It’s Hot

I recently had an intellectual discussion with a colleague concerning the recent heat wave and its connection to global warming, and he was so fascinated with my scientific acumen that he suggested I publish it here.

Him: It’s hot.

Me: It’s summer.

Him: I mean, really hot.

Me: That happens in summer.

Him: Phoenix is, like, 115 degrees.

Me: Oh yeah, it often gets hot in the desert in the summer.

Him: Babies and dogs are dying in overheated cars.

Me: It’s not a good idea to leave babies and dogs in hot cars. You know, it being summer and all.

Him: The secretary general of the World Meteorological Organization said, and I quote, “the extreme weather which has affected millions of people happened in July.”

Me: Well, July is part of summer. Summer gets hot.

Him: He said the world has entered what forecasters warn could be a “long period of exceptional warmth.”

Me: That’s usually June- August. Those are summer months.

Him: Supposedly untangling the specific factors behind this heat wave will take time.

Me: By that time, it should be cooler. Once summer is over.

Him: Scientists need to understand whether we’re going to be seeing this again next year, or 10 years from now.

Me: I think we will. Summer tends to happen once a year.

Him: It could make subtropical regions susceptible to greater heat and drought.

Me: Yeah, those regions get hotter than other areas in the summer.

Him: Once verdant Mesopotamia is running dry

Me: Excuse me?

Him: The Fertile Crescent is the cradle of civilization.

Me: So?

Him: The word itself, “Mesopotamia,” means “land between two rivers.” The rivers are drying up. People are moving away.

Me: They probably don’t like how hot it gets in the summer.

Him: The ocean in Florida is up to triple digits. People say it’s like swimming in soup.

Me: Yeah, Florida gets really hot, especially in the summer. Summer gets really hot. Summer is hot.

Him: I can’t talk to you.

Me: Have a good summer.

More Soop For You

I am honored to have another story in the Chicken Soup for the Soul Series that is available on all outlets today. Unfortunately, owing to my complete hopelessness and lack of interest and regard for all that is social media, I have lost the social media toolkit in my email. Sorry, Shelby. I mean well. A picture is at the bottom. On the upside, I will be doing book signings in several Philadelphia Barnes and Nobles’ in the fall, as requested. More on that.

Sound of Freedom

(While I will not remove what I say in this post about the movie “Barbie,” I will, however, concede that for some reason I can’t fathom, it’s trending, and people want to see it. Hey, I still have my Barbies from childhood in my attic- I love Barbie. But the movie looks…heinous. And I stand by that).

I’m trying to feel better.

I skipped church this morning in favor of a quiet walk in nature. Connected with all three of my sons. Cooked a little, listened to beautiful classical music, with a little Gershwin thrown in for good measure. Read some, planned a few trips, went on a boat ride.

But I don’t feel better. My appetite is gone, my heart flip-flopping around in my chest. I don’t feel better. But I will. Eventually.

I don’t know who is out there reading this, maybe no one. That’s not really why I write this blog anyway, not why I do anything, for that matter. But if you’re out there, I have a piece of advice for you:

Go see “Sound of Freedom.”

Please understand, I know those children. I worked in a youth shelter in an inner city where I witnessed human trafficking up close, and I counseled those children. So allow me to paraphrase what actor Jim Caviezel said in what I believe to be one of the most heart-rending scenes of the movie, as the camera simply pans in on a close-up of his face:

Watching this, doing this job, eats away at you, until you can’t function. You dream of these children. Their eyes haunt you, you worry yourself sick until you can’t eat or think of anything but them. It breaks you to pieces, and once you’re broken over these children, you never really get those pieces back.

That’s what it did to me. I can still see their eyes. Every day.

The pandemic took me away from the center, and I have not as of yet returned. Every day I wake up and consider emailing my supervisor to put me on the schedule. And every day, I ask myself:

Am I strong enough to go back? I honestly don’t know.

(Movie spoiler alert):

Imagine the following scenario:

A talent agent who attended your daughter’s school play the day before shows up at your door. “She has talent, real talent,” this beautiful, perfectly coiffed woman says to you in your living room, and of course, you agree. After all, she’s your talented beautiful daughter.

The woman hands you her business card. Glossy, beautifully embossed, just like her. We want to treat her to a professional photo shoot, she says. Then we’ll show the pictures to the right people. Your daughter is jumping up and down with excitement, what little girl wouldn’t? You decide it can’t hurt to let her get this free photo shoot.

You bring her to the location, and it looks great. Lots of happy kids, photographers, equipment and lights, food and drink, toys and music, just a great vibe all-around. You begin to walk onto the set, but the beautiful woman stops you.

No parents on set, she smiles. We want the children to act natural. Sorry. Pick-up is 7:00, sharp.

You and the other parents smile sheepishly at each other, feeling lucky that your brilliant children were chosen. You decide to run errands for a couple of hours since you can’t watch. You hug your daughter, and tell her to have fun.

You return to an empty building. No children, no photographers, just a dark, empty building. She’s gone. Just gone. Like she never existed. Because she and all of the other children were sold, in a matter of two hours, to the child sex traffic trade.

That’s the opening scene in the movie, “Sound of Freedom.”

You scoff. But that could never happen here, you say. Not in the United States.

Why not?

This post is not about child sex trafficking, a multi-billion-dollar industry. We know there are more slaves now than when slavery actually existed, and millions of those slaves are children. Our children. I don’t care where they live. They are all our children.

This post is about choice. Your choice to ignore that embarrassing pink horror of a movie “Barbie,” and give your money to “Sound of Freedom.” Maybe even scan the code at the end of the movie and donate a ticket to someone who can’t afford one.

In the movie the sound of freedom was music. Laughter. Singing. Dancing.

In real life, it’s something different for everyone. The sound of your boat lapping over the waves. Your flight to Paris taxiing down the runway. The clink of wine glasses in a five-star restaurant. The excited screams of your children at the waterpark.

Enjoy those freedoms. I’m going to enjoy the weekend sounds of my sons banging in and out of the house. Quiet music, cooking from scratch, hanging towels on the line.

But I have some soul searching to do. Because the backdrop of my life is always, and has always been, about children. And I think I need to go back and start helping again. And stop being a coward.

If haven’t already, see the movie. Cry, and let it break your heart. Then help. In that order. That’s the least any of us can do.

AI

Most accurate redundancy ever recorded in human history:

Cast of “The View” discussing artificial intelligence.

Bonding Time

My 21-year old son had had a sore throat for a few days, and Friday morning he miraculously agreed not only to get checked out so that we could rule out strep, but also to let me accompany him.

After he signed in and we sat down, he immediately checked his phone. I looked around the waiting room and every single person was on his or her phone. Every. Single. One. Enjoy the following mom-son conversations he has agreed to let me publish on my blog today:

Me: Look at everyone staring at their phones. Good lord.

Him: Hmmph.

Me: Why don’t you put your phone away, be a rebel, look like a real man.

Him: What else is there to do? What do you do when you’re waiting in an office?

Me: Stare at people until I make them uncomfortable.

Him: (Laughs)

5-minute pause.

Me: Sore throats are the worst.

Him: Yeah. I had tonsillitis for two weeks at school.

Me: Excuse me?

Him: My roommates said my nodes were swollen. I definitely had tonsillitis.

Me: Why didn’t you go to the health center?

Him: I got through it.

Me: Are you saying you cured your own tonsillitis?

Him: That’s what I’m saying.

Me: That could offer hope to millions of people a year paying to get their tonsils removed.

Him: (Laughs)

5-minute pause.

Him: I miss my cat.

(He refers to the cat that lives in his campus house).

Me: We still haven’t had a turn at holiday babysitting.

Him: I know.

Me: Bring him home at Thanksgiving.

Him: Maybe.

Me: It would be worth the look on your brother’s face when he walked in and saw a cat in the house.

Him: (Laughs). He hates cats.

Me: I know. I don’t know why.

Him: He says he’s allergic to them.

Me: He’s not. He made it up.

Him: Why?

Me: Because Dad was. He thinks it’s genetic.

Him: (Laughs)

Long pause. Mother and young girl enter ladies’ room, young girl begins dry heaving and crying. You can hear the mother comforting her.

Me: That’s a shame. It’s scary to throw up.

Him: It’s the worst.

Me: Did you get sick the night of your 21st?

Him: No. I threw up earlier that day though.

Me: So you engaged in preemptive vomiting?

Him: You could say that.

Me: (Laughing).

He receives a text that we are 9th in line, which we estimate is a minimum of one hour. We tell the receptionist we will be in the car until it is our turn. Once in the car, he shows me a BreezyGolf video of a toddler using his plastic golf club to hit a plastic golf ball out of tall grass. After 20 or so attempts, the baby finally throws the club in frustration. We laugh. After only one minute of waiting, he receives a phone call that he can come in for his appointment. Happily, he comments:

“We should have done this sooner.”

As I watch his six-foot tall athletic frame amble its way into the medical center, looking both strong but vulnerable, I can’t help but think:

Yes, we should.

(Strep test was negative).

Golf Hacks

What are we in now, mid-summer? My goal is to get out on my boat and onto the golf course more than I have been.

Need some golf hacks? I just read a great article about mistakes we are all making with our golf games. Here they are:

  1. Impatience to practice small swings. Using your Big Dog off the tee isn’t everything, you know. Foreplay is just as, if not more, important. Sigh: I used to have this beautiful little approach shot with my pitching wedge with this pretty little half swing my husband taught me. Something happened, and it doesn’t work anymore. I need a new strategy, I’m either flubbing it or going over the green.
  2. Intolerance to errors. How many success gurus do we need to listen to before we agree: mistakes are how you get better. Failure is not only an option, it’s necessary. Sheesh.
  3. Reluctance to use training aids. Training aids may not improve your game right away, but if used consistently, could help down the road.
  4. Taking advice from friends rather than a golf coach. I’ve received three excellent pieces of advice in my lifetime, advice that drastically improved my golf game: one from a friend, one from a golf club demo guy, and one from my son. My point? You never know where the good advice will come.
  5. Refusal to use video or hear swing feedback. The first time I watched a video my husband took of my swing off the tee, I watched him trying to keep a straight face. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked like that?” I asked. “Looked like what?” he replied, innocently. “Um, like I’m having a convulsion?” I said. “Oh, that,” he replied. “Well, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” “Oh, but humiliation is better? I suck.” I pouted. He put the phone down, took my hand, looked in my eyes, and smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you do.” Hey, honesty is the best policy.
  6. One and done lessons. Buy a package. One lesson won’t do shite.
  7. Can’t identify their strengths and weaknesses. My strengths: any shot with a seven iron, chip shots, driving a par-three, putting, having cute pink balls that match my cute pink shoes, tending the flag in a responsible and authoritative fashion, and chugging a cold drink after quitting halfway through 18 in frustration. My weaknesses: Water. Sand. Woods. Trees. Bushes. Rough. Rocks. Geese. Scat droppings. Cart paths. Groups standing behind me watching me tee off.
  8. Failure to practice after a lesson.
  9. Wrong practice routines.
  10. Overgeneralizing errors. Why have you bladed a chip? Why did you top your drive? Why are you so rude to the cart girl? She’s just a young gorgeous college student trying to earn money, why do you have to be such a douchebag? I hope her father and brothers come and beat the shit out of you for calling her a “beer whore.”
  11. Being a range rat. Spending too much time on the range is golf porn. Stop watching and envisioning, and go do it.
  12. Trying to hit a draw when a fade comes easily. I don’t know what this means.

It’s All Risky

Never forget when you hear a financial or life guru discussing risk, it originally came from my main man, Mr. Jim Rohn:

It’s all risky.

The minute you were born it got risky.

If you think trying is risky, wait till they hand you the bill for not trying.

If you think investing is risky, wait till you get the tab for not investing.

See, it’s all risky.

Getting married is risky,

Having children is risky,

Going into business is risky.

Investing your money is risky.

It’s all risky.

I’ll tell you how risky life is.

You’re not going to get out alive.

It’s all risky.

Designate your time. Again, Jim:

Just be more alert to the things that might be stealing your time.

Time is like capital.

You can’t let someone steal your seed corn.

You can’t let someone steal your capital.

And you can’t let someone steal your time.

You must designate your time, and some of the time that you designate you must not let anyone steal.

Casual time you might let someone intrude and steal a little bit, take a little bit.

But not serious time.

Good Vibes Only

I saved this quote on Instagram:

Anyone agree how cvs has bad vibes. Walgreens is fine.

 I’m not sure why I saved it. It made me laugh. I avoid going in CVS, and the quote is accurate- CVS is bad, and Walgreen’s IS fine.

Walmart bad. Target good.

Acme bad. Wegmans good.

Macy’s bad. Nordstrom good.

Dicks bad. REI good.

(I meant Dick’s Sporting Goods. As in:

Dick’s bad. Dicks good).

The quote was also prescient, and reminded me of something. Maybe a story a colleague told me recently about how she went into a store to buy essential oils, but she was totally turned off by the energy in the store, so she left. It reminded me of a passage.

But what passage? Then I found it. Here, for your pleasure:

Every business, every place, every person, everything has a certain mental atmosphere of its own. This atmosphere decides what is to be drawn to it. For instance, you never saw a successful man who went around with an atmosphere of failure. Successful people think of success. A successful man is filled with that subtle something which permeates everything that he does with an atmosphere of confidence and strength. In the presence of some people we feel as though nothing were too great to undertake; we are uplifted; we are inspired to do great things, to accomplish; we feel strong, steady, sure. What a power we feel in the presence of big souls, strong men, noble women!

Courtesy of Ernest Holmes, Creative Mind and Success