Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Bacon-Wrapped Cheese Puffs

It's official..they're bored
E. Boyer

Rumor has it that a clipboard exists in Moraga Canyon.  It's said to hang on a tree bearing the signatures of all those opposed to the new sports field.  Although I've never actually seen the "Angry Clipboard," (a friend of mine gave it the name) it came to mind a few weeks ago when I found myself cornered by one of the "Clipboardists" at a social gathering.   It's not enough that they do all the angry clipboardy type things.  No, they have to take it to the next level.  Out of the obstructionist/lawsuit arena and into, gulp..social settings.  Mother of God...can't we attend simple gatherings without being proselytized?  Must we really hear their position over and over again?  Funny about these types..they seldom take even the slightest interest in your opinion.  Nope, their pleasure comes primarily from hearing themselves talk.  A selfish arrangement.

There I was, a few weeks ago.  Backed into a corner with an angry Clipboardist.  I looked desperately on at anyone who would make eye contact.  Doing my very best to send my silent message "..Help me! Please!  I'm being held against my will!  Call 911!"  Finally, a dear friend picked-up on my desperate plea and quickly responded with the emergency rescue drill we've rehearsed for just such occasions.  It was go-time!  My friend saw that I was in distress, acknowledged with eye contact, rushed to the restroom and removed the packet of grape KoolAide mix from her purse, sprinkled it on her tongue and lips, splashed her forehead with water and rushed back to the hostage situation site.  "Good Lord, this stomach flu has taken a turn for the worse (...ugh, groan, grunt) could I trouble you for a ride home?" (...more gratuitous grunting and groaning)  My captor took a moment from wrenching my ear and retracted the claws.  They saw, based on the horrifying blue tongue and lips and profuse sweating, that my friend was in genuine distress and immediately jumped ship for fear of contracting the dreadful illness..yes, in addition to being an insufferable bore they are also selfish.  Bingo!  My friend and I made a speedy exit and laughed all the way home.  Good grief!  Has it really come to this?  Folks, when guests at a party live in fear of being roped into the near-death experience of yet another of your boring rants, it's time to take stock of your behavior.  For Pete's sake!!  Please start paying attention to body language!  If the person you're talking to is no longer making eye contact, glazing over and hasn't said a word in in 30 minutes, it's official..they're bored!!  If, during your proclamation, they're lying face down on the floor, whimpering softly and unable to move,  you've sucked the soul right out of them with your dreadful droning-on...Congratulations, you're more destructive than Satan, himself!  Guests are actually lying on the floor dying a slow and painful death by boredom.  Believe me when I tell you that no one, including your best and dearest friends want to hear more than 90 seconds of this stuff.  Not at a party, anyway.  We've only got an hour or two to make the rounds and there's a bacon wrapped cheese puff with our name on it on the horsd'oeuvre table!

Please, people.  The next time you're in the company of others, ask them how they are.  Ask how their children are.  Ask them what's new.  Try, for just one night, not to promote your agenda or make your point.  Be a listener, for a change.  You'll be pleasantly surprised by all the things you learn about your friends and neighbors.  You'll also save some of us a fortune on dry cleaning bills...that grape KoolAide leaves one heck of a stain!

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Living Timeline And Pixie-Stix For Dinner

E. Boyer
I had a charmed youth. Parental supervision was a very different thing back then. In fact, in my case, it was practically non-existent! I often wonder how we survived it. Still, my memories of nearly complete freedom are permanent. I always considered my parent's ineptitude a gift. After all, it's what allowed me to eat pixie-stix for dinner and swim with friends in the pond down the road until all hours of the night in summer, skipping home beneath a warm starlit sky in little more than our underwear. Imagine, allowing your 8 year old to swim, unsupervised in a pond, in the woods, in the dark with a pack of other wild-spirited children..Good Lord...It just wouldn't happen today.

My morning routine as a child would, today, be just as unlikely. Cheerios were the newest convenience and all the rage. If anything was predictable in my childhood, it was my father, before sun-up, at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other, his ear leaning toward a little transistor radio and a box of Cheerios at the ready. Of course, no bowl of Cheerios was complete without at least 4 tablespoons of sugar. Good 'ole C&H. Another permanent memory is that of the syrupy sludge that resided at the bottom of my bowl. It was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Research has since taught us that all that sugar isn't good, but for me as a child, I believe that sugary heaven at the bottom of my bowl, courtesy of my father, was directly related to every one of my happy mornings. I recognize that parents, today, wouldn't consider such a thing and with good reason. It's just too much darned sugar. But, I stand firm, even now, that one of life's finest pleasures is a chocolate old-fashioned from Colonial Doughnuts and a cup of strong coffee before sun-up. It's one of the few things guaranteed to render 100% satisfaction!


Thomas Jefferson wrote of a time "...when youth and health made happiness out of every thing." I'm reminded of this almost daily. From my upstairs window and over the past many years, I've had the privilege of watching the neighborhood kids walk past on their way to school. A living timeline right below my window. I've literally seen them go from Kindergarten to now having children of their own. Growing up on the sidewalk beneath my window. They trudged off to Kindergarten and then, as if by magic, on the return trip they're tall, lanky Seniors. All, right before my eyes on the sidewalk below my window. I don't know how I'd market this feature if I ever decided to sell my home. I suppose I could say "Just watch from this window, a few minutes every day for the next few decades and I guarantee you'll be amazed." A fine feature, I think.

In the mornings, their outbound trips are characterized by the typical disheveled rush to get to school on time. But, the afternoons are different. With a lazy, care-free gait, they drape themselves over one another, hold hands, talk to themselves, sing, drag sticks, chat in small groups at the stop sign across the street. Basking in the freedom of no adult supervision whatsoever if only for a moment. A treasure to behold. There's one group that consists of three boys and a girl. I often wonder when she...and they will become aware of her beauty. Will it suddenly be awkward or will they remain fast friends? I hope the latter is true.

It's their return trip that reminds me of my own childhood. It's that bit of time before the weight of homework and expectations hover down around them. Before they're required to use "inside" voices and stay within the lines. Before criticism and negativity and the burden of hectic schedules mar their glorious, youthful spirit. It's that snippet of time when they devour the joy of being young and free....when youth and health make happiness out of everything.

I could be wrong but, I bet they'd love to have pixie-stix for dinner...

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Be Careful What You Wish For


E. Boyer

How saddened I was to read in a past issue of the Post that legal action was being considered in the Blair Park/Moraga Canyon project/issue.  Funny, isn't it?  A project for some and an issue for others. 
There are times when I scarcely understand our society.  With so many calamitous issues screaming out for involvement these days, how could this be the one to evoke such rage?  A lawsuit?  Pardon me whilst I retch. 
Certainly we are the laughing stock in places less fortunate. "Those poor, dear FOMC.  Can you imagine the pro-Blair Parkers wanting to have a children's sports field donated to a city whose reputation and existence depends on its ability to attract families with children?  The very idea!  If I were in their shoes I'd sue the pants off that horrible city for agreeing to such a thing!"  I think anyone in favor of such a suit should be carted off to live in Richmond or West Oakland for a month so that they might gain some perspective on what constitutes a real community problem, something worthy of a lawsuit. Never mind that the City and the majority of its residents have determined the project worthy.  Nope.  We want things our way and we'll stomp our feet until we get it!  And, if that doesn't work, we'll behave like grown-up spoiled brats and file a lawsuit.  Little wonder that our town is plagued with the reputation of having spoiled children when the grown-ups display similar behavior.

There is one reason the FOMC are opposed to the Blair Park project and that is that they simply don't want it.  They cite things such as traffic, environmental issue and safety, but do we really think that suddenly parents will hurl their children out into oncoming traffic so they aren't late for soccer practice or let them run in the street with reckless abandon because there's a new sports field?  Are the FOMC suddenly so committed to the cause of the environment that they're prepared to tow the line for this forlorn strip of earth? If so, wouldn't it make sense to tear down all the houses that currently exist in Moraga Canyon to restore it to its original and intended splendor?  The idea that there are Save Moraga Canyon signs in front of those houses is offensive in its hypocrisy.   Part of living in a community is that you often go along with things that are good for the entire community, not just things that are 100% to your liking.  We're all guilty of selfishness at times.  But, if community improvement projects have you so riled-up that you're openly behaving like a jackass, a place exists where you can happily dwell. It’s called the "outskirts."  That way you can have a property large enough so that kids and sports fields won't encroach upon your space. 

Piedmont's reputation and survival is dependent upon its ability to attract families with children.  This isn't revelatory information for anyone living here.  If there aren't adequate amenities comparable to those in neighboring communities, the opposed-to-everything groups may very well get what they want...a nice neighborhood with no noise, no kids and no facilities. 

But, be careful what you wish for, FOMC. With better facilities and supportive residents in neighboring communities, Piedmont's kids and their families may just go away.  And when they do, they'll take our and your property values with them.