zeitgeist: the rants and raves of Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz (Cristin's Mom)

My book-length collection of blog essays
where I crackwise about the 2004 Election, "What Fresh Hell is This?"
can be purchased at The Wordsmith Press site.








Where's My Twelve-Step Program?

It's over... it's really over. My obsessive campaign addiction, that is.

Like a besotted, jilted lover, all I'm left with scraps of our dizzying time together. Instead of pressed flowers or sentimental note cards, I nostalgically clutch ripped newspaper scraps that provide arcane Electoral College regulations.

Instead of a broken heart, I'm nursing a chronic pain in my thumb joint from my fanatical computer 'refresh' habit to check if Realclearpolitics had updated the Rasmussen tracking poll.

My husband has been lovingly tolerant of my cable news infatuations. For well over a year, he's had to share me with Joe Scarborough, Chris Matthews, Jon Stewart, Anderson Cooper and the late Tim Russert. But the heat of those primary campaign and general election flirtations had cooled and it's time to return to reality, to a husband asking "When's the last time that you vacuumed this carpet?"

Like any addict, I had to hit rock bottom before I realized the condition that I was in. I realized that was I routinely watching irrationally large amounts of cable TV, habitually purchasing four newspapers daily and clicking madly on HuffPost and Drudge for the latest campaign nuggets.

Last night the fever broke. The presidential decision was made... the partisan pundits were silenced... the websites banners announced the election results. I looked around my home and soberly reflected on the results of my year-and-a half long binge. Kitchen cabinets empty of provisions, freezer-burned steaks lurking behind the Lean Cuisine, a layer of dust and some ceiling cobwebs that could be Halloween decor... but aren't.

It was time to face my demons. I had to go cold turkey. No more political gabfests, no more talk radio, a 30-minute daily limit to web browsing. I believe can do this. I'll pull out the vacuum cleaner, organize my bureau drawers, and restock the canned corn. Whew, that was close. I almost lost everything that was important to me.

Wait a minute...

The talking heads on TV are discussing some 'what now' scenarios. Who will be tapped for Obama's Cabinet? How will Obama handle Nancy Pelosi? How will the demoralized Republicans regroup?

Hot damn! I think I've found a new paramour to swoon over for the next few months, at least until January 20th. I'm taping up my aching thumb, putting some new batteries in my television remote control and settling in to a new love affair. And that layer of dust? I'm going to pass it off as a charming Christmas touch -- a dusting of holiday snow.

11/5/08


All opinions stated are those of Cristin's Mom, and not Cristin, an Obama lovin' Liberal! Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.

Election Day: It's finally arrived...

I think no matter what the outcome, today -- November 4, 2008 -- is going to be a remembered day in history. So for this column, I am going to keep track of how the day unfolds for me. Enjoy!


6:20 am
For the first time in my 36-year voting life, I was first in line at the polling place. I felt great.

However, worrisomely, the electronic voting machines were not set up, nor was the registration table. In addition, the (Republican) polling place Judge of Election got into a dust-up about 6:30 with a (Democratic) gentleman who claimed that he was assigned to be a 'clerk' at the registration table, but carried an official document certifying him as a 'poll watcher.' Phone calls were made, some voices were raised, but it got straightened out about 6:40 am. Believe me that kind of clash never happens in my genteel, white bread neighborhood -- well, not about politics anyway! -- and so this really has provided an unusual political year!

Finally, at 6:45, the three voting machines were assembled, plugs were inserted into electrical outlets and it was 'Game On!'


7:00 am
I proudly saunter to the registration table, where I am designated as voter #1.

My retired consort was #2.

We promptly go to our machines -- and cancel each other's vote. Nonetheless, it's still an exciting and American moment for me... well, for both of us.


7:30 am
I arrive at work and immediately began quickly peruse my favorite websites for any up-to-the-minute news tidbits. My first click is always to Realclear Politics where I check polls for any last-minute shifts and sample some of the columnists and bloggers that they feature. The consensus of this group is that Obama a shoo-in and their topics reflect this:

Obama Instills New Pride
The First Step toward Meaningful Change
A Vote on the Future of the World
Vote for Obama and Seismic Change
A Sea Change for Politics

The coronation seems to already be beginning, it appears...sigh.

I start working and hope that the (party-related?) tension that I witnessed with the judge-poll watcher dispute is an isolated incident.


9:00 am
During my morning break, I check out the Philadelphia news websites for updates on Philly voting centers. As expected, there are long lines, but folks are handing it well so far. I check back on my favorite political sites. Hit refresh. Hit refresh some more. Continuing hitting refresh.


4:00 pm
Several hours of hawk-like news watching, and the top story remains (and it should be) the record turnout, with the news websites now extolling the increasingly likely Obama electoral rout. As a McCain supporter, I accept this fate like the Irish fatalist that I am.

I'm descended from a tribe of O'Keefes, O'Malleys and Muldoons who loved to hold court at the kitchen table (after a few pints) and recount their glorious, but foiled, campaigns against the British troops in the old country or unscrupulous factory owners fighting against unionization in Philadelphia. The defeats were accepted with a sigh and the coda that "Twas a grand effort, though."

In this melancholy mood, I've prepared a chart of the state poll closing times and --pen in hand -- I'll be tallying the electoral vote totals until that magic number of 270 is hit. But the way things are going, I'm thinking it'll be a early bedtime.

All the better to prepare me for tomorrow's "political junkie withdrawal."


11/4/08


All opinions stated are those of Cristin's Mom, and not Cristin, an Obama lovin' Liberal! Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.

Let's hear it for the Lovin' Spoonful!!


Did you ever have to make up your mind?
Say yes to one, and leave the other behind.
It's not often easy, and not often kind.
Did you ever have to make up your mind?

This 1960s ditty sprang to mind as I read the presidential polls today. The talking heads have coronated Obama and his consort Michele. They're tossing around names of prospective Cabinet members and reporting on preparation of an inaugural address. And yet several respected polls have an unsettling number of "undecideds"(Gallup: 4%; Rasmussen: 6%; Zogby: 7%; IDB: 8%; Pew: 9%; and AP: 11%), leaving me with a question...

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?!?

We've slogged through a year and a half of mind-numbing primaries, and then survived two months of slash-and-burn politics by the underdog (McCain) and
sitting-on-my-lead, running-out-the-clock frontrunner (Obama). The policies and personalities of these two presidential wannabes could not be more different... and folks are still undecided?!

Conventional political wisdom presumes that these idiots will eventually back the probable winner. But once in the polling booth, would it be so unlikely for them to have reluctance to pulling the lever for a relatively untested (gotta say it) black man.

I originally though of framing this blog with Beatles songs:

For McCain: Can't Buy Me Love; Don't Let Me Down; Happiness is Warm Gun; Help; Helter Skelter; I Saw Her Standing there (In honor of Sarah); I'm a Loser; I'll Cry Instead; Nowhere Man; Taxman; Ticket to Ride; Yesterday

For Obama: Revolution; Act Naturally; Back in the USSR; Come Together; I Wanna Be Your Man; Let It Be; Michelle; Things We Said Today

But given this 'undecided' conundrum, maybe I should add 'With a Little Help from My Friends' to the McCain list.

If folks are being less than truthful to pollsters, reluctant to say that they're against Obama... and if an anti-Obama contingent is hiding behind 'undecided'... then it may be possible for McCain to squeak through in some of the battleground states and to eke out an Electoral College win.

If that occurs, then the media that has been predicting a landslide will be responsible for the wave of disbelief and anger that will erupt from the Obama acolytes. It won't be pretty.

Despite wanting a McCain win myself, the rational part of my brain predicts an Obama win. His cool demeanor and intellectual heft are impressive. His call for post-partisan cooperation on righting the economy and creating jobs, resolving the energy crisis, repairing the nation's infrastructure and overseeing a withdrawal of American troops form Iraq has resonated with the electorate.

And yet, as Howard Fineman notes in Newsweek:

"...Consumer confidence is at an all-time low. The job performance rating of the outgoing Republican president is at Nixon-Carter levels. Nine out of ten voters think the country is off on the wrong track. The Democrats lead in the generic congressional preference vote by a double-digit margin.

Obama has outspent McCain on TV advertising three or four to one (though McCain is matching him in some key states here at the end). Obama has four thousand paid organizers in key states, an unheard of number. Most voters think that McCain's running mate is not qualified to be president. Many people wonder aloud if McCain is in fact too old (72) to be president. Much of the media coverage of Obama has been fawning to say the least, and with good reason. He is one of the most winsome, charismatic candidates to have appeared on the scene in decades.

Still, in today's "traditional Gallup" Daily Tracking Poll (the one that screens likely voters most rigorously, based on past votes), Obama leads McCain by only two percentage points, 49 to 47 percent..."

Nevertheless, I've resigned myself to the following facts:

Protectionism will become our national trade policy; free trade agreements with other nations will be reduced and limited.

The power of labor unions will substantially increase, beginning with repeal of secret ballot voting to decide on union representation.

Income taxes will rise on middle- and upper-income people and businesses, and individuals will pay much higher Social Security taxes, all to carry out the new president's goals of "spreading the wealth around."

Federal government spending will substantially increase. The new Obama proposals come to more than $300 billion annually, for education, health care, energy, environmental and many other programs, in addition to whatever is needed to meet our economic challenges.

Federal regulation of the economy will expand, on everything from financial management companies to electricity generation and personal energy use.

One or two Supreme Court Justices will be appointed. They won't be strict constructionists like Roberts, Alito, Thomas and Scalia. Roe v Wade will not be struck down.

But I'll still be tracking the daily polls. I'll still be riveted to the television on Election night. I've still be hoping that Barack's "spread the wealth" dogma will give the electorate pause for thought.

Hey, maybe I should find a Beatles tune for Joe the Plumber. How about "She Came in the Bathroom Window"... or "Fixing A Hole"?


10/29/08


All opinions stated are those of Cristin's Mom, and not Cristin, an Obama lovin' Liberal! Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.

Slip sliding away... But Yet, Who Is This Guy?

Maybe a weekend with my two diaper-clad grandbabies put me in 'poop mode,' but I'm sensing that with one month left, the McCain-Palin ticket is preparing to resort to scat-flinging escapades worthy of the most rambunctious zoo primates.

With the economy tanking, the McCain pit bull, Governor Palin, seems to have been tasked with demonizing Obama as a terrorist-befriending opportunist who sat for 20 years in a church listening to a venom-sewing pastor. WHEW... what away to elect the leader of the free world!

My husband and I just spent time vacationing in the northwestern US. (Note to cosmetic companies: don't advertise in this area of the country. It is home to a large contingent of aging hippie chicks who proudly wear their graying tresses parted in the middle and secured in a bun and eschew makeup totally. With my curling-ironed, auburn-tinted locks and layered foundation, blush and mascara routine, I felt like the queen of the prom circa 1980).

Anyway, Seattle seems to be thriving city (although it's the first time I've seen a receptacle in the rest room for 'used needles'... yikes), but other -- more rural -- parts of the state were sad, with 'for rent' signs plastered on many small businesses. It was eye-opening.

McCain needs to fashion a message about how he'll reshape the economy for 'regular folks' (Governor Palin again!) and shake off the stench of his out of touch 'the economy is fundamentally sound' pronouncement just before the mega-bucks Wall Street rescue. I'm also sensing that the Republicans will be brandishing the 'train with no brakes' imagery – with all three branches of government in Democrat control. Their pitch: who will provide the check on excessive government outlays and tax hikes if those tax-and-spend liberals are ruling the roost? And it's still a potent message to many baby boomers. Many of us remember the well-intentioned Great Society initiatives. As Ed Rollins noted in a recent blog, Obama's 'change' mantra may not so desirable:

"Is change the 'Robin Hood tax policies' of traditional Democrats that shifts earned wealth from productive people and small businesses that create jobs to those who have not had the same success? Is change adding billions of new entitlement programs as promised by Obama in a time of record deficits? That is certain to make the recession deeper and last longer. Is change altering our spending priorities away from national defense and weakening or homeland security in a time of uncertainty both at home and abroad?"

Given that alternative, McCain -- and the uber-hockey mom who will still be landing punches on Obama) -- may still resonate.

After a shaky couple of weeks, including a less-than-stellar session with Katie Couric, Sarah came roaring back in her debate with Senator ("Can I call you Joe?") Biden. I'm a distinct minority of one in my immediate family when it comes to appreciating Governor Palin's attributes. But as the daughter of working class Irish parents and the granddaughter of a left-leaning Irish immigrant grandfather who kept a picture of Eugene V. Debs on his bureau (I thought he was a relative... who knew?), I appreciate grit.

Compare Palin's ascendance to that of an equally novice candidate (Obama) who erupted on a burst of positive media and a cleverly calculated manipulation of the Democratic Party caucus process. She had no Ivy college pedigree or supportive established ethnic political network. In fact she had kids! Yet she succeeded. Despite that her national mainstream press coverage has ranged from befuddled to sneering.

When she stumbles in an interview, it's deemed as evidence of her vacuousness…when Obama meanders rhetorically (and he damn sure does... you betcha), he’s being "thoughtful and nuanced"... PLEASE!

The October 7th debate was a snooze, but with the DOW under 10,000, I THINK First Lady Michele can start picking out the drapes.


10/09/08


All opinions stated are those of Cristin's Mom, and not Cristin, an Obama lovin' Liberal! Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.

Uh-Oh... Where's Harry Houdini When I Need Him?

My husband and I attend (and occasionally host) an annual reunion of my husband's scalawag friends who graduated from Manhattan College in 1968. This year we spent a great four-day weekend in the bucolic autumn hills near Bennington, Vermont hosted by one of those Manhattan grads at his beautiful new vacation home. Highlights included touring quaint towns, enjoying spectacular vistas, savoring great meals, and reliving memorable moments from their mid-sixties dating experiences (pretty lame... not a 'flower child' or 'rebellious rocker' among them).

The weekend's conversation ranged from grandparenting tips to deck maintenance techniques, and included -- of course -- debates about the presidential race. The Sarah Palin discussion ranged from the thoughtful ("Is she ready to adequately respond to a crisis?") to the snarky ("Idaho State University....really?"). Mc Cain was also a target ("too old... too out of touch... can't send an email!"). When asked who they thought would win in November -- not necessary who they themselves were voting for -- the group of 10 split: 6 for McCain, 4 for Obama.

But that was before this week's Wall Street economic tsunami occurred.

You know, just a couple of days AFTER one of the McCain campaign's economic advistor's publishes an Op-Ed in Sunday Washington Post titled, "NATION OF EXAGGERATORS: Quit Doling Out That Bad-Economy Line."

It reminded me last year's gathering when the group convened in the northeastern Pennsylvania mountains. One day we went on an outing to the Houdini Museum in Scranton, and toured an amazing collection of memorabilia about that famed escape artist.

I'd suggest that McCain schedule a drop-in to that spot to learn how Harry squirmed his way out of chains and locks and ropes and anchors. He could use the advice.

Given McCain self-confessed disinterest in economics, and the Republican Party's long-standing boosterism for deregulation, it's going to take all the shimmying and contortions that a 72-year old candidate with prisoner of war injuries can muster.

Obama finally has an issue about which Democrats perennially love to beat the drum: us against them, Wall Street vs Main Street, million dollar severance packages compared to middle-America's foreclosure fiasco.

I agree that there has been severe malfeasance over the past few years with greedy banks tempting equally greedy borrowers to spend beyond their means.

But there is plenty of blame to spread around. Both parties have an abysmal record of caving into their well-heeled Wall Street contributors. Dem politicos like Chris Dodd, Obama and Chuck ("Where's the TV camera?") Schumer have had their porcine snouts immersed in the trough along with Republicans when the Wall Streeters were ladling out the money swill.

My hypothesis is that since the topic of financial collapse and recovery is so arcane, most voters really just want some confidence that whoever they elect will be able to knock some heads and straighten things out.

Obama may have the "Hey, the other guys did this!" line of blather, but does he strike voters as someone who's got it in his gut to shake things up?

If McCain can slither out of the constraints that his own previous statements and the current President's policies have imprisoned him, maybe he can still 'pull a Houdini' and emerge unscathed.

After all, in his life he's faced tougher opponents that a cabal of Gucci-loafered hedge fund bandits and lived to tell the tale.

09/19/08


All opinions stated are those of Cristin's Mom, and not Cristin, an Obama lovin' Liberal! Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.

There They Go Again...

Ah, the Democrats.

Bad economy, unpopular war, housing crisis... and they may still end up losing this election! I feel mimicking a rueful Ronald Reagan in his debate with Jimmy Carter: "There you go again." With the one exception of the Horndog-in-Chief in 1992/1996, the Dems keep nominating liberal ditherers who can't convince the middle of the country that they are 'one of them' or even lay out an easily understandable case for their cause.

Obama is a phenomenal speaker -- with a prepared script. When he's off his rhetorical leash, however, he dissembles like the constitutional lawyer that he is. His answers meander and are cluttered with caveats and dangling subordinate phrases. He's cool, diffident. The rest of my family (Obamaniacs all) deems this the mark of a thoughtful, nuanced mind. I just see another Dem loser in the making.

In a provocative 2005 book entitled What's the Matter with Kansas?, author Thomas Frank puzzled about working class voters who seemingly pull the electoral lever against their own economic interests, favoring candidates who reflect their values. Well, I think the Democrats and their supportive (and Sarah Palin-sneering) friends in the media are failing into that trap again this year.

McCain didn't just pick a politician who could appeal to Wal-Mart Moms. He picked a Wal-Mart Mom. He picked someone who, in 1999, as Wasilla mayor, presided over a wedding of two Wal-Mart associates at the local Wal-Mart. "It was so sweet," said Palin, according to The Anchorage Daily News. "It was so Wasilla."

Sarah Palin delivered a dazzling inaugural speech. Interestingly, one line in particular seems to be resonating with the folks that I talk to personally and professionally.

"I guess a small-town mayor is sort of like a 'community organizer,' except that you have actual responsibilities."

When Obama emerged during the primaries as a credible candidate, one segment of his biography was widely touted. After graduating from Columbia, and facing a myriad of dazzling career opportunities, he departed to the South Side of Chicago to serve as a 'community organizer.' Hmmm... I thought then, what does that exactly mean?

Well, apparently the Republicans are reframing Obama's choice... they're hoping that many Americans associate 'community organizers' with Al Sharpton or loonies protesting construction of a dam because of a threat to snail darters. Pat Buchanan had a wacky comment in a recent column:

"Barack and Michelle are affirmative action, Princeton, Columbia, Harvard Law. She (Palin) is public schools and Idaho State. Barack was a Saul Alinsky social worker who rustled up food stamps. Sarah Palin kills her own food..."

Although it's way over the top, the quote speaks to an authenticity issue that always hangs over presidential elections. There's a danger to Democrats who snicker the former beauty queen with a bouffant, five kids and a snowmobiling husband. The large swatch of land between the two media-driven coasts contains a lot of families that look just like that.

I happened to be in New York City on the day after the 2004 election loss of John Kerry. You cannot imagine a more dazed citizenry. I'm scheduled to be in Manhattan two days after the election this time... and... unless Senator Obama and Senator Bloviator get their act together, I'll be able to smugly say: "There You Go Again."

09/09/08


All opinions stated are those of Cristin's Mom, and not Cristin, an Obama lovin' Liberal! Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.

At Last...
"Big Hair" Rules!


I was in a dentist's chair when the news of the Republican vice-presidential pick was announced. I rushed home and watched the McCain/Palin speeches. What a moment!

After years of being ridiculed by my daughters for my over styled and laminated coiffure ("Mom, who uses Dippity-Do anymore?"), I witnessed a vice-presidential candidate addressing a partisan crowd with a hairdo reminiscent of a 1960's musical girl group. Huzzah! By the way, that comment is NOT a criticism... it's meant as a kudo to Sarah Palin... you go, girl!

She's a mother of five, a hunter, a fisherman (fisherperson?), co-owner with her hubby of a commercial fishing small-business enterprise, life-long NRA member... and she has time to craft an Audrey Hepburn bouffant? Fabulous!

(Well, she WAS a runner-up in a Miss Alaska pageant, so maybe it stands to reason...)

Maybe it was the aftereffects of the morning's Novocain shot, but watching the commentary on the cable news networks concerning the Alaska governor's selections was a surreal exercise. You could see the discomfort and bewilderment in the demeanor of the newshens' (love that retro term) reactions on CNN and MSNBC. Andrea Mitchell appeared in serious need of smelling salts, and Gloria Borger stammered and blinked a lot for the first 30 minutes after the news broke. California's Senator Barbara Boxer was beside herself. As Ralph Kramden used to say "hummina...hummina...hummina."

I think they may have been prepared for a woman as the veep selection. The chatter about Carly Fiorina, Meg Whitman or even Senator Kay Bailey Hutchinson as potential running mates made sense to them; these tested 'older' Republican stalwarts would have been acceptable. But this Alaskan Aphrodite was mentioned only in passing, and mostly as a long-shot 'oddity.'

Governor Palin will certainly bring attention (and hopefully votes) from electoral-rich western states. But think about those Democratic voters in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri, West Virginia, Georgia and Florida who chose the beer-and-shot version of Hillary Rodham Clinton to the 'university professor lounge' demeanor of Senator Obama.

Why wouldn't those culturally conservative voters give a second look at McCain's choice -- her husband is a card-carrying union member, she's pro-life (with a personal story to tell about giving birth to her 5th child after she'd been informed that he had Down's Syndrome), favors limited government and taxation, and wants government at all levels to be accountable to the electorate.

Her choice, of course, somewhat diminished the Republican assault on Obama's lack of 'experience.' And she will be an underdog in the vice-presidential debate with Senator Blowhard... I mean Biden (believe me, as a Philly resident I'm too familiar with the Delaware's senator's tendency toward bloviating on the local airwaves over the decades). But the next 2 months will definitely be interesting.

At the very least, Palin's selection thankfully took the steam out of the over-the-top media gushing about the Obama acceptance speech. The liberal blogs have already started their defamation campaign (my fave: "Dan Quayle with a pony tail"). But I'm totally energized! And if Sarah needs a quick hair touch-up on any visits to the Pennsylvania/New Jersey areas, my can of helmet hair lacquer is at her disposal.

08/29/08


All opinions stated are those of Cristin's Mom, and not Cristin, an Obama lovin' Liberal! Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.

My book-length collection of blog essays
where I crackwise about the 2004 Election, "What Fresh Hell is This?"
can be purchased at The Wordsmith Press site.








"... and then her eyes drifted over my shoulder..."

[NOTE: I'm writing this while waiting for Super Tuesday results... more on that tomorrow]

I've had a few inquiries (including one from my daughter, the website slumlord) about my not-so-hidden animosity for Hillary Rodham Clinton. I should be the archetypical supporter of the Crone from Chappaqua: a middle-aged, educated, professional woman. Instead, I regard the possibility of her possible ascension to the nomination with dread.

Actually, truth be told, I actually revel in the longevity of my loathing. Some folks grew irritated at her during her "I decided not to stay home and bake cookies" era during the 1992 campaign... others grumbled at her ham-fisted handling of the health care reform effort early in the new administration…and many other erstwhile supporters finally threw up their hands as the cavalcade of crud cascaded during the remainder of Bill's term: travelgate, Whitewater, 'missing' billing records, Vince Foster, Paula Jones, and culminating in her clenched jaw assertion that 'a vast right-wing conspiracy' was behind her hubby's pending impeachment. But my aversion was a more primal one; it was formulated several decades before I'd ever heard of La Hill or her husband.

Until I was 21 or so, I led a rather sheltered life: working class childhood in a boisterous Irish/Italian neighborhood, Catholic school and commuter college education. I married young (21), graduated from college and had three children in quick succession. I'd never aspired to an immediate career, so I stayed home and raised the moppets. Life was good.

My husband was moving up professionally and we'd moved to an upper-middle class enclave. But, for the first time in my life, I was socializing outside the clannish confines of my upbringing. I was smart and funny and informed and I thought I was a charming addition to any party. But this was the mid-1970's and the initial convulsions of the feminist movement were being felt in art, literature, politics and -- holiday cocktail soirees. Although some of the women I came into contact with socially had come from similarly humble beginnings, they had generally gone to more prestigious universities and were earnestly elbowing their way up corporate, governmental or academic ladders.

So, here's the flashback scene: me, sauntering casually with a hors oeuvres in hand, over to a small group of women (note: they're sporting dangle earrings and hand-woven Chilean scarves tossed insouciantly around their necks). They seem to be discussing a recent Philadelphia political scandal. I join the group, wait for a conversational opening, and make a well-received wisecrack. More banter... more nods and yucks... then... the kiss of death. One waiflike creature turns to me and says, "You have some amusing insights. Do you work for a politician?"

As soon as I utter the nefarious words, the chill descends... "Actually, I'm a stay-at-home mom." Like Claude Rains in the Invisible Man movie, I ceased to exist.
In this day and age, when many well-credentialed women choose to leave the professional fast track for several years while their children are young, this scenario seems unbelievable. But such was the passion of newly-hatched feminists. The choice I'd made (young mother at home with her kids) was such a repressive, regressive decision that I was treated like some untutored aborigine carted in from a newly-discovered rainforest. I was an oddity to be blinked at momentarily and then shuffled past in pursuit of a female attorney.

At one of these parties, I spotted a red-haired Irish gal who'd gone to my high school. Though not close buddies, we'd had some classes together. We hugged each other caught up on the past few years. She'd gotten into medical school and was interested in endocrinology. Even though the dangle earrings and Birkenstocks were in evidence, I felt comfortable enough in our shared past and recent chatter to (gulp) divulge the truth. As soon as the words left my mouth, she smiled wanly and then her eyes drifted over my shoulder as she surveyed the room for a more promising conversational partner. After this, I joined the men for conversation... or looked for someone else in the room with breast milk leak marks on her blouse... but an open mind.

So there you have it. I've laid bare my wounded psychological basis for my Hillary hatred. I also think she's wrong on policy, ideology, tactics and her vision for America. But my visceral feeling about her coalesced as soon as I read about her refusal to take her husband's name when he became governor, or how she bristled at the more traditional 'first lady' activities. I had an immediate flashback to the circle of exclusion that I tried to breech 30 years ago. And the same words apply to them and her: haughty, self-righteous, arrogant, judgmental, CLENCHED. Behind her carefully-contrived image of Lady Bountiful, beneath the persona of matronly benevolence, under the veneer of a disciplined policy wonk, there beats the cold, smug heart of an individual who'd ask what you did for a living and then...

02/05/08


Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


"Eye of Newt... Eye of Toad..."

Since my last scribble, the primary races have proved to be exciting, dismaying, bewildering... all of the above. From Bill's ridiculous rhetorical rants to Romney's feverish attempts to court the right wing of his party to the ill-tempered pledges ("I will abolish the IRS!") by that goofy rube Huckabee it's been a hell of a ride.

On the Republican side, it appears that Super Tuesday might finish off Mittens the Mormon, leaving Republicans with an overaged warmonger, but the Democrats might be in for the long haul. If the polls and pundits are correct, Clinton and Obama are neck and neck (one lean and mocha... one wrinkled with bulging veins) and the race for the nominations could string out for weeks or months. Pretty exciting for a political nut like myself, but it must be driving "America's Evita" crazy! The crown was supposed to be inevitably hers... Biden, Richardson, Dodd, et al were expected to provide some flimsy competition during the early debates and then fall like puppets before her steely determination.

Bill & Hill didn't reckon on the Obama phenomenon and the Prez's cranky crotchetiness before the South Carolina primary tells you how peeved they are by the unexpected turn of events. The title at the beginning of this essay says it all. I envision a coven of Hillary's earnest feminist buddies bending over a steaming cauldron in a Hilton hotel suite somewhere tossing in goat innards and ewe's tongues. It does my heart good to see this fraud get her comeuppance, even though I'd never vote for her wildly liberal challenger in a million years.

My predictions: Obama will win Calif, NJ, Delaware, Conn, Idaho and some of the southern states. Clinton takes NY. They both walk away with almost even totals of delegates. And the beat goes on...

02/04/08


Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


Quick... Somebody grab a wooden stake!


The squeaking sound you heard around 10:00 pm on the night of the New Hampshire primary was the sound of a casket lid opening and a prematurely-shrouded Hillary Clinton rising up with glittering, triumphant eyes. Oy vey... how did this happen?

Did she inspire every middle-aged woman who every put up with a snarky remark from a male colleague at a business meeting to scurry to the polling place? Did these women view Hillary's teary moment on the morning before the primary with a less cynical eye than many of us? Did they determine that the debate's Obama/Edwards tag team was a bit 'over the top' in their verbal assault on the session's lone female participant?

Did the famously independent voters of New Hampshire have a contrarian moment of truth when they stepped into the voting booth and -- annoyed at the pollsters and pundits who told them that Obama would win their state in a walk -- decide to pull the lever with an "I'll show them" vehemence?

Did the predictions of an Obama landslide steer some independent voters toward the Republican side of the contest and a lever pull for Mc Cain?

Or... is a more politically incorrect concept at work? Might the fine citizens of a progressive northeastern state have told the pollsters that they would vote for an African-American, but in the privacy of the voting booth have taken a different route? Unlike Iowa where participants stood in the open to declare their candidate allegiance among neighbors, New Hampshirites ducked into booths and decided in secrecy. Polling depends on truthful responses to questions. And truth is what the pollsters got on the Republican side -- but not with the Dems. Hmmmm...

Well, all rationales aside, Hillary did win and the race now goes to Nevada, South Carolina and Super Tuesday on February 5th. For a political junkie like me it's exciting, I'll just drape myself with garlic to ward off the vampiric vixen and wait.


01/09/08


Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


Well, I'm back!


It took one cataclysmic event (Hurricane Katrina) to sour me on writing about the political arena; now, another one has prodded me back into the blogosphere.

The acrimonious finger-pointing between the two political parties after Katrina's events and the disgraceful recovery efforts (or lack of same) wearied me. The entrenched and bitter sniping between Democrats and Republicans on that topic and most other public concerns was dispiriting. My motto became "A pox on both their houses."

Pick your match-up... Nancy Pelosi vs. Dick Cheney... Michael Moore vs. Rush Limbaugh... Ted Kennedy vs. Tom Delay... it was like watching over-the-hill wrestlers. They went through their tired moves, hoping that the audience would believe that their efforts were genuine; they traded 'wins' and pretended that they didn't share the same sleazy promoters (special interest groups, corporate backers, lobbyists). No wonder the percentage of voter participation in the U.S. continued to plummet.

Dozens of important public policy decisions -- on Social Security, healthcare, immigration, education reform, the fight against Islamic jihad -- languished while the two parties verbally hacked each other up instead of collaborating. Scoring political points for re-election or for replenishing their campaign war chests took precedence over finding common solutions to pressing issues. Most of the participants in these skirmishes are baby boomers (like I am) and possessed the endless egotism and preening aura of self-importance that is typical of that generation. It seemed to me that we were in a sour loop of ineffectiveness and partisan paralysis.

And then... Barack Obama won the Iowa caucus.

I'm writing this the morning of the New Hampshire primary. It appears that the Hillary is imploding: snarling during the Saturday debate... tearing up at a Monday morning women's roundtable discussion... taking a page out of the Karl Rove playbook Monday afternoon by raising the specter of an Al Qaeda attack soon after the inauguration of the new president. She's an inauthentic and power-crazed old-style politician who deserves to lose.

In contrast, Obama (whose policy positions I mostly disagree with) provides a genuine vision of openness, civility and inclusiveness. His speeches are filled with references to "us" and "we" -- language that encourages audience members to become part of his quest. Hillary on the other hand punctuates her addresses with endless "I" sentences; pronouncements of how she'll accomplish a score of policy initiatives, like Evita taking care of the 'little people.'

I can't wait for today's results -- my guess is Obama by 9 points.

More tomorrow including a grandbaby update!

01/08/08


Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


"Whatever Happened to Playpens?"

The title of this blog seems a bit cranky considering the happy news that came our way recently. My son, Professor Kevin and his wife, Katie Eyer, Esquire, are expecting a bundle of joy. The due date is April 4th (bad tax planning, guys), and Bruce and I are thrilled with the news.

But in chatting with some work colleagues who have already achieved grandma status, I've learned that a lot has changed since my maternal reign:

* Maternity care: My first pregnancy was mostly monitored by an older Irish-American doctor whose answers to any of my questions was a verbal pat on the head ("Now, don't you worry little mama"). There were no such things as midwives or doulas. Nobody climbed into 'birthing tubs.' The pre-natal exam consisted of my Marlboro-smoking doctor slapping a tape measure on my abdomen to gauge the baby's growth and then listening with a stethoscope to monitor the baby's heartbeat. Today's moms-to-be are hooked up to sophisticated fetal monitoring technology that looks like it could do double duty with NASA!

And of course, predicting the baby's gender back in the day was relegated to the older aunts in the family who would survey the pregnant woman's belly and pronounce solemnly "She'd carrying in the front... a boy." Now, sonograms have replaced Aunt Rose and practical parents-to-be can start decorating the nursery in pink or blue after 16-20 weeks of pregnancy. I personally prefer the old way when the delivery produced a one-two punch: the baby's gender and name.

* Lifestyle: I had my kids in the 1970's before 'pregnancy police' were unleashed on unsuspecting fecund females. Hair dye, cigarettes, alcohol -- no problem! We have famous Super 8 footage of me and my sister-in-law, both seven months pregnant, lip-syncing to "My Girl" in a smoky basement bar while hoisting mugs of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Our pregnancies went on to produce a physics professor (me) and a lawyer (her), so the suds must not have been too debilitating. We likewise permed and colored our hair with abandon; we were despondent enough waddling through the last three months of pregnancy without experiencing it with undyed hair roots.

* Dad involvement: While my husband was in the delivery room for each of my births, his involvement was limited to a white-faced "You're doing great" commentary as labor progressed. He was leery of newborns and was excused from diaper duty because of a 'gag reflex' (oy vey!). But once a kid was old enough to sit up, he warmed up to his paternal duties and delightedly plopped the youngster in a baby backpack and took them on park excursions. Today's dads are intimately involved throughout the pregnancy and delivery -- empathetically abstaining from alcohol, coaching breathing techniques, cutting the umbilical cord. And they happily jaunt around town with a week-old infant slung across their chest. And believe me, no new dad today gets a waiver from 'Pamper patrol'!

* Strollers: When I had my first child in 1975, the au courant method of tyke transportation was the 'umbrella stroller.' This collapsible vehicle -- take it on busses! Plop it into your car trunk! -- replaced the clunky prams and heavy strollers that my mother had used. It was a hideous orange color and had no support for the little passenger (they slumped into the stroller's net material like a bag of jello). But we circumnavigated suburban malls with it, and when siblings arrived, they got reassigned to holding on to the aluminum sides while mom shopped for Pamper bargains. Fast forward 30 years... the original model is still available at $19.95, but the trendy parents have moved on to swanky stroller models that can cost in excess of $500.00. The over-the-top descriptions of these 'baby BMW's' rival that of top-line automobiles.

* Playpens: One of the first, treasured hand-me-down baby items that I acquired was a wooden playpen. It measured 40" X 40" and was a godsend. When I needed to take a shower, finish a recipe undisturbed, or run down to the basement to perform laundry chores, I'd dump the littlest member into the pen with some toys and secure 10 minutes of peace. But today, playpens (or the more accepted terms 'play dens' or 'play yards') are eschewed. Check out what the ubertrendy website www.urbanbaby.com says about them:

"...child development experts frown on the use of playpens. Better to encourage inquisitiveness by baby proofing the apartment, gating the room you spend the most time in, and letting baby roam free... ."

WHAT!

I contend that kids need some confined play time. I never saw the 'baby Buchenwald' aspect that modern parents do. My trick was to save some toys only for the playpen…the kids would look forward to seeing and playing with them again, making their confinement enjoyable. And without the playpen, I'd have turned into an unwashed, slovenly harridan who depended on fast food restaurants for the family's sustenance.

* Child deportment: I was mightily amused recently when a news story related the experience of a Chicago cafe restaurateur who had the umbrage to post a note on his door asking that "children of all ages have to behave and use their indoor voices" in his establishment.

All hell broke loose. Parents (especially moms) accused him of despotic dictums and bristled at the request to keep little Parker or Madison from hurling themselves into the patisserie showcase, or flailing on the floor if they didn't get the scone they wanted.

I swore when my kids were little that I'd never become an old curmudgeon who glared at screechy toddlers in nearby restaurant booths... but... I have. The epidemic of unnecessarily loud moppets in public places corresponds directly with the number of folks who arrive at parenthood later in life and view their progeny as 'miracles of nature' (which they are... but...).

My husband and I always recognized that kids were going to be bored in grown-up situations and we prepared accordingly. Every visit to an eatery was accompanied by a 'bag of tricks' -- new coloring books, a new Matchbox car. When the charms of those items wore off we while still waiting for the salad course, a quiet game of "I Spy" ("I spy a lady with a red dress") or a more prosaic task ("count the sugar packets," "turn the placemat over and draw a picture of Big Bird") would fill in the lull.

I truly feel sorry for some of the little ones that we see in public who are placed in inappropriately grown up situations. They're bored, restless and prone to venting their frustrations at the top of their lungs. The parents should know better!

Well, enough cantankerousness... I can't wait to be a grandma... come on, Mr. Stork!

11/13/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


"He's Cute... But He Wears a Slide Rule on His Belt!"

July 28th marks the end of an era.

The Aptowicz family patriarch -- Bruce -- is retiring from a long and distinguished career with the Philadelphia Water Department. I attended his retirement luncheon recently and heard a parade of co-workers and colleagues extol his professional and personal qualities.

Bruce joined the department in August of 1968, traveling from New York to Philly in a blue VW fastback with a peace sign emblazoned in duct tape on the trunk (renegade).

In that same month, I was a high school graduate attending an orientation program at Drexel Institute of Technology (soon to be Drexel University).

While the rest of the country was struggling with the convulsions that Vietnam and the 'youth revolution' was unleashing on the country, Drexel was a serene oasis of nerd contentment. I've written before that, while other universities were banning Dow Chemical from recruiting on their campuses, Drexel expanded the booth space on 'career day' to accommodate the chemists and engineers who wanted to work for them. But I digress...

After a challenging freshman year -- three terms of calculus, organic chemistry and advanced physics for a gal who only wanted to study the life cycle of ferns -- I prepared myself to visit the coordinator who arranged Drexel's cooperative industry assignments. Drexel had a successful program of placing budding engineers and scientists in six-month work assignments during their collegiate careers. For the prospective microbiologists in the autumn of 1969 these included a stint as a 'vat swabber' at a local brewery or a job as a microbiologist sampling raw and finished water samples for the Philadelphia Water Department.

As the descendent of a long line of O'Keefes, O'Malleys, and Muldoons, the brewery gig had a certain ethnic appeal, but my dad thought a city job was more secure and could lead to permanent employment after college. So, off I trotted on January 5, 1970 to the Torresdale Water Treatment Plant. I had just turned 19, I had a cute freckled Irish face, and gravity hadn't taken its toll on my figure -- in short, I was a babe.

After meeting the chief of the quality control lab where I'd be working, who was a nice middle-aged man, I was escorted to the lab to meet my colleagues. I shook hands with a series of white-coated and gray-faced chemists and microbiologists…and then…I saw an adorable and dashing engineer. It was kismet. I was afraid that my eyes popped out of my head like those cartoon characters who yell 'hubba hubba' at a curvaceous animated female rabbit. He introduced himself as the assistant chief of the lab -- Bruce Aptowicz.

I quickly composed myself and went to my assigned desk, where I reviewed the guidelines that Drexel provided to its co-op students. Sure enough, on the list of "How to perform effectively at your co-op job" was the dictum to 'be friendly to your co-workers.' That's all I needed to see. I was locked and loaded.

At lunchtime on that first day, Bruce -- dressed in a totally hokey yellow sweater vest with a slide rule on his belt -- asked if I wanted to play ping-pong at a recreation space near the plant's sand filters (so romantic!). Although I was totally inept with the ping-pong paddle, the aforementioned svelte figure and yappy Irish patter must have intrigued him. He asked if he could drive me home. Since my trip would otherwise entail catching a trolley and two buses, I accepted.

When I pulled up in the VW (peace sign not visible from my house), my mother insisted that Bruce join us for dinner. My brother had recently left home for Army Green Beret training, but my mom (a terrific cook) still concocted meals for her former brood of six, so here was plenty of grub to go around.

The initial awkwardness with my 'chauffeur' ("he's Polish... he's from New York") melted away when my parents realized that Bruce COULD REPAIR SMALL APPLIANCES AND REWIRE LAMPS!

The unspoken deal was stuck: a ride home for Maureen, a dinner for Bruce and remedies for home repair jobs that had languished for decades. (We used a wrench to turn on the shower -- nuff said). While my parents saw the practical benefits of this budding romance, I was in full swoon mode. My smitten state even survived our first official date on January 24, 1970 when Bruce took me on a snowy hike up a mountain in the Poconos (cheap).

Since he wasn't my direct boss, no one at The Water Department seemed particularly disturbed by 'older engineer / sweet young intern' relationship. I went back for two more co-op sessions at the treatment plant and by the time I'd finished my third stint, in 1972, we were married.

Bruce's career took off and so did our family. In 1978, by the time he was named Chief of Water Treatment for the city, our third child (www.aptowicz.com) was born. The pre-school years with three kids so closely spaced are a blur to me. I do, however, have vivid memories of midnight telephone calls announcing chemical spills in the Delaware River, or three-alarm fires that required Bruce's official presence to redirect water pressure. For an engineer -- someone who thrives on problem solving -- these years were busy but exciting and fulfilling.

The late night and weekend activity also had a direct beneficial effect on our brood. Because he couldn't get paid monetarily for all the extra hours, Bruce accrued many days of 'compensatory' time, permitting five weeks worth of summer excursions that marked our children's formative years. State park cabin stays in New York, Pennsylvania and Virginia... a memorable cross-country trip when the kids were 6, 8 and 10 years old... water-skiing adventures on the Delaware River.

Bruce continued to move up professionally in the Water Department and excelled in the associated professional assignments that he undertook in state and federal partnerships. Alas, the upward professional mobility meant less time solving real engineering problems (an oil spill in the Schuylkill!) and more time sitting in budget meetings (yawn!). After September 11, 2001, Bruce became the point person for the city on security preparedness, and provided strong and focused leadership to local, state and federal colleagues on utility security issues.

As Bruce was moving toward retirement, our family was likewise progressing. I left stay-at-home mom status to work in a non-scientific venue -- the IRS -- and the kids moved through college and graduate schools and secured successful careers and satisfying personal partnerships.

So now it's back to the original duo: the gaga student (still gaga after all these years!) and the sensible and fiscally conservative (cheap) engineer. Instead of shuffling toddlers from cribs to 'big kid' beds, we'll be hoisting kayaks on the car for runs down a local creek. We'll be leaving our rambling family house in Philadelphia for a snug waterfront abode with some extra room for kids (and grandkids... and dachshunds). It will be great... I can't wait.

It's been a great 38 years for Bruce and a great experience for someone (me) who's been along for most of the ride with him. Congratulations on your retirement, sweetie.


7/28/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


WHEW... and... WHEE!


Done!

After months of planning and worrying, the wedding went off flawlessly. Caitlin was radiant; Leo was dashing; the ceremony and reception sites were striking. And the weather -- which had been monsoon-like for weeks -- cooperated with a sunny, blue-sky backdrop.

By 3:00 pm on Friday, most of the wedding party had arrived and we had several run-throughs of the ceremony. The officiant was a gracious and lovely female minister who sweetly but firmly got everyone through the drill efficiently. Then it was on to the rehearsal dinner that we hosted at a classic Maryland crab house at the Annapolis harbor. The place has a great seafood buffet and raw bar on Fridays... Bruce paced the younger dudes with multiple platters of crab legs!

On the wedding morning, I concentrated on beautification efforts while Bruce treated the groom and groomsmen to breakfast at an Annapolis institution -- Chick and Ruth's Delly. In addition to great omelettes and waffles, the spot features a patriotic ritual. Every day at 9:30, all the diners and staff stand up and recite the Pledge of Allegiance! Very appropriate for a wedding occurring on a July 4th weekend.

Finally it was time for the ceremony. It took place in a beautifully designed room in front of a floor-to-ceiling wall of windows. Caitlin looked breathtaking. The readings and vows were personal and moving. After the receiving line was done, the happy couple cut a small cake on top of their nautical flag-bedecked cupcake tower. The couple had asked that the toasts be offered in rhyme, and the celebrants had great fun with that. Even Bruce, after welcoming Leo into our family, managed eight lines of poetry!

Caitlin had always wanted to walk down Main Street from the campus to the Annapolis harbor in her wedding gown, but she was leery of bumping into a four-year old with a blueberry water ice in her designer dress. So she bought another gown (equally striking) for the 'promenade.' (And folks thought I was exaggerating about her princess tendencies!).

Lots of folks joined the wedding party on the stroll, but I stayed in the air conditioned ceremony site to protect my hair (and mood) for the evening reception.

At 6:00 pm, the doors opened at beautiful McDowell Hall. The building, constructed in the late 1700's is a two story space with a wrap-around balcony on the second floor. The swing band was cooking and the waiters were circulating with hors d'ouerves. Because Caitlin wanted to maximize the dance floor, we had food stations set up in side rooms. We even had paella in honor of Leo's Spanish heritage.

The evening went great -- but too quick! Caitlin danced with her dad to Stevie Wonder's "You are the Sunshine of my Life," a song we used to sing to her when she was little. When the happy couple departed the building, they ran through a 'tunnel' of celebrants holding sparklers. Because of work commitments, the newlyweds delayed their honeymoon for a week. They're now enjoying their first married jaunt in a sweet oceanside cottage in Maine.

And that brings me to the "whee" part of this installation…

Because the kids -- true New Yorkers -- don't own a car, we offered the loan of our Impala for them to drive to Maine. Early on the Friday morning after the wedding, we drove up to their mid-town Manhattan condo and frenetically unloaded wedding gifts and then handed over the car keys. It was a fair swap -- our car for their condo.

We enjoyed a long cosmopolitan weekend. We toured lower Manhattan and were especially impressed with the beautifully designed and landscaped Battery Park area. We visited the USS Intrepid, South Street Seaport and had a great dinner in Chinatown. We popped into two different street festivals and hopped on and off the subways like real 'New Yawkers.'

The only thing I couldn't get used to was waving to the doorman at the condo; I'm an egalitarian at heart and it was a little weird. All in all though it was a great three days, the perfect rest & relaxation that we needed after months of wedding planning.

7/12/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


Home Sweet Hostage

As Harry Chapin used to sing:

...All my life's a circle, but I can't tell you why.
The seasons spinning round again, the years keep rolling by...

What prompted this nostalgic reverie was my son's recent decision to buy a home. Dr. Kevin, the devoted professor, and Esquire Katie, his gifted non-profit lawyer wife, are taking the plunge. They've contracted to purchase a terrific house in an upscale, eclectic neighborhood in Philadelphia. The domicile will be mid-way between their respective employment locations and is a super first home. I used my great 'first home barometer' index to determine this: kids playing, dogs romping, and grimacing grandmas on the stoop wagging their index fingers at motorists traveling over the safe speed (10 miles per hour). The whole home-buying process prompted a remembrance of our first home purchase.

Within four months of our marriage in 1972, Bruce and I traveled to Europe for a five-week honeymoon, bought a new Volvo, and made settlement on a great 'first home' (see above). Much of this conspicuous consumption this was attributable to Bruce's clever financial manipulations (read 'extreme cheapskate courtship'). But whatever the reason, buying our first home was an exhilarating experience, especially for Bruce, who had grown up in a typical New York apartment.

In the pre-Internet real estate world, a home purchase depended less on the Internet and Craigslist and more on newspaper listings and "Mitzi the realtor." We made our purchase decision supported not by sophisticated lead paint and radon analyses, but by Jack O'Keefe (father of the bride) tapping randomly on walls and strutting with his hands behind his back nodding approval. Having toured one particularly appealing house, Jack announced that "If you don't buy it, I will!" That was enough to seal the deal.

We moved into our semi-detached paradise. We brought three babies form the hospital at that first home. We hosted holiday parties, built a basement bar and constructed kiddy sandbox.

But when baby number 3 arrived, Bruce decided that we'd outgrown our three bedroom abode. Bruce, who was raised in an apartment in New York, wanted "LAND!"...he yearned to be lord of the manor. But his municipal employment status required that we live within Philadelphia city limits. Homes with expansive lawns tended to in older neighborhoods, and we found a marvelous manse in an older section of the city named Somerton. Three stories, five bedrooms and lots of yard for the kids to romp (and for Bruce to mow and rake!).

The house was built after World War I and had 'great bones.' The rooms were large and airy, and, room by room, we rehabbed feverishly. I personally stripped all the woodwork in 12 rooms (31 double-hung paned windows, 10 two-sided doors, 15 archways/doorways, a glorious fireplace mantel and one intricately-carved stairway banister...but who’s counting?). The stripping meant applying industrial strength paint solvent to five or more layers of enamel. Only years later did I discover that I should have been wearing a protective breathing mask!

But the work was more than worth it. The resulting honey-hued chestnut wood gleams under its satin polyurethane veneer. I loved the wood so much that I forbid puncturing it with any curtain or drapery hardware -- tension rods rule instead.

Funny memory: We installed fairly expensive carpeting in the hallways and staircase, which prompted Bruce to convene a serious meeting with the Aptowicz brood to instruct them on the proper 'foot deportment' on the stairway. Ever the engineer, Bruce had researched the fact that most stairway carpeting gets excessively worn on the edge of the first three stair treads, because folks hit those spots the hardest. So he conducted a serious hour-long workshop with the kids on how to properly align their feet in the MIDDLE of the treads to prevent that. They had to practice and demonstrate that they'd mastered the technique... Yikes! What a childhood those kids had!

[editor's note from Cristin: It was during this tutorial that Dad also instructed us to walk on the extreme left and right sides of the stairs when company wasn't around, so as to perserve the carpet quality of the middle even more. This directive was quickly squashed by Mom when overly eager kids would knock paintings and wooden knickknacks of walls and send "decorative oversized pinecones" tumbling down the stairs in an effort to see who could stay as far away from the middle of the stairs as possible!]

Anyway, we remodeled and reconfigured blissfully for about two decades. The kids had sleepover parties, we entertained at boisterous neighborhood cocktails soirees, and life was great.

Then in 1996, a salty seductress surfaced to lure Bruce and me away from our solid, stable existence. When the last duckling paddled off to college, we decided that we needed a retreat for us as a couple. So, we purchased a waterfront home on the Jersey shore.

Much like the saucy secretary that entices an otherwise sensible, middle-aged businessman, this seaside retreat enticed us. It was everything that our family home was not. Instead of solid, wood-detailed rooms, we had bright, white accents. Instead of a tangle of large-proportioned rooms, we had a snug saltbox existence. And instead of the honking of urban traffic awakening us, we had the honking of migrating Canadian geese in the morning. And so... we proceeded to embark on a decade-long abandonment of our first love.

Instead of tending to routine maintenance on the family abode, we fled at the first opportunity to our new temptress. We begrudged the several weekends a year that were allotted to raking leaves in the fall or mowing the "LAND!" in the summer. My 'nonchalance' towards housekeeping at the Philly house became so pronounced that our AOL sign-on address there was "Dustville."

Now that neglect has come back to haunt us.

With Bruce retiring soon, we decided to sell the Philly house and move permanently to the shore. Much like the wandering hubby that has to deal with a messy divorce, we're coping with the results of abode abandonment. This spring we've been held hostage by the demands of the neglected spouse. Ceiling cracks to be mended, walls to be repainted, shrubs to be pruned and mulched. Three decades of family detritus to be discarded. Luckily, over the years, we've transported many items to the shore house, including quite a bit of furniture and family memorabilia. For instance, we've celebrated Christmas in Jersey for the past several holiday seasons, so my extensive celebratory collection (Bruce: "Why do we need four singing Santas?!") is now permanently ensconced in our seagull surroundings.

But, getting back to Harry Chapin's musings at the beginning of this essay, I find it comforting that as Bruce and I close out one chapter of Aptowicz family history, Kevin and Katie are embarking on another.

Right now their basement and attic are relatively empty. They're not tripping over bags of Care Bears or Legos. They don't have a pencil sharpener screwed into the basement stairwell. They're not faced with repairing a patch of torn wallpaper at the exact level of a bored child in bed (you know who you are, Cristin). Good luck, guys.

The seasons spinning 'round again, the years keep rolling by.

5/23/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


Here's an Idea... ELOPE!!!

I have been silent recently about the pending wedding of our daughter, Caitlin, and her fiance, Leonardo Trasande because I know that the nuptial nuances of anyone other than immediate family usually results in an instant eyes-glaze-over reaction from normal people. But the planning process has been so "exhilarating"... I felt that I had to share the love.

The first wrinkle in the upcoming marital extravaganza occurred when Cait announced -- simultaneously -- that she were engaged AND that she and Leo had selected a ceremony date, ceremony site, reception location and band. WHEW. I thought there was nothing left for the parents of the bride to do but open the checkbook.

Uh... that proved to be an incredibly incorrect surmise. Where to begin?

Well, starting in the order of BEST to "WORST"...

The happy couple: Cait & Leo display all the behaviors that poets and songwriters use to describe folks in love: smitten, besotted, woozy, dizzy, giddy. They fill a room with energy and excitedness; it's exhilarating to be around them. They're full of plans and dreams. So it's worth the effort to make their day special.

The locale: The wedding location on St John's College campus in Annapolis, Maryland is a sentimental and meaningful choice for the couple. The college represents an important personal and professional marker for Cait. The rigor of the St John's 'Great Books' curriculum encouraged her evolution from a bright but unfocused 17-year-old to a mature, intellectual woman who earned a PhD in neuroscience. And when Leo and Cait were in the early stages of their courtship in 2005, a trip to Annapolis and attendance at the St John's Spring cotillion proved to be a romantic high point.

Annapolis itself is loaded with charm and, hey, how great is it that the rehearsal dinner will be in a crab house overlooking the harbor! (The father of the bride has his crab mallet ready.) We're hoping that guests will spend the Sunday after the wedding exploring the quaint city.

The details: Once Cait determined that St John's would be the site for the ceremony and reception, a lot of decisions were easy to make. For instance, Mc Dowell Hall, the beautiful reception space, is a 225-year old, soaring two-story atrium... but Cait wanted a sizable dance floor. So, no seated dinner... instead we'll have a variety of food stations installed in some of the charming side rooms off the dance area. After interviewing a series of caterers, we found a great one to work with.

Cait and Leo were also firm about having a swing band perform, and about not hiring a "standard" photographer. So now Bruce & I have to learn the Lindy, and we have to get used to idea of having a 'photojournalist' snapping candid shots of us throughout the day (how will I know when to tuck in my tummy?)

Cait is also insisting on some unusual touches. After the ceremony but before the reception, the wedding party will saunter down Main Street to the harbor trailed by the photographer. It should be a sight! (Rest assured the mother of the bride will be ensconced in air-conditioned comfort inside near the lemonade, NOT promenading into the sultry July weather!)

So far, I've listed the good stuff about the wedding planning. BUT... A destination wedding, and on a holiday weekend no less, is proving challenging. We have to rent chairs, tablecloths, glassware. We had to scout bakeries and florists in a strange town. Then there's directional signs... balloons... a guitarist for the ceremony...

All the actions that would be relatively simple at home become a long-distance procurement predicament. My living room is filling with the "stuff" that's got to be transported to Maryland.

So, I thought I'd end with a slightly altered version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" that gives you an idea of what's in the 'Cait & Leo Convoy' to Annapolis...

"... To celebrate the wedding the parents need to bring...
A dozen pots of herb plants
Eleven stalks of sea grass
Ten pounds of river stones
Nine dozen napkins
Eight dozen punch cups
Seven drapery panels
Six crates of water
Five dozen totes
Four table runners
Three punch bowls
Two packs of petals
AND A HAPPY, HAPPY BRIDE AND GROOM!..."


5/4/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.


Turtles and Dolphins and Lava...Oh, My!!

After nine terrific days in Maui it was time head to our next adventure spot. We had a quick 30-minute hop from Maui to the Kona airport on the island of Hawaii.

The Big Island, Hawaii, is well-named. It’s the youngest of all of the Hawaiian Islands, just over 1 million years old. It encompasses 4,038 square miles (and still growing -- lava from Kilauea was erupting into the seas while we were there). All the other Hawaiian Islands could fit into the Big Islands more than two times over.

We cruised the island in style. Our rental car was a snazzy black Chevy Cobalt with a sun roof! Since we landed early in Sunday evening, we had time to hit the supermarket and get some vittles.

On both Maui and Hawaii, we stayed at condo resorts which combined the perks of a hotel -- daily maid service, pool -- with the convenience and space of a small residence. In Maui, we had a one bedroom, two-bath rental with a full kitchen, washer & dryer, two televisions and an ocean view terrace. The digs on the Big Island were identical (only one bathroom though... drat), and our patio fronted a private beach, so our al fresco dining had a southing surf soundtrack.

We had breakfast each morning at the condo and generally dined at restaurants for one of the other meals on the day. The condos had lovely grill areas that served as food preparation and meet-the-other-guests locations. Fun!

The week's activities started with a tour of the northern section of the island—the Kohala district. We visited Lapakahi State Historical Park, a state historical area that preserved an ancient Hawaiian coastal settlement. Original walls and restored dwellings provided a glimpse of a simple pre-Western contact world. Equally evocative was a nearby National Park site -- Puukohola Heiau (Temple on the Hill of the Whale). The temple was constructed in 1790-91 by Kamehameha I. to incur the favor of the Hawaiian war god Kuka'ilimoku. It was a mammoth construction effort involving a 20-mile lone human chain transporting rock from a special quarry to the building site.

Note: Treatment of the history of the Hawaiian people has some overtones of the "reinventing history" overtones of mainland Native American saga. The politically correct approach touts the Hawaiians of old as gentle, ecological nature lovers whose tropical paradise was despoiled by the introduction of Western civilization the form of sailors, preachers and plantation owners. Conveniently downplayed is the blood-thirsty carnage that took place for centuries between competing clan chiefs (one chief built a house out of the skulls of his vanquished enemies). There was also a rigid class system that brutally maintained small elite at the top of the social pyramid by means of "kapu" (forbidden activities). Touch one of the elites unbidden? Or... even allow your shadow to cross their presence? Uh, that would result in death by clubbing.

I mention this because, having done some pre-trip research about the Big Island, I'd learned that -- using the excuse of the dedication of Puukohola Heiau -- Kamehameha lured and killed his cousin Keoua, who was the last obstacle to his absolute rule of most of the Hawaiian Islands. Keoua became the first human sacrifice at the new temple. But here's how the National Park Service brochure describes the event:

"...when Keoua landed in his vessel, a scuffle ensued. Perhaps unintentionally, Keoua was killed..."

When I quizzed the Park Ranger about the sanitized version, he agreed and said that descendants of the slain Keoua, who still live on the Big Island, also take umbrage at the 'spin' that's put on the episode. But, he said the skew of the Service is to highlight Kamehameha as the unifier of the Islands and to minimize the methods he used to achieve that goal. The PC police are alive and well in Hawaii too!

We continued our route around half of the Island and intersected the HUGE Parker Ranch -- 175,000 acres on the Big Island -- one of the largest ranches in the United States. The ranch's founder was a British sailor, John Parker, who jumped ship and stayed in Hawaii. He eventually won the favor of Kamehameha by corralling and domesticating the wild cattle herds that were populating island in the early 1800's. We happened to be traversing the ranch on a day that a calf-roping competition. There were lots fast horses and twirling lassos. The competitors ranged from nervous adolescent girls to grizzled panilos (Hawaiian cowboys) and the action was non-stop.

We got up early the next morning and motored around the rugged southern end of the island to Volcanoes National Park, home of Kilauea, an active spewer that is spilling lava into the ocean even today.

We accompanied a terrific ranger on a hike through a rain forest to learn about the native Hawaiian flora and fauna. Although is was a drizzly day, we did snap some phenomenal pictures of the massive Halema'uma'u Crater with an added bonus—the presence of the state bird of Hawaii, the nene.

On our third full day in Hawaii, we journeyed to one of the wettest cities in the world—Hilo. This town, the second largest Hawaiian city after Honolulu, is a gay-friendly, bohemian place. We visited a funky farmers market and toured the location of a devastating 1946 tsunami that killed 150 people. We also checked out Makawao, an old cowboy town that's found a second life as an artist enclave. In a funny little storefront shop, we found a great print for the wall of a shore house great room.

The highlight of the week occurred the next day when we rented sea kayaks and paddled across a cove to the famous Captain Cook monument. The spot where the famous explorer was slain by Hawaiian chieftains is commemorated by a large white obelisk on the coastline. But the area is also famous as a marine reserve teeming with exotic fish. The area has limited access (two commercial vessels a day bring snorkels for one-hour sessions) so the snorkeling is an uncrowded delight. We beached the kayaks, donned our masks and flippers and spent hours gliding with yellow tang, parrotfish, needlefish and wrasses...heaven! On our way back across the cove, a group of spinner dolphins decided to put on a display. They lept out of the water, rotated their bodies clockwise and then slammed back under the foam. It was dazzling.

After two such eventful weeks, we were sorry to end our tropical sojourn. We scored a better flight back to the mainland and the tailwinds got us from Maui to Atlanta in less than 9 hours. The sunburn is starting to fade... but the aloha memories linger. Mahalo, Hawaii!

3/13/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.




Zippity Do... AAAARGGHHHH!!!

My previous entry was scribed on Monday January 13th. We'd enjoyed three great days of morning snorkeling action and afternoon beach or pool escapades. For Tuesday, we'd scheduled an early morning snorkel raft trip to a great reef, but when we arrived at 6:30 am -- after driving 45 minutes to the Lahaina departure point -- the captain decided that rough waters would mean an uncomfortable ride and murky visibility. Instead (grift!) they upgraded us to a Wednesday all-day trip to Lanai, a nearby private island, that included close-up dolphin and whale sightings, snorkel stops and a catered lunch on a seclude Lanai beach. And then, to assuage us for our early morning Tuesday trek, the company put us on a two-hour whale watch trip slightly later that morning (Tuesday) for free! (grift 2)

We saw several pods of mama & baby & prospective 'boyfriends' cavorting in the ridiculously blue Maui waters. After a picturesque lunch on a terrace overlooking Lahaina harbor, we ventured out on the 'Highway of Hell.' This road (shown as a dotted line on the maps... not good) hugs the cliffs on the west side of the island. The views are breath-taking but so is the road. If the gravel and packed dirt surface weren't nerve-wracking enough, the route narrows to one lane in many locations, requiring one vehicle to back up to a shoulder to allow the oncoming car to pass. I did a gasp-and-chest-clutch action every two minutes of the three-hour adventure, exasperating my consort. But it was worth it in order to view remarkable seascapes including a magnificent cliffside blowhole, but I was delighted to return to four-lane asphalt!

The Wednesday voyage was exhilarating. Bruce perched on the front of the raft on the rubber bumpers, and got a bird's eye view of the dolphins and whales. I parked myself in the roofed, canvas seat section in the back of the raft with some retirees from Indiana -- perfect. We saw dozens of dolphins and more pods of amorous whales... Hugh Hefner's mansion has nothing on this stretch of the Pacific!

On Thursday, we set the alarm for 4:00 am to make the dark and winding trek up Maui's Mt Haleakeala for the sunrise. It took about an hour and a half to wend our way up to the summit at 10,1023 feet. IT WAS FREEZING COLD and windy. There were scores of folks (dressed more for Antarctica than Hawaii) present to watch a spectacular show -- the gradual brightening of the dark sky, casting pink and gold hues on fluffy white cloud carpet until the penultimate moment when the sun breaks through the horizon. It was worth the early morning call for sure.

As we returned down the mountain, I began to pump myself up for the next activity of the day -- ziplining through a native eucalyptus forest. Ziplining is a relatively new adventure, launched in the rainforests of Costa Rica. Participants are strapped into mountaineering gear and attached to a cable stretched across a ravine; then, you run to the edge of the cliff and 'zip' across the expanse on the cable (screaming and flailing are optional) to a landing platform on the other side. The zipline courses are usually a series of increasingly longer rides. The one in Maui has five 'zips,' starting at 50 yards long and ending with a doozy that is 750 yards in length. All the zips traverse a 70-foot ravine (I didn't look down).

As my family will attest, I am a big coward when it comes to thrills and risk-taking. (The only roller coaster that I've ridden as an adult is the Scooby Doo roller coaster in King's Dominion amusement park.) But for some reason, ziplining intrigued me and was determined to give it a try. There will be a forthcoming picture of Bruce and me suited up and ready to go. I thought my gaze exhibits excitement at this new challenge, but my daughter Cristin saw pure unadulterated FEAR... you'll have decide for yourself when you see it.

Anyway, our group of twelve hardy souls included five menopausal women from Boston. Their presence was a real psychological boost for me. The guides who accompanied us were two young wisecracking guys; their manner and exhortations ("Go... go... go... airborne!") left no room for wimpiness. And I did great! Another challenge conquered!

2/21/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.




Let it snow... let it snow... let it snow...

Schadenfreuden is a uniquely German word meaning roughly "pleasure in the misfortune of another." Well, Bruce and I experienced a raging case of schadenfreuden on Saturday when we woke up in glorious Maui weather to watch reports on CNN of a massive blizzard descending upon the northeastern United States. We were sorry to see the folks back home slogging through two feet of snow (snicker). But we had challenges, too... which sunscreen should we use SPF 8 or SPF 16?

We escaped Philadelphia one day before the storm stuck. That part was fine. But the exhausting two-layover flight from Philly to Maui took 19 hours! We DID use frequent flyer miles, but Delta was truly perverse in scheduling the flights. Bruce did manage to snag bulkhead seats on the Atlanta to Maui stretch, which gave us more legroom. We sat in the first row behind the first class section and got to view up close the distinct differences between 'them' and us. As we squished into our torture chamber seats, they lounged in their leather cocoons; as we tugged at our pretzel package, they were served quiche and sliced fruit ON REAL CHINA. The coup de grace occurred shortly after we took flight when the flight attendant ostentatiously draped a four-inch fabric strip across the entrance to the first class section. Obviously they didn't want our riff-raff rumps perched on their top-tier toilets.

Adding an ironic note to the proceedings was the choice of the in-flight movie, "The Legend of Zorro." As we watched the masked avenger wreck havoc on the landed gentry in old California, a shoes-off 'Zorro Aptowicz' stretched his stockinged feet under the fabric barrier wiggling his proletariat toes contentedly in the first class section.

Though we haven't visited in five years, Maui is as wonderful as we remembered. We've snorkeled every morning at different reef locations that are accessible from the beach. Today's (Monday's) excursion took us to Black Rock, a spectacular coral reef teaming with fish, green turtles and manta rays.

(A short history lesson: Hawaii has always decreed that all of its state's glorious beach coastlines are open to the people. No private ownership. No prohibition on public access. They even provide public parking spaces. When developers submit plans for extravagant luxury resorts, they know that the plan must include a walkway to the beach for regular folks and some space for public parking.)

Which brings us back to Black Rock. It's smack in front of the Sheraton Maui Resort in the swanky Kaanapali area of Maui. We arrived early enough to secure a parking spot, then strolled down to the beach and plopped our chunky, common carcasses in the midst of the Botoxed beautiful people who were paying $600 a night for their rooms. Sweet!

We've also visited Lahaina, an old whaling town that transformed itself into a tourist trap with stores peddling T-shirts, jewelry, Hawaiian tchotckes and 'art.' Restaurants in town include a Bubba Gump Shrimp, Hard Rock Cafe, and one called Moose McGillicuddy. You get the idea... guilty, trashy fun. Tomorrow we're taking a rubber raft snorkel trip to Molokini, a coral reef island near Maui that's supposed to boast a fiesta of tropical fish. I'll report back after the adventure, if I survive.

Wow... I just caught a CNN report that discussed how the major East Coast cities are digging out after the storm. Everyone who's shoveling snow looks so rosy-cheeked and energetic. Well, Bruce and I are heading out to the condo pool for the Mai Tai Monday festivities... in an hour, Bruce will be rosy-cheeked too. Aloha!


2/14/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.




"Can You Hear Me Now?


Although I've sworn off doing any heavy-duty political commentary, I feel compelled to remark on the recent news flurry about the National Security Agency's covert eavesdropping activities. I have a strong libertarian streak, so the idea of the government listening in to citizens pricks my interest. On the other hand, in the modern world of electronic communications, the possibility that the bad guys are plotting against us in cyberspace makes for a compelling argument that maybe we might have to bend a little when it comes to privacy issues.

Anyway, the most interesting aspect of the story was the speculation that the NSA employed a 'pattern recognition' program to pluck incriminating words or phrases from the huge amount of data that they accumulate through their interceptions of communications to Afghanistan. By sifting through large volumes of data, they're able to pinpoint those individuals who are deemed worthy of closer scrutiny.

It got me to thinking about how the patterns that crop up in my family members' telephone communications. If the NSA beamed their equipment in my direction, they'd soon discover the verbal variances among my progeny:

Caitlin:
"wedding... Leo... Leo... Leo... flowers... invitations... Leo... Leo... Leo... shoes... Central Park... Leo... Leo... Leo... thrift store find... Leo... Leo... Leo..."

Cristin:
"sick... tummy... grants... tummy... sick... subway phobia... Mutter... cat-sit... Pez dispensers... grants... DOXIES..."

And finally, Kevin, the monosyllabic Gary Cooper of the clan:

Kevin:
"Uh... yes... uh... no... uh... I guess... um... uh... okay... no... um... uh..."
________________________________________________________

And, if the NSA was listening to me this week, they'd find out that I spent a whirlwind day in Manhattan accompanying my bride-to-be on some nuptial errands. The most significant of these was the first fitting of her wedding gown. Cait selected a very sophisticated design... it is actually the runway model used in the designer's fashion show last year!! It fit her like a dream except for the length (5'2" models don't exist), and she needed her modest train to be bustled for the reception (swing jazz band!). It was a sentimental moment shared by her little sis, the maid of honor, Cristin.

While waiting for Cait to finalize some of the dress details, I parked myself in the window cafe of Dean & Deluca, a chi-chi food store in lower Manhattan. What a hoot. For forty five minutes I watched a slice of Americana that -- trust me! -- is not visible in our stolid Philadelphia neighborhood. Models, bike couriers, men jauntily wearing berets, guys holding hands, corgis in pink sweatshirts! It was a crash course in hipsters!

When Cait rejoined me, we trotted over to a swanky stationary store, "Kate's Paperie," to select envelopes for her invitations, then off to a sleek restaurant for dinner. The decor was spare...and so was the amount of food on the plate. No wonder New Yorkers stay so whippet thin!

I slumped onto the NJ Transit train and headed home to Philly, happy that the soujourn had been a productive one. I love New York!

2/02/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.




Happy Ukrainian Christmas!

(Yes, due to their adherence to a different calendar, my husband's Ukrainian family celebrated Christmas on January 6th. Half-price gifts, wrappings, decorations --slick!)

However, our "regular calendar" 2005 Aptowicz Christmas was wonderful!

The weekend before Christmas, we camped out at Leo and Caitlin's mid-town Manhattan condo while they were away. Our weekend of cosmopolitan touring included museum visits, a stroll down Fifth Avenue to view the decorated department store windows, jostling with holiday crowds on Canal Street, dinner in Chinatown and a swell trek through the Central Park zoo. We squeezed the trip in just before the illegal transit strike.


I'm can't help myself at the Central Park Zoo

Then, two days before Christmas, our future son-in-law, Leo, joined us on our annual trip to the Christmas tree farm. He was very excited. As he so charmingly put it, "It's the first time I’ve killed a tree!" We found a great farm with lots of beautiful white pine trees; Caitlin and Leo scrambled around and selected a behemoth. Bruce was delighted to have Leo crawl under the branches to man the saw. The result was a fabulously proportioned, 10- foot beauty that fit perfectly into our great room at the shore. While we attended a Christmas Eve soiree, Cait, Leo, Cristin and Shappy decorated the tannenbaum. It looked great! (picture of you & Shap in cartoon pjs)

Cristin and Shappy hamming it up
Christmas morning and evening in front of the tree!

By Christmas Day, the crowd of family had swelled to 15, including Kevin and his wife Katie (who missed out on the tree decorating fun!). We had a great time opening presents. Cris and Shap gave Bruce and I matching tracksuits, appropriately annotated.




Because I'm leery of high-tech bikes (i.e. those with hand brakes), the other kids chipped in and bought me a fabulous coaster brake bike -- it rocks.


The holiday ended too soon!

Now that 2006 has dawned and it's time to check on my 2005 predictions:

Political
1. The Iraq elections will successfully take place as scheduled in late January 2005. (Yep, that happened! Remember the purple inked index fingers?)

2. The terrorist fiend, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, will be captured by March 1st, and the "insurgency" (read: sociopathic slaughter of fellow Iraqis) will collapse as Iraqis finger these creeps in their midst and they’re arrested. (Alas, this hasn't happened and the terrorists continue their rampage)

3. President Bush's approval ratings (now hovering at 50%) will be at 55% in December 2005. (Yikes, was this one way off! Most of the December polls have Bush in the mid-40s)

4. Trump's third iteration of "The Apprentice" (starting January 2005) will be a ratings bonanza. The premise ("Ivy League Smarts vs. Street Smarts") is irresistible. (The show never got the numbers that I thought it would)

5. NBC's Brian Williams will lead the anchor ratings in 12/2005 (Got that one right!).

6. The Philadelphia Eagles will win the 2005 Superbowl. (Never mind...)

7. My marriage will survive (barely) the house sale process (to be determined...)

8. My daughter, Caitlin will find her soul mate (She's engaged to be married in July 2006)

9. My daughter-in-law, Katie will pass the PA bar exam (Hooray... that happened... she's now Katie Eyer, Esquire!)

10. Our crown prince (Kevin) will land university position in the Philadelphia area and be close to being a homeowner (One of two on this one. Kevin is an Assistant Professor in the Physics Department at West Chester University; he's decided to wait on the house purchase until the real estate market settles down a bit)

Next week, I'll announce my 2006 predictions....

I have one last, exciting bit of 2005 news to report. My book, What Fresh Hell is This?, is in the running for the Blooker Award, a competition for books based on blogs! I can't influence the judges directly, but I hope that they conclude that an acerbic tome scribed by an insightful, menopausal pundit (who's not Anna Quindlen, thanks be to God) fills a unique niche that should be acknowledged and rewarded.



Stay tuned.....


1/07/06

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.

Bah Humbug... Not!


I LOVE CHRISTMAS!

There, I've said it. And I'm proud about it.

Not for me the hand-wringing mopiness that some folks demonstrate this time of the year. They bray about "over commercialization"; I buy a mechanical, sombrero-wearing cactus that sings "Feliz Navidad." They bemoan holiday overspending; I agonize over how many sequined Santa hats I should purchase in the dollar store. They prattle on about the appropriateness of Nativity displays in public buildings; I search intrepidly for perfect stocking stuffers ("How can Kmart be out of Twinkie-flavored lip balm?... It's outrageous!)

My Christmas connection goes back to my childhood. As the only grandchildren on both sides of the O'Keefe-Muldoon families, we were the main attraction at the holidays. After attending Christmas Eve midnight Mass, all the aunts, uncles and grandparents would troop to my parent’s home. We'd be awakened, told that "Santa just left," and herded to the living room for an orgy of gift opening. After the visitors left, my parents had to contend with four fully awake and energized moppets at 2:00 am. They also hosted Christmas dinner for the extended clan. No wonder they both smoked a pack of Pall Malls a day!

Anyway, when I had my own family, I deleted the middle-of-the-night toy extravaganza, but initiated my own masochistic ritual -- we told our kids that Santa's elves decorated our tree. I must have been out of my mind to launch this fable. It meant that, after getting three hopped-up kids to bed on Christmas Eve, my husband and I dragged out the lights, tinsel and ornaments. Then came the arranging the presents. Each child's gifts had uniquely colored wrapping paper, and my husband loved to pile them high around the tree -- a wall of loot.

One firm rule in the Aptowicz household was that no one could sneak downstairs without mom and dad (I had camera duty and didn't want to miss a shot). To enforce this, I wrapped the top of the stairs with a crepe paper barrier strung between two banister spindles. It seemed impenetrable, but I hadn't reckoned with the childhood exuberance. In 1983, while arguing with each other about the possibility of sliding under the bottom of the contraption, Caitlin (always an instigator) pushed Kevin and broke the paper. Much wailing ensued, accusations were hurled, and for a while Kevin, the unfairly accused "Christmas Killer" stubbornly refused to budge from the top step. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

As the kids grew, we still continued the Christmas Eve tree-trimming with the kids handling the task. (A good thing, too, since an annual Christmas Eve neighborhood party usually left papa Aptowicz slightly tipsy). And speaking of the tree, we always cut our own. The pilgrimage took place a week before Christmas and entailed a practice that could probably get us arrested for child endangerment today. As we stalked the farm for the perfect white pine, we would leave a child parked next to "possibles" (staking our claim) and continued on. Sometimes we'd be gone for 30 minutes... 'eaving our mittened brood scattered across a huge field. Yikes. Well, they were simpler times.

Another annual event was the Aptowicz Christmas photo. From the time Caitlin was born, we've included the photo in our holiday cards. And God forbid that I go to a studio for the shot! It had to be more personal... more unique. Since we didn’t put the tree up until Christmas Eve, I resorted to carting my kids to a nearby lawn & garden store that had extensive Christmas displays. My kids were always fabulously attired in coordinated velvet outfits (at least until they reached school age when their fashion ego intervened) and I arranged them adorably around the store displays. It took a full role of 24 exposures to get one decent shot where no one was squinting, picking their nose or pushing a sibling. During all this, the poor sales people were trying to retrieve glass ornaments or tinsel while I glared at them for intruding on my shot (sorry, Feeneys!). During their teen years, the picture-taking became a struggle. If they had braces, they wouldn't smile; for about three years straight, Kevin glowered like a serial killer. The coordinated outfits gave way to wacky 1980's couture and seriously big hair on the girls. Our most recent pictures had been wonderful though and have been extended to six—our kids and their 'significant others' ---and no one's picking their nose!

While my girls may have abandoned Christmas fashion, I am a stalwart defender of the genre. I have a vintage (well, 1992) reindeer sweater that I wore for Christmas breakfasts for years. When it became bit forlorn, I replaced it with a charming "winter solstice" sweatshirt that I wear proudly from December 1st through Valentines Day. Vive le tannenbaum!

As I write this on December 22, 2005, we still don't have a tree. Tomorrow, our New York City contingent (Caitlin, Leo, Cristin and Shappy) will arrive and we'll head to a local tree farm. I hope that Leo and Shappy are prepared to be a tree-claimer. It's part of an Aptowicz Christmas.




Merry Christmas, everyone!


12/22/05

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.



Canine Cavalcade



My canine-crazed daughter and her dog-loving beau,
Have long urged me to visit the Philly Dog Show.
At first I was leery, how much fun could be had?
Sure I loved pooches, but a Scotty in plaid?

My ideal furry pal is the all-American mutt,
Who'd want to watch some snooty poodles strut?
But the kid wore me down and I finally agreed.
(Though, alas, no mongrel could be crowned 'best of breed.')

The show site was huge and so was the crowd,
I promptly bumped into an Irish Wolfhound.
The owner was kind... the dog didn't bark.
Hey, maybe, this will be kind of a lark.

All around the arena the trainers were busy,
Blow drying, primping, they were all in a tizzy.
The preening... the posing... the mounds of hair goo!
But in the end it was worth it; and the dogs looked good, too.

The canine selection was amazingly broad
The types of breeds left me shocked and awed.
Spaniels were there -- Water, Springer and Cocker
But no Spinone Italiano, a bit of a shocker.

The retrievers were everywhere; it was hard to keep tabs
Curly-haired, Duck Tolling, Golden and Labs.
And when it comes to dog showmen, well, none could be better
Than the prancing, majestic red Irish Setter.

When it came to the 'hounds,' it was almost illegal.
So many breeds from Whippet to Beagle.
Bloodhounds and Greyhounds, Wolfhounds and Fox
Salukis and Borzoi, and an Elkhound that rocks.

But my favorite hound had a slinky demeanor.
The Dachshund -- and dog that looks like a wiener!
Whether long-haired or smooth, dappled or plain,
The doxie is king -- long may he reign!

Then, on to more pooches; 'toy' breeds were being tested.
Chihuahuas and Yorkies, Pugs and Chinese Cresteds,
Maltese and Shih Tzus, Toy Poodles, Pekingese,
Picking the best sure wasn't a breeze!

The terrier group was great fun to watch.
Kerry Blue, Airedale, Australian and Scotch,
West Highland or Cairn... they each had a niche
But my favorite terrier was the little Norwich.

We wandered over to the 'working' group; this was a "big dog" domain.
Out lumbered the Mastiffs, St Bernards, a Great Dane;
Doberman Pinschers and Boxers (they must pee a fountain!)
And don't forget the crowd favorite, the Bernese Mountain.

Time for a break, we needed caffeine.
Alas, the food being peddled was hardly cuisine.
But we cruised the sidelines, to take in the sights.
The doggies were perfect: no barking, no bites.

Vendors were there, peddling all kinds of bric brac
Doxie bookends, Black Lab key racks.
There was freebie stuff too -- that's when I truly let go.
Jostling frail-looking matrons for a pen from Petco.

Then, back to judging for my favorite group
The 'herding' canines -- an intrepid troop.
These sure-footed workers tend to their flocks
And scare away enemies, gray wolf or red fox.

There's a Belgian Malinois, and four types of Collie
And here comes my favorite: the Sheltie, by golly.
German Shepherds, English Sheepdogs, they pass in a blur
But we applaud for the Puli with his weird dreadlocked fur.

The day's winding down, the last group is showing.
They're the 'non-sporting' gang, whose ranks keep growing.
Chow Chow, Bulldog, and a Bichon (who's hot)
To some Poodles, a Keeshond and Dalmatians with spots.

The show winds down, we head for the door.
But, enroute I make time for slight detour
To pet a cute Sheltie, Winston by name,
Who's captured my heart... a tough thing to claim.

But he looked like our old dog, a Sheltie named Zeke.
(But Winston had less of a hefty physique)
Zeke's gone off to dog heaven; we still miss him so.
But the day at the dog show had left me aglow.

So thanks for my daughter for escorting me there
And thanks to the doggies, whether small, fierce or fair.
I had a great time, but I want you to know
That I won't be caught dead in any CAT show.


12/10/05

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.



Hot Dog!!!

Three more days until the Philadelphia Dog Show!

The excitement is mounting (pun intended) as my first visit to a canine competition nears. My affection for pooches extends way back to my childhood. I grew up in rowhouse Philadelphia in the 1950's. That meant dozens of mutts romping in the common driveway that connected the 100 or so homes that made up our immediate neighborhood. It was a rough-and-tumble Irish /Italian working class neighborhood, not cut out for feline fanciers.

In fact, I can only remember one cat owner in our block -- Miss Mattson, the neighborhood old maid. She lived alone the house that she'd inherited from her parents. That was unusual enough in the marriage-crazed, baby boom 50's, but she'd also always wear gloves and a hat with a veil to visit 'Barney the Grocer' on the corner... very Gloria Swansonish. I trace my aversion to cats (in addition to their sneaky and aloof behavior in general) back to the gothic Miss Mattson and her haughty, obese, window-perched tabby. But, I digress...

The dogs of the 50's were beloved members of their clans... but decidedly a familial adjunct. Dogs slept in the yard or in the basement -- doghouses would have construed as pretentious. And God forbid you named your dog Zeke or Wallingford! In those days -- and totally without irony -- dogs were really named Spot, Fido, Tippy and Rover. Maybe some avant garde folks would risk a name like Bandit or Bobo, but they were wild and suspicious exceptions. There was a similar casualness to feeding your pooch -- they ate table scraps! I remember being bewildered the first time that I saw a dog food commercial (Pa from Bonanza hawking Alpo). Special food for man's best friend? Outrageous! Back then we couldn't have envisioned special foods "For Every Stage of Your Dog's Life..." Lord!

Our family had two dogs during my childhood. Both were brought home by my dad (he'd been forbidden to have a dog as a kid) over my mother's objections. The first, a shepherd mix, was tied to a post outside a local American Legion hall where my father spent quite a bit of the weekend discussing the great matters of the day (read: hoisting a brew). We named the pooch 'Chiefie' in honor of the Legion Hall's commander (a former Navy chief) who brought the dog inside, fed him roast pork sandwich and asked if anyone wanted to adopt him. Jack O'Keefe, humanitarian extraordinaire, responded. After my mother's fury had died down, my brothers had a great time with our new addition. Because he was a kind of a ratty street dog, I was less enamored; his main attraction to me was his thorough, post-prandial slurping of our dinner plates, dramatically lightening my dishwashing chores. Chiefie stayed with us for about 5 years, until an untimely collision with a Mack truck on our busy street sent him to the big Legion hall in the sky.

But I LOVED our next bowwow... and how! Again, my father was the instigator. Every Friday, on his way home from his job in South Philly, he stopped at the Italian Market for some fresh produce. On this particular Friday -- Valentine's Day -- the paisan peddling the peppers had some additional merchandise to unload... puppies!

Again, ever gallant Jacko responded. When he arrived at our front door -- and before my Mom could intervene -- he presented an adorable, squirming mongrel puppy to my sister and me as his Valentine present to us. Marie O'Keefe, feisty in all other areas of life, knew she's been outmaneuvered and had to acquiesce.

In honor of the pup's provenance and because of her purple-black coat, we called her Molly -- a variation on the Italian word for eggplant. I LOVED MOLLY and so did my Dad. He taught her tons of tricks. She howled on cue, played dead for minutes on end and would permit you to squeeze her ribcage to generate wheezing, accordion-like noises (hey, PETA... I hope the statute of limitations has run out on that one).

One of his favorites was to yell "Airborne!" (my brother was a Green Beret) and have her make a running leap through the open window of our family car. One night, when picking me up from my deli-clerk job at the A&P, he gestured to his car and uttered the familiar command. The dog unfortunately misjudged which vehicle was ours, and sailed through the driver-side window some stranger's 1970 Monte Carlo. Some hapless hubby dozing while waiting for his wife to shop got a furry wake-up call. Molly outlived my dad and provided great comfort and companionship to my mom in her early years of widowhood. Thanks, Dad.

Next in the O'Keefe-Aptowicz canine cavalcade was our first purebred. A college chum had an adorable, petite Shetland Sheepdog -- a Sheltie -- named Nitsky (Yiddish for 'little thing'). When he was accepted to a British graduate school program, he had to give up the pooch and asked if my husband and I wanted him. We were newlyweds, had no kids and the dog was accustomed to being alone at home during the day, so we accepted. Within five months of ownership, perhaps due to his breed's inclinations (or perhaps to the diet of Spaghettios that I fed him), the dog went blind!!

By now, I was expecting my first baby and, although we'd grown attached to Nitsky (renamed Nixon by us), there was no way we could accommodate a 'special needs' pooch in the growing household. We were forced to put him to sleep. Four months later, my friend abandoned grad school (he hated the English weather and food) and called us and wanted the dog back. Talk about an awkward conversation... the friendship never recovered.

Three kids and seventeen years later, Zeke became the second (and significantly less petite) Sheltie in our lives. Though titularly my daughter Cristin's dog, once she left for college, he was a one-woman dog. He would trot after me around the house, plopping indecently spread-eagled on any available surface. I was crazy about my "angel dog" and greatly grieved when he joined the O'Keefe celestial menagerie at age 13.

So now you know why I'm so crazed about the upcoming dog show. One of my favorite movies EVER is the Christopher Guest masterpiece, Best in Show. I can't wait to see if any of those broadly drawn characters have a basis in reality (please...please...please). And it'll be a hoot to parade through the aisles of specialty mutt merchandise and flash back to simpler times of basement doggie digs and airborne antics.


Zeke, the O'Keefe-Aptowicz Family Dog (7/26/91 - 9/5/03)

Shown here in his winter and summer haircuts respectively



Come back next week for Part Two, and my review of the 2005 Philadelphia Dog Show



11/16/05

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.



Annapolis, Siberia, and Robert DeNiro

What an autumn this has turned out to be!

An engagement... a trip to Russia... entertainment accolades....

My decision to partially disengage with the rancorous world of current events has provided more time and energy for me to concentrate on family affairs. So I was truly excited when the oldest of the brood, Caitlin, announced her engagement to her beau, Leonardo Trasande (Leo to us). The groom-to-be is a pediatrician who deeply engaged in a university program dedicated to gauging the impact of environmental factors on children's health.

After medical school, Leo served for a period of time in Hillary Clinton's office, working on children's health issues (in my new 'political serenity' mode, I'm overlooking that stint). He's a terrific guy. We're thrilled to welcome Leo into our family!

The wedding is planned for July at Caitlin's alma mater, St John's College in Annapolis Maryland. The campus and its colonial-era buildings are beautiful, and will be a perfect setting for the nuptials.

Not to be outdone by their big sister, my other two kids have both launched exciting fall projects. Kevin, now Dr. Aptowicz and a professor of Physics at West Chester University near Philadelphia, just jetted to Russia to participate in an NATO-sponsored workshop on "Fluorescence and Other Optical Properties of Biological Particles for Biological Warfare Agent Sensors"... yikes! The week-long conference draws scientist from all over the world. Congrats to Kev and he'd better bring back a decent bottle of vodka for the Aptowicz patriarch. And we might use that vodka to toast Kevin's talented wife, Katie Eyer, who just passed the Pennsylvania bar!

And my baby, Cristin, continues to amaze us with her creative successes. In early October, she'll be joining other accomplished film professionals at the Sloan Film Summit, sponsored by Robert DeNiro's Tribeca Film Institute. The four-day session is designed to bring together screenwriters and directors from leading film schools and organizations across the U.S. who have been supported by grants from the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation, which aims to influence the next generation of filmmakers to create more realistic and entertaining stories about science and technology. Cristin's award-winning script Mütter typifies the type of material that the Foundation supports. Kudos to my 'last of the litter'... and get DeNiro's autograph, please!

So, for the time being, I'm blissfully managing to avoid such nonsense as the fracas over the Bush nomination of Harrier Miers for the Supreme Court. She's apparently an underwhelming choice, and may prove to be another Harold Carswell, who was rejected for the Court in 1970 because of his tepid legal record. His nomination inspired one of my favorite political quotes:

"Even if he is mediocre, there are a lot of mediocre judges and people and lawyers.
They are entitled to a little representation, aren't they?"
--Senator Roman Hruska
(in defense of Harold Carswell on the charges that he was 'mediocre')

But, I digress. In my new mode, I can now cook elaborate meals for my spouse. Previously, I rejected any recipe that looked like it would require culinary efforts that could intrude on the "News hour with Jim Lehrer."

Now -- Beef Wellington for my Bruce! And instead of scanning news sites for information on impending budget votes, I can squander my time with in-depth reportage of how Nicholas Cage bestowed the name Kal-el (Superman's Krpton name!) on his newborn son. Yeah, no psychiatrist bills in that kid's future!

Speaking of newborns, I loved the recent New York Times article about Ivy League females. The tile of the story -- Many Women at Elite Colleges Set Career Path to Motherhood -- caught my eye, and the content bemused me. According to article "many women at the nation's most elite colleges say they have already decided that they will put aside their careers in favor of raising children. Though some of these students are not planning to have children and some hope to have a family and work full time, many others say they will happily play a traditional female role, with motherhood their main commitment." Dear God....$45 grand a year and your kid decides she want to wipe poop!

Of course, predictably, the older female academic types are in a tizzy -- they burned their bras for this??? The article quotes one female educator who seems to see the trend as causing a quandary: "It really does raise this question for all of us and for the country: when we work so hard to open academics and other opportunities for women, what kind of return do we expect to get for that?" said Marlyn McGrath Lewis, director of undergraduate admissions at Harvard, who served as dean for coeducation in the late 1970's and early 1980's.

And what about the poor schlemiels who marry these broads? Raised their whole life to acknowledge women as social and academic equals, they suddenly find themselves slaving away in corporate America, so that wifey can maintain her schedule at Gymboree and suburban playgroups -- hah!

All I can say is that I presaged this trend by three decades. A pioneer at the time, I had to plow my way unbowed through social gatherings full of working women, stoicially enduring the inevitable inquiry : "And, what do you, Maureen?"

But, the image of my three munchkins slurping cereal and watching Bugs Bunny in the morning sustained me. It wasn't the popular choice back then, but it worked for me. So, my advice for the Ivy League ladies...go for it. Someday, you may be having an autumn like I am!


10/04/05

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her LIBERAL daughter Cristin's opinions.



Serenity Now



Like Kramer and George Costanza in the classic Seinfeld episode, I am now approaching life (and especially politics) with a Zen-like composure -- serenity now. In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, my disgust with both ends of the political spectrum erupted much like the levees in Louisiana.

I was furious that the trauma from the natural catastrophe was compounded by the shameful displays of finger-pointing and blame avoidance by both Democratic and Republican 'leaders.' In my previous Zeitgeist, after surveying the despicable demeanor of these perennial vote whores, I declared "a pox on all their houses!" I'm done carrying water for the increasingly out-of-touch Crawford Cowboy, but finding solace (or innovative ideas) in the party of Teddy and Hilary is out of the question too. They're all pigs dipping their snouts in the same taxpayer-funded trough...feh!

My declaration of political passivity couldn't have come at a better time. Watching the confirmation hearings of Judge Roberts would have previously sent me screaming from the room. But now, from the soporific opening by our own weasely Senator, Arlen Spector, through Ted Kennedy's muddled and bombastic posturing, to the rantings of Joe Biden, the hair-plugged Senator from Delaware, I was able to view the whole mess with a serene equanimity (and no, I wasn't swigging cheap Chianti during the proceedings). Despite the fact that these hearing are no more than stylized settings for each of these Congressional clowns to get some televised face time... I actually used to care about them.... what a dope I was!

The true test of my new mellowness came last Sunday morning when I watched my favorite morning interview shows. I admit to emitting a groan when Tim Russert announced that the serial philanderer, Bill Clinton, was a Meet the Press guest, but I regrouped quickly and managed to watch my favorite amoral former president (beating even Nixon in my judgment!) with a cool and detached mien. Even my husband was impressed; uttering an amazed reaction ("Wow... you're not frothing!") to my new forbearance.

However, in my new, more open, non-political stance, I did hear one Clinton nugget that resonated with me. In discussing the Clinton Global Initiative his recent "global summit seeking solutions to some of the world's toughest problems," Clinton mentioned that the session's focus was on small group conversations and that the participants had to record a personal commitment to address one of the problems highlighted during the summit.

Hmmm... personal efforts, small groups effecting change, rejection of entrenched and lumbering political/social hierarchies. All great social movements -- the Revolutionary War, abolitionism, women's suffrage, unions, and civil rights -- were launched as small, focused initiatives by intensely engaged individuals. Individual passion joined with a deeply felt cause can create significant ripples.

Suddenly, the relevancy in my life of Harry Reid or Bill Frist, of Jon Stewart or Rush Limbaugh, of CNN or Fox News, was hugely diminished. Instead, I started to mull over what societal challenges intrigue me personally? Where could I inject some energy, or use my skill set?

Because the loss of a young mind to banal, mind-deadening teaching methods has always infuriated me, I settled on exploring the daunting task of engaging elementary- and middle school-age kids in learning. Trying to prod existing structures -- political school boards, protectionist teacher unions -- is futile. But the proliferation of charter schools and the spread of home schooling tells me that I'm not alone in seeing the necessity of going outside the system to effect change.

The New York Times recently ran a feature on some 'new philanthropists' and their emphasis on early education

"...A lot of the old philanthropy was devoted to helping schools do what they were already doing," said Richard Lee Colvin, director of the Hechinger Institute at Teachers College at Columbia University. "The new group is saying, `Let's try something different." It's a lot of young, active entrepreneurial people -- Bill Gates, Eli Broad, the Waltons, Dell, Milken, -- who want to change the schools, who want to use their money to support specific school reforms. The world has changed dramatically, with globalization and free trade, moving from an industrial economy to an information economy, but while that's been happening, K-12 education hasn't changed at all. Meanwhile, China's graduating five times as many engineers as we are, and you look at India and you get alarmed."

So for now, I'm switching off any television discussion of 2008 candidates, avoiding news articles about Sandra Day O'Connor's replacement, changing the car radio preset buttons from talk radio to classic rock. I'm going cold turkey.

Instead of squandering my energy on those pursuits, I'm going to keep my eyes open for any opportunity to contribute to nurturing a vital national resource -- a child's mind. I have quite a few years before retirement, but I think I can still get engaged in some fashion now.

My credentials: a degree in microbiology, three successful kids (two PhDs and an award-winning screenwriter) and passion for infusing joy and exhilaration into the learning process (I have a lesson plan for teaching third-graders about the stock market that killed!).

So, whaddya think?

I'd love to hear from you about what educational experiences shaped you negatively... and positively. What ridiculous classroom practices turned you off as a child? What innovative exercise captured your imagination?

As for my 'political junkie' withdrawal pains... send me your good vibes, I'm taking it one day at a time.


09/21/05

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her LIBERAL daughter Cristin's opinions.



Deflated


That 'pffssssss' sound that you're hearing is my formerly fulsome and unwavering enthusiasm for President Bush leaking out of me in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. My steadfast support even during his lackluster campaign during 2004, and in face the increasingly worrisome news for Iraq, finally met its match in the waning days of August when pictures of forlorn hurricane victims, especially women and children, were broadcast to the nation.

Right-wing talk show hosts have been eager to point out how the New Orleans mayor and the Louisiana governor failed miserably in their planning and execution of any evacuation of the city. I agree (more about that later), but by Tuesday when the extent of the flooding and human misery became evident, why didn't Bush pick up the phone and demand action?

I work for a huge federal agency, so I know how constraining bureaucratic processes can be and I'm sure the formal disaster assistance request process by the local and state governments has a purpose. (And I'm pretty sure if Bush had acted unilaterally and rushed in troops and materiel early, some nudniks on the left would have chided him for acting like a 'cowboy') But to watch on Wednesday the Homeland Security Director, Michael Chertoff, in a crisp suit and tie, pronounce that relief plans were "on target" and have the split screen television screen displaying desperate mothers huddled on a highway overpass begging for water for their children was truly surreal. Surely with the plethora of military bases in the South, someone could have scrambled some helicopters and dropped pallets of water and food those camped out.

By the way, there's plenty of blame to go around. Every time I saw the Louisiana Governor, she was near tears and practically incoherent -- no one would mistake her for Rudy Giuliani. In the first week after the storm hit, she came across as dazed and unsteady, hardly the characteristics necessary to manage the aftermath of a catastrophe.

And don't get me started on the New Orleans governor! Roy Nagin was truly the anti-Rudy Giuliani. In September 2001, Giuliani was stoic and resolute; the panicky, emotional Nagin was part of the problem. He personified the "best defense is an offense" posture by railing against the federal government early and often, hoping to steer the press reporting away from his miserable performance in evacuating his city. He displays a weird combination of incompetence, defiance and arrogance.

The lack of communication ability between city, state and federal agencies was appalling. There was plenty of warning about Katrina's potential fury. The fact that no one on the state or city preparedness teams thought procures satellite phones is incredible. Florida is a veteran at storm survival -- last year they faced four major hurricanes with in six weeks. That state has a well-coordinated plan that balances local action with federal support. Here's an article that provides and interesting comparison between Florida preparation and that of Louisiana/New Orleans.

Having said all that, I'm still furious that George Bush didn't heed the Harry Truman adage that 'the buck stops' with the president. Screw legalistic wrangling and the formality of local governments being required to formally request federal assistance! Bush had an opportunity to be forceful and compassionate...and he blew it.

Almost as excruciating as watching suffering mothers and dehydrated children was the spectacle of insensitive politicians picking at the corpse of the calamity. Demanding hearings (Hillary), threatening to punch out the president (Senator Mary Landrieu), and blaming the tragedy on everything from global warming (AL Gore, God help us) project selection for the Army Corps of Engineers (Landrieu, among others, again). And the reflexive defense of the President and FEMA by the Republicans was equally nauseating. A pox on all their houses!

David Brooks recently wrote a column for the New York Times that reflected my malaise. He recounted how, in other American eras, the disgust for 'politics as usual' over the welfare of the country spurred the development of progressive political movements. Maybe that's ahead for us now. Possibly someone other than the 'usual suspects' will sense the mood in the country and seize the momentum. Perhaps that person will run for President in 2008 on a platform of fiscal responsibility, sensible immigration policies, fierce counter-terrorism efforts and a vision of how to steer the nation in the new global, entrepreneurial economy.

Unfortunately, it's too late for me. As a self-confessed political junkie, I think I've hit rock bottom. I'm ready for a twelve-step program. I can't take any more spin, self-serving cant, bitter divisiveness, special interest suckling and the perpetual electioneering that's become American politics today. I'm going cold turkey -- no more Maureen Dowd, no more Fox News Sunday. The Clinton News Network (CNN) will have to shill for the libs without my viewership. I'm removing the Drudgreport form my Internet favorites, and eliminating NPR and Sean Hannity from my car radio pre-sets.

At last, I'm acknowledging that "I am powerless over my addiction to politics" and have turned my recovery over to a higher power -- in this case, my spouse. He's long resented the time I've expended on understanding the intricacies of 'trickle down' economics or demographic shifts in crucial voting districts at the expense of my housekeeping chores. He'll make the perfect guardian for my new political celibacy. Keep reading... I'll keep everyone posted on how I'm doing!

09/13/05

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her LIBERAL daughter Cristin's opinions.



Never Again

Some background:

1. New York Times Magazine (10/10/04) in a profile of John Kerry, Democratic presidential candidate, the author quotes Kerry regarding the US war on terrorism:

"...We have to get back to the place where we were, where terrorists are not the focus of our lives, but they're a nuisance..."

(Additional footnote: Kerry's wife, Teresa, had already commented to another reporter that Americans should emulate the Europeans and "get accustomed" to terrorist incidents.)

2. My Zeitgeist 10/12/04 in response to Kerry's 'nuisance' remark:

"There are plenty of folks who don't see terrorists as the world's 'squeegee men'...annoying, but manageable....these miscreants are intent on reestablishing medieval caliphate. They are patient, single-minded and EVIL..."

Well, sadly, recent incidents in London and ongoing strife in Iraq has proven one of those quotes to be accurate. The horror unleashed in Britain by young Islamic radicals illustrates the depth of the depraved terrorist fervor that the Western world is facing. The perpetrators in London were four British-born, ethnic Pakistanis, who ( much like US serial killers) were described by neighbors and co-workers as "nice," "quiet," and "pleasant." They came from working- or middle-class homes; one loved cricket, another was the FATHER OF AN EIGHT MONTH OLD CHILD. But somehow, they had all gravitated to the twisted philosophy of Islamofascicm that has declared war on all things modern.

The news of 'normal' citizens generating such mayhem is chilling news for the Western world, but it does demonstrate -- to me at least -- the need for:

* Renewal of the Patriot Act here in the US
* Continued maintenance of the detainment facility at Guantanamo Bay

Britain has no Patriot Act; its fairly weak Prevention of Terrorism Act attempted to counter jihadists after September 11, but British common law has a strong emphasis on privacy and on individual rights vis-a-vis the state. A British dedication to freedom of expression and assembly have gotten in the way of cracking down on terrorist networks and on the vicious inflammatory rhetoric of certain British Muslim clerics, who incite hatred and violence. Blair is now asking Parliament to grant the government greater pre-emptive powers. Good.

Here in the States, The Patriot Act allows us to stop these miscreants before they can strike. It also allows counterterrorism experts to use of tools employed in other criminal investigations. And it includes surveillance techniques that can capture Internet and cell phone use. These measures that we take against terrorists, and the laws we put in place to give our law enforcement agencies the right tools, are crucial and should be vigorously endorsed by all Americans, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Athetist, etc... because, to be sure, the vast majority of Muslims deplore the jihad activities.

There was a huge outcry from the Islamic community -- in the Middle East, as well as in the West. Many Muslim newspapers and Muslim community groups released immediate statements expressing their horror and anger. They want to see these activities end as much as we do.

And maybe the horror of the London massacre will silence those who carp night and day that Guantanamo is not a Club Med. The enemy combatants detained there are being interrogated specifically so officials can prevent the homicidal outrage that afflicted Londoners. If placing these evil-doers in isolation, uncomfortable positions, or sauna-like rooms makes them talk, go for it! I'd much rather have them to endure those 'indignities' than for New Yorkers, Washingtonians, or Chicagoans to suffer a rush hour such as London witnessed Thursday.

And, more importantly, the detainees are playing volleyball and getting 'three hots and a flop' courtesy of the US government in Cuba. They're not scuttling to meeting places in Jersey City planning an apocalyptic attack on the reviled Western infidels.

This eradication of radical Islamic fundamentalism is going to be a long war, and Americans are famously impatient and and inattentive. The 1993 World Trade Center assault, the attacks on our African embassies, the bombing of the USS Cole all preceded September 11th, but didn't resonate with the American public. Immediately after that horrific day, a wave of patriotism and unity engulfed the nation... but that's faded. An article in the NY Times recently documented the decrease in the number of flag pins on lapels of public officials in Washington. They've been replaced in many cases by ceramic ribbons signifying one cause or another. Swell.

Let me end with another excerpt from my 10/14/04 Zeitgeist:

"...maybe it's because my 'baby' lives and works in New York, or maybe it's the prospect of grandkids in my life someday , but my attitude toward Islamic terrorists is pretty hardcore and basic -- eradicate them totally..."

I still hold that view, and it's now been further hardened, because my other daughter has taken up residence in Manhattan. The spectre of an attack in that city is even more chilling. So, I hope the London incident -- awful as it was -- will remind Americans that, when it comes to the terroists, it's them or us.

07/14/05

Please feel free to email any comments or questions directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her LIBERAL daughter Cristin's opinions.



hspace="7" vspace="7" width="184" height="240">Hey... Where's My Empty Nest?

There's a poem that compares children to kites.

It extols the virtues of gradually winding out the string and letting your offspring fly free and independently. In our household, snapping the string when the brood went to college was effortless.

By the time our youngest was heading to NYU, Bruce & I had expended two decades tripping over sneakers and stuffed animals in the living room, schlepping our athletically-untalented progeny to soccer and softball games, cleverly hiding foodstuffs from the after-school eating machine that was Kevin, and generally tending to the endless wants and needs that three kids generate.

Around this time we also purchased a second home at the Jersey shore that has been a post-kid paradise for us. Imagine... when I clean the kitchen and go to bed for the night, I can be assured that I won't awake to empty bread loaf wrappers and opened jars of mayonnaise on the counter.

For the past ten years, my children had wandered across country to pursue their academic lives. Caitlin spent six years on Chicago to secure her doctorate; Kevin traveled to Colorado and Connecticut to get his. Cristin stayed close at hand in New York City, but her urban instincts recoiled from the land of sea, sun and seagulls, so visits were infrequent. But Cait is now joining Cristin in NYC, and Kevin & Katie are migrating back to Pennsylvania... so...they're baaack!

Yes, the flock is returning to the nest... and how! In addition to my three darlings, there are now 'significant others' flapping their way into the flock. This requires accommodating dietary considerations ("Shappy likes birch beer..." "I only eat low-glycemic foods..." "I'm hoping that these are cage-free eggs..."), and making room for nautical additions.

We already have a fleet of eight vessels (20' fishing boat, 14' aluminum boat, one canoe, one 17' sea kayak, and four 'shorty' kayaks). But one returning nesting pair, Kevin & Katie, has already added a 14' bright yellow sailboat (loving called "Chicken of the Sea") and some wind surfing apparatus to our shore storage space. Since they're relocating to the Philadelphia area to accommodate Kevin's career as a professor at West Chester University, we're surmising that weekend visitations to their maritime acquisitions will become part of our shore existence.

Don't get me wrong, we love having company at the shore. We have groups of folks practically every weekend -- Philly neighbors, theater group cronies, college buddies. But the returning fledglings are filling in the free weekends that we used to treasure. In the past month alone, we've hosted Cait & her beau Leo (May 18-19), then Cait & Leo, Kevin & Katie (Memorial Day weekend), and finally Cristin & her guy Shap with Kevin & Katie (Father's Day weekend)....yikes!

Of course, as adults, they're more attuned than their teenage selves were in guest etiquette. They bring wine & beer, prepare a meal during their stay, and agree to join in the dreaded 'Daddy card games' in the evening.

And there's great parental joy in seeing the six of them interact and bond -- creating a new next generation family circle that will soon experience the 'unwinding of the kite string' that being a parent entails.

So, come on back, kids. Just put away the mayonnaise and keep the DVD player at a reasonable sound level after 11:00 pm.


(from left to right) Caitlin's beau Leo, daughter Caitlin, King and Queen of the manor, daughter-in-law Katie and son Kevin


And here are the paler members of the extended family -- Shappy and Cristin -- and me doing my best Munch impression

06/29/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.



Your participle is dangling, Miss O'Keefe!

Several education stories caught my eye this weekend. The first was the highly publicized release of the Yale grade point averages (GPA) of Messrs. Bush and Kerry, our November electoral warriors. It turns out that neither of them set the academic world on fire (Kerry's pathetic 76 GPA versus the President's woeful 77). Yikes!

More inspiring was the second news story. On June 12th, New York Times chronicled the remarkable increase in reading and math test scores that was achieved by New York City fifth-graders, especially in poor neighborhoods. And what was the 'secret' of the 20% increase in reading scores and the 15% jump in math? Hard work!

A coalition of parents, teachers and school administrators who mapped a strategy that included extended school days, Saturday tutoring sessions and relentless focus on basic skills. There were inevitable complaints that this focus on rote learning and of 'teaching to the test' wasn't true education...bull!

In my grammar school career, which included classes of 50-60 students, such rigorous attention to the basics was the norm. Instruction in all our subjects -- geography, history, spelling, arithmetic, religion -- centered on memorization of facts.

The nuns had a particularly punishing practice called "drill and mental." The sister would stand in the front of the classroom with a stack of 5x7 flashcards.

Depending on the subject, they could be math problems (9x7=?), historical facts (What year did Pizarro land in Peru?), or geography tidbits (How long is the Nile river?).

The students stood up row by row and the nun would quiz us using the cards. You had to respond rapidly, because one perverse, Darwinian feature of the drill was the ability of the kid behind you to bark "Too slow!" if you hesitated. I have to admit that the factoids that were memorized had limited use later in life, but the mental discipline required couldn't have been a bad thing for us. Remember, this was the 1950's...the schools were churning out future assembly line workers and secretaries for the post-war economy in Philadelphia. Critical thinking skills weren’t high on the list of desirable employee traits.

Grammar lessons back then were even more grueling, they centered on DIAGRAMMING SENTENCES! Students were called up individually to the blackboard and stared at their challenge: "John and Fred eagerly pulled the wobbly red wagon that their Uncle Gene had given them"

Dear God!

The resulting diagram would be a doozy -- compound subject array, adjectives and adverbs dangling beneath, and dependent clause skewing madly from the main diagram line. I break into a cold sweat, even today, just thinking about the ordeal.

Although I prided myself on my diagramming expertise, Sister Bernardus did utter the phrase that adorns the top this essay -- a comment that brought expected guffaws from the fifth-grade boys.

But, times change, of course. By the time my brood was in elementary school, such archaic instructional practices were long gone. Experiential learning was the rage. Instead of memorizing the dates of European exploration to the New World, my children had to make Native American corncakes or get dressed up like Incans -- more work for mom. Thanks, teacher!

And my last noteworthy news clipping was a book review for a new tome entitled "Everything Bad is Good for You" by Steven Johnson. The author's premise is that video games, television and movies are more complex than ever, and that the complexity is beneficial to viewers' cognitive skills. Whether mastering the intricacies of the simulation game SimCity or tracking the multiple plotlines in the TV drama 24, we are "honing ... mental skills that are just as important as the ones exercised by reading books," Johnson writes. The learning does not come from content but from form, Johnson says.

Video games, for example, enhance our problem-solving and decision-making skills as we test the limits of a game's logic. Reality television shows like Survivor can be viewed as "elaborately staged group psychology experiments" that stimulate rather than pacify the brain, and subtly teach lessons in group dynamics and emotional intelligence. Wow -- couch potatoes rule! Shappy for president!!


06/16/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.



Bluebloods and a Pirate Queen


The past month has been an eventful one.

Last year, Caitlin (our older daughter) received a Ph.D. from the University of Chicago. This year, was son Kevin's turn.

Over the past few years, while his wife Katie was earning her law degree at Yale and clerking for a federal appellate judge, Kevin was pursuing a Yale Ph.D. in applied physics. He achieved this accomplishment on May 23, 2005.

The Yale commencement was appropriately ceremonial. There was a phalanx of trumpeters heralding the arrival of a convoy of faculty members in fussy and colorful academic attire processing to the commencement stage. And -- as befits an Ivy League university -- a corresponding flock of self-important family members in the audience.

I lost count of the number of navy blue blazer-and-khaki slacks ensembles on the male relatives, and many of the female kin sported a Katharine Hepburn, ash blonde pageboy look, with appropriate lock-jawed elocution. And there were celebrities, too! Last year, at Katie's law school ceremony, we spotted David Gergen (he's tall!). This year, New York governor George Pataki was 'in da house.'

The Aptowicz contingent, which included Katie, her mom Ingrid and her sister Jessie provided a nice proletarian contrast -- Bruce even wore an Aloha shirt. We scored good seats near the Ph.D. grad's seating area, then Bruce took off with our 'good' camera to snap Kevin in the entry processional. This usually involves elbowing old ladies, toddlers and folks with walkers out of the way... although with his Albert Einstein hair and aforementioned shirt, I think the crowd parted on its own.

Anyway, the Ph.D. candidates marched into the quadrangle and took their seats well before the "University processional" started in. I was worried that Bruce had missed Kevin's entrance (he hadn't) and turned to Katie who had a disposable camera. "We should get a shot of Kevin in his seat." Katie agreed to go, but she returned shortly... ushers had turned her back at the seating area.

Well, the mama tigress in me came out at that pronouncement. I grabbed her hand and braved a gauntlet of old money crones and their investment banker consorts to get to the cordoned-off area. Sure enough, a lovely, blonde Yale co-ed (Chloe... Aurelia... Cameron?) was guarding the entrance.

So, here's the cast of characters:

"Samantha Peabody" (ancestors on the Mayflower)

Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz (ancestry: Grace O'Malley, 16th century pirate queen of Ireland, as well as 20th folks who habituated a Philadelphia after-hours bar called the Kensington Bubble Club).

Puh-leeze! If this were a boxing match, whom would you bet on? Exactly.

Her nicely manicured hand was barely raised by the time I swept through with intrepid (embarrassed?) Katie in tow. I found my grad. And, like a true Philadelphian, he turned to us when I yelled "YO, KEV!" He turned, smiled, and we got a great shot. As we returned to our seats, I felt the spirit of my labor organizer grandfather permeate the proceedings... I felt like humming a Woody Guthrie tune.

Actually, the day was wonderful. The Yale general commencement in the quad was grand, the subsequent Ph.D. ceremony in a gilded auditorium was exciting and moving, but by the time the third proceeding -- a Yale Engineering convocation -- occurred, the whole Aptowicz troupe was running on empty. Tired... but very proud of Kevin's achievement. Way to go, Doc D!

~~~

Postscript: My mention above about the peculiar speaking pattern of the upper crust types surrounding us at the commencement reminds me of a pet peeve that I have about. A few weeks ago at work I was stuck doing some tedious administrative task that required me to sit in a conference room alone for several hours. To speed the time, I brought along a transistor radio. My luck! The only static-free channel was the local NPR affiliate. The afternoon interview shows were in full swing. After 20 minutes, I could feel my teeth grinding away ferociously -- and it wasn't the political slant that raised my hackles (although, Lord knows, that was there).

Am I the only person who HATES the hesitant, stammering, 'qualifying' interviewing style of the Public Radio staff? And it's not just one person, although the 'queen of questioning,' Terry Gross is the biggest offender. The show I was listening to, Here and Now, is a collection of short reports, so I got a sampling of contributors. I swear to God every exchange with and interviewee went something like this:

"So, um, does that mean that, that, that, um, you sort of knew, um, from an early age that you, um, wanted to be a musician?"

If I had a dime for every stammer, "um" and the use of "sort of" by these nudniks, I wouldn't be slaving away as a federal government drone.

And the other totally exasperating NPR verbal twitch is the prevalence of the 'uptick,' a term used by elocutionists to describe the habit of ending a question with an upward, almost plaintive, lilt. It's hard to describe in print, but if you ever listened to Gross's Fresh Air program, you've been exposed --she's the "uber-upticker."

To prove my points, I'm proposing "NPR Bingo." Draw up a bingo card with squares for: um, sort of, stutter, and uptick. I guarantee a winner within 5 minutes!


06/05/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.




Do You Swear...?


Well, 'jury duty roulette' finally caught up with me; I had to appear for the 'one day, one trial' experience that the City of Brotherly Love mandates every few years for its citizens.

I arrived on time at a large room that served as the staging area in the Criminal Justice Building. Within an hour, sixty of us were herded to a courtroom as prospective jurors in a murder trial. The judge -- an attractive and energetic female -- cautioned us that the trial might be lengthy (2 to 4 weeks) and 'upsetting' (the victim was a three year old girl beaten to death with a belt and an extension cord). She also mentioned that the prosecution might seek the death penalty.

Then the weaning process began. We each held numbered cards, and the judge asked a series of questions:

Had we been the victim of a violent crime? (a few cards went up)...

Would we have a problem imposing the death penalty? (more cards went up, the usual 'NPR types')...

Would the 'nature of the crime' distract us from rendering a fair verdict? (at this, I thrust up my numbered card so decisively that I thought I might have torn my rotator cuff).

There was no way that I could have been present in a courtroom, viewing hospital x-rays and coroner photos, without hurtling over the jury railing and throttling the defendant -- the beefy 'boyfriend' of the victim's aunt. I guess my assertive reaction must have been noticed by the defense attorneys, since I was excused from serving on this jury.

I had a nice lunch with my spouse near his center city office, and returned to the jury 'cattle call' area, foolishly assuming that I was done for the day... NOT!

After lunch, twenty of us were directed to another courtroom and quizzed again. This time the crime was slightly less heinous -- the defendant was accused of firing a sawed-off shotgun out of his car window, at 7:00 pm on a busy street, after an attempted drug deal went wrong. The shotgun sprayed pellets over children who were jumping rope in the street (nice). No one died, no serious injuries.

I was picked as an alternate juror, and spent the next two days listening to witnesses ("We thought it was firecrackers") and victims ("I starting running...there was blood on my tummy"), before the case went to the jury. Although we weren't supposed to discuss the case before being 'charged' with deliberating it, the mood of my fellow jurors wasn't benign. Almost all of them had young children, or were grandparents, so the testimony of the young victims -- all under eight years old, sitting in the witness box swinging their patent leather shoes -- was particularly impactful. Although, as an alternate, I was excused from deciding the fate of this miscreant, it still was an instructive experience.

Even though Bruce and I technically live in the city (a prerequisite of my spouse's municipal government employment), our almost-suburbia neighborhood is an oasis of leafy yards and deserted streets. Our kids roamed freely through the neighborhood, returning home only when dusk descended and the moms were screeching the names of their offspring in the chilly night air.

So, listening to my fellow jurors describe their scary urban parental experiences was like listening to the sagas of some strange anthropological group -- crack dealers taking over a house down the street, constant monitoring of children and their activities, gunfire in the night. Jesus, if we can't ensure a reasonably safe and secure childhood for our progeny, what kind of a city do we live in?

(Postscript... the day after my jury duty ended, a seven-year old boy was shot in the head after being caught in gunfight. The intended target -- the boy's stepfather -- fled the scene, leaving the child lying bleeding in the street. The boy is still alive, but in critical condition.)

My son and his wife are planning on moving back to the area this summer. He's a newly-minted PhD in applied physics with an appointment to a tenure-track professorship at West Chester State University; she's a Yale Law grad headed for a fellowship at the Pennsylvania Center for Lesbian and Gay Civil Rights. They're excited about city living (...the restaurants, the music, the cultural life...!), so I feel like an old fuddy duddy when I caution about urban realities (...the homeless people, the crime, the traffic...!).

City living used to be an exhilarating alternative lifestyle choice -- swanky nightclubs, funky retail stores, freedom to live a bohemian existence or a boring traditional one. But, after listening to my fellow jurors describe the realities of their lives, that vision has dissipated.

Since we'll be leaving Philadelphia next year when my husband retires, this was probably my last opportunity to perform my civic duty as a Philadelphia juror. I'm glad I did it...and equally glad that I won't be doing it again.

05/04/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.



"Listen, honey..."


A few days ago, I found myself in the checkout line at a Target store behind a woman with two pre-schoolers. The kids were being frisky and the mom was exasperated. Observing the scene, I blurted the phrase that I vowed that I would never utter...

"Listen, honey... I know it doesn't seem so now, but these are the golden years."

Flashback to a supermarket in early 1979...

I'm attempting to unload a week's worth of groceries onto the checkout conveyer belt, hampered by a squalling infant, a squirmy two-year old ("But, I have to pee NOW!"), and a four-year old grifter who's attempting to nonchalantly slide a package of Pop Rocks into the grocery order. Behind me is a neatly-coiffed matron watching the mayhem. She leans in and pronounces the dastardly phrase transcribed above.

"Listen," I remember thinking then, "if these years are so golden, you take one of these brats off my hands and we'll both be happier." Of course, I exited the store with all three kids (and the smuggled Pop Rocks) in tow, but the words of the woman remained with me.

In the often chaotic swirl of parenting, the charm and sheer spontaneity of rearing children is lost on those actually doing it. It takes becoming a grandparent (not my status yet), or a buttinski onlooker to remind the harried caretaker how fleeting those frenetic childhood moments are.

As my kids would be the first to admit, I was not a typical mom (their motto: "If love was a drug, mom would be 'straight edge'") but I had kids young and enjoyed them -- I was 'school store' mom, a 'library mom' and didn't return to work until my youngest was in the second grade.

In addition, my husband's municipal government job allowed for numerous weeks of vacation time which we optimized every summer. In re-organizing some photo albums recently, I had an opportunity to reminisce about those years. Disney World, state park cabins, seashore stays... the 1975-1985 decade was stuffed with terrific adventures. In shuffling through the pictures, I remember specific episodes -- the exhilarating (bunk beds in a cabin!) and the exasperating (a 90-minute wait for Space Mountain!) -- and my twenty year perspective lends a melancholy quality to the photo review.

One amusing note is the recurring utilization of a scrap of fake fur in sequential Halloween outfits. Originally, the fur served as a bedspread for a spiffy piece of furniture that my husband built for Caitlin when she graduated to a 'big girl' bed. He crafted a lion headboard, and I bought the brown fake fur as a coverlet. The bed became extinct, but the fur lived on -- outfitting a caveman, an Indian princess, a Star Wars wookie and even St Katherine Tekawitha for an All Saints Day parade at school.

Halloween seamstress skills aside, I'm sure some of my other maternal actions would raise an eyebrow now (or generate a call to a child welfare agency!). I used to leave my brood in the car while I ran into the store for "a gallon of milk and some bread." Thirty minutes and three shopping bags later, I'd return to a howling melee in the backseat. It never occurred to me that a child predator would be lurking, or that the heat or chill of the vehicle would be debilitating... simpler times.

The photos also document the annual "for-God's-sake-hold-still" Christmas card photo follies. The brood, outfitted in holiday togs, would be plunked in front of the fireplace, with some Christmas decor providing a visual cue. I'd proceed to snap my way through a 24-exposure roll of film, trying desperately to get ONE shot that didn't feature closed eyes, nose picking, stray locks of hair or a scowl. The final selection usually showcased the girls... Kevin was expendable.

But to be honest, like the young mother in Target, those parenting years were a mostly crazy blur of chauffeuring, cooking and homework. But twenty years have provided some distance from the zaniness. So, now I think I'm entitled to play the role of benevolent stranger leaning over to a frazzled mom and reciting the mantra of dotty matrons everywhere: "Listen, honey..."


My Brood circa 1980


04/26/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.




The Wilma Revolution

Well, the 21st century will arrive in the Aptowicz household on Friday April 15, 2005 -- we're getting cable TV installed in our Jersey home!

Actually, the 20th century will have arrived, since we must be the last family in the country without cable television -- the digital Flintstones. When we had the opportunity to hook up our Philadelphia home in the 80's, the Aptowicz Polish patriarch decreed that the additional distractions that cable would provide would harm the academic progress of our school-age brood.

The kids lobbied for it strenuously ("But, Dad, you'd love The History Channel!"), but were ultimately unsuccessful. So instead of MTV, my teenagers made due with a lame UHF music video show for one hour on Friday night. They did do well in school though, and all got into great universities, so I concluded that maybe Bruce was correct in his thinking. In the mid-1990's, when all the kids had flown the coop, I assumed that we could take the plunge. But, NOOOOOO....

This time, my purported weakness for political shenanigans was cited as a rationale. Bruce claimed the "Hardball" would replace housekeeping... that C-Span would reign instead of Spic & Span. He was right in that surmise, so I didn't put up a fight.

When the water cooler gang was gossiping about "The Sopranos" or "Sex and the City," I was reduced to contributing chirpy pronouncements about "Seinfeld" re-runs. When the cable news channels were providing wall-to-wall coverage of the 2004 election, my insights were limited to the two-minute summary that Tom Brokaw crammed in to his newscast. (PBS did provide lengthier discussions, but you had to wade through their stultifying liberal cant). My infrequent business trips provided a glimpse into a world that I could only dream about -- Greta Van Sustern, Keith Olbermann, Dan Abrams, and Brit Hume. I actually broke a remote control device in the St Louis Sheraton while zapping back and forth culling pundit comments after the 2005 vice-presidential debate.

Actually, that's still an unreachable world. The cable connection being launched on April 15 is the rock bottom 'basic' version (actually, my daughter Caitlin says we should be calling it "kable").

Some background: prior to September 2001, we received a very faint broadcast signal from the New York City NBC affiliate. By hovering near the indoor antenna, or fashioning and holding an aluminum foil harness, I could squint and make out Tim Russert on Meet the Press every Sunday. Sadly, since the World Trade Center fell, we can't receive any broadcast programs at our Jersey shore house.

So, with my "kable" connection, I'll get stations 1-28... basically all the UHF and VHF stations from Philly and New York. No History Channel, no Larry King, no "Crossfire"! But it's a foot in the door.

My successful lobbying in the television arena has emboldened me to attempt other household coups -- purging Jim Croce from the CD play list, smuggling towels into the clothes dryer to avoid the loofah-like results of line drying, weeding out the ratty circa-1980 T-shirts that litter Bruce's wardrobe. The possibilities are endless... Let the "Wilma Revolution" begin!


04/12/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.






Vade in Pace, Papa

In viewing all the news reports on the death of the pope (I'm in a Washington hotel this week, and I’m dizzy from trolling through the cable news shows), it occurred to me that my children were toddlers when John Paul II ascended to the papacy. They've never known another pope, so they may assume that all pontiffs have been charismatic and morally imposing individuals.

I know differently.

As a young Catholic school student in the 1950's, Pope Pius XII was in the last years of his reign. His pictures in our religious books depicted a dour, ascetic-looking man -- entirely unapproachable. By fourth grade, he'd been replaced by Pope John XXIII, who bore an uncanny resemblance to my neighborhood's "Gene the Shoemaker" who tapped cleats on the heels of our school shoes. Roly-poly and avuncular, he didn't appear to be the groundbreaking pontiff who would shake up the church by convening the Second Vatican Council. His brief reign, coinciding as it did with the beginning of the tumultuous '60s, unleashed a liberal spirit in the Church. Guitar masses flourished, nuns and priests left their vocations in droves, and the next Pope -- Paul VI -- attempted unsuccessfully to dampen the wildfire that was scorching the bedrock foundations of the Church in America.

My memories of Paul VI coincide with my years in a girl's Catholic high school. I remember earnest but awkward 'ecumenical suppers' with local Protestant youth groups; I think this is when using 'dialogue' as a verb came into vogue, and there was much heartfelt exchange of commonalities of our religion (damn that Henry VII!). A nun named Sister Corita Kent created bright, splashy collages that were used for altar clothes and bookmarks (she left the convent, too, eventually). We had "The Sound of Music," "The Singing Nun," "The Flying Nun" -- a wacky time.

During the same stretch however, Paul VI released his remarkably divisive encyclical "In Humanae Vitae," which specifically addressed and prohibited artificial birth control. For the baby boomer Catholics coming of age just then, this papal decree was viewed as hopelessly out of touch with the modern Catholic sensibility. Women 'priest shopped' for priests who would give them absolution for the sin of using the pill; others just quietly left the church. The parish church pews which had been bursting in the post-war, family-of-six years were starting to empty.

By the mid-1970's, a radically different American church existed. In my 1960's parish school, a lay teacher was an exotic exception to the rule of nuns at the front of the classroom. Within 15 years, the reverse was true -- the older nuns had died off and the pipeline of novices had dried up. The few nuns who were left traded their scary, witch-like regalia for dowdy jumpers. Sunday masses dwindled from one an hour from 6:00 am to 11:30 am to three sparsely attended ceremonies each Sunday. When Paul VI died (and his replacement soon after) in 1978, no one could have predicted who the replacement would be, or what impact he would have.

Since I was a child, a catch phrase response in my family that indicated a sentiment of "Of course!" was: "Is the Pope Italian?" Such was the centuries-long monopoly of Italian cardinals advancing to the papacy. So you can imagine the shock -- and my husband's family, the sheer delight -- when the Archbishop of Krakow was announced as the new pope. Equally amazing was his vigorous mode and entirely masculine manner. A peripatetic evangelist for the poor, a stentorian human rights crusader, a foe of totalitarianism... he was all of these. He also, however, continued the conservative religious philosophy of his predecessors, and sharply reined in any maverick clergy (he actually banned priests from becoming elected officials).

Still, it was with great sadness that I watched his prolonged health crises, and marveled at his self-possession in displaying his former athlete's physique in its ravaged, Parkinson's disease condition. Such grace. The outpouring of humanity in the streets of Rome this week tells me that I wasn't the only person who may have disagreed with his policies but was impressed by his moral authority and spiritual steadfastness.

"Vade in pace, papa"

Go in peace.


04/06/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.









Ouch

What is it with men?
What's wrong with their makeup?
Why does minor pain
Cause a major shake-up?

First Spaulding Gray
(He of the one-man shows)
Driven by headaches
On a ferry did stow
Couldn't take the pain
Not a little, not a sliver
So off he jumped
Into the murky East River

Hunter Thompson was next
Way out in the west
Was ailing, was fretting,
Not feeling his best.
When the booze and drugs
Couldn't take it away
Gonzo pulled the trigger
And called it a day

Men are such babies
They can't take an ache!
A splinter or toe stub?
They wail and they quake.
A trip to the dentist
Produces such anxieties
If they gave birth,
We'd have one-kid families.

A few weeks ago
My consort, Bruce,
Had some surgery done
(Some cartilage was loose)
His recovery time
Was torture extreme
Where was his quilt?
Was this new coffee cream?

He needed his pills
He needed some juice
I raced to comply,
I ignored the abuse.
(I produced three babies
With much less commotion!
'No pain... no gain'
What a wacky notion)

Well, he's back at work now
I'm no longer the 'nurse'
But when he starts in again
I'm calling the hearse.


03/23/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.







Bookends...


Well, we developed the snapshots we took during our 'Winterfest 2005.' In glancing through them, I realized that I had given short shrift to two stops in our Florida cavalcade: the Kennedy Space Center and the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.

These two spots resonated with Bruce & myself. They bracketed our school years, representing the best and the worst moments of our youth and adolescence.

The day we spent at he Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral was as exhilarating as the space program was to us 45 years ago. Nothing made an impression on a Catholic elementary school student in that era as much as a television in the classroom! The only times that I can remember that happening at St Martin of Tours school was during space launches in the early 1960s. (I guess the otherwise forbidding nuns thought it was 'scientific'). We'd memorized the names of the original Mercury 7 astronauts, and hated it that our fearsome Cold War enemy, Russia, kept beating us in space firsts -- first chimp, first dog, first human orbit, first WOMAN.

All that excitement came rushing back when we toured the sprawling Cape Canaveral
Complex which features bus tours to the shuttle construction and launch site, as well as insightful exhibits about the thrilling days of space travel. The crew-cut engineering intensity and the heroic test pilot grit were evident in every display.

It's hard to imagine the ground control folks directing such complicated missions using the antiquated, toggle-switch equipment that we paused to stare at, but they did ("Failure is not an option"). Even more startling was the size of the booster rocket that sent the Apollo crews hurtling to the moon -- HUGE. It was great to relive the stunning achievements of that decade, and reflect on a time when technology wasn't taken for granted.

Other episodes from that time -- uplifting in a different way -- were highlighted in our other 'bookend.' On a visit t Birmingham, Alabama, to reconnect with some kin, we spent time at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. The Institute wisely avoided any effort to capture the drama of the civil rights movement on a 'grand scale'; instead it focused on the very specific atmosphere that existed in Birmingham and on the personalities present during that tumultuous era.

Exhibits described the efforts to integrate that city's lunch counters, buses and theaters in the late 1950s and early 1960s, and reintroduced to us the classic Southern stereotype, Sheriff Bull Conner. Wearing mirrored glasses, commanding squads of police who wielded fire hoses and snarling dogs, he became the symbol of Southern white resistance. The power of non-violence in the face of such adversity is still compelling.

The display detailing the horrific 1964 bombing of a Birmingham church, which killed four innocent girls, was especially evocative. I remember being stunned at the time at the concept of such hatred, and equally bewildered at the inner city violence that was sweeping my own hometown, Philadelphia, that same summer.

The exhibits ended on a positive note, describing the advancement of minorities in the intervening decades which culminated in the election of Richard Arrington, Jr. as mayor in 1979, a position that he held for two decades.

Arrington's name is inscribed on the dedication plaque of a sculpture in 'Freedom Park,' a public square across the street from the Institute. The remarkable piece forces pedestrians to walk between two tall concrete walls. Lunging from the walls are three larger-than-life-sized metal German Shepherds with menacing paws extended and teeth bared.

To transverse the space is a sobering and instructive experience, similar to the mood we shared at the Kennedy Space Center when we stood before a display memorializing the astronauts who perished in the four decades of space travel. Both spaces commemorate two affirming paradigms -- we will explore, we will be free -- that shaped my life and many others forty years ago.

03/18/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.







From Sunscreen to Snow Shovels


Well, we returned to Philly a few days ago...and were greeted by a blizzard! It was painful enough to give up the sunglasses and aloha shirts without the added insult of having to sprinkle rock salt.

The last week of our sun-kissed sojourn included a drive through the Florida Panhandle, a largely undeveloped tract known as the "redneck Riviera." It serves as a summer escape spot residents of southern states like Alabama and Georgia, and towns like Panama City Beach had a distinct Coney Island, honky-tonk charm. It was a relief to find some part of the Florida skyline that didn't feature looming building cranes and to cruise the local roads without the rumble of heavy machinery.

Elsewhere, though, there's a tremendous building boom throughout the state (forget the Florida panther, available construction workers are the real endangered species in the state). The Panhandle added a somber note, though -- many homes still devastated by Hurricane Ivan. Scores of houses featured bright blue tarpaulins instead of a roof, and trees and debris remain scattered throughout the region.

We ended our 18-day adventure with a 'family reunion.' Bruce has cousins in Alabama and Kentucky, so we headed north out of Pensacola for our first stop, Birmingham, where we had a great dinner with Joe Bellafato and his wife, Renee, who reside outside of that city and raise horses as a hobby! Our conversation about the 'horse endurance' competitions which they participate in was fascinating.

We stopped for the morning in Mammoth Cave National Park (a spectacular underground tour—even for claustrophobic me.) before reaching our final destination, Kentucky. In one whirlwind Friday afternoon and evening, we visited cousin Lisa's attractively decorated apartment in an eclectic, funky Louisville neighborhood for drinks; journeyed to cousin Jill Bellafato Roby's terrific house (complete with hunky lawyer husband Scott and two adorable pre-school moppets, Jessica and Jake) for dinner; and finally trekked to Lexington with our weekend hosts, Bonnie & Frank Bellafato to rest our heads.

Our busy Saturday began with a fascinating private tour of Claiborne Farm, home (and burial spot) of Secretariat. It was a beautiful day, and the trainer who conducted the tour regaled us with intriguing tales of old races, and, then with an alarming discussion (to a Catholic school grad) of horse breeding practices. (Apparently, breeders don't put the two horses in a stall with a Barry White CD playing and chilled Cristal at the ready.)

The trainer's description included mention of artificial lights to stimulate mare ovulation, "teaser" ponies (I'm not making this up) who flirt with the selected mares to gauge their readiness for uh, affection, and a person whose job it is to secure the mare's tail so that it's 'out of the way of the action.' Interesting stuff, but I wanted to take an immediate shower when we left the love nest...I mean breeding barn. The lucky studs on the farm have two 'dates' a day with different mares. What a life!

The unique mood of the weekend's activities continued later in the day when Frank displayed his beer-brewing expertise. His production capability is limited to five gallons or so at a time, but it was great fun to see the bottles getting filled and watching the funny, personalized labels getting slapped on. Bruce even provided some manual labor assistance by operating the bottle-capping equipment. We were sorry to have to leave early on Sunday for our 11-hour run to Philly.

We love the sun-kissed winter break we take every year (next year: Hawaii!!), but road trips tend to afford a skewed view of everyday life in the towns we pass. For instance, the number of fast food and chain restaurants we zoomed past on interstates and local avenues was amazing. Does anyone cook anymore?

And the drugstores! I know that parts of Florida are havens for senior citizens, but do they really need a Walgreen’s or CVS on every corner? Dear God, how many tubes of Jointritis cream do they need?

One last phenomenon... Chinese buffets.

I thought that the proliferation of these 'All-You-Can-Eat' emporiums was an east coast trend. But, man, every backwater town in the Florida panhandle had one. Each had the same elements: steam table dishes (won ton soup, fried rice, steamed dumplings, spareribs, General Tsao's chicken); mounds of steamed snow crab legs (quickly depleted by my travel consort); slender, polite waitresses who efficiently remove used plates and refresh your hot tea; panda and Buddha tchotchkes at the cashier's stand.

Is this a centralized plot to infiltrate Middle America (the Lo Mein Mafia?)? If so, I'd say it's brilliant. I once heard an Asian-American comic say that Asians would conquer America 'one pedicure at a time,' but I think he needs to update the punchline to 'one over-stuffed white person at a time.' Duck sauce, anyone?

03/09/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.













Strange Things in Surprising Places

When I last reported on the 2005 Aptowicz Winter Adventure, Bruce had launched a kayak into the Gulf of Mexico and I had the life insurance policies unfolded and at the ready, er, I mean I was enjoying the sun on a St Petersburg beach. The next day, we opted to do some paddling again, this time in the Hillsborough River near Tampa. Although it seemed impossible to surpass variety and number of animal life that we'd experienced in our Blue Springs canoe journey, this Tampa trip blew us away.

During the first five minutes of the trip we slid close (too close, by my lights) to three separate, LARGE alligators lounging on the riverbanks. In our snapshots, you can see the front of our canoe -- where I sat -- and sense how proximate we were to the gators. (Hmm, maybe Bruce had the insurance policies out, too). Many more gators followed; after a while we actually grew blase about them. We also passed scores of turtles, and for the first time, beautiful roseate spoonbills roosting with ibises, herons, and egrets. The vultures were there too, but they hung our alone. The trip was four hours of serious paddling, so we slept very well that night, but not before we visited Clearwater Beach for a 'sunset ritual' that included music, craft booths and street performers.

The following day we toured Homosassa Springs State Park, which provided a weird but enjoyable experience. For decades, the acreage had been a theme park (Natureland... or something) transporting thousands of tourists a day through its palm tree-lined waterways. The main grounds featured wildlife exhibits --zebras, giraffes, hippos, etc. (During the off-season, Natureland was used by film and television production companies for location shots. Ramar of the Jungle, a 1950's Saturday morning action serial filmed here for several seasons.) After Disney moved the tourist action to the Orlando, and Busch Gardens co-opted the 'wildlife safari' action, the owners sold the park to the state in the early 1990's.

The state has made an admirable attempt to convert the spot into an environmentally-correct presentation of authentic Florida fauna; the boat ride through the waterway that transects the park now features wood ducks, egrets and turtles instead of mechanized boa constrictors. The star attractions now are manatees, which migrate to the warm springs water during the winter months. The park has several manatee observation decks, and an underwater viewing chamber that was pretty cool.

Unfortunately as you trot through the 'nature trail' enjoying flamingos, black bears, bald eagles and other genuine Florida state inhabitants, you suddenly happen upon an enormous hippopotamus!

Apparently, while the other Natureland animals were harmlessly transported to zoos or other animal parks, the hippo couldn't be relocated without probably killing it. So he lolls magnificently -- and ridiculously -- in his pool near the flamingos. Weird, but funny.

Since we were camping for this part of the trip, and since we had secured a campsite NEAR A TROOP OF BOY SCOUTS, we decided to go to a movie and delay our return to the tent for as long as possible. The local cinema was showing Hitch. Midway through the flick, the romantic leads visit a pharmacy and interact with the clerk. "That looks like Beau!" I blurted to Bruce. (Beau Sia is a noted spoken word performer/actor who's a good friend of Cristin) I waited for the credits to scroll at the end of the film... and, yep, it was Beau. Pretty cool to be acting in the number #1 box office film. Way to go, Beau!

The next day, Bruce went kayaking again on the Suwanee River, and later we began our two-day trek up the western Florida coast toward the Panhandle. Next report shortly...


02/22/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.











Questing... and Alligators


The past week has proven to be a nexus of Aptowicz aspirations. Each family member completed a quest of sorts, or continued on an ongoing path of personal satisfaction and growth.

The most stunning example was my older daughter Caitlin's five-day 30th birthday present to herself -- a solo trip to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It was the third segment of a meaningful hiking trifecta for her:

In 1985, when she was 10 (and her brother Kevin was 8, and baby sister Cristin 6), the family spent five remarkable weeks touring the western part of the country on a camping trip. A highlight for Cait was a hike down the Grand Canyon with her dad and brother. (Cris was too young, so I had to wait with her at the campsite at the top --thanks be to God!). They spent the night at the Phantom Ranch, a lodge at the bottom of the Canyon accessible only to hikers and Colorado River rafters, and then hiked out (7.5 miles and 4400 vertical feet!) the next day. For Caitlin, it was an exhilarating and memorable physical and psychological accomplishment. She never forgot the feeling of achievement she experienced.

In 1995, on a spring college road trip with some chums, Cait surprised us with a phone call. "Guess where I'm calling from?" she gushed. (Considering the 'road trip' circumstances, our first impulse was to respond "A police station?" , but we restrained ourselves.) She excitedly reported that on an impulse while in Arizona, her group had called Phantom Ranch and determined that there had been some last-minute cancellations at the lodge. So, she and a few of her college friends repeated her childhood experience.

As 2005 and her birthday approached, Cait was determined to mark the occasion in a significant way. Despite her Dad's concerns about the February timeframe (snow and ice on the trail) and about her solo hiking status (hungry cougars and deranged serial killers), Cait purposefully arranged her journey westward. She called us again from Phantom Ranch, exuberantly describing the magnificence of that amazing park and the variety of the folks she met on the trail. She called the trip her 'quest' and I think that term reflects the determination and zest that she brought to the adventure. She's a remarkable young woman.

Equally intent on his own quest is our son Kevin, and last week also proved momentous for him. He turned in his doctoral thesis (yay!) and was notified by a Philadelphia-area university of an interview request for a tenure track faculty position. Kevin is exploring several other professional opportunities, and he may end up in a different environment, but the two events portended well for his and his wife Katie's future.

And the family 'caboose,' Cristin, continued on her own performance path with rousing February appearances at Franklin & Marshall University and the University of Arkansas. Her successful quest in the spoken word and screenwriting realm enlivens her life. She continues to amaze us with the determination and exuberance that she brings to her creative activities.

Now to the senior Aptowicz contingent -- and to the alligator mentioned in the title. Bruce and I have a quest, too. Over the next few years, as retirement looms, we want to continue to craft a satisfying and challenging life for ourselves. We know that part of that life will include travel as it has for our entire relationship -- gallivanting through Europe for weeks on our honeymoon, trekking to state park cabins in New York, Pennsylvania and Virginia with our young brood years ago, or venturing through Italy and London last year. We continue to tinker with the formula; this year's expedition is somewhat less glamorous than last year's European adventure (hilariously detailed on my book, "What Fresh Hell is This?"), but our trek to Florida has proven eventful nonetheless.

Our drive to the "Sunshine State" included brief Georgia stops in Savannah (overrated), and Tygby Island (neat lighthouse). We then decamped for four nights at a swanky Sheraton resort in Orlando(the beautifully-appointed condo even had a Jacuzzi in the bedroom!) Trust me, this is not the usual accommodation for the economical Aptowiczes, but it was part of a timeshare promotion. We endured the 90-minute spiel in order to thoroughly enjoy the free luxury digs. But rather than hit the Orlando theme parks, we headed for real parks.

The Florida state parks are terrifically designed and maintained. Within a 45 minute drive from Orlando, we viewed extraordinary geological features (gurgling hot springs and fertile marshes) and fascinating wildlife (manatees, bald eagles, pelicans). On one particularly fauna-filled canoe trip in Blue Springs State Park, Bruce and I paddled within 10 feet of SEVEN alligators (okay, one was a baby... but the rest were huge!). We couldn't decide if the gators would reject us (tough old meat) or view us favorably (hey, enough chow in that canoe to last a month), so we carefully cruised away. We also got up close and personal with a coven of several dozen vultures (waiting for the gators to make their move?), scores of turtles, egrets, and herons, the aforementioned manatees who 'winter' in the park's 72-degree hot springs waters. It was a more exciting adventure than any Disney creation!

As I write this we've journeyed west to the Tampa/St. Petersburg/Clearwater area. Within one hour of our arrival, Bruce rented a kayak and went happily off to explore the Tampa Bay and Gulf of Mexico. I grabbed my newspaper and beach chair and headed for the nearest sandy shores, which serendipitously adjoined a dog run! Reading the New York Times and watching frolicking canines -- bliss!

Sunset on the Gulf awaits... and our quest continues. More next time.


02/17/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.









Where's Rocky When We Need Him?

A big "L" is tattooed on the City of Brotherly Love today... LOSER

A forty-year football drought and we still can't win a Superbowl!

Philadelphia sports fans remind me of Charlie Brown, racing hopefully toward the football held by Lucy only to have her snatch it away at the last moment, leaving him up-ended and bewildered.

I'm a 54-year-old life-long Philadelphian and the only sports championships that I remember were some mid-1970 Flyers victories, the Phillies World Series win in 1980 and the Sixers championship in 1983. The last time we had a championship football team was 1960. I was in the fourth grade!

Why are we so jinxed?

Is it the cheesesteaks? Scrapple? Soft pretzels with mustard?

Does this loser mentality come from being perched between two powerful cities -- Washington and New York -- and always feeling like the inept little brother? Has founder William Penn's genteel Quaker tradition seeped into our collective civic subconscious?

Actually, I have a favorite 'typically Philadelphia' story that illustrates this last point...

Let me take you back to the mid-1980's. Philadelphia is hemorrhaging manufacturing jobs and its downtown business area is looking tired. To the rescue rides Rouse & Associates, developers of the wildly successful Fanueil Hall in Boston and of Baltimore's Inner Harbor. Willard Rouse, the point man for the company, proposes construction of a 60-story edifice that would house residential, office and retail space. He would erect the building in a sadly forgotten area west of City Hall, possibly energizing that segment of the downtown area and spurring additional development.

He was greeted with open arms and a chorus of acclaim from Philly's political and civic movers and shakers, right?

YO! Get a grip... this is Philadelphia!

What Rouse hadn't reckoned with was the 'gentleman's agreement' that prohibited any construction higher than the hat of the statue of William Penn on top of City Hall (491 feet).

I'm sure Rouse's reaction to this was "HUH?? I'm willing to finance a multi-use complex that will bring badly needed jobs and tax revenue into a city that has been slipping in population and various economic indicators since the 1960's, and you're telling me about A HAT?"

The wrangling went on for months. Since there was no statute that prevented the construction, the Redevelopment Commission had to rely on political and community sentiment in granting its approval. What a storm of controversy ensued! Banner headlines and heated editorials in the newspapers, television reports of cashmere-clad descendants of the city's founding Quakers dramatically pleading Billy Penn's case, schoolchildren signing petitions to 'Save the Skyline!'

The story made national news, and in the midst of the furor I happened to accompany my husband to Atlanta for a professional conference. That city was then in the midst of an economic boom, it led the newly dominant 'sunbelt cities' in job growth and fiscal vitality.

I was cornered at a cocktail party by an Atlantan who had seen the national news reports of the Rouse escapade and asked me point-blank "What the hell's the matter with you people?" For once in my life I was speechless; I was stumped. I couldn't explain the peculiar Philadelphian sense of quirkiness that would allow a century-old gentlemen's agreement to impede a spectacular development project.

Eventually, the Liberty Place complex was built. Upon its completion in 1987, it ranked 12th among the world's tallest building. And the complex did spur exciting redevelopment in the western downtown. Once the height restriction barrier had been breached, other significant structures took their place in the skyline. (Confession: I'm still enough of a true Philadelphian to experience a twinge of sadness when I approach the city from the airport and have to squint to find old Billy stuck in the midst of looming silver edifices... sigh)

But back to the Eagles.

The city was totally energized this past month as the team captured the NFC championship and proceeded to the Superbowl. But my first inkling of trouble came when news reports of the team's arrival in Jacksonville showed them toting camcorders, mugging for reporters and acting like tourists. The New England Patriots on the other hand had a businesslike demeanor and a heads-down approach to game preparation.

And one of more liberal colleagues has suggested that the final nail in the coffin was:

"...when Cheney said yesterday morning on Fox News that 'It will be the Eagles by 3,' you should have known damned well that it was a (just another) lie."

So, we'll put away the municipal plans for a victory parade, throw out the onion dip and wait patiently (Quaker-like) for the next opportunity to get our hearts broken.


02/08/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.









Pointing Toward Freedom with Ink-Stained Fingers

My weekend was bracketed by two seemingly unconnected events.

On Friday evening, I viewed Coach Carter, a sentimental but entertaining film about a determined coach's efforts to discipline and inspire a group of inner city high school basketball players. More on that later.

Then, on Sunday, I watched and listened to amazing news reports about the remarkable story of 8+ million Iraqis risking their lives to cast a ballot. They walked for miles, stood for hours and joyfully dipped their index finger in purple ink to signify that they'd cast their vote. I was a powerful and moving example of the innate desire for freedom and liberty that resides in every human soul.

Every American shared in this joy, right? Well... not quite.

I channel surfed Sunday morning to catch up on the news and to gauge the pundit reaction to the Iraqi election. I happened on the panel discussion of Fox's Sunday morning show. While Brit Hume and Bill Kristol displayed enthusiasm for the Iraqi poll success, the ever-dependable NPR shills Mara Liasson and Juan Williams seemed sulky about the whole thing.

At one point, in response to a question from Chris Wallace about the voter turnout, Ms Liasson said "Well, it shows the natural drive in humans everywhere for (stops... obviously searching for a word) self-determination." Self-determination!!! What a pallid pronouncement. She was obviously not going to utter any Bush-related sentiments like "freedom," "liberty" or "democracy." So out of her pained, pursed lips came the lame but safe term "self-determination." The liberals are so convulsed with hatred for the President that they can't even share in the happiness this momentous occasion. To do might seem to grant legitimacy the Bush's steadfast resolve against those who whined that the elections wouldn't work or needed to be delayed.

And another indicator of Liasson's reflexive revulsion for 'all things Bush' was her complete disregard of a sub-plot of the day's drama that should have been a natural for her -- women. In modern attire or in burkas, Iraqi women joined their Afghan sisters in flocking to the polls. It was a dramatic demonstration to other Mideast countries. Did Mara mention it? Uh... no. (Now if Clinton had been prez...)

Over at NBC, Tim Russert was grilling the Grand Gloom Meister, John Kerry. Another sour performance. Russert lobs him a softball opportunity to praise the bravery of the Iraqis in turning out and to comment on the significance of the day. Listen to the crabbed, petty response:

"...No one in the United States should try to overhype this election. This election is a sort of demarcation point, and what really counts now is the effort to have a legitimate political reconciliation, and it's going to take a massive diplomatic effort and a much more significant outreach to the international community than this administration has been willing to engage in. Absent that, we will not be successful in Iraq..."

Overhype! A line of demarcation!

Under the threat of suicide bombers and possible retaliatory actions, people with no recent history of free elections nonetheless put their bodies on the line. Kerry's wan dismissiveness of their actions is stunning and stupid.

In that tone-deaf stupidity he joins his fellow Massachusetts Ted Kennedy. That bloated, bloviating political caricature actually claimed, in a speech three days before the Iraqi election, that U.S was in danger of losing the war "for the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people!" Somebody ought to be wagging a purple index finger at him today.

And rounding out the Democratic "Kamikaze Trio" is California Senator Barbara Boxer. She's attempting to parlay her 15 minutes of fame (as the chief thug in the Condi Rice confirmation mugging) into a possible run for president in 2008!

I'm convinced that these purely -- and cravenly -- political actions by certain liberal and Democratic functionaries will backfire. The date of January 30th could have the same epochal quality as the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the Dems will again be on the wrong side of history.

When plans for this election were announced, I heard the skepticism form many that "these people" (Iraqis? Arabs? Muslims?) didn't understand democracy, that theirs was a tribal heritage where clans counted for more than the idea of a vote. I thought that view was scandalously elitist then and remembered those sentiments during the President's inaugural speech a week ago, when he declared:

"The survival of liberty in our land increasingly depends on the success of liberty in other lands. The best hope for peace in our world is the expansion of liberty in the entire world... Some, I know, have questioned the global appeal of liberty -- though this time in history, four decades defined by the swiftest advance of freedom ever seen, is an odd time for doubt... Eventually the call of freedom comes to every mind and every soul."

That inaugural speech was disparaged by some as grandiose, overarching and impractical. But its vision and passion stirred me. We are a nation of big, grand ideas; we are a country founded on glorious ideals. Some of the harping about the speech seemed to focus on tamping down Bush's perceived hubris. But I'm convinced that this isn't a time in history for small 'practical' actions.

Think how stunning it must have been for ordinary Jordanians, Saudis, Iranians and Syrians to see the lines of Iraqi voters on Al Jazeera..

Think how alarming it must have been for the leaders of Jordan, Syria, Saudi Arabia and Iran to witness people freely choosing democracy.

And, think how paradigm-shifting it would be if a thriving, secular Iraqi democracy can be established in that cauldron of hostility that is the Mideast.

Why shouldn't we 'think big' and espouse the ideals of freedom and liberty?

Which brings me back to my Friday night movie experience. At the end of Coach Carter, one of the players recites a snippet of prose that Nelson Mandela also included in his 1994 inaugural speech:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is
that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our
darkness, that most frightens us...Your playing small doesn't serve the
world. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within
us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our
own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do
the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence
automatically liberates others."

The light was shining in Iraq on Sunday.


02/01/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.







*SMACK*...Snap Out of It!


This blog is a commentary on the recent hysteria about Harvard President Lawrence Summers recent provocative comments. For those of you who've been living in a cave, or whose ears can't pick up the high-pitched caterwauls of ranting feminists, Summers opined that maybe innate gender differences contributed to the paucity of women in academic positions of authority.

I'm not going address Summers' stance, but rather some of the "retro reaction" from the feminist brigades reported in news outlets:

"Melissa Franklin, a physics professor: 'The biggest problem with female science students is confidence. When they are sitting there constantly saying, 'Am I smart enough? Am I smart enough?' it doesn't really help when the president of the university says: 'Maybe you're not.''"

Astonishingly, this "Am I good enough" attitude predates Summers' commentary... proving that the 'helplessness brigade' was in full throttle prior to the Harvard controversy.

In a Columbia University-sponsored event that was called "Girls' Science Day" which took place on Nov 13, 2004. -- several months before Summers' comments -- this mentality surfaced in full bloom:

Amy Petros, a fourth-year chemistry Ph.D. candidate at Columbia, in another context: 'In middle school and even in the first years of high school I remember thinking that I wasn't very good in math... it is important to give girls the confidence to know that if they try, they can succeed."

Lord, talk about victimization! This is the 21st century, for God's sake. Why are these women behaving like the last three decades never occurred? What a whiny, self-defeating bunch.

Let me interject some personal background...

* * * * *

In 1968, LONG before activist feminism stirred in the collective breast of American women, I entered Drexel Institute of Technology to study microbiology. Drexel was then a small, largely commuter school in Philadelphia with an excellent engineering program and good science curriculum. What it didn't have much of was estrogen.

In my entering class of 800+ science and engineering freshmen there were 4 women -- me and another biology gal, one chemist and one mathematician. So how did I work up the chutzpah to brave this fortress of testosterone?

Was it highly-educated parents grooming their darling daughter?

Nope, my dad was a pipe fitter at the Philadelphia Navy Yard and my mom was a housewife who completed the 10th-grade. They loved me but their grooming input consisted of yelling at me to get out of the one bathroom that serviced our family of six.

Maybe a neighbor or family friend had served as a scientific role model?

Well, my neighbor, Mrs. Williamson, did always scold us when she saw kids sharing soda bottle swigs, "You'll all die of consumption…that thing is swarming with germs!"

A well-financed high school populated by hard-charging academic peers?

Little Flower Catholic High School for Girls (and I'm not making that name up) was a large parochial high school populated by working class girls. In the 1960s, this meant 95% of the graduates went on to clerical or secretarial positions. The handful who went on to higher education were mostly teachers, nurses or nuns. The labs where we applied our biology, chemistry and physics lessons took a back burner to the equipment lavished on the typing rooms.

Okay, we give up...

The real reason that I went to Drexel was that I was awarded a National Merit Scholarship to attend. In our tightly budgeted household, it was my only ticket to college. But I did love science, especially biology, and was good at math (maybe the all-girl high school benefited me after all), so I was excited and positive about my opportunity.

My solace at not following my real college goal to be a journalist was that with a B.S. I could go into science journalism. That job would parlay very nicely into my real destiny which was to be the National Political Correspondent for the New York Times.

So, off I trotted to an academic setting that was supremely indifferent (and sometimes hostile) to me. Professors made off-color jokes in lectures, guys didn't want to be your lab partner (and I was cute!) for fear that you'd blow up the Bunsen burner apparatus, and the ladies rooms were few and far between.

It should have been enough to drive me out the first week, but it didn't. I was an Irish lass, using to mixing it up at home and in the neighborhood. I sat up front in the raunchy lecture hall smirking and sighing dramatically and deflating the shock value, when my lab partners learned I could whip out the requisite lab report with speed and elegance, they vied to partner with me. I never did resolve the bathroom disparity, but I think my bladder is the better for all the training!

Once a year, the university did utilize the 'science sirens' though. They would corral us for the photography sessions designed for the next year's college catalog. Desperate not to appear to be a monastic institution, Drexel sprinkled us liberally throughout the volume, as though the school was 'hot babe central.' I was even in the running to appear on the cover one year, but the mathematician was a lanky blonde with cheekbones (damn!).

I graduated on time with a decent grade point average, no nervous breakdown and a husband (he'd been my engineer boss in my first student intern job...that's another story). By the time I left Drexel, the feminist movement was in full swing. But even then, the coven of kvetching crones annoyed me. As I had at Drexel, I lived my life apart from their wacky dogma. I married young, had babies quickly, stayed at home for a dozen years to raise them, and then rejoined the working world with relative ease. Bada-bing, bada boom!

So, in the year 2005, it annoys the hell out of me when I hear women -- with a lot more social and economic underpinnings than I ever had -- bewailing their lot and feigning a child-like helplessness.

Like Cher in Moonstruck, I'd love to swat a few upside the head, get their attention, and blurt "Snap out of it!"


01/26/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.





Hey... Where's the "Tribute to Tonto" Exhibit?

Well, my husband and I spent a terrific weekend in Washington DC, as guests of our long-time friends John & Jane Barkley. We've gone down to visit them on the Martin Luther King Jr holiday weekend for the past several years. It's always a good time --visiting museums, taking in historic sites, great meals and conversations. It was particularly interesting to see the pre-inaugural activities -- tents and barricades being erected around the White House and Capitol.

This time we planned an extensive three-day agenda, highlighted by a visit to the newly-opened Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian

(Aside #1...I love museums. When we travel, I always make a bee-line to them. Among the more arcane I've visited are the Tsunami Museum in Hilo, Hawaii, the Cactus Museum in Twenty Nine Palms, CA, the Cartoon Museum in San Francisco and TWO Clown Museums in Sarasota FL and Bridgeport, CT.)

Anyway, I was pumped to visit the newest Smithsonian member. The Smithsonian always does a great job of explaining ideas and putting information into context. And the approach to the edifice was certainly positive. The red stone building featured an undulating exterior rimmed by fountains and pools. Very evocative.

But my "Uh-oh meter" should have clanged ominously when I asked for an exhibit guide map and was told by the information booth staff that, "We don't put the Native American experience into boxes... you need to experience it as a process."

Experience it I did. And how!

I need to employ a non-Native American expression to sum up my American Indian Museum 'experience' -- meshuggeneh mish mosh.

It was, without a doubt, the worst museum I've ever been in.

There was no geographic, chronological, cultural or anthropological structure to the exhibits. After a lame introductory movie featuring a lot of eagles and mountains and a soundtrack that set a new record for goofiness ("We are one with the land..."), the audience spills out into a series of exhibit enclosures that feature South and North American Indian history. But there was no sense of connection or continuity in the presentations. Visitors wander from Mexican 'Day of the Dead' skull displays to a wacky video about gaming casinos in the west. The text describing the exhibits was small and the light was dim... not made for the over-30 bunch!

Also, the exhibits had a weird 'personal' tone to them, quite unlike any Smithsonian visit I've experienced. About halfway through, I noticed that at the end of each exhibit was a picture of its 'curators' -- tribe members.

Apparently, the 'political correctness' factor loomed large in the inception and development of the museum. The Smithsonian ceded requirement for rigorous scholarship in favor of allowing the 'authentic voices' of the Indian tribes to be heard. So each tribe contributed an exhibit that they felt reflected the reality of their tribe. Yikes...

Discussion of how Indians arrived in the Americas? Not here.
Discussion if wars between tribes? Not here.
Discussion of which tribes were nomadic? Not here.
Discussion of how horses came to play a role in Indian life? Not here.
Even a map showing where the hundreds of tribes were dispersed across the Americas? Not here.

Instead you get to witness a video of a tribe member complaining that he has to ask his western state government to release water from a reservoir, so that his tribe can perform their 'Boat Dance.' Hey, fella, that dam is protecting your people from periodic flooding, and -- most likely -- providing electricity to your tribal members' home... ye gods.

What a disappointment the museum was! Interestingly, the exhibitions cover less than 30 percent of the museum space. The rest is devoted to two theaters, many meeting rooms, the ceremonial atrium and performance pit, a library center, TWO gift shops, and a food court serving primarily Indian fare. In other words... ka-ching!

If the museum exists to peddle tamales and Indian tchotchkes, I can accept that. But, if they're expecting parents to bring kids there to give them an understanding of the history of American Indians, it's a miserable failure. Word to the wise...

(Note: for some reason, my engineer husband LOVED the museum... he chided me for imposed a western "Eurocentric" attitude on the exhibits. Whatever....)

The second museum -- The National Museum of Health and Medicine -- a 'must see.' It's located at the Army's Walter Reed Medical Center complex. Its website (http://nmhm.washingtondc.museum/) does a good job of describing the contents, but to wander around is a dizzying but wonderful experience. The displays are well-organized and well-lit (!) and range from how your body works to fascinating exhibits on medical equipment and emergency war techniques from the Civil War through Vietnam. There are live leeches and wax models of syphilic penises...even the bullet that killed Abraham Lincoln is displayed! Very cool and uncrowded.

(Aside #2...the Aptowicz family has a long and colorful history with Washington DC. Instead of visiting in April when the cherry blossoms are in bloom, or in October when the geese are flying over the autumn tree-lined Potomac, we staked out 'primo' visitation time -- January. Bruce decided that the Martin Luther King holiday provided the perfect opportunity to visit the nation's capital -- no crowds and plenty of parking.

The kids knew the drill: on Friday night Bruce set up the back of our Volvo station wagon. The back seat was collapsed and the rear was arranged as a 'sleeping bag dormitory.' Very early on Saturday morning we roused the brood and shoved their blanket-sleeper bodies into the sleeping bags. They slept most of the way, but as we passed Baltimore, I had to wake them to change into their clothes (creatively accomplished inside their sleeping bags). We arrived in Washington around 9:45 am, just in time to claim a swell parking spot in front of a Smithsonian museum.

I have to acknowledge that the weather was sometimes challenging. We raced across the wide Washington Mall from museum to museum braving tundra-like winds. When I recently touted our January visits to Cristin as allowing for unencumbered viewing, she replied "Who could see anything?...our eyelashes were frozen together!"

Actually Cristin provided the most angst-ridden incident in all of our Washington escapades. The year was 1982. We had arranged with our Congressman for a VIP tour of the White House. We joined a group of about twenty folks and were led by a genial guide on a tour of the White House's public rooms.

I was so engrossed in the discussion of the decor of the Blue Room that I didn't realize that three-year-old Cristin had wandered off. When I couldn't locate her bright yellow parka, I panicked and started to run back through the rooms we'd visited. I made it to the Green Room before a large Secret Service man stopped me. He radioed his comrades and within a minute of so, an unsmiling man in a dark suit brought my little renegade back to me. Her rationale for wandering off: "I was bored." Always the drama queen!)

Despite the disappointment of the American Indian Museum, we had a great weekend...and to top it off, Bruce snagged a great parking spot on the Mall!


01/18/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.







The Long Literary Life of Me


If you've visited Zeitgeist since the holidays, you've noticed a not-so-subtle advertisement at the top of the page for my newly-published book, What Fresh Hell is This? (Wordsmith Press), which collects the best of my 2003-2004 Zeitgeist columns.

The book's existence was kept a complete surprise to me until Christmas morning when Cristin produced it to my shock and delight (hence the new blog pic of me beaming with my books in my kitschy Christmas morning togs).

Although this is my first book, my writing life has been a long one. As Cristin has noted in one of her poems, Mother, I've always loved language, and never had any problems expressing myself and my opinions in school and beyond. During my high school (at Little Flower High School in Philadelphia) and college years (at Drexel University), I wrote essays for my school's literary magazines about such important topics as "Supporting the Grape Boycott." You gotta love the 60s!

Later, even marriage and three screaming toddlers couldn't stop my writing bug. I wrote annual plays and skits for the Somerton Junior Women's Club (sure, it sounds fun, but you try crafting a Saturday Night Live parody for a bunch of thirtysomething housewives).

Perhaps my favorite bit of writing from that era was the column I wrote for the Philadelphia Inquirer about my husband's "unique" opinions about how one should tackle to an "All-You-Can-Eat" buffet. As anyone who know Bruce, this article was not how to chose the freshest greens for your salad, but more about how to throw a proper elbow to the eye of a senior citizen so that you get first dibs on the fresh crab legs.

When my kids moved into their teenage years, though, my time for writing steadily diminished.

When Cristin invited me to write an occasional column on her website in 2003, it had been literally YEARS since I had written something creative for public consumption (excluding the Christmas card newsletter where I had to convert sentiments like "This year I realized that I have raised a brood of ungrateful urchins who I wish to throttle on a weekly basis" into something more palatable and appropriate for the season).

I'll admit that the first few columns were slow-going, and that it was strange expressing my thoughts in such an immediate and public way as a blog (hence, I love feedback! Please feel free to write me with your thoughts on my columns anytime you want! My email address is at the bottom of every Zeitgeist!).

But now that I've got a year of writing under my belt, I feel re-energized and excited about the columns to come in 2005. Also, I think I'm going to try experimenting more with the column. Why should Cristin be the only poet in the family, after all!

Thanks for your support of this column, and thanks for buying What Fresh Hell is This?

Unless, you haven't bought What Fresh Hell Is This?, to which I say, "What are you an idiot?"

PS - As per my decision above to try new things, here is a new poem which talks about my literary life and combines two delights in my life: writing and cooking.

* * * * * * *

Pepperpot

My youth was an Irish stew of words
Stirred by a clan of O'Keefes, Muldoons, O'Malleys.
Jibes, jabs, verbal jousts
Fenian fights, family slights.
Quick wits, sharp retorts.

The nuns took over then,
And refined that fare.
Diagramming sentences,
Defining parts of speech,
Declaiming poems and
Developing in me a passion for words and their flavors.

With adolescent attitudes
During a time of 1960's tumult
My palate learned to savor
Spicier seasonings --
African flavors, Hispanic sauces, European flair.
My provincial views expanded and
My words and passions followed.

But, then Prince Charming arrived, and
The stork soon after,
Suddenly, I was the chef
With three hungry customers
Devouring my fare--
An alphabet soup of words and fun.
Of books and crayons and riddles and puns.

So, for a decade and a half
I became a 'menu reader.'
Sampling the specialties of others and
Frowning over their ill-seasoned fare.
My apron was pressed,
And utensils clean and stored.
Still, no word soup or linguistic stew was brewing.

But...
Now I've hung out a sign
"Kitchen's open."
I'm slicing and dicing
I'm sauteing and skewering
My knife is honed and
My spice rack is filled.
I hope the world's ready for my recipe
'Cause now I'm serving up the language that nourished me.


01/13/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.





One Country Under Goss

The Indian Ocean tsunami provided an awful start for the New Year. The devastation is unbelievable and heartbreaking. It was thrilling to see the American military in the forefront of the assistance effort, delivering food and water to isolated survivors.

Back here in America, there's a 'bureaucratic tsunami' taking place at the CIA. One that's got the liberal media turning themselves inside out fretting about the fate of a handful of CIA honchos. Six months ago, the same press mavens were pillorying George Tenet and crew for screwing up information gathering and analysis prior to September 11th and the Iraq War.

So, Bush nominated (and the Senate confirmed) a new Director charged with getting things straightened out. But when the new Director, Porter Goss, asserted his authority and pushed for some shake-ups in processes and procedures, the entrenched bureaucrats wailed and bemoaned the invasion of "non-professionals" into their ranks, and soon they started resigning in protest.

The mainstream Washington media, for whatever reason (maybe their kids share a soccer carpool), have seized upon the departure of these dodos as a cause celebre and have chastised Bush and Goss for 'politicizing' the agency.

My ever-reliable source of goofy, left wing bias -- NPR -- provided one interviewee who declaimed "They've fired all the naysayers... now Bush will hear what he wants to hear."

In my opinion, they're performing a long-overdue shake-up of an ossified organization. Any hope for re-invigorating the CIA, and for preparing it to 'play nice' with the FBI and other intelligence-gathering agencies under the guidance of the new Intelligence Czar, rests on a ruthless fumigation... starting at the top.

I speak from experience as a 20 year veteran of an equally lumbering federal agency. The second tier bureaucrats (like the ones departing the CIA) are champions of what I call malevolent non-compliance. Executives who issue directives for change are met with a benign indifference. Many long-term bureaucrats have an 'I can wait this doofus out' attitude endemic among those who have spent decades flying under the radar, watching political appointees come and go, and getting promoted.

By wrenching these folks from their comfortable, calcified organizational cocoons, Goss has begun the necessary change to the work culture that's required for the CIA transformation. The organization MUST shift into a nimbler, 21st century agency in order to counter the more nuanced challenge of Islamic fundamentalism and world-wide terrorism.

So, I watch these martyrs leave their cozy $150,000 a year jobs to enjoy equally cozy federal pensions. Or, more likely they'll parlay their 15 minutes of fame into a lucrative private sector gig. Of course, that'll be their ultimate comeuppance -- they'll actually have to work for a living!


01/06/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.




New Beginnings...

I love the act of putting a fresh calendar on our refrigerator each January 1st.

The pages are clear, ripe with possibility. Soon enough there will be the usual notations: "doctor appt" or "pay gas bill." But for a wonderful few days, the only thing that stares back at me just a field of empty white squares.

That's how I'm feeling about this column, too. But the year stretches ahead with plenty of opportunities for commentary.

On the personal front, during this upcoming year we'll be preparing our Philadelphia 'homestead' for sale. With my spouse's pending retirement, the rambling three-story manse is a drain on our time and energy. None of my kids returned home after they left for college (praise God!), so they've had time to distance themselves emotionally from it, and haven't balked at the thought of selling it. It was a swell family house -- full of life and laughter. But, since we purchased a second home at the Jersey shore a decade ago, our housekeeping and house maintenance attention has lagged. My husband jokes that the only time that the rooms look seasonally decorated are at Halloween (wafting cobwebs....).

I'm sure the political and social issues front will also provide plenty of fodder (see more on that next column!).

But with the possibilities of the new year in mind, I'd like to make ten predictions for 2005. It'll be fun to check back in December and see how I fared:

Political
1. The Iraq elections will successfully take place as scheduled in late January 2005.
2. The terrorist fiend, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, will be captured by March 1st, and the "insurgency" (read: sociopathic slaughter of fellow Iraqis) will collapse as Iraqis finger these creeps in their midst and they're arrested.
3. President Bush's approval ratings (now hovering at 50%) will be at 55% in December 2005.

Pop Culture
4. Trump's third iteration of "The Apprentice" (starting January 2005) will be a ratings bonanza. The premise ("Ivy League Smarts vs. Street Smarts") is irresistible.
5. NBC's Brian Williams will lead the anchor ratings in 12/2005.
6. The Philadelphia Eagles will win the 2005 Superbowl

Personal
7. My marriage will survive (barely) the house sale process
8. My daughter, Caitlin will find her soulmate
9. My daughter-in-law, Katie will pass the PA bar exam
10. Our crown prince (Kevin) will land university position in the Philadelphia area and be close to being a homeowner

In any case, Happy 2005! New year...New cheers...New jeers... Zeitgeist!

See you next Tuesday!


01/04/05

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.




A Boomer and the Blogsphere...

Well, here we are coming to the close of 2004. I can't believe I've been scribing my modest entry into the world of blogs for almost a year. And what a year!

When I first started writing this column over a year ago, I didn't have a real "voice." My first scribbles focused mainly on family doings and included a somewhat rambling travelogue about my European adventure with my husband. Subsequent entries discussed my preparation for -- and triumphant participation in -- a poetry slam at Urbana in July.

About that time, I began to feel a rhythm developing in my essays -- especially as the election -- heated up. I was so intellectually engaged in the political tussles during September through November that some of my election columns wrote themselves. My unforgiving editor/daughter nudged me to lengthen and to temper my entries; she cautioned me against one-sided polemics. I listened to her... mostly.

I've maintained a mostly gloat-free attitude in the period after the Election. Although I was glad that Bush won, I'll be keeping a skeptical eye on his use of the electoral 'capital' he claims to possess.

One intriguing signal is his wholesale Cabinet shake-up. Most of the new Secretaries are trusted and loyal colleagues. While there is the predictable hand-wringing from the Mainstream Media (or MSM, for short) about choking off any dissident opinions, Bush knows he's got a small window of opportunity (2 years, tops) before his lame duck status will weaken any efforts to impact the domestic or international agendas. So, I think he's doing the right thing by stocking his inner circle with people he can trust to carry out his plans and not be promoting a personal agenda (which is why Rudy will NEVER become the pending intelligence czar).

(An aside....You know it killed me to witness the outpouring of advice from all the MSM pundits after the elections, all pontificating about how Bush could bring the country together again by appointing some Democrats to his Cabinet: DUH... we won! )

Now, with a year of columns under my belt and the election over, I wonder -- what the heck am I going to do with this column? It's an interesting question. With all the coverage of "bloggers" in the news, you rarely hear mention of 50ish empty nesters! I see my role on the web as a Blog Mom (truth be told, more "Mommie Dearest" than Mrs. Brady... ask my kids). There a lot of nudniks in the world who need my version of tough love to whack them back onto the straight & narrow -- whether it's child rearing techniques or political decisions. I'm up to the challenge!

To be honest, what I discovered I like most about this column is the feedback I got from my readers -- some of whom I've never met who just happened to stumble across my column. Older readers were thrilled that "their voice" was being heard in this ultra-liberal maelstrom we call the MSM. While younger (read: liberal) readers wrote me saying how refreshing it was to read "the other side" without feeling like they were being attacked. So feel free to keep the diatribes or accolades coming!

Anyway, I'm eager to delve into my second year of musings. This past year was filled with a lot changes, both in the personal and the public realm. I look forward the changes that the next year will bring, and am grateful that I'll have this column to help me navigate through whatever new experiences come my way -- I'm ready for it, and I'll hope you'll join me in my journey.

Stay well and warm, and enjoy the holidays!

New weekly Zeitgeists every Tuesday in 2005!


12/09/04

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com.



"Order in the Court..."

"...The monkey wants to speak!
No laughing,
No talking,
No showing your teeth."

That nonsense nugget was the fun, maternal edict that I used to issue when my three unruly offspring were being especially rambunctious.

It usually produced the desired result -- blissful silence, followed by muffled attempts (for a few blessed seconds) to avoid being the first sibling to break the silence (Kevin always won). But it always did bring a stop to the momentum of juvenile mania.

I was reminded of that ploy this past week as I watched the "blue state nation" attempt to come to grips with the Bush victory. (And I experienced this in the belly of the beast -- due to familial needs, I spent the last week in New York City and on the Yale campus.)

The shock and dismay of the Kerry supporters is understandable, but in their inability to get past the denial phase they resemble my brood in the back seat of my 1985 station wagon. The same goading, the same shrill voices, the same spiraling crescendo of perceived injustice!

From the claim that "What we hope to accomplish this afternoon at the meeting with Senator Kerry and Senator Reid is saving civilization as we know it today" (Nancy Pelosi) to the pandemic of email claims of election fraud, the noble opposition appears unable to accept the fact -- you got whupped!

Particularly annoying is the Democratic supporters' harping about the religiosity of the red states (pun intended). Creating maps showing the great middle swatch of America as 'Jesusland' isn't going to get them to the White House in 2008.

I believe that Karl Rove's strategy of energizing evangelical voters was crafty and productive, but there were many Bush supporters (me!) who voted for Bush in spite of the gay marriage feint (as a liberterian, I support gay marriage!). My driving motivation was to keep the current anti-terrorist team in power.

By the way, I don't expect Bush to really follow through on his pious offer proffered in his acceptance speech to work with the Democrats. And, to be honest -- I don't blame him. As I stated in several blogs during the campaign, the philosophical differences offered by Kerry and Bush were clearly delineated. Bush's victory was a mandate for his vision of how America should proceed at home and abroad.

If Kerry had won, the liberals would have hailed it as vindication of their views on foreign policy, healthcare, Social Security, the environment -- and would have demanded that Kerry act accordingly. Bush's margin -- while not huge -- was an endorsement for his values and policies; he should act vigorously in implementing them.

Anyway, back to my advice...

The Dems need to quiet down and think about what went wrong (and it wasn't just a bunch of Jesus freaks), and get themselves back into contention. Like my squawky trio of two decades ago, the endless caterwauling will get them nowhere, except perhaps the response of the voting public telling them (like I did 20 years ago), "Shut up!"


11/12/04

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her liberal PRO-KERRY daughter's opinions.



Whew... it looks like it's over... at last.


While I'm pleased that the President was re-elected, I'm truly delighted at the depth of popular engagement in this year's election.

As I've mentioned already to pro-Kerry work colleagues, this year's election discourse featured two distinct views of leading the country and provided a clear choice. The fact that Bush is the first candidate too post over 50% in the popular vote since his dad did it in 1988 indicates that many folks chose the Bush vision for America.

But that doesn't take away from the earnest efforts of the Kerry campaign staff, especially at the 'worker bee' level. I was pleased with all the young, peppy Kerry volunteers that flooded Philadelphia over the past month. It did my old political heart good.

Now that I'm done being expansive and thoughtful, I'd like all of you to join me in a rousing song... (to "Who Let the Dogs Out?")

"Who's in the White House?
Bush...Bush...Bush...Bush!"

My sincere sympathies to: the New Yorker, Michael Moore, Bruce Springsteen, P.Diddy, Barbra, Robert Redford (moved to Ireland yet, Bob?), Bon Jovi, Ben Affleck, Janeane Garafolo, NARAL, NOW, Whoopi Goldberg, Eminem, Howard Stern, George Soros, AND TO THE ENTIRE MAINSTREAM MEDIA CABAL!!

From the network anchors (except for Brokaw) to the 'talking heads' to the print media, the desire for a Kerry victory was palpable.

During the early portions of last night's television coverage the media was squirmy -- deliriously anxious to reveal the crushing Kerry victory that the (seriously flawed) exit polls were projecting. As the real vote tallies from the states began to expose the startling truth -- a Bush victory -- a gloom descended.

After Florida fell, Dan Rather kept asking Ed Bradley to rework the electoral numbers for a Kerry victory; Leslie Stahl recited the Republican senatorial victories as though she smelled rancid fish.

There's time tomorrow to review the campaign... but I do have three regrets about Bush winning:

* The missed opportunity of an Aptowicz at the Inaugural Ball, via Cristin's close pal (and great friend of the entire Apto family), Aaron Myers, who worked tirelessly for the Kerry campaign this year.

* The whole country will miss the opportunity to have the dazzlingly loony TER-REH-ZAH as First Lady. Yikes, what a compelling horror show that would have been!

* And somewhere in Westchester County a terrible plot is hatching. An endlessly re-inventing harpy and a recovering bypass patient as slithering their way toward 2008.

More tomorrow... but for now... gloating is blissful!

11/03/04

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her liberal PRO-KERRY daughter's opinions.



Election Day Haikus

Election Haiku V (5 AM the next morning)

A few words for my
Kerry-supporting kids: Ba-
da-bing, Ba-da-boom.



Election Haiku IV (11:30 PM)

To bed, I go. Map's
so red. By morning's light, will
there be a leader?



Election Haiku III (6:30 PM)

Vote or die. Declare
yourself. Young people engaged.
It's '68 again.
(Smile)



Election Haiku II (4:00 PM)

Early exit polls in.
Right wing radio host
Panicked and strident.


Election Haiku I (8:00 AM)

Freedom is casting
your vote... Even if it's for
A lantern-jawed dope.


More Election Day Haikus as the day continues, but until then... Happy Voting Everyone!!








Stop the Madness!: A Lament of a Swing State Voter


AARRRGGGHHH! As a Pennsylvania resident, I'm reaching a point best exemplified by Munch's The Scream.

We swing state voters have endured a relentless barrage of political ads -- on television, on radio, in our mailboxes, on every telephone pole. The Kerry volunteers -- fresh-faced and chipper -- snag us on busy streets. Slightly more-buttoned down supporters of the Prez make their fervent pitches in shopping malls.

But just when I thought we'd reached the nadir of election madness, my city of Brotherly Love gets a visit from that dress-staining reprobate, Slick Willie Clinton. The Kerry campaign's slim lead in Pennsylvania is apparently so tentative that they decided to drag a gaunt and wispy-voiced Clinton from his coronary bypass recovery bed to rouse the masses.

And the masses did come to downtown Philly... but the impact on the audience that watched the Clinton podium shenanigans later that day on regional television may not have been what the Kerry campaign desired.

Pennsylvania has famously been described as "Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Alabama in between." The broad center of the state is a gun-toting, God-fearing place where Clinton's casual amorality doesn't go down easy (you should pardon the expression). Seeing him -- vamping in a sea of urban humanity with his Mini-Me, Kerry -- may have been a great incentive for Lancaster or Berks County voters to cement their allegiance to the Republican ranks.

More importantly, other voters (and I include myself in these ranks) see Clinton and immediately flash to his one main presidential policy flaw -- his inability to view Islamic fundamentalism as the tremendous threat to this country that it is. He squandered the opportunity after the first World Trade Center bombing to take the fight to the terrorists directly. By viewing the onslaught of Al Qaeda as a 'law enforcement' problem he diddled for 7 years, while Mohammed Atta was taking flight lessons in Florida.

So, fellow political junkies, the end time is nigh. November 2nd, I mean. One week to go and the Mainstream Media (MSM) is ratcheting up its effort to take down George W. The scandal of the scheme between the New York Times and CBS News to break an "exclusive" about missing explosives will end up biting them in the ass. It appears that the stuff was gone from the site (probably carted off by Hussein to Syria) before the US arrived in April 2003.

People already mistrust -- actually hate -- the MSM. So, for the two bulwarks of the Anybody-But-Bush Brigade to get caught rigging the system only serves to make the Prez a sympathetic victim. And Kerry’s bombastic, heavy-handed denunciation of the "looting" (there was 380 TONS of the stuff, for God's sake, it wasn't a portable television!) now looks goofy and has a shoot from the hip attitude that Bush is rightfully exploiting.

Finally, Despite Clinton's exhortation in Philly that a vote for Kerry is a vote for "hope," the Wooden One continues to run a tepid, adversarial campaign based on railing against Bush.

It's an old axiom in politics that it's easier to get folks to the polls to vote FOR something or someone rather than against. The Bush troops are white hot in their support for the President, while enthusiasm for Kerry as an individual is almost non-existent in the Democratic ranks. There are plenty of folks that hate Bush, hate Cheney, hate Rumsfeld, and they'll probably turn out. But the sliver of the electorate that Kerry really needs is the half-hearted, barely interested voter who isn't DRIVEN to rearrange their life on Election Day to make it to the polls.

Any distraction -- a sick kid, a hangover, or the weather -- is enough reason for them to chuck the idea of trotting down to their polling place. By the way, the Philadelphia and Pittsburgh weather forecast for November 2 is cloudy with rain... hmmm, I think four more years is well within our grasp.

10/27/04

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her liberal PRO-KERRY daughter's opinions.



He's ain't heavy, he's...uh... forgotten!)

So there I was channel surfing through the evening newscasts, when I settle on a clip of John Kerry rousing a rally with this line... "and I will be a champion for the middle class!"

What the @#$%!

A champion for the middle class! Somewhere, Bobby Kennedy is spinning in his grave...

Am I the only one who's noticed that some topics have been missing from the campaign discourse this year? Topics like: poverty, inner cities, homelessness, job training, public transit subsidies, low income housing, legal aid funding, welfare benefits...

You don't expect the country-club-joining, stock-investing Republicans to tout these issues. But the Democrats USED to be the party that would raise these topics and proffer solutions. What the hell has happened??

In my errant youth, when the virus of liberalism coursed through my political bloodstream, I was very involved in social issues. As my previous blogs relate, I worked for Gene McCarthy in 1968. When Nixon got elected, I transferred my fledgling left wing advocacy to the cause of the California farmworkers led by Cesar Chavez.

I was, at the time, employed by the A&P as a meat wrapper and deli clerk (I still hold a Meat Cutter and Butcher Workmen of North America union card).

But many afternoons--before I donned my apron and hairnet--I joined a straggly line of pickets in front of my store waving "Boycott California grapes" signs. My store manager was apoplectic, and some of my customers confused (Isn't that the nice girl who sliced our Swiss cheese for us yesterday?) but I -- and the national Democratic party then -- were on the side of the angels.

Clinton started the slide toward the middle -- reforming welfare, scolding Sister Souljah. But in the 2000 election, Gore at least went through the motions of being a populist complete with eye-popping shrieks and arm waving. In the 2004 primaries, Al Sharpton attempted to put issues like affirmative action and jobs on the radar.

But the anti-Bush rabidity pushed the Dems toward a middle-of-the road candidate, and the Great Wooden One hasn't uttered a word about the lower income/minority slice of the electorate that I've heard.

I'm sure the Democratic platform has some language about "extending a hand to those in need" blah-blah-blah. But since those folks seem to be permanently (and foolishly) in the Democratic herd, there's no incentive to toss any goodies -- rhetorical or real -- their way.

Which brings us to the "suburbia suck up" tactics of Kerry and Edwards... it's pandermonium!

Despite my current support of Bush, I live in a large city and work with many African Americans and Hispanics. So, I am personally offended that both major parties have written off their needs this year. And my old placard-toting, remember-the-underdog soul hungers for more true attention to be paid to ALL Americans.

Sigh.....



10/21/04

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her liberal PRO-KERRY daughter's opinions.



Kerry Just Doesn't Get It...(Thanks, New York Times!)

I'd planned to critique the second presidential debate in this Zeitgeist entry, but circumstances have intervened. The October 10th issue of the New York Times magazine provided such a revealing and defining insight into the mindset of John Kerry that I have to comment.

The sentence in question...

"...We have to get back to the place we were,
where terrorists are not the focus of our lives,
but they're a nuisance..."

has already been seized by Bush and the Republicans for some cheap demagoguery. But my response to Kerry's reported attitude is a bit more nuanced and it cuts to the core of why I am alarmed at the prospect of a Kerry administration.

Maybe it's because my 'baby' lives and works in New York, or maybe it's the prospect of grandkids in my life someday, but my attitude towards Islamic terrorists is pretty hard core and basic -- eradicate them totally. It's a black and white issue for me; I see no shades of grey. For better or worse (some parts of the Patriot Act, for instance), Bush and his administration seem to share this attitude.

But Kerry & company (Albright, Holbrooke, Berger and that gang of appeasement internationalists) hold a more 'sophisticated' view. They roll their eyes at Bush's cowboy mentality; they rail against the 'imperialism' of the current administration; they're disdainful of the go-it-alone actions in Iraq. They favor a Rodney King foreign policy -- can't we all just get along?

Well, in a word, no.

It's telling to me that the New York Times -- presumably sympathetic to Kerry -- printed the article. While the author acknowledged that Kerry's 'nuisance' opinion delineated him from Bush, he and his editors apparently say no red flag in the comment. I guess it fit neatly into the Manhattan/Georgetown mindset that Bush is an idiot, Cheney is an evil mastermind, and the whole 'war on terror' is a cover for some big oil / Halliburton conspiracy.

Well, there are plenty of folks in the 'swing' states that Kerry covets who don't exist in that rarified world. They don't see terrorists as the world's 'squeegee men'... annoying but manageable. They correctly see them as brutal barbarians who slice off the heads of fellow human beings. In the most recent instance, they beheaded a British captive whom they fed and led to the bathroom for several weeks, yet they still possessed the malevolent resolve to carve into his flesh on camera and display his severed head. Some nuisance, huh?

These miscreants are intent on restoring a medieval caliphate. They are patient, single-minded and EVIL. Such an unrelenting opponent demands an equally fierce response.

I've heard three especially disturbing utterances over the course of this campaign: Kerry's 'nuisance' remark, Kerry's 'global test' comment and an offhand response that Teresa Kerry made to a reporter this summer that Americans should emulate Europeans and 'get accustomed' to terrorist incidents.

I can't accept that. I won't accept that.

John Kerry's attempt to cloak himself in a 'tough guy' persona fails every now and then, and we see the real Kerry. We see the anti-war activist, the Senator who voted to cut defense and intelligence programs, the man who voted against the Gulf War in 1991. I believe his election would be catastrophic for the country.

So when I'm listening to the back-and-forth rhetoric in the third debate -- chatter about jobs, stem cells, Medicare -- I'll be framing that discussion within my overarching issue: survival.

10/12/04

Please feel free to email any comments, questions or letter of adoration directly to Cristin's Mom at maureen@aptowicz.com. All opinions expressed are solely Maureen O'Keefe Aptowicz's and NOT her liberal PRO-KERRY daughter's opinions.