Author Archives: Jane Bretl

a flag a day

12 Thursday Feb 2009

Posted by in Photography, seasons

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flag day

My flag has been up and out there every day since the Inauguration.  I think it is the only flag flying in my neighborhood.  I also had the only Vote Obama yard sign on the street, at least until the alleged teen hoodlum in a George Bush mask stole it in broad daylight.  Halloween prank or political statement?  You make the call.

I want to keep feeling hope about the state of the union.  The flag makes me feel better.  I don’t want my kids to think that we only put the flag out on certain days of the calendar year.  It was an internal struggle to put it out there during the last eight years, and I realize now that I did not try hard enough to find something to stir my patriotic soul.  I need to learn to put the flag out even when the winds blow the wrong way.

However, it was really windy yesterday, so it came down for a few hours so the pole wouldn’t bend.  Today it is back in the bright sunshine that we see when the wind blows the smog away.

I had a dream

10 Tuesday Feb 2009

Posted by in Writing

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When I was little, I had some big dreams for my future:

1.  Become Ballerina

2.  Write a book

3.  Not live in small town

The whole ballet dancer thing did not work out so well.  To begin with, I lived in rural Wisconsin and ballet teachers did not hang around long (see dream #3).  I was thrilled to take ballet lessons for about six months in my tender youth.  I had to wear Sally’s hand-me-down black ballet shoes with the little elastic strap, but I did not care.  Then the teacher moved away.  I had not even scratched out Sally’s name in ball point pen yet and inked in my own.  At that point, lessons were a 20 mile drive, and that was not an option.  Now, parents will drive a long way, for, say, harpsichord lessons in French, but this is now and then was then and that was the end of that.

Those too-small ballet shoes moved with me to college in Madison, where I was free to take as many dance classes as my business school schedule would allow, and I did just that.  I loved it.  By then my dreams had evolved (speak Italian, published author, make lots of money);  I already knew that I would never, ever, ever be a ballet dancer, but I loved the classes anyway.  I wore the suede bottomed ballet shoes when I walked to accounting class.  I had pink ones and lavender ones that laced up the ankles with delicate strings.  Bad for the arches, but good for my soul.  The big buzz-kill came when my college boyfriend told me I looked like a pale pink sausage in my matching leotard and tights.  I think the brand Oscar Meyer was specifically mentioned.  It was a funny joke, but I made the choice to believe the words.

I will continue to keep you posted on the status of dream #2.

As for the small towns, I’m over it.  I have lived all over and traveled a lot and now realize that home is wherever all my boys are, no matter the size of the town.  My dreams have continued to evolve (play the harp, published author, successfully grow rosemary indoors).  I am open to the possibilities of anywhere.  I’ll pack my long-stored lavender ballet shoes and go.

at the beginning of the game, it’s a tie score

09 Monday Feb 2009

Posted by in Motherhood

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scoreboard

If the score is still 2 to 2 near the end of the 3rd quarter, a tie takes on a whole new meaning.

One basketball season, we had a 0-10 record. Or was it 0-12? Or 0-15.  I really don’t want to remember, and neither does he.  Let’s just say the game where it was still 2 to 2 in the  3rd was one of the best games of the year; they were not getting pounded.  The whole experience was such a tough life lesson to watch unfold, the first time the child really tastes defeat.  He would ask “why, if I work so hard and try so hard, do we still keep losing?”  Why, indeed?  He had a terrific coach, who was so good with the kids and kept up a positive attitude.  Coach knew the game and how to coach it.  Everyone on the team tried their best, but their best was never enough to find the winning side of the scoreboard.  The life lessons kept coming, week after week.  He learned a great deal about teamwork in the face of adversity, not placing blame, and not taking on all the responsibility on his own little shoulders.

Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.  I had to learn to step out of the way and let him feel it.

In the grand scope of life, this is trivial.  I think of what children around the world have to deal with each day, and remember this is just a game.  I just hope the little lessons now will help him down the road.  Every day, may the good and the bad come in at least in a tie.

she has a quiet friend, too

06 Friday Feb 2009

Posted by in get along like cats and dogs

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two pups

Some days we all need a friend, especially one that can just listen.

I love that dog.  The real one, not the stuffed one.  I had never liked dogs much until I met this one.  Let’s just say I had “bad” experiences with dogs.  Nothing scary, mostly just… gross.  Like the roommate’s dog who, in the middle of a two hour car ride, horked up a feminine protection product in the backseat.  Yes, it was used.  Did I mention it was 90 degrees outside?

Then there was the super cute dog named Petey.  We were visiting new acquaintances in the California countryside.  Petey greeted us at the car with lots of licks and kisses, like we were old friends.  He was so sweet and lovable!  Why had I harbored this apparently irrational idea that dogs were not indeed wonderful companions??  All was peachy until a small group went for a hike in the woods, man’s best friend at their side.  They hiked and talked and laughed and then one guy stopped to relieve himself behind a tree.  I don’t have to tell you what Petey then ate.

We didn’t let Petey lick our hand (or face) anymore.

Besides, I had always been a cat person.  Nearly every picture of me since I was a toddler includes a cat in my arms, curling around my ankles, or in my lap.  Had three cats after we got married.  L-O-V-E cats, that was me.

Then I met Kenzie the Wonderdog.  Best dog ever;  though admittedly I do not have much frame of reference.  Does not eat anything really yucky, not even those tempting treats in the litterbox (crunchy on the outside, chewy in the middle).  She is my constant companion, riding shotgun in the van any day that it is not too hot or not too cold.  I put the seat heater on for her in the winter.  I’ve lost my mind over this dog.

Best of all, she’s a really good listener.

for every season, there’s a reason

02 Monday Feb 2009

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It doesn’t matter what the season;  every Saturday, Big D has that look on his face that says “hey, I could use a little help with _________ ” (fill in the ambitious project here).  He has an uncanny ability to identify something that needs doing, and just doing it.  After 23 years, I still don’t understand how anyone can operate this way.  It is just not in my nature.  I always have some reason why we should progress at a prudent pace, and maybe read a book for a while while we think about it.  And watch some birds.

Yesterday, it was chiseling a thick layer of ice off the driveway.  Now, in my defense, I had shoveled lots of snow off the top of that ice last week. Twice.  The ice that remained was an Act of God.  Acts of God are not covered in my policy.

Will the kids inherit his nature, or mine?  Is one nature really better than the other?  (Hey, D, don’t answer that.)  With kids, is it more nature than nurture?  Age-old questions that I won’t scurry to answer here.

The truth is, very little would actually get done around here if it wasn’t for him.  I was in denial about this until recently, but now I just embrace it as fact.  My strengths are just less obvious to anyone who is obsessed with project completion.  But they are still strengths.  If I go too fast, I miss lots of good stuff along the way.  What’s a girl to do when she just wants to kick back and enjoy each season? (And write about it?)

send in the clown

02 Monday Feb 2009

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,

The Little One just wrote a story at school about the Halloween he dressed as a clown.  I love to read his writing.  He works so hard at it, and unfortunately seems to have the same little voices in his head that I do, telling him it is not good enough.  He feels quite proud of his clown piece though, and he should.  It captures a feeling.

What his story can’t capture is the feeling I had seeing my baby dressed in his father’s clothes.  Big D had several years that he dressed as a clown, and several of the wardrobe pieces had a second life as PeeWee Herman. (That was the year I went as Miss Yvonne, in the pre-arrest years when it was all still a Big Adventure.)  Big D is, well, really tall and the clown suit was too small, for great comic effect.  It was too small, but I still didn’t think it would fit an 8 year old.  But, sure enough, when the Little One did not have a costume planned on Halloween eve, he just pulled random items out of the costume box in the basement and came out as a clown.  Not Lanky the Tall Clown.  Maybe Cranky, the Little Clown.  Anyway, it is still one of my favorite photos of all time.  Check out the size 14 shoes.

There is something very “full-circle” about seeing my son in my husband’s clothes.  Even if they are clown clothes.

Little Clown

in the news: broadcast dysfunction

01 Sunday Feb 2009

Posted by in Motherhood

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I don’t want to come across as some TV control freak; really, I am a reasonable person.  I feel I can talk to my kids about most anything, in terms they can handle, and provide some context for them to process what is going on in this crazy little world of ours.  I do take my job as a parent pretty seriously however, and I won’t buy in to the media’s inevitable influence on my kids without a fight.  So, it is with some satisfaction that I share the following links.  I was starting to think it was just me.

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jOdo9EluZPK4NGtESvwcXOTLKzcAD960JIIO0

http://www.commonsensemedia.org/About-Us/Press-Room/Press-Releases/Inappropriate-NFL-Ads

(Common sense is the new cool?)