize your home and work environment to serve the mission. Decide where things should live and return them to that spot when you’re done using them.”
“Ah, sort of like when I’d always yell at you to, “put it back where you found it”. “
“I’ll show you how to organize a closet, Mom. Similar things go together.”
“Like in my closet?”
“Yeah, now that I think if it.”
“Be patient with people. That’s very important. Not everybody comprehends or works at the same speed.”
“Oh yes, the importance of being patient, like if you were raising a rebellious teenage daughter?”
“Yes, but you didn’t have that. I wasn’t rebellious. Mom? Mom! Are you all right? Let me help you get up in the chair. Why are you grabbing your chest? Do you want me to call 911?”
“No, I’m okay. I just thought I heard you say you weren’t rebellious. I flashed on the time you ran away from home for a month when you were 16.”
“Oh, that. That’s ancient history. It wasn’t like I was an ongoing problem child. What are you doing now? Why are you wedging that knife between the counter tops? You’re not a Roman General, Mother, you don’t need to fall on your steak knife, I get the point. So, maybe I had a few problems with authority. I think I’m over it now. Besides, while I was in the Army, you really seem to have grown as a human being. You’re so different now from when I was a teenager.”
“In a good way I hope?”
“Yeah, very good. For one thing, you’re funny and interesting to talk to. It’s like your personality bloomed while I was away.”
“Right. I really didn’t have any personality before. This is all new, I just got it. I bought a “21 Days to a New You” personality course from late night TV and completed it just before you got home.”
“Well didn’t the Army teach YOU anything when you were in?”
“Not much really, just responsibility, work ethic, focus, organization, patience and such. Things I tried to pass along to my children.”
“You see that, Mom, the Army taught us both a lot. We have more in common now.”
“Yep. Whoda thunk it?”

"Awareness" Ribbons - I'm confused!

Tie a ribbon around this...

I don’t know if it’s a function of increasing age, peri-menopause or the ebbing of my ‘cool’ factor, but I’m losing track of my Ribbon Identity Publicly Officially For Factor, a.k.a., RIP OFF.

When Tony Orlando and Dawn had that hit in the 70’s “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree”, we all started tying yellow ribbons around trees, oak and non-oak for soldiers returning from Viet Nam. Gradually, everybody was tying yellow ribbons around trees everywhere to signal they missed someone. It was very sweet , politically correct and cool all at the same time.

At some point, somebody decided to make the statement portable by making a small yellow ribbon into a pin you could wear to make everyone who saw you aware that you were waiting for someone. It was always a conversation starter.

Then, I think it was Breast Cancer that joined in next and we all had to wear pink ribbons to remember our breasts, and to remember every October, to bring them to a place with squash pans to have them compressed into discs. So, now we were wearing yellow ribbons for returning loved ones and pink ribbons for our boobs. I was still okay with it and even bought the pen that Avon sold with a pink ribbon on the clasp for $4.99.

The ribbons have evolved into metal enamel jewelry pins. There are yellow pins, pink, lavender, rainbow, stars and stripes, white, purple, dark blue, light blue, jigsaw pieces, and I’ve forgotten the other colors and patterns I’ve seen.

I feel lost because I have completely lost track of what all the colors mean after yellow and pink. I know I’m the only one. It’s worrying me because now there are big magnetic ribbons on the backs of cars and I have no idea what they support. Sometimes I’d like to ask, but when I’ve done that in the past, I’ve gotten much more information than I want. And you can’t shut someone up by taking the big magnetic ribbon off the back of their car and smacking them across the face with it a few times, saying, “I just wanted to know the time, not how the clock works,” it’s considered by some to be rude.

So I’m going to create a plaid ribbon with every color I can imagine represented. That way we can all just wear a plaid ribbon to signify that some problem somewhere is bothering us enough to think that wearing a plaid enamel ribbon pin will help the situation. I’m going to call it the “One for all and all for one” plaid ribbon special. This pin will cover all causes except for the sea foam green pin that will represent Shelter Island and our own local causes.

So, just plaid and sea foam green ribbons from now on. Okay, and maybe a red ribbon pin. I don’t think any group has claimed the color red, and that’s my favorite color, so that ribbon will be just for me. If you wear a red ribbon, that means you’re on my team. Oh, and what about turquoise, such a lovely color....

Life on Shelter Island

“I had one like that, but I left it at the goody pile.”

Summer is in full swing. The tourists are touring, the bicyclists are blocking traffic, all the cars are being locked in the IGA parking lot. Locals never lock our cars here. It’s a little faith test we go through. If we lock our cars, it means we don’t trust our neighbors and that makes us like the rest of New York, so we don’t lock as a matter of principle. It’s a moot point for me since my van now has one window that is all the way up and won’t go down and the other window is all the way down and won’t go up. I never worry about it. I figure, anyone who steals a seventeen year old minivan stocked with beach shells, old Happy Meal toys and towels, has very low self esteem or is severely mentally challenged. I’ll have to get a newer car soon, but for now, Buttercup (all my cars have names) has to get me through this Summer at least. I never really notice how old she is until I park someplace that’s loaded with newer cars.

Last week, Buttercup and I went to the elegant Pridwin and had a delicious lunch of fresh sea bass. I had been invited to speak at the Women’s Community Club of Shelter Island annual luncheon. An amazing group of women with excellent taste and judgment but for their choice of me as a speaker. One of the ladies, whose name escapes me, talked to me about the fact that the newer residents (summer and year round) need to get more involved in this community by joining groups like this one, or maybe our wonderful League of Women’s Voters, or any one of the groups that are here “on Island” , to speak in the lvenacular.

She’s was so right. What makes a community is exposure to each other, to our lives, problems, goals and such. The trick is to know how much of yourself you can expose without going over the legal, or lethal limit. So I came up with a few guidelines to follow. Consider these when you are joining an Island group and they ask that innocent sounding, but deadly question, “Tell us a little about yourself?” The key word is ‘little’. Say as little as you can.

1] Anything you did under the age of 18 that is not Honor Society related, or has to do with rescuing cats from trees, is under the legal limit for exposure, so don’t say anything.

2] On Shelter Island, and I mean ESPECIALLY on Shelter Island, you never slept with anyone but your spouse. Revelations here will not only be over the legal limit, but will be over the lethal limit as well.

3] Don’t expose any secrets. Anyone who has lived on Shelter Island more than six years has at least three secrets that they must take to the grave. And the number gets bigger every year you live here. I’m up to five secrets now and I’m thinking of purchasing a sixth from a friend who has a surplus. Everyone knows that secrets and rumors have a ripple effect when revealed. What’s different here is that anything you unleash, however fascinating and juicy, will always, eventually, ripple back around to you.

4] “I was just picking up a check for a charity.” Memorize this phrase if you’re going to live here. Every man and most of the women on this Island, can identify you by your car. You will be asked over and over, “I saw your car at (fill in the blank), what were you doing there?” Answer: “I was just picking up a check for a charity.” You won’t believe the number of times this will save your ass and your reputation.

5] “I had one like that, but I left it at the goody pile.” This is the other phrase you have to memorize. When you are asked, “Wasn’t that your jacket I saw wadded up on Joe and Susan’s boat? Isn’t she in Ohio visiting her mother?” When you are asked, “Was that your husband acting like an idiot at The Dory with those college girls?” Your answer to any potentially dangerous question is: “I had one like that, but I left it at the goody pile.” (The goody pile is a big table at our town dump where useful items are left for anyone to pick up.)

So, there it is. I hope new residents think of joining some of our terrific local groups and really allowing themselves to be knit into the fabric of the community. Just remember my guidelines and you should do well.

Paris Hilton Goes to Jail Island Style

Paris in June

Well, today’s the big day, the day we’ve all been worried about, Paris Hilton starts her twenty one day jail sentence for driving drunk without a license while having her license suspended for driving drunk without a license. I’ve been up all night worrying about her. Since we lost Anna Nicole, it falls upon Paris to be our official worthless celebrity slut. Her every move must be documented and reported to keep us from stressful news like the increased US naval maneuvers in the gulf guarding the increased exports of Iraqi oil by Halliburton/Exxon. Lite and trite beats might and fight when it comes to news broadcasting.

Thinking about the punishment Paris has to endure got me to thinking, Shelter Island (my home island off the east coast) is always looking for ways to increase revenues. What if we ran a Sheltered Celebrity Shelter? Then important celebrities could do their “time” here and we wouldn’t even have to build a separate building for them, just assign them to live with a local family.

“You have to get up, Paris.”
“What? It’s only 7 a.m.!”
“Yea, but it’s summertime. We have to get to the IGA by 8:30 to get a good parking spot and get out while it’s still cool. The cool only lasts until 10 AM. We gotta shop, get home and unpack the groceries.”
“Why don’t we go tonight if you’re so worried about the heat?”
“IGA closes at 6 PM.”
“So we’ll go somewhere else.”
“Nowhere to go. It’s the only grocery store on the Island. Except for Fedi’s which is our version of 7/11, but it closes at 7 PM.”
“How can you live here?”
“After we bring in the groceries and unpack, we have to organize the garbage and recycle.”
“What do you mean, organize the garbage?”
“We have to separate the all the recyclables; glass, plastics, paper, from the non-recyclable garbage.”
“That’s so sick. Can’t the garbage men separate that stuff at the curb when they pick it up?”
“There’s no garbage pick up here.”
“What? How do you get rid of your garbage?”
“We take it all to the dump ourselves and put all the recycle in the appropriate bins. It’s very exciting. You meet everybody at the dump and get to talk to lots of people.”
“Ewww! That’s is whack! Tell me the truth, I’m in hell aren’t I?”
“And the non-recyclable garbage has to be bagged in special yellow Town Bag that we buy at the store.”
“Why does your garbage need to be in special bags?”
“The sale of the bags pays for the operation of the dump.”
“Can’t the bags pay for garbage men too?”
“No. Then we’d have to charge more and the bags are pricey enough as it is.”
“When my father sends my money, I’ll buy you a garbage truck. Wake me when the mail comes.”
“No mail delivery, Paris. We all pick up our mail at the Post Office. We can do that after the dumps. We’ll run into the same group at the Post Office as at the dumps because we all do things in a pattern and we all empty the garbage out of our cars before we pick up packages.”
“Great, I’m doing time in Green Acres. Well, after the shopping and the dumps and the Post Office, can we at least go shopping?”
“Sure! We have a few stores.”
“How few is few?”
“Umm, Cornucopia, Bliss’ and Jack’s Marina.”
“How many floors in Cornucopia?”
“One. One floor, one room.”
“Which is the shoe store?”
“Well, Bliss’ has Topsiders.”
“Topsiders? Are they Italian?”
“No, practical.”
“Did you say a marina?”
“Yes, Jack’s has marine supplies and toys, puzzles, and games.”
“Of course! When I think “toys”, I always think, “marina”.”
“I’m going to need to hit a good liquor store tonight and get some tequila after today.”
“Both liquor stores close by 7 PM. Who are you calling on your cell?”
“My lawyer. Shhhh. Hi, this is Paris. Get me off this island that time forgot! Get me in a real jail, puhleez!”
“Oh, Paris, don’t go. It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
“Why would I want to get used to this? You people are insane!”
“No, but it helps.”