Did my hair and I go viral?

Recently my sister visited and I noted that she somehow, managed to get up in the mornings, pull her hair back into an effortless chignon, and look pulled together as she sipped coffee and buttered toast. It wasn’t until months later when I asked her how to style a chignon that she admitted that it was as easy as pulling her hair into a ponytail and clipping on a small hairpiece. As the warm days of summer approached, I could feel my hair begin to curl and frizz at my hairline, so I decided that I would try that effortless look myself for those days when the best I could do would be to pull my hair back. I did my research on Amazon and ordered the Christy Brinkley messy bun in light blonde.

The package arrived and it was time to give the bun its maiden voyage. I admit that I did feel a bit silly and feared that anyone standing behind me in a grocery store line would be able to identify the chignon as a fake, but I had spent my $16.95 and was ready to take it for a spin.

I had an afternoon to myself, so I went over to Columbus Square and hit the closest thing that Manhattan has to a suburban outdoor mall.I stopped at Michael’s for Easter decorating inspiration, Home Goods for inexpensive candles, Sephora for an eyebrow pencil, Whole Foods for tulips, and Trader Joe’s for groceries. When I got home I plopped down on the couch. I had pulled my hair up in a large clip and attached the chignon onto the clip.  When I put my head on the throw pillow the clip dug into my scalp. I pulled the clip out of my hair. Then it struck me. I pulled the clip out, but there was nothing attached to the clip. I quickly sat up and looked at the pillow. There was nothing there. I retraced my steps coming into the apartment and looked in the hood of my coat to see if it had fallen into the pouch. Nothing. 

I remember looking at myself in the glass as I passed by Chipolte on my way to Home Goods and thinking that my pulled-back “do” was flattering, but I can’t recall whether I could actually see the chignon pressed against the collar of my coat.

My mistake was in attaching my Christy Brinkley hairpiece to the comb and not to my actual hair. Somewhere in the course of my day, the donut chignon must have slipped off of the comb and popped off! The question is, where?

Had a gust of wind picked it up and carried it down onto the curb, only to be found by a rat and whisked down into the sewers to cushion his bed? Or did a pigeon snag it and carry it up to a window ledge to pad her nest?

Maybe I was in Home Goods smelling candles on the clearance aisle and the chignon slipped off of the plastic comb and lobbed onto the shelf of picture frames behind me. Will a worker find it when he is restocking the shelves?

It could have happened when I was picking out what color of tulips to buy or when I was simply standing in line to pay. The chances of being in any of these stores and no one seeing it happen are slim to none. In New York City there is always someone close behind you. Did someone actually watch it fall off of my head and tumble to the ground? Was the scene too horrifying for the observer to bring himself to bring it to my attention?

I am a lover of Instagram and I have taken my fair share of videos and photos of innocent people having unknowingly embarrassing moments. Was someone videotaping me as my hair began to slide to the end of the clip and finally go flying?  Or did someone take the shots as a series of still photos after they first observed the chignon gaining momentum as it slipped off of the clip and ultimately became airborne? Have I gone viral and I don’t even know it?

Could it simply be in the backseat of the Uber that I took home? I was twisting around trying to make myself comfortable with all my bags in the back of the Toyota Highlander. It certainly could have slipped off in there. I wonder if the driver checks the back seat for forgotten items before he picks up another fare. If not, the next passenger could have been surprised to find a clump of blonde hair curled up on the black leather seat.

If I had to choose a place for my Christie Brinkley hair to fall off, I’d most certainly choose Sephora. I like to think that in a store full of beauty products it would have been respected instead of frightening or disgusting someone in one of the other shops. There it could have been swept up with dirty tissues covered in make-up and Q-tips dipped in lip-gloss and sent off with the other trash with some semblance of beauty effort and dignity.

I don’t think I’ll buy another one. I think this was a lesson well learned.  I don’t have enough hair for a chignon and trying to fake it is not worth the potential humiliation of losing my hair for a second time. When summer comes I will pull my hair into the tiny nub of a ponytail that it is and sweat it out. I’ll leave that fashion risk to my sister.

What does a New Yorker look like?

What makes a person (or family) look like they are from New York?  Twice in the last three months I have been challenged by complete strangers on "where I am from". 

One day in October when Cameron was home from college for fall break we were on the #1 train.  The train stalled in the tunnel.  A young Asian woman sitting down (Jeff, Cameron and I were standing) looked up and asked me, "Do you want my seat?"  I declined.  She then followed with, "Where are you guys from?"  I replied, 'The Upper West Side."  She raised her eyebrows and said, "You don't look like you are from New York."  I asked her where she from and she responded, "I'm from Philly, but I'm studying psychology at NYU."  Philly!  She's from Philly and she is questioning my New York City status! 

How can you identify a New Yorker?  We often ride the train and try to guess where obvious tourist are from.  The key factors in identifying "out-of-towners" are obvious things like language, openly looking at maps, wearing New York City signage on your clothing, carrying daypacks, and generally smiling but it's the less subtle things that are fun to observe.  Nice shoes.  Living in New York City is very hard on shoes, so a group of people who all have on clean sneakers is a clear give away.  Another easy clue is when families are all together.  Most of the time a father being with the family is proof that "dad" is on vacation (I may get gender flack on that one, but it's true). When Cameron reflects back on her first days in 8th grade here she said the most startling observation for her was coming from a sea of blonde in Evergreen to a see of dark hair here.  I don't really notice that, but when Elizabeth was here this summer she commented on it as well.

Over the Christmas holiday we were at a hipster restaurant near Union Square.  The waitress was a tall thin girl who looked like she might be an aspiring sportswear model (and now I'm stereotyping).  As she took our order we were chatting with her and she began to engage in the usual "So where are you all from..." conversation. We told her that we live on the Upper West Side.  I could see the puzzled look in her eyes. In turn we asked her where she is from and she said Jersey. When she brought our check over she just couldn't let it rest.  She said, "I know you live in New York, but where are you all originally from?"  We told her Colorado and her face reflected a strange sense of relief, as if she knew that she wasn't crazy.

So what is it about our family that makes complete strangers question our residency? I have friends from Brooklyn and Status Island who have serious New York accents, but most of my friends who live in Manhattan don't have any accents, so I wouldn't guess that it's the way that we speak that gives us away. Our shoes are well worn, we don't carry day packs, and my family forbids me from even looking at subway maps. I might admit to the smile factor, but that's all I'll give you.

iPhones and Space Age Glass

The Apollo 11 landed on the moon in 1969 and I'm pretty sure that the glass on the space ship was shatter proof.  Two years ago I gave in and traded in my android phone for an iPhone.  Well, this summer while struggling to get my keys out of my purse on my stoop I dropped my phone and it went tumbling down twelve brownstone steps.  Cracked!  I'm not a scientist, but I'm pretty sure that the same glass that they use in space is available to the manufacturers of Apple iPhones.

Upper Westside Apple Store

In the last few weeks the cracks have gotten worse and I was worried that I would cause further damage to the phone if I did not get it repaired.  I know I'm preaching to the choir, but let me explain the absurd process to get the phone fixed. I took Cameron's phone to a non authorized repair shop this summer and it has never worked well since.  She took it to Apple and they told her that they would no longer touch it since it was not repaired by them.  Ok, well, that is absurd!  Live and learn, so I took mine to an Apple store.  I went online and scheduled an appointment at the Apple store on Broadway and 68th Street for Monday at 5:45 p.m.  I called the store and they said that if it's simply a cracked screen it will take approximately 20 minutes to repair.  Sounds easy.

I got the to store at 5:45 and I was told to go to the service area downstairs.  Downstairs there was a long line and people were sitting around all of the tables.  I waited in line for 15 minutes and told them that I had an appointment.  He added my name to his computer list and told me to take a seat.  I waited another 15 minutes.  The line to put your name in seemed endless and I never heard anyone's name being called.  I went back to my contact and asked him what the process was.  He looked up my name and told me I was next in line and that in fact I would hear my name when it was my turn.  Ten more minutes pass and a bright faced young man named Jordan called my name.  I must say that he was so friendly that he immediately took the edge off of my irritable mood. 

I'll spoil the ending by saying that the only thing that needed to be repaired was the glass, but Jordan did go over the possible scenarios that might come about during the repair.  I could have further damage than a cracked screen which would require me to get a replacement phone, and the cost would not exceed $245 (ouch!).  And he asked if I'd backed up my phone because it was possible, if there was further damage, that I would lose everything on my phone.  Needless to say I have NOT backed up my phone, but I signed the pad acknowledging that I had been warned about the risk. Then he said the cost to repair just the screen would be $129 plus tax and the wait would be approximately two hours.  I told him that I was told the repair would take 20 minutes.  He agreed that the actual repair would take 20 minutes, but due to the high volume of repairs the wait for a tech to get to my phone would be about an hour and forty minutes.

While I was waiting for my name to be called by Jordan and was trying to figure out how this whole system worked I spoke to two woman sitting near me.  The room was not noisy and I was sitting directly next to this Hispanic woman, so I turned to her and said, "Are you here to get your phone repaired?" At first I thought that she did not speak English because she looked at me as if my words did not register with her.  Then she responded with a blank stare, 'Yes." I asked how long she had been waiting and she said since 5:00.  She did not offer any further information, but the woman across from her was an older Pilipino woman who chimed in, "I've been here since 4:00 and no one has called my name yet.  I don't know what's going on." In fact I did see her speak to an Apple employee and they brushed her off and told her to sit back down and her name would be called in turn.  She then added, "I did not have an appointment, but they told me it would only be an hour or so and it's already been over two hours."  With that information I was grateful that I had made the appointment, but also proved that their system for walk-in repairs was highly flawed. 

There were at least fifty people waiting for their phones to be repaired in the two hours that I was there.  In those two hours the store made approximately $6,450.  This is a racket.  We have flown to the moon and back and yet in 2016 we are all walking around with fragile glass computers in our pockets and just accepting that each of us will eventually end up in the basement waiting for the privilege of getting our phone repaired with a costly price tag. How is this happening?  Forget the Presidential election protests!  I'm ready to make my sign and march in front of the Mac store!

Don't get excited, "Stage Set" is not what it sounds like.  It's what un-named retailer calls the monthly flipping of merchandise in the store and the display windows.  The mechanics of it are that once a month the staff arrives on Sunday morning at 6:30 a.m. and begins pulling items off of the racks that need to be marked down for sales.  The store, which is arranged by color and merchandise line, is then basically flipped from one side of the room to the other.  The windows themselves are a two man job, which is a problem when you have a large, flagship boutique with only five people working.  The staff of five all live in the city except for the manager, Cleo, who lives in New Jersey.  She is notoriously late and always uses her commute as an excuse.  I guess my argument for that would be... if you know the commute takes an hour, then why do you only give yourself ten minutes from the time you leave your house in Edgewater to arrive in the Manhattan store?  And when you say you are in your car stuck in traffic make sure that we can't hear your dog barking in the background, or that we can't tell that you are brushing your teeth while you are telling us about the horrible Sunday morning 6:45 a.m. traffic on the George Washington Bridge.

Anyway, on this particular morning it was 7:30 and Cleo still had not arrived and as the second in charge I was trying to make sense of the display plans while the staff pulled items for the sale racks.  When she arrived carrying her Grande iced coffee she groaned, "I had to wait in line for 30 minutes at Starbucks."  Hmm... 30 minutes in line still puts you in 30 minutes late and what manager thinks that waiting in line for a Starbucks is a ligament excuse for being late?  She literally grabs the display plans out of my hands and starts shouting orders. Without even knowing what she is doing begins to grab rack of clothes and with he-man strength carries them from one rack to another crashing into display racks and people doing markdowns in the process.  She has no senses of personal space, or maybe she just has complete disregard for others.

I would agree that if I had applied myself more I could had a much stronger understanding of the retail business, but after two years I still had little to no interest in the business and the management structure did not promote any incentive.  As I saw it the management plan was to make sales plan, and if we did not make sales plan then the management team would slave drive and bully the employees to comply.  I guess they'd never heard the saying, "you can't beat a dead horse.". But this is where I'm at, so I try to a make the best of the morning and start to chat with Ellen,  She is an employee who has worked for the company for seven years and in retail for 30 years, but she has such a negative attitude that there is no way that she will ever be promoted into management, which only fuels her fire.  Ellen likes me, but I know that when I was hired as a sales lead she was once again passed over for the position and she takes every opportunity to let me and the management team know that she should be running the stage set instead of me and Cleo.  She starts telling me about something that her successful sister is up to and continues the conversation berating her sister.  I decide to shift the conversation and ask her about her mother.  She stops and stares at me and finally says, "My mother is a c!%$.  There is a reason I'm as bitter as I am and it starts with that b&%#^."  Remember, it's only 8:30 in the morning.

I pause surrounded by leopard print tops and purple capris and wonder exactly what I could have done in my life that landed me in this badly managed hell.  I was pulled out of my trance when Cleo shouted over the JZ music she was playing over the sound system, "I'm starving, who wants to order breakfast?"  She has only been here an hour and she is ready for breakfast.  She has already informed us that we are staying until stage set is complete (scheduled for 2:00 p.m.), but that she has to leave at 1:00 for a wedding.  Taking a breakfast break will only extend our day, although she couldn't care less since she has a hard end time. Sigh...

Another day, another dollar, another nail in my coffin.

Has anyone else ever had to pay for a company holiday dinner?

When Cleo, un-named retailers manager, suggested a Christmas dinner out for the management team I knew that nothing good would come of it.  Working with this woman is the most difficult professional relationship I have ever had.  She is bossy, rude, and a slob (maybe I'm being too generous - LOL). Weeks before the event she talked about what a generous manager she was to take us out for a holiday dinner, which negates the generosity if you have to constantly mention how "generous" you are.

A few days before the dinner she began to talk about how the company had not given her a budget for the dinner.  I think she was waiting for us to offer to pitch in.  When that didn't happen she wondered aloud if we thought it would be more fair for everyone to pitch in instead of her footing the bill.  Let me clarify, when the store "makes sales plan", the manager and the two assistant managers alone share that bonus.  So, I could see if Cleo and the two assistant managers decided to share in the cost, but asking the other sales leads to pay was ridiculous.

We decided on Carmine's which is a wonderful Italian restaurant that serves "family style", huge

portions meant to be shared at the table.  Cleo ordered three appetizers and four entrees for a group of five.  That is an excessive amount of food for five people.  She arrived at the restaurant early and had two drinks before the rest of us arrived (that's going to be $15 per cocktail). We each ordered a glass of wine at the table.  Cleo and one of the assistant manager's ordered an additional glass of wine.  As we began dinner she said, "I really wanted to pay for this dinner, but Diane and Melinda both talked me out of it."  Blatant lie! and so classic.  Just because she complained about having to cover the cost in front of me, does not mean that I engaged in the conversation and told her not to pay. Diane is so desperate to be "in" with Cleo that I wouldn't doubt that she agreed that it was a fair idea.

During the course of the dinner Cleo and Diane would make short comments to each other and break
out laughing, which were obviously private jokes about the other members of the team, including myself.  I was seething. 

Cleo did pull out little gift boxes and handed one to each of us.  She had bought Alex and Annie bracelets for each of us and I do believe that this cost came out of her own pocket.  Susan is a sales lead who is in her early 60's.  She commented on how nice the new bracelet went with her Pandora bracelet.  Cleo burst out in hysterical laughter, she has a booming voice in the first place but after four drinks her voice carried across the crowded restaurant.  "Susan, only old ladies wear Pandora bracelets.  You really have to get rid of those."  Susan turned bright red and mumbled something about not caring because her sons had given them to her as a gift and she liked them for sentimental reasons.  Now Cleo is on a roll telling Susan how she dresses like an old lady and needs new shoes as well.  Next she starts on me reflecting that when I started I had the worst style and how far I'd come under her "style expert" guidance.  What makes no sense about these personal style attacks are that she has the worst style of any of the team members.  She is quite heavy (hey, I'm forever on a diet, but I mean she is seriously overweight) and dresses a size or two too small and wears tank tops over a bra that is three sizes too small. If she is not "selling" she doesn't seem to realize that she is still representing the store and walks around the boutique like an over aged college student in sweatpants, a tank top, flip flops, and her hair pulled up into a sprout on the top of her head.

The check arrived.  Cleo took a look at it and said, "The easiest thing to do it to just split it five ways."  No comment on her additional drinks.  After tip it was $60 per person. Then to put the icing on the top of the cake she said, "Is everyone taking the subway or bus home?"  We all agreed, then she added, "Ok, I'll take the leftovers since I have my car to drive back to New Jersey.  Is that ok?"  Susan was my hero!  She chimed in, "Oh, no, Cleo, my son and husband would love to have some of this."  They split it in two.  I had no interest in taking any of it, but was glad that Susan had kept Cleo from feeding her roommates on our dime.

During the San Francisco earthquake in 1989 I was in my office where I was working as a secretary.  As the building shook and swayed I squeezed into the copy room with the rest of my group and thought, "I'm going to die with these people and I don't even like them."  I had that same feeling at the Christmas dinner with my "un-named retailer" coworkers.  Something has to give.

What's October without a good ghost story?

It wasn't long after we moved in March to our new brownstone apartment on the Upper West Side that we noticed odd things going on in the apartment.  One day in April Cameron was home from school sick.  She was sitting on the couch in the living room and a piece of objet d'art fell off of the mantel and brought a candle down with it causing the glass candle holder to shatter on the floor.  Ok, yes, the window was open, but the window is seven feet from the fireplace mantel and there wasn't enough of a breeze to even flutter the curtains.

We have had ongoing issues in the kitchen with the ceiling lights. Not a big deal, for sure, but electrical shorts that just don't make sense. 

Ok, ok, you want more that short circuits in a building that is one hundred and ten years old.

This summer my sister Elizabeth, my mom, and my niece Rebecca came to visit.  One night Cameron, Rebecca, and Cameron's boyfriends (Dan) stayed up late watching movies.  Not long after they turned off the light Rebecca, who was on an air mattress, shouted at Cameron, "Cam, leave my feet alone.  Seriously, I'm trying to get to sleep." Cameron had gotten off of the air mattress and was sleeping next to Dan on the couch and replied, "Rebecca, I'm over here with Dan.  I'm not touching your feet."  A few minutes passed and Cameron felt pressure around her ankles as if someone was pulling her."  She tucked her feet up and buried her head under the covers.  You might wonder why Cameron did not jump out of he skin, but in fact by July when the family was visiting we were very familiar with the presence of a ghost in our apartment. There is no explaining the feeling, except to say it is just an energy in the rooms, in particular the living room where they were sleeping.



Cameron and Rebecca asleep in the living room

The next night while Cameron and Rebecca were out  for a few hours Elizabeth and I got out the K-2 meter and set out to do some ghost hunting.  We started off in the living room.  We asked the spirit some questions hoping to get the light gauge on the meter to move.  Elizabeth then said something akin to, "Do you think children these days are disrespectful?" (I can't remember what the girls had done to prompt her to say that, but it did the trick).  The meter shot from green to red and back again.  I think Elizabeth jumped up off of the footstool and landed on my mom's lap on the couch. We could not believe that we had gotten such a decisive response. I guess modern day children sassing their parents doesn't sit well with our ghost.

The owner's of the brownstone have not moved in yet (they are doing an extensive renovation on the two lower floors - ghost don't like renovations), so we took advantage of having the house to ourselves and went downstairs and sat in the foyer. We continued to get some positive, yet not dramatic, responses.  Then we heard the front door to my apartment on the second floor slowly creek opened and close. It wasn't until we heard the door open and close again that Jeff, Elizabeth, and I looked at each other.  We all realized at the same moment what we had heard.  Jeff ran up the stairs to see if my mother was walking around listening down the staircase to see what we were up to.  He reported back that she was sitting on the couch putting curlers in her hair and watching the news.  What's even more mysterious is that my front door does not creek when it opens and closes, and yet both times when we heard the door it creaked loudly.

Living room

The next day we told the girls about out ghost hunting and they insisted that they wanted to do some detective work themselves.  Normally, with a group of six in a small house you can't expect much to happen due to too much talking and moving about. We were sitting on the staircase and trying to get a response on the K2 meter.  I was sitting next to Rebecca.  Out of nowhere there was a groan.  The sound happened in the space between Rebecca and I.  Our eyes locked.  We asked if anyone else had heard the voice.  Elizabeth said that she did, but that it sounded distant to her.  Rebecca and I assured her that it was not "from a distance", but in fact exactly in between the two of us.  If I had been the only one to hear it I would brush it off, but because Rebecca and I acknowledged it as it happened there was no denying it.

I have a friend who is a medium.  I had the opportunity to ask her if she felt there really was an energy in our building, or had our imaginations run away with us.  She said it was definitely a male spirit in his late 20's or early 30's dressed in working class clothing from the early 1900's.  Initially she said that she thought he was simple minded, but then she realized that he was trying to communicate to her using his hands.  She said in fact he was deaf.  His seemingly arrested development was due to his sheltered life because of his lack of hearing.  Because he never had a mature relationship with a woman in his lifetime he is still drawn to woman in his spirit life.

Elizabeth and I  have a history of living in haunted houses, or maybe we bring the ghost with us.  Either way, we think that a reality show based on our combined families ghosting hunting would be a ratings bonanza!

Television show pitch - Malcolm Family Ghost Hunters

Applesauce and Mount Everest (Freshman Dorm Blues)

It's been a month since we took Cameron to college.  I tried to write a blog about it soon after, but I was too caught up in my own worries and fears and her frustrations to get a clear picture.  By the beginning of second semester I'm sure I will look back at this one month perspective and laugh, but here's the Allegheny update.

As we sat in  the dining hall on move-in weekend at Allegheny College I looked at Cameron across the table and could not fight back the tears.  It was more than just imagining driving away from my baby and leaving her at college, it was the end of an adventure that Jeff, Cameron and I had begun five years ago when we moved to New York City from Evergreen, Colorado.  It was never just my struggles that I was reflecting on in my blog, it was how life in New York affected all of us.  Now we were leaving Cameron to pursue her own adventures separate from us.  For the past eighteen years I felt like her experiences were my own, if only by association, but now we would be two different people living our lives eight hours away from each other connected by phone calls and text.

This past summer when Cameron was getting her college physical the doctor asked her where she was going to school, without hesitation and with a smile she replied, "Allegheny College in Meadville, Pennsylvania."  It was the first time that I had heard her answer that question without choking on the words.  It was not her first choice of schools, but ultimately she decided that she was interested in what the school had to offer.  It might have been easier to leave her if she had been thrilled to be there, but lukewarm made driving away all that much harder.

comfort food

On her first Thursday I spoke to Cameron at noon.  Her enthusiasm had fluctuated over the past four days from extreme highs to very low.  The night before I had called and she texted back that she could not talk because she was going hiking with friends.  She even sent a picture of a beautiful creek that they had discovered with a little flower emoji at the end of the sentence.  I figured at eleven o'clock the next day coming out of environmental science class she should be feeling pretty good. Wrong.  I tried to make light conversation to fill the dead cellphone air between us..  I asked how the food was.  Bad question.  I could hear her voice crack as she answered, "I'm certainly not going to gain the freshman fifteen because there is no food to eat.  All I have is coffee.  Mom, you know how I hate bees?  Well, this morning I was walking to class eating the applesauce that we bought at Wal-Mart and a swarm of bees attacked my cup. I had to throw my breakfast away." I was sure the only thing keeping her from falling to the ground in a heap was because she was in the middle of campus.  Of  course I'm not worried that she will starve, but I  imagined her frustration of not having the food that she is used to and the thought of long days ahead of cafeteria salad bars.  Then she asked, "Mom, they say you should only be homesick for a week, but I still feel so lonely."  I reminded her that it was only Thursday and I saw her on Sunday.  She sighed.



Positive Attitude 101

One of the things that she had been looking forward to at Allegheny was their Outdoor Club. Her first outing was a fifteen mile canoe trip down French Creek.  She said it was an amazing day, although fifteen miles is longer than you would think.  Bald Eagles circled overhead, and she and her partner whiled away the hours singing.  Great!  But wait.  A week later she made sure to get her name in for an overnight whitewater rafting trip.  I anxiously awaited her call after the weekend adventure.  When I asked her how it went she replied, "I could not have had a worse time." She explained that the group of kids that came on this trip were completely dismissive of the freshman and she was one of only two freshman on the trip."  My heart sank.  Then she added, "When I got back I was just going to stay in that night but some friends from the Edwards Dorm texted me and ask me to come over for tea and games.  I had the best night at college so far."

You are seeing how this is going.

I have been through this with my two older children so you would think that I would be ahead of the curb dealing with this, but as we all know, each child is different.  I told her that she had to make it through six weeks without coming home or us visiting.  It would be her Mount Everest. After that every month we would see her for some break or holiday.  We came up with a plan... she would create a sticky note pyramid on her wall.  Each day she would write something positive that happened on the note and stick it to the wall.  Day 19 would be the peak and the rest would be the slide down to fall break.  At the end of that week she read several of the notes to me.  She had kept her promise and written positive blurbs on each.  At the end of the second week I asked her to read me some more notes and she said, "Oh, yeah, I don't have time to keep those going anymore, but I'm good!".  I'd like to say that is the end of the story and the rest is cake, but any parent would know that that is a total lie.

She has a campus job working in the tech department for the theater and working in the Grounds for Change Coffee Shop, she says her classes are too easy, so she is planning on taking more challenging courses next semester (after Beacon High School college seems to be a breeze), she loves her roommate, and she has found a great group of friends with common interest and values.  All in all she is doing very well.  This morning she actually called me and I was the one having to tell her that I needed to get off the phone as she chirped away about a camping trip that she is planning for a stargazing expedition in the wilds of Pennsylvania this weekend. 

Remember when they were babies and we worried about when they would walk and how many words were in their two year old vocabulary?  Being the parent of a young adult is just as fraught with worries, but now all you can do is watch from afar and know in your heart that they have the tools to deal with both the good and the bad days.

A Five Year Plan in Review

Ironwood, Denver

This past weekend we were in Denver for Hunter's college graduation.  It has been five years since I was back home, give or take a week. It gave me cause to pause and review my life over the past five years in New York City and to see what we left behind without rose colored glasses in either direction. Hunter took us to an eclectic store on South Broadway in Denver called Ironwood and I found this ying/yang display of New York and Colorado.  I thought it was a perfect depiction of both places (I will always regret that I didn't buy that doll).

Snooze an AM Eatery

Hunter took us to RiNo in downtown Denver, and I must admit that Denver has achieved a very cool factor.  We had breakfast at Snooze and I think that a restaurant like that in New York City would be too expensive to really cater to anyone truly hip..Yet in Denver we were sampling pancake flights and morning cocktail concoctions with the coolest of the cool. Cameron loved that almost every restaurant we went to had meats from local, organic farms, which is more challenging to find and/or afford in New York City.

We drove up to Evergreen and it looked like time had stood still.  We walked around the lake and it felt like no time had passed at all.  I could imagine that we were just taking a family walk and headed to the lake house to play frizz bee as we had done so many times over the years.  As we walked towards Baskin Robins were heard a familiar voice yell Cameron's name out.  It was her dear friend, Otto Schloegel,   He had spotted us as he was driving around the lake with his mother, Rebecca.  We had made a pact that this was a strictly family weekend and none of us were allowed to meet up with old friends, so it was nice to see a friendly face from days gone by.

We went to Breckenridge as a mini vacation for all of us and stayed at our beloved Beaver Run Resort. As we rolled our bags across the lobby I told the kids to look small as I had made the reservation for two adults and three children under the age of 17.  At least I didn't say they were under the age of 12.

I love Breckenridge and when I occasionally buy a LOTTO ticket I always think that "when" I win I want to buy a condo there.  Although it's only an hour and a half from Evergreen it was a regular vacation spot for us, so it was wonderfully familiar to return to. But as comfortable as it was, there was not a sadness associated with not living there, more of a contentment in knowing that it was still there.

We walked over to the sledding hill in Breckenridge and a gentleman asked if we would like him to take our picture.  Hunter had had his fill of posing for pictures after his graduation, but it caught him off guard, so I quickly agreed and the man may have taken our Christmas photo for us. I sent the photo to two of my co-workers in New York who know me quite well, and yet I wondered when they looked at the photo if they felt like they were looking at someone they did not know at all.  In the photo we look just as I imagine we would have looked if we had never left Evergreen.  You would never know about my miserable job at Un-Named Retailer, the process to get into a good New York City public high school, rats, or the stress of securing a new apartment.

Today I was standing in the middle of Rockefeller Center outside of my office talking on the phone to my sister, Elizabeth, telling her about our wonderful trip to Colorado.  She pressed me about our moving back to Colorado.  I told her that we (Jeff, Cameron, and I) had discussed how nice everyone in Colorado was, (in particular service workers), how nice it was to have a car, and how magical large grocery stores were.  But Cameron added that she wanted to bring her kids up in Manhattan and I said that I loved the newness of every day on the streets of New York. Ultimately we decided that we are lucky to have had the opportunity to live in both worlds.  By the time Cam graduates from college she will have had thirteen years in Colorado and nine years in NYC.  We have four more years to decide where Jeff and I ultimately want to retire.  I have no idea what the next four years have in store for us.  The five years that are behind us had very little resemblance to what I had imagined they would have been.

So the five year plan that lays ahead of us, for now, is to finally relax into our lives in New York after a very steep learning curve, and to not take another five years to get back to a place that I will always call home, Colorado.

Flying with my Therapy Dog

I got back late last night from my weekend trip to Topeka, Kansas where our little dog, Oliver, was safely delivered to my brother, Clinton, to begin his new life in the country (well, the country in comparison to Manhattan). If you read my earlier blog "Washer/Dryer or Fido" you will know that this trip is the end of the saga.

The reason we had to get rid of Oliver was due to his barking, and in our brownstone where he can hear movement, buzzers, and other dogs in the courtyard he was constantly on the alert and manically guarding his territory by yapping. As hard as it was to give him away, this was not a battle that could have been won with a citronella collar or behavioral training.  Oliver is a terrier and is instinctually on guard. 

I had seen an expose' on The Today Show about taking dogs on airlines as therapy dogs, not only avoiding the pet ticket of $120.00, but also offering the freedom of taking the dog out of the crate in the airport and on the plane.  I decided that I would try it myself, and worse case scenario I would have to pay the fare at the boarding counter. The trick for this mission was to have a dog that was calm enough to fly as a therapy dog.  Considering that we were taking him to Kansas due to his high strung nature made the task somewhat daunting.



Two hours after being given a sedative.

I went out to PetMed.com and ordered a herbal supplement that is supposed to have a calming affect on dogs.  We gave the prescribed dose.  It was as if we had not given him anything.  Upon further research the manufacture suggested doubling the dose in case of high stress.  Oliver was still unfazed.  I then researched Benadryl for dogs.  I followed the directions from several online forums and gave him the prescribed dosage.  In this case it actually had the opposite affect.  Instead of putting him to sleep he actually became more hyper.  I had had a similar experience once before when my son Hunter was two years old and I gave him Benadryl for a cold.  He became very awake and agitated, so I knew better than to try a large dose.  I then looked in my own medicine cabinet and looked up the affects of Xanax on dogs.  It is widely prescribed for anxiety in dogs, particularly separation anxiety.  He was seemingly untouched, although Cameron said that he slept like a log that night. Although he was alert I thought I'd test reactiveness by ringing the buzzer to our apartment.  Well, he did his usual dance of running back and forth through the apartment barking as ferociously as possible. So much for the Xanax. 

I headed to the airport with a therapy vest that I got online, the herbal calming supplement (more for my peace of mind than any real belief that it worked), my boarding pass noting that I would be accompanied by a service dog, and a prayer.


Oliver obviously not going to sleep.

The flight that I had booked was Economy Class and I was not able to reserve a seat until check in.  I was worried that I would end up in a middle seat without enough room for his carrier.  I called the airline and told them I would be traveling with a service dog and I wanted to make sure I had adequate room.  The agent booked my seat for me and upgraded me to Economy Plus so that I would have adequate room. The Golden Ticket was that she noted on the boarding pass that I was traveling with a therapy dog, which eased my fear of being called out by TSA for traveling with a dog without a ticket. 



Plenty of leg room in Economy Plus



No problems with TSA security

Oliver has never bitten anyone, but the TSA line can be long and crowded, and boarding the plane can be a crush of people, so I was worried that Oliver might become irritated.  I kept him in his carrier until I had to take him out to walk through the metal detector.  We got through just fine (no alarms went off), but as I stood waiting to be ushered forward to retrieve my bag a male TSA worker was standing very close to me and said, "Oh, what a cute dog."  I thought he was going to reach out and pet him, but I was able to smile and turn away before the guy could reach his hand out.  I had made friends with a lady in line and I asked her to take my picture after we cleared security.

When I boarded the plane I kept him in his carrier and stowed him under the seat.  He never even pretended to sleep so half way through the flight I opened his case.  The young woman next to me must have noticed his therapy vest and said, "Don't worry, the Captain is my boyfriend and he'll get us to Kansas City safely."  For a moment I wondered why she was telling me that, but then I remembered my pretext of having the dog with me. The last hour of the flight I took Oliver out and let him look out the window and sit on my lap.  If the young woman had not also gotten out her phone and shown me pictures of her dog (in bed with her and the Captain - LOL!) I might not have been so bold, but since I knew she liked dogs I wasn't worried that would say anything.  I was also sitting in 4A which is the seat directly behind First Class so both the First Class and the Economy flight attendance were aware that I had the dog out of his crate.  No one said anything.

Clinton and Oliver relaxing.
 

My mom and my sister picked me up at the airport and we headed to Clinton's house.  After our weekend stay Elizabeth and I said that his house was like a zen retreat.  Oliver never barked.  He was in heaven chasing wild bunnies in the yard and looking through the shrubs at the dogs in the yards next door.  It was hard to leave the little fellow behind, but I know that he is stress free and happy in Kansas. 


On the Downhill Side of the College Process

Beacon High School College Acceptance Board

  A couple of years ago I remember hearing a parent say that they had toured ten college campuses in the northeast.  I had thought that sounded excessive and expensive.  And last April I remember a member of our church who, at the time, was a senior in high school, standing up to proudly tell the congregation what college she had decided on, and I was surprised that it was the end of April and she was just now making that major life decision.  Well, it's April 20th and just last night I had a tearful conversation with Cameron about driving up to yet another college campus this weekend (it would be tour #10) to check it out before she has to make her final decision on May 1st.

  Out of the nine schools that we looked at three made the top tier cut.  Two of them she was not accepted to.  They were reach schools and the results were not unexpected, but not getting in was disappointing non-the-less.  The third school, Dickinson College, was a target school and she got in!  It met every criteria she had and more.  They have a strong environmental science program, they have a college farm that produces produce for the campus cafeterias, there is a green sustainable living house as a housing option, there is a mermaid on their bell tower, it is an adorable little town three hours from New York City, and there is a notorious haunted building on campus!  What's not to love?  Well, the answer is "the price tag".  The cost, when all is said and done is $66,000 per year (yes, per year).

  Let me back up a little bit.  For anyone of you who have followed our highs and lows in New York over the last five years you know that we have gone through some difficult financial times. It's taken five years, but Jeff and I have finally found our footing with good jobs that pay New York City wages.  New York City wages pay for New York City rents, transportation, taxes, etc..., but it really evens out to a middle class life outside of the city.  By no means are we part of the 1%.  But that's not what the FAFA looks at, and as far as the Feds are concerned we earn enough to pay our expected parent contribution of $53,000 per year of her college. The absurdity of that is not lost on Jeff and me.

  Dickinson gave her enough to cover the gap between the $66,000 and the $53,000 we would need to pay.  We don't have the money, nor can we take out, $212,000 in Parent Plus loans for her to get a liberal arts education at a elite Pennsylvania college.

  In defense of the school they are very open about NOT being a need blind school. When it comes to financing they are not "warm and fuzzy".  They are cut and dry about either you can afford it or you can't.  We had thought that Cameron's grades and extracurricular activities would provide a basis for a better scholarship package, but even their best package would only bring it down to $41,000 per year. We appealed with more financial information and a letter from an esteemed alumni but to no avail.

  So how do you tell a student who has worked so hard to make straight A's for four years that all of her hard work has not paid off?  So close and yet not enough.

  Two private liberal arts schools, one in Pennsylvania and on in Massachusetts, came through with very good scholarships, and she has the option of going to two competitive New York State universities, but they all pale in comparison to her top three for various reasons.  She accepted one of the private schools and even went online and ordered the school sweatshirt.  But I know that her heart is beyond disappointed, and my heart is broken for her. 

  I am keenly aware that these are first world, privileged problems.  But as a parent I'm wondering if my sister was right and we drank the northeastern college Kool-Aid looking at these boutique, elite schools when we should have kept her feet firmly planted on the ground looking at state schools that we could afford out of pocket instead of pinning our hopes on elusive merit scholarships with no chance of any "need based' support.

Feast or Famine Why I Stay in NYC

  Jeff and I were having a slice of pizza on Saturday while Cameron was getting her haircut in the salon next door.  We were trying to decide what to do on this beautiful afternoon.  Jeff came up with some ideas that were good but, expensive.  Per usual I had to be the one to remind him that we did not have any money for costly amusements.  He then proceeded to go into his usual tirade about "what's the point of living in New York City if we can't afford to do anything?"
 For the rest of the day I thought about our conversation.  I had not been able to explain to him why I was clinging to a life in Manhattan.  In fact the cost (both financial and personal) of living here is astronomical.  A subway or bus ride is $2.75, the average rent for a two bedroom/900 sq. foot apartment is $3,000 per month, and paying $14.00 for a hamburger (without fries) at a casual restaurant is the norm. Traffic congestion, delays in subway transportation, crush of pedestrians on sidewalks, crappy landlords, and ear piercing sirens and honking horns fray your nerves. We've been here four and a half years and after Cameron graduates from high school in June we are technically free to leave.  Where we'd go would be whole different blog, but there will be nothing actually tethering us.  Yet last week I was talking to a co-worker touting how lucky we are to work for such a wonderful company and she said, "You'll stay with the company until you retire, won't you."  I shook my head yes without hesitation.  I do see myself leaving New York some day to ultimately move back to our beloved Colorado, but for now, there is something that, despite everything, keeps me here. 


  After church Jeff and I were walking on the Upper West Side heading home.  It was an unseasonably warm day with just enough of a bite in the air to keep everyone dressed (New Yorker's are better looking dressed than undressed).  I decided to pull my cell phone out and snap some pictures of things that I love about New York. 

  Jeff took issue with the Murray's Sturgeon Shop.  He asked if I'd ever been in the store, and I said that I had not, but... if I wanted sturgeon I know where to find it.  As chain stores run the local merchant out of business more and more it's quaint and comforting to know that Murray's is holding his ground.

  We were trying to decide where to have lunch to avoid the $14 hamburger, but we did not want the obvious "slice of pizza" option.  I had seen Broadway Restaurant listed on Best Diners in NYC in TimeOut Magazine, and even though it's only a few blocks from our apartment we'd never been, so we headed uptown. Now diner's are not unique to New York and I would guess that the best are nowhere near a city, but there is something very comforting about New York's Greek diners.  It's not the food that you go for.  It's the endless refills on the coffee, the waitress with limited English, and the variety of food that they serve from pancakes to gyros, and spaghetti to moussaka.


  With all of the ongoing unrest you might think that living in a city with such extreme religious diversity might be stressful, but in fact I find it fascinating.  Honestly, before moving here I wasn't even aware of certain sects of Catholicism and Judaism .  And the amazing architecture of many of these institutions is awe inspiring. I ride the subway with people who wear their religion on their sleeves, for lack of a better term, and I have NEVER seen anyone show disrespect to another person due to their religion. I will admit that I tend to stare, but it's only because I'm curious about the clothes and what goes on in the mind of a person who is so devoted to their religion that in one of the most modern cities in the world they would cling to such old world traditions.

   Finally we ended up in Central Park, only half a block from our apartment.  For twenty two years I had a yard and I will tell you that keeping a tidy lawn is not something that I ever found pleasure in, so there is never a time when I'm in the park that I don't appreciate how lucky I am to have such an amazing green space in my own backyard.
 

Washer/Dryer or Fido

  Before we signed the lease on our new apartment we asked our new landlord if there was a washer/dryer in the building.  He said that he has one in his unit, but it's for his private use only.  The nearest laundromat is seven blocks away, and I've come too far to be pushing a granny cart with my laundry in it around the neighborhood.  In our kitchen there is an obvious place for a stackable washer/dry complete with outlets and dryer vent.  What was missing was the correct water hookup, so some minor plumbing under the sink would need to be added to accommodate the washing machine. The owner, Noah, was less than enthusiastic about the idea, but he agreed as long as we had renters insurance to cover any water damage, bought our own machine, and had the work done by an "approved plumber".  That last one was the catch.

  Let me add that he did not want a dog in the apartment. We told him that in fact we have a small terrier.  He reluctantly agreed and the dog was added to the lease.

  Initially Noah said that he wanted us to use the plumber he was using for the renovation on his apartment, and the price he quoted was $1,000 for the work.  Our realtor said that he had a guy that his company recommended who could do the work for $300.  Noah agreed to the plumber and asked that the realtor pay for the installation. Our realtor seeing all of his hard work going "down the drain" so to speak, over the installation of a washer/dryer agreed to cover the cost.

  We moved in a week later.  A week after that we bought the washer and dryer.  We scheduled our plumber.  He came and said that he needed access to the water main, which is in the basement, which we don't have access to, and the owner's are not living in their unit during the renovation. So we had to reschedule.  I am now on week two of dragging my laundry to the laundrymat with a perfectly good washer/dryer sitting in my kitchen unplugged.  Noah agreed to schedule some time in conjunction with the plumber to make the water main available, but first he wanted the plumbers contracting license and insurance, as well as a drawn out plan for the work.  Remember, the landlord agreed to the plumber at the signing of the lease, now, two weeks later he is asking for a extensive documentation to get the work completed.  The plumber that our realtor referred to us was doing this as a side job.  He works for a large condo building and works under their umbrella for insurance and contracting.  He does not have an independent contractor's license or he would be charging $1,000.  Our realtor had been amazing in getting us out of our former lease so we contacted him to see if he could negotiate this situation.  He contacted the landlord's agent and came back to us with a strange response. 


  "He hates your dog," our realtor relayed to us. What? What does my dog have to do with installing our washer and dryer?  Come to find out the landlord really did not have an issue with us installing our washer/dry, but he was having lease signing remorse about allowing our small dog in the building.

  I am a dog person, but I totally understand that little yap dogs can drive a person crazy.  Come to find out that during the day while we are at work our little terrier, Oliver, is spending his day barking at the workers downstairs, at the delivery person for our upstairs neighbor's Meals on Wheels, and any other person(s) entering the brownstone. If we had been informed of this we would have worked out a solution immediately.  We never intended to sign a dog onto the lease at the expense of the other tenants. 

  Long and short of it is that we are sending our little Oliver to live with my brother in Kansas where the poor little mite can avoid the stress of living among so many voices outside of his front door. And my washer and dryer are now installed.  Jeff, Cameron and I did a house cleansing with incense, music and candles to try to calm the negative energy in the building. Hopefully we can all begin to live in harmony, except for poor little Oliver who's adventure is just beginning.  

Little Paris in Manhattan

  With Cameron going off to college next fall Jeff and I were determined to move into a new apartment this Spring.  Our lease was not up until June 1st, but we decided to start looking in February to get a sense of what was on the market in our price range. We went to an open house and although the apartment wasn't right for us the realtor had some ideas about getting us out of our lease early.  We told him that we don't have to move, we actually have a good rent for the size of our apartment, and our dream location is the tony Riverside Drive which I nicknamed "Little Paris". He took on the challenge.

  Our landlord on Manhattan Avenue is  huge corporation that has about 30 properties in the Columbia University area.  They are very impersonal and certainly are not quick to respond unless there is water leaking through the ceiling.  I don't know how many times I called in regards to rodent issues only to be ignored or to be told to put out mouse traps.  So with that said I had very little faith that they would be willing to let us out of our lease early. The only thing that we had on our side was that since the owner's bought the building two years ago they have been flipping the apartment and doubling the rent, and they could certainly take our outdated apartment, flip it and get almost a thousand dollars more a month in rent. Craig, our realtor, suggested that we list our apartment as a "lease break" and get tenants in for the remaining three months of our lease, but since I knew for certain that he owner's would be renovating the apartment and charging a thousand dollars more a month I knew that was not a reasonable option. Plus I did not want to be responsible for the sublet. Craig then said that he had contacts with our landlord and he thought they would let us out early, so that they could renovate the apartment before the busy rental season began in the summer. So there was all this conversation about getting us out of our apartment, but Craig had not shown us any rental options that were making me want to give up my current place. I was feeling rushed out my apartment so that he could rent it and obtain the fee, pushing me into an undesirable rental that he would also collect the fee on.  I hated to be cynical, but that's how it felt.

  I was out of town one weekend with Cameron and Jeff was calling me with rental options that Craig was showing him.  They were either over budget or not in the area of the city that I wanted to live. I know that you can get an amazing place in Harlem, but I DON"T want to live in Harlem. I was beginning to feel panicked.  I got home on a Sunday night and on Monday evening Craig had an apartment he wanted us to see. He had viewed the place during the day and was certain that he had found our dream apartment on 101st Street half a block from my dream location of Riverside Drive. It was $100 over budget and I was already feeling squeezed by the budget we had given him, but we agreed to see it.  There was nothing not to love.  It's the second floor of a brownstone with original parquet floors, crown molding, a bay window, and a deck!  Needless to say we told Craig to put our bid in and asked for a two year lease to neutralize the extra rent over time.

  Now mind you,. it's March and we still have three months on our current lease.  It was like taking a bridge loan. All the while our realtor is telling us that he can get us out of our lease early.  We get all of our paperwork together and submit our application with sheer blind faith that things will fall into place. Our lease was accepted on a Thursday and we moved on Tuesday. Craig made some magical calls and told me that our former rental company had agreed to us leaving two and a half months early. I gave one week's notice to our landlords that we were moving.  Again, all I have is my realtor telling me it was all good. On the day before we moved I got a return email from the landlord's secretary asking me for our forwarding address so that they could send us our security deposit back.  On the morning of our move the actual owner of the building, Jimmy, stopped by to take a look at the apartment that he would soon be renovating.  I told him that we would paint Cameron's room back to the original white and he said not to bother because the apartment would be gut renovated. He said do a "broom cleaning" and leave the rest because everything would be torn out anyway.  When I sent the secretary my forwarding address I dared to ask for the remaining two weeks of March rent that I had already paid be returned to us.  I had my deposit and the prorated rent at the end of the week.  I still don't know what happened.  The stars aligned.  I could feel it happening, but it wasn't until it had all passed that I allowed myself to believe it.

  Some information on moving in New York City:  We tried to move last year by looking for a "no fee" apartment, but we couldn't find anything decent. All the really good places hire rental brokers to vet their renters and the brokers charge the renters a fee. The fee is normally 10% of the year. Then there is the first month and security.  To move a two bedroom, 1,100 sq. foot apartment cost $1,500, which considered the two flights of stairs in the brownstone.  We certainly had more boxes than was in the original moving estimate but the moving company foreman told me that if we added extra to the tip he would take the extra boxes and clothes.  So add on 25% tip for the movers. By the time we were done we barely had two nickels to rub together, but we are in!  And we can save on dining out by eating on our lovely new deck!

Trick or Treating in Manhattan

  I was talking to my sister who lives in Louisburg, KS near  Kansas City yesterday and she asked what Halloween is like in New York.  I said it was really like anywhere else in the country with hoards of little kids running from door to door threatening and begging for candy.  She questioned letting children take candy from complete strangers and walking the streets after dark.  I promised her that the people handing out candy were not "strangers" and that the streets were probably better lit and more populated than the streets her kids would be walking down.  I set out with my camera on Saturday to capture some images of Halloween in my neighborhood to better explain to her and myself what it's like to trick or treat in the mean city.
 
  Coming from Evergreen, CO where in many areas the houses are too spread out to trick or treat in your own neighborhood families often go over to friends houses and launch their kids in neighborhoods where the houses are closer together.  In New York there is no need to search for dense areas of housing. In some of the larger apartment buildings families sign up with the doorman to let tenants with children know who will be home and handing out candy.  For these lucky kids they need go no further than their high rise building. That is not to say that high rises exclusively cater to their own tenant's children. Doormen at large building often dress up and act as the official greeter handing out buckets upon buckets of candy.  And it's not the cheap crap either.  Cameron and I were out early taking photos and we had one doorman dressed as something a kin to a swamp monster call us to the door to take some of the goodies while he waited for the trick-or-treaters to  head his way.

  Several streets particularly down in the West 60's, 70's, and 80's have streets with lots of stoops.  Some of the tenants go to great measure to out do each other with decorations and costumes for passing out candy.  West 69th Street Block Association blocks off the street and offers games, a bouncy house, craft tables and rummage sales, but be prepared for crowds.

                 So back to the question of safety.  How does a parent know if the candy their children are receiving is safe?  Well, they don't. The best a parent can do is chaperone their child and observe the treats they are being offered and who is offering them.  New York is a big, dangerous city, like any city, but it's also a city comprised of neighborhoods full of good people, families, seniors, and singles who all want to help in providing our community with a safe Halloween experience.  In some ways I think it's more festive and well attended than many other more rural places in the United States.

Drinking the Kollege Kool-Aid

  I was thinking of writing this blog after Cameron's college process is over, but then I realized that what I want to write about is the insanity of the college search and if I wait for a result my madness may have subsided. 
  
  Let me clarify that this is my personal experience and in fact it might be something many families are going through all over the country, but I DID NOT go though this with Hunter and Jordan when we lived in Colorado, so for me it feels like a uniquely Eastern experience.  My sister, Elizabeth, lives in Kansas. One day I was talking to her on the phone waxing on about finding the right school for Cameron and worrying about whether she would get in and if she did how we would afford the hefty, average annual cost of approx. $65,000.  She stopped me mid rant and told me that I had obviously drunk the East Coast College Kool-Aid and that I needed a reality check.  She assured me that Cam would get into any college she applied to, but that going to a an ivy league school or one with a similar price tag offered no certainty of future career success or personal happiness.  I tried to explain that at her particular high school in New York City applying to private liberal arts schools was the norm and expected of someone like Cameron with excellent grades and academic drive.


Checking out Harvard

  We started "touring" colleges last April on Cameron's spring break.  We looked at Bowdion College and Colby College in Maine, University of Boston, and Trinity College in Connecticut.  All four schools were amazing with beautiful historic campuses that resembled Hogwarts and curriculum's that would make any academically drive student's mouth water.  Cameron was ready to sign up to any and all of them, although Colby stuck out as the winner with it's majestic presence on Mayflower Hill. New to the college tour circuit we were eager hear all of the college admissions officers talk about their school's special features and winning student bodies.  Financial aid was sort of put on the back end of the tour when a few parents dared to ask the admissions person about financial aid packages, but for the most part we were all starry eyed and figured the gory details of affording the school would come later.  Why shouldn't a parent encourage their child to aim for the best education they could possibly obtain? 


Feeling at home at Dickinson

  In August we did our second leg of tours hitting four schools in Pennsylvania.  Dickinson College was a wild card, but we would be driving through Carlisle, PA and they have an environmental science program (Cam's major), so we decided to put it on the list.  Cameron fell in love with everything about the school: the campus, the science program, the Red Devil mascot, the strong environmental sustainability program the school is dedicated to, the school farm that helps supply the cafeteria, etc.. It seemed to be the whole package.  At the end of the tour Cameron and I looked at each other and got misty eyed.  This school was IT! 

  The problem with finding "it" at a selective, private, liberal arts college is that you don't just sign up and get in.  Cameron is in a very competitive position with her grades and activity resume, but sometimes you just don't fit the slots they have open or sometimes the $$$$$ (or lack there of) gets in the way.  Statistics tell us that a person with a bachelor's degree makes $1,000,000 over their lifetime more than a person without a degree, so with that in mind a student loan debt of $100,000 is only 10% of that additional earnings, but trying to pay off a $100,000 loan over ten years in your twenties and early thirties can be crippling, and I don't think a lot of college bound kids have the maturity to understand what that really looks like.  So are those magical liberal arts colleges really just for the rich?

  As we have compiled Cameron's list of schools that she will apply to she has kept Colby, Dickinson, and Bowdoin on the top.  She added other's that she said she would go to "if she had to", but there really were no "safety school" (defined as academically sure things that we could afford with manageable student loans).  Last Friday night before she was scheduled for the SAT on Saturday morning she said that her college advisor had told her that she needed to go to the College Board website and put down the names of the colleges that she wants her test results sent to.  This was it!  We had to have a solid and final list of schools.  She put down her top 3.  I said, "and...?" She looked at me defiantly.  I named three others that she had said that she agreed to.  She shrugged and added them.  Then I said, "So what about SUNY (State University of New York) schools?"  She was non responsive.  I named two state schools that offered her major, both had smaller student bodies giving the campus a more personal feel, are located in small college towns, and that according to the cost calculator are affordable with do-able student loans.  She sniped, "Why do you even know about these schools?"  I wanted to strangle her, and quipped back, "Why DON'T you?"  Silence.  I named the schools again and she typed the names into her profile.  Ugh...Ok, so now we had the list heavy on reach schools, but with enough safety schools that I felt vindicated.

  Last night was Beacon High School's Senior Parent Night.  There were eight speakers covering a variety of subjects. Jeff and I split up between the speakers to divide and conquer.  For the most part I didn't learn anything new, but, as I told Cameron, at least I feel confident that I'm gathering as much information as possible to help her succeed in this maze of information.  After almost two hours of listening to the same old rhetoric one speaker said something that I had heard over and over again on our tours, but that never rang true to me.  He said that the average student leaves a small liberal arts school on the East Coast with a student loan debt of $30,000.   I AM the middle class, so I had to question that number.  Every cost calculator I had used put our family contribution at approximately $30,000 per year, which is a very different number than $30,000 for all four years combined. I raised my hand and posed my question.  He stumbled for a moment and then explained, "Well, yes, the $30,000 of student loan debt would be part of the financial package that the school offers your child.  The remaining amount would be the parent's portion to be paid from their wages, Parent Plus loans, outside scholarships, and private loans."  So there it was, the truth at last.  Telling students that they can leave college with only $30,000 in loans after attending a private liberal arts college or an Ivy League school is an untruth.  That money does not just materialize.  Someone has to come up with that gap money.  Of course, many people have the funds to do that, but many more do not. 

  As I said at the beginning of my blog, I don't know what our results will be.  We don't know what schools Cam will get into.  We don't know if the ones that she does get into will try to woo her with enough money to make it affordable, or if we will end up at a state school.  No matter what, I am certain that Cameron WILL go to college and she WILL be very successful, because she is smart and determined, but this experience has certainly left me feeling jaded.  A student that has straight A's and a volunteer resume that would make Mother Theresa proud should not have to worry about "getting in" and certainly not have to worry about whether or not all their hard work is for naught if they can't afford to go to the schools that they do reach for. 

  Needless to say I will keep you posted.  Hard talks and ringing of hands are sure to lie ahead.