Datebook: Monday, February 26th ~ 2007

I think someone already coined the phrase “This is the winter of my discontent” or I would use it.

I feel like my brain is on “scan mode” and when I find something I want to lock in, the station changes and I can’t go back.

When this happens I go into my “letter writing mode”. When I was younger, my sister and I dreaded hearing, “Wait until your father gets home.” My children cringe when they hear me say, “I’m writing a letter.”

This is because, I take on “causes”.

I try to “write” injustices.

I try to point out “flaws” in the system.

In my scan mode, I have several draft letters “in production”.

I have one to the ISU regarding the clarity of their instruction on the use of “Folk Music” this year. (This is actually in file saved as ISU2, as I have another draft regarding their policy on ages of ice-dancers for junior and the possibility that some uninformed person could infer that they use sexual bias in the age discrepancies of woman (18) and men (21).

I have a draft to the chairman of the Solo Cup Company asking that he initiate a movement to standardize the size of take-out cups in this country—small, medium, and large is really without context here. At a fair or concert, a large beverage typically comes in a cup the size of a quilting thimble yet costs seven dollars. At most convenience stores a large is the size of small wading pool and often needs to be strapped to the front of the car—oddly enough in these venues a small size costs 89 cents and a extra big vat costs 90 cents. There needs to some standardization.

I also have a draft in pencil version to my state senator regarding the implementation of positioning mirrors for SUVs and 4x4 trucks. I think I am the perfect person to suggest this bill since I used to be the owner and driver of said vehicles. Yes, I used to fill up my Sequoia every other day and glance down at the truckers on the interstate until my concern with global warming and the need to replace those big tires at 800 dollars a piece made me pause at the pump and I bought a car. Now, I find wherever I go I wind up parking next to, or near one of the larger vehicles and backing out of a parking space makes me feel a bit Helen Kellerish. I can’t see, or hear anything. I am blindly backing into a travel lane. So, in the interest of safety, manufacturers need to install positioning mirrors on these vehicles so others can see around them. I think they could be chromed-out and actually be a valued accessory.

But with all these letters in progress, the one that I am currently working on is the one involving a local limousine company.

Here’s the deal. This limo company has two black stretch limousines that they park in the Safeway shopping center parking lot. They take up about twenty spaces. That would be okay except they never move.

I am not exaggerating. (I have marked their tires). They just sit there.

Here is my history with limousines. I have rented one on four occasions. Once for my daughter’s prom (where it cost about 8000.00 for 16 people for eight hours—six of which the driver had the car parked at the prom location or the restaurant not moving), once for my son’s prom (this May—oh you have to pay in advance)-where it now costs 9000.00 because gas went up. And two times for my daughter’s birthday.

Okay, I need to explain that. For my daughter’s 10th birthday I hired a local limo to take about six of the girls who were moving into the double digit age category to a theme restaurant. It was fun and not any more expensive than Chuckie Cheese because you always have to buy extra tokens! But, then when my daughter turned 17 I hired a limo to take her and six of her friends to a big mall an hour and a half away. My husband thought that was excessive, but in skating reality it was relatively inexpensive. I say this because my husband lives with blinders on regarding skating—in the words of a great movie of years ago, “He couldn’t handle the truth”.

I mean really, one summer when my daughter was still doing freestyle and working on her axel we went to a special “jump coach” who charged 2.00 a minute for lessons. In a thirty minute lesson she attempted 15 axels in which she fell on all but one, and spent the remaining time circling the ring to “set-up” or talking to the coach who said, “Try it again.” This coach then bought what she called her “Summer Mercedes” which I didn’t understand since it wasn’t a convertible and didn’t even have a sunroof. Then after a month she handed out her bills to each of her summer students with a coupon payment for her car which was paid off before the dog days of summer. Skating reality is a bit different.

So, I want to write a letter to the owner of the two parked limousines outlining a plan that offers a means to make revenue and a means to make luxury affordable to all. Why not hand out coupons in the deli department that offer the bearer an opportunity to take a ride in style. Rent the limo for a tank of gas and a reasonable (not-skating based assessment) hourly rate for the driver.

Let the tires get traction more than three times a year.

I’ll let you know if I get a reply.

Mombo

Datebook: Monday, February 19th ~ 2007

[The search for the meaning of "folk" ~ Mombo #9]

I have now googled every type of Folk Music known to man.

Seriously.

Last night I typed in New Guinea and then Mozambique. I’m sorry, but I had the World Atlas out and I had hit all the popular countries. I got the usual list from Itunes (but you must remember that Itunes is not comprehensive, they don’t even have a version of AC/DC “Highway to Hell” in case you are craving it) which includes Lawrence Welk type Orchestras playing songs that your aunt used to hum.

Frustration.

So, as I’ve mentioned in the past, I decided to hit the “I Feel Lucky” button on the Google site. Now, I don’t really know why this is there, or how it works, but I use it as infrequently as possible, because, who knows, you may have an allotted number of “Lucky” hits. This doesn’t seem to be as interchangeable as the “Easy” button at Staples. It is a great concept though.

Imagine if the “I Feel Lucky” button were placed in other places and made available.

It might be option in a high end BMW or Lexus. You’re on the open road and you make that decision, should you just roll as you listen to your Ebay version of AC/DC’s” TNT” or do the speed limit. If you had a third option, you could push the “I Feel Lucky” button on your simulated wood and Corinthian leather dash and maybe the police car sitting on the side of the road would merely be a decoy.

Imagine going to a skating competition where the snaps of the costume are showing a bit of wear in their fifth month of use. Maybe you should have stitched them down again. But, “I feel lucky” has a button next to the music box, and you press it as you start your program and go into you rotational lift with a change of position. You don’t need to look down to see if there has been a wardrobe malfunction because you used the button as insurance.

So, I hit the button for “Folk Music”.

The thing with luck is that sometimes you don’t immediately know if it is good or bad.

I got a huge list that included Bossa Nova and Pygmy Music.

I started imagining writing the bio box for the competition that the judges must read about the music.

“The team is expressing true love as they anguish in their attempt to escape through the perilous jungle, narrowing avoiding capture by an opposing tribe with lethal, hand-crafted blow-darts, and being eaten by the rare Mozambique carnivorous tree frog. They end in a powerful embrace of celebration for their freedom.”

I know. They would have to wear green and perhaps have boot covers.

So the “I Feel Lucky” button produced too much material. It will take weeks to digest it all and narrow down the selections.

This is why I think the USFSA should form a “Music Distribution Committee”. That’s right. Each team would register and then be given their OD and Free Dance music for the year. It would be like American Idol when the contestants move to the “Guest Judge” rounds and have “Themes” for the week.

This makes it a level playing field for all.

No one is left to ponder if the theme song from “Madagascar” is really an animated folk song.

The judges are no longer left with the possibility of listening and watching the same song performed by sixteen junior and senior teams, after all, isn’t Carmen a folk song?

No one is made to feel like this has to be a 007 mission, or kept hush-hush in case another team hears your song idea and decides to take it.

No, the Music Distribution Committee could field sales pitches all year from music vendors who could package and market their selections. Maybe put them in designer cases. Costume designers could even ask for advance music lists and submit sketches and swatches to accompany the assignments.

Of course, this is still probably several years away from occurring. We will need to form a committee to look into forming the MDC.

In the mean time, we are left to ponder the melodies in little 30 second clips. And it leaves so much unclear…..

Can a Warthog and a Meercat be considered original artists of an African legend about a great king?

Mombo

Datebook: Monday, February 12th ~ 2007

The end of the season means it is time to put away, and cast out, items from last year.

This could mean free dance and tango costumes, but in reality they’ll just be moved over a few spots in the closet. True, I’ve often thought that I should have these cleaned and mounted in large shadow boxes to display on the walls like football fans display jerseys in their club basements.

But I don’t.

By the end of the season, the beading and frayed edges of the “nude” pieces make them look like rejects from the Salvation Army pile.

I have to admit though, I am a bit worried.

The price of competition dresses has skewed all reasoning and balance. While shopping this weekend my daughter bought a pair of 190 dollar jeans, and a blouse that was “only” 78.00. It was after all, her money and her choice.

I bought a caramel coffee (Grande 3.65) to take a Tylenol.

Since I could get a coffee at Wawa for 89 cents, and she could get a pair of jeans from Levis for forty dollars, I guess we both had the same ratio of excessive spending—please don’t make me actually do the math—let’s just round it up or down and say I’m right.

No, what I’m really worried about is when my daughter has a big event coming up in her life, like her wedding or attending the Oscars, she will want a “special dress”. With her frame of reference either of those two will need to be designed by Vera Wang or Valentino. And I’m not sure she will be able to make the jump from lycra to silk. Once you’ve worn fabric that stretches yet holds you can’t go back to the unforgiving tightness of natural fibers.

Will simple seed pearls be enough to satisfy a bride who hopes to glow?

My daughter was effusive that this year she might be able to take a vacation since there seems to be time period when all the planets align—her coach will be away and her partner will be celebrating his graduation. I thought she might be planning a trip to the beach.

“So where are you going exactly?” I asked in my ‘good mother’ voice.

“France,” she stated calmly, “I think we’re going to France.”

“Oh,” was all I could reply, thinking maybe they had made a sequel to the Coneheads movie. “How nice.”

It’s not that I have never been to France. I have. Several years ago to watch my daughter skate—which means of course—I didn’t really get to see France. We had one afternoon that was free and I asked my daughter if she wanted to take the train to see Versailles and she elected to shop instead. Shopping in Paris is really unlike any other experience in the world. People actually line up, along that famous avenue, and wait in lines to enter stores like Louis Vuitton. They wait in line outside the store for an opportunity to spend hundreds or thousands of dollars once inside. So, I’m not sure if she is lured back to Paris by the memory of the sidewalk cafes and beautiful cathedrals, or the feel of those 12 ply shopping bags with luxury tissue paper.

“What about Disney World?” I ask. “I always heard that is fun when you are older.”

She looks at me like I suggested a clown for her eighteenth birthday, but only says, “we’ll see” which is scary because it is what I used to say to her when she was little and would ask for a pony, a giraffe, or a monkey, you know, before she discovered she hated animal hair on her black clothing. We all know that means ‘no way’.

So I, and skating, have raised a child who will prefer Vera Wang and France to Levis and Disney World.

Gretchen Wilson will never pen a song about her.

And now my daughter can legally make her own decisions and plans which explains my Grande coffee and Tylenol.

I’m not really liking this 18-years old rule.

You know what I mean.

It’s all cake and balloons and then the reality of your children being 18 hits you. You don’t have to sign anything for them. You can’t tell them what to do, you can only make “suggestions”. Their medical insurance costs more.

It is a hard transition as a mom.

No one is ever successful going cold turkey like that. If you are a smoker they give you nicotine patches. If you are going off of caffeine you are allowed one cup of coffee or one soda a day. But with children, the birthday candle smoke doesn’t even clear and they are off, making their way.

So, getting back on topic. It is the end of the season and it is time to put away things that aren’t needed.

My lingering question, “What am I supposed to do with four Poinsettia plants in February”?

Is there a shelter for them or something?

Mombo

Datebook: Thursday, February 8th ~ 2007

So we are in the process of “looking at music.”

I am always a little envious of all of those teams who go to the rink and their coach hands them a CD and says, “This is your program for this season.”

This is not the case in our camp.

Between me and the mom of my daughter’s partner, we spend at least fifteen hundred dollars on music buying OD and FD “possibilities”. In reality, we know it is a doomed proposition, much like buying a prom dress for a seventeen year-old without her being present. Much like picking a hair style for your son out of a catalogue without his input.

Last year we vacillated between Billy Joel, Joe Cocker, the Beatles, and Queen. Once you find selections, of course, you have to find pieces that “mix together” to form a slow piece and one with “build.” If you download music it can’t always be cut and “pieced together” with Garageband or some other SirMixaLot service because there is often some type of copyright covering it although you have just paid one dollar to download it.

It reminds me of being lost on the turnpike and going through the toll to turn around to go back through the toll, which in reality translates to paying double to get back to where you were.

I think I have related this before, but none of our selections are ever used.

No Prince, no Tina, no Tom Jones.

So now we are supposed to go out again and look for music and this year we have even less direction than we usually have.

We have to find folk music.

And a new free dance.

Oh, and it must be exotic and dramatic.

That might be doable if we didn’t need to add in the other components:

Three coaches must like it.

The skaters must “feel it”.

The judges must think it is both mature in content yet youthful in spirit.

It must be fresh.

There must be this shift in tempo (the slow –look into each other’s eyes and the build—skate really fast and use all the corners of the rink).

It must have crowd appeal.

It must have longevity (no one will get sick of it before next January).

These seven caveats make it Mission Impossible 4.

First of all, our coaches span several generations. One of them told us last year that he loved Tina Turner and in fact had secret fantasies about her and that he “loved her music”.

Great. I bought several CDs-- Tina with Ike, Tina in her Thunderdome era, and Tina with the legs. Seventy dollars.

Coach number two was unimpressed.

“I’m not sure. Some of the judges may not like that whole Ike beating Tina thing. It might be “too much.”

Oh, okay. I call my co-partner in the venture with our new scavenger hunt for directions.

“We can’t have anything that is “too much.”

“Did they listen to anything besides the “Proud Mary” cut?

“I don’t know. I think they are afraid of the whole Mel Gibson/Mad Max connotation with the judges.”

Coach three liked our Billy Joel selections. But Coach one did the whole twisty mouth, squinty eye maneuver (Level 4 with pluses).

“I don’t know. I don’t think he plays well to international judges.”

Oh. The Piano Man isn’t hot in France or Frankfurt?

Joe Cocker.

“He has that whole Palsy thing going on”.

But, we’re only listening to him, not sitting in the third row.

“I don’t know, he is so graveling, it might grate on people’s nerves”.

Tom Jones.

“There is that whole panty thing. Women used to throw them all over the stage…”

“So, you think the audience would be tempted to throw thongs instead of bears?”

“Noooo…, but I’m thinking a lot of those women are now probably judges and we may not get the reaction we hoped for.”

So, we have some obstacles to overcome. Never fear, however. I have Google, and I’m waiting for the day when I “feel lucky” so I can put in the question.

Oh, the question--“What music can be felt in the heart and soul of two, approved by a trio of disagreeing experts, and be embraced by a panel of judges?”

I know, think of all the money saved on discarded CDs.

Mombo

Datebook: Monday, February 5th ~ 2007

To prove what a small world this is, my son just returned from a weekend of, well, I’m not sure of the proper title, but it was “rocks that are now covered in ice” climbing. And he did this in Lake Placid.

The funny thing is that the people in the “climbing party” that he went with were surprised to hear that people went to Lake Placid in the summer.

“What do you do there in the summer?” they asked, making it sound like we had to take the only week not blacked out from our frequent flyer miles.

“There is an ice-skating competition”. When I said this it seemed to bounce around a bit in a vacuum like so many things we say or repeat that have such dire consequences if we ever considered them, like “Until Death Do Us Part” or “Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.”

“Really!” They say. “All the way up there.”

I merely nod.

I could point out that it makes as much sense, or perhaps more sense, to ice skate as to climb up sheets of ice, but I don’t, since most of the party has an ice ax hooked to their belt.

“Well,” they offer, “I guess it is cheaper for you to then, when it is off-season.”

Off-season?

I smile benevolently. “Actually, I believe the summer is the ‘peak’ season.”

They all turn to stare at me and there is the sound of flannel and North Face gear chafing against the grain.

They smile back. Malevolently,

“Winter sports are the prime and peak business.”

For a moment, I hear that weird noise that always comes in those old Clint Eastwood westerns (Not that I watch them or anything), when Clint steps onto the street with his forty inch gun.

This could turn into an age-old battle.

Dogs versus Cats.

Protestants versus Roman Catholics.

Coke versus Pepsi

Crest versus Colgate

Paul versus Ringo….you get the picture.

“Well,” I say, “Ice skating is a winter sport. But, you can also do it in the summer.” I raise an eyebrow at their booted legs. “It’s versatile.”

“Mom”, my son takes me aside. “You are acting like an alpha dog. Other people are allowed to go to Lake Placid for other things.”

“I didn’t start it,” I snort. “They’re all, “ice climbing” is a winter sport in the PEAK of the year and …”

“Mom, let it go.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just hate it when people get all uppity for no reason. It’s not like it’s a real sport, I mean, it’s not in the Olympics or anything. What would it be, “Ice covered rock climbing”, or “Rock, that has been covered with ice climbing, or ice that has dripped on rocks…”

“Mom.”

“Plus, how hard is that? They punch a little hole in the ice and push in metal spikes and people are holding them the whole time with a rope. Peak sport—they can’t even imagine doing something on ice on a tiny little piece of metal!”

“Mom!”

“They don’t have an ice-rock climbing arena. Did you point that out?

“It didn’t come up until just now.” He looks at me for a moment. “I think I saw a poster of the ice-dance competition in the window of the book store.”

The world settles back on a horizontal axis.

“Gosh, I’d better call for reservations before they get over-booked.”

He shakes his head before going back to say good-bye to his climbing buddies and I worry he might have an inner-ear infection from the cold.

What else could it be?

Mombo

Datebook: Thursday, February 1st ~ 2007

This is the cool down period of ice-dancing. This is the time we think about new programs, new music, and new costumes. And where we finally have to meet the challenge of the Junior and Senior OD for next year—folk/country.

What does this mean? Folk/Country? Is this Tanya Tucker meets Joan Baez? Is this Caribbean Steel Drums blended to bagpipes? Are we going to be watching Riverdance and Flamingo?

Frankly, I am a bit worried. The best advice we have ever been given was to find something that the kids like to skate to, something they identify with, something they can make their own and let them skate what they feel.

I can’t see them flowing to “Puff the Magic Dragon”, “Up, Up, and Away” or “California Dreamin” (Folk) anymore than I can see them twizzling to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy”, “Honkytonk Badonkadonk”, or “Earl” (Country).

So what are we all in for next year at Lake Placid? I don’t just mean the skaters, I meant us, the audience. Some of the music possibilities are frightening but then imagine the costumes. Uh-oh.

I know, I had you at “Lake Placid”.

But face it.

It is coming up as the next big event for most of us who are not going to Colorado Springs, Germany, or Japan. With the flip of the calendar today, Lake Placid is now less than six months away. Reservations have to be made, Tums have to be purchased, the NASDAQ has to prepare for the surge in crystal purchases.

And a larger problem for me, I have to decide about a puppy.

I haven’t discussed my other life much, since it often seems like there is no other life that is not somehow tethered to an ice skate.

But, I am a “dog person”.

This is a bit more than just a lover of canines.

I used to show dogs. I bred two litters but hated the selling part so I gave that up and became a dog handler at dog shows and then became an AKC dog show judge.

Being a dog show judge was never a problem until my daughter started competing in ice-dancing. At skating competitions the decisions are made by a panel of judges. At dog shows the winners are selected by one judge.

One judge standing in the middle of the ring pointing her finger.

One person leaves happy and about 150 leave thinking the last time you had your eyes examined was by T. J. Eckleburg between East and West Egg.

So it has become a bit harder for me to hand out the purple and gold ribbon. I would like to be able to elevate some second mark scores but I am stuck with the technical marks only. Anyway, my new judging plan is that I won’t accept any assignment unless it is warm, exotic, or has good shopping.

So my husband asked, “Why is your next assignment in Cleveland then?”

I hesitated answering of course.

Cleveland is neither warm nor exotic, and I am going to be at a cattle palace—probably not a shopping Mecca.

“Whoa,” he said, “I feel like two worlds have collided.”

I sighed. “Well, Nationals are going to be held in Cleveland in two years.”

“And what, you’re the scout?”

“No. I don’t know. It seemed like an omen when they asked me to judge in Cleveland, maybe symbolic.”

He doesn’t answer this of course, anymore than he will ever tell me what a cloud shape reminds him of. Any mention of symbolism usually sends him to the garage in search of a hand tool.

We have raised Great Danes for many years but in October we lost our last one who was only four years old. Danes are gentle giants but alas, they do not live long—typically seven years. I would like to think that this constant heartbreak is why my daughter is not a dog person but I am not sure. She carries a lint roller in her purse and seems to get goose bumps when animal hair clings to anything she is wearing. And she wears black, need I say more.

We, (meaning I) are trying to decide what type of dog to get after so many years with the Apollo of dogs, and when the best time to get a puppy would be.

I need to balance potential puppy training with skating schedules. Summer would seem ideal except for preparation for Lake Placid, Lake Placid, and the recovery from Lake Placid.

“Why don’t you stay home this year and just let her go on her own?” my husband queries.

Statements like that are defined in the dictionary under “When time stands still”.

“I could never do that.” I sputter.

“Why?” asks this meat and potatoes man I married.

“Well,” I am almost speechless as so many answers try to funnel from my brain to my mouth. “I don’t know, it’s about karma and sending in good vibes and auras, it’s about how we all support each other, the moms, who sit in the stands afraid to watch, but needing to watch.

“We’re almost like a family” I finish quietly. “I can’t “not go” to Lake Placid.”

“Why don’t you find a hotel that takes dogs then.”

“We can’t “not stay” at the Golden Arrow. We always stay there.”

He looks at me.

“It’s on the lake,” I continue. “It’s symbolic of the turmoil and chaos that vies within our skating souls.”

He goes to the garage to look for a wrench or a screwdriver.

Mombo