Newsflash!

Oh. My. Gawd. My son is reading. Oh yeah, I know....not exactly odd for a "almost sixteen" year old, but a little.

Not only is he reading, but he is absolutely engrossed in what he is reading. The TV is off. The Ipod is off. This is not an assigned book. He chose this book. And it has more than 300 pages. I know! Shocking!

And here is something else: I peeked at him a minute ago and he reads like me. Completely oblivious to anything else and annoyingly and constantly tapping his foot while he reads. Just. Like. Me.

Too cool.

I think I need one of those Blackberry thingies.

I just cleaned out my address book. I noticed that I had names in there that I haven't called in over ten years. People who have moved off the continent, couples who have divorced, some remarried, and a few names that, frankly, I don't even know who they are. There was one entry that just said, "James." And next to it, it said, "Call after six." For the life of me, I have no idea what that means.

Certain letters in every address book get filled up right away. "M" and "S" are very popular letters for example. There's no room. You can't get anyone new in there, there's a waiting list of three, four years. If I meet someone whose name begins with "M" or "S", I tell them up front that we can't be friends. I just don't have the room.

Whereas "X", "Q", and "Z", I can move you in today. I've got nothing but space. And I am dying to uses those pages. My dream is to meet the Xylophone family and fill that section right up.

There's something very satisfying about starting a new address book. It's like a new calendar: all fresh, clean and full of boundless potential.

I've noticed as I get older, I buy next years calendar earlier and earlier. There seems to be more things to do, and we need more time to plan them.

When you're a kid, you don't have this problem. You can buy a calendar in March--there's no big rush. Remember your first calendar? One appointment: "See that? That's my birthday. Otherwise, I'm free. I'm absolutely open till the fifteenth."

But the older you get, the harder it seems to be to make the simplest of plans. I bumped into a person I have known for a few years but hardly see the other day.

"Hey how's it going? Everything good? You're good? Family good? Kids good? Good. I'm good, Everything in good."

We just bombarded each other with "goods". "Every thing's good? Good, I'm good, your good, it's good we're all good." There is no time for details, just headlines. "Anybody we know die? No? Good. So, everybody's good? Good."

Some people actually want to tell you how they are. And you might not want to know.

"How are you, good?"

"Actually, I'm just getting over an intestinal virus. . ."

"Oh my, would you look at the time! I thought I could squeeze in a flu story, but it turns out I can't. Later."

Always Teaching, Always Learning

With someone you love, food becomes politics.

We're in a restaurant and my husband is about to eat a big fried piece of something crusty, and I, very discreetly, give him the "Do you really want to eat that, it's going to give you gas?" look. He get a thoughtful look on his face and he passes on the fried thing.

Later--during the same meal, I ordered some Chocolate Sticky Pie of Death or something along those lines, and he, in what he thinks is a most loving tone, steps into the ring with "Sweetie, are you going to be upset later if you eat that?"

I looked at him for a long time, told the waiter to go away, and flung one of those really big spoons at his throat. (Although he says I am no longer permitted to lovingly, playfully fling things at him in "mock anger" since my aim has become more true. Sigh.)

He says, "Hey! You said the same thing to me."

I say, "Yeah, because you don't mind."

"Right, because you said it out of love, and concern."

"That's right." I say.

"So, if I say the same thing to you, wouldn't you naturally assume that I--"

"It's different." I interrupt."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because I mind." Men. Will they ever get a clue?

You see how it works? There are different rules for each of you. But sorry for men, but they don't know what they are until they've broken them.

We were out for dinner and I witnessed something amusing to me at the next table. A couple were out on a date. The food comes, he grabs the pepper thing, shakes it all over his food, then starts eating.

Then he notices he's getting the look. He's done something wrong. He looks up. "What?

She skips the specifics and gets straight to the general. Very sweetly she says, "Let me make it easy for you: If you ever have something, anything at all, please see if I'd like some."

He says, "Did you want pepper?"

She goes, "No, but I might."

"But you didn't actually want--"

"It would just be nice of you to think of me." she says.

"Okay, I understand that, but just to clarify about the pepper--you don't want any."

"No, thanks." she said very politely.

"You are not interested in pepper?"

"Not this time."

See? We are just setting the rules for next time.