Tag Archives: Warren Buffett

Nice Girls Don’t Chew Gum

26 Jul

I am still surprised that Omaha was branded The Big “O.”  Seems like that should be the trademark of Oprah.  You know, she has big influence in reading and politics in the world at large.  She owns “O” Magazine.  She has 9 “O’s” after her net worth (that’s a billion).  And for God’s sake, Oprah and Dr. Oz (two ‘o’s) have even taught the world what to watch for in poop (that’s two more ‘o’s).  ”O” belongs to Oprah.

Oprah and I have certainly had our disagreements and don’t share everything.   We don’t share the same political or religious views.  We don’t share rooms at all those resort vacations in Bora Bora.  We don’t share Tupperware.

However, we do share the same philosophy on chewing gum.

Snap…crackle…pop!

My mom is the gum chewing warden of the free world.

“Nice girls don’t chew gum.”

God only knew how many times I heard that growing up!  Well, come to think of it my BFF Janet chews gum, and she was arrested behind Skateland for making out. (Yikes, once again, Mom is right!)  Janet is always chewing gum (she snaps it, too) because she and Fabio are still making out after all these years.  Overall, she is a pretty nice girl, especially since Fabio married her and made her a respectable woman.

Just in case I didn’t get a grasp on “nice girls don’t chew gum,” my Mom would amplify her philosophy by painting a mental image of a cow chewing its cud.  If I put gum in my mouth for breath control purposes, I find myself gagging it out within minutes as the visual picture of a cow’s spit rolls through my mind and down my throat. You should be warned that if you are chewing and snapping gum at a restaurant table near us, my mom will stare you down until you take that gum out of your mouth.  I could be telling my mom that I just won the Nobel Prize for Peace and that Warren Buffet surprised the world by bequeathing me his oodles of money (two more ‘o’s), but if gum snapping is within a mile radius of her Supermom ears she won’t hear a word I’m saying.

I don’t know how Oprah adopted her anti-gum campagin, but I heard you can’t chew gum in Harpo-land.  Not sure how I’d check it out, but I think it’s even written in the employee manual.

Oprah and I share the 4:00 p.m. hour.  She sneaks in via my TiVo, introducing me to people I’d never have the chance to meet on my very own, and knowledge that I never had access to.

Oprah and I also share the same hope when we watch 99 Balloons.  Sometime after the death of Megan, I turned on my favorite anti-gum show host to see the video of Matt and Ginny Mooney and their precious son, Eliot.  While millions have already seen the life of Eliott, please take a moment to click on the link to view six minutes of the best of humanity.

The life of Eliot gave me one of the most significant markers after the death of Megan.  It’s simple and to the point.  Eliot’s dad, narrator of the video, says:

Although we miss you more than we can express, we are only separate from you by our time left on earth.

Monday, July 19, 2010 marked six years to the date and day of the week that I received the 1:00 phone call that Megan had a tumor on her left adrenal gland.  Today I’m reminded that I’m only separate from my girl by my time left on earth.

Thanks, Oprah.  More than our shared disdain for gum-chewing, I’m grateful you shared 99 Balloons.  It gives me hope, and the ‘o’ in hope is one more reason “The Big O” should belong to you.

Key Notes:

  • There are no words to add to 99 balloons.  While it is about the life of Matt, Ginny and Eliot Mooney, it expresses the heart and soul of any parent that has a child (or lost a child) with chronic illness.
  • Regardless of their political or religious views, 550 people shared in my grief by attending my daughter’s funeral.  There were no balloons, but the crowd released their corporate prayers and hope for our family.

On a Lighter Note:

  • Janet’s husband’s real name is Mark.  I call him Fabio because he is such a lover-boy.
  • Since I am a non-fiction writer, Fabio and Janet want me to make it clear that they were not arrested for making out, but for possession of alcohol.  I don’t call wine coolers alcohol, but in the State of Nebraska the fruity drink is contraband to minors.  I am thrilled to know Fabio and Janet have grown up to the Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay world.
  • When friends offer me gum my instant response is “Nice girls don’t chew gum.”
  • My Aunt Shirley made it clear that “The Master Teacher of Gum-chewing Wardens” was my Nana (my mom’s mom).  There is a possibility it is inherited and is in the genes….Nice girls did not chew gum, wear ankle bracelets, or have pierced ears…..Of course, that’s only part of the lengthy list.
  • Please note that I said that my mom is the gum warden of the ‘free’ world.  On a 1977 trip to Russia, Mom took a suitcase full of sticks of gum to secretly hand out to empoverished children.  She must have felt pretty safe knowing she would not hear the snap, crackle, pop half way around the world.  O, the irony!

Hoarders

21 Jun

I’m still mad at my friend José for his late night text message about the t.v. show Hoarders.  The episode was The Hat Lady of Omaha.  Short, and to the point, his question was, “do you know her?”

This irritates the heck out of me.  Just because someone lives in Omaha, Nebraska doesn’t mean I know them.  I was momentarily hurled back to my first day at Tulane University in New Orleans.  I can still remember the look of bewilderment when fellow students asked where I was from.  The expression always came with the assumption that I lived on a farm where the buffalo roam free and the deer and the antelope play.   Hard to imagine that any Nebraska girl could be civilized.

For the record, I don’t know where The Hat Lady of Omaha lives.  Well, I do kinda know.  She lives in Little Italy, a section of Omaha around South 10th St. and west of the Missouri River.   Yeah, I could find it should José want to come to Omaha for my official Celebrity Tour of Homes ($19.95 plus service tax).

For no extra charge I’d drive him by Warren Buffett’s home.  I’ve known where Mr. Buffett lived long before the world knew of his billionaire status and crowned him King Berkshire.  Just so José knows you get what you pay for, I won’t even slow down the car as we drive by old Warren’s homestead.  If you are a true Nebraskan, you leave our homeboy alone.  Look fast, José.  It’s on the right.

If José upgrades to The Deluxe Celebrity Tour ($49.95 plus service tax), we would dine at Gorat’s Steak House, a favorite of Mr. Buffett’s.  To me, Gorat’s is just the local restaurant where you eat for special occasions – birthdays, college graduation, my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary.  There are followers of Mr. Buffett however that stake out the Nebraska Steakhouse in hopes of catching a glimpse of our local celebrity.  I just go for the onion rings.

Imagine the thrill of seeing Mr. Buffett and Bill Gates dining together ($499.95 plus service tax).  Mr. Gates flies in on occasion to play bridge with Mr. Buffett.   Do you think they play for money?

On one occasion, my dad, approximately Warren’s age, was stopped in the Gorat’s parking lot and asked in giddy excitement, “Are you Warren Buffett?”   I told Dad next time he needs to just say ‘yes’, and sign some autographs.  It was my dad’s big paparazzi moment, and I can see the resemblance.

Hoarders does address in all of us the need to clear off our desk or clean out an extra drawer.  I have so many friends that watch the show, and wake up the next morning to make a drive to the Goodwill drop-off.  As Megan’s caregiver, I continue to be ever confronted with what to keep and what to let go of – it’s been a 28-month process.  Slowly but surely, I’ve narrowed down to just a few things.

A blog today, written by Greg Frazee, took me back to the unexpected things I’ve hoarded in Megan’s memory.  He writes:

Being a single guy, there are some cryogenic things going on in my freezer. Today, I opened a bowl that I had in there, but had forgotten what it was. It was some pasta that I made before I went into the hospital last summer. It was like stepping into a time machine and whisking back….

For Greg, cryogenic pasta brought back the memory of what were uncertain days. For me, it was a jumbo bag of blueberries, located on the top shelf of my obsessively organized freezer.  Other than Joe, the art student that lives with me, nobody knew about the frozen fruit.  Every time I’d open the freezer, I’d see the bag used so often to make my girl a smoothie.  I think I kept them there because I wanted to make her one just one more time.

Joe is a 27-year old vegetarian, and makes every effort to keep the peace in the freezer.  We have separate shelves for fish, Omaha Steaks, and poultry.  Sea World and Beef World are not allowed to mingle in our Sub-Zero environment. When Joe moved in and we reviewed freezer etiquette, with tears squirting out of my eyes I told him, ‘don’t touch the blueberries…’  It was not the first crazy thing I’d expressed to him. I don’t know what he thought, but I’m sure it was, “Heck, I get to live here while I’m in school, so I’ll go with it…”  The blueberries were already a year old when we had that conversation.

Somewhere along the way I realized when you lose someone it isn’t about hoarding, it’s about holding on to a memory.

After two years, I finally let the ice block (formerly known as blueberries) go.  I’m hoarding the memory, but living for today.

Key Notes:
  • Every reader of this blog must have a memory that freezes them in time.  It’s not for others to decided if its right or wrong to keep an item.
  • My friend Lisa told me today that she still treasures her dad’s handkerchief.  I asked her if it was monogrammed, and she said, “No, it isn’t….but I wanted it because it smelled like my dad.”  While the aroma of her dad has faded, the memory remains in the white cloth that she has carefully placed in a drawer with all the cards from his funeral.
  • My grandmother gave me a compass before she died, with the message that she knew I had no sense of geographical direction.  She handed it to me with her hope that I would find my way in life.  ”I hope I do, Nana.”
On A Lighter Note:
  • I still have a book of Gorat’s Steak House matches that I’ve been hoarding in my guest bathroom since I snagged them at my parent’s 50th Wedding Anniversary.  If I could get Mr. Buffett to touch them, maybe I could sell them on e-bay.
  • I attended Relay for Life 2010 at the Papillion-LaVista South High School stadium earlier this month.  The loudspeaker was turned off by 10:00 p.m. because last year the sound disturbed the buffalo on adjoining property.
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 79 other followers