Tag Archives: humor

December 21, 2015 · 10:27 pm

Tete-a-tete: Even the best-intentioned Christmas traditions can fail to take hold

For every successful holiday tradition, there’s an attempted tradition that never quite made it off the ground. It might be a recipe you hoped would be passed down through the generations but instead remains largely untouched at the holiday dinner table. Or perhaps it’s an ornament you anticipated would become a focal point of the décor but barely makes it out of its box, much less onto the tree.

In my family, our most memorable failed tradition is The Book. And yes, it merits the capitals.

Mom purchased The Book when Oldest Younger Brother was in upper elementary school and I was in high school. It was designed to be read during Advent, the period of time leading up to Christmas. For each day of Advent, there was a reading that corresponded to a Bible passage and a related family participation element, like a reflection question that every member of the family was encouraged to weigh in on. Each day also featured a Christmas carol, complete with music notes and the lyrics for every verse.

To ensure maximum family participation (this was before the arrival of Youngest Brother and Younger Sister), Mom would read from The Book every night after dinner while everyone was still seated at the dining room table. We were forbidden to leave until all aspects of the nightly celebration had been completed.

This wouldn’t have been an issue if the process had taken, say, five to ten minutes. Unfortunately, the combination of the reading, the family participation element and the Christmas carol took about half an hour. At least, that’s what I recall. Mom believes it took less time, and Dad believes it took longer.

To further include the family in our newfound “tradition,” Mom would ask for volunteers to read. I think there may have been some volunteering initially, but after a few nights, she had to start making personal requests because of how long the readings were.

As Oldest Younger Brother recalls it, even though each reading was a single page, the font was very small and the type was densely packed, so that what was crammed on to a single page could easily have fit on two pages or more if properly spaced. (Mom disagrees with that, too. I didn’t bother to ask Dad.) For my part, I remember my mouth starting to cramp up halfway through the reading process. By pre-teen/teenage standards, it was a torturous ordeal.

After the reading was complete and the family had grudgingly participated in the family participation element, Mom would play the Christmas carol on her flute and we would all sing along. It sounds picturesque and Rockwellian when described thus, but Mom had last played the flute in high school. As such, we sang as many verses of each carol as necessary for her performance to be flawless.

And if for some reason we missed a night, Mom would try to add it to the next night, so that we would do two readings, two family participation elements and two carols. I believe that was tolerated once, and then we simply had to forgo any missed nights due to dinner time encroaching upon bedtime.

Though The Book was introduced prior to the births of Youngest Brother and Younger Sister, this attempt at tradition did continue into their infancy/toddlerhood. Like most little ones, sitting quietly at the dinner table for an additional 30 minutes wasn’t a reliable part of their skill set – though they did enjoy listening to the flute – and Dad was only too happy to whisk them away from the table when they started to get antsy.

None of us took issue with the content of The Book – Christmas has always been a very important time of year for my family, especially in terms of the spiritual aspect of the holiday. It was simply the sheer amount of time that this “tradition” required on a nightly basis.

Over the course of several seasons, The Book’s appearances gradually became fewer and farther between until they stopped completely. This was partly due to Youngest Brother and Younger Sister learning how to walk and being less inclined to sit for extended periods of time and partly due to us “forgetting” to take it out of the box when we brought the Christmas items out of storage.

Mom, however, still wanted to have some sort of way for us to mark Advent together as a family. Taking into consideration our attention spans as well as our increasingly busy schedules, she invested in a reusable Advent calendar. It’s a three-dimensional tabletop display featuring a snowman and a Christmas tree. Each day, you select an ornament to plug into one of the holes in the plastic tree. The ornaments then light up and a jolly electronic voice proclaims that there are so many days left until Christmas.

Though it lacks the spiritual and musical elements of The Book, it does still have a family participation element in that we take turns choosing which ornament to plug into the tree. If we happen to miss a day, catching up takes a minute or two rather than another half hour. I would also venture to say that having a less stressful way of marking Advent enables us to focus more fully on the reason we count down the days to Christmas, which is that we are anticipating the birth of Jesus Christ.

Not every holiday tradition sticks. Some fail to become meaningful, others are too time-consuming or complicated to sustain. That, however, makes those traditions that do become a regular and enjoyable part of our celebrations even more significant.

And if you’re looking to try a new tradition this Advent season, I have A Book I’d be happy to give you – I’m sorry, I mean, “lend” you. (Mom is reading over my shoulder again.)

– Teresa Santoski

Originally published Dec. 3, 2015

www.teresasantoski.com

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November 9, 2015 · 3:20 pm

Tete-a-tete: How to enjoy a wedding, even if it’s not your own

Being invited to a wedding is an honor, but attending such an event poses a unique set of challenges. Though there are all kinds of books and other resources available that deal with wedding etiquette and proper protocol, they don’t always include those hard-won insights that have been gleaned from personal experience and will truly assist in preparing you.

With the wedding frenzy that has characterized my summers and autumns for the past few years gradually subsiding into baby showers and birth announcements, I would like to share the wisdom I’ve accumulated throughout my adventures. I hope these tips will be of service whether you’re a rookie attending the first wedding within your group of friends or a seasoned veteran watching the last of your grandchildren walk down the aisle.

  • First and foremost: ladies, evening bags are a lie. Their shallow depths will accommodate – at most – a cell phone, a glasses case and a lipstick. You’re much better off with a larger purse that complements your outfit and fits everything you need to bring with you. Otherwise, you’ll be stuffing your car keys, tissues and contact lens case into the suit coat pockets of your spouse or your most obliging male relative, who then runs the risk of shedding these items all over the floor if he turns around too quickly.
  • Ladies, if you want to stand out at a wedding, refrain from choosing a black or blue dress. Though black has been traditionally frowned upon at weddings, it’s become an increasingly popular choice, as has navy and other deep shades of blue. Brown, gray, dark purple and muted tones of silver, copper and gold all make elegant statements that set you apart from the other guests without taking attention away from the bride.
  • Conversely, if your goal is to blend in and attract as little attention as possible, a black or navy dress will serve you well.
  • A final point regarding women’s attire: wear comfortable shoes. Women sometimes select shoes that look beautiful but are far from functional, with the intention of taking them off as the festivities progress and dancing in their bare feet. Though that may be considered acceptable behavior-wise, consider what unpleasantness might be on the floor due to where other people’s shoes have been. Also, if people are bringing their drinks with them on the dance floor, you could end up slipping in a puddle of spilled beer or, worse, stepping on a piece of broken glass.
  • Bring an easy-to-consume emergency snack, like a granola bar. Chances are you didn’t eat much before the wedding due to travel or the rigors of getting ready. Some weddings may have a cocktail hour with appetizers following the ceremony to take the edge off people’s appetites before the reception. However, there can still be a sizable gap between the cocktail hour and the meal portion of the reception as pictures are taken, the wedding party is introduced and the various traditional dances are danced. If you start to feel lightheaded, find an appropriate moment to excuse yourself to the restroom and eat your snack in secret. Ladies, this is another reason it’s helpful to bring a larger purse – unless your husband’s OK with you absconding to the restroom with his suit jacket.
  • Choose your bar beverage ahead of time. There’s typically no drink menu at the bar, and the busy bartenders likely will not have the time to help you decide on a cocktail. Also, the types of alcohol with which the bar is stocked often depend on what the bride and groom have chosen to pay for, so you may find that your old standby cocktail is unavailable. Unless you’re satisfied with falling back on beer, wine or the perennially popular rum and Coke, do a little research before the wedding and have a couple different cocktails in mind.
  • After you’ve finished your meal and before you sashay out to the dance floor, put your program, your name card and any other paper items you’d like to keep as souvenirs in your purse. Gentlemen, I do not recommend sticking these in your pockets, as they can easily get crushed, creased or torn. Instead, ask your wife or an obliging female relative to stow them in her purse on your behalf. If left on the table unattended, these paper items may be cleared away and disposed of as garbage by overzealous wait staff.
  • As the evening progresses and people get caught up in the festivities, be attentive to the songs that are being played by the band or the DJ. Some people may take the lyrics to some racier songs literally, which could lead to uncomfortable situations on the dance floor. This may be a good time for a bathroom break or to step outside for some fresh air.

Above all, remember to savor the experience and enjoy being part of this special celebration. Each wedding is an opportunity to make lasting memories, and you’ll be more focused on doing so if you take a few of these tips into consideration.

– Teresa Santoski

Originally published Oct. 1, 2015

www.teresasantoski.com

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September 26, 2015 · 6:23 pm

Tete-a-tete: A tale of unintentional cat ownership

“Never again.” It’s a phrase most us have uttered at least once in our lives. Never again will we eat a slice of cake that big, leave a project until the last minute, or put ourselves in a position where our hearts might be broken.

Resolute though we may be, sometimes we don’t have a choice in the matter. We say “never again,” and circumstances dictate otherwise.

For example, when Cleo, our 22-year-old feline, passed away in Dad’s arms last summer, our family decided that we would never again have a cat. Our resolve held until about a month ago, when 17-year-old Youngest Brother went outside to mow the lawn and was greeted by a sweet little kitty.

We live in a typical New Hampshire small town – we’re not exactly rural, but the trees are definitely more numerous than the people. Deer, wild turkeys, foxes and fishers all make regular appearances in our neighborhood, and it’s very rare to see stray domesticated animals. We’re familiar with our neighbors’ dogs and outdoor cats, and we had never encountered this cat before.

Youngest Brother, who had been begging Mom and Dad for one of his friend’s kittens, informed Mom that God obviously wanted him to have a cat – otherwise, why would we have this feline visitor? Mom was intrigued, but maintained a cautious skepticism.

While Youngest Brother and the cat were getting acquainted, Mom went into the garage to retrieve some gardening tools, only to discover that the kitty had been foraging for leftovers in our garbage. We had some canned cat food left over from Cleo, so Mom fixed up a plate for our furry interloper.

After a few days of this, Dad warned us that if we continued feeding the cat, she wouldn’t have a reason to go home to her owners and would continue to hang around our yard. He then looked out at the darkening sky and suggested we put Cleo’s old covered litter box under the picnic table so the kitty would have shelter if it rained.

In spite of the adorably fluffy companionship afforded by Jinx, our family hamster, the lack of a feline presence in our lives was, shall we say, palpable. This became quite apparent the day Dad called me into the living room and told me that Cleo was refusing to get off the piano. He gestured with a grin to the little wooden box containing her ashes, which he had placed on top of said musical instrument.

Yeah. We missed having a cat.

We hunted high and low for the kitty’s owner, checking ads on Craigslist, posting in our town’s Facebook group and calling local police, veterinary offices, and shelters to see if a cat fitting her description had been reported missing. As weeks passed without any leads and several summer rainstorms, we began to realize that, whether by taking her to a shelter or adopting her ourselves, we needed to take responsibility for Schmitty.

Yes, the cat had become known as Schmitty. Mom had suggested we call her Smitten, because we were all smitten with the kitty, and that was soon shortened to Smitty. Oldest Younger Brother came to visit and mischievously reinterpreted “Smitty” as “Schmitty,” and it stuck for the time being.

Schmitty, for her part, expressed her gratitude and her desire to be part of the family by leaving a dead chipmunk next to Mom’s van and trying to get inside the house every time someone opened a door.

Mom and Dad didn’t want Schmitty indoors, however, until the vet had given her a clean bill of health, an endeavor in which I was recruited to participate.

We were prepared for the worst. Cleo was terrible to take to the vet – she would get carsick, lose control of all her bodily functions and growl at every other animal in the waiting room. When her carrier was opened in the exam room, she would perch arthritically on the window ledge and glare angrily at the parking lot.

Schmitty, in contrast, was a cat owner’s dream. She let the vet examine her without any hissing and took all of her vaccinations like a pro. The vet informed us that Schmitty was 7-10 years old (much older than we had thought) and that she had been spayed a long time ago. It was likely that she was a family pet who ended up on her own due to her owners moving, passing away or being unable to care for her.

With that, Schmitty officially became a member of the family. She was initially very confused that she was allowed in the house, to the point where she was anxious about going outside for fear she wouldn’t be let back in, but she’s adjusting more and more each day.

Now that we’ve become better acquainted with her personality, we’ve given her a more appropriate name: Boots. This has nothing to do with the little white socks she has on all four paws; it’s a reference to her penchant for snuggling up to shoes – particularly 16-year-old Younger Sister’s knee-high boots. Youngest Brother has also since observed that she has big, sweet eyes like Puss in Boots from the “Shrek” movies.

Based on the dictionary definition, “never again” is a long time to go without something, be it a loving relationship with another person or larger-than-normal pieces of cake. Realistically, however, “never again” tends to be a much shorter time period than we think, especially when God Himself decides to intervene and send you a cat.

And as I watch Boots play with a catnip mouse that I thought would never again have an owner, I’m quite thankful for that.

– Teresa Santoski

Originally published Sept. 3, 2015

www.teresasantoski.com

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August 25, 2015 · 6:40 pm

Tete-a-tete: Admissions about the college admissions process

In the decade since I earned my undergraduate degree, the entire concept of college has changed dramatically. Aside from the price tag, the biggest shift has been in the expectations that schools have for their prospective students.

I came to this conclusion during an admissions presentation at Oldest Younger Brother’s alma mater, which we were touring because 17-year-old Youngest Brother is also interested in attending. Required ranges for SAT scores and GPAs flashed across the screen as the admissions representative stressed the importance of taking classes in high school that would prepare you for your chosen major in college, in addition to taking as many AP classes as possible.

As our family was exiting the presentation room and joining our group for the campus tour, I asked Oldest Younger Brother if he thought he’d still be able to get into his school today. He hesitated and then replied, “Probably not at the same the level.” He had been in the honors program, a distinction awarded to the top 10 percent of applicants.

I was somewhat less confident of what my results would be if I reapplied to my alma mater. I was certainly no slouch as a student – I graduated from high school as third in my class – but my college was extremely competitive academically, and I can only imagine how that’s escalated over the last ten years.

Our tour guide did little to boost my confidence. He chatted cheerfully about his major, his minor, his internships, and the various student activities and off-campus volunteer organizations in which he participates. Though I admire his dedication, I simply cannot fathom how an already busy student has time to be involved with Big Brothers Big Sisters. It was challenging enough for me to stay in touch with my own siblings.

Mom reminded me that campus tour guides are typically exemplary individuals, as this presents a more impressive image of the college to prospective students, but I still believe that college applicants today are expected to be more ambitious and accomplished than those of yesteryear. In addition to higher expectations for grades, test scores, class load, and extracurricular activities, there’s a greater emphasis on community service and experiences abroad.

Even typically even-keeled Youngest Brother was momentarily overwhelmed as the realities of the admission requirements hit him. “Why didn’t you guys tell me this stuff sooner?” he asked as we traipsed about the campus.

Mom and Dad gently reminded him that they had been telling him these things since at least eighth grade. It’s just that the extra GPA points you earn from taking a weighted class, for example, don’t seem that important until you realize they may be the difference between studying in the state-of-the-art engineering lab in which you are now standing and being waitlisted.

And with so many high-achieving, community-minded global citizens competing for admission, it’s harder – and more important – than ever to set yourself apart from the other applicants. When everyone has the same GPA and SAT scores and a glowing list of extracurricular achievements, your admissions essay is what can make you stand out.

I firmly believe that I got into college on the strength of my personality and sense of humor, as expressed through my admissions essay. The prompt directed me to write about difficult circumstances in my life and how I had overcome them, a classic that likely shows up on applications today.

Everyone goes through difficult circumstances in their life, whether it’s the illness of a family member, growing up in poverty, or experiencing racism. I figured the admissions staff would be reading numerous essays on such topics and grappling with the challenges of measuring one person’s difficulties against another’s, so I decided to take a different approach and interpret “difficult circumstances” a bit more loosely.

My essay focused on the differences in international bathrooms and the difficulties in adjusting to these differences as a traveler. I had been fortunate to participate in several international excursions during high school, so I had plenty of material from which to draw, such as having to remember, in spite of my jet-lag-induced brain fog, that the toilet in my Athens hotel room did not have an actual seat.

This led to an admissions interview, which quickly turned into swapping stories about cooking disasters with the admissions representative and us laughing so much that we lost track of time. A few weeks later, I received my acceptance letter.

To clarify, personality and a sense of humor did not take the place of the admissions requirements – I did have the academic and extracurricular background to be considered in the first place. These qualities and the way I expressed them, however, are what set me apart from a sea of similarly accomplished applicants.

If you or your child or your grandchild happens to be stressing over GPA points, AP class availability, and leadership roles in school activities or community organizations, allow me to share with you the same advice I gave to Youngest Brother: do the best you can in these areas and take the time to write an admissions essay that expresses who you are as a person, not just as a list of accomplishments or your life circumstances.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed about colleges over the last decade. Even though they’re looking for people of a certain caliber, they’re still looking for people. Show them what a desirable candidate you are as a person, and you’re one step closer to admission.

– Teresa Santoski

Originally published Aug. 6, 2015

www.teresasantoski.com

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July 23, 2015 · 7:27 pm

Tete-a-tete: Avoiding car-tastrophe while purchasing a new vehicle

Shopping for a car is a hassle, especially if you hadn’t anticipated being in the market for a new vehicle just yet. One minute you’re waiting for a family member to get home from work or anticipating the results of your annual inspection, the next you’re scanning the classifieds and wondering how much money you might be able to find in the couch cushions.

I found myself in this situation a few months ago after my car succumbed to the cruel winter, failing inspection due to a rotted frame from excessive contact with road salt. Thankfully, Mom and Dad were already in car-shopping mode, having just purchased a used Honda Accord for 16-year-old Younger Sister and 17-year-old Youngest Brother to share, and they were more than happy to help me search.

Mom and Dad have a great deal of experience in helping me find cars. In the 11 years I’ve had my license, I am now on my sixth vehicle.

My luck with cars is, shall we say, legendary, to the point that our mechanic (who has worked on our family cars for 20 years) told me I should write a book about my experiences. Over the years, my cars have been hotwired and stolen (Car #1), wrecked by an inconsiderate fellow driver (Car #2) and have overheated and melted down at inconvenient times (Car #3 and Car #4).

The fact that the Car #1 incident happened within a week of getting my license and Car #2’s demise occurred three months later (and right before Christmas) has simply reinforced my belief that I am one of nature’s passengers. Regrettably, this is not a valid option when you live in a small town in New Hampshire.

Since some cars have been in my possession barely long enough for an oil change, you can understand why I prefer not to invest a substantial amount of money in their purchase. This further narrows my options when looking for a new vehicle.

Fortunately for me, Mom and Dad are the perfect car-shopping team, with each parent bringing their own unique skill set to the vehicle acquisition process. Dad has an uncanny ability to find reliable, reasonably-priced cars in the classifieds, online, and for sale by the side of the road. He puts together a list for Mom, who accompanies me to check them out.

Mom used to race BMWs and Porsches back in the day and was heavily involved with the classic car community. She knows all the right questions to ask and all the tricks to look for. Over the years, I’m sure many a car seller has taken in Mom’s polite demeanor and stylish taste in hats and thought she would be an easy sell, only to be shocked as she picks the car to pieces in front of them and haggles them down to a fair price.

This time around, it seemed like our quest might be over almost before it began. Dad spotted an early 2000s Honda Accord that met all of my exacting requirements – reliable engine, working heat and air conditioning, good sound system, cup holders – and had a reasonable price tag to boot. Mom contacted the seller right away, only to be told that someone else had already made an offer and the car was no longer on the market.

After another week of following up on Dad’s leads, we happened upon another, slightly older Honda Accord that met most of my requirements, including the all-important one of reliability. Unfortunately, we literally got hosed on this deal.

The night before we were scheduled to take the car to our mechanic for a pre-purchase assessment, the gentleman selling the car decided to clean it up for us. His daughter, who actually owned the car, assisted him in the process – by washing the engine with a garden hose while the car was running.

We held out hope that the vehicle was still viable, but given that it would no longer start and there were puddles under the hood, we had no choice but to rescind our offer and go back to square one.

I was dejectedly debating purchasing the only other car we had found in my price range – a sedan made out of two Fords of the same make and model that we had been referring to as the “Frankencar” – when Dad reported that the Honda Accord we had initially hoped to buy was back in the seller’s driveway with “For Sale” signs on it.

It was late at night, but Mom immediately texted the seller to let him know we were interested. It turned out that the initial offer had fallen through and we were welcome to check out the car as early as the next morning. We wasted no time. By the end of the week, I was the proud and somewhat bewildered owner of Car #6.

Car shopping is indeed a rigorous process – especially when you have to go through it against your will every few years – but it goes more smoothly when you have people to help you. Their emotional support is likewise invaluable in weathering those unexpected bumps along the way, such as the news that your car ownership curse has suddenly become proactive and drowned the vehicle you were hoping to purchase.

I am determined to prolong my possession of Car #6 for as long as possible and am carefully monitoring it for any mechanical hiccups, but, as any driver knows, I only have so much control over the fate of my car. Maybe I should start keeping an eye out for Car #7, just in case.

– Teresa Santoski

Originally published July 2, 2015

www.teresasantoski.com

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June 7, 2015 · 11:00 pm

Tete-a-tete: As American as apple pie: U.S. culture, through other eyes

It’s quite an intriguing experience to see your own culture through the eyes of another culture, and I believe this is especially true for those of us who are from the United States. I’m not referring to encountering stereotypes while traveling abroad about how Americans look or behave but rather to coming across a physical representation of American culture created by people who are not part of that culture.

I had such an adventure while vacationing at a resort in the Dominican Republic with Mom and 16-year-old Younger Sister, who insisted on going someplace where there were palm trees. One of the draws of this particular resort was that many of its restaurants were centered around different types of cuisine: Italian, French, Dominican, Mexican, Mediterranean, Thai, and … American?

Our curiosity was piqued. Since the United States is a very diverse country ethnically and geographically, it was difficult for me to envision dishes ubiquitous enough to characterize the cuisine of our entire nation. I tend to think in terms of regional specialties – clam chowder in New England, beef dishes in the Midwest, collard greens and cornbread in the South. You also have the myriad ethnic cuisines that have become part of America’s food culture.

With so many factors at play, how can any one restaurant (and any reasonably-sized kitchen staff, for that matter) encapsulate American cuisine? Such a feat is nigh well impossible.

It turns out, however, that there are enough distinctly American restaurant traits – as well as distinctly American foods – that you can indeed create an “American” restaurant.

The first thing we noticed upon walking into the “American Grill” was the booths. All of the resort’s other restaurants and various buffets and snack bars only had tables and chairs. The waiters elsewhere in the resort wore polo shirts or white dress shirts with ties, but here, they had short-sleeved, cowboy-style plaid shirts and plaid baseball caps.

We couldn’t help laughing. We’re so accustomed to restaurants with booths and waiters with snazzy uniforms that it never occurred to us to think of these as “American” traits. Seeing them in the context of a theme restaurant in a foreign country, however, we had to admit they’d hit the nail on the head.

Instead of placing a roll on each individual bread plate like in the other restaurants, our waiter brought over a loaf of bread in a basket and set it in the middle of our table – yet another common aspect of chain restaurants in the United States, but one that we hadn’t considered as such until we experienced it in this context.

“Can we ask for more bread?” Younger Sister inquired while buttering up a slice. “Because that’s American, too.”

We gave it a try, and to our delight, the waiter obliged. Excited by the joy of discovery, we put our bread consumption on hold to visit the “salad bar” and see what obvious yet surprising foods it might hold.

It turned out to be quite the assortment – onion rings, loaded potato wedges, tomato soup, Caesar salad, bleu cheese dressing, chicken wings, chicken nuggets and chicken noodle soup, just to name a few. I hadn’t realized that we Americans have such a taste for chicken. Entrees on the menu included chicken fingers (of course), baby-back ribs with a Hawaiian marinade, and a hamburger that quite literally turned out to be the size of my face.

I had previously been aware that large portion sizes are considered an American thing, but I had never seen it interpreted quite this way. In the United States, restaurants tend to increase a hamburger’s size by building up. They stack on additional patties, toppings, even layers of bread. This was the first time I had encountered a hamburger made bigger by dramatically increasing the circumference of the bun and the patty. I almost needed a third hand to lift it.

True to its American style, the restaurant had bottles of ketchup and A1 steak sauce out on the tables, which we hadn’t seen anywhere else at the resort. Our table was sadly ketchup-less, so we did the American thing and borrowed a bottle from a nearby empty table.

The dessert menu was another treasure trove of obvious surprises. There was apple pie (naturally), strawberry cheesecake and a brownie a la mode, among other offerings. There were some subtle differences in flavor and presentation between these versions and what you’d expect at a restaurant in the United States, but they were certainly tasty and recognizable.

And last, but definitely not least, one of our fellow diners happened to be celebrating their birthday. All the available waiters and kitchen staff came out with musical instruments and sang “Happy Birthday to You” in English and Spanish. They were very enthusiastic about performing (we could hear them practicing in the kitchen), and the song continued for a good ten minutes, with everyone else in the restaurant clapping and singing along. I can say with certainty that we did not encounter this in any of the other restaurants.

The concept of culture in the United States is a fascinating one. Just as many cultures from all over the world have contributed their influences and ingenuity to American cuisine, various aspects of the United States’ non-food culture – like blue jeans and baseball – have become integral parts of other cultures. Due to this combination of assimilation and dissemination, it’s difficult to point to any one cultural element as solely and distinctively “American.” At least, that’s the way it looks to me as someone who was born and raised in this culture.

To those who were not, however, the distinctions are clear and involve comfortable restaurant seating, bottomless bread baskets, a salad bar, burgers and chicken and the birthday song. Those are distinctions I can certainly embrace.

– Teresa Santoski

Originally published June 4, 2015

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May 26, 2015 · 1:31 pm

Tete-a-tete: The geek gene runs strong in our family

Teenagers say the most mind-boggling things sometimes. Younger Sister, who is now 16, and Youngest Brother, now 17, often amaze me with their tendency to view themselves outside of the family context. They seem to take it for granted that their interests are unique unto them and have no precedence whatsoever within our family.

For example, when we were visiting our grandfather a few weeks ago, I took Youngest Brother to a comic book and gaming store I found tucked away in the downtown. Youngest Brother and his friends are big into Magic: The Gathering, a strategic fantasy game played using special cards, and I saw that the store mostly sold cards and decks for this game.

Youngest Brother spent a happy half-hour or so going through cards in the dark and dusty store and chatting with the owner. As we left, he thanked me for bringing it to his attention.

“I appreciate you coming with me,” he said, “especially since I know it’s not really your kind of place.”

Dear, sweet Youngest Brother. Where do you think you get your affinity for geeky pastimes?

Oldest Younger Brother and I developed a love for comic books – and a tendency to embrace what were once likewise considered geeky activities, like video games and anime (Japanese animation) – at very tender ages. This is due in no small part to the fact that comic books were a huge part of Dad’s own childhood.

Dad grew up in a coal mining town in Pennsylvania where the rats in some of the abandoned mines were getting a little out of control. To encourage the residents to remedy this issue, a five-cent bounty was offered for every rat tail brought down to City Hall. Dad and his friends would shoot the rats with their BB guns, bring the tails to City Hall to collect the bounty and then spend that money on comic books and candy.

Thanks to Dad’s crack shooting skills, Oldest Younger Brother and I grew up reading a lot of these comics. Amongst the expected superhero comics were titles that really appealed to me, like Richie Rich, Archie, and old “Mad” comic books and magazines. Since most of these comics were from the 1960s and ‘70s, Oldest Younger Brother and I were the only kids in our elementary school who knew what a “happening” was.

Both of us eventually expanded into our own areas of interest. Oldest Younger Brother voraciously read the various X-Men and Disney series (all of which I regularly borrowed), and I loaded up on “Animaniacs” (based on the cartoon show of the same name) and New Kids on the Block. That’s right – the popular boy band from the 1980s and ‘90s had its own comic book series, and it was awesome.

I also discovered the newly reissued EC Comics, including “Tales from the Crypt,” “The Haunt of Fear,” “The Vault of Horror” and “Weird Science.” Episodes of “The Twilight Zone” were just being released on videotape at that time, and I loved how the stories in the different series under EC Comics embraced that same ironic and thought-provoking reversal of audience expectations.

As you may imagine, Dad, Oldest Younger Brother and I are all quite comfortable in comic and gaming stores, even the dustiest and most dimly-lit ones. Over the years, I’ve spent many happy hours in these flea market-esque environments, combing boxes and bins for issues I didn’t have, pondering the purchase of collectible figurines and admiring the artwork and sparkly dice that accompanied the various card and tabletop games.

Unlike Youngest Brother, I’ve never developed a long-term interest in gaming. I played video games growing up – I still think that the Moon Theme from the “DuckTales” game for Nintendo is one of the greatest songs ever written – as well as computer games like “Myst” and “The 7th Guest,” but my enthusiasm for comics and, eventually, manga (Japanese comics) and anime proved stronger. That may explain why Youngest Brother’s interest in video, computer and card gaming is so strong: he ended up with my share.

Sometimes you do things for a family member because you love them, like taking your daughter shopping for a prom dress when you have no idea what the difference is between a drop waist and an empire waist or going to a football game with your brother when your favorite thing about the sport is being able to stand up and yell for a bag of peanuts.

Other times, you do things with a family member because you both enjoy doing them. I was pleased as punch to dig through the back issues while Youngest Brother hunted for cards for his Commander deck.

So teenagers, before you start believing you’re all alone in your interests, talk to your family – there’s a good chance you inherited those interests from someone. Then you can bond over shared excursions, information and experiences. They might even help you find some cool stuff you didn’t even know existed, like a small comic book and gaming store in a corner of the downtown.

– Teresa Santoski

Originally published May 7, 2015

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April 10, 2015 · 12:21 pm

Tete-a-tete: Parents, do not give your child the name equivalent of the April birthstone

Over the past year, an unprecedented number of my friends and relatives have either become pregnant or given birth, inundating my Facebook timeline and my postal mailbox with birth announcements, sonogram images, and baby pictures. The parenting advice is likewise flying fast and furious.

Since I don’t have children of my own, I have little to say regarding sleep schedules or swaddling techniques, but there is one piece of advice I feel very qualified to give. It is as follows: Parents, please do not give your child the name equivalent of the April birthstone.

As an April baby myself, I’ve lived my entire life with the disappointment of having the diamond as my birthstone. In theory, it’s an enviable gem to have associated with your birth month. Diamonds are beautiful, valuable and, as the traditional choice for engagement rings, a symbol of eternal love.

In reality, however, it doesn’t play out so well. When I was in elementary school, birthstone jewelry was popular amongst my circle of friends. The gems were artificial, of course, but they were sparkly and colorful, which are the most important things to little girls.

My friend with a May birthday had a ring with a green sparkle representing her emerald birthstone. My friend who had a February birthday had a necklace with a purple sparkle to reflect her amethyst birthstone.

I, on the other hand, didn’t bother buying any birthstone jewelry because it wasn’t worth it. All April got was a clear piece of glass. It didn’t even sparkle. I considered buying the January birthstone jewelry because the fake garnet was such a beautiful shade of deep red, but I felt it would be dishonest.

Now that I’m an adult who can ostensibly afford the real version of my birthstone, I face different conundrums. Cubic zirconia has become such a common and convincing substitute for diamond that most people can’t tell if the diamond you’re wearing is real or not – and they’ll generally assume it’s not. Why pay for a real diamond when no one will recognize it as such?

Also, there is no way I can wear a birthstone ring – real or otherwise – without people congratulating me and asking me when the wedding is. Really, given all the challenges diamonds pose, April might as well not have a birthstone at all.

Parents don’t have much control over their child’s birthstone, but they do have control over something far more important: their child’s name. Names are an essential part of daily life and therefore much harder to overlook than birthstones. Potential parents, I encourage you to consider every aspect of your child’s name before you finalize it lest it become a source of disappointment to them instead of the joyful indicator of identity it should be.

Here are a few ways to avoid making a name the equivalent of an April birthstone:

  • Make sure the first name matches well with the last name. Justin, for example, is a great name for a boy, but you may want to rethink it if his last name is Case.
  • Abstain from unusual spellings of traditional names. You may think “Mayri” is a lovely alternative to Mary, and your daughter may one day agree. In the meantime, however, you’ll be consoling her because her friends all bought those personalized keychains at the dollar store for their backpacks and she can never find anything with her name on it. This is to say nothing of the challenges she’ll have in explaining the correct spelling and pronunciation of her name to teachers, doctors, and the world at large.
  • Think about how the name might be received in a professional environment. Honey might be a sweet name for a little girl, but it may create some awkward situations for your daughter when she enters the business world. If you absolutely want to give your child a cute first name, consider giving them a more traditional middle name that they can use professionally if they desire.
  • Consider associations with popular characters or public figures. Any boy named Troy is liable to be serenaded with songs from the “High School Musical” movies at some point, and every Kevin will be asked to make the “Home Alone” face at least once in his life.

These guidelines aren’t intended to discourage parents from giving their child a name that has a complicated spelling or comes with associated cultural baggage. They’re simply an encouragement to think about potential names from a variety of angles and the impact your child’s name might have on their life and their relationships with others.

The most important characteristic of a name is that it should be meaningful, perhaps because it’s a family name that’s been passed down through the generations or it’s a name that represents your child’s ethnic heritage or perhaps because of what the name means in and of itself. The significance of the name to your child should outweigh any complications he or she has to deal with as a result of having it.

I wouldn’t trade the name Teresa for anything, in spite of constantly having to tell people (even my relatives) that there’s no H in my name and having been referred to as “Mother Teresa” by some of my Sunday School classmates. To me, my name is worth these minor frustrations.

My birthstone, on the other hand, is not. If anyone with a January birthday would like to see about swapping birthstones, let me know. I still think garnets are quite lovely.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published April 2, 2015.

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March 9, 2015 · 8:04 pm

Tete-a-tete: Memento or clutter? Don’t leave that decision to the historians

Due to the massive amount of snow that has fallen and the accompanying freezing temperatures, the time I’ve spent outdoors this winter has been, shall we say, limited. Rather than catching up on movies or taking up a new hobby (like learning how to knit an enormous blanket), I’m investing this unprecedented amount of “indoor time” in a full-scale cleaning and reorganization of my living space.

Little did I realize I was embarking on a journey into some of life’s deepest questions. What things do I really need and use? What should I give away? What should I keep? And how do I make such momentous decisions? I don’t want future generations to curse me for deciding that my elementary school art projects qualify as family heirlooms.

Granted, not all decisions are equally momentous. Choosing to chuck the brood of pantyhose and knee-highs that has been nesting in my sock drawer undisturbed for the past five years was pretty much a no-brainer, as was recycling the user manuals for electronics I no longer own.

After all the no-brainer items were taken care of, I found myself dealing with increasingly rigorous levels of contemplation and soul-searching. First was the re-evaluation of my personal interests. It takes a lot to admit that there are certain books, movies, and CDs you’ve accumulated over the years that you’re just not going to read, watch, or listen to. Though it was somewhat distressing to acknowledge that I’ll likely never read Dante’s “The Divine Comedy,” the fact that I can now fit my thesaurus on my bookshelf instead of stowing it under the bed is helping to ease the pain.

The next level of contemplation was the reconsideration of social protocol. If someone I once knew took the time to send me a thoughtful note ten years ago, does that mean I’m obligated to hold on to it forever? I have concluded that it’s just as emotionally fulfilling (and more space-savvy) to harbor gratitude and appreciation in my heart as to save the note in a box.

The final – and most difficult – level of contemplation was the consideration of posterity. What items that I’ve been entrusted with from the past are actually worth preserving? What items from my own past are worth preserving for future generations?

Thankfully, there are a few no-brainers in this category, such as the Slovak prayer book Grandma received for her First Communion. To the best of my knowledge, no one in my family speaks Slovak anymore, but the prayer book represents an important part of our heritage.

But what about the costume jewelry that once belonged to another female relative? It’s very dated (from the 1990s), and it’s the kind of jewelry that you would get at a “buy-two-get-one-free” sale at a department store. I know this for a fact, because many times I had the delightful childhood privilege of choosing the free item for myself.

Pending a hardcore ‘90s revival, this jewelry will likely never be worn again. I still have the memories associated with the jewelry and this relative, but what about future generations? Anything they know about her will be secondhand, acquired through the retellings of others. Might they want a possession of hers, tacky though it may be?

Among my own possessions, there are the miniature terra cotta warriors I picked up on my trip to China. They represent the culmination of my bargaining skills (I got the vendor down to U.S. $5) but that’s the extent of the memories associated with them. There are other souvenirs from that adventure that are more meaningful to me, but what will be the perspective of future generations?

This isn’t to say that I’m letting the potential opinions of a generation that hasn’t even been born yet dictate what I keep and what I give away. I’m keeping my terra cotta warriors simply because I like them. Plus, they add a bit of gravitas to the décor. This does, however, make me more careful in my decisions – especially in regards to things that I’ve inherited – and remind me that what I consider important might not be important to someone else and vice versa.

I don’t have infallible answers to the great cosmic questions of de-cluttering, but I have happened upon a few helpful guidelines. First, never underestimate the amount of space taken up by paper. You’ll never miss those outdated user manuals or faded receipts, and you’ll welcome the amount of space that will be freed up in your desk or closet.

Second, it’s amazing what we save simply because it never occurs to us that we no longer use it or we’d rather not admit that we’ll never get around to using it. Set your own personal versions of pantyhose and Dante’s “Divine Comedy” free and watch your spirits soar.

And lastly, give yourself some leeway when it comes to items you’ve inherited. Ask other family members if they want an item before you give it away, and if you’re not completely comfortable with letting something go, keep it. Set it aside for future generations – they might thank you for it.

Or, they might just complain about how much stuff they have to go through because their forbears saved everything. Really, it could go either way.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published March 5, 2015.

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February 6, 2015 · 12:00 am

Tete-a-tete: How Mom and Dad saved Christmas (and a hamster)

Teresa’s note: I realize this topic is a bit unseasonal, but sometimes strange things happen to my family and I simply can’t wait 12 months to share them. Thank you for bearing with me, and please enjoy.

Everyone is called upon to save Christmas at least once in their lives. Sometimes this entails snagging the impossible-to-find toy of the season, salvaging a burnt turkey, or squeezing in a trip home to visit relatives you haven’t seen in years.

And sometimes, it involves performing CPR on a hamster.

This Christmas was our first without Cleo, our beloved family feline who, as I mentioned in a previous column, passed away over the summer at the ripe old age of 22. It was also our first Christmas with Jinx, the hamster 15-year-old Younger Sister convinced Mom and Dad to acquire to help ease our heartbreak. I’m sure Cleo would be less than amused to know that our current pet is, from her perspective, an appetizer, but I digress.

As a Christmas gift, Jinx received a large seed treat molded into the shape of a bell. She nibbled on it for a moment and then lost interest, so Younger Sister put her into her hamster ball to get some exercise. The majority of the family gathered around the kitchen table for a card game while Jinx scooted around the first floor, occasionally bumping into feet and furniture.

It was late and the card game was running long, so Younger Sister (who claimed fatigue but was also bringing up the rear in terms of points) decided to drop out and play with Jinx in the family room. She took the hamster out of her ball and reclined on the couch.

A few minutes later, we heard a terrified scream: “Mom! She’s not breathing!”

Mom bolted up from the kitchen table and Dad pelted down the stairs, converging on a sobbing Younger Sister and an unresponsive ham-ham. The rest of us remained around the kitchen table, frozen in near silence.

None of us wanted to verbalize the thought that was on all of our minds: If Younger Sister’s hamster – the “replacement pet” for our dearly departed feline – dies today, this will officially be our Worst Christmas Ever and Younger Sister is going to need counseling.

In true wifely fashion, Sister-in-law turned to Oldest Younger Brother and asked him if there was anything he could do. Oldest Younger Brother, who works in computer software, did the only thing he could under the circumstances and Googled instructions for how to revive a hamster. I simply sat and prayed that we wouldn’t be taking yet another family pet to the animal crematorium.

Joyful sobs suddenly erupted from the family room, and we all realized that we, too, had stopped breathing. Mom hurried in to the kitchen to share the details of the successful resuscitative efforts.

Mom had gently taken Jinx from Younger Sister and was cupping the insensible hamster in her hands when Dad, who we had thought was upstairs resting, raced into the family room and started barking orders at Mom like an army drill sergeant walking a new recruit through rodent resuscitation.

As though he had been in this odd situation numerous times before, Dad confidently instructed Mom to press on Jinx’s chest with her fingers and blow in the hamster’s face in a scaled-down version of CPR. Mom did so, adding a mini Heimlich maneuver by allowing Jinx to dangle slightly in case anything was stuck. Suddenly, Jinx started breathing again and, after a moment, impatiently indicated her desire to get back in her ball.

Upon entering the ball, Jinx ran a short distance and then stopped. Mom, Dad, and Younger Sister had exchanged a terrified look, thinking the CPR had been unsuccessful after all, and then realized that Jinx had paused to vengefully devour the rogue seed from her Christmas gift that had been dislodged during the resuscitative process.

How lovely. So had Jinx expired, it would have been because she choked to death on her Christmas present. What a wonderful holiday memory Younger Sister would have had to share with her own children – and a therapist.

The seed bell went into the garbage to avoid any future near-death experiences, and Jinx continued to roam around her ball, enjoying her second chance at life. We returned to our card game, shaken and emotionally drained but exceedingly grateful for our Christmas miracle.

Saving Christmas is not about creating a holiday celebration that puts Norman Rockwell to shame, with picture-perfect food, gifts, and family interactions. It’s about going the extra mile to show our family and friends how much we love them, just as God showed how much He loves us by giving us the gift of His Son, Jesus.

Sometimes love is driving to a dozen different toy stores to find the only gift your child asked for for Christmas. Sometimes it’s scraping the burnt skin off a turkey and eating it with lots of gravy to show appreciation for the first-time cook who prepared the holiday meal. Sometimes it’s putting up with the stress of taking time off work and traveling just to see your relatives smile.

And sometimes, love is putting your heads together and doing everything you can to save a small, furry life. Love does what needs to be done, no matter how hopeless – or ludicrous – the situation may seem.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published Feb. 5, 2015.

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