Swine Flu Shot Line Interrupted by a Real Pig

I couldn't help letting out a giant breath of air when I walked out of Sullivan County's public health building last Monday.

The search for the H1N1 shot was over. My daughter had been immunized (or at least was halfway there), as had I.

But it wasn't your usual sigh of relief. It was tinged with an annoyance that I'd been reining in in the spirit of community, friendliness and frankly to show my daughter what it means to be gracious.

Too bad a few other parents couldn't take a page out of the books of the vast majority in the room. I'm talking about the line cutting, conniving, pushy parents. The parent who claimed his kid had to go to the bathroom only to jump ahead of more than 100 people (and according to the reports of several people well ahead of me on line never actually take said child to the bathroom, but slip in way ahead instead). Or the woman who made a show of joining a relative - again well ahead of her place on line.

I understand the fear.

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The Magic was Spectacular

You know the old adage try looking at something through a child's eyes?

Friday afternoon, I tried a pair of Jillian spectacles on for size. I'll blame the pinch of their small size for the tears that leaked out the edges.

It was a "Mommy, Jilly and Oma Day" in New York City, a trip to see the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City.

A tradition for many families, this was my daughter's first trip to Radio City, although ironically it was her second trip to the city to see a show in less than a week (a set of free tickets to cover a Disney show in the city the weekend before was a sort of trial run for a pre-schooler's attention span).

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When One Small Voice Screams

I hate gloating. Well, OK, maybe not.

But when you write a "get out and vote" column every year only to have people blow you off, it's nice to see elections like the ones we had last week in Sullivan County. Which ones am I talking about?

The close ones. The ones that are still pending final decision based on absentee ballots.

Stressful for the candidates. Good for the pharmacists (Tums sales through the roof? are we noticing a trend?). Even better for cranky columnists.

It's easy to say you don't have 5 minutes to swing by the polling place when you don't think your vote matters in the scheme of things.

Setting aside that whole "voting is a privilege not just a right" thing (yes, that's hard for me, but I'll give you that), in a national election it can be frustrating to see yourself as one of millions. But when as little as 16 votes separate an incumbent from remaining on a board, you're the loser if you didn't get out there and pull a lever or two.

Of course that means I'm a winner - along with the thousands of other county residents who bothered to offer up that five minutes. Oops, sorry, gloating again. In fairness, I'm not doing it for me.

Like any good mother, I'm doing it for you (and the shot will only pinch for a second, the medicine will go right down, now get your feet off the coffee table). Even showing up to weigh in on the unopposed has its uses - in this case by not voting.

Or better yet, writing someone else in (and please, Mickey Mouse? Brad Pitt? it's an election, not a game). What, you thought my "get out and vote" column was last week's edition? Hey, there's always next year.

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Blame it on the Rain - and the Yankees

I blame the rain.

If it had stayed clear on Saturday night, the Yankees would have played the Angels.

And I wouldn’t be sitting in front of my computer on a Sunday night knowing I need to send my column off to my editor as soon as possible – and finding it hard to keep my eyes on the computer screen.

But here I am, secluded in my office, where I meant to put nose to grindstone.

And then came stadium noise. Joe Buck. Tim McCarver.

I looked up. And there he was.

Andy Pettitte, breathing into his glove, setting and releasing.

I’ve got the perfect line of sight from my desk – just to the right of my computer screen. I barely have to move, just shift my eyeballs away. It’s a good thing I learned keyboarding at good old Delaware Valley, where my friend’s older sister was the teacher who forced us to type with cardboard covers over our fingers so we couldn’t cheat.

Hunting and pecking just wouldn’t do in this situation.

I could kick my husband back out into the living room where cartoons should technically be over for the night, the 4-year-old in the bathtub.

But there is no pre-school on Mondays, and all that bathing is not exactly good for fine, fragile blonde hair.

Besides, if I send him out there, we’d subject her to two parents screaming.

“What inning is it?”

“Wait, what’d they just say? Was that fair or foul?”

The last thing a child needs is her parents in a shouting match, right?

So you see my predicament.

Really, it’s for my daughter’s sake that I told him to settle in, to leave the TV tuned to channel 5, the sound up just enough that the dog chasing her tail won’t drown out the oh so important details.

What was that, a strike?

Oh no, Abreu just took a base. You must excuse me, I can’t ... keep . . away.

Blame the rain. I am.

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Party in the country bi-partisan style

If you haven’t been waiting for this day since about mid-summer, I’ll have to assume you’re one of the four people on earth who love listening to campaign ads where music should be and staring at garish signs every .3 miles as you drive down the road.

You’re forgiven – at least you care about the election. 

The politicians get a bye too – at least they’re trying to court our vote rather than expecting it. 

But a part of that is up to us. Because the local election offers an advantage none of us will have with a federal or even state vote. 

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