Miss, Ms., Mrs. & Ma'am

I'm big on titles; I truly believe they are a sign of respect for lots of things. You don't have to respect the person -- sometimes you're respecting their age, their position, etc. Regardless of your politics, I think the president of our country should be referred to as President Obama, not Mr. Obama. And let's face it, "Yes sir, Officer, should be in every teenage vocabulary lesson.

When I hear women say, "Don't call me Mrs. Smith; it makes me look around for my mother-in-law," I cringe. It doesn't make you old to be addressed properly. It is some well-bred person being respectful. I have been a Mrs. more than once and I liked it. Say what you want about country clubs but they do cling to the respectful titles. I've seen more than one child hauled to the side of the dining room to have a quick lecture about proper name etiquette. My stepson was so ingrained in this that when one of our best friends encouraged him to call her by her first name, he stumbled, tried again and finally gave up.

I like being called ma'am. In addition to a title of respect, it keeps me in touch with some of my southern roots. "Yes ma'am and no sir" are the norm in the south and God, I wish that tradition would fly north.

I'm old enough now that almost everyone expects me to call them by their first name. And I do. But sometimes I catch myself going back to the title -- like with the lady who lives across the street. I see her in church. She's watched me grow up. I'm in my 40s, she's in her 80s and I enjoy addressing her with the respect she's earned.

Miracles

Sometimes you can get bad news, especially a scary medical diagnosis, about someone you love. It stops you. It grips your heart like a cold, clammy fist pulsing the fear through every vein in your body. Our human tendency is to ask, "Why?"

This scenario happened to us this week when a dear friend and even-though-he's-not-blood-related family member (he's family to us) was diagnosed with stomach cancer. And then the miracles started to occur:

Thanks to the diligence of his wife, he saw a doctor and it was caught early.
It has not spread.
Deep-seated family wounds that seemed super important are now irrelevant and the healing has begun.

I don't need to know why; I'm just grateful to witness the miracle.

Doggie Guilt

I don't believe in reincarnation but I've had more than a couple of people tell me that they'd like to come back to earth as my dog.

Since I've invaded my parents' home, I have become incredibly attached to their dog, Harriett. And I suspect they are crazy about mine. Their dog is a fluffy, needy-but-charming little thing. She looks like the dogs you see all the stars carrying through airports.

My dog is a workhorse. She has known from day one that I will take her everywhere she is allowed to go and some places I will just fake my way through it. My friends are either frustrated or kind or both but most say, "Bring Gabby!"

Neither dog is confused about ownership. But Harriett stalks me. She knows who feeds her, grooms her, etc. and it is not me. But she follows me and she paws at me. Then she looks at my parents as if to say, "Would you make that lady that walks a lot take me to the park?" And I do.

This weekend is the Mutt Strut and I really considered taking both of them. But Harriett's legs can only go a mile and I can't fathom maneuvering Gabby and carrying Harriett for the extra 1 1/2 mile. Plus, we might go out for drinks afterwards and I don't think my parents want Harriett in a bar.

I'm super careful with my money these days and the Mutt Strut is an event I totally support. Some women of my age and marital status might seek events with lots of men. That is kind of a nightmare concept for me.

But an event that supports a cause I believe in, plus I can walk my dog & meet up with girlfriends and their dogs ... sign me up!

I'll make it up to Harriett another time.

Beauty Rituals

I have never wished to be anything other than the woman I am. But I confess to a few moments of envy:
Men who can shower, dress and walk out the door in less than 20 minutes.
Women who are firm, sun-kissed and bright eyed. (Of course they are all way younger!)
Plain women who have an extreme level of confidence and think they look ok.

Social Networking

A couple of years ago, I wrote this thing that appeared in our local paper, The Indianapolis Star and it was all about how people (especially politicians) throw around the greeting, "Hello Friends."

I don't remember exactly what I wrote but I remember it had to do with the definition of friendship.

Enter social networking. I was a hold out to Facebook. I am still a hold out on Twitter. (Really, my day is not that interesting.) But, I am a marketing person and I am supposed to reasonably keep up with the times. So, I joined. And now I am addicted a little bit.

At first, I thought it was amazing that someone, anyone!, would want to friend me. Then I would catch myself in a lazy evening or at couple of stop lights, I checked Facebook. Now I have something like 200 friends and I promise you, I do not have 200 friends in real life. It's fun to see what's going on with high school & college friends, old business associates and cousins I don't see very often.

But sometimes I need to remind myself that this is not reality. Running over to a girlfriend's house is friendship. Planning a trip to the girlfriend who has been there since I was 5-years old is reality. Worrying about medical tests for a person I love is friendship.

Sometimes you get one of those prodding things: "You should be friends with XXX -- you have 18 friends in common." I clicked "Yes" a couple of times. Never heard back and you know what that means ... Ignore! Guess he forgot we were married for a couple of years.

Social networking is fun but I still know who my friends are.

What if We All Kicked it up a Notch?

I'm all for comfort. I own my fair share of jeans and sweatshirts. But unless I'm cleaning or painting (stop laughing now) I try to kick it up a notch. When did it become acceptable to go almost anywhere looking like you just rolled out of bed or the nearest gutter?

I agree that it takes a village to raise children. I was blessed to have such a village -- every mother in my childhood neighborhood was intimately involved (much to our dismay) in the comings and goings of various children. When did it become ok to continue to birth children but have no real interest in raising them to be responsible adults?

Fresh from a devastating divorce, I feel free to say this. What if I had tried harder? Yes, I can throw a million stones but the bottom line is two people who were an incredibly good match contributed to a marriage in the ditch. Maybe we should've been more concerned with each other than the issue at hand. All I see is two people who won various battles and ended up losing the war.

Religion and politics will always be touchy. But why is it tit for tat? I'm reasonable firm in my political opinions and I'm very comfortable in my faith. This does not mean I won't hear your opinion, read a different book and embrace the questions that pepper reasonable people. What if we kicked it up a notch and actually listened to the pleas beneath the shouts?

And while I'm ranting:

Why can't we all get our pets spayed and neutered? There are free or low cost clinics everywhere. Kick it up a notch.

When did running from the police become a viable option?

Why does every participant deserve a trophy/medal? Kick it up a notch and suck it up. Sometimes that's the best lesson. You lost!

Support local stuff. I am hardly a "green" diva. But if your local library is important to you, write your congressman, go there. If your favorite neighborhood store is struggling, make your grass roots effort and talk it up. If there's a farm stand or public school or community project that needs your support, go out of your way to make it a priority.

That sounds sort of preachy and I don't mean it to be. I know we're all just doing the best we can with what we have.

Imagine if we all kicked it up a notch.

Car Memories

Lately, I've been thinking about cars. We're no Michigan, but a lot of our industry in this state started with cars and spun off into various manufacturing. Now we're courting advanced manufacturing -- lots of definitions for that. My last few cars have all been run by a computer in its belly so if that's not advanced, I don't know what is.

Currently I drive a Toyota. Not one that's been recalled but I'll check again tomorrow. I've owned more than my fair share of cars. Sorry to all my union friends but my best cars have been Japan or German models. Change the oil regularly and they run forever.

My first one was second-hand (third? fourth maybe?) and it was a stick shift and great fun. Girlfriends and I used to tool around, listening to the 8-track and singing our lungs out. During which, I was also rolling backwards and restarting the engine because it's hard to carry on a conversation, sing, work all the pedals and primp at the same time. My dad taught me to drive it because the first and only time my mom tried she got a massive headache from screaming "Look Out!" We were in a parking lot.

Before passing driver's ed, which I took in high school, Gary MacPherson used to let me drive his Chevy Nova around the parking lot. I later learned that he did that with lots of girls.

My dad used to have this GTO that all my friends thought was very cool. He thought it was cool too and so the story goes, he got so many tickets that it had to go. That's my memory and I'm sticking to it.

I've never understood people who don't have memories of making out in a car. Were you all born with your own apartment? One of my first memorable kisses was in the back of my dad's truck. Greg Davis planted one on me while his sister (Angel) looked on. We were stuck back there like cattle and she retreated to her own corner.

Keith Taylor had a cool car. Even though I knew my bff had a crush on him, I said yes when he asked me out. (She forgave me.) His brother had a better car -- a Mustang Fastback and we made out in that too. Later my grandfather had a few belts, took a neighborhood kid's bicycle and rammed it into the car. Lesson: God is always watching.

In my memory, Jan always had a different car/truck every six months. They broke down and we didn't care. We didn't have cell phones. It was a friggin' adventure. We also had a few car episodes (oops, didn't see that garage door!)

My most-of-the-time boyfriend in high school (and all-through-college guy) used to take me out in his parent's Honda. Hmmm. Maybe that's why I still lean toward Japanese cars.

Yes, thanks to Facebook, I'm using names now.