Something else happened while I was napping. Something so totally cool, that it deserves its very own blog post.
My friend Bob Ryan launched his MySpace page.
For years--in between working full-time and raising a family and staging theatrical productions and serving at his church and forming the Ernest Borgnine Musical Appreciation Society--Bob created a collection of Americana/Roots music. He finally gathered them all, found a great producer and published a CD, The Spirit of Andy Devine. You can hear a taste of his tunes on his MySpace page.
So do something good for your soul. Pay Bob a visit and enjoy his music at www.myspace.com/bobryan66.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
The Power of a Cardboard Oven and a Story
Think about this the next time you make dinner for your family: More than half the world’s population – three billion people – cook their daily meals over a wood or charcoal fire. And some risk their lives just to gather the wood.
As the world’s population grows, wood becomes increasingly scarce especially in arid and semiarid regions like Sahelian Africa. In some places, young children scavenge far and wide instead of going to school. In others, families descend deeper into poverty as the cost of wood takes gigantic bites from their pitiful income.
In 1997, a Dutch solar energy enthusiast named Wietske Jongbloed formed the KoZon Foundation to teach people in Burkina Faso to use a cardboard solar oven called the CooKit. Jongbloed saw the CooKit as a way to reduce poverty, prevent deforestation and desertification, and provide income for those who help promote the program.
Local women learned how to cook with the ovens and then enthusiastically trained others. CooKit’s popularity and reach quickly spread to other countries in Sahelian Africa.
But in 2003, as the crisis in the Darfur region of Sudan escalated, the cost of scavenging for wood took a bloody turn.
The arid regions of Chad and eastern Sudan, where more than 2 million people have been displaced due to fighting and genocide, produce little wood. The sources for the conflict are both ethnic and economical: Sudanese Arabs attempt to drive off, and in many cases slaughter, their black African neighbors; and, as desertification reduces water sources in the region, farmers fight nomads for what precious little water is left.
In southeastern Chad, 200,000 Sudanese refugees have settled in lawless camps near the border. At first, the female refugees needed to walk only a few hundred yards to find wood. But scarce sources were quickly depleted, and now women walk for miles making them easy targets for bands of Janjaweed militia who cross the border to prey on them. Many women are kidnapped and brutally raped, and far too many are murdered.
And there are few men to protect them because so many have been slaughtered in the war.
Sponsored by the KoZon Foundation, Derk Rijks, along with African teachers Marie-Rose Neloum and Gillhoube Patallet, began distributing CooKits to refugees in a Chadian camp in 2005. And, at tremendous risk to their own lives. The Janjaweed militia also targets aid workers.
As a result of their work, Rijks, Neloum and Patallet have been chosen by The Immortal Chaplains Foundation for the 2007 Prize for Humanity. This prize, given in memory of The Four Chaplains, honors “those who risked all to protect others of a different faith or ethnic origin.”My parents and I will attend the presentation in Long Beach, CA. I’ve been staring at my computer screen for about four hours trying to find words to explain how this makes me feel.
Because in the dead of a wintry night during WWII, four Army chaplains - one Catholic, one Jew and two Protestant - gave their life jackets to terrified soldiers on a torpedoed troopship and then joined arms in common prayer.
Because even though 675 died, most frozen to death by the time rescuers arrived, the story of the chaplains' sacrifice survived the sinking of the USAT Dorchester on Feb. 3, 1943.
And, because of the power of the chaplains’ story, we honor the heroism of Rijks, Neloum and Patallet this Saturday, Feb. 3, 2007, the sixty-fourth anniversary of my own grandfather's sacrifice and death aboard the Dorchester.
And those solar ovens? The materials, training and a year’s maintenance for a solar oven for a refugee family of six costs about $25.
Think about that for a second.
For less than you likely spend on a single day’s meals for your family, a cardboard oven could save a woman from rape, or worse, murder.
If you’d like to support the efforts of Rijks, Neloum and Patallet, you can become a member of Solar Cookers International for a mere $50. That’s $.07 a day to enable two refugee families to cook in relative safety. And the 60 plus teachers who are paid through donations to promote the ovens take tremendous pride in work that helps protect the safety of their families, their community and their environment.For more information about the conflict in Darfur, and to find more ways to support the work of people like Rijks, Neloum and Patallet, visit these web pages:
*Thank you to Dr. Rijks and the KoZon Foundation for permission to use the photographs here, and for reviewing this post for accuracy. And special thanks to Mai Wen, my sister in spirit and in all things Africa.
Four Chaplains heroism Darfur refugees human rights africa narrative non-fiction writing weblog
Saturday, January 27, 2007
The Story of the Big Black Ford Truck
I’m barely 5’3”, weigh 110 pounds soaking wet, dress in expensive suits and spend a fortune at the hairdresser every month. So when people see me driving my big black shiny Ford Explorer SportTrac, their mouths fall open. Every time.
Maybe it’s the bright red and orange racing stripes down the side.
Everyone wants an explanation. How does the studious daughter of an urbane Princeton University grad fall in love with a big black truck?
I can hear them thinking: “Naw…reeeeaaalllly?? You?”
No one believes me when I tell them how much I love rugged vehicles. They wait for the part about some boyfriend or another buying my truck for me. But it didn’t happen that way.
I’ve always liked interesting cars. My first car was a Rover, my second an MG Midget. My first brand new vehicle purchase was a red Toyota pickup truck. I had it for five years and 80,000 miles and it never once broke down.
When I became a mom, pregnant with the Teenager-formerly-known-as-Pumpkin, I decided to buy the first sensible car of my entire adult life. A powder blue Toyota Corolla.
I hated that car.
And so did the universe.
I was rear-ended in it no less than six times and t-boned by a red light runner. Sadly, I’d leased the dang thing, so I had to wait the full FIVE #@!$%^$# YEARS of the lease before I could dump it. (And I still had to pay $5000 to get out of the deal. Grrrr.)
Few days in my life were happier than when I bought a used red Toyota 4Runner and named it “Big Red” after a quarterhorse my family once owned. I drove off the dealer’s lot and onto the freeway and, instead of trying to run me over, other drivers slowed down to wave me into traffic. SLOWED down. I swore I’d never own a sensible car again.
Big Red marked the beginning of my rock climbing era. Four-wheel drive, a backend big enough for four people’s climbing gear, room left over for a week’s worth of food and reliability bar none. My partners and I drove Red all over Colorado, Wyoming, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico, Texas, Arizona and California. When the Teenager was still small enough to be called Pumpkin, we took Red camping and slept in the back when it rained. I went from liking interesting cars to loving Big Red.
Six years and 120,000 miles later, it was finally time to sell Big Red. He looked weathered and each new repair cost more than the last. I checked Blue Book and priced Red a generous $8000, figuring I’d have to drop to $7500. Instead, a bidding war ensued at 6 a.m. in our sleepy little suburb, and I sold Red for $9500.
I’d discovered another fabulous feature of owning interesting cars. When you sell them you get CASH!
And I learned something about myself, too. Big ‘ol fat salty tears rolled down my cheeks when I handed the keys to Big Red’s new owner. Waved at Big Red as he drove away.
Thought about Big Red for days. Years actually. Even after I bought a Jeep Wrangler.
I like to think of the Wrangler as my transitional boyfriend. I loved the Wrangler, too…but never quite as much as Big Red. And have you ever driven a Wrangler across the Mohave desert in 120 degree heat? Not, not, NOT a good idea.
Just three years later, the newly minted Teenager and I drove the Wrangler to a dealer’s lot with every intention of trading it for a Ford Explorer SUV. But an Explorer with a sunroof (a requirement after the Wrangler) was out of my price range.
Discouraged, we turned to leave. And then, we saw it: A big black shiny Ford Explorer SportTrac with bright red and orange racing stripes and a sunroof. I looked at the Teenager. The Teenager looked at me. We both nodded.
A new love affair was born and Black Beauty (named after a race horse in a book I read as a young girl) became ours. We drove him all over. Showed him off to my parents and to the Teenager's best friend. Hung an American flag in the slot for the front license plate (after all, he's a Ford).
Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw is a fanatic for all things on wheels, so I called him the next day. He asked, “Did you sleep in it last night?”
How did he know?
Maybe it’s the bright red and orange racing stripes down the side.
Everyone wants an explanation. How does the studious daughter of an urbane Princeton University grad fall in love with a big black truck?
I can hear them thinking: “Naw…reeeeaaalllly?? You?”
No one believes me when I tell them how much I love rugged vehicles. They wait for the part about some boyfriend or another buying my truck for me. But it didn’t happen that way.
I’ve always liked interesting cars. My first car was a Rover, my second an MG Midget. My first brand new vehicle purchase was a red Toyota pickup truck. I had it for five years and 80,000 miles and it never once broke down.
When I became a mom, pregnant with the Teenager-formerly-known-as-Pumpkin, I decided to buy the first sensible car of my entire adult life. A powder blue Toyota Corolla.
I hated that car.
And so did the universe.
I was rear-ended in it no less than six times and t-boned by a red light runner. Sadly, I’d leased the dang thing, so I had to wait the full FIVE #@!$%^$# YEARS of the lease before I could dump it. (And I still had to pay $5000 to get out of the deal. Grrrr.)
Few days in my life were happier than when I bought a used red Toyota 4Runner and named it “Big Red” after a quarterhorse my family once owned. I drove off the dealer’s lot and onto the freeway and, instead of trying to run me over, other drivers slowed down to wave me into traffic. SLOWED down. I swore I’d never own a sensible car again.
Big Red marked the beginning of my rock climbing era. Four-wheel drive, a backend big enough for four people’s climbing gear, room left over for a week’s worth of food and reliability bar none. My partners and I drove Red all over Colorado, Wyoming, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico, Texas, Arizona and California. When the Teenager was still small enough to be called Pumpkin, we took Red camping and slept in the back when it rained. I went from liking interesting cars to loving Big Red.
Six years and 120,000 miles later, it was finally time to sell Big Red. He looked weathered and each new repair cost more than the last. I checked Blue Book and priced Red a generous $8000, figuring I’d have to drop to $7500. Instead, a bidding war ensued at 6 a.m. in our sleepy little suburb, and I sold Red for $9500.
I’d discovered another fabulous feature of owning interesting cars. When you sell them you get CASH!
And I learned something about myself, too. Big ‘ol fat salty tears rolled down my cheeks when I handed the keys to Big Red’s new owner. Waved at Big Red as he drove away.
Thought about Big Red for days. Years actually. Even after I bought a Jeep Wrangler.
I like to think of the Wrangler as my transitional boyfriend. I loved the Wrangler, too…but never quite as much as Big Red. And have you ever driven a Wrangler across the Mohave desert in 120 degree heat? Not, not, NOT a good idea.
Just three years later, the newly minted Teenager and I drove the Wrangler to a dealer’s lot with every intention of trading it for a Ford Explorer SUV. But an Explorer with a sunroof (a requirement after the Wrangler) was out of my price range.
Discouraged, we turned to leave. And then, we saw it: A big black shiny Ford Explorer SportTrac with bright red and orange racing stripes and a sunroof. I looked at the Teenager. The Teenager looked at me. We both nodded.
A new love affair was born and Black Beauty (named after a race horse in a book I read as a young girl) became ours. We drove him all over. Showed him off to my parents and to the Teenager's best friend. Hung an American flag in the slot for the front license plate (after all, he's a Ford).
Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw is a fanatic for all things on wheels, so I called him the next day. He asked, “Did you sleep in it last night?”
How did he know?
Striving for Perfection
The Suns made history last night by beating Milwaukee 98-90 to extend their winning streak a franchise-record 16 games and tie the 10th longest streak in NBA history. Their 11-0 record against the East is the best for the West since the Utah Jazz 1994-95 season. Marion's 23 rebounds were one off his career high, and Raja Bell hit seven three-point shots for a game high of 27 points. But there was no champagne in the Suns locker room.
"There's no rings for streaks," said Steve Nash to Associated Press reporter Colin Fly. "We've had a tendency to really take people lightly and not be as focused as we need to be, and I think you saw that again from us tonight."
The Suns took the day off before their game against Milwaukee. It showed in their disjointed play. But they made history. And, ya gotta love a team that can win ugly.
So, the question of the day: Is good, or for that matter great, ever good enough?
Photo of Raja Bell by Gary Dineen/NBAE photos
Phoenix Suns basketball writing diary Blog Blogs Blogging
Friday, January 19, 2007
Why I Love the Phoenix Suns
Have you watched the Phoenix Suns this season? Unless you live in Phoenix, or happened to watch the Suns play your favorite team, my guess is not.Foolish you.
“You could be bouncing your grandkids on your lap someday and telling them that you watched the 2007 Suns,” said Bill Simmons of ESPN’s web editorial Page 2 on Jan. 17.
I thought about following this quote with a poetic analysis of the Suns...but why? None of you will believe me. You’ll pass me off as just another sports fan rabid for their hometown team. So, read Bill instead:
“…The Suns are 26-2 in their last 28 games. Here were their two losses:
Dec. 22: They lose to the Wizards in OT (144-139) in a game that Arenas tied with a 3-point play in regulation, then Nash missed a wide-open 3 that could have ended it.
Dec. 28: They lose in Dallas by two (101-99) when Nowitzki made a jumper with 0.1 seconds left.
With two reasonable breaks (Nash making the 3-pointer, Nowitzki missing the jumper), the Suns could be working on a 28-game winning streak right now. I've mentioned that to three people over the last 48 hours and all of them said the same thing: "Wait a second ... whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat??????"
It's true. You can look it up.”
For the record, Bill is a Celtics fan, and a depressed one at that. (Have you watched the Celtics this season?) Here is why the Suns have given him reason to live for basketball:
“You never imagined that an NBA team could score 111 points a game, shoot 51 percent from the field, shoot 81 percent from the line, make 40 percent of its 3s, double as the best transition team since the Showtime Lakers and still manage to be half-decent defensively, right?
Well, it's happening.”
Mike D'Antoni, Steve Nash and this kind of playing are why I waxed poetic about the Suns at the end of the last season. My fellow fans and I saw it then. Bill sees it now, too:“…if you care about basketball at all, if the sport has ever meant anything to you, if you remember the Magic-Bird Era fondly in any way, if you're remotely interested in watching a professional sports team peak ... then you need to follow the Suns. They're sniffing at true greatness.”
Read the rest of Bill’s article here.
And watch a Suns game. Better yet, come to Phoenix and watch one with me. Just don't complain if I paint your face purple and orange.
Phoenix Suns basketball writing diary Blog Blogs Blogging
Monday, January 01, 2007
Friday, December 29, 2006
Teenager Steamrolls Entertainment Industry
A month ago, the Teenager mentioned that he wanted to hold a fundraiser for his high school’s theatre department. “A rock concert,” he said. “With a name band and a big sponsor, like maybe Coca-Cola!”
Precious, I thought.
I might have worried when he told me he was invited to a meeting with the school district’s attorney, the superintendent of schools and his high school principal. But I thought the whole concept would blow over right then and there.
Who knew a 17-year-old could navigate the muddied waters of politics and regulations at a large public school district?
The concert is happening, and the Teenager's desk has turned into a flurry of e-mails and paperwork. There are budgets and contracts, and there are security guards to hire and sound systems to arrange. In between sponsorship negotiations with, yes, Coca-Cola, and a host of local businesses, radio stations and guitar shops, the Teenager debates whether to fly a name alternative rock band in from New Jersey, or hire an up-and-coming Phoenix band with a huge local following.
A momentary roadblock arose. Construction on the school’s auditorium was scheduled for completion after the concert date, which meant the lobby would be boarded up. How gauche. And where would the Teenager locate the sponsor’s booths?
The Teenager suggested to his school’s principal that the school’s construction schedule be rearranged to complete the auditorium lobby in time for the fundraiser. The principal agreed wholeheartedly. At a private tour yesterday of the half-completed lobby, the construction director explained to the Teenager how he had moved an entire crew off of the gymnasium construction onto the auditorium project so that the lobby could be completed a month ahead of schedule, just in time for the concert.
My mother holds a special place in her heart for the Teenager. For his fifth birthday (he was still called Pumpkin back then), she gave him cash and noted, "Pumpkin thinks a lot about money, and I think that's a fine thing."
I knew Mom would be pleased by Pumpkin's fundraising plans, so I called to tell her all about it. "Well, I think that's just wonderful," she said. "You know Alice Cooper has been very involved with the local schools here in the past. The Teenager should call him!"
"Omigosh, what a grand idea," I said. "And I might even be able to track down people who know his people!" Thrilled that I could make an adult contribution to the Teenager’s dreams, I called the young man right away. His reply?
“Oh, yeah, we already talked to him.”
“You…t-t-t-talked...to Alice Cooper?”
“Yeah. He’s got a charity for teenagers and he’s not going to play at the concert, but he's agreed to make an appearance.”
“Did you just say Alice Cooper agreed to make an appearance at your concert?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s pretty cool ya know.”
Yeah, kid. I know.
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
Precious, I thought.
I might have worried when he told me he was invited to a meeting with the school district’s attorney, the superintendent of schools and his high school principal. But I thought the whole concept would blow over right then and there.
Who knew a 17-year-old could navigate the muddied waters of politics and regulations at a large public school district?
The concert is happening, and the Teenager's desk has turned into a flurry of e-mails and paperwork. There are budgets and contracts, and there are security guards to hire and sound systems to arrange. In between sponsorship negotiations with, yes, Coca-Cola, and a host of local businesses, radio stations and guitar shops, the Teenager debates whether to fly a name alternative rock band in from New Jersey, or hire an up-and-coming Phoenix band with a huge local following.
A momentary roadblock arose. Construction on the school’s auditorium was scheduled for completion after the concert date, which meant the lobby would be boarded up. How gauche. And where would the Teenager locate the sponsor’s booths?
The Teenager suggested to his school’s principal that the school’s construction schedule be rearranged to complete the auditorium lobby in time for the fundraiser. The principal agreed wholeheartedly. At a private tour yesterday of the half-completed lobby, the construction director explained to the Teenager how he had moved an entire crew off of the gymnasium construction onto the auditorium project so that the lobby could be completed a month ahead of schedule, just in time for the concert.
My mother holds a special place in her heart for the Teenager. For his fifth birthday (he was still called Pumpkin back then), she gave him cash and noted, "Pumpkin thinks a lot about money, and I think that's a fine thing."
I knew Mom would be pleased by Pumpkin's fundraising plans, so I called to tell her all about it. "Well, I think that's just wonderful," she said. "You know Alice Cooper has been very involved with the local schools here in the past. The Teenager should call him!"
"Omigosh, what a grand idea," I said. "And I might even be able to track down people who know his people!" Thrilled that I could make an adult contribution to the Teenager’s dreams, I called the young man right away. His reply?
“Oh, yeah, we already talked to him.”
“You…t-t-t-talked...to Alice Cooper?”
“Yeah. He’s got a charity for teenagers and he’s not going to play at the concert, but he's agreed to make an appearance.”
“Did you just say Alice Cooper agreed to make an appearance at your concert?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s pretty cool ya know.”
Yeah, kid. I know.
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
Sunday, December 17, 2006
TIME Magazine "Person of the Year"
Imagine: the good people at TIME Magazine have chosen me (yup, you read that right - ME!) and YOU and YOU and YOU, too, as Person of the Year.
This weird geeky world that a mere 13 million of us inhabited in 2005, is now so ubiquitous that even my parents, who are in their 70s, are hooked on YouTube (a video of John McCain imitating Barbara Streisand doubled them over in laughter, and I've not been able to stop them since!).
Congratulations to us all!!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Just One More Week
The first batch of The Teenager's college applications are due Nov. 30. Then there's the ACT tests on Dec. 2, and the next batch of applications due on Dec. 4. The last batch in February 2007. (Can you believe we're talking about 2007 already?)
Bear with me gang, we're heading down the home stretch!
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
Bear with me gang, we're heading down the home stretch!
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Hubbub on Teenager Hill
Life has been pretty lively over here on Teenager Hill – hence my hiatus from blogging. With many apologies to all of my dear friends who have so kindly worried about me, here is the rundown on recent events:
First, the Teenager was in a car accident (no one was hurt) which involved something to do with donuts in a parking lot on a rainy day, a telephone pole and a police officer which resulted in a reckless driving ticket that we're trying to get reduced which involved begging everyone we know to write letters to the City of Scottsdale about what a fabulous kid the Teenager is which resulted in lots of tears from Queen Mom when she read all of the letters and realized just HOW fabulous everyone thinks her Teenager really is and all of this happening at the same time as Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw's job along with car insurance for the Teenager, not to mention the Teenager's future college career, dangled in the balance of Intel's current restructuring plan which resulted in Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw flying all over the country in his effort to rescue his job (which he did) and all of this happening at the same time as the Teenager's college applications are due (Nov. 30) which involves a complicated process because in order to get into film school (the Teenager's life ambition) the Teenager has to fill out not one, but two complete applications for each college which involves essays and teacher recommendations for each of these two applications multiplied by five colleges thus quintupling not only the Teenager's workload, but that of all the lovely people who just put their hearts and souls into letters to help the Teenager stay out of jail and are now being asked to write college recommendations and, oh by the way, all of this happening at the same time as Queen Mom's job exploded which involved adding a huge new responsibility (our company's entire web development plan) and moving her office to a different campus and all of this happening at the same time as the Teenager was producing "A Midsummer Night's Dream" AND studying for the SAT and ACT tests and, because he was spending his afternoons and evenings producing the play, the Teenager could not attend the SAT and ACT study classes so Queen Mom has been tutoring the Teenager and if you'll recall how much…mm…fun it was when your parents tried to teach you how to drive you might have some sense of just how much…mm…fun Queen Mom and the Teenager are having adjusting to their new relationship as Tutor and Tutoree and all of this happening at the same time as Queen Mom's dear friend and attorney came down with a serious illness which resulted in a continuance of the court case for reckless driving against the Teenager and, let's not forget, throughout all of these events the Teenager's truck was wrecked and spent two months in the body shop which means that, since Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw has been flying all over the country, Queen Mom has been chauffeuring the Teenager to school, to rehearsals, to various and sundry film production projects, to Homecoming, to football games and to church which brings us back to the donuts, the telephone pole, the police officer, the car accident and the rainy day which started the whole affair.
[deep breath]
Surely there's a moral here.
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
First, the Teenager was in a car accident (no one was hurt) which involved something to do with donuts in a parking lot on a rainy day, a telephone pole and a police officer which resulted in a reckless driving ticket that we're trying to get reduced which involved begging everyone we know to write letters to the City of Scottsdale about what a fabulous kid the Teenager is which resulted in lots of tears from Queen Mom when she read all of the letters and realized just HOW fabulous everyone thinks her Teenager really is and all of this happening at the same time as Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw's job along with car insurance for the Teenager, not to mention the Teenager's future college career, dangled in the balance of Intel's current restructuring plan which resulted in Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw flying all over the country in his effort to rescue his job (which he did) and all of this happening at the same time as the Teenager's college applications are due (Nov. 30) which involves a complicated process because in order to get into film school (the Teenager's life ambition) the Teenager has to fill out not one, but two complete applications for each college which involves essays and teacher recommendations for each of these two applications multiplied by five colleges thus quintupling not only the Teenager's workload, but that of all the lovely people who just put their hearts and souls into letters to help the Teenager stay out of jail and are now being asked to write college recommendations and, oh by the way, all of this happening at the same time as Queen Mom's job exploded which involved adding a huge new responsibility (our company's entire web development plan) and moving her office to a different campus and all of this happening at the same time as the Teenager was producing "A Midsummer Night's Dream" AND studying for the SAT and ACT tests and, because he was spending his afternoons and evenings producing the play, the Teenager could not attend the SAT and ACT study classes so Queen Mom has been tutoring the Teenager and if you'll recall how much…mm…fun it was when your parents tried to teach you how to drive you might have some sense of just how much…mm…fun Queen Mom and the Teenager are having adjusting to their new relationship as Tutor and Tutoree and all of this happening at the same time as Queen Mom's dear friend and attorney came down with a serious illness which resulted in a continuance of the court case for reckless driving against the Teenager and, let's not forget, throughout all of these events the Teenager's truck was wrecked and spent two months in the body shop which means that, since Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw has been flying all over the country, Queen Mom has been chauffeuring the Teenager to school, to rehearsals, to various and sundry film production projects, to Homecoming, to football games and to church which brings us back to the donuts, the telephone pole, the police officer, the car accident and the rainy day which started the whole affair.
[deep breath]
Surely there's a moral here.
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
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