I never send ‘em.

I rarely receive ‘em.

I infrequently read ‘em.

What are “they”? Those emails forwarded by friends and family ranting about the political hot potato of the day.

For the few I do open up (sometimes inadvertently), I have yet to read a cogent argument that’s convinced me to change my position on that particular issue.

Last week I received a forwarded email about the upcoming pro-life Super Bowl ad featuring football star Tim Tebow and his mother. Reportedly, the spot tells the story of how Mrs. Tebow, pregnant with Tim, came down with a tropical ailment while living in the Philippines; the doctors then told her the pregnancy had become life-threatening. Obviously, Mrs. Tebow chose to still have the baby, her son Tim; the ad celebrates that choice.

The ad (and the fact that CBS entered uncharted ground by agreeing to ad an “issue” ad during the Super Bowl) have generated a passionate response, eclipsing interest in the actual game. (Go, Saints!) The email I received last week is case in point. Here’s an excerpt:

“I found out that CBS has cleared the way to subject nearly 100 million people to Focus on the Family’s extrema agenda by agreeing to air its new pro-life ad during the Super Bowl.

Focus on the Family has an unmistakable anti-choice, anti-birth control, anti-sex-education, anti-gay agenda. If that isn’t bad enough, its views on women are just plain insulting and dangerous. For example, its web site urges women facing unintended pregnancy to seek “wise advice” because “the hormones and extreme emotions of pregnancy make reasonable decisions more difficult.” Yeah, there is no way you can make this up.”

This dire email from NARAL was forwarded to me by my cousin, a bright guy with a big heart and a wicked sense or humor. I scrolled to the end of the message expecting a wry comment from him about the hyperbolic language in the email. Nope. Just a quick disclaimer: “I don’t usually send this type of stuff, and my apologies if this is not something you want to receive.” (Which is true, he doesn’t.)

The form email went on to urge me to not “sit by while CBS lets Focus on the Family place a political ad during the Super Bowl” and sign an online petition in protest.

Actually, the urge I felt was NOT to leap into cyber action. I wanted to scream in frustration. It drives me bonkers that the original email author believes that a position framed in polarizing and demonizing language will convince me – and others – to change positions on this deeply personal issue.

The Washington Post sports writer Sally Jenkin’s article, “Tebow’s Super Bowl ad isn’t intolerant; its critics are” captured my sentiment about the brouhaha:

“CBS owns its broadcast and can run whatever advertising it wants, and Tebow has a right to express his beliefs publicly. Just as I have the right to reject or accept them after listening — or think a little more deeply about the issues.”

I didn’t reply to the forwarded email. (Add that to the list – I never respond to ‘em.) But, it definitely pushed a button for me.

Wise Women, how do you handle it when you receive a forwarded email with a viewpoint (or hyperbolic language) that you find problematic? Any reaction to the back-and-forth about this year’s Super Bowl ads? And, perhaps most pertinent to this first weekend in February, who else is joining me in rooting for the Saints?

“Wealth consists not in having great possessions but in having few wants.”

During this past month of January, our family ate dinner at home 30 of 31 nights. The exception was Mike’s birthday dinner at a steakhouse. For a family with menus from every restaurant within a 10-mile radius stuffed in our glove compartments (and who ever keeps gloves in there, anyway?), this streak is nothing short of miraculous.

When we sat down for dinner each cold and dark January night, I would announce the number of days we’d managed to refrain from take-out or dinner at a restaurant. “Day 17 of living solid,” I would intone (mimicking a SunTrust Bank ad campaign that’s on the air right now).

My kids have been less enamored with the vow to eat home more. I tried to make it more palatable by selling it as a pseudo-game, “Let’s see if we can make it through the whole month of January.” Not particularly impressed with that game, those kids. Then, last night, as I started to pull out pots and pans to prepare Tilapia fish, french fries and green beans (I mean, what’s not to like with that at-home menu?!?!), Caitlin frantically exclaimed, “It’s February 1st – we can eat out tonight!”

When I shared that we were keeping up the money- and calorie-saving resolve, she lost it. She lost it like only a 17-year old, tired-from-last night’s- sleepover, frustrated-because-she-can’t-understand-her-English-assignment, aspiring actress would lose it. It wasn’t pretty. She ended up choosing to not eat the dinner de  jour and dig out some pizza bagels from the freezer.

That’s OK. I was unfazed by the tantrum and her turning her nose up at the dinner I prepared. I will have my revenge satisfaction when tonight I declare, “Day 33 of living solid.”

“I do want to get rich but I never want to do what there is to do to get rich.”

BTW, both of the above thoughts were featured in the magazine Real Simple. You can sign up for a daily dose of simple wisdom by going to the site, scrolling to the bottom, and signing up for the Daily Thought newsletter.

I hope you don’t mind my commandeering the policy slogan “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” for a different purpose.

As you know, the phrase is commonly associated with the military policy that forbids openly gay people from serving their country, yet also prohibits commanders from asking about their subordinates’ sexuality. In last night’s State of the Union, President Obama called for a repeal of this current cop out compromise practice, a law which satisfies neither liberals nor conservatives.

But, that’s a topic for a different day.

Today’s post is about the startling difference (at least to me) among men and women when it comes to the topic of weight loss – their own or another person’s – and whether they ask/tell or don’t ask/don’t tell.

I can’t tell you the number of times men have announced in my presence (unsolicited and sometimes out-of-the-blue) that they’ve lost “x-number” of pounds. Case in point: during pre-staff meeting chit chat yesterday, my male boss shared with a group of us that he has lost 13 pounds recently. Great news, to be sure, but what really caught my attention is that his self-disclosure seemed apropos to nothing we were discussing at the moment. I’ve heard similar weight-specific boasts (and dispirited confessions) from other men.

What’s up with that?

Women rarely volunteer this level of detail about their weight changes – at least voluntarily; they don’t tell. And most women seem loathe to press others for such details; they don’t ask.

I’ve pondered the differences between men and women and how they handle weight discussions before … to myself. Now I have the chance to share my observation with you all, and get your perspective/feedback.

What have you noticed about men and women and their tendency to ask/tell (or not) when it comes to weight changes? Are there gender differences? Or, is it only me and my hyper-sensitivity?

I’ve been eying LASIK surgery to correct my nearsightedness for a few years now. Let me walk you through my LASIK adventure through the lens of the “stages of change” model.

Precontemplation stage (ignorance of the problem). I can’t read street signs when I’m driving, and that’s a problem. However, for the last two decades, I’ve worn contacts, and street signs and anything else that’s more than 10-feet away are crystal clear. After the initial bumbling of learning how to put contacts in, the daily routine of wearing contact lenses became a breeze. Insert, take out, clean, store – it all took me no more than five minutes per day. I heard about people going through eye corrective surgery, but I was puzzled. Why go through such a risk and expense when wearing contacts was so easy?!?

Contemplation stage (ambivalence). Except, over the last few years, wearing contacts hasn’t felt as easy. I fumble with them more, and am forced to search desperately for a fallen lens on the counter top, sink, floor or hanging out on the side of a stray container sitting on my counter. It can be challenging to tell up close whether the lens is poised “the right way” on my finger tip. At night, sans contacts, I have to now squint at the alarm clock to make sure I read the right time. My love affair with contacts is over. It’s time to consider a change.

Preparation stage (collecting information). “So, tell me more about your LASIK surgery,” I ask friends and family. I research the process (cringe!) and cost (ouch!). I ask people if they’d recommend their doctor. I narrow in on a busy practice and attend its information session. Meet the surgeon (as in I and the other 20 people at the session ask probing questions) and deem that he’s competent. It’s time to get off the fence …

Action stage (taking direct action toward the goal). I sign on many dotted lines acknowledging the risks associated with the surgery. I have my corneas scanned to determine whether I’m a good candidate. I’m told that my corneas are a little thin, but that’s probably due to my wearing contacts and the inevitable friction of taking them off (darn those contacts!). Wear your glasses, I am told, and return in three weeks. For 8 out of 10 people, that does the trick, and the corneas are fine.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

Maintenance stage. This is the last stage of the change process. The period when I maintain the change by being a good doobie and following the doctor’s orders to not rub my eyes and diligently use the post-surgery eye drops. However, there was no surgery. That “EEEE” sound above is the sound of a screeching halt. When I returned after three weeks of wearing old glasses (from two prescriptions ago), I was told that the thickness of  my corneas had not improved. In fact, one had worsened. I was not a candidate for the LASIK surgery, but I could have PRK surgery, the older technology which requires a longer recovery period.

Uh, I don’t think so.

It’s back to stage one of the change process for me. Ignorance is bliss (and a whole lot cheaper)!

Since Elaine has been posting about such wise topics this week, I thought I would bring it down a notch.  I sit here thinking about Octomom’s new beach body.  Have you seen it on the cover of Star Magazine?  (No, don’t worry, I’m not a subscriber). She has dropped 145 pounds since giving birth to her eight babies.  I think to myself I did buy that Beach Body DVD set last May although no beach body did I attain in 2009 … I have to start working on that plan for 2010 now (work and children aside).

So back to Octomom.  How did she do it?  First, with no help from Nip and Tuck – just three hour daily work-outs at the gym of course.  Right.  Makes sense.  What?  How did she get away from her family of fourteen children (and no husband) for three hours a day?  Oh, her two nannies could take care of all those children.  Oh, OK. Makes sense.  What?  Two nannies?  Has our whacked out need for reality TV already made her a mint?  I guess so.  And I guess enough money to keep her out of the house shopping, working-out, and managing her public profile – while the 14 mint-makers lay about at home with the hired help.

If I lived in a different state (i.e., had moved back to my home state of Massachusetts) and time (a time when a filibuster-proof Democratic majority was assured), I could actually see myself voting for newly-elected Senator Scott Brown.

I kind of like the guy.

I like the fact that he had a “rough” upbringing. I appreciate some of his moderate political positions. I admire his triathlete discipline. I even cheered for his daughter Ayla when she was a contestant on American Idol in 2007.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am bitterly disappointed by his recent election and the risk it poses to enactment of health care legislation. But, I understand why Massachusetts voters would vote for him.

What I DON’T understand, however, is why Brown’s posing nude for Cosmo (as a law student in 1982) generated only a few winks. Where was the pundit outcry?!? The occasional national media wisecrack – e.g., Cosmo’s campaign slogan suggestion:  Vote for Brown. He Has One Hell of a Stimulus Package -  did nothing to derail Brown’s growing popularity and eventual victory.

What would have happened if similarly-revealing photos had spring up of his opponent, Democrat Martha Coakley or, reaching back further in time, Republican Sarah Palin? I suspect neither politician would have survived the ensuing firestorm and questions about her judgment/suitability. Heck, Ms. America can’t even keep her crown when risque photos surface.

I don’t blame Scott Brown for this double-standard. Actually, I don’t know who to point my finger at. Maybe that’s what makes this gender double-standard so frustrating!

It’s a sweltering August day in Washington, DC in 1981, and my mom and I are standing in front of the Holiday Inn on Wisconsin Ave. We are about to venture over to the new student reception at Georgetown University, and I will catch my first glimpse of my home for the next four years.

We look surprisingly calm, don’t we? But, then again, perhaps it’s hard to tell with all that hair. (Note my attempt at feathered locks.)

The above photo captures me at a true crossroads in life. At that exact moment, I had absolutely no idea how my life would unfold. But, I was ready! Despite the twisting in my stomach and sweaty palms (not evident to the camera), I was oh-so-ready to begin that next leg of the journey. In a matter of hours, I would start making decisions – big and small – that would shape my college experience and beyond.

These days, crossroads are not nearly as clear-cut and defined. Major decision points in later life look more like this …

Life’s crossroads are on my mind of late because I recently gave notice at my job. In a few months, I will leave my place of employment, despite my doing satisfying work with people I respect and enjoy. You see, it’s a full-time job, one that cannot (or will not) be made into a part-time or job-share position. And, having more flexibility at work has leap-frogged back to the top of my priority list. So, it’s time to make a change.

The who/what/when/where of this change is TBD. Unlike 1981, I no longer have a clean slate upon which to script this life transition. And, this time, the change process will be full of stops and starts, incremental discernment, hopefulness, ambivalence, and inevitable disappointment.

Hmmm … maybe what’s needed is a new hairstyle to kick-off this process.

Just one last blog on our rooster. Every year I tell my children that I want home-made gifts from them for Christmas.  I have received great pictures, calendars, CD mixes, home movies, quote-aids (quotations written on band-aid like pieces of paper) and this year, a replica of our Lakenvelder Rooster, Michael Jackson.

David, my 15 year old, escaped to the basement, and used a jig saw to cut out an outline of a Lakenvelder rooster with plywood, and then painted it.  I LOVED it, and it’s now hanging on my kitchen wall.  It’s very professional looking I might add.  The only mistake that he made in making it is that the rooster’s mouth is not open crowing – which was pretty much the perpetual state of MJ, as you can see by the below picture.

I now need to convince him to go into production – and add Chicken Wall Hangings to his egg sales!

I feel like my recent posts have been downers lately. Without meaning to, I’ve drifted toward heavier topics, less fluff. Thus, my intention was to be lighter with today’s Wise Women discussion; but now I just can’t. The situation in Haiti after Tuesday’s massive earthquake is too distressing to ignore.

I can count on one hand the number of foreign countries I’ve visited in my lifetime (well, maybe 1.5 hands). Haiti is among that relatively small group.

I traveled to Haiti as a high school student with my friend Cathy and her family. Cathy’s family was the kind that had the inclination, social conscience and money to expose their kids to the world. I was along for the ride. Visiting Haiti was my first time outside the U.S. My memories of Haiti include the genuine warmth and directness of the people I met juxtaposed with neighborhoods of cardboard houses and children begging me for money for their next meal.

Thus, listening to and seeing the reports out of Haiti is frighteningly surreal. How can it be that this poorest of countries has been dealt such a devastating blow?  It reminds me of my reaction as I tried to wrap my brain around the growing number of deaths  following the Indian Ocean Tsunami in 2004 (nearly 230,000 died). What must it be like to have loved ones in Haiti and not know their fate? To know that the county’s shaky infrastructure is now non-existent and that it may be impossible to ever learn what happened to friends and family. Or, to actually be in Haiti, walking the streets and realizing there is nobody and nothing to which to turn.

If you are like me, you may be yearning to do something – anything! – to help our Caribbean neighbors and put a dent in the overwhelming sense of helplessness and sadness. Consider making a monetary donation to a relief organization. You can make an online donation to the International Response Fund of the American Red Cross. (According to the site, if you wish to designate your donation to a specific disaster, mail your donation with the designation to the American Red Cross, P.O. Box 37243, Washington, D.C. 20013.)

The Salvation Army, which has run schools, clinics, and children’s homes in Haiti since 1950, is also accepting disaster relief donations. Go to the site and you can specify the Haiti Earthquake when you donate.

Whatever you decide to do … pray …  donate … volunteer … let’s all do something to help Wise Women and Wise Men in Haiti.

This is hysterical.  What a brilliant solution to our airport security and health care crisis!

www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/newsdesk/2010/01/full-body-scans-to-double-as-annual-checkups.html?printable=