Yes, Angelina Jolie

Something I read not long ago (45 days, to be exact) got me writing daily. Again.

I hoped to be writing important and profound things. I mean, who doesn't hope that? But, so far, it's not much more than a journal, a daily dumping of stuff and events and weather and grumbling about my yard or the squirrels or the neighbor's pine trees. Whoa. I nearly got going there.

I know a journal is not all bad, but it is less--less to be valued, I think--than I want it to be.

For many years we have been told that we write our journals for those who come after us. I disliked that notion, although I have to acknowledge the truth of it. Witness my dad's journal, which my sister Janeen has been transcribing so that all of his children may have it to read. This some thirty+ years after his death.

But these pages, 45 days in a row of them now, are for me. I have called them About Being a Person and have no idea if anyone will read them. Ever. And, although I taught my college students that all writing is written to be read, I have had to divorce myself from that idea as I write these pages.

Sure, sometimes I think I have written something clever or noteworthy that I'd like someone to read. But not often. Once in a while I put something from it here or at Carol's Corner. So there.

All the above is a long introduction to this: Today I wrote about Angelina Jolie. It's true. I did. Pretty unlike me to do so, but, nevertheless, true.

So if you want to know why, go to Carol's Corner (because I did just copy/paste what I wrote today) or look into the news today and you'll find the story of the remarkable thing she has done. I'm not being sarcastic here. It is remarkable, risky, and other adjectives. Maybe good or kind.

Wow and hmmm

Andrea: They're giving samples of decaffeinated coffee.
Me: Oh goody.
A: You could drink that. Couldn't you?
Me: No. I don't drink coffee.
A: But it's decaf.
Me: I don't drink coffee. Why would I drink decaf?
A: But you could.
Me: It's moot. I don't drink it, and I wouldn't drink it. I stick with water, milk, juice, and an occasional soda.
A: You can drink soda?
Me: Sure.
Judy: Yeah, she can drink soda because they bought the Coca-Cola company and the Pepsi-Cola company.
Me: (Having heard at least half of that one my whole life), That is not true.

A few things come to mind.

1. Soda is not necessarily Coca-Cola or any drink with caffeine. It can be 7-Up, Root Beer, Sprite, Ginger Ale, Orange soda, Squirt, just plain soda with no flavoring, etc. and etc.
2. Why are people like that? "They bought the Coca-Cola company," as if it were a fact or a secret finally revealed, or as if it settled something.
3. I don't like to say that people are stupid. That is not very kind, and I do want to be kind. But really.

Of Teeth

Caroline's tooth came out. This she told me tonight with much excitement. "Now I don't have any teeth on top."

"Who pulled it out?" I asked.

"Nobody. It came out while I was eating my breakfast."

"Did you eat your tooth?"  That question came because I had told Caroline how I lost my first tooth.We were visiting Grandma in Utah. She fixed corn on the cob, which I loved. When I finished the corn I discovered that my very loose tooth was gone. I ate it with the corn. "Yuck," we all agreed.

"No," she said. "I didn't eat my tooth."

Update and Upkeep

My grandson Aaron runs track, ran the 200 meter high hurdles Thursday.  He didn't win, but I love it that he keeps running.  I mean, that he keeps going out for track and football and so on.

*     *     *

Fun private birthday dinner Thursday night with Paul, the birthday boy, and his family. Private except that we were at P F Chang. Thursday night and the place was full; good thing we had reservations. One of the most noticeable things: Peter is getting an appetite. He ate a lot. Did my heart good.

 *     *     *

How much is a yard worth?

• I will have the big ash tree in front of the house taken out--$200. That's hard to do. We planted it, you know. But I'm doing it.
• I hired a guy to spray the lawns and try to bring them back--$218 (that's with the $12 discount). 
• The mowing guy will charge $30 per. 
• I must try to plant something back in that corner where the neighbor's pine tree--only one of four pine trees--has killed the grass, something that will grow without sun and in spite of the pine needle acid. Cost? I don't know yet.

I have told myself, again this morning, I'll give these guys one year.
 
Next year? Certainly my yard upkeep will not be free, but perhaps I'll find a better way.

I do want to keep living here, so don't tell me to move into a place where they do all this for me. People who recommend such a move seem to forget the fees charged in such arrangements, in such places.

Then, there's the other part of moving to a new place. I won't go into it, but it has much to do with my age and how others perceive an older woman and how they treat her. Just ask my mother.

Think this over; it's not new but it's true

When you learn something, it's yours. It belongs to you, like your skin, like your brain, your heart.

This I thought today as I pictured Johnny at the piano. Lola gave him three piano lessons while she was visiting last week, and he learned to play a piece. Now it's his. I can see him going to the piano, playing this one piece he knows, feeling the power of that knowledge, wanting to know more.

This is what I want all my grandchildren to understand. So I repeat: When you learn something, it's yours.

It is what I wanted my children to understand. It's why I taught them all to read at home, before they went to school. Reading was something they could have. And keep.

It's what I want the young child Carol to know. Perhaps she did. She grew up loving to learn--not always loving to do what is required to know something, and isn't that a key! But loving to learn. She still loves to learn.

(Okay, so I know it's weird to speak of myself in third person. Sorry. It seemed the right thing to do here.)

It would be good

if the news media could get things right.

Two versions of one story. The first one I heard Thursday, quoting 26-year-old Tamerlan Tsarnaev, the suspect #1 who is now dead, "I have no American friends. I don't understand."

The second I heard Friday, and I saw the actual words . "I have no American friends. I don't understand them."

I'm assuming the second is correct. But who's to know? Anyway, the meaning changes considerably, don't you see.

Now, if this suspect #2, the 19-year-old Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, lives, and if Matt Lauer and his ilk don't mess it up with their self-proclaimed smarts and "I know the law and other stuff" talk all over the networks and the world, maybe there will be answers and a solid case and conviction. And I have had enough of talk from people who know him or knew him or thought they knew him.

I just heard that their father says he's coming to the United States and that his sons were framed, and he also said, "My kids didn't do nothing." He wants proof.

The Boston Marathon Bombings

Warning: Difficult to read.

Three dead, more than 150 injured, some critically, so the death toll may rise. More than a few amputations required.

This is what I mean.

An 8-year-old boy who was enjoying ice cream with his family was killed Tuesday in one of the explosions at the end of the Boston Marathon as he cheered runners completing the 26.2-mile race.
Martin Richard, the boy, was with his father, mother and 6-year-old sister near the grandstand when one of the explosions occurred. The mother and sister were both critically injured in the blast. Martin's mother underwent brain surgery Monday night and his sister, 6, lost a leg in the blast, WHDH.com reported. The status of his father, William, has not been released publicly.

Read more: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/04/16/boy-8-killed-in-boston-marathon-attack-reportedly-hugged-runner-dad-seconds/#ixzz2Qe6De6YQ

We are Boston. We all are. Those people who were directly affected are part of us.

We may be thankful our families were not hurt, and I am thankful. We may be thankful we live out here, hundreds of miles away, and I am. But I am not glad for those who live there and now have to be afraid. We feel and weep for them.

But, of course, we are all newly afraid. Again. And we are all now wondering what is next. Are we safe in any big city? Any large gathering? Anywhere? 

Suspicious packages here and there. Some harmless, but you can't know until they are examined. Tighter security at airports, no doubt, and some of us will grumble. With good reason. But we'll likely understand, too.

Who has done this?