Socal Mom by Donna Schwartz Mills

Happy Birthday to My Dad

Today we celebrate the birthday of the Father of Our Country, as well as the father and great-grandfather of Donna and Linda Schwartz.

There must have been quite a family celebration when my dad was born on the same day as his grandfather. I know that is one of the reasons my parents were wed the same day as my great-grandparents' 50th anniversary. 

I am not certain how old Albert Goldsmith would be now (my memory of how old he was when he died is very fuzzy) -- but my dad is getting up there. I just gasped when I realized he is 78 today.

It's actually pretty startling to think of my parents as senior citizens, because when I was growing up, they were younger than my friends' parents: Just 20 and 22 when I was born. (It's no wonder we visited Disneyland so much back then -- they were still kids themselves).

In his youth, my dad aspired to be an actor. He was one of a seminal group of young people who worked with legendary acting teacher Viola Spolin and performed on stage with the Circle Players here in Los Angeles (along with the likes of Sydney Chaplin, Kathleen Freeman, William Schallert, Raymond Burr and others).  In 1949, he had a walk-on role in "Adam's Rib," starring Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn (he was a skinny 15-year-old with hair, but his voice is the same. If you blink, you miss him).

My dad has photos shot while he was vacationing in Paris in the early 1950's, where he visited a friend named Paul Sanchez, who was studying with Marcel Marceau.  A few years later, Paul was back in the States with a new last name (Sand) and was on stage in Chicago as one of the first members of Second City (created by Viola Spolin's son, Paul Sills). 

My father was also invited to be part of Second City, but by that time, he had a wife and daughter (me!). He taught elementary school in South Los Angeles, eventually taking a sales job at my grandfather's insurance company. 

When I watched TV as a kid with my parents, my mom and dad would often point to the actors on the screen and say, "Oh look, there's so-and-so." Occasionally, we would run into people I recognized from television, and they would chat. The one I remember vividly was Kathleen Freeman, who appeared a lot on shows like The Beverly Hillbillies; we bumped into her at a Mexican restaurant, and she was the one who shouted, "Danny!" 

My own interest in theater came from my father. I inherited his old collections of plays, and was familiar with the works of George S. Kaufman and Eugene O'Neill before I began taking drama classes in high school. And when my friends came to visit, my dad would share some of the little tricks he learned doing improv with Viola Spolin.

He never exhibited any regrets over the path he took. In fact, my father was an upbeat, optimistic presence in my life (in stark contrast to my mom -- and me).

Next month, my mom and dad are embarking on a cruise to the Mediterranean, which will conclude with a couple of weeks in Paris. My dad has wanted to go ever since his days hanging out with his buddy, Paul. I'm very excited for them.

Happy birthday, Papa.

All Thumbs

It's been six weeks since I fractured my thumb, and it should have healed by now.

It hasn't. I probably did myself a disservice by waiting three days to see a doctor, and I'm also regretting my decision to forego getting an X-ray (because it was inconvenient). I am returning to my doctor's office tomorrow and have not missed the irony that those two decisions will likely make the recovery even more arduous.

In the meantime, I'm really sick and tired of living without the use of my right thumb.

It's funny that we describe a clumsy person as "all thumbs," when my experience these last six weeks has been a series of mishaps from missing just one.

There are the obvious problems with having a broken right thumb: It's difficult to shake hands. It's a little bit harder to juggle bags and packages while holding a cup of coffee. And opening any kind of jar or package is a real struggle.

For the last six weeks, I've taken to keeping a pair of scissors close by, just so I can open things. This is in itself a task, as I'm substituting other fingers for my right thumb. 

Friday night, the scissors slipped and I ended up with a gash in my LEFT thumb. So I spent a couple of days sporting a bandage on that hand AND the splint that's been on my right.

And then on Saturday, I ended up scalding my right arm while carrying a bowl of super-hot food. The burn was so bad that it is blistered now.

I've informed my family that they are on their own; I am staying out of the kitchen for a while. 

It's safer that way.

Farts and Flowers... I Mean, Happy Valentine's Day

My husband and I are not the mushy type. He has pet nicknames for me that most women would abhor: "Loopy," "Baggie," and "Barfy" are a sample. 

I think it's a British thing - like near the end of "Bridget Jones' Diary," when Bridget's mom (Gemma Jones) returns home after her fling with the orange-skinned TV shopping network huckster, and Bridget's dad (the wonderful Jim Broadbent) lovingly refers to her as a "daft cow."  It's a sweet moment because he says it so endearingly.

At least, that's how I take it, and how I know my husband means it. 

I, on the other hand, have no problem making jokes about my husband's lack of hair. In fact, the fact that he's so very bald is something that amuses our daughter to no end. The fact that he laughs right along with us is one of his better qualities. 

That is not to say that my husband has no vanity -- he just hasn't any hangups about losing his hair by the time he was 23.  You can make all the bald jokes you want, and he'll join right in. Just don't tell him he looks old. (For the record, he just turned 50, which makes him 5.5 years younger than I).

Anyway -- I don't expect much of anything on Valentine's Day. At our age, romance means being careful not to fart in each other's presence. (OK, we're not that bad -- not quite.)

Still: We don't do expensive gifts, having to manage my weight means I no longer get to enjoy champagne or chocolate, and my husband's veganism is incompatible with my low-carb diet, which means I'm not going to be cooking any romantic dinners for two. (Not to mention the fact that we have a teenager in the house.  There's a romance killer for you!)

On Saturday, I needed to run some errands that included a stop at Topanga Plaza mall at lunchtime -- and I invited the husband to meet me there. I didn't realize there would be a huge, pink, heart-studded lounge area below the food court, right next to the Sony Store. Stores had set up stations within the space to market everything from jewelry to perfume to manicures and massages. 

It looked like a party. They were even serving what looked like champagne. I tried to pretend I wasn't fascinated.

"Pretty clever of me to get your dad to a shopping center just before the 14th," I chuckled to my daughter. "I bet you he has no idea Tuesday is Valentine's Day."

He did not - which means we're a couple of days ahead of his usual habit of remembering on the 14th, and only because of the guys selling flowers on the freeway offramp.

Whatever.

In the end, the most romantic thing we do is be there for one another -- which we are, and have been for almost 23 years.

(Note to spouse: This does not mean you shouldn't buy me  the flowers, if you are so moved. Just avoid the overpriced roses.)

 

My Million Moms Can Beat Your Million Moms: Shopping at JCP in Support of Ellen

As this is a Presidential election year, I shouldn't have been surprised that the "culture wars" have heated up again.

What has surprised me is how virulent it's been.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, I've been consumed by tasks related to my work over at the MOMocrats -- much of it having to do with Susan G. Komen's phenomenally badly received decision to defund breast cancer screenings by Planned Parenthood. And then came last week's brouhaha over contraception.

So I was already weary when I heard that an organization calling itself the "One Million Moms" was organizing a boycott of JC Penney for contracting Ellen DeGeneres as their new spokesperson.

I remember this "Million Moms" group for their previous boycott of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, because they created a flavor called "Schweddy Balls" -- after the old SNL sketch with Ana Gasteyer, Molly Shannon as NPR food hosts and Alec Baldwin as an artisan baker. It's a silly sketch with an obvious joke -- and it never fails to make me laugh...

...unlike the "Million Moms," who apparently have no sense of humor whatsoever (which in my book, is even worse than trying to bully the rest of the country into receding back to some 1930's Hays Code existence).

The "Million Moms" are "fed up with the filth [of] many segments of our society," specifically with our entertainment media. They don't think Ellen DeGeneres is a good role model for their children because she happens to be a lesbian. It doesn't matter that she's kind, and personable, and smart and funny.

That's their opinion and they've got a right to it, and they even have a right to organize their silly boycott. Thank goodness that most of the country appears to have made the transition into the 21st Century.

JC Penney refused to bow to the pressure. For one thing, the "Million Moms" only seems to consist of a few thousand. But the bottom line is, Ellen DeGeneres is a beloved entertainer, and who the hell cares how she lives her personal life? She was hired to sell JCP as a shopping destination. I don't see how her presence in their advertising does anything to contribute to the nation's moral decay (unless you are of the ilk that gays and lesbians should not visibly contribute to society -- in which case, you probably feel the same way about Jews and Hispanics and anyone else who isn't exactly like you).

Anyway: most people I know are appalled by this, and blogger Tracey Gaughan-Perez (a.k.a. Sweetney) came up with an easy way to take action and show JCP our support for their choice: a shop-in. 

I was one of thousands of people around the country (many who had never stepped foot in a Penney store) who took part in this yesterday -- and I even got my friend GiGi to join in, as you can see in my little vlog below:

By the way: The "Million Moms" are also angry at Macy's for running a commercial that features two grooms on a wedding cake. I may have to use them as an excuse to do a little shopping there, too.

Routine Maintenance

In the eight years I've been maintaining this blog, there have only been a few periods when I've gone absent a few weeks.

There was the period when we put in the wood floors (which was akin to moving, because we had to pack everything up and remove all the furniture and even spend a couple of nights in a hotel, because we could not walk on the floor while something dried).

And then, there was the time when we had to REMOVE the wood floors because our house had been infected by fungus. (although I found a way to keep blogging through that crisis - a good thing, because I think all that venting online is what kept me relatives sane).

There have been vacations when it was tough to find an Internet connection.

But the period between my last post and now?

I've just been busy. Really, really busy. And preoccupied with a ton of competing priorities that left me with little time or energy to sit down and write - or even the ability to sit down and contemplate (which is kind of the point of all of this).

In the last month, I've completed a really hellish migration of the MOMocrats website from Typepad to Wordpress (and will soon embark on a similar move for SoCal Mom). I've been dealing with a few minor health issues (like this stupid broken thumb which still has not healed). And we're still taking care of odds and ends in our home (which is a constant, so it probably shouldn't count).

But I've missed this outlet. Like I said, sharing my thoughts and experiences here is what passes for therapy for me these days, and neglecting this space has left me - well, feeling a little bit crazy.

So, for what it's worth: I'm back. And I'm going to do whatever it takes to stay for a while.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad