It used to be that I could tell people my
VCR was flashing “12:00” and they would immediately understand me to say, “I’m
a technologically impaired, lower-functioning member of the species.  Please have mercy on my oh-so-twentieth-century
soul.” 

     I’m still that person, but I wasn’t sure
about how to convey that nowadays, since most DVR box thingies don’t even show
the time.  If they did, I’m sure mine
would still be flashing “12:00”.  But for
lack of anything better, I used that same old line about the VCR flashing
“12:00” and realized that now it has even more impact, as my acquaintance
gasped, “My God, you still have a VCR?”

I went to the United States Post Office to mail a package,
which I know is so last century, but I’m quaint that way. As the package was
being weighed, the postal worker asked me if I wanted to buy insurance for the
package – against damage, loss, or rifling.

What?

Damage, I can understand; accidents happen. Loss? Ok, I see
where could happen too. But rifling? That’s never an accident. That means
someone is willfully and maliciously going through your package and taking whatever
they want. 

So, let me get this straight.  I am handing my package over to the
USPS.  The postal service employees are now
responsible for my package. I can understand offering insurance against an
employee accidentally losing or damaging the package while it is in their
custody.But asking me to buy insurance against rifling is like asking me to pay
protection money for my package.

I didn’t pay it. Now I’m waiting to hear if the package
arrives safely, or if I’m going to be taught a lesson about buying that insurance.

Manifesto: A public, official and authoritative declaration making announcement or explanation of intentions, motives, or principles of actions.  From the Latin manifestus – struck by the hand

Ok.  Simple enough.  So I wrote one to now publicly declare and explain the principles of my actions:

• all work is done based on the idea that someday I would like to retire
• all play is done based on the idea that someday I would like to retire
• all children will be forced from the nest as early as possible based on the idea that someday I would like to retire
• all children will be expected to compensate parents for their upkeep, upbringing and uprooting, based on the principle that someday I would like to retire

I didn’t just write my manifesto; I made it semi-public – I announced it at the dinner table.  We have enough people there to actually qualify as a quorum of the local village, hence the semi-official designation of the semi-public status. (and I am semi-serious about that)

After delivering my manifesto, I was reminded of the Latin origins of the word, and that it meant ‘struck by the hand’.  That was pretty much the response from my family, although nobody actually hit anyone – it was more of a metaphorical slap.  I’m guessing it was the fourth bulleted point that was not appreciated by most of them.

My husband and I thought it was a great principle, but we are vastly outnumbered by our offspring, hence our votes and opinions wouldn’t count for much in our semi-public forum, if we were to run it as a democracy.  That’s the reason we operate as more of a dictatorship, which is from the Latin dictatus, meaning ‘the old people are in charge here’.

Our representatives lack the integrity to do what’s necessary when it might be unpopular.  Their constituents – that would be us – demand something for almost nothing, and then denounce any elected official who attempts to show us that we’ll get what we pay for.  And then, desperate to accomplish something constructive, we try to avoid the politicians entirely.

We write propositions like Prop 21, which asks if I’m willing to pay an additional $18.00 in car registration fees in order to fund public parks.  In spite of my strong, sincere belief that propositions are the wrong way to handle things, the truth is, yes I am.  Our public parks are a vital resource, and I’m willing to pony up, especially when given the opportunity to do so in a way that avoids giving our California State Legislature any jurisdiction over my $18.00. 

Are public parks more important than education, health services, or safety personnel?  No.  But I’m not being offered the opportunity to directly fund any of those.  I have this one $18.00 opportunity to save something from the debacle that is our government management of public resources.  And I just may take it.

She handles it pretty well, considering.

I won’t even bother to write much about how my right leg has a permanent cramp from shoving my foot to the floor on the imaginary brake; I understand that’s a common phenomenon for parents.  And I suppose many parents have caught themselves involuntarily crying out, “Brake!” 

I don’t do that.  I yell, “Brake!  Brake!  BRAAAAAKE – for the love of God and all that’s holy!”  At every intersection.

The other night as she overcorrected on a turn, and overcorrected, and overcorrected again, I lost my head.  I am ashamed to say that I actually screamed out, “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?!!!!”  I was so rattled that when we got home, and someone dropped something, I yelled it out again – “Jesus Christ!” 

Her brother, a complete smart mouth, said, “Oh, is Jesus Christ here?” 

My daughter replied, “Yeah.  He was in the car, too.”

So she still has a sense of humor.  She’s holding up way better than I am.  I have a crick in my back because I spend every trip leaning over to the left, away from the door on my side, because in my opinion, she is far too close to the parked cars.  In theory, I know that expecting her to keep at least 6 feet away from them is unreasonable.  In practice, it’s the only way I can handle it.  I have developed a nervous twitch that starts whenever she’s in the vicinity of the car keys.  I have no fingernails left on my left hand; I’ve chewed them all off.  On my right hand, they still look pretty good, because I’m so busy hanging on to the door handle for dear life that I can’t get at them. 

On the plus side, my relationship with God is much stronger lately, in spite of the little “J C” incident, because I spend so much more time in prayer – every driving lesson. 

Postscript:  Shortly after I wrote this, the van’s radiator exploded.  Now that’s a sign!