Intermission December 25 – 30, 1999
It doesn't matter that the rug's got cranberry sauce on it and the sink's full of dirty pie plates. Forget about the 15 messages on your answering machine, especially the one from your mother-in-law telling you she doesn't like the present you shopped three malls to find. So what if your mate is super-glued to the recliner waiting for the sixth bowl game? Let the kids raise a ruckus with their new electronic toys; be glad they're occupied elsewhere.

Wild Dog (Part III) December 17 – 24, 1999
I smelled the yard before I saw it: dead cow parts, fish guts, half a plastic bag of shrimp shells. Also, Dean's new tennis shoe, a bath towel, three shredded plastic flower pots. Daisy sat proudly in the middle of the night's haul.

Wild Dog (Part II) December 10 – 16, 1999
The puppy was curled up nose to tail, its gaunt rib cage and filthy coat mute testimony to its desperation. The sad brown eyes barely flickered when my husband said, "good girl." I leaned over her; she flinched as only an abused animal would.

Wild Dog (Part I: Miss Mollie) December 3 – 9, 1999
When you lose a dog you've loved a piece of you gets buried alongside the chewed shoes, the knotted tug-of-war socks, the blanket that survived a thousand washings. You sob so much your chest hurts. You know you will never love another animal in the same way.

Enough already November 26 – December 2, 1999
STOP! Make a break for it! Crawl out from under that avalanche of paper surrounding your favorite chair and save yourself from catalog suffocation. You can do it, just pick up a pile – any pile – and throw it in the trash. NO, DON'T LOOK! Just throw! Now, don't you feel better?

Thanksgiving Smorgasboard November 19 – 25, 1999
Sorting through a shoebox full of paper scraps, I muttered to myself that I had to get my recipes in order. An hour earlier I'd set out on a quest for mother's tried-and-true turkey roasting instructions, but I kept getting sidetracked. Baked pumpkin. Yum. That would be a nice side dish. Black Forest cake. Why not? Nobody at my house likes mincemeat anyway. What's this exotic appetizer tray? Perfect.

Go Martha! November 12 – 18, 1999
Until recently, I had never bought a corporate stock. The closest I ever came to investing outside of a mutual fund or an IRA was a chance to own half a greyhound racing dog named "GO NORMA!" I passed up the deal when my father asked, "Which half?"

Blood Brothers November 5 – 11, 1999
Those who go to war cling to a hope that some day they'll return to their old world and it will be the same. But it never is, because they have changed. Veterans re-enter society and take up all its threads -- job, family, education, civic contribution -- but deep inside them something stays separate and apart, shared only with their comrades-in-arms. One survivor meets another and each knows, without saying it, that "you are one of us."

The Blue Flash October 29 – November 4, 1999
When the flash of blue light inside the JCO uranium-processing plant near Tokyo signaled the worst nuclear accident in Japan's history, I was 3,000 miles away from home. Initially, when there were few clues about the seriousness of the radiation disaster on Sept. 30, all I could think about was the Cold War movie "On the Beach" -- if the world was ending, I wanted to be with the people I loved the most when it was over.

Day (Job) Dreams October 22 – 28, 1999
There's a lot of whistling in the dark going on at our house these days. How-to library books and magazines are stacked on counters and tables, demonstration videos come in the door every payday and experts pontificate constantly from the car's tape player.

Friends for Life October 15 – 21, 1999
It was October, breast cancer awareness month, and the local hospital was having a half-price sale on mammograms. My friend who loved a bargain called and said, "Let's go get one, then have lunch." We did.

No Regrets October 8 – 14, 1999
Sitting at the old harvest table with cups of coffee between us, we take each other's measure. Yes, we each think, even after five years apart our old friend is in there somewhere, underneath that unfamiliar hair style, behind those new horn-rims. We reconnect as if one of us has briefly left the room, then returned to pick up the conversation with "and then..."

BLEEP! October 3 – 10, 1999
Mostly I get funny, poignant and warm letters from readers who want to share their own stories or take issue with mine. Men and women, in nearly equal numbers, use everything from frilly, scented stationery to heavy engraved bond to express their thoughts. E-mails abound. I welcome letters and, until a few weeks ago, answered all of them.

Clockwork September 24 – 30, 1999
"OH, NO!" The stranger's deep male voice carried clearly through the wall from, his hotel room into mine. "I can't believe it! You let me over-sleep! Now I'm late already. This is terrible!" There was an expletive or two sprinkled in among the moans as he hung up on the hotel operator's wakeup call.

Test Question September 18 – 25, 1999
Attitude makes a difference, teachers told themselves throughout their too-short summer. A great attitude at the start of a new school year could make up for a lot of the discouragement and unease of those sad, shaky days following last spring's shooting spree at Columbine High School.

Make a Wish September 10 – 17, 1999
I do not subscribe to the philosophy of ignoring birthdays after reaching a certain age; I believe in whooping it up, thereby reassuring myself I'm still here.

Launched! September 3 – 9, 1999
They're gone, launched, off to become whatever it is they want to be, taking with them all their grace, beauty, optimism, innocence. And we are left to wonder; where did the time go? What do we do now?

Bill of Health August 27 – September 2, 1999
The bathroom scale went to the dump several diets ago on the excuse it was defective because it always registered heavy. Practicing my own aversion therapy of "what you don't see isn't happening," I never got around to replacing it.

Jungle Gym Dreams August 20 – 26, 1999
The moon was the color of honey, waves lapped on the distant shore, gardenia scent hung heavy in the air. There we were, my significant other and I, outside at midnight, taking it all in as well.

All in a Day's Work August 13 – 19, 1999
When I was growing up I accepted as gospel that girls couldn't do certain things. When you're a kid you believe what you're taught because you don't know any better.

Personal baggage August 6 – 12, 1999
John F. Kennedy Jr., stood at the confluence of true history, the culture of celebrity and his own active life. That might explain the nonstop news coverage of his disappearance and death, but it doesn't -- not quite.

In the Blink of an Eye July 31 – August 5, 1999
We were sitting down to a quiet supper when we heard the helicopter's jet engines. Too low, we thought, rushing to the window. Is he going to crash?

My Mother's Cookbook July 24 – 30, 1999
Old family friends came for a visit and we ate what my dad used to call "real food," the stuff baby boomers were raised on before they discovered cholesterol and mutual funds.

Hook, Line and Sink Her July 16 – 23, 1999
Last night I caught, cooked and presented to my husband for supper a 15-inch (well, maybe 13) brown trout it took me 15 minutes of fishing (well, maybe 25) to catch. And it only cost me $3,000 (well, maybe $5,000).

Stephen's Misery July 9 – 15, 1999
I don't know many famous people. The ones I do know I feel weird admitting to. I've made a career out of avoiding name-droppers and social climbers and have never asked for an autograph. When I went on a media tour to publicize my book, I was too shy to talk about it. Instead, I spent my 15 minutes of fame interviewing the interviewers.

Old Glory July 2 – 8, 1999
When I saw the picture in the catalog I flashed back to my dad, rooting around in the garage for the box with the flag and flagpole and calling to me to "get the ladder and hurry up."

Moon, June, Croon, Swoon June 28 – July 1, 1999
The two wedding invitations arrived back-to-back in the mailbox, heralding separate unions three time zones apart on the same day.

Capitano Georgio's Girls June 18 – 25, 1999
And THEY'RE OFF!!! This Father's Day, George, Lucile and their four girls are airborne, flying toward their first family vacation together since 1965. It is a Father's Day gift beyond price, though it began merely as a serendipitous "wouldn't it be fun if..."

Time Out June 11 – 18, 1999
There's all kinds of hammering and sawing coming from the garage, dust billowing out of windows, things crashing to the floor. The infernal racket is music to my ears; it means my husband is in his workshop and home for the summer.

A round of applause for Mom and Dad June 4 – 11, 1999
Vacillating between my grandmother's dainty necklace or a certificate at the T-shirt-and-khakis store you love, it finally sinks in that I'm choosing a gift for your graduation. You are leaving us. With cheers and presents we are launching you into a world where we won't follow.

Seize the moment May 29 – June 3, 1999
I visit the dead on Memorial Day to remind myself how to live the rest of the year. Caught up in petty feuds and unimportant chores, I sit on the grass and ask myself how to fill my allotted hours with more relevance, kindness and fun. It's not that I expect the cemetery's permanent inhabitants to answer; it's that their very presence here is a timely reminder that their fate will be mine one day.

Clean Sweep May 21 – 28, 1999
My cleaning lady has fired me. I came home from a business trip to find her note: "I need time to play. Life is too short to just work, work, work. I know you'll understand." There were lots of XOXOXOXO's and a big heart drawn after her name. Was that to soften the blow, assure me it wasn't really me she was quitting, it was what? the cat hair? The Laundry Pyramid? The ring around the toilet?

No Sugar Cube Cure May 14 – 21, 1999
he children are buried, the flowers are wilted, the lawyers are on retainer. First Amendment watchdogs are ready to pounce as the President pushes his Hollywood pals to tone down media evil in America. The NRA stonewalls, the Brady bunch points fingers. Politicians lob tomatoes at all suggestions which don't come out of their caucus -- ineffectual, say the Democrats; ridiculous, say the Republicans. Every expert has a theory, every pundit a thunderbolt. White noise is louder than ever.

Standing on my mother's shoulders May 7 – 13, 1999
When I was a teenager my mother got us breakfast every day, then rushed off in her cotton shirtwaist to put out the "weekly miracle." At first she'd gotten a secretarial job at the local newspaper because she and dad needed extra income to put us through college. Then a big chain tried to buy the Star-Herald. Mom and a few other foolhardy souls believing passionately that a newspaper should be independent and community-based decided to put up their life savings to back their principles. Overnight, my mother became associate editor, a position that entitled her to work harder, get dirtier and earn less money than the day before.

Welcome to spring April 30 – May 6, 1999
It's really Spring. In the night a new calf arrived, black as lava, perfect in that way that only babies are, all wobbly and soft. I think it's a girl, but Mama is making sure none of us gets close enough to verify our guess.

Let It Be April 23 – 30, 1999
When the celebrating fishermen stopped in front of my house for the third consecutive midnight to see how loud they could play the bass on their car's stereo system, I lost it.

No whining April 16 – 22, 1999
"Men with guns, criminals with masks, came in the night and ordered us to leave or they would kill us. We started walking. Several babies were born beside the railroad tracks. Nobody knows where the rest of their family is. There is killing in the streets." A Kosovar woman fleeing to Albania."

In memorial April 8 – 15, 1999
I am full of rage over the murders of Carole Sund and the two innocent young girls who were in her charge on that last happy day in Yosemite National Park. Knowing there can be no safeguards in an open society to prevent such a tragedy from happening makes me feel even more impotent and angry.

Skills and thrills April 2 – 8, 1999
It was pouring rain when I drove past my friend's truck. Instead of waiting out the storm she was wading into it, strapping on her lineman's belt and attaching climbing hooks to her worn leather boots. Another day, another dollar. This grandmother was on the job, and glad of it.

Nip and tuck March 28 – April 2, 1999
A recent photograph confirmed what I'd sensed for months: my left eye was squinting more than my right. Peering in the bathroom mirror, I practiced smiling. Yep, the lower lid was definitely bigger. TUMOR! As one who always assumes the worst, I poked at the pooched-out flesh and fretted while I waited for the eye specialist to see me. When he finally turned off his exam light he sighed.

Go bump in the night March 20 – 27, 1999
Lightning struck at 8:36 p.m., on a Tuesday. "By the way," my friend said at the end of her phone call, "would you like to buy my house?"

Seat mate March 12 – 18, 1999
Flight attendants were closing the door as she burst through it, scarves fluttering, beads jangling, tie-dyed pants blinding us with their electric purple. Bumping her overloaded way down the aisle, she headed straight for me.

Dress for success March 5 – 12, 1999
Long before the phrase "dress for success" entered the lexicon, I sat on my parents' bed and watched my mother carefully prepare her persona. Be it a dance, business meeting or neighborhood picnic, she approached her public appearances like a general preparing for battle, always bringing to her mirror a clear sense of what to wear when.

None but the Brave February 26 – March 4, 1999
I apologized for being late and explained that the remote back road I'd driven to reach my appointment had been slick in the rain. The woman executive's eyes widened: "You mean you go that way by yourself? You're so brave!"

When Old is New February 19 – 25, 1999
My friend very carefully spooned the Kung Pao chicken into the paper carton, then made room beside it for the extra white rice. She put the dab of steamed vegetables into another box and tucked her unread fortune cookie into her purse.

Hearts and Heartache February 13 – 20, 1999
Hallmark can't help Bill Clinton on February 14th.

Call Waiting February 5 – 12, 1999
Last night I spent hours sitting with a telephone to my ear listening to a cheery voice assure me "YOUR CALL IS IMPORTANT TO US!"

Earth to Heaven January 29 – February 4, 1999
It was a spontaneous gesture; later, my friend would wonder where the words came from as she spoke them while standing beside the canned peas in the general store:

Sick? Click! January 22 – 28, 1999
It's flu season. The common cold, bronchitis, walking pneumonia, sinusitis, whatever it is, has got us in its grip. Doctors whose waiting rooms are overflowing count on this season to pay their children's college tuition; patients begging for an appointment will happily fork over whatever it takes to get some relief-so-they-can-rest medicine.

Family Ties January 15 – 21, 1999
Her directions had been a bit vague but I wasn't worried; after all, we were both journalists who'd independently found our way out of Kansas, around China and under New York City at rush hour. How hard could it be to connect at a hotel?

Random acts of kindness January 8 – 14, 1999
The woman on the phone spoke with a big-city accent, talking very fast and giving me a bad adrenaline rush: "Your credit card isn't going through. I'd like to check the number again." Words to chill your soul.

Who, me? January 1 – 7, 1999
When Wally and The Beav got themselves into trouble it was usually Eddie Haskell's fault. Always smiling, always egging on the brothers in "Leave It To Beaver" to do something they knew their parents disapproved of, Eddie was the silver-tongued snake in the suburban Garden of Eden.

© Copyright 2000 The Women Syndicate. The content on these pages is the property of The Women Syndicate and may not be used without express permission. Contact friends@tadbartimus.com

Last Revision:
Monday, August 5, 2002 09:02 AM