Rated PG: Parental Graciousness

Whilst the epic rudeness of our world forces my hand to report more often than not on the Gruntly behavior of others, I am delighted to be here here today in praise of the recent Graciousness of my neighbors.

They invited my daughter to their condo pool. When the dad called to arrange logistics, he made sure to clear the fact that the girls would be swimming under the watchful eye of the lifeguard, but he and his wife were to be occupied elsewhere and unable to provide additional supervision. I was fine with this; my little fish is eleven and very competent in the water. But that's not the point--the point was that these folks were considerate enough to make sure I was comfortable with the arrangement and they did not assume my permission.

Truth be told, I actually considered going to the pool with the girls. Life guards can be very picturesque.


Then I remembered that the lifeguard at this pool was a tall, suspiciously blond septuagenarian who favors Speedo swimwear. Nothing like a long, thin, shriveled...Eek. Pause for deep, cleansing breath. I stayed home with the Sunday Times crossword instead.

Upping the Grace quotient even further, after the neighbors sent my little swimmer home (across the street) they called to make sure she arrived safely. Isn't that Gracious? No wonder we're friends.


Lest you think that I am only here to report on the scarce and rare encouraging notes on the spread of Graciousness in our world, let me share another nugget from the opposite side of the tea cart....

Contrast the swimming episode with a sleepover that my little one attended two years ago. (The mathematicians among you will conclude that she was nine at the time.) She came home and said, "I LOVE sleeping at Brittany's! Her mom let us walk to the candy store by ourselves, and we were allowed to stay home alone, order Chinese food, and pay-per-view 27 Dresses while the rest of the family went to a neighbor's house for dinner. It was awesome!" Well, Graces, I was speechless. How was I enraged? Let me count the ways:

1. Parents may not assume that the level of freedom they permit is universal. Living in a city, as we do, it is not the norm to send children under the age of 13 roaming the streets alone.
2. Parents may not assume that all parents are comfortable leaving children home alone.


Full disclosure: I probably would have ok'd this if the mom had called ahead and said, "We're going to a neighbor's house for dinner. It's three doors down and the girls don't want to go. Is it alright with you if I let them stay here and watch a movie? They have my cell phone number on speed dial, and they are in shouting distance of us if anything goes wrong." But, of course, she didn't ask.
3. Parents should not allow nine year olds to open the door to strange delivery men, particularly when they are not home.
4. Parents should not presume that other parents permit nine year olds to watch PG-13 movies with suggestive sexual content and adult language.

How about you, Graces? What are your Dos and Don'ts of being in loco parentis?

Grace Gaffe

Lest you think I am only here to report on the bad behavior of others, I am here today to out myself on a lulu of a booboo I committed over the weekend.

As most of you doubtless know, Saturday was Yom Kippur. I say 'doubtless' because even if you are not Jewish, Graces make it our business to be mindful of others' cultures and celebrations, particularly so we can wish them well and respect their traditions. I am married to a NJB (Nice Jewish Boy) so I was well aware of the holiday.

That's the background. Now here's the gaffe.....I texted a friend of mine at about noon on Saturday for the details on her daughter's Sunday afternoon birthday party. Oddly, I did not hear back from her, so about an hour later, I called her. She picked picked up immediately and said: "We're at synagogue. Will call you back after services." Well, Graces, I was mortified. Naturally, I ceased further correspondence. Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement, and though I am not Jewish, I sure felt the need to atone for that major faux pas.

I spoke to her later and issued abject apologies, but she was unbugged--she confessed to watching the Phillies game on her MLB Iphone App when my text and call came through. Of course, she was very nice to share that with me, and it did diminish my embarrassment, but still.....it was pretty bad.


I thought Adam Lambert's reprimand to an audience member on a cell phone was pretty hilarious....


Any of you have any confessions you want to share?

Fitness Friday?

Fall is always a time when I am forced to pay my dues for the three slovenly months of summer. Sadly, happy hours, excessive consumption of ice cream and long stretches of sitting on the beach take their toll on the ol' physique. Running seemed like an efficient way to pare down, so this morning I gave it a shot.

I envisioned myself in this way as I began my run:



After about 11 steps I was dying. My knees hurt. My hips hurt. My lungs were at capacity. And this from a woman whose 5-day-a-week-gym visits include a zumba class, a yoga class, 30 minute stints on various cardio machines, and free weight training. Doesn't this seem incredibly unfair? Rude, even?
Forget Wonder Woman. Within minutes I was feeling more like....
As I had chosen a picturesque riverside path for my maiden voyage, there were quite a few folks there with the same idea. They were all very, very friendly. Each one who passed by (and rest assured, most everyone passed me) said hello. This seemed to me a strong indication that the Etiquette Code was alive and well on that particular trail. They were also considerate in terms of sharing the road. The rule seems to be that the most mobile person yields. I am embarrassed to report that I received the right of way from: a mom pushing a double stroller; a dog walker managing four leashes; an elderly man on a motorized assistive device; and a trio of power walking grannies.

As the grannies passed me, they issued the customary 'good morning'. Ever striving to be a Grace, I attempted to return their friendly greeting. I grunted out a "Guuhhh...." and kept going. They looked a bit worried, and appeared to consider calling for help. I envisioned a cute EMT coming to my aid and considered collapsing right there...



Quickly stopped hallucinating, realized that my luck was more likely to deliver


and I soldiered on.

As a result of my hellish 30 minutes I learned three things:

1. People with curves are not built for running.
2. Fellow exercisers are friendly and polite.
3. I strongly prefer zumba.

Seeking ideas for alternatives to running that will ensure closure on my Citizens Jeans as the temp drops. Please send me suggestions!

When It Comes To Advice, Stay In Your Lane

As The Social Grace, I am called upon frequently to give advice.

What do I serve at a casual dinner that will meet the needs of vegetarians and carnivores? Ravioli.
What do I say to my mother-in-law when she reminds me that my silver needs polishing?
"Thanks for the reminder, sometimes I do forget." Smile sweetly and make a mental note to give her wrinkle cream for her birthday.
What do I wear to a party with absolutely no guidance on dress code?
Black--either flowing pants and a funky top or your fave midway-between- formal-and-casual LBD.

But do you see me offering advice on tax issues? cardiac surgery? automobile repair? Of course not, because Graces know to stay in our lanes, unlike the Italian Prime Minister. I had to laugh when I read the news: Lately plagued by scandals involving prostitutes and prodigious philandering.......Silvio Berlusconi gives dating advice?

Come on, that's like Sarah Palin teaching English.


Or Bill Clinton giving monogamy lessons....


Any other great examples of lane strayers? The Philadelphia Eagles teaching First Aid for head injuries? Lindsey Lohan on, well, anything? Tell me, Graces, what do you think?

Why Are You Staring At My Melons?

There are many ironclad rules in The Etiquette Code. The one I wish to address today is one whose violation over the weekend caused me some embarrassment. Graces Tell--spinach in the teeth, skirt hiking up, zipper down, errant lipstick. We do what we can to prevent humiliation and discomfort in our fellow man. Here's the story:

I was at the supermarket on Sunday morning and happened upon a produce display offering a 'buy-one-get-one-free' deal on fragrant, sweet-smelling cantaloupes. Never one to resist quality fruit or good bargains, I helped myself to several, and carried on with my extensive shopping. After an hour or so in the market, I left and went to the beer distributors. Lest we forget, this was NFL's opening day, so both the market and the beer shop were teeming with game-day provisioners.

I finished my errands, and headed home. My daughter greeted me in the driveway with a horror stricken expression and pointed at my chest. There, on the downward slope of my right boob was a bright orange "buy one get one free" sticker. And of course, the placement precluded me from seeing it easily because it was on the underside, out of my direct sightline. Does this constitute a wardrobe malfunction?



Can you believe that not one person, from the cashier, the deli clerk, the dozens of fellow shoppers, or the guy who got my case of Victory Golden Monkey Tripel Ale off the shelf and into my trunk clued me in that I was walking around looking like a promotional sale on augmentation surgery?

Please tell me, Graces, that if you had been in my vicinity, you would have alerted me of this mortifying adornment!

Here is some further advice on how.......

Things I Learned This Summer

As I bid a fond farewell to my favorite season, I am called to pause and reflect on what I have learned as a result of 12 unstructured, relatively workless weeks. As always, I share this new found knowledge with you, my Fellow Graces:

1. I Abhor Manual Labor.

In a fit of unaccustomed frugality and motivation, my siblings concocted a plan to paint the family's beach house. I mean literally paint the house, not hire picturesque, lean, muscular-in-an-appealing-non-steroid-enhanced-way, suntanned college students. Of course, there is no Gracious way to be the sole sister unwilling to participate, and despite the fact that I don't even paint my own nails, I did wield scrapers, brushes and rollers for the better part of Labor Day weekend. I suppose the timing had a certain aptness, given the onerous toil of the task at hand. The good news is, the house does look much better, the bad news is, we have shown that, in a pinch, we have the capacity for this type of enterprise. I am signing off shortly to book non-refundable tickets to be elsewhere next Labor Day. My contribution to whatever DIY project they hatch next will be a generous gift card to Home Depot and perhaps a delivery of pizza and beer phoned in from afar.

2. Fit Flops Are a Scam.

Yes, they are comfortable. Yes, they are far more supportive and walkable than the flimsy two dollar jobs available at drugstores. I wear my black patent Fit Flops everywhere, despite their relative homeliness. But in terms of toning legs and core? Nil. This marks my third summer in this clunky footwear, and you know how much this city girl walks. My shape has not changed measurably as a result of clomping around in these eyesores despite miles and miles. So, go ahead and wear them for comfort (though not for style). Just don't expect to have legs like Cameron Diaz as a result.



3. Ben Franklin Was Right.

After three days, fish and guests do stink. I learned this the hard way. A visitor brought the fixings for his justifiably famous homemade sushi. Grantly move, for sure. He made an overly generous batch, and, despite my insistence that the stuff was delish but had no shelf life, he was equally insistent that we keep it. There the Grantliness ceased. It appeared that the sushi was his ticket to commandeer the prime spot under the umbrella on the beach each day, claim sole control of the remote each evening to watch pre-season NFL games, despite equally fervent interest from fellow tele-viewers in the Phillies game, the Yankees game, the US Open tennis match, DC Housewives, and a documentary on the polar ice caps, and to lift not a finger to assist in cleaning, cooking or general upkeep of the house. The same cannot be said of his willingness to lift 12 oz cans to his lips. By the end of the second day, I would have eaten the aging maki rolls to expedite his departure.

4. Other People's Kids Are a Minefield

"Johnny ate a candy bar before dinner. Why can't I have one?" "I don't want to go to bed now. My cousins don't have a bedtime ever." "If Susie doesn't have to eat vegetables I won't either." "I hate sunscreen and hats. Aunt Jess never makes her kids wear them." Tempting though it is to say, "That's why Johnny has 17 cavities. Do you like the dentist's drill?" and "That's why your cousins can't sustain the attention sufficient to dress themselves" and "Susie buys her clothes in the 'chubby' section. Do you like her wardrobe?" and "Aunt Jess obviously doesn't care if her children die of melanoma but I do." you don't say those things. You bite your tongue and say, "Different families have different rules" and plan to take a solo vacation next summer.

5. Audiobooks Rock.

I may be one of the few holdouts that has not succumbed to movie screens in my car. As a result, we have become devotees of audiobooks. This summer, through our extensive road trips all over the east coast, We completed Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and The Lightning Thief.

So as the summer ebbs away like so many low tides, I shall embrace fall. The cashmere, the beaujelais nouveau, and much socializing with my Dear Graces, whom I missed sorely during my travels, will ease the transition.

Welcome Back everyone!

Michael Vick vs Mike Sweeney, a Grunt and a Grant

I don't usually delve into the Wide World of Sports, but recent events have forced my hand.

In yesterday's season opener, the Philadelphia Eagles lost to the Green Bay Packers. The Eagles also lost Kevin Kolb, their starting quarterback, to a concussion. The backup QB, Michael Vick, was handed the pigskin.

This is not going to be a diatribe about Vick's stint in Leavenworth, you can take as given my strong disapproval of his canine abuse. Rather, this is a rant about his utter lack of sportsmanship, respect for his injured teammate and petulance in the face of a strong personal performance in yesterday's game....in essence, a flagrant violation of The Etiquette Code.



Impressive, right?


But watch what he said about it.

The thing is, Graces, that he didn't need to mention that had he started the game the Eagles would have won. If you watched the game, that is obvious--whether Andy Reid will take his oversized head out of his holy playbook long enough to realize that remains to be seen. But that's not the point. Vick sounded like a bitter, spoiled malcontent who is sorely in need of a reminder that there is no "I" in Team. Not Nice. Almost makes me miss T.O.

Compare Vick's Gruntly comments to another Michael's, a Grant to be sure....Sweeney, a backup utility Phillie started at first base when a slumping and frustrated Ryan Howard was deemed in need of a day's rest by the incomparable Charlie Manuel. Despite the fact that Sweeney had a spectacular game, he behaved like the utmost Grant in his post-game interview....




Now THAT'S what I call living by The Code.

Know Thyself

There are many ways that we classify ourselves--by nationality, profession, religion, ethnicity, gender, hometown, or political affiliation. We align ourselves with various causes, sort ourselves by our marital status, whether we have kids, our level of education or which professional sports teams we support.

On an otherwise glorious trip to Jackson Hole, WY, I discovered another very important way that humans divide: those that take bus tours and those who would rather pull their own teeth out with rusty pliers. Turns out, I am in the latter faction. Now, I was fairly aware of my status in this realm, but the tour in question, which was a 3 hour jaunt through Grand Tetons National Park, seemed different. For starters, it embarked at the Four Seasons Hotel, and was part of a conference that, until that point had been beyond flawless in terms of logistics, organization, luxury and general well-thought-outedness. This excursion was the exception to the rule. Little did we know, we had embarked on the Highway to Hell.



For starters, we were part of a two bus caravan that involved a large number--80 in all--of seniors and families with young children. The number and composition came as a bit of a shock. Somehow, I expected to be in a small van accompanied by about 8 hale and hardy hikers who would breeze from panoramic vista to panoramic vista with frequent forays on foot to even more scenic perches. I was disabused of this pretty vision immediately. Simply boarding the bus seemed to take days. When we finally departed, 20-odd minutes late, I had a sense of foreboding.

The temperature on the bus was quite warm; the AC seemed to be faltering and only served to blow hot, dry air from its ventilation system. This continued remorselessly throughout the afternoon, invoking the sense, despite the altitude, of a descent to the blazing fires of Hell. This infernal feeling was enhanced by the appalling conversations that surrounded me, many that took place via cell phone (digestive distress, self-declared professional brilliance, children's sleep patterns, traumatic manicure episode).

Our intrepid and knowledgeable guide was a plus; he had seemingly endless information about the park's history and politics at his fingertips, and was extremely conversant in the geology, flora and fauna of the Teton region. Sadly, he did not have sufficient assertiveness to make my fellow excursionists move any faster than the glaciers we were scheduled to view. Before we arrived at our first destination, a mere twenty minutes into the outing, the other bus requested a bathroom break. For reasons that remain a mystery, both buses were required to stop at the one-latrine roadside facility, and naturally, once the bathroom was made available, at least 30 of our lemming like bus riders availed themselves. Need I repeat that there was only one unisex loo, and the stop lasted nearly an hour?

By this time, I was fuming, both literally and figuratively.

We pressed on, and as we passed an old homestead that the guide mentioned in passing as a registered historic site (though not significant in any way, like, say, The Liberty Bell or The White House) and one of our number asked to stop to take a photo. I am not sure what type of genetic or constitutional flaw a person possesses that enables him to inconvenience 79 other people for his caprice and self-centeredness but I had the ill-luck to be seated near one. Naturally, we stopped, and 50-odd people de-barked to snap a picture of an old barn. Twenty minutes later, we resumed motion, now 2 hours into a 3 hour tour and yet to arrive at one of the 2 scheduled stops.

When we finally did reach Jenny Lake, an idyllic and pristine spot, we were given a whopping 15 minutes to explore the area--because the wretched sods who hadn't sense enough to void their bladders before boarding a bus and the shutterbugs who wanted to snap an old barn had eaten up the time allotted there. And when we returned to the bus (self promptly, of course, my cretinous fellow travelers not), we learned that the second scheduled stop at Jackson Lake had been scratched due to time constraints.

I think the fact that you did not read about me in the paper shows remarkable self-control.

So, Graces, Socrates was right. When making travel (or any other type of plans), Know Thyself. If you are someone who enjoys striking up conversations with strangers who share details of their medical histories and family trees, if you don't mind deviating from the itinerary, and will sacrifice a trip to the Eiffel Tower or Sistine Chapel in favor of the souvenir shop, then bus tours may be for you. But as for me, I'll go it alone, or with carefully screened companions.