More Cutting the Cable TV Cable

Back in March I contemplated cutting the cable TV cord. My monthly Comcast bill is a ridiculous $178.30 for what Comcast calls its "Triple Play." Internet, land-line phone, and TV. That's it. No HBO or Showtime. Well, after yesterday, I could kick myself for not acting on my instincts earlier.

After three months I finally went out to RadioShack and brought their Indoor Amplified HDTV Antenna. I asked the fellow who helped me if the antenna worked in this area (Batavia, Illinois, is 40 miles from Chicago), and he said, "Well, I haven't seen anyone return it." That was good enough for me. When I got home son plugged it in and in a few minutes, both Scott and I were amazed at the crisp quality we saw on the Sony. We are picking up local TV stations with one notable exception. We can't  get CBS. While I watch CBS's Sunday Morning each week, I can learn to live without it for the money I will be saving.

In anticipation of this move, we have supplemented our Netflix with Hulu Plus at $7.99 a month. I haven't decided if I will drop the land-line but am leaning towards that course also. Right now I think this is a positive move since I'm heading out for a walk to Batavia's Riverwalk instead of watching Sunday Morning. More later.

Missing Montana

I have never been to Montana. I have it in my head to go to Montana. This longing is nothing new as it goes back several years, fueled perhaps by too many years living in towns and cities.

As a young girl, I grew up living in the country—rural Alabama to be precise. My dad bought 20 acres and built a house on the land after he got out of the Air Force. From the age of five until 18 when I went away to college, I lived there, roaming the woods unto my self for the most part. I was an only child, close to my grandpa and grandma, who took care of me while my mom went off to her breadwinner job at Maxwell Air Force Base in nearby Montgomery. My dad never seemed to be able to make a go at much we judge success by—the War left him wounded without the visible signs. He never was the same says an aunt.

So, with rose-colored glasses, I look back on a sometimes lonely childhood. But it is what molded me and I appreciate quiet, nature, and time for reflection. Maybe that is what draws me to Montana. I think if Montana is anywhere as pretty as the pictures, I might find what I seek.

Like Sands Through the Hourglass

No, this isn’t about Days of Our Lives, the soap opera. Well, it is about the real days of our lives and that hourglass is a wonderful reminder of the sad fact that the meter is running. Jobs, school and everyday chores intrude and consume a good portion of time. Then, we must sleep. Hence, time for reflection, long novels, hikes in the woods and visits with friends and family takes a backseat.

Those times when we can hop in the car or on a plane for a visit become even more precious. That was the case a few days ago when the Springfield Noblitts visited the Chicago branch. We enjoyed our time and hope that we weren’t too much the kind of visitors ole Ben Franklin referred to when he wrote, “Fish and visitors smell after three days.”

How Do You Remember

We’ve been remembering and revering fallen, endangered or ill people for quite some time now—so long that most of us have lost track of who started it all.

We have felt the need to mark graves—a kind of Kilroy was here—for ages. Heck, I’ve even seen R. I. P. (dearly departed relative or pet) car memorials, often on the most pimped out of vehicles.

Songs have been written. Two come to mind: Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Ole Oak Tree and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.

Speaking of yellow, the yellow ribbon magnets slapped on cars that were all the rage at the start of the Iraqi war are noticeably fewer in number these days. While we still support the troops, we just aren’t so sure we need to show it anymore now that it’s safe to disagree with the Bush administration. Even the republican senators are joining the opposition.

I have a pink ribbon or two and have sold products featuring the ribbon so ubiquitously identified with the disease I’d sooner forget. Lance Armstrong’s plastic Live Strong bracelets are a favorite presidential candidate accessory.

But, the other day my daughter-in-law forwarded a story from NPR about a couple from Kansas City who had simply planted American flags on their lawn—one for each of the U. S. soldiers killed since we got into Bush’s War. The couple didn’t appear to be loud or obnoxious like some war protestors cut of the Cindy Sheehan cloth. They were just sad. It was a stark and powerful statement.

Sadly, it’s taken many months and many lives, for many Americans to come to the conclusion that this war and what the administration says it is striving to do, just isn’t wanted by many Iraqis. American-style freedom isn’t the panacea it’s cracked up to be. I love my freedoms. I love my country. I don’t expect the world to discard ancient and traditional ways just because a U. S. president thinks his way is the way to go. I do expect other countries and their citizens to leave me and my family the hell alone when I’m minding my own business.

Maybe, just maybe, we should leave the Iraqis alone. That is if we can wind the clock back to the time before all hell broke loose.

I’m With You Mary

Long time readers may recall that our family is sending a son off to college next fall. Scott (and I) fell in love with Berry College in Rome, Georgia, when we visited last fall. This weekend he’s visiting Hendrix College in Conway, Arkansas, by himself, and it’s looking more and more like this will be the school for him next fall. Both of these colleges are small, private liberal arts schools. His dad and I would have liked to see Scott attend our Alma Mater, The University of Alabama, but it’s a large school and we thought he’d be more at home in a small college since he attended a small high school. Plus, he’s not so keen on football, the Greek system and Alabama in general.

With the Virginia Tech shootings so fresh on my mind, I tuned in this morning to MSNBC’s morning show with Chief White House Correspondent David Gregory hosting while the network figures out what it’s going to do with the Don Imus time slot. I don’t know if he’s pulling double duty, but so far I really like Gregory and the news-heavy focus. He has good guests and asks the questions I would be asking. Since it’s so early and his kids are younger, though, I could see him saying “no thanks” to a permanent assignment.

Anyway, I digress, dear gentle readers. I happened to catch a bit of Republican strategist Mary Matalin’s appearance this morning. She’s nearly always rubbed me the wrong way until today. The talk turned to how some colleges treat students as if they were begat by she-wolves instead of having parents who cared about what was happening to their sons and daughters. Now, they didn’t say that. That’s my take on it.

Here, you take first-year students who have mostly been concerned with downloading music for their i-pods and ask that they get themselves up for early class (you old-timers know all about the Sonic Boom alarm clock episode), wash their clothes, study, eat, get along with all kinds of people (including some scary ones), manage money when mom and dad are not around to dole it out and handle all the stress that this transition from dependency to adulthood brings with it.

The term ‘helicopter parent’ has been applied to parents who overly involve themselves in this process. Matalin said, “I’m going with them (meaning her kids when they go to college).” I think my case of helicopterism is a little less extreme compared to parents who have written college essays for their kids or who contact professors with pleas to change grades or who pick the college or courses for Junior.

Yet, as I read the Wall Street Journal article, “Colleges Ward Off Overinvolved Parents” published nearly two years ago, I thought maybe something is out of kilter here. Have we gone too far toward turning our young vulnerable sons and daughters loose on the world, while as parents failing to teach them these necessary life skills? Have we instead babied them along as my elder son seems to think, rewarding each accomplishment with a gold-plated trophy?

I can talk to Scott about the routine issues: you sort the dark clothes from the light clothes, you keep track of the bank balance so you don’t run out of money, you go to class or you get behind and flunk, if you eat high-calorie food you add pounds and you will likely add the “freshman 15” no matter what and so on. His dad and I, however, can’t be there to select friends, write assignments, choose to drink or not and hold his hand through this high-stress adventure nor do we want to be. I would, however, appreciate a call if someone notices my son is not handling college life well.

We may certainly be “. . . part of a cultural shift toward more involved parenting -- which many of today’s students welcome. There are some good reasons for it. The trend reflects societal fears about campus safety, amid growing media coverage of campus murders and deaths, mounting mental-health problems, and rising alcohol and drug arrests at colleges and universities.” Again recent events come to mind, and I wonder, what did the parents know?

A University of Georgia professor laid out one of the reasons that it’s just so darned easy to become overly involved. “The cellphone, he says, has become ‘the world's longest umbilical cord.’”

When I went away to college in 1970, there were telephones and mail. No E-mails or cell phones. My mom worked and was 90 miles away. As an only child, I relished my freedom and struggled through an incompatible roommate situation, dropped Spanish, dated strange guys, got drunk for the first time. It was a wonderful time of uncertainty and exploration. My mom stepped back and let go, hard as it was for her. I hope I can do that for my younger son.

But first, is there anyone in Conway, Arkansas, who can wake up my son for class next fall?

Hindsight, Foresight & A Troubled Mind at Virginia Tech

I’ll leave the blaming to others, but the details now coming out about the shooter at Virginia Tech are indeed troubling and open the doors to much conversation about how society and our institutions should handle troubled individuals.

I don’t think anyone wants to go back to the days when we would lock a person suspected of having a mental problem away in a “Snake Pit” mental hospital never to be free again (The Snake Pit was a 1948 movie where Olivia de Havilland wakes up in a state insane asylum with no clue as to why she’s there). Yes, there are people who must be locked away to protect society and themselves, but today we are more apt to turn to pills and the family doctor to handle some rather serious mental health problems. And that’s if the problem is going to be addressed at all.

Pretty much the mantra has become, “if he’s no threat to himself or others.” Well, perhaps, it’s time to reevaluate this idea. Yes, I believe in a free society and an open society, and this is part of the troubling part. How do we get the help to people who don’t want it? At what point should we intervene? Must there first be a crisis? Most health insurance coverage limits mental health benefits. I think this is dangerous.

Right here in Alabama we had a federal court case, Wyatt v. Stickney, that largely influenced how states care for those with mental health problems. U. S. District Court Judge Frank M. Johnson, Jr., for many years guided and watched over that case which set what’s been called the Wyatt Standards regarding the right to treatment: humane psychological and physical environments; qualified staff in numbers sufficient to administer adequate treatment; individualized treatment plans; and services in the least restrictive environment.

Court monitors, special masters and 33 years later, a predecessor of Judge Johnson’s finally felt that Alabama had done what the law and justice required. How ironic it is to me that Judge Johnson, the judge who took Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka and applied its principles to civil rights case after case involving the Montgomery Bus Boycott, voting rights, the Ku Klux Klan, the Selma to Montgomery March, Freedom Riders and so on, lost his own 28-year-old son to suicide, coming after years of harassment over his father’s high profile decisions.

I don’t have the answer. But we need to be thinking about this.

Snickers Ad Pulled

I really didn’t care for the Snickers candy ad that aired during the Super Bowl--you know the one now kicking up yet another “controversy.” My reasons weren’t those of the gay and lesbian groups raising the stink, and they really are irrelevant to my view here. We have gotten to the point where damn near everything created, designed, broadcast, printed, or disseminated over the Internet is dissected with the precision of a surgeon’s knife and examined under a microscope to the nth degree. Let’s face it. If you watch television, listen to music, look at a magazine, go to a museum, pass a billboard, attend a play or movie, read a book, or just crawl out of your hole and explore the world around you, you most likely will be offended by something you see.

Just get over it and realize that in a free society (and thank God or whomever that we live in a free society) this is reality. Do you have to like it? No. But if it offends you, please don’t decide for me that it will also offend me.