Trudy, my sister from another mother

I have a friend that I go to school with that is much like a sister. I can say this with all reliability because I have two sisters. I say it confidently because of the sheer amount of time we spend together. Law students and medical students know where I am going on this. Nursing ‘wannabes’ have certain tenaciousness in their drive to do well, because failure is simply not an option when you are competing against the brilliant minds of straight ‘A’ students in subjects such as, microbiology, anatomy & physiology, pharmacology, and pathophysiology (these are meat and potato subjects, hardly fluff & bluff.) It’s within this context, that I sort of fell into Trudy’s world. She didn’t push me out, so I stayed; much like a stray dog.

I met Trudy in Anatomy and Physiology, and I doubt there’s been a week over the last two years, that I haven’t had a cram session, taken a test, had a conversation, or meal without her. Yeah, we spend a lot of time together. She’s simply part of the ‘day-to-day’ in Tammy world.

Studying with this kind of intensity breeds bonding that isn’t present in other types of work. The bonding is cultivated in a trust shared by common goals. You realize that the scope and sequence of success in a profession like nursing, requires that one sacrifice a little or much to support those who are taking the walk with you, and that support ends up being the paramount training ground as to the kind of nurse one will be when the finish line is crossed. I know the military cultivates bonds like these; I think I know why some people cry when they finish long roads like medical school, law school, seminary, or a marathon for that matter. It’s hard to contemplate the journey you’ve taken, the stumbles, the triumphs, a mini crises. At the end of the nursing journey, there is something called a capping and pinning ceremony, in addition to graduation. But like lawyers, there’s not much time to celebrate, because we’ll be taking licensing boards. In the stress of going through the process of completing pre-requisites, there’s been the agony of waiting…waiting for notification, an end to signal another beginning; usually just a form letter that says “Thanks for applying, you didn’t make the cut this time, but try again next time-Good luck!” We shared a few of those wait periods. They are stressful. But we always seem to pull each other out of the trenches. Frozen yogurt helps with that, so do cosmopolitans (depending on the class we just finished.)

My experience having a relationship with Trudy over these last two years, has taught me a lot about myself, about what I can accomplish if I set my mind to it and also what limitations I have, because like a spouse, a study buddy gets to see the worst and best parts of you.

We’ve applied to programs, taken the same classes and been a resource to each other when needed. I have to say this friendship has been the wisest investment I’ve made in going back to school, and despite any philosophical, or religious differences we may have, I consider our shared experience stronger than anything that separates us. I’ve made a good friend for life and the reason I know this to be true is because she has given more than I could ever reciprocate in being a study partner who cares about the success of others. These seemingly endless hours of study partnering also involve sharing food, news, joys, cares and concerns.

So, in the spirit of Trudy, I want to wish her a happy birthday. I am planning on cooking dinner for her family, because I think we’ve eaten at every restaurant worth going to and a home cooked meal is something we both miss. In short order, it’s the least I can do to thank her for her friendship. Some friends are always like family, so on your birthday Trude, I wish you joy, happiness, success in all things. Mr. Johnson, our hypothetical patient would also like to wish you a very happy day, hence his contribution to this tribute. Most especially, I pray I get into the same program you’re accepted to, because I don’t know anyone else who can put up with me, your sister from another mother.

Tammy Maher is a resident of El Dorado Hills and bi-weekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat.

The audacity of hard work

People are complaining a lot these days. So much to harp about too. Gas prices, the economy, the election. We’ve been busy working so darn hard; it’s been hard to get a pulse on all this. JD is working three jobs. I am tenaciously trying to pull off the best grades of my life in order to study to become a nurse. I can’t believe what this has pulled out of me emotionally and I am not even in a program yet. Forget about “hope”; hope has nothing to do with it anymore. I lost hope a long time ago and it had nothing to do with George Bush (can you believe it?). Hope is a virtue that no one can give or promise, not even Sen. Obama. The government wasn’t set up to provide hope. Somewhere in history, I thought we already learned lessons from politicians promising “hope”. Hope isn’t going to fill my gas tank, fix my car, pay my mortgage, do my laundry, and send my kids to college. The only thing that is going to do that is hard work.

It makes me think about the job my Dad had for over 30 years with the same employer. He never jumped ship because he had a “bad” boss. He never left his employment because he didn’t get the raise he was looking for. He didn’t quit because times were tough or he lost his ‘job satisfaction.’ He just did what he signed on to do with the same insurance company for over 30 years. He worked hard.

It also makes me think about my Mom. She could have done a lot of things. Gone back to school, looked for a side job to supplement Dad’s income, she could have hired babysitters, housekeepers, daycare providers, nannies and Au Pairs. She decided to work at home, when working at home meant changing the diapers, cleaning the toilets, washing the windows, doing the laundry and (gasp) ironing. She cooked almost every night. Housework was her “workout”. She even broke a sweat. While working hard, she paid the bills, stretched and saved the dollars and didn’t buy anything on credit.

As a result of hard work, they paid off the one and only house they ever bought…on time. They didn’t have a second, third, fourth or variable loan with an astronomical balloon payment. They never signed papers they couldn’t honor. They were never “late”, “bankrupt” or “default” on an obligation. They never sat around and “hoped” for anything.

My parents were the rare breed of people who had the audacity to work hard, pay their taxes and live within their means. No one “bailed” them out ever. My parents never expected nor demanded a rescue.

The audacity of hard work. If everyone had that kind of fearless daring approach to not only self sufficiency, but charity and restraint; we wouldn’t need people like Barack Obama, or John McCain to sell us virtues we already possess.

Himself...the 'Cos'

It had to be over 25 years ago that I first brought home a VHS copy of Bill Cosby’s Himself to watch with my Dad. Dad was a huge Cosby fan, so I thought he would enjoy it. Mom was asleep and Pop decided to stay up late and watch it with me. It was the first time I saw my Dad laugh and cry at the same time. In short, it was hilarious. Real life can be that way. I have to hand it to the Cos, he knows how to make the everyday seem insane and the insane seem like every day.

Because of this old 1983 performance, JD and I always board an airplane looking for that irritating little “Jeffrey” and the visits to the dentist have never been the same since the Cos talked about it on Himself. His takes on the middle years of marriage with gusto and the feeding of his children with chocolate cake, as ‘coping’ with fatherhood. I know the Cos is a true father mentor because my Dad did this once with the grandkids while he was babysitting them.

There is a lot about my Dad that has evolved into the Cos over the years. Cos loves to wear sweats and sweaters and if my Dad had a uniform, this would be it. I don’t know if it’s the dry demeanor, the facial expressions or viewpoints on the “mother”, but he has a gentle way of poking fun without being insulting. The man simply has to look at you when he speaks and I dare you not to giggle. It’s something about the face…I can’t put my finger on it, but the mannerisms are definitely there. My dad is a guy from Jersey and Bill is a guy from Philly, so that must explain it. It’s an East coast thing.

When the Ponderosa Bruins played in Fernley, Nevada for their first pre-season football game, we decided to stay in Reno for a couple days and catch a show at the Silver Legacy. When we discovered that Bill Cosby was performing, we knew we had to take the kids to the show. They have all seen Himself and old reruns of The Cosby Show, so we knew they would appreciate it. When we entered the ballroom at the Silver Legacy, the chairs were all pulled close to the stage. On the stage was his signature Queen Ann style chair with a tee-shirt draped over the back that said “Hello Friend.” The words, "Hello Friend" belonged to his son, Ennis, who was brutally gunned down on the streets of L.A. in January of 1997. A charity of the same name "Hello Friend" was founded in his memory. I often wondered how he has managed to carry on, and in true 'Cos' fashion, he is helping others. I always thought Bill Cosby was a man of faith; when he disclosed that he, a Methodist, married a Catholic in a Catholic church, I finally knew why I admired his wife Camille. You can’t appreciate the ‘Cos’ until you know Camille. She must be a living saint to put up with that after all these years!

The chair was saddled with a little table to hold a bottle of water and below it stood a small waste paper basket. That’s it. A chair, a side table and garbage can. Before I knew it was running late for the show to start, a gentleman came on stage wearing sweat pants and a tee-shirt and slippers. I thought he was stage hand, until he sat in Bill’s chair and the lights came up! There sat the famous Bill Cosby, himself. Printed on the tee was a picture of his family, with the words “Homeland Security” scribbled across the chest. There was no mistaking the face. Four rows from the stage, it felt like we were all having coffee.

Just 'himself' sitting there looking at us, we all started laughing. He certainly knew how to handle the drunks and the hecklers. He threw the zingers right back at them and he was funny. There is something about a seasoned professional who is comfortable in his own skin, telling his own stories from his own perspective of being over 70 years old. My only regret was that my Dad wasn’t there to see his African American twin brother. You can’t help but love the Cos and his whole family because he opens the doors, just a little, to allow a glimpse into his real life. It’s something everyone in the audience can relate to, because it’s not much different from your own. All the material in this show was brand new, except for the last bit, recited word for word, the insanity of going to the dentist.

As my whole family recited the routine along with him, we all wiped tears of laughter from our eyes, marveling at the timelessness of a man who simply feels like an old friend.

Fabulous Fairplay

We wanted to mark our 20^th wedding anniversary with a big trip this year, but with the kids starting school early, Bruins football and work deadlines, we stayed close to home to make sure everyone made it to school, practices and meetings. JD insisted we get out of town even if it was a short drive so we decided to head to Fairplay, simply because we had never heard of the place, and we wanted to see what we’d find in our own ‘backyard’. Fairplay encompasses the back roads of El Dorado County, near Mt. Aukum, Somerset and Omo Ranch. Honestly, I had never heard of it before.

This little rural wine town does not disappoint those looking for good wines and relaxing surroundings. With the top down on the Z, we drove around Somerset and Fairplay noting the many wineries on Perry Creek and Fairplay Roads. We found ourselves at Lucinda’s Country Inn for the evening. What an amazing little place this Inn has become over the last several years. Daryl & Cindy Sullivan’s retirement project is quite the luxury bed and breakfast. All the suites are unique, spacious, newly furnished and carefully appointed with all the little accoutrements one needs when you have an overnight bag and a short amount of time. One can easily note that the Sullivan’s hearts are in their business, because of their wonderful hospitality. The fully cooked breakfasts were amazing and we enjoyed a lovely cocktail hour with them in the great room before heading out to dinner at Bocconato Trattoria, another Fairplay hotspot.

What is amazing about Fairplay is the local warmth and sense of belonging one enjoys whether you are visiting a winery, a local restaurant or having lunch at a roadside café. The people who live in this area and run their businesses treat customers like family. At every winery we visited, we were able to taste at no charge, and the owners were available to discuss their wines and the surrounding area.

Perhaps the most pleasurable dining experience we had while in fabulous Fairplay, was our evening at Bocconato’s. The owners, Giovanni & Sheri Gaudio, are a husband and wife team who love and live Northern Italian cuisine. They present their food and wine pairings as culinary gifts, each course of the meal a testament to the authentic Italian heritage they embrace. Giovanni and JD talked about the areas in Italy they share in common, JD’s family residing in the Lombardy and Valtelena; Gaudio’s cuisine centering on the foods and wines of the Piemonte and Toscano regions of Italia. Gaudio knows his stuff, he travels to Italy regularly and he looks like one of the locals you’d run into while touring around Como. Our maitre d’, Nicola, was fun and engaging, the staff welcoming us like long lost cugini. Chef Giovanni Gaudio has this down to a science. If you like authenticity in your Italian cuisine, you will love Bocconato. They love their local wines, but they also feature regional Italian wines. We had been tasting the local vino all day, so we settled on a wine from Montepulciano, a red Toscano that went well with everything we ate.

The only decision we made that night was whether to sit indoors our outside on the patio, but since the weather was lovely, we enjoyed the evening on the patio, sharing stories with ‘Nicolino’ and wondering what chef would send out next for us to sample. If you leave it up chef, he will not fail to disappoint the palette.

For a special occasion or a quick getaway, the secret little area of Fairplay was the retreat we were looking for, and with gasoline prices keeping us closer to home, it was the perfect midweek getaway to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Simply fun, fabulous…not far away, Fairplay- we’ll be back soon!

Your signature

What does it mean to write well? I've come across several things lately that have inspired me to believe in the importance of writing. It's our signature, a legacy of memories, a picture of thoughts, impressions and a self portrait. Through the process, it becomes an adventure lived by others; when we allow others to read what we have written. Much like painting or singing, we give someone perspective when we allow them to read our words.

I am finishing Julia Child's last book, "My Life in France", a book co-authored in 2006, two years after her death, by her grandnephew, Alex Prud'homme. He finished something she had already started, a memoir of her beloved years with her husband Paul Child, living in France after World War II, and learning to cook. Her style, like her cooking, is relaxed and warm. She is as refined and bohemian as I always imagined her. Lord, this woman loved to live, and lived to love well. The book honors her relationship with her husband, as much as it honors the country they lived in together. She simply writes a visual and olfactory memoir that makes your mouth water. One lesson gleaned from her reflections is that ideally, we all need to slow down a bit and take in the people and culture that surround us. Our daughter, Shannon, recently spent several weeks in Italy, and this was one of the impressions she came home with; savoring surroundings, people and time.

In that same vein, I've admired the attempts of my friends and family as they chronicle their own lives in the blogosphere. One friend close by is chronicling the emptiness of her house as the last child in her house begins his senior year and her two oldest move out to attend college. Likewise, my sister in law is exploring her own empty nest ambitions of writing for her local newspaper. A friend of ours who recently lost his wife, used to keep us informed as to how she was faring in her final days, and my fondest wish is that he continues to write, for himself and for his grandchildren. I find that those of us who are getting older need to put our thoughts down in words, and it's a beautiful thing to read what others write, and the common bonds we have at this time in our lives. Writing is truly our signature.

At the suggestion of a fellow blogger, I logged onto a moving photo essay a few days back, and was literally spell-bound by the beautiful photographic tribute of artist, Phillip Toledano, to his aging father. If you are looking for inspiration today, it falls into the "don't miss this" category. You will be touched beyond words-at the depth this man has for the remaining days left with his Dad. A sheer tribute of love and grace. Toledano's father is photographed, but the pictures tell the story of the relationship. See the website at: www.dayswithmyfather.com

Randy Pausch's Last Lecture stirred quite a discussion in our house, after news of his death last month. We not only watched the Carnegie Mellon lecture online, but we are passing around the book in our family. When someone is facing their final exit, especially someone as young as Professor Pausch, the words he imparts are more about living than about dying. That's the message he left. His signature indelible, his legacy secure.

How are we to signature our lives? I'd like to think we do it with our children, our charity, and by our example. As I finish Julia's last incomplete book, I am satisfied that she was 'signed' off at the end. So impressed was I by her casualness, joviality and love for living, that I promise myself when I have a little extra time this Fall, I'm going to dust off my old copies of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and try my hand at a few of the recipes she perfected while living at the Roo de Loo, as she affectionately called her old Parisian apartment.

I'd like to continue my own promise to journal as I've done with Family fare, as I believe it is the one place where I can express what is most important to me; much in the manner that Toledano's father's signature is manifest and sculpted in the heart of his son. Our signature may be all that's left us, like a book that has been shared, well worn and ear marked with favorite spots where the coffee spilled and the crumbs piled high; as evidence that one was there and simply loved the ride.

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. She can be reached on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Bass Lake Grade Blues

Brandon just bought his new motorcycle. A beautiful day, it was his inaugural ride. He comes from a family of motorcycle enthusiasts. Unfortunately, a Honda Civic driver not paying attention to the road, spoiled the day for the new motorcycle owner last Friday. I was driving down the Bass Lake Grade with the kids in the car when I noticed a truck parked off to the side of Highway 50. One of the solar call poles was down and a motorcycle was spilled on its side with its young driver lying curled up next to it. Pulling off to the side of the road, I told the kids to stay in the car and went to check on the injured motorcyclist. He was a mess, but thankfully, he was alive.

The two nice gentlemen who stopped after the biker went down, moved him out of the roadway and in the confusion of trying to reach 911 with two cell phones, we kept getting busy signals. Exasperated, I tried to reach someone at my house to call 911. The young man gave me his mom’s number and in trying to keeping him alert, I used the number he gave me and instructed his mom to call 911 from her land line, explaining that Brandon was conscious and I thought he was going to be OK but he needed medical attention. She summoned the paramedics and we waited. I prayed and counted the seconds.

I found out that night that the Honda Civic driver either wasn’t aware of what happened after merging into a lane with a motorcyclist, or left the scene of the accident. In any event that person ran Brandon off the road. He flipped off his bike sustaining multiple injuries and fractures. His motorcycle took out the solar call pole. With a guardian angel working overtime, Brandon was lucky his injuries weren’t any worse. Holding onto him, I tried to assess his injuries, wishing I had been more prepared with blankets in the car. He obviously was going into shock. Luckily the awesome El Dorado Hills Fire and medic team from Station 86 arrived and initiated care on the scene, transporting Brandon to UCD Medical Center, where top notch trauma care could be rendered. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen someone off the road coming down the grade. People are just driving too fast and not paying attention.

The team at Station 86 was prompt, professional and caring. The El Dorado Hills Sheriff department was also on scene and I am reminded of how amazing these people are who serve our community. You are the real heroes in our midst.

Brandon is on the mend, thank God; and for those two guys in the truck, the good Samaritans, it’s nice to see people who stop and care. Station 86 I’m proud to be your neighbor and feel so much better knowing you all are close by. Drivers, pay attention, slow down …after staring into that young man’s face, I thought about what could have happened, what could have been lost, and it caused me to shudder. Take it easy out there…

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her at www.familyfare.blogspot.com or on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

The Three Faces of Me

In my summer psychology class, my portion of our group presentation involved examining psychological disorders, specifically multiple personality disorders. The themes of multiple personalities has been explored in many films and television shows. Pop culture books examine the nuances of people like “Sybil” and “Eve”. As I delved into the mysteries of dissociative identity disorders, I became suspicious of three particular people: Me, Myself and I. Yikes. I think I have this disorder.

First, there is Tammy Jo, the ideal woman that JD married: that would be the woman who goes to church, cleans her house meticulously, cooks 5+ course meals for her guests, and operates a small hostel for the family and friends who often show up for visits and extended stays. This woman is usually congenial, fun-loving and likes to entertain. Socially she is comfortable and enjoys being around friends and family. When she is engaging, she can be the life of the party. This woman has not been seen since 2005. There is an ongoing manhunt to find her. If you see her, please phone J.D.

Second, there is Tam, the nursing student wannabe: this person is a hyperactive student who stays up all night, preparing papers, lab reports, and group projects. She is often attached to the internet, leaves much of the housework undone for months at a time, and laments that while she has perfection in her academic life, she loathes the idea of cooking and laundry. She is prone to impatience, fits of worry and anxiety about the last set of applications she has mailed out to various nursing schools. She waxes and wanes between feeling superior and utterly despondent about her station in life. Tam has good grades but feels she is discriminated against because of her age. While self confident, she thinks there is no end in sight, and can be seen mumbling in the corner “I just want to be a nurse”. She escapes from her non-reality of being an actual nurse, by voracious reading of books having nothing at all to do with nursing. She consumes massive amounts of caffeine, hangs out with other women who do this and is generally a cynic when it comes to most things. She thinks that Tammy Jo will be found when she finally becomes a nurse. Ha! What a farce. Despite her evil tendencies to be fiercely competitive, she will make an exceptional nurse someday.

Lastly, there is the Mrs. Maher, the Mom, the woman who has three teenagers of varying

temperaments and complexities. She can be seen driving up and down the freeways all during the day and night, taxiing her children to their social engagements and educational pursuits. She hasn’t had her hair done in three months and periodically checks her toenails to see if the polish from June still looks good. She has no use for pantyhose or closed toed shoes, and thinks a good meal can be found at the loft at Nugget Market in Town Centre. The Mom laughed louder than anyone else at the movie “Mamma Mia” and sobbed her guts out during the scene when Meryl Streep painted her daughter’s toe nails. Mom needs hormonal assistance in Thyroid world, and thinks that losing weight will solve all the world’s problems. She can be seen occasionally enjoying a glass of wine and frequently will kiss her husband on the cheek and pat him on the back. He puts up with that. She thinks he’s a saint. He is still looking for Tammy Jo…if you see her, don’t forget to call him.

Tammy Maher is a bi-weekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Hot Hot Hot!

I rarely ask JD about the weather and being married to a weatherman doesn’t necessarily mean I have any lowdown on what the weather is going to be. I am one of those people who go outside and see whether it’s warm, hot or raining and plan accordingly. Others need the information a week ahead of time because their livelihood depends on it. That’s where the meteorologist can really make sense. Coming out of the nirvana that was Independence Day, seeing the blue sky and feeling the Delta breeze, I thought we had this hot, smoky air business under control. The Big Sur, Santa Barbara and Butte fires changed all that. We’re in for the long haul I think. I don’t remember it ever being so bad and I’ve lived in California my whole life. Venturing to the other side of the track here, let me make a totally unqualified prediction…it’s hot hot hot!

What to do? We went into defense mode. Windows and shutters battened down, the dog shaved down to his nubs; plenty of fluids in the fridge and car, we brace the day when temps soar into the 80’s at 7 AM. The winter installation of the roof top solar panels proved to be worth their weight in cold hard cash, as they now soak up the electricity bills for the house air conditioning expense, what a relief because the price of gas is killing us! I have no doubt we’ll get through these triple digit days. However, reminded that others are not faring as well, we all need to be aware of the people around us who might need a helping hand. I am speaking of the elderly and shut ins who may or may not have the constitution to withstand this hot dry heat; and the little ones who need our constant attention as they enjoy cooling off in the water. We also need to be aware of parked vehicles on hot days where animals and small children can fall prey to the exponentially high temperature increases. What is 103 degrees outside may mean 130 degrees plus on the inside, all death traps. Beware.

Whether it’s stopping to check on those stranded on the roadside, to be sure they have the means to summon help, or throwing some water bottles their way while they wait, the little things help during the scorching days. Perhaps you live near someone who is living by themselves and could use a hand with outside chores. I think I’m going to send Conor to check on a few of the retirees in our neighborhood who might not be able to run their lawn mowers this week. He’s been outside practicing with the football team and comes home saying that even the limited amount of time that the guys are outdoors can be hard; imagine what it can do to the elderly, the young and the homeless. Heat exhaustion and heat stroke are big summer risks in these 100+ degree days.

Flip flops and sunscreen aside, people also need to know that the more time you stay in the pool to keep cool, there are several things that you need to watch out for besides the sunburns. A fellow nursing student friend of mine sent me some information last month about a phenomenon called “Dry Drowning”, a condition one can develop from a sudden laryngospasm of the airway, causing it to snap shut (caused by a sudden rush of water into the airway). Another condition is sudden heart failure in sensitive groups who jump into extremely cold water. Whatever the cause, the person stops breathing and essentially asphyxiates without taking any water into the lungs. Another phenomenon, known as Secondary or Delayed Drowning can be caused when people swallow water in the pool, with subsequent small amounts settling into their lungs. These victims for a short time appear to function normally, long after they left the pool. Their slow onset of symptoms of fatigue and loss of bodily functions (like defecating on themselves) can prove to be fatal. The signals of secondary drowning are multifaceted and come later on as a result of the lack of oxygen being transported throughout the body. The CDC doesn’t differentiate between wet and dry drowning, but statistical data suggests that about 10-15% of drowning deaths are dry downing events. Last month, media reports quickly spread about a 10-year old South Carolina boy who went home and died in his sleep, after an unremarkable day in the pool. He apparently had the secondary drowning symptoms but his mother was unaware of such a possibility.

One thing is known for sure. Drowning is normally a very silent killer. While it’s mostly myth that people flail about and signal others they are in trouble, most victims slip under the water’s surface without a word, especially young children. This is why it’s vitally important to train one’s eyes unceasingly on those enjoying the water, because it only takes a second to lose track of swimmers enjoying the summer fun.

Stay the course, summer is underway, have fun, be smart, plan ahead, drink plenty of fluids and watch out for your neighbor, because while JD says we’re in a period of record breaking temperatures, I say it’s hot hot hot!

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at http://www.familyfare.blogspot.com/

Chi Squared my arse!

I tried to take a statistics class last semester and unfortunately, my first exam results weren’t so hot, so I ultimately had to drop the class. I literally had bad dreams about that class. My calculator and I couldn’t get along to save my life. There simply wasn’t enough time to put into the class. I had a rather good teacher, but he wasn’t one to let you have any helpful study aids for exams. Math, you see, has never been my friend. It has been my foe for decades. My first math teachers in elementary school made sure I memorized my math facts, but for some reason, I could never solve for “x”. Moreover, I never knew why it was so darn important for me to learn to solve for “x”, where to put it while I was solving for it, and why I had to put other stuff on both sides of the problems, in an attempt to solve for it. Moreover, it made little sense where or how in the real world I would ever need to do to one side what I was doing to the other in any situation I found myself in…you see my dilemma. It never made sense to me.

When I ventured into the mysterious world of general and organic chemistry a couple years ago for nursing, I had to learn dimensional analysis all over again. The rusty wheels in my brain started to churn and with a little oil from the tutors, the light started to illuminate in my head. Things convert to other things for a reason. This would be important in pharmacology and the procedures we would be implementing in nursing. It was essential to overcome my phobia, once and for all. My math switches being rusty, however, I had to make them operational. My future career as a nurse depends on it. Enter Mr. Hild (pronounced like Wild).
A couple of the nursing programs in the valley require that I have statistics, so with my trusty fifteen dollar calculator by my side and my pal, Trudy; we drove to Rocklin 3-days-per week for 7-weeks. There we met Mr. Hild for the first time. Mr. Hild teaches high school mathematics at Colfax High School and has been teaching at Sierra College for the last two decades. He managed to take this very old phobic math student and turn her into a statistics student. With an approach to teaching from a worksheet and practice method, we were able to drill ourselves through chapter problems, rather than use a textbook. Trudy and I would do the problems repeatedly until we had a good handle on each one. When it came time to take the exams, we were allowed to use our formula sheets and make notes to help us complete the tests. If one practiced as he suggested, one was essentially set up for success on the exams.

Chi squared problems, Poisson distributions, ANOVA problems, binomial probabilities…yeah, I know that stuff now and can solve not only for “x”, but I can find the mean, median, mode and standard deviation of a bunch of numbers. I can draw a bell curve in my sleep and no more bad dreams.

Teaching is about showing your students the map, giving them tools to unlock learning and giving pupils what they need to be successful. Ultimately, when a teacher can unlock the doors and turn on switches, then that teacher has created a learning environment where a student can be successful and overcome obstacles in learning. For the first time in 40 years, I enjoyed a math class and obtained grades I never thought possible. Mr. Hild, you opened rusty doors in an old brain that was closed for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It finally makes sense. Thanks a bunch!

Years may come...

Son, tomorrow you graduate from the 8^th grade. In about ten weeks you start high school. I know it’s not much of a summer vacation, but there is a lot to do before you go to high school. But first, a few words of advice from your old mom. What lies ahead Son, are primarily choices. It’s now up to you.

Many years ago, as I walked at my eighth grade ceremony at St. Vincent elementary school, I remember getting excited toward the end of the Mass, because Mr. Jarrett had taught us to sing an Irish Rovers song “Years May Come” and we were to perform this in musical rounds for our parents. I thought it was such a hip song. Yeah I was pretty much a dorky kid. A lot about elementary and middle school was learning the nuances of how to get along with others. My middle school years were the hardest years of my life. It was a relief to get out of grammar school. You, however, went from homeschooling to public school and made a success of all the changes you had to make to adapt to new learning environments. You made it all look so easy. Your fun loving nature, kindness and compassion towards others will be the recipe you need for success in high school. Don’t lose that good nature. Peers can help you be a better person or they can break you down. Choose good friends. Be a good friend.

Years may come where you have to make hard choices. You know this will be the greatest challenge in high school. Map a good path from the start. It will be an easier journey. Be a good example to others by being a person who is a friend to all. Choose the road less traveled.

Don’t let others define who you are. Everything you are right now will suffice. Let these next four years be about working hard and ‘making good’ on the fine goals you’ve set for yourself. Let music and sports be about contribution and teamwork. Don’t succumb to the pressures to be like everyone else, especially when you know that something is wrong. There is so much time for everything that will be put on your plate. Remember the virtue of patience. Choose to persevere.

Embedded in my memories of your growing up are the birthday interviews we did on videotape, the insane laughter you bring to carpooling and the inability I have to stay angry with you very long. Your volunteer days, the times you served others, most especially those Sundays you served Mass; these are the treasures you’ve given to others. Like your sisters, you care for your friends deeply. Don’t be too devastated when you are let down. Remember that forgiveness heals most things. Choose your battles and let go of the rest. It’s such a waste of time. Integrity will always win over popularity.

As you venture into the exciting world of high school, remember to honor yourself by respecting your teachers and coaches. Remember that we’re always here for you. Work hard and have fun. Congratulations on all your accomplishments. And like that old Irish Rovers song, “ Years may come and years may go… for each one…Thank the Lord that we have been...together through the years..”

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Air Force Aunt

The United States Air Force made it possible for me to come into the world. I know, it sounds like a bit of a stretch, but for the most part, it’s true. I was born in 1963 to a USAF navigator, Thomas Joseph, who perished in a B-47 aircraft over South Central Minnesota during a Cold War training exercise 7 months earlier. He had just celebrated his 23^rd birthday. Two days later, while coming out of LABS maneuver, in a twist of fate that would change the lives of four families, a piece of the engine’s turbine wheel broke off and sliced off the wing of the aircraft, putting the plane into a unfortunate spiral which jettisoned the crew into the fields of Comfrey Minnesota, a small farming community in Brown County.

Forty five years later I’ve come to know that the most important people in my father’s life were people he met in basic training and the navigator cadet programs in Texas; men who came from all over the United States to serve their country and start their careers during uncertain times. Not much has changed since the 60’s given that our military is still very much on alert and war is still part of our National experience. As much as these men are all now retired, they’ve adopted me as ‘Air Force Uncles’ and I get a greater sense of who my father was because of them.

Tomorrow morning, my 20 year old nephew, Joseph Paull, will graduate from Basic Training at Lackland Air Force Base and begin his new journey. Over the last six weeks he changed from a boy to a man. Anyone who has been through what he has experienced knows this. You go to ‘boot camp’ or ‘Basic’ idealizing certain things, scared, confused about what is about to happen to you and when the finish line approaches, you can hardly believe what has happened to you emotionally, physically and spiritually. I got a call from him last week, an unexpected surprise for me. He has been on my mind a lot these two months, recalling stories that my air force uncles told me about what it meant to get through this process, I would think about Joe and what he was going through. His voice on the other end of the phone was different…amazed at how much he had changed, who he is becoming. I get it. I’ve never been so proud. It’s hard to convey pride over the phone. I just know that this journey he is taking is not easy. It’s damn hard. Although Lackland AFB's motto boasts that it begins with them. “Where the 'Blue' really begins", is in the heart. So in rejoicing over this accomplishment, I am flying to San Antonio today so that I can be at Lackland Air Force Base tomorrow. I can’t be anywhere else. As Joe’s Godmother, I’ve prayed for him as much as I’ve prayed for our kids. My air force uncles, in recalling these important milestones to me, talked about graduation and what it meant to have the support of family and friends, as they took these next steps forward. The path involves commitment and sacrifice; something only military men and women understand. As Joe’s circles tighten up, with the type of specialized training he will receive as he moves onward and upward into the USAF family, I hope he knows how much those of us outside the circle admire and appreciate his sense of duty and service to his country.

I am an Air Force daughter who has become a proud Air Force aunt. For this rite of passage, I will need to check at the airport, a cargo bag loaded with Kleenex , to see me through the ceremonials tomorrow, knowing that 48-years ago at Harlingen, Texas, a young airman with a red Buick; one I never had the privilege to know, led the graduation march of his aviator cadet class at his own commencement. There’s not much that has changed in 48 years. Both of these men who share the same name Joseph, have both shared hope for a peaceful future while looking toward the promise of opportunity. I pray that one will watch over the other, and that God will keep His keen eye on Joe as he moves forward. Protect him from enemies both seen and unseen.

Make way for ducklings

For some reason driving lessons came to me this week and what it was like learning to drive a car. Coincidently, my 17 year old is doing the same. We are two different beasts, or maybe not. I am trying to relax and enjoy the ride; after all I am paying a fortune for the gas.
A man, I can only call “Mr. Sweating” was my “behind the wheel” instructor in high school. He was a nervous sort. If memory serves me right, my friends, Lisa and Scott piled into the car with me; back then we did everything in groups of 3-4. I think Mr. S was a P.E. teacher who was forced at gunpoint to teach driver’s education. He reluctantly went over all the features of the car much in the way one would revel in eating earthworms for breakfast. The only thing on my mind was getting the steering wheel of that government issue car in my hot little hands and thinking as a side note “the brake is there in the middle… what a peach…ok, I can do this.” As we hummed along a little winding back road in Petaluma (turning left from Corona Road to Adobe Road, I picked up a little speed). I could hear Scott whispering to Lisa in the back seat that I was driving too slow or words to that effect. I hit the gas, imagining in my mind’s eye flying over the next hump in the road. I looked over to Mr. Sweating. He was wincing and shifting in his seat with his foot positioned like a hovercraft over the instructor brake . “You can let up a little” he shouted as we approached a bluff in the horizon. Scott and Lisa stopped giggling. A mama quail appeared on the road in front of us with 13,000 baby quail behind her and my first reaction was to hit the brake as hard as I could, sending the car into several dove tails and swerving motions that put us on all points of Old Adobe Road, luckily with no traffic behind us or coming from the other side of the road, I ended up on the side of the road or therebouts. Mr. Sweating exited the car stomping his feet, demanding that I get out of the car into the back seat. With the veins in his neck standing promptly at attention, he shouted in his best boot camp voice “NEVER….ever….NEVER….brake for animals while driving a car!!!” After that incident, although totally humiliated in front of my friends, I eventually passed my driver’s test. Secretly, I rejoiced that I had not massacred the quail family that day on Old Adobe Road.
Shannon is a much more conscientious driver than her mom. So I try not to hyperventilate as she talks her way through whatever route she is driving. More worried about others than herself, she wonders if she is driving too fast or too slow. I try to keep my comments to minimum, knowing how considerate she is, advising her that the honks and shouts of others mean nothing when it comes to driving safely. Last Friday, in a twist of fate, that delivered me promptly back to 1978, I was driving us all home on Bass Lake Road when the kids and I spotted a lovely young turkey Mom and 4,000 little turkeys trailing behind her as they made their way across the road. Slowing down, we laughed at them as they entered the grassy area when not 50 feet away, a mama duck and eight little tiny ducklings were also doing the same thing. Forgetting Mr. Sweating…and coming to full stop in Bass Lake Road. I put on my flashers and told my kids to stay put. I stopped the car coming from the opposite direction and shooed the whole family across the road (with one little guy overturning on his back, but eventually making it to the other side). In the spirit of Robert McClosky, I secretly looked up to heaven and told Mr. Sweating that if it was safe to do so, I would always and forever, make way for ducklings.
Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at http://www.familyfare.blogspot.com/

Mornings & Pigs' Ears

In the midst of getting the kids to school on time and thinking about my endless list of stuff to do, I tend to talk myself into my day while driving the kids to their points of destination in the morning. Our daily driving route puts us from El Dorado Hills to Placerville every day of the week. My three have gotten so used to it, they just assume that Tammy number 2 is figuring it all out and they hardly respond to my morning utterances anymore. We are not exactly morning people. I think all of us were born under the sign that blinks “Open all night”, because we all tend to solve the world’s problems after 5 PM. The first thing on my mind in the morning is where I can plug myself into IV drip of caffeine. I know every café from Town Centre El Dorado Hills to Main Street Placerville. I know all the Goth kids at Habit, hang out at ‘It’s a Grind’ in Cameron Park, and have ran into a few Tibetans at Cozmic Café. But mostly, I know where good coffee reigns supreme and where free internet access can be found. I’m that old lady in the corner with the pink laptop who can easily do 5 shots of espresso, but am desperately trying to cut back.

One particular diatribe with my interior self found me on South Shingle Road, picking up lunches for Conor and Birdy and passing by Lee’s Feed. “Remind me to pick up some pig’s ears for Conor!” Huh? That engendered a few giggles. “Ugh, I mean for Skipper.” Skipper is our dog. But I’m sure you can deduce that without me. Brain death approaching, I catch myself. Why can’t I get these kids’ names straight? Thinking about Conor chewing on pig ears really lit up the day. I’ve caught that contagion of my parents’ own brain damage. I remember the litany of names called out by Bob and Sally when they were thinking about something else, but wanted our attention; Deep in a place obviously somewhere else but trying to be present, it’d go a little something like this: “Tammy, Terry, Tricia, Teddy Bear? Whatsurname?” Drat. We’d give my mom the same blank stare. “Ugh, that’s the dog, mom, I’m the oldest…Tammy…remember?” “I know that!” she’d reply in exasperation. “I just get so mixed up sometimes!” It’s not exasperation. I know for a fact that until the caffeine is pulsing through my arterial system, I’m just not gonna make any sense in the AM and the kids’ names are gonna be fair game before 5 PM because in the real world of middle age, the brain synapses are just beginning to fire around dinner time. I honestly think the profitability of the entire nation would go through the roof, if our day started around noon.

Last weekend, I was inducted into the honor society at Folsom Lake College and the president of the college called us “the brightest of the bright”, my kids were choking back the loud chortles, while my husband held back tears. I could just hear him thinking out loud “so that’s why the housework is a little behind, and I cook more than she does now.” Honestly, it was embarrassing. I wanted to congratulate the other 4 people standing with me (who were all under the age of 21) except there was two other people around my age and I wanted to ask them, “Do you forget your kids’ names ever?” I just stood there, thinking I hadn’t yet had my morning coffee and I was starting to fade. It’s tough. Maintaining a high grade point average doesn’t always mean perfection in the day to day. I’m always a work in progress.

I’m convinced that the answer to this early dementia is to play more cards on line. It is an idea that I got from my Life Span class, learning about the Mankato nuns and the brain studies they’ve done on them. Apparently, they’ve avoided dementia and Alzheimer’s by playing cards, doing puzzles and crosswords. I really like spades. I also will indulge in a little Sudoku now and again. Today, while on Yahoo games, my card partner hurled some insult at me and I laughed. “Yeah, go eat some pig ears…I haven’t had my coffee yet.” That shut her up.

Arrivederci Cugini

Pictured: (Elena, Papa Maher, MoMaher, Matteo, Francesca & Fulvio)
We all gathered for MoMaher & Papa’s Golden Wedding Jubilee last weekend. The cousins from Italy surprised MoMaher by flying into SFO under stealth conditions. Family came from all around the country to celebrate the occasion and the pictures tell a story of what family means after 50 years of wedded bliss. The theme for me was Cugini or “cousins” – surely the spot light of the weekend. As mom and dad celebrated their milestone, one of my nephews was packing to leave for the U.S. Air Force. I am proud of him. Another nephew is headed to Dominican College in the Fall, a niece to a Design School in Seattle, and another taking first place with her crew team at Lake Natomas over the weekend. Having said all that, it seems like yesterday that they were all kids. Where do the years go? All these young adults springing into their lives faster than I remember them growing up…oy vey! These are cousins who have lived apart for most of their lives, but firmly bonded in this family of Joseph Luzzi and William Maher

JD spent several days on the video we showed at the party of people who were at the wedding 50 years ago. A junior bridesmaid, another cousin, hasn’t seen MoMaher since the wedding and they spoke over the weekend on the phone. Hopefully these long lost cousins will reunite in person soon.

Aunt MaryElla’s mother passed away the morning of the party and her funeral is tomorrow. She lived into her late 90’s...leaving a legacy of children, grandchildren and great children. She left a large family, filled with cousins and they took care of her until her last day.

Having had a late night supper with the Lake Como contigency on Tuesday night, seeing the young cugini ‘girls’ JD visited in 1995, now having children of their own, it’s amazing how time has passed. The laughter and stories are the same. Two year old Matteo delighted us all with his charm and sweet disposition. Fulvio, Francesca and Elena honored everyone with their presence, and knowing that it won’t be long until we see each other again, we simply hug and kiss our farewells all the way out the door, ciao caro, ciao cugini..buon viaggio! Ricordarmi! Remember me... Fulvio & MoMaher

The weekend was filled with local cousins, Italian cousins, and out of state cousins. Some had surprising and good news, a very special one was recovering from surgery (thankfully with very good news), some were a little too far away and sorely missed. We wish them much love; and to those who spent a little time with us this last week, we say simply “Arrividerci Cugini… Finché incontriamo ancora…Dio la benedice! ” Farewell Cousins, until we meet again, God bless you!

Golden Jubilees & white dress shoes

My sister-in-law, Cindy, has a birthday today. I wonder if she knows how much I miss her. She lives out of state with JD’s brother, Pat and their two daughters. It was sad when they moved from Sacramento years ago; both having careers closely connected with engineering and government contracts. When they first started out their married life together, we lived about 5 miles away from them and our oldest girls were just starting school. I have so many great memories from that time. There is something magical in the beginnings of family life. I remember the window of opportunity, encouraging Pat to travel to South Dakota to propose to Cindy and the telephone call he made to us on that same trip telling us that they had eloped or in his words “gone to Deadwood.” I’ve missed the years of cooking dinners, coffee klatching and wine tasting, but life has a way of taking families on journeys. The joys now are found in the cross roads when you come together to celebrate family milestones. Speaking of which...

It was a little over 21 years ago that JD proposed to me at the Cliff House in San Francisco. We were having dinner with a couple who were celebrating their Golden Wedding Jubilee. I always wondered about the special luck and blessing it was for us as a young couple to celebrate the night of our engagement with two people who had already spent half a century together. They were a couple crazy kids; teenagers really, who were married by a Justice of the Peace in 1937 in Deadwood, South Dakota. Reflecting on that a little further, I wonder if there was something in that South Dakota water, given that JD’s brother did the exact same thing almost 60 years later! It was simply amazing to hear the story of how Gene and Delores swept away in the middle of the night to get married. If Delores were alive today, they’d be married 71 years this September 25th. I remember them dancing at our wedding. There was a lot about that wonderful day that is a blur to me now, given that 20 years has come and gone. However, rock crystal clear in my mind, was Gene, all decked out in his white dress shoes and driving the red Cadillac; his wife of half a century next to him, still very much remembering Deadwood, but a thousand miles and 50 years away.

Next week, JD’s parents are celebrating their own 50^th wedding anniversary. I’ve known them almost half their marriage. The day will be crowned by an amazing party to celebrate the occasion with many family and friends coming from all over to celebrate the milestone of a half century of marriage. It’s the occasion that one has to see as a blessing... in counting the years like bars of Gold; because marriage to one person for half a century is a rare achievement nowadays. The ear-marks of such rarity being the memories; of joys and sorrows that sharing your life brings, like an investment that has had its ups and downs, shortfalls and yields. Most importantly, marking something irrevocably sacred and meaningful.

MoMaher, 50 years ago, April 12, 1958

The Golden Wedding Jubilee bring people together to celebrate a part of life that few couples ever reach, the half century mark. Considering that I’m not even half way there yet, I will be watching the days closely and taking notes. The South Dakota contingent will be there. It’ll be nice to wish Cindy a belated Happy Birthday in person and I am looking forward to seeing Gene again after all these years, hoping beyond hope that he’s wearing those white dress shoes and saving a hug for me.

Tammy Maher is columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her by email at familyfare@sbcglobal.net or on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com