Lame and braced but inspired

Doesn't matter what side of the gun debate you're on, I think we can all agree that we'd like our kids to be safe in schools and to be productive citizens.


I'm proud of every kid who made it to a rally or took part in some way and all the parents who got them there. Even knowing what fuels their passion is heart-rending loss, it's awesome to see their activism.

Ali and I had been talking about going to the Indianapolis rally for a couple of weeks. But on Friday, I injured -- or re-injured -- my knee on a walk to the Glendale Library. No idea what triggered it, but I've been following the RICE plan and going a little crazy in captivity. We go on vacation Tuesday.

A big part of RICE is rest, and I considered not going to the rally. I thought about dropping Ali off and waiting for her in the car or the mall or something. In the end, I hobbled over with her and stood in the steady snow for about 30 minutes waiting with thousands of others to get into the Statehouse.

We were behind some college students who had good use of all their legs if not all their faculties. (Like I'm one to talk...)

One girl was in a crop top, light jacket and flats with no socks. She'd stepped in a puddle. I was miserable for her, but she wasn't talking about giving in to the cold.


The longer we stood, the longer the line grew as people kept coming. It was awesome. People were asking if people needed to register to vote, prepared to sign them up on the spot.

"I can't yet, right?" Ali asked wistfully. She'll be 17 in May, so no, she can't. Yet. But it won't be long.

There were little kids playing in the snow and tons of great signs. Some of the words were running as the snow soaked into hair and cardboard and through shoes.

I kept my concerns about why it took so long to get in to the building largely to myself. Seems like Capitol Police could have found a way to get the people inside faster and also safely.

Among the thousands of peaceful rally goers, there was apparently a guy with a real, semi-automatic rifle strapped to his back walking around. He was expressing his rights just as we were, I guess.

But really? These kids were there because people have been using such weapons to shoot kids in schools. Was he there to say "Hey, you can have one of these and not shoot people!" See: they're not that bad!"?

The world may never know.

With so many people coming and waiting and my knee getting stiffer and stiffer, I opted to leave before we got into the Statehouse. I felt bad about that, but as I had to take a bit of a break sitting before I could get back to the garage, I decided I'd been foolish to even try to attend.

So we made a lame showing at the Indiana rally. But we were there for a while and we're totally with the movement in spirit. 

I'll likely be in a knee brace at the beach, but there are worse places to be resting, icing, compressing and elevating. We'll make a better showing at the next rally, which hopefully will come without a fresh shooting before it.

Before some of you get upset about my position, I'll remind you that I'm not anti-gun. I'm anti-killing innocents of any age or color. And I think we can do better as a nation to keep weapons of war only in the hands of soldiers, to identify and treat mental illness, to be kinder to each other so we have fewer people who feel isolated and are vulnerable to whatever demons make them think bombing or shooting is a solution to their situations.

I mentioned the snow. For you non-Hoosiers, Mother Nature blessed Indianapolis with 10-inches of snow yesterday. My daffodils and crocuses are totally covered. The tulips are showing the tips of their leaves like green sharks trolling in a blindingly white sea.

Even though my spring flowers are shivering like that girl in the crop top yesterday outside the Statehouse, it's one of those beautiful snowfalls that you'll see on postcards and social media snaps.

It kind of makes you want to ignore the world's troubles and just play in it. I watched it from the couch with an ice bag under my knee and a blanket on top of the rest of me.

So, TeamReed is not without misfortune. But haven't been directly touched with violence or serious trouble we can't manage
. Here's hoping there's less of those two things for everyone this year.

The early worm and other stories

If the early bird is the one that gets the worm, doesn't that mean the worm must be even earlier to the scene?

I stumbled across this gruesome sight this morning on my quest to get my steps:

Kind of made me pity both the bird that surely rejected the dried up morsel and the worm who met such a bitter end on the Monon Trail.

For a while, I pondered what could this mean in the greater context of life. Was it a more a Darwinian moral than Aesop? 

Was the lesson to not emerge until the weather had proven reliable? Not to burst forth to grasp opportunity when it seemed to be there?

Or was it merely that this was a worm of less intelligence and athleticism than its peers; one destined to wind up carcass rather than champion lawn aerator?

Was it, rather, just a worm? The world may never know.

Here's something you can know, however: The common phrase, "The early bird gets the worm," dates back beyond the 17th Century. A naturalist named John Ray snagged it for a book title in 1670, suggesting it was a phrase considered clever enough to entice readers.

Which brings me the subject of reading. A story from Inc. magazine, based on a new study, suggests that if you read nonfiction, you'll live longer. As you know, the Captain thinks I take on the world's problems and try to fix them. Who knew I could help you live longer?

Read my books -- get them from Amazon right here -- and you won't become a dry, dessiccated shell of a former living, breathing, active creature.

You're welcome.

In other news, my time with Girl Talk has ended, and I was delighted to be joined this week by Alison and my Book Club pals Jennifer Dunlap and Kate Shepherd. Kate and Jen, along with Niki Kelly Lohrmann joined me for week 2, and Ali came for the final week when we judged how well the girls had progressed since we first talked about speaking with confidence.

It was tremendous. Each of the five girls came for each session, and each one had made great strides in getting their points across.  On the drive home, Ali lamented that she'd rejected my offers for her to come with for the first two weeks.

 Getting back to the worm metaphor, Jeff sent me a note early in the week asking me to check out an email he'd gotten purportedly from his first serious girlfriend. It was unexpected, sent to his work, and he (and his office) is hyper sensitive to outside emails for malware and other conspiracy theory reasons.

Sure, I'd be happy to check that out, I said. Which, of course, led to a series of fun email exchanges with my husband's one-time love. (Long-time readers may recall an exchange a few years ago with Mrs. Reed 1.0 who wasn't nearly as pleasant.) I've never met Caroline in person but I have had heard more than a few stories about her.

Anyway, I explained my mission from the outset, made it clear I wasn't a shrew, and reconnected the old friends. We were talking about it at dinner, and Alison was not impressed. At all.

"That's weird," she said.

Jeff, who you will remember, asked ME for help in reaching his former girlfriend, was puzzled as to why his daughter would think the whole thing odd. I had just said that I'd ended my email conversation with her after a while, thinking it was getting a little bit weird that I was starting to chat with her like I'd known her for years.

I thought Ali and I were on the same page. Jeff was thoroughly puzzled.

"Why would you think it's weird?" he asked. "She's a nice person. You'd like her."

 "I wouldn't like anyone who could have prevented my existence," sniffed Miss Reed.

And we're back to the problems with that early bird analogy. Which makes Jeff the worm, I know.

But I'm OK with that.

This is a test. This is only a test.

As I write, Alison is settling in to take her SAT. We've been talking colleges for a while now, and of course, her teachers have been beating the drum.

Ali is a good student, but she generally frets about big tests and more than once, she's complained about the amount of pressure she feels to have a resume, grades, extra-curriculars that will get her accepted. Occasionally, l ask her what's up in that brain of hers.

"I'm a high school kid, Mom," she said. "There's just so much pressure."

Sigh. I can't relieve a lot of that. Some of it is self-imposed, but the pressures are real. They're not limited to academics, either. She handles a lot of it with grace. Other times she'll lash out with a sharp tongue. Her genetic background isn't helping her much there, and we both try to get her to be less like us in that regard.

She's a kind-hearted person, though, despite her ability to wield sarcasm like a gifted Jedi wields light.

As she left this morning, I reminded her that this is just a practice run. She'll do fine. She's ready. Regardless, she has other opportunities to take it again if she wants, so there's no need to stress.

"I know," she nodded, clearly still stressed.

Jeff delivered her to the testing site this morning after we scrambled back and forth this morning with him making sure she had an acceptable calculator, pencils were sharp and she knew the rules. I focused on the snack bag and slipped in a handful of Laffy Taffy.

He called after he dropped her off, lamenting at how he was feeling. Usually, he'll watch her go off to tackle a new milestone and crow with pride about how smart she is, how good she is, how awesome he finds her.

Today, he was more like me. Smacked hard in the face with the reality that she is so close to leaving us behind. Not that he let her see that. He was asking her if they were in the right place, at the right door. They saw a young man headed in.

"There's a tester," she said. "We're good."

"Actually, Ali," Jeff said. "That's a boy, so technically he's a teste."

"Have I told you lately that I hate you?" she responded.

Now that's good test prep.

Can we talk?

In this new life of mine, I've been more inclined to say yes to random requests for coffee or lunch or to attend/take part in other gatherings after spending a career of either putting such socialization off for either work or to get my gym time in.

Let me admit right now that I was wrong to say no all those years. I was also wrong not to extend more invitations myself.

Anyway, I said yes when my friend Kelsey Taylor asked me to speak to a group of young women for an organization called Girl Talk.

Kelsey, her friend (now mine) Sonya Cooke and some other outstanding women founded the organization hoping to give young girls a place where they could ask the questions Kelsey and Sonya (and I and probably you, if you're a woman) had when you were younger but didn't know who or how to ask. It's a great idea, and they've put countless hours into it. If you want to support it, go to the site. If you know a girl 9-16 in Indianapolis, you might want to check it out.

Girl Talk introduces girls to all kinds of important things, ranging from being confident in their bodies to learning how government works. Kelsey came to me for someone to talk the girls about how to speak with confidence.

I'd coached Kelsey for her first TV interview, which has led to a series of others, mostly because Kelsey is a kick-ass woman who didn't really need any help to showcase her strength, elegance, intellect and spirit.

I love Kelsey and I loved the idea of Girl Talk, so I said, yes. It was months away, and I quickly forgot about it. She reminded me of it a month or so ago and I was talking about it to my Book Club. I'd committed to a series of three Saturdays -- 2 hours -- in a row.

I like my Saturdays to be lazy! What did I have to say to these girls? They weren't going to staring down a TV camera or a reporter with a tape recorder. They had elementary and middle school problems. What in the world was I thinking.?

My Book Club agreed wholeheartedly. Sure it was a nice idea, but geeze. What would I say? What was I thinking?

We talked about it a while and, because they're awesome, most of my Book Club friends said they'd help me out for one of the days. We'd have a panel discussion and the girls could see an array of success women talking about how confident speaking was key to their professional lives.

Girl Talk came up at Book Club last week. I was fretting about it as the first session was the next day. The class didn't have many girls enrolled. I was back to being certain they'd hate me and I had nothing relevant to say. My volunteers were thinking not only was I crazy,  they'd committed to it, too.

"On a Saturday!" lamented one of them.

"Wait, how long?" another said, sounding as panicked as I felt.

"It's going to be terrible," I moaned.

"Way to sell it," came the response.

"I'll let you know how the first one goes," I said, glumly, glad Book Club comes with wine.

Fast forward to the Crooked Creek Community Center and my first Girl Talk talk. It was a small gathering and we were sitting around a table waiting for the last girl to arrive and to see if there would be some who hadn't RSVP'd.

I'd been chatting with a couple of the early arrivals, waiting to introduce myself to the group once we'd gathered. I was getting their names, ages and spellings just to pass the time.

As I struggled to hear Areonna's voice, one of the later arrivals looked over at me and said, "So who are you?"

Her friend smacked and admonished her, but I laughed. It was a good question and I said so.

So we talked a while and the girls were awesome. They want to be a teacher, lawyer, doctor, dancer, business owner and a sports journalist/president of the whole world or Queen of Wakanda.

Justice, a tiny thing, spoke at a volume about two clicks below a whisper. Alayla was eager to respond and always spot on with an answer.

Jada, the girl who'd asked who I was, was a comedian, full of spirit and eager to entertain. Lyric, was initially shy but brave enough later to point out my mistake when I misidentified one of the girls.

I had them introduce themselves like I had done and then we talked about their common tendencies to speak so quietly they couldn't be heard, to stare at the table while they talked or to be hesitate to share. They laughed when I demonstrated their techniques and didn't take offense as I'd feared.

I'm not saying it was a great talk, but we had some laughs, and I think they understood some of what I'd tried to convey. I was talking about making eye contact when Jada threw up her hands and said she didn't understand why she had to stare into someone's eyes. "Can't you just look at their forehead or something?" she said.

"Yes!" I said, "That's exactly the trick!"

We devolved for a while talking about how creepy it could get if, when you had a conversation, you stared directly into someone's eyes without ever looking away. I asked them how many of them texted or Snapchatted with their friends.

Justice looked at me, amazed. "How do you know about Snapchat?" she asked, not intending to be funny, but of course it cracked me up. I defended myself and then talked about Alison, who is old enough now that I didn't have a good handle on the shows and pop culture they were into. I don't Snapchat, but I know it exists.

As we grew to a close, I asked the girls if they thought they'd learned enough or if they wanted to gather again next week when I would have some friends with me. They were unanimous in wanting to do it again. Jada, though, had a suggestion.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but my booty gets tired and I think maybe we should maybe get up and move around more next time," she said.

"That's exactly the plan," I said.

The future sports journalist/president of the whole world, Queen of Wakanda, or whatever else she decides to be, nodded her approval and then went into a long discussion about how her teacher understands her booty's need to move around a bit during the day. I'm pretty sure Jada's not going to have any trouble communicating in the future. Like Kelsey, she has little need of me.

Like every time I regretted saying yes in the past few months, I was glad I had followed through. I'm betting my Book Club girls will have the same reaction.

I've been slow to post this week, so here's a collection of highlights:

It's been a gray and rainy week, but a week ago Saturday, it was beautiful day, and I was pleasantly surprised when Alison agreed to go with me on a walk. I exercise because I have to, not because I crave it, and I prefer to walk with a purpose -- meaning run an errand if I can

I wanted to go to the bank in person because the online functionality wasn't functional. I called down to Jeff that Ali and I were taking a walk. "I'll come, too," he says.We get going and I tell them the destination and both of them falter.

"It's not that far," I said. "Come on. You said you'd go for a walk!"

They grumble. We have barely turned the corner heading north when Ali suggests a race to the stop sign. I tap out. I don't run unless bears are chasing me. Jeff initially declined but then agreed and off they went.

"Um, hello!" I said to no one in earshot. "What happened to walking?"

I caught up with them as they waited for traffic to clear. For reasons I don't understand, the pair of them would rather cross a four-lane city street than walk an extra block back to the closest path to the Monon Trail, which safely crosses over said street.

We played a little human Frogger, but survived the crossing and keep going. It turns out that Jeff needed to be at the bank in person to be added to my business account, something we'd long talked about but not done. Rather than have Ali wait for this additional chore, I sent her to the nearby CVS to pick up an item for me. Jeff had a request that required a phone call and us going over to the store, but we eventually meander back home.

I later spent an hour driving Alison to a friend's house for an overnight and the weather turned, making it too cold to walk to date night dinner. Thanks to our morning walk, though, I had my steps in and all was good between me and my FitBit.

***

Alison was doing homework, and the day before, I'd told her it was Taco Week. Not just Taco Tuesday, but Taco Week.

Jeff was playing basketball so it was just she and I. She suggested Taco Bell for dinner. I suggested that it was rainy outside and we had other options. She went back to homework.

A little while later, she came out again, suggesting a Taco Bell run. I suggested she accompany me. She suggested she had a lot of homework. I shook my head.

"But it's Taco Week and we haven't celebrated," she said.

"Come with me and we'll do it," I said.

She reminded me of the homework. And then she hugged me and said, "You know most kids my age are either pregnant or smoking weed."

A. That's not true. But B., as far as I know, she's guilty of neither. And C, I didn't want to cook.

***

Thursday, I was just about to do something -- don't remember what anymore -- and Ali came out carrying the nail polish kit. "Will you help me?"

Winter formal was the next night. She'd declined to go shopping. "I have plenty of dresses I never wear," she said. I painted her nails -- black.  She's not goth, but sometimes, she likes to dabble.

***

Friday, she was off to the dance and Jeff and I cashed in an anniversary gift for another dinner out. It was tremendous. We finished well in time to pick Ali up from the dance. She'd gone with friends, and I hadn't seen her since she left for school. She'd promised to send me pictures, but my phone was empty.

She comes in. I'm in bed watching television. She collapses on the bed with me, still in her dress she's rapidly getting too tall for. (I'd insisted she wear her old volleyball shorts underneath as she is prone to twirl as if she's still 4-years-old.) We stayed there for an hour or so. Here's what I got as my report from the dance:

 "It was fun."
"We danced."
"I'm so tired."
"I did the tango with Owen."

***

Saturday morning, Jeff set off to a beer thing and I stayed in bed. Ali came in, dropped her books and phone on the bed, leaving to get the laundry started.

She came back to bed and we stayed there until early afternoon, getting out only to get food, move laundry and go to the bathroom. It was glorious.

I finally got some dance photos. They don't show off how cute she looked in her dress, but she did seem to be having fun.

 

Report from a morning walk: Dispatch #2

It was hard to focus on the birds and squirrels today and, sadly, my route didn't take me by little Aurora's house, so I don't know if she is in trouble again. I kind of hope so, because her kind of trouble was the trouble kids should be getting into: she just wanted to play outside a little longer.

The Florida shooting was on my mind when I walked by the park and saw it there, pristine, empty of children but full of opportunity for squeals of laughter and the joy that comes from flying high when you're propelled by a loving, involved parent or caretaker.

I can't imagine losing a child. I can't imagine the emotions felt by the widowed spouse of a hero who gave his life to protect children from a fellow child armed with an assault rifle.

I can imagine a world without assault rifles, though. As I was walking I came across that old Facebook post claiming that ievery truck in a high school parking lot used to have a rifle in it and posing the question of "what happened?"

First, those were rural schools, and I went to one. Those rifles were hunting rifles. They were used by kids who hunted animals. I know that's a controversial to some, but that's not the argument today. They were used to kill squirrels and deer, that people ate. Some people relied on hunting for consistent protein in their diet.

Assault rifles are different. I don't know why anyone needs such a weapon. I know they don't belong in schools or at concerts or movie theaters. It's not that hard, people.

I want to know what's going on in the heads of the NRA leadership today and the elected officials who accept their millions of dollars. Are children just acceptable, collateral damage? This isn't a slippery slope. And if I'm wrong, and it is, that slope is slippery with the blood of children and innocents. Why can't we ban assault rifles?

In other Dispatch news from my (so-far) non-assaulted neighborhood:

• Bikes outnumbered dogs this morning of uncommonly warm temperatures.
• I saw a woman pushing a double stroller with an infant and young toddler aboard. She was maybe a size 2. I said "Good morning" and smiled brightly at her anyway.
• The East side of the Monon Trail near Broad Ripple Avenue has a fresh pile of dog droppings on it. Avoid that, and whoever owns that dog: pick up that shit, man. Seriously.

Report from a morning walk: Dispatch #1

 As I try to use my client's hours wisely and I ruminate on what Chapter 8 should bring to the potential fourth book of my series, I went for a walk this morning. No, I wasn't avoiding that chilled bottle of champagne in the fridge. I'm strong. It'll be uncorked when the Captain gets home.

For sure.

This is Dispatch #1 in what will likely be a semi-occasional report from a modest neighborhood near the center of Indianapolis where dogs outnumber cats, the squirrels run rampant and the birds are chirping as if it's spring.

I stayed to the northern streets this morning, encountered no other pedestrians, but learned the following:

• Aurora is in Big Trouble.
• The squirrels are out of control.
• The Little Free Library is missing at least one important volume.

I don't know Aurora, but I almost suggest that her mother call her Rory when she's yelling at her to Come in. Right. Now! Aurora just doesn't have the right zing for a little girl who was just trying out her cute little raincoat. That little explorer is definitely a Rory. She can be Aurora when she's a grandmother...

The squirrels remain a menace. They're skinny this time of year, but I can't find it in my heart to worry for them. They'll fatten up on my flowers soon enough. I don't celebrate when I find one flattened on the roadway, but neither do I mourn. When they stick to a diet of acorns and sweet gum balls and I might change my mind.

I keep thinking I need to stock the neighborhood library with my book. Maybe there's a publisher in the neighborhood. The weatherati say it's going to get cold again soon, so I may not make this a daily ritual. I'm hoping the birds are right and that spring is not far off.

Then again, I don't speak bird and they might have just been trash-talking the squirrels. I bet they hate them, too.