In Which I Fight the Law and the Law Wins

I believe in being secure.  To be honest, I would probably volunteer to get a little tracking chip or device so that I don't have to sign papers anymore, I got no problem with that.

Because let's be truthful:  there are no secrets from Big Brother.

I was pulled over today for speeding for which I was granted a violation for going 29 mph.  My car goes 28 without even pushing on the gas, but that is a tale for another time.  And I got a warning from the police for:

• Failing to possess my license
• Failing to present my registration card
• And failure to present my insurance

Are these things crimes?  Yes, technically.

But WHY are they crimes exactly?

Because when the officer typed in my name, he had access to anything he wanted including my picture.  He knows I have paid my registration, he knows I have paid my insurance and in fact knows the date I moved to Utah and that I don't possess a Utah license (which he claims I was supposed to have obtained 60 days after taking up residence though the previous officer who pulled me over last year said that it didn't matter.)  Had I had those items would it have saved him time?  No!  Because he would have looked anyway to verify. 

As part of this rant, tet me tell you another tale, one that may strike fear into the hearts of you conspiracy theorist libertarian types:

I forgot my ID last flight to New York.  It was the first time in five years that I have forgotten my identification, I had left it at home in my wallet and as I was not driving (ahem, I clearly wouldn't drive without having it with me) and cooked chicken for 80 people hours before my flight I was distracted and forgot about it.

You may be wondering to yourself, how did you board the plane?? How did they let you fly to a city still haunted by the memory of terrorists?

How indeed. 

Lee:  (sheepishly to TSA officer)  Alas I have forgotten my DL.

TSA:  Ah.  Do you have a Costco card?

Lee:  Shoot, I usually carry that in the event I can get a 50-lb bag of flour on my trips but I have left it at home with my DL.

TSA:  Any other ID? 

Lee:  This health insurance card that belongs to my 7-year old and is misspelled.

TSA:  hmm.  What else?

Lee:  Ohh!  My Platinum Level Frequent Flyer Card

TSA:  Uh.Uh.

Lee:  Oh no!  What do we do now.

TSA:  Okay I am going to call a guy, he is going to ask you a series of questions and you just answer them. 

Lee:  Great!!

TSA questions (I am not giving answers, I don't need you people pretending to be me): 
Name anyone who lives with you.
What is that person's birthday?
What is the land line associated with your address?
Name a previous residence.
What are the last 4 digits of your social security?

Lee:  (Uh... uhh..... sweating, is Steve's birthday the 29th or 30th?  Wait, was that my dad's?)  Answering them all correctly.

TSA:   Okay, here is a piece of paper saying you are who you say you are.

Lee:  Ever so grateful, really for real! 

I was grateful.  And thankful that I didn't miss my flight.  I so appreciate the exception.

But you can see why I don't feel really guilty that I didn't have some piece of paper in my car when the government knows everything about me.  Really, more than I know perhaps.

In Spain people are afraid of a National Police State because of their history with Franco.  In Germany they live in fear of a dictator.  In the United States, though, we trust.  We trust our government and we don't really care if they know every dirty little secret about us and in fact write laws demanding personal information for the most basic applications.  We have no reason to believe our own government is out to get us so we don't say "hey, I am not giving you my annual income so you can give my kids free lunch!" We don't say "I am not filling out that information on my tax form!"

So why, WHY pretend like the government doesn't know everything about me?  Why warn me that I am not holding up some copied piece of paper that shows them what they know already?

But I do not fear abuse, the government is not organized or competent enough to launch any kind of large-scale conspiracy. 

I dream of a future in which a police officer doesn't bother to pull me over because he has waved a wand as I drove by and he knows that I have four children who wear seatbelts, I obey the law in general and I am running 1 minute late for school.  He knows the reason I don't have the required paperwork in my car is because it is sitting at home in a file called "to put in car."

And he spends his time hunting down the REAL criminals.
 

Mater Abscondita

In honor of the late Dr. Seuss and the celebration of his birthday this month, a friend of mine posted an article about the Cat in the Hat and the secret underlying theme of mater abscondita.

What is mater abscondita?  In the words of the immortal Black Adder, she, sir, is me.

Mater abscondita= the mater hath taken off.

My travel over time has led me, and I think others too,  to question my ability to commit to various branches of my life: my marriage, my children, my friends, my religious life (though never my work).

But unlike the mother in the Seuss tale, I am not leaving my children with a fish but with their father.  As a very kind friend pointed out to me yesterday, 'tis a great gift that Steve is able to be involved so intricately in the day-to-day life of the kids.  He has attended every parent teacher conference of the last 5 years, he knows the clothing and shoe size of every child, he knows what they eat in their lunch (and whether they like it) and he has never missed a performance of any kind.  Would that be the case if I were running the show?

And in the back of my mind I wonder if my children would actually be worse off if I were mater praesentis?  Would I be angrier, less attentive, and more easily frustrated?  Is my frequent absence  actually a secret boon to my children?  Am I saving them thousands of dollars in therapy by only criticizing them 20 days a month instead of 30?

But this is the one thing I have in common with mothers who are home every night, lovingly putting their children to bed:  guilt.  So while I can question my absence or my presence and its affects on my children, I know that this internal dialogue is not radically different from other women who question their own priorities and failings. 

After all, the mother in the story could be just as easily going out to self-indulge as she could be saving the world.

. 

Life changing lipstick

This stuff stays on all day, after eating, drinking, and running intense meetings. In the morning? Still there. Pretty incredible.

Now I don't have to worry about looking dead.

Cumpleaños de Lee

I had a birthday last week.

In keeping with my mother's belief that I was born with a happy gene, I will make my annual accounting here with a positive spin:

--Own property.  It is still standing and collecting rent.

--4 children and holding.  Children who I increasingly enjoy.

--Gray hairs few and far between, current hair color is au naturale.

--Enviable marriage.  Prefer to spend all free evenings with my husband and periodically become emotional thinking about how empty my life would be without him (usually during a country song or a cheesy romance). 

--Job that still cries out my name.

--Body is holding steady and taking care of me in spite of how I woefully abuse it by exposing it to hundreds of thousands of miles of x-ray exposure in an airplane.

--Live in an era of instant gratification of information so I can solve all of my problems through Google.  Thank you, thank you, thank you Google.

--Hundreds of acquaintances who care for me.

--Dozens of friends who love me.

--Belong to a religious community that gives me a deep sense of identity and purpose.

Not bad 37.  Let's keep on keeping on.

Pinterest Dichotomies

Okay so I know you all know.  But I just want to highlight for everyone the guilt I feel at BOTH wanting to eat better and be a great baker/mother/food nurturer.

Thanks Pinterest.

Lie to Me

Secrets, secrets
Are no fun

Secrets, secrets
Hurt someone


When I was in college my best friend had a great line about confidentiality:  when people would say to her "If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?" she would respond "No, I can't promise that, sorry."   I would be interested in what percentage of people told her anyway.

She was kidding (kind of) it but there is something very refreshing about the idea that someone is hesitant to take responsibility for harboring a secret, making you think about what you are asking of someone when you ask them to "promise?"  It is a burden, it often forces people to lie, and is difficult to manage for those who value honesty and transparency.

In my adult life, particularly professionally, there are times where an individual may confide in me and it places me in a tough position in which I feel that weight placed upon my shoulders.  I feel like I need a line like my friend to say "Are you sure you want to tell me?" without sounding untrustworthy.

There are times where the law requires you to keep something secret, something involving employment or respecting the privacy of individuals (which makes it difficult to believe that politicians aren't lying given that they are law bound). 

I don't like secrets in any form because I don't like the game of pretending like I don't know something and people dropping general hints at me until we both discover we know the same thing and suddenly the floodgates open and more secrets are poured into my wee brain.

I am finally giving in to adulthood in which I understand the weight and consequence of revealing information and I know that the more I am involved in the inner-workings of the system, education or otherwise, the more I will know about the people and events behind the scenes.  I am working on a poker face, creating internal lines in my thoughts between those things that merely inform my thinking vs. those that can actually be shared with others, and in general treating everyone I meet as a patient who requires my discretion while the diagnosis is working its way to the public ear.

The teenage me would have loved the opportunity to be a bucket for the slop of humanity but the adult me has grown out of such things and sees it not as an opportunity to collect but a curse of knowledge.

Any suggestions on how to manage such situations?

Authentic Dining Experiences

In my opinion, there are two kinds of people in this world:  those who will pay for a $100 dinner, and those who will not.

You know which group you fit with--I am not talking about variables like "well, if I had a spare $100 floating around on the ground" or "if someone else paid for it" I am talking about the general concept of your willingness to spend money on your meal.

If you don't know which group to which I belong, you do not know me as well as you thought.


*This week I was in New York and ate dinner at Da Umberto in Manhattan.  For those who have not eaten at a really high quality restaurant, there is no point in even trying to imagine it.  What was wonderful about this particular place was not just the food, which I will get into in a minute, but the ambiance. 

I am pretty certain that 100% of the wait staff were genuine Italians.  The accents were thick, sing-songy, and the rolling of the Rs was like watching a broadway theater production.  I was riveted by the pronunciation of every last offering from the "For the ah especial this evening, we have the ah... rrrrrisoootto with the ah, butternaut esquash" to the "oh maybe you like a combo of the feeg and estrawberry gelaaaato?" to the "no, it no have the pancetta, it have the prosciutto." Some people do not want a belabored dissertation for dinner but as for me and mine? When it has the accent and beautiful descriptions, it is an audible treat.

It doesn't hurt that in general, the swarthy Italian waiters look you straight in the eye as they are pouring more water.

We had some of everything and perhaps part of the reason why these meals are so much money is that the waiters make the food sound so tempting that you won't say no to tacking on something here and there.  Something like, ah, thees?

My favorite was the sun-dried tomato ravioli with the goat cheese and some herb or other but it was almost a tie with the fried baby artichokes and the pancetta-wrapped chicken breast with pecorino cheese.  Our table held a collective moment of silence in honor of the great flavor.  And of course a chocolate mousse for dessert.

It was a tremendous memory and much more valuable to me than any concert or play.  Because for me, my deepest connections are with the food I eat and the people I am with.  As my mother aptly noted, "Lee Ann, I eat to live while you live to eat."

Amen, mamma mia.

*Disclaimer:  My work pays for my meals when I travel but if we go over a reasonable amount which is very rare, we pitch in our own money and in the story above and others like it, my colleagues and I put up our own money to make up the difference so that we are not using sacred education dollars for my personal indulgences.