Month: April 2010

Learning Basketball the Hard Way

On April 10, 2010

Speaking of basketball games, my son played basketball in 5^th grade for a club team led by a pretty sharp coach, and the boys on the team were quite intense. They were very good players and got in the habit of winning.

My son, however, seemed to avoid the ball. He was a good shooter when we practiced at home, so I suspected he was afraid of making a mistake. He was great at blocking, but when his team had the ball, he would hide behind other players to avoid having anyone pass the ball to him.

I thought I was a pretty smart mom, and I also thought I could fix the problem so he could live up to his basketball potential. First I tried encouraging him to get the ball and shoot, but he never did. Finally I had the great idea to give him $2 every time he got the ball and tried to make a basket.

At the next game he was all over the ball. He rebounded and took a shot, and made it. I would have been ecstatic except that he was shooting at the wrong end of the court. When his teammates were running down to the other side, he stayed behind and shot – and made two points for the other team.

The ref blew the whistle, and our team got the ball. He got a hold of it and immediately turned and put a basket right through the net. Another two points for the other team.

Clearly he did not understand the mechanics of the game. His coach called a time out, and the team huddled together. When they got back on the floor, every time someone on his team got the ball, they immediately passed it to him. He looked like a deer in the headlights. He’d shoot and miss, they’d rebound and pass it right back to him and he’d have to shoot again. Finally he made a basket.

I could tell he was miserable. The other team scored, and when we got the ball, he couldn’t hide – his teammates hunted him down like stalkers and passed the ball to him. He’d shoot it, miss, and they’d rebound and fire it right back to him. I felt so sorry for him because the ball refused to go in the basket the first few tries. Finally he scored again. After that, the team went back to normal. It was obvious the coach had told them to let my son shoot until he got the points back he’d given to the other team. Thank goodness they won the game or no telling what they would have said to him.

Surprisingly, my son wasn’t terribly embarrassed about the whole thing when we got in the car to go home. “I just didn’t like everybody passing to me, mom. It wasn’t any fun. Oh, and you owe me $20,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“I shot ten times, so you owe me $20.”

From then on, I decided I’d stay out of his athletic endeavors.

Why I Won’t Be at Geoff and Steve’s TCU Appearance

By Suzanne Olsen

On April 9, 2010

In Sports, TV

Geoff and Steve, those really cute guys from the Science Channel’s Meteorite Men, are going to be in Ft. Worth on Saturday, April 10th at TCU’s Monnig Meteorite Gallery from 3 to 6 p.m. Wish I could be there but (a) I have to stay in Portland for my daughter’s track meet and (b), I’m mad at Texas.

I went to a Trail Blazer game tonight against Dallas, and those Texas boys were just plain mean. The second the refs’ heads were turned, they’d smack Brandon Roy or somebody, and then the ref would look around and see Roy spitting nails and call a technical against Portland. Portland got 4 technical’s, which is outrageous, and maybe one was deserved but the others were a result of taunting by those nasty Dallas oafs – and really awful officiating.

I’ve rarely seen such lousy refs. It wasn’t just me. The whole crowd started chanting, “These refs suck.” I certainly don’t condone that kind of rudeness, but in this case they had a good point. Most of the time I can’t see when a foul is made, but the giant screen always shows replays and everyone can see that there was no foul. Was the ref hallucinating? Do they call things for spite when the crowd starts booing?

At one point the players almost got in a fistfight and both teams rushed out on the floor. It was exciting. And one spectator was inciting the fans to keep chanting about the sucking refs, so he was escorted out of the arena by security guards. When he left everyone cheered their support, so another couple of guys took up the fight and they got ejected. I have to admit it was one of the best games I’ve ever been to as far as entertainment goes.

Also at halftime they had a percussion band playing drums made out of recycled or everyday materials because it was Green Day (not the band, the occasion). The Rose Garden where the Trail Blazers play is the first sports facility in the entire universe to earn an LEED Gold Certification for sustainability. I’m just prickly with pride for Portland! I’m sure they picked this band because the drummers played on everything from upside down plastic tubs to ten-foot ladders, and they were darn good at it.

All in all is was one of those evenings you’re happy that you were there, except that Dallas played a dirty game, so I’m mad at Texas. But if I weren’t, I’d certainly be at TCU meeting Geoff and Steve and watching their slide show and getting autographs and checking out one of the world’s biggest university collection of meteors. Next time I’m in Texas, I’m going to spit on the pavement to show that Dallas team just exactly what I thought of their shenanigans tonight.

Eat Your Broccoli – Maybe

By Suzanne Olsen

On April 9, 2010

In Food

I got another really nice response from Geoff the Meteorite Man about the blog I wrote. I’m actually all a-twitter over your attention and positive comments. Glad you liked the terrier comment – that was my favorite too, and pretty apt, I’d say. Geoff, you’re a really nice guy and I have no qualms about shamelessly promoting your show on this blog and Facebook. WATCH METEORITE MEN ON THE SCIENCE CHANNEL!

Speaking of science, I like to use the latest scientific research to try and stay healthy. When they tell me to eat my broccoli, I’m all over it because it’s got some really good long words in it that scientists say are very healthy. Imagine my confusion today when I was reading Woman’s World – that half magazine, half newspaper hybrid at your local grocery store check stand. It’s a great little source of all kinds of information, and I bought a copy because it had a picture of Oprah on the front and she was looking pretty buff. I don’t watch a lot of afternoon TV, and the last time I saw her she was twice this size. The caption said something about losing weight on a bread diet. I said to myself, “Bread diet? Hmmm. That sounds like the perfect way to deflate my spare tire – if Oprah can do it and she was carrying a whole set, then so can I.”

I was picturing a nice warm loaf of bread with some butter and cherry preserves for breakfast. A loaf with olive oil and balsamic vinegar for lunch. And another loaf for dinner, open faced with a little gravy dribbled over it – not too much – no sense in overdoing the calories. Of course it wasn’t like that at all. You get a couple of thin slices of Danish rye bread that you have to bake yourself, and all the rest of the diet is the regular healthy stuff like 4 oz. of broiled fish and so forth. Not that it doesn’t look really appealing, but I felt a little let down about the whole bread thing. I was picturing little curls of steam rising off the top of a plump white loaf, some soft butter painting a light yellow coat over a thick, creamy slice, warm and yeasty and full of nostalgic flavors….

As I was saying about broccoli – I always thought you couldn’t go wrong with this particular cruciferous vegetable, but according to Woman’s Day, it is loaded with goitrogens. Yes, that’s right, those awful little rascals want nothing more in life than to slow down your thyroid function. The good news is that you can BUTTER your broccoli and it will keep those guys busy swimming around in so they don’t have the inclination to mess with your thyroid. I will eat butter on just about anything (which explains the spare tire) so this somewhat disturbing news has a silver lining.

There was good news about dark chocolate – it makes you a math whiz. It contains flavonols – the scientific word for lots of flavor – and they increase the blood to your brain so that you can be an Einstein when it comes to counting backwards from 999, something I will have to start doing a lot more often if it means I can have more chocolate.

Here’s another unexpected bit of health news. Just when I was starting to get good at texting because I was worried about using my cell phone (and also because my kids will actually respond to texts), I read that cell phones aren’t harmful because a new study says so, and they may even ward off Alzheimer’s. Imagine that. Not too long ago I was reading about the need to limit cell phone use and now I can use it all I want for medicinal purposes. This explains why, with all the texting, I’ve have been forgetting things lately. I’ll have to quit texting and go back to calling, which my kids won’t like but it’s all in the interest of good health and well-being, at least for the time being, until they come up with some new study.

And in conclusion, did I mention how much I LOVE the show Meteorite Men?

Meteorite Men – My Favorite Show

By Suzanne Olsen

On April 8, 2010

In TV

I have to write two blogs today to catch up, so the first is going to be dedicated to Geoff of Meteorite Men who responded to one of my blogs (Meteorite Men vs the Oscars). Geoff, you must have been Googling your own show because you’re one of a very, very select few who have stumbled on my blogging marathon – trying to do 365 posts in 365 days. I’m approaching the halfway mark, and your response made my day. Shall we celebrate? I’m going to fetch a lemon drop….

Okay, I’m back, and I have a couple of things to say. First, I’d like to ask how a busy star like you has so much time to write a nice response to an obscure blogger? Are you on the network’s time when you’re doing your personal computing? Do they know this? Have you ever been charged with a felony?

Second, I’m happy to hear you were filming in Canada. I like Canada. Darn good Olympics this year! Truly top notch. Wasn’t that Red Green Show filmed in Canada? That was a good show – pretty entertaining and very creative with all the duct tape – I couldn’t live without it. In fact, maybe you should try wrapping some around your metal detector – it might make it sound better (ha ha).

When I encountered you Meteorite Men on TV, you were a couple of guys out in the most forsaken wasteland of snowy fallow fields walking back and forth listening to the wails of your metal detectors. That was pretty much it, sprinkled with some entertaining chit chat, until the detector started making a different sound that only you guys and mongrel dogs could hear, and you got all excited and started digging like a terrier in a mole hill. Finally you came up with the prize – a muddy chunk of outer space – which you thought was worth hundreds of dollars. I’m not saying that this wasn’t highly entertaining, I’m just saying that it gave me that ever elusive thing – good material to write a humor blog about, so I poked a little fun.

But now that you’ve written back, I must say that I’m entirely impressed with the work you are doing. I had forgotten about my love of meteors, especially the ones at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry that are big as beach balls. You probably wouldn’t need a metal detector for one of those puppies. There’s always a ton of people gathered around them vying for a chance to rub the space rock. Do you think it’s good luck to touch a meteor? Sure has been for you.

Admittedly, when I saw you guys getting excited about driveway-gravel-sized meteors and selling them for hundreds of dollars, I asked myself, “Who would pay such a price for such a thing?” Now I realize that people are attracted to meteors like flies to – uh, like iron filings to a magnet. Who in their right mind would NOT want a meteor? I’m lusting for one at this very minute.

All kidding aside, (and this is hard for me to do), I very much appreciate your response and the time you took to write it. If you see those guys from Ice Road Truckers, tell them I said hello! Oh, and keep up the good work. Can’t wait to see your next adventure!!!

Email Remorse

By Suzanne Olsen

On April 7, 2010

In Relationships

I’ve written a couple of nasty emails lately. Have you ever gotten those? Someone on a committee gets mad about something and sends a spiteful email that makes someone else mad and pretty soon emails are flying from all directions and you can’t wait to get the next one to see just how far some people will go.

My son had a couple of roommates his second year in college and I tried to be the good coordinator by emailing the other parents, who I hadn’t met, and starting a list of things for the boys to bring so we’d know who was responsible for what. We got it all sorted out – who had a couch and who had a table. It was all great fun.

Then my son went down to actually put the first month rent on the place, and since he was the one who got there first, he claimed the big bedroom. I thought that was fair enough, and so did one other mom, but the third one whose son lived with his dad, decided to take issue with it – after my son had already moved his stuff in.

Polite emails went back and forth. I kept saying, “Let’s let the boys work it out,” but she would counter with different things like, “well, they should draw straws.”

“Let’s let the boys work it out.”

“Well, they should base it on who’s the tallest,” stuff like that. Back and forth, over and over, with my reply always being, “Let’s let the boys work it out.”

Finally she got herself worked up and said, “If your son ends up in that room then he should pay more money.” She sent this, like all the others, to all the parents.

“What do you have in mind?” I emailed back.

“I think he should pay $75 more per month,” she said.

“For that much money, your son can have it. Make the check out to me.”

She didn’t like that. She sent me an email back addressed only to me that said, “ESAD.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I had a feeling it wasn’t good. I looked it up on the internet. Mind you, this is coming from a mother who was probably around my age. Google said that this little pleasantry she emailed to me meant “Eat S___ and Die.”

I was livid, and I would have smacked her if I could have gotten my hand in the computer. I wanted to email back some ugly ugly stuff but for some reason I didn’t.

There’s always a level head who steps in to stop the madness, and in our case it was the dad of the third kid. He told us to all back off and LET THE BOYS WORK IT OUT THEMSELVES. I wasn’t about to give any more input, and none of us ever heard from that mom again. I quit emailing to her – I went directly to the dad.

I love emails because they get things done quickly, and I should have more sense than to email unpleasantness, but sometimes I can’t resist. It’s like those old sitcoms where someone mails a letter and then climbs into the mailbox to try and fish it back out when they have remorse. Once it’s been emailed, it’s a done deal. I only wish I could remember this when I lose my temper.

Easter Feaster

By Suzanne Olsen

On April 5, 2010

In Food, Holidays

Yes, I know, I know. I’m behind. I’ll get caught up in the next day or two because I’m almost at half a year of blog posts. Yippee!

Ready for my excuses for missing a couple of posts? Sure you are. We had a slew of people over for Easter. What a joy! I stayed up until 3 am Saturday night tying little plaid ribbons around napkins and putting together Easter baskets for my ungrateful, way too old children. What is the cutoff for this kind of stuff? Will I be making them baskets when I’m in the nursing home?

I made little clues for a scavenger hunt for my daughter (my son has lost interest). I usually make each clue a little narratives like, “look in a place where your dad snores.” That’s a good one, because she’d have to look in the bed, on the couch, on the other couch, in the La Z Boy, at the kitchen table, and in the bathtub.

At 3:00 I wasn’t in the mood for writing little novels, so here were my clues: “Brrrr.” “Kick it,” “Shelley’s perch,” “Dad’s perch.” I made 14 of them and taped them all over the place. She’d go to the one that said, “Shelley’s perch” and then she’d find another one hidden there that said, “Brrrr” and she’d go look in all the refrigerators and freezers and found the next one that said, “Kick it.”

“Is it on the dog?” she asked.

“Kick the poor little sweet dog?????” I asked. “And it’s Easter morning!”

This one she could not get. She looked all over the house for balls or kickable objects. Then she looked all around my son’s drum set. “I can’t find it,” she whimpered.

“What’s the clue?” her dad asked.

“Kick it.”

“Did you look on the dog?”

“Enough!!!” I said. “It’s a device that kicks things.”

She roamed through the house again. “Is it a hula hoop?” “Is it a book?” “Is it the sewing machine?”

“It’s a DEVICE in the BONUS ROOM that kicks things.”

“We’re going to be late for church.”

“It’s a GAME in the bonus room that kicks things.”

She went out there and looked around, completely stumped.

“A GAME! A DEVICE!”

“Oh, the foosball table,” she finally said when I clumped my coffee mug down on it.

There were a few other clues that had her scratching her head, but finally she found the basket, I took some pictures, and we both rushed to get ready. She was right, we were late for church and had to stand up through the whole service – me in my heels and her without a coat right by the door where assorted people kept taking fussy children out of or sneaking late into.

It was a great day though, thanks to the company and the feast my husband cooked. I wish you could have seen it! He made enough for a hundred people, and I did my very best to mow through my fair share, but we’ve still got a refrigerator full of leftovers even after giving a ton of it away.

At exactly midnight on Saturday, I grabbed every bag of Easter candy I could find and gorged myself on chocolate. If you’ve never given up sweets for 40 days, you don’t know what sheer joy there is in tasting your first chocolate at 12:01 am on Easter Sunday. What a veritable feast it was. I am so thankful to the Hershey’s company for making all that good stuff.

I was also thankful that the good Lord let me get through Easter Sunday without feeling tired. He even made me hyper! But that could have been the chocolate, no?

A Squirrelly Character

By Suzanne Olsen

On April 2, 2010

In Pets

My brother was over today and I was telling him about my dog getting the canine version of a torn ACL and needing to be on bed rest for 3 weeks.

“How do you put a dog on bed rest?” he inquired. “And how did it happen?”

“She was chasing a squirrel and came in limping.”

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll catch the squirrel and get hurt?” he wanted to know.

I wasn’t. “Squirrels are pretty fast.”

“Squirrels are pretty fierce,” he said.

Which I totally agree with. We had this squirrel one time that the kids befriended by feeding it nuts. It was a very fast squirrel. When it saw the kids come outside, it would outrun a Ferrari to get over to the nut. They decided to name him Rocket.

We all became great friends with Rocket. We have big windows down to the patio on the back of our house and he used to come up to the window, stand on his hind legs, and look cute until someone came out with a nut. What a charming little rascal he was.

Between the three of us, Rocket was getting nuts about every half hour. If someone was over, and there were always kids over, it was probably more because the new people wanted to see what the squirrel would do. Rocket stood on his hind legs and let you hand him a nut. At first he’d scurry away with it, but he got to where he’d just sit there and eat hoping for another one.

After a couple of months of this, we went on vacation for a week, and when we got back home, Rocket was out front waiting on us. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was thumping his leg, saying, “Where the heck have you been? I’ve been starving around here.” We have a rock wall, and my daughter, who was about 6 or 7, saw Rocket on the wall when we drove up. She jumped out of the car and ran over to say hi to him. He reached out, apparently thinking she was going to give him a treat. She reached her hand out like you’d do to pet a kitty, and Rocket, seeing the hand was empty, bit her hard on the finger.

She screamed one of those high-pitched little girls’ screams that can break glass. Blood started running down her hand, and she started sobbing, Rocket was at a little distance chattering his disdain, and I was freaking out thinking about rabies. Friggin’ squirrel.

I washed her up, called the pediatrician, and found out that there was nothing to worry about. “Kids get bitten by squirrels all the time. Just put some Neosporin and a Band-Aid on it and she’ll be fine.”

I took a stand that day. No snot nosed squirrel was going to bite my child and get away with it. I told the children, “From now on, no more nuts for Rocket. It’s made him mean.” My daughter was fine with it, the throbbing finger a reminder of the violence of Mother Nature. My son didn’t think it was fair because he loved entertaining his friends, but he gave in. From then on Rocket got nothing from this family, in spite of his cute little begging.

A few days later I walked out on my patio to do something. It was summer and I was barefoot – maybe I was dashing out to take out the trash. Rocket zoomed out of the tree and ran down on the patio right in front of me.

“You can forget about the nuts, mister,” I said. “You shouldn’t have bit one of us. No more nuts for you.” I felt like the soup Nazi on Seinfeld, and it was a good feeling.

I didn’t realize the squirrel could speak English. I started walking back toward the house, and he ran up behind me and bit me on the heel. Hung on, too. I’m shaking the friggin’ thing and it’s got me by it’s beaver teeth, clamped on like a leech and not about to turn loose. I screamed and gave one good shake, which sent him flying. I dashed through the patio door before he could regroup and strike again.

When I calmed down I was livid. Friggin squirrel. I had blood on my heel. The thing had drawn blood! If I could have caught it I would have strangled it until, well never mind.

Instead, I got a broom and went after him. He met my charge, coming right up to the end of the broom as if to say, “C’mon bitch. Bring it.”

“You better GET your ass up to the woods,” I said. Truth be told, I was a little intimidated. Those were sharp teeth, and the little crap was fearless. I feinted like I was going to poke him with the broom, and eventually he backed down, or more likely got bored. He headed to the grass. I followed, feeling brave. “And don’t come back either,” I shouted. He turned around and stood up like a grizzly bear, and I took a few steps backward. You never know how volatile a squirrel is going to be.

I didn’t go outside without the broom for days. Finally he figured he’d milked our gravy train as long as he could. It was getting to be Fall and he started doing the decent squirrel thing – collecting his own nuts. Crazy thing is, when his winter coat came in, it was all splotchy – like he had the mange. I secretly hoped that it was all those rich nuts we gave him that caused the problem. He was around all winter and spring, then I lost track of him. Now we have one million squirrels, all of them his offspring, I suppose. They come up to the window and taunt the dog. And now they’ve caused my dog to walk on 3 legs and probably require $2,000 worth of surgery. I see them out there laughing, and I bet their grandfather is up in a tree egging them on.

Just in Time

By Suzanne Olsen

On April 1, 2010

In Home Life

I run late. Because of this I know all the best ways to get somewhere fast. Because of this I try to tell my husband where to go.

Last night we saw a documentary about the architect, John Lautner. I was at my daughter’s track meet and just as I was leaving to get home in time to go, another mom showed up, Eileen, whose mother had invited me to go to New York with her. I hate flying, so I was trying to find a way to get out of it nicely. “What’s with your mom wanting to go to New York?” I said.

“It’s the craziest thing. She’s decided to do this whirlwind trip. She just got over breaking her foot. We’re beside ourselves.”

“She asked me to go with her,” I said, “But I’m not too thrilled about it.”

“You’re off the hook. She found someone else.”

That was great news! Then I was ready to get up and leave, honest, when Gina said, “What do you know about Father Tom?”

I’d forgotten about him. He’s our priest, or he was until a couple of weeks ago when he up and quit. He wrote the whole parish to tell us he couldn’t take the celibate lifestyle. I can’t blame him. He’s a nice looking guy, very athletic, lots of personality. But of course we’re all curious what’s going on and if there’s a special someone.

“Well, I don’t know anything in particular except,” Eileen says. There was no way I was going to leave then.

“Except what?” we asked.

“Except that he’s a nice guy who’s probably interested in someone, don’t you think?”

“It’s hard to say,” I said. “Are you sure he didn’t say anything to your mom.”

“Well, if he did, she’s not telling. But she thinks he’s got a girlfriend.”

“Why does she think that?” Gina asked.

We speculated for a while, and then I remembered. “Holy crap, I’ve got to go!”

I arrived home ten minutes later than the agreed upon time.

“We might as well not go,” my husband said. “With the traffic and parking, I’d just as soon not bother.”

“It will be fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“You know it’s pretty selfish of you to be late.”

I didn’t even bother telling him I got off the hook for New York. We got in the car and got downtown pretty quickly, except he missed the exit. “Why didn’t you take 6^th?” I said. “Where are you going?”

“To 12^th.”

“12^th?” I said with the tone of voice that says, “Are you that stupid?”

He didn’t answer. He’d been pouting the whole way. We eventually got to 12^th, then he started making turns and saying, “I think I turn left here.”

“Why did you take 12^th? 6^th is a straight shot? Turn right here.”

He kept going straight. We got to the Art Museum and got a great parking spot. He started down toward the pay station. “You don’t have to pay, it’s 7:00.”

He kept walking. He tried to put his credit card in and it wouldn’t work. He turned it over.

“It won’t take the card because it’s 7:00 and pay to park ends at 7:00.” He still kept trying. I walked over there and showed him the sign on the pay station. “Pay to park 6 am to 7 pm.”

“I thought it was until 10:00.”

We got inside and there was a line to get tickets, and one of the ticket machines wasn’t working so it was moving slow. Our friend came out looking for us and led us in to where the others were sitting. We exchanged pleasantries.

“We were on Suzanne’s time.”

“But we got here on time,” I protested.

“I still think it was pretty selfish.”

“But we got here on time. The movie hasn’t even started.”

Just then the lights went out and the movie started. All in all, it was a most satisfying evening. I did not give directions on how to get home, though I sure wanted to.