Newspaper Nostalgia

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The Sunday New York Times was not a ride and toss delivery route when I was a kid.  My dad drove me around in our station wagon and I got out at each house and carried the paper up each walkway, opened each screen door and carefully nestled the paper against each front door as I quietly closed the screen. The transition to adult paper deliverers aside, a child’s paper route is left to nostalgia as we pull out our iPads to read the morning news.

My husband is reading the New York Times.  I don’t hear the crinkle of paper as he flips the page though—he has been reading the Times on his iPad for over a year now.  It’s like having a newspaper press next to our bed without all of the cacophony of machinery. And we get the late, late edition—the ones only New Yorkers used to be able to get by stepping out in the cool night air and walking around the corner to their newsstand.

When I read a story on the iPad the headline stays consistent from the start to the end of the article—no need to flip to an interior page and hunt for the altered headline the editor deemed necessary to create.  Color photos are far more numerous than in the print edition and unless the printed paper has come direct from Hogwarts, it doesn’t have any of the videos I find in my iPad version.  I have never wanted to post a comment on an article, but having the opportunity is cool. 

Yet I miss using the well-taught lessons on how to properly share a newspaper that I learned at a very young age from my dad.  We had a pecking order on who could read which section when. My dad got first choice of sections, mom second, older siblings next and eventually the comics in our local paper worked their way into my hands. Equally importantly, I learned how to refold my section and place it neatly upon the pile of sections from the Sunday paper stacked by my dad’s living room chair.

I miss the heft of the Sunday New York Times and the nesting of its sections.  I miss watching my dad flip through each paper to ensure all sections were present. I wonder what new newspaper etiquette will be passed on to the next generation as they read the morning news on lazy Sunday mornings.

Incognito: The Secret Lives of the Brain: Group Discussion Guide

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Discussion Guide for Incognito The Secret Lives of the Brain

By David Eagleman

I enjoy leading book groups.  When I lead, I write up a discussion guide to use.  Feel free to ask your own questions or discuss your own observations or reactions in the comments section.

I have moved this discussion guide to my new blog, Group Reads, which is a collection of discussion guides.  You can find a guide for this book at Group Reads: Incognito The Secret Lives of the Brain

Stop by and see what other guides might interest you!

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake Book Group Discussion Guide

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Discussion Guide for The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

By Aimee Bender

I enjoy leading book groups. When I lead, I write up a discussion guide to use. Feel free to ask your own questions or discuss your own observations or reactions in the comments section.

I have moved this discussion guide to my new blog, Group Reads which is a collection of discussion guides.  You can find a guide for this book at The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake.

Stop by and see what other guides might interest you!

Out of Power? Kindness Offers Warmth

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Choice for driving to town this morning—shall I drive over one power line and under a second hanging precariously low or squeeze between a good size oak and a telephone pole?; Neither option seemed particularly appealing, yet the possibility of a warm coffee shop was sufficiently tantalizing to coax me through the maze of limbs, power lines and full size trees as well as contend with non-working stop lights. I had thought there was a state law that intersections with stop lights became four way stops in the event of a power outage, but it seems that drivers thought the law indicated that speed limits are raised when approaching a non-working stop light.

I chose the under/over power line option, waited patiently at two non-functioning stoplights for the high speed drivers to pass and then lingered in a parking until a spot became available.  Happily, folks seemed especially patient and appreciative for an open store, a hot coffee and yes, even for a parking spot.  Especially as the world celebrates the arrival of the 7 billionth citizen, it’s good to know that in at least in a predicament of our current magnitude, people tend to reach out in kindness rather than retaliate with malice.

College Visiting Better than Bearable

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College visiting can be better than bearable with only a modicum of advance planning. Keeping the basics managed—hunger, timing and minimizing embarrassing moments – can turn an average college trip into one that’s a lot of fun and memorable for all the right reasons.

1. Bring Snacks! Sure, you thought once your kids were out of preschool you would no longer be packing snacks for car trips. Well, when you’re running late for the college tour, or are lost in a new city, or stuck in traffic, it’s great to be able to brighten the mood with a quick snack. Find a small cooler and pack a few items that will last if they end up in the car overnight—apples, nuts, pretzels and definitely a few water bottles.

2. Heading into a new city with unknown traffic patterns is probably not a good time to have you student driver practice driving.

3. Trust the admissions office directions over your GPS—you never know when there’s a Grand Prix in town that the admissions office will know to direct you around while your faithful GPS will blindly lead you directly into traffic.

4. Yet don’t always trust the admissions office on parking. Generally their parking lot is closest, but also priciest. Street parking can be an option, but see how long the meters last. Getting a ticket while college visiting is probably not going to improve the mood in the car.

5. Remember that 5 minutes early is on time. It takes time to get through all the stoplights, it takes time to park, it takes time to ask directions to the admissions office, it takes time to walk. Add in plenty of time and keep a book handy if you arrive early.

6. Note taking may seem a bit excessive, but after seeing even three schools, the trips and tips will start to blend. Keep a small notebook and pen visible just in case your student has the urge to reach for it during the info session.

7. While everyone suggests eating on campus and talking to students to get the vibe, sometimes it’s easier to eat on campus and eavesdrop on the nearby diners. Not only may your child find it less embarrassing, you also may hear more honest commentary.

8. Suggest that your student create a playlist in advance and then let him listen to it in lieu of bombarding him with “so what did you think of that school?”

9. Most importantly—plan time to do other things beyond visiting colleges—see how many ice cream stands you can discover and enjoy, go up the Washington Monument (well, once it’s repaired), find a corn maze to visit. Have fun!

And a couple of suggestions to pass on to your students:

• Ask your student tour guide where else he or she applied to college whether you’re still looking to expand your colleges under consideration or you simply need external validation of your choices.
• Even if the reason you went to visit Macalester was because you had never been to Minnesota, you don’t need to put that on your application.

Pirate Guidelines for Parents of Students Adrift Among College Applications

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As I stepped into the unknown (at least to me) territory of guiding a high school senior through the college application process, I felt like Elizabeth Turner as she boarded the Black Pearl—the college application process was more about guidelines than rules. I was fortunate enough to be offered two guidelines from people who had previously boarded the college convoy. I pass both along here to anyone else who faces, with perhaps some trepidation, the prospect of figuring out the college application process from a parent’s perspective.

First, as a parent, you can take on multiple roles in the college process. At one end of the spectrum a parent can sit back and let the student manage everything, which can be either completely freeing or entirely impossible. At the other end the mother so excessively edits her child’s essays that the essays beautifully reflect the views and perspective of a perimenopausal woman trying to recapture her youth. Ideally I hoped to find a role somewhere in the middle of this tightrope, or as it sometimes feels, a pirate's plank, presuming of course that I could keep my balance.

A good friend, who was a recent empty nester with 3 children successfully enrolled in college, suggested taking on the role of an administrator. As she described it, an administrator can type, mail applications, edit grammar, maintain critical calendar reminders, even chauffeur to college visits. An administrator does not write essays, suggest topics, select colleges, compare prospective college experiences or write questions for school visits. And as my friend clearly stated, an administrator has pre-determined work hours. Work hours may be negotiated, but generally should be set in advance, so if the student would like to have an essay reviewed, said essay would need to be completed before 11pm on the date the application is due. As with any good administrator/employer relationship, the job requirements should be negotiated in advance. Only time and my children will tell whether I am successful in meeting my targeted goals.

The second piece of advice came from a college admissions officer trying to win over the students in attendance. He suggested that college discussions between parents and students be limited to 5 to 7 pm on Sunday. During that time parents could ask any questions on their minds and offer their well-intended advice on the college application process. The remainder of the week, the college application process would be off limits for family conversations.

As with the first suggestion, only time and my children will tell how well I adhere to this rule. Yes, like the Pirates’ Code these are more guidelines than actual rules. Welcome aboard the College Convoy, Miss Turner.

A Novice Attempts to Help a Loon in Distress

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“You’ll want to use a fishing net.”
“A fishing net, like a butterfly net?”
“Not quite. Let’s see you could use a towel. You’ll want to grab gently yet securely.”
Apparently the bird rehabilitator on the other end of the phone presumed, quite correctly, that if I didn’t know what a fishing net was, then I didn’t own one.
“Won’t he bite?”
“Yes, he’ll definitely try to bite you which is why you’ll need to be careful.”

Here I was thinking I was being environmentally responsible by calling a local bird rehabilitator after spotting a loon in distress. I suppose that deep down I was hoping to hand off the problem to someone else, as in “I did my part, now it’s someone else’s problem.” Sometimes it’s good not to be let off the hook, or out of the net as it were. My husband and I decided to give it a try. By ‘it’ I mean canoe up to a large loon in distress, reach overboard while keeping the canoe balanced, grabbed the loon quickly and firmly without getting bitten and then, then do what? I needed to call the rehabilitator back.

“Okay, so supposing we are able to grab the loon, then what do we do?”
“Hold on to him, I should be able to get there in 20 or 30 minutes.”
“Hold him for 30 minutes? Won’t that be difficult?”
“Well you can put him in a crate like for a dog.”
“Oh okay,”

I hung up before I realized that we didn’t own a dog and didn’t have a dog crate on hand either. A recycling bin would have to do. I grabbed the recycling bin from the garage and contemplated its size. Would a loon fit in it? Seemed like maybe, although his head would surely stick out. And what in the world would we use for a cover? Maybe my husband could hold a towel over the top. I suggested as much to him.

“You want me to do what? “
“Grab a loon after I paddle up next to it, put it in this recycling bin and hold a towel over it while I paddle back to the dock.”

I have no idea why he agreed to this endeavor, but he did. We decided he should wear work gloves and long sleeves. He donned a plaid flannel shirt and we both put on life jackets. I know how precarious moving around in a canoe can be let alone leaning out over the side of a canoe to grab a loon. It was likely that more than the loon would be swimming in the lake before we were through.

I swiftly paddled quite close to the loon. We could see that he looked oddly asymmetrical. Too much of the white of his breast was showing on one side. Yet we couldn’t quite tell whether his wing was broken, or caught by fishing line or something else. I moved in closer. Even in distress, the loon was going to do his best to stay clear of the canoe bearing down on him with the large plaid human in the bow. I paddled harder. We were within several feet of him—clearly he was ailing as he didn’t dive. My husband reached out. The loon disappeared. Distress or no, taking his chances by submerging was better than being grabbed by whatever that was leaning over the gunwale toward him.

We peered around and found where he had resurfaced.

“We should try again, don’t you think?”

Perhaps more to convince ourselves that we had given it our best try than because we had confidence in our success, I paddled toward the loon again. This time he didn’t wait so long. He dove and resurfaced a good 50 feet away.

“I don’t think it’s going to work.”
“Agreed, let’s head back.”

Maybe it was best for all involved as I’m not sure what me, my husband or the loon would have done were we all in the canoe together. More likely than not, we would all be in the lake together. Capturing a loon for rehabilitation is probably best learned with an expert in person, rather than over the phone.