So long, farewell BHP

Get the scoop on what I'll be up to for the next few months!

This will be my last column for Brentwood Home Page, if the next few months go the way I’ve envisioned them.

I’m not counting on that happening, of course, because the past month has not gone the way I’ve envisioned it.

Everything about this Christmas was unusual. Not tragic, fortunately, just different.

None of my kids had a Big Item they were dying to get for Christmas this year. Therefore, they did not view their Christmas lists with the same urgency that their father and I did. More importantly, they did not understand why their grandparents needed the lists so badly.

As a result, I gave all our good gift ideas to desperate grandparents and wound up still shopping for my own kids on Christmas Eve. Sometimes I felt like I was just shopping so there’d be something under the tree. That is very unusual for me.

All of the Christmas events we enjoy, such as our church youth choir concert, seemed to sneak up on me. They didn’t really take place that much earlier than usual, but my brain wasn’t officially in Christmas gear yet. I was late getting in the game.

I tried to find joy in the preparations this year, but I just felt like I was falling behind. In the midst of all the holiday goings-on, everyday life persisted.

Everything about my routine took longer than usual. I live about a mile from Cool Springs, and more traffic on the roads and longer lines made even a regular trip to fill up the gas tank or the dentist take twice as long.

Why did I schedule a dental checkup during the holidays anyway?

My own closet became Santa’s workshop, so even getting dressed took longer than usual. I’m lucky I pulled out matching shoes from underneath the Amazon boxes and Target bags stuffed in there. Shopping without a list or a plan meant that the UPS man rang my doorbell many more times than is usual. My dog paced and barked so much more than usual that I thought her hair would fall out.

Eventually, thankfully, I started noticing the good stuff. My mailbox was fuller than usual, nearly overflowing with beautiful photo cards of friends and family. Neighbors dropped in more often than usual, sometimes bringing trays of homemade goodies and a few minutes of visiting.

On our way to church on Christmas Eve, I noticed in how many houses along the way the front rooms were lit up. Normally dark living rooms were bright and welcoming, ready to host relatives who don’t usually come by.

My family and I sang more than usual and ate more than usual. I gave out way more hugs than usual, and I didn’t regret one of them.

Everything about this season should be unusual, though. Nothing should be routine. To celebrate such a special event, I had to snap out of my habits and think intentionally about what I was doing. My heart wouldn’t be in it otherwise.

My heart is turning in a new direction that may seem unusual for me. I won’t be writing this column for BHP anymore because I’ve decided to run for a seat on the Brentwood City Commission.

I’ve gotten positive feedback from those I’ve told, and I’m excited about the challenge.

I’ve loved being associated with Brentwood Home Page because it’s been an unusual venture, but one that is long overdue. Brentwood has a lot going on, and it deserves dedicated news coverage.

With Susan and Kelly in charge, I’m sure it won’t be business as usual.

No talking, for real

From this week's Brentwood Home Page:

The first birthday card I gave my husband while we were dating was of the humorous variety. It said something like, “With you in my life I know there will always be joy in my heart,” then something else nice, followed by the inside punch line, “… and sports on my TV.”
I knew early on that Tim was crazy about sports, both watching and playing. The first time I ever saw him at UT Knoxville, he was heading into the Presidential cafeteria on his way back from an intramural softball game.
For some of our early dates, we’d watch the Vols basketball team, coached by Don Devoe, play in the new Thompson Boling Arena when so few fans attended that entire sections of seats were blocked off with a huge black curtain.
After Tim and I married, I often fell asleep to the voices of Dan Patrick and Keith Olbermann anchoring SportsCenter. Some of our most fun times involved his work softball teams and church basketball, and to this day weekend chores are planned around the Vols’ and Titans’ game times.
I know Tim has always dreamed of sharing those sports experiences with our boys, and to be honest I always looked forward to that day as well. I mean, how many games can one halfway-interested woman be expected to watch?
As often happens with dreams, though, reality doesn’t match the expectations.
Tim is picky about where and with whom he watches the Vols or Titans on TV, for example. He gets a little too intense to high-five a bunch of friends at a sports bar. We also don’t invite a lot of friends over for game-watching parties, either, because his laser focus is not conducive to friendship-building conversation.
I mean, such a serious fan can’t trust just anybody to enter the sacred zone of spectatorship. What if they talk about something besides what’s happening in the game at that moment?
Unfortunately, he can’t be so selective when it’s our own kids who’ve somehow gotten past the velvet rope.
The twins caught on to football at a young age, but they weren’t too distracting since their interest usually would fade after the first quarter and they’d go play elsewhere in the house.
They’re older now, though, so they stick around for the whole game. They also like to spout off their semi-informed 14-year-old observations about the plays and personnel like grumpy old men, much to the annoyance of their well-read father:
“That quarterback’s the worst! They need to get rid of him!” one of them will yell.
Of course, Tim can’t let it go.
“Why would you say that? His numbers are actually better than they’ve been all season!”
Tim attempts to educate them for a few plays before pulling rank: “You can think that if you want to, but I need silence now.” Then, 45 seconds later, he breaks his own rule when he says, “OK, this down is HUGE. We need this!” opening the floor for discussion once again.
Since 7-year-old Owen has played football, both the real and Madden-on-Xbox versions, he actually understands the game pretty well.
He also doesn’t leave the room. And he talks. A lot.
“Wow, there’s a lot of red in that stadium. I thought they were playing Alabama in Knoxville! 34-10. Oh no. We’re losing.”
This kind of exchange doesn’t lead to the father-son bonding experience where they all cheer the touchdowns and encourage each others’ predictions for the next play. It often ends with a series of comments like this:
“Owen, sit down.”
“Owen, please don’t walk in front of the TV.”
“Leave the dog alone, Owen.”
“Owen, sit down!”
“Owen, there are only 3 minutes and 18 seconds left in this game, and I want to watch them in peace!”
That’s when I attempt to distract them all by loudly unloading the dishwasher and carelessly tossing the silverware into the drawer.
On the field or off, nothing bonds a team like fighting a common enemy.

The good news: Fewer trees have to die

Man, the news industry has changed.
I think the state of my profession has changed more than almost any other in the past 30 years.
I am not THAT old, but when I was in college studying journalism, the Internet didn't exist. No one had a cell phone. All newspapers were printed on paper. At The Daily Helmsman at Memphis State, we literally cut out the printed articles and glued them on a board to deliver to the printer, where they "made the newspaper" overnight.
I still remember the smell of that hot glue machine. I remember occasionally using an X-acto knife to "edit" stories that already were glued to the board.
I remember the very first time I saw a Macintosh computer and Windows menus dropping down on the tiny black-and-white screen.
But I still had to spend hours in my design class learning about rotogravure printing and ink types and when you would use which method.
I'm too young to have prehistoric memories of my career.
Going back even farther, I remember an elementary school field trip to The Commercial Appeal offices in Memphis. The vast, open newsroom with ringing telephones intimidated me.
But the press room was the coolest, because I'd never seen rolls of paper so big they could only be moved by forklift. I'd never seen a machine that was three stories high. As my class listened to the tour guide explaining press runs, I remember him having to shout over the machinery.
I finally understood the phrase "stop the presses."
I didn't fully appreciate how much my industry has changed until a friend asked me to help her get a news office tour for her son's Cub Scout requirements. Our one major local newspaper, The Tennessean, wouldn't even do it because they fired the people who used to give tours. They're owned by Gannett and they're streamlining, you know.
She e-mailed me the requirement from the Scout manual:

"Visit a newspaper or magazine office. Ask for a tour of the various divisions, (editorial, business, and printing). During your tour, talk to an executive from the business side about management’s relations with reporters, editors, and photographers and what makes a “good” newspaper or magazine."

At first, she thought I could give him a "tour" of Brentwood Home Page, the online newspaper I write for. I tried to explain that it's only online, that there is no press, and it's literally a "home office." It would be like sitting in someone's den and talking to two women with a desktop computer.
They could offer him excellent advice on the news industry, but it wouldn't quite be the memorable Citizen Kane experience.
I contacted other smaller papers that still print on paper, but they declined, saying there "wasn't much to see" and they send out their stuff to be printed anyway.
Can't anybody show a Cub Scout what a newspaper looks like anymore?
Modern news is either corporate, mass-produced aggregates of wire news or localized, personalized news that, frankly, isn't very exciting to watch being made.
There are no "divisions" of a newspaper. Even established "papers" feel like start ups because in an attempt to save money, they have to function with as few people as possible doing everything.
Someone needs to let the BSA know what's been happening to local newspapers so they can update their manual.

This week's Brentwood Home Page column

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Some days I really feel old around all the young mommies at our elementary school.

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Why I spent a few hours at the county jail.

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The twins will be in eighth grade next year. They get to choose two of their classes. The choices aren't as clear as you might think.

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I wrote a column for Brentwood Home Page about one of the reasons I haven't been blogging as much lately. You can find it here.

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I had to put on business clothes recently. For real! Read all about it here.

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The No. 2 rule at our house...

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Click here to read about yet another reason my youngest child may need therapy in a few years.

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Our countdown calendar says fourteen days until Christmas, one day until Mom loses it.

This week's Brentwood Home Page column

Why we had two types of Halloween at our house this year.

Oops

As a matter of fact, I DID write a new column for Brentwood Home Page this week. I just forgot to link to it here. So now you can read about what rejection feels like.

This week's Brentwood Home Page column

Read about why I'm not nervous around old cemeteries anymore.