Lydia Archives - Page 18 of 19 - Ramblin' with Roger

"What have you learned, Dorothy?"

This month:

I’ve learned that this blogging thing can be very addicting. I’ve learned when I don’t have Internet access to posting, I get quite verklempt.

I’ve learned that creating an outline of what I want to address on specific dates is a double-edged sword. I can have a piece done two weeks early for one date (but inevitably, I always tweak it one more time), or I can have nothing planned for the next day and hope for divine inspiration. I KNOW (I believe) what I’m going to write about for 7 of the 8 days between June 14 and June 21, and also July 10, August 10, and August 28, but not for June 3.

I’ve learned that I can prepare something for a date, then bump it for something that’s more urgent, or intriguing, or whimsical. (I’ve bumped one completed piece thrice, another twice.)

I’ve learned that a kernel of an idea can lead to a (less than satisfying) one paragraph, or it can surprise me by expanding into directions I didn’t expect. (The May 20 Gilmore Girls was one of the latter – that piece, BTW, bumped a completed piece.)

I’ve learned that I don’t know what it means when one sister writes about my blog, “INTERESTING” in 24-point type.

I’ve learned that my story on Lydia’s name (May 22) was probably the most popular piece of the month. It hit some sort of universal nerve. Lydia, BTW, is all well now (May 7).

I’ve learned that there are actually people who want to read about the JEOPARDY! and FantaCo stories. One must accede to the public in these matters.

I’ve learned that Comic Book Galaxy has a link to my blog.

I’ve learned that when someone tells me that Greenland is part of Europe, I have to check to prove that, in fact, Greenland is part of North America, it is, it is, just as I thought. (Actually, I’ve known for a long time that I have the “need to know” -it’s a librarian disease.)

I’ve learned that the new Stevie Wonder CD (May 13 entry) is apparently delayed until this month, but that my wife will get it for me for our anniversary when it comes out.

(And speaking of my wife’s and my anniversary, I wrote in my May 15 entry about the NC pastor who had forced out the Kerry-supporting parishioners. Well, the pastor in my parallel story is still there, and I’ve learned that he is expected to be there for another three years.
The Pastor Parish Relations Committee chair in that story received a rude awakening. When she retired from her career job, she served as secretary of the church. She was astonished to find that the pastor, who she considered a friend, would treat her as badly as he had done with previous secretaries. I learned that she moved to Florida.
And the Hispanic pastor who had been booted out was embraced by the Troy Conference of the United Methodist Church, and is most definitely in a better place.)

I’ve learned that it’s interesting to me to keep up with Methodist stuff. It’s like being an expatriate in the United States who becomes a citizen, but still keeps up with the goings-on in the old country.

I’ve learned that when I listen to some mixed Hembeck mixed tape, there’s invariably a song with which I’m not that familiar, but that seems to be appropriate for my state of mind.

The more we learn, the less we believe to be true.
The more we prove, the more remains to be proved.
We’ve gotta be strong men and follow a path again.

We’ve got to have faith in something bigger,
Faith in something bigger,
Faith in something big inside ourself, inside ourself.

I own The Who’s Odds and Sods on vinyl, but I’ve learned that I can hear an old song for the first time. I’ve learned that I can ignore bad grammar in pop songs…sometimes.

I’ve learned that the hardest part of these pieces is the ending.

The Lydster (Part 14): “24”

Before she was born, I decided that I was going to keep a journal of my thoughts about Lydia as she was about to enter my life. And before she was born, I did write to her a number of times. But since then, nothing. I got caught up in the busy-ness of life with her. This electronic outlet has allowed me to write about her in a way I was somehow unable to put down before.

I don’t want to write primarily about how well she’s walking or how she says “Uh, oh” when she drops something, though both are quite endearing. I want to talk about how she’s affected me (besides sleep deprivation).

24

So, naturally, I need to talk about the television series “24”. The two-hour season finale was Monday night; I didn’t see it. I watched the first season intently, and thought the first 13 episodes made up a fine story arc, though the remaining 11 episodes stretched credibility (amnesia, the Perils of Kim Bauer). Still, I was willing to try it a second season, and I watched, though not as regularly. Super Jack Bauer, suffering intense torture did all THAT?

Carol and I discovered she was pregnant in July 2003. When the third season of “24” came around, I just didn’t feel like subjecting myself, and by extension, our unborn child, to such violent vibes. I didn’t see the fourth season, and won’t watch the fifth one when it starts up again in January.

It changed my movie viewing habits, too. Mystic River is a movie that, three years ago, would have gone to see in a heartbeat, but now: a film about an abused child who becomes the accused in the murder of his childhood friend’s teenaged daughter? No, thanks. A few months after Lydia was born, my in-laws in Oneonta watched Lydia while we went to the movies. There were only two choices at that particular theater: Man on Fire with Denzel Washington trying to save Dakota Fanning from being abducted (and FAILING), or Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls. Lindsay won.

(Incidentally, no spoiler alert needed: the information I cited came from the trailers of those films.)

CSI

My family was visiting shortly after Lydia was born. They were watching CSI; I was reading the paper. But I couldn’t help but to note that the plot was something like this: a couple kills their own kid because they were afraid the kid would get some debilitating disease or die from a pesticide, or some such, which the kid (as it turns out) was NOT subject to. Oh, YUCK!

I need uplifting or funny or fun or silly. That’s where I am right now. So it will be a LONG while before I see Frank Miller’s Sin City movie, no matter how stylized the violence is.

Getting back to “24”, I found it humorous that not one, but two people I know, who are connoisseurs of the program, Mark McGuire of the (Albany) Times Union -who I bug occasionally, and Fred G. Hembeck (April 8-12, et al.) -who I bug more than occasionally, managed to tape or TiVo “24” this season, then fell weeks behind, only to catch up in marathon sessions. What’s THAT all about? BTW, it was Fred who put my feelings about the show best in his May 24 column: “I mean, I know it’s just a TV show and all, but the always mounting body count can be disturbing at times, especially considering the number of completely innocent people who are so casually slaughtered along the way, y’know?” Yeah, I DO know.

So, happy 14 months, Lydia. I’ve learned a lot about myself through you.

J

The JEOPARDY! Ultimate Tournament is over. And the winner is..I DON’T KNOW. I’m still a week behind, so PLEASE don’t tell me, don’t ask. I know Jerome is one finalist (and Ken Jennings, of course, is another,) but I haven’t seen the last pair of semi-final games, nor the three-day final. My wife knows the results, so talk with HER about it.

The RULES (Part 1 of 37)-The Name Game

You’ve got a lot of rules for somebody from Binghamton.

No, not THOSE Rules. MY rules. I don’t mean like “Follow the Golden Rule,” (which I try to do). It’s more like, “When I get a new album, I must play it at least three times before I file it away” or “When I play racquetball, and the score gets into a rut, I must find arcane ways to recite the score” or “Almost any song can be done in chicken, the more bombastic, the better. Ode to Joy and Smoke on the Water are good examples.”

I knew I had rules, but until we got into naming Lydia, I don’t think that Carol was aware of my naming rules. I wasn’t aware of my naming rules. When you’ve never had a child, naming is more a conceptual thing, as it were.

So the rules were:

No name in the top 10 in the Social Security list of most popular names for the most recent year available. There will be enough Emmas in her kindergarten class (but Emma IS a lovely name).
No naming after any family member, living or dead. I want her to have her own identity. And I didn’t want, “Oh, you named her after Aunt Hortense!” We’ll call her Little Horty!” No, you won’t.
No unisex names: Terry, Madison, e.g. This comes directly from the fact that my father AND my sister were both named Leslie. Confusion ensued, and often at my expense. Since my father had a child named Leslie, it was ASSUMED it was his ONLY son, i.e., me. “Hey, little Les,” one guy from church constantly called me. “That’s NOT my name,” I’d mutter under my breath (but never aloud, for that would have been considered rude.)
It had to have two or more syllables, to balance off the shortness of Green.
No names that easily went to the nickname. Elizabeth is in the top 10 anyway, and which variation (Liz, Lizzie, Beth, Betty, Betsy, or several others) would ensued? No thanks.
It should have a recognizable spelling. While a few people have spelled her name as Lidia, most have opted for the more traditional option.
No names beginning and ending with A. This is a practical consideration. I have a niece named Alexandria. Carol has nieces named Adrianna and Alexa. One of Carol’s best friends has a daughter named Ariana. And there are several others. Having but one child, I didn’t want to run through a litany before I found hers.So, Lydia it was, named in part after a woman in Acts who was rich even to put up the apostle Paul and his cohorts. It was only later that a friend pointed out that the church I attended as a child, Trinity A.M.E. Zion, was on the corner of Lydia and Oak, and that I walked down Lydia Street every day on my way to school. Obviously, I knew this to be factually true, but never crossed my consciousness.
The only downside to her name has been those streams of choruses from Marx Brothers’ fans of “Lydia the Tattooed Lady”, a song that had TOTALLY slipped my mind.

So, even with RULES, tattoos happen. But so do encyclo-pidias.

ROG

Little sister

Travel day. Trekking from Lake Placid to Albany.

I need to wish my baby sister Marcia a happy birthday. How long do I get to call her my “baby sister”? FOREVER! She could be 90, but she’ll still be my “baby sister”.
I’m the eldest of three children. I have two sisters younger than I. If I had two siblings of different genders, I’d have a “younger brother” and “younger sister”. But with two sisters, describing the middle child, Leslie, is more difficult. “The elder of my two younger sisters” is about as terse as I can get. But “baby sister” is deliciously precise.

Speaking of relations, Marcia, Leslie, and I have NO first cousins. That’s because both of my parents are only children. We’d hold our grandparents responsible except that none of them are still alive.

Removed

Which got me thinking, what’s this “removed” thing when it comes to cousins? This chart may help.
I know my sisters’ daughters, and Carol’s brothers’ daughters are my daughter’s first cousins.
But most genealogical types suggest using the grandparent as the marker. So, all of the people who are the grandchildren of my mother and Carol’s parents are Lydia’s first cousins. (The same people, but a different way of looking at this.)

“Removed” means that two people are from different generations. “Once removed” signifies that there is a difference of one generation. So, my mother’s first cousins are my first cousins, once removed. “Twice removed” means that there is a two-generation difference. Thus, my grandmother’s first cousins are first cousins, twice removed.
And my mother’s first cousins’ kids are my second cousins, because we share a common GREAT-grandparent, and are of the SAME generation. Got that? NO? Then go here and then explain it to ME!

This “same generation” concept is particularly tricky in my family’s case. Leslie’s daughter Becky is 26 (and recently married – congrats to you and Rico), Marcia’s daughter Alex is 14, and my daughter Lydia is 1. But Becky, Alex, and Lydia are of the “same generation”.

Yet another curve in having a child at 50.

Sweet, Sweet Baby

My daughter is very beautiful. I will show you sometime when I figure out the photo aspect of this blog.

(PLEASE don’t tell me it’s “easy.” I’m a Luddite at heart- nothing mechanical or technological is “easy” for me.)

Anyway, this is not idle parental boasting. The trip to Washington Park just yesterday or a visit to the shopping center seems to confirm this. A woman I know once said that Lydia is the most beautiful baby she’s ever seen— including her own baby! This was, of course, in direct violation of the Law That One’s Own Baby Is ALWAYS the Most Beautiful, passed sometime during the The Peloponnesian Wars.

Of course, I want the best for my daughter, but I also want her to be viewed by her intellect (she’s also very smart) and, as someone once said, “The content of her character.”

We’ve all read how tall, attractive people seem to be treated better, get better jobs, more pay, etc. In that vein (or “vain”, if you prefer), I give you a scary little something forwarded to me recently:
“Are ugly children less loved?
“Do parents take care of their cute children better than ugly ones? Most parents would deny it, but Canadian researchers have found that physical attractiveness makes a big difference in how children are treated, according to a newspaper report.

And on that happy note, Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. (And thanks to sister Marcia and niece Alex for taking care of her down in Charlotte, NC.) Also, happy Mother’s Day to Mom Powell, and all the mothers I know. Lydia, who doesn’t have her own blog yet, wants to wish her mommy and grandmas the same.