Category Archives: South Coasting

Praising the pusher

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Dr. John Bonica

Dr. John Bonica

Epidural.

During your childbearing years, no four syllables have more power to start arguments than that one, simple word.

They are designed to take away pain, but epidurals also bring on rationalizing, pontificating, preaching, complacency, guilt, self-righteousness, ambivalence, and flat out fear. That syringe is full of much more than simple anesthetic. For many women, it’s a shot of undiluted shame, a guilt-ridden admission that they couldn’t take the pain.

I say so what. Pain is NOT everybody’s friend, and that’s where this wonderful invention comes in. I say we simply celebrate the wonderful man who invented the epidural.

How fitting it is that as Valentine’s Day approaches, we can salute the birthday of the dearly departed Dr. John Bonica, the man who pioneered this wonderful invention for his wife, Emma, who nearly died giving birth to their first daughter.

Forget the diamond- and ruby-studded push presents that are all the rage in certain circles. Can you imagine a more romantic gift than a husband who hands you a large needle full of medicine that will take all the pain away?

Oh baby. I swoon just thinking about it.

Now don’t get me wrong. I know all about the advantages of natural childbirth. After reading a million books on the subject of birth and the importance of having a “birth plan” -not realizing then that my time would have been MUCH better spent reading about parenting-I was planning on going drug free. I really was.

For one thing, needles always give me the heebie jeebies. I have to close my eyes just to get my blood tested, otherwise I worry I might faint from the wooziness.

Plus, I had been through a few surgeries and medical complications at that point, and had always been told I had a high threshold for pain.

I figured natural childbirth would be a snap.

Okay, maybe I’d need to squeeze that tennis ball extra hard and grunt a few times, but how hard could it be?

I was begging for drugs before I even had the hospital gown on.

My fear of needles was absolutely nothing compared to the blazing pain in my back when the contractions started. I would have gladly shot a thousand needles into my body-with my eyes wide open-to make the pain stop.

When the anesthesiologist finally came to give me my epidural, he was handsomer than George Clooney and Brad Pitt combined. And let me tell you, no offense to my husband, but that epidural was better than the sex that got me pregnant in the first place. And because I finally stopped squeezing his hand from the pain, he agreed.

Nothing makes you value human life more than giving birth to a 15-pound baby with a 21-inch-wide head-unless of course it’s trying to do it without an epidural.

Thank you Dr. Bonica.

It’s been a lot of years since Leslie’s epidural, but she still remembers it fondly. Share your labor pains with email . Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on February 6, 2009.For more columns visit LeslieDinaberg.com.

Kitchen bitchin

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stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

Now that we’ve moved to a somewhat bigger house-with cupboards for pots and pans, counter space for ingredients, and a garbage disposal and dishwasher to assist with clean up-I’m running out of excuses not to cook.

Back at the old shack, I used to pretend we were camping, which made the spiders and the dirt more palatable, and my family’s regular diet of takeout burritos and Costco chicken almost justifiable. After all, we were roughing it.

But now that I’ve rescued 300 wedding guests worth of kitchen appliances, cookware, and gadgets from storage, and miraculously found homes for them in our new place, I can no longer plead “unsuitable conditions for food preparation” as a reason not to cook.

I need a new excuse.

See, I’ve got a theory: the cooking gene skips a generation. My mom is an awesome cook. If you ask my son, even her toast is more “dee-licious” than mine. Therefore I was destined to suck in the kitchen.

It’s my Grandma Sylvia’s fault. She was such a bad cook that, according to family legend, she would regularly throw away entire dinners she had ready on the table when my Grandpa came home from work, took one look at the meal, and suggested they go out to eat.

So my mom developed her culinary gifts, at least in part, as a defense against her own mother’s scorched casseroles and burnt briskets. And I never learned to do much in the kitchen because my mom had it under control, and then some.

I am hoping that my kitchen incompetence will give Koss an epicurean incentive. Something good has got to come out of my gastronomic ineptitude-other than a goldmine’s worth of business for Giovanni’s Pizza, that is.

I guess it’s a good sign that Koss is obsessed with the Food Network shows, although most of his favorites seem to involve dangerously fast chopping, strange facts about food, and lighting pyrotechnic cakes on fire, rather than learning any recipes that could be created in our kitchen.

My old kitchen endured a few pyrotechnics-and I don’t mean campfires-but the Food Network will not be filming anything here, unless it’s a comedy.

Despite the scorch marks on my ceiling, I just can’t get all that fired up about cooking. I’ve always been this way. My husband isn’t much help either. He’s fine on the barbecue, as long as there’s only one thing to cook at a time. But it took him six years to master baked potatoes.

Even in our early married days, when we had a nice, big, well-stocked kitchen, and a lot more time on our hands, the most useful “recipe card” we had was the phone numbers of all the local takeout places.

On the plus side, my husband knows I cook like Stevie Wonder. One of my best recipes is to make something awful, have him make even the slightest negative remark-“is this supposed to be the color of veins?”-burst into tears, and voila! No cooking for at least a month.

I wonder if I could send in that strategy to respond to the email I just got titled, “Yippee, another chain recipe swap?”

Yippee indeed.

Not only am I now equipped with pots, pans, and casserole dishes in the new place, but when my neighbor came over to introduce herself, she offered: “You’ll love this neighborhood. We do a potluck every week during Monday Night Football season.”

Oh boy, another cooking opportunity.

I’ll bring the cocktails.

When Leslie’s not slaving away in the kitchen, she can be reached at email . Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 30, 2009.

Can we talk about texting

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sippakorn, freedigitalphotos.net

sippakorn, freedigitalphotos.net

I’m as addicted to my iPhone as the next gal, but when history is happening, I turn off the phone and pay attention.

A group of us gathered at a friend’s store to watch Barack Obama’s Inauguration this week. It was festive, it was fun, it was emotional and it was the experience of a lifetime.

I was proud to be an American-and I was horrified to witness one of the other party guests texting his way through the ceremony. This was an incredible moment in history, something to tell our grandchildren about. He was obviously interested enough in the inauguration to get up early that morning and come to the party to watch it, so what’s it going to take to make him put away the phone for a few minutes?

This guy wasn’t even a teenager, so I can’t attribute his extra long thumbs (otherwise known as texting-itis) to a generational adaptation. My friend Albert is also squarely middle-aged, and yet he texted his way through a concert at the Granada the other night.

What it is up with that anyway?

Are we really so addicted to our gadgets that there has to be a law to stop people from texting while driving? My first reaction when I saw the signs about the new law outlawing texting while driving was a big fat “duh.” But I’m starting to think it might really be needed.

I read in the LA Times recently that Americans now send about 75 billion text messages a month and I’m okay with that.

Really, I am.

Texting is an excellent way to contact a friend late at night without worrying about waking them up. Or it’s a great tool to communicate information without taking time out to have a conversation.

But when real life is going on-especially big, important, historic moments in real life are going on-the cell phones should be turned off. No debate, no discussion, no exceptions, no texting.

Even small, insignificant moments in real life should take priority over texting. I can’t remember the last time I had dinner with my teenage nephews and they weren’t texting under the table.

On occasion, I used to have to say, “Hey my eyes are up here,” to keep leering eyes from staring at my cleavage. Now I have to say, “Hey my eyes are up here,” to stop them from staring at their cell phone screens.

Granted, that may be more of a comment on the current state of my cleavage than anything else, but still, I think we need some simple text-etiquette lessons.

If there’s something significant going on that you’ve gathered together with others to experience, then put away your cell phone. This goes for presidential inaugurations, rock concerts, movies, and dinners with families and friends.

If you’re operating heavy machinery, then focus on the ten tons of steel you’re controlling, not the three ounces of plastic keyboard that can easily wait until break time.

It’s none of my business if you want to spend a significant fraction of your 1,440 minutes a day checking the number of pokes and prods you got on Facebook, but that’s not how I want to spend my time. So, if there’s another person across from you-especially if it’s me-give them your attention, not your cell phone.

And not your land line either, for that matter. It really irks me when I go to the trouble to go to a store, in person, and the person working there stops helping me to answer the phone.

It also really irks me when I go to the trouble to have dinner/lunch/coffee with a friend, and the person stops our conversation to answer the phone or respond to a text.

Yes, I understand that there are emergencies with kids and work, cars that need to be serviced and deals that need to be closed, and if you really need to take the call or respond to the message then I’ll still be your friend, but the proper response to such an interruption is, “excuse me.”

Even “xq me” is better than simply treating the flesh and blood people you’re with as less important than whoever is trying to connect with you on the phone.

So in answer to that text you just sent me, “Y r u mad @ me?” I’d really like to look you in the eye and say, “because you’re being rude,” but hey, my eyes are up here.

When Leslie’s not ranting about cell phones she’s really a very pleasant person who can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 23, 2009.

Surviving the move

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Ambro/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I’m not a pack rat-I’m more of a pack mule.

But as we move to our new nest this weekend, I’m determined to shed some of those splintery twigs and raggedy feathers I’ve been hauling around for too long.

With that end in mind, this week I’ve been playing a not-so-fun game of “What in the world was I thinking?” as I struggle to pack up all of our worldly possessions and move about a mile away from the shack we’ve been residing in for the past eight years.

You would think that living in extremely tight quarters would have already inspired me to downsize considerably. You would think that a person who lives and works in a seven square foot space-that she has to share with a husband and small child, who also have a little bit of stuff-would realize that keeping five copies of every issue of the newspaper she worked for four years ago is a little bit impractical-not to mention a fire hazard.

You would think that a person like that might have thrown away the double prints of the blurry outtakes from her son’s first birthday or the once funny cards from her own 30th birthday. You would think that a person like that might not have kept the snack schedule from the 2004 t-ball season, the takeout menu from a favorite Thai restaurant that’s been shuttered since 2005, the Axxess Book catalog from 2006, and the cell phone charger from 2007.

Getting rid of those things years ago would have been logical. I also should have gotten rid of the twelve years of scrapbooking magazines I’ve had taking up shelf space, the unflattering day glow green sweater I wore once, and the really cute brown boots that make my feet scream-and not in a good way.

What in the world was I thinking keeping all of this stuff around?

It’s long past time for us to move. I would never have agreed to move into the shack in the first place if I thought it would take eight years to get out. Then entropy and poverty set in. Plus the rent was cheap and the school district was good and until recently, we were winning the battle against the termites and all of the ancient light fixtures were still working and the shower wasn’t leaking onto the floor of my closet.

What in the world was I thinking keeping all of this stuff around?

Somehow it took getting a demolition notice to get us moving. And when I say moving, I mean moving with a really quick deadline, to get me to get rid of all this stuff. I guess I’m just a deadline-driven kind of gal. I like deadlines. I never miss a deadline. Seriously, ask my editors. I might ask for an extension every once in a blue moon, but I NEVER miss a deadline.

Deadlines give me structure and discipline and a reason to get out of bed. I just have to think of moving like a deadline for a really huge project that I’ll be really happy about once it’s over.

Of course, unlike finishing a magazine article, a book, or even filling out insurance forms, I’ll have less money when I’m done moving-not to mention even more work to do once I get to the new place.

Let’s face it, I’ll be happy to “have moved,” but moving itself is pure hell. It’s as if some masochist combined the worst elements of torture, dust allergies, scavenger hunts, paper cuts, and physical aches and pains into one brutal, emotionally punishing, very expensive episode. Not to mention that once the packing is done there are hours of lifting, dragging, kicking, screaming, hoisting and herniating to look forward to.

Plus, did I mention the paper cuts? I really hate the paper cuts.

Did you know an estimated 42 million Americans move each year? There’s a whole Google’s worth of insightful information, like, “Moving is one of the most stressful times in a person’s life.” (No kidding?) Or helpful tips like, “Put all boxes into one room so you don’t have to run around the house like a madman on the big day.” (If I could put all my boxes in one room then I wouldn’t have too much stuff now, would I?)

I wish I could say that I was the only one in my family with too much stuff. Unfortunately I discovered a graveyard for outdated computers and stereo equipment in my husband’s home office. So what if that old laptop doesn’t work anymore, it still serves an important purpose-covering the stain on the carpet made by the leaky lava lamp he was going to fix “someday.”

My son has an archive of smiley face notes from his first grade teacher, Dum Dum Pops wrappers he was saving to get x-ray glasses, and beach debris he was planning to sell to Grandma “someday.”

But that’s okay because by Saturday morning all of those items will be carefully packed and labeled in boxes, and by Saturday afternoon they’ll be in our new house.

I hear it’s a great garage sale neighborhood.

When Leslie can locate her computer, and cable guy comes to hook up the Internet “between Monday at noon and the next solar eclipse” she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 16, 2009.

This year I resolve to

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resolutionsI make my New Year’s resolutions daily. I just strive to be a better person and I always believe in karma. —Jay-Z

Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. —Oprah Winfrey

A New Year’s resolution is something that goes in one year and out the other. — Leslie Dinaberg’s South Coasting Column, 2004

Like many ridiculously optimistic and otherwise rational people, I always take some time at the end of December to reflect on my accomplishments of the past year and set goals for the next one. The idea is to come up with a list of goals that will help transform me into a kinder, nicer, more organized, healthier, richer person with a better figure, a well-behaved family, and a much cleaner house.

Okay, so maybe my 2008 accomplishments weren’t all that stellar, but a look back at the history of my New Year’s resolutions tells me that at least I’m continuing to make some progress every year.

Resolution #1

1988: I will get back to the weight on my Driver’s License.

1997: I will get back to my weight when I got married.

2005: I will follow my new diet religiously until I get back to my pre-pregnancy weight.

2009: I will try to develop a realistic attitude about my weight, focus on getting healthy, buy myself pretty clothes and develop my personality. (Confession: I’d like to take credit for this line, but truthfully it’s what my father said about me the first time he saw me when I was an hour old.)

Resolution #2

1992: I will not spend my money frivolously and save enough money to put a down payment on a small house in Santa Barbara.

1998: I will not spend any money at all on anything, under any circumstances, and save enough to put a down payment on a small house in Isla Vista, with the help of my parents and anyone else who might want to invest.

2003: I will not spend my money frivolously and save enough to put a down payment on a small used car.

2006: I will stop buying so many new pairs of shoes.

2008: I will try to keep my expenses below 110 percent of my income.

2009: I will stop crumpling my tax deductible receipts into teeny tiny balls of paper that raise my husband’s blood pressure every year come April.

Resolution #3

2003: I will stop smoking.

2004: I will stop smoking.

2005: I will stop smoking.

2006: I will stop smoking.

2007: I will stop smoking.

2008: I will stop smoking.

2009: I will stop smoking. (Confession: I never started smoking in the first place, but I always like to give myself one easy thing that I know I can accomplish to make myself feel better about this whole New Year’s resolution thing.)

Resolution #4

2003: I will spend more time with my family.

2006: I will spend more quality time with my family.

2008: I will redefine quality time with my family to mean that we all have to be awake, with no one yelling, but not necessarily doing the same activity in the same room at the same time.

December 22, 2008: Screw the family. I will carve out some quality time for myself, by myself, and not feel guilty about it. (Written immediately after disembarking from a five-day cruise with my extended family.)

2009: I will spend more quality time with my family and my dear friends, but only after spending enough quality time with myself to not be grumpy.

Resolution #5

1998: I will treat my body as a temple and eat only healthy, organic foods.

2000: I will only order out for pizza once a week.

2003: I will remember that Chuck’s Mai Tais do not count as a serving of fruit, even though they come with an orange slice and a maraschino cherry. The celery in a Brophy Brother’s Bloody Mary doesn’t count as a vegetable either.

2006: I will sit down with my family and eat a healthy, balanced meal at least once a week.

2008: I will eat a piece of dark chocolate and I will drink a glass of red wine every night, but only for the good of my health.

2009: Ditto.

Resolution #6

1982: I will write a book before I’m 30.

1995: I will write a book before I’m 40.

2005: I will read at least 10 books a year whose titles I’m not embarrassed to talk about.

2007: I actually wrote a few books. So what If they’re shorter than this column and the graphics are kind of cheesy. I have my own ISBN numbers.

2008: I co-authored a book and it’s actually pretty good. I will do my best to help sell “Hometown Santa Barbara” so I can actually make some money this year.

2009: I will write a novel before I’m 50.

Resolution #7

1993: I will not fight with my boyfriend about household chores.

1994: I will not fight with my husband about household chores.

1999: My husband will stop pretending he knows how to fix the car and I will stop pretending I am the least bit competent in the kitchen.

2007: My husband will stop pretending he doesn’t see the pile of laundry that needs to be folded and I will stop pretending I don’t know how to plunge the toilet and pump my own gas.

2009: My husband will make sure I have gas in my car if I give him enough warning when the tank is low and I will stop making New Year’s resolutions on behalf of other people.

Resolution #8

2003: I will not fight with Koss about cleaning up his toys.

2005: I will not fight with Koss about doing his chores.

2006: I will not fight with Koss about his homework, doing his chores and cleaning up his dirty sweat socks.

2007: I will not fight with Koss about his homework, doing his chores and cleaning up his dirty sweat socks and his sweaty t-shirts.

2008: I will not fight with Koss about his homework, doing his chores, cleaning up his dirty sweat socks and his sweaty t-shirts, and how much time he spends on the computer.

2009: Koss will be responsible for his own homework, his own chores and his own dirty clothes. But I am still his mother and I can make resolutions for him if I want to!

Resolution #9

2008: I will put away money that I would have spent on lattes in a little jar every day and maybe when I retire I’ll be able to afford an R.V. that I can park somewhere in Santa Barbara.

2009: Who am I kidding? I can’t live without lattes. Pass the Equal, and the wine and chocolate while you’re at it.

Cheers to a New Year and may all your troubles last as long as my New Year’s resolutions.

Share your resolutions with Leslie by emailing email . Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 2, 2009.

The science of happiness

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Stuart Miles, freedigitalphotos.net

Stuart Miles, freedigitalphotos.net

If you can get a grant to pay for the research, then just about any topic is ripe for scientific analysis. Once the province of poets and playwrights, happiness is now emerging as a significant field of academic inquiry.

Psychologists, ethicists, scientists and researchers all over the world have been working diligently to dig up hard data on a question philosophers have been pondering for years: What exactly is it that makes us happy?

There are lots of books on the subject–with sexy titles like, Happiness: Unlocking the Mysteries of Psychological Wealth, The How of Happiness: A Scientific Approach to Getting the Life You Want, Happier: Learn the Secrets to Daily Joy and Lasting Fulfillment, and Thanks! How the New Science of Gratitude Can Make You Happier–but I decided that buying and reading all those books wouldn’t actually make me happier.

Instead I read an article in “Yes” Magazine by someone named Jen Angel (Is that a perfect name or what?) who read the books, thereby demonstrating the first of my scientific rules for happiness (hereafter known as Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #1)–You’ll be happier if you let someone else do the heavy lifting.

Here are some other scientifically proven strategies for finding happiness, according to “Yes.”

Savor Everyday Moments

This is pretty good advice and I do try to follow it. For example, tonight after we lit the Hanukah candles and my son swung his new Rugby Shirt around the room as though it were the Howler Monkey he was secretly hoping to unwrap, and he barely missed knocking over my wine glass onto a pile of clean white laundry I had yet to fold and he didn’t set anything on fire when he knocked over the menorah, I paused, took a sip of wine and a deep breath and simply savored the moment.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #2–Hold onto your wine glass, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Avoid Comparisons

It’s tough to avoid comparing yourself to other people, and trying to keep up with the Joneses in a wealthy town like Santa Barbara is downright impossible. The scientist’s advice: “instead of comparing ourselves to others, focusing on our own personal achievement leads to greater satisfaction.” This makes sense, but I’ve found that being married to someone with a huge ego is another way to do this. My husband’s delusions of grandeur almost never fail to make me smile, or at least feel better about myself by comparison.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #3–Marry someone who makes you laugh.

Put Money Low on the List

People who put money high on their priority list are more at risk for depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem, according to research. Obviously I would never have gone into journalism if money were high on my list. Although I can’t say that NOT having much money has ever made me particularly happy, NOT selling my soul for a paycheck certainly has made me happy in my professional life

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #4–Get a job you like.

Have Meaningful Goals

“As humans, we require a sense of meaning to thrive. People who strive for something significant, whether it’s learning a new craft or raising moral children, are far happier than those who don’t have strong dreams or aspirations,” say researchers Ed Diener and Robert Biswas-Diener. This is why I put “keep Koss alive,” “sleep,” “eat chocolate,” and “breathe” at the top of my to do list every day–not only does checking them off make me happy, it also gives me a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment of my goals each and every day of my life.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #5–Sleep, eat chocolate, breathe, and try to keep your kid alive.

Make Friends, Treasure Family

Happier people tend to have good families, friends, and supportive relationships, say Diener and Biswas-Deiner. But we don’t just need relationships; we need close ones that involve understanding and caring. It’s science, baby.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #6–Besides wine, chocolate and a husband that makes you laugh, the secrets to happiness are having family in town to baby sit for nights out with your friends.

Smile Even When You Don’t Feel Like It

A wise friend of mine once told me to “smile like you mean it until you actually do mean it.” Oddly enough, she was right. I’ve found that smiling works wonders. It’s really hard to be mad when you smile and it’s really hard for someone else to be mad at you when you smile at them.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #7–Keep smiling and don’t forget to floss and check for lipstick on your teeth. (And by the way, if I have lipstick on my teeth, would you please tell me.)

Say Thank You Like You Mean It

People who keep gratitude journals on a weekly basis are healthier, more optimistic, and more likely to make progress toward achieving personal goals, according to Robert Emmons. And people who write “gratitude letters” to someone who made a difference in their lives score higher on happiness, and lower on depression–and the effect lasts for weeks, according to Martin Seligman.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #8–I couldn’t have said this one better myself. Thank you for reading my columns week in and week out. Have a wonderful New Year.

Share your own science of happiness with Leslie at email.
Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 27, 2008.

Not buying it

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Stockimages at freedigitalimages.net

Like my shopaholic foremothers, I usually indulge in the “one for you, one for me” method of gift buying. Not only does this help the economy, but it also motivates me to cheerfully take on the majority of family shopping duties, for which my husband is eternally grateful.

But as you can imagine, Chrismukkah season is a huge challenge for my wallet. My family celebrates both Hanukah and Christmas, with multiple events and multiple present buying requirements, then there are hostess gifts to buy, and birthdays this month, plus it’s my parent’s anniversary. Also, the displays in all the stores are so cute and everywhere you look everything is on sale. There are almost too many shopping opportunities for my microscopic MasterCard limit–not to mention our dwindling 201-K account–to bear.

No wonder I feel overwhelmed and underfunded.

When I read about Andrea Tringo and Steven Posusta’s pledge to refrain from buying anything new for a year, the story hit me right in the purse strings–an area where I was already hurting. If this Colorado couple was able to go without buying anything but essentials for almost a year (they started the challenge on January 1, 2008) surely I could go for a week in December without buying anything for myself.

That doesn’t sound so hard, right?

You’d be surprised.

Monday-I wake up inspired. Getting out of the retail rat race this holiday season will be a piece of cake. I’ll make homemade gifts for the majority of my list, so I won’t even be tempted to buy anything for myself. Okay, maybe someday I’ll use that Creative Versa-Tool I bought on a wood burning or soldering project for myself someday, but right now it’s all about giving. Expenses: $97.50 at Michael’s for “miscellaneous supplies.” At least I had a coupon.

Tuesday-I forgot a few things, so I still haven’t started those hand tooled leather ID bracelets I’m making for everyone in my family. It’s back to Michael’s to celebrate, “At Least Twice Tuesday,” an annual holiday event where I go to the same store at least twice to comb through the same items in the same aisles to find the thing I forgot that I needed, but I pay double the original price because I’ve already used my coupon. Expenses: $17.97 on more “miscellaneous supplies.” If you don’t count that pack of sugarless gum I threw in at the last minute–and I certainly don’t think anything under $1 should count–then I spent nothing on myself.

Wednesday-Oh dear, I can’t avoid it any longer. My son insists that his cousins will think my handcrafted presents are “totally bogus.” If I want to buy and ship my gifts out to them, then today’s the day I have to go to the mall. I try to confine my purchases to toys and sporting goods, since neither of them is particularly tempting to me. Unfortunately they had purple slippers on sale at Big Five. PURPLE on SALE! I wish I could say I was virtuous and walked away without a giving those adorably comfy purple slippers a second thought, but the truth is they didn’t have my size. However, I did walk away without asking them to call other stores to see if they had the slippers in my size, so I think I should get some credit for that. Expenses: $237.83 on gifts for other people, $250 to ship them.

Thursday-A workday, so it should be easy to avoid spending money on myself. Except, I work out of a home office, so if I interview someone in town, we usually go out for coffee, which costs money. Hmm…I go out on a limb and ask my interviewee if she’d be willing to go for a walk on the beach. She’s game, the interview goes well, and I save myself the eight bucks I would have spent on lattes. Expenses: zero. Joy of feeling virtuous: priceless.

Friday-Otherwise known as “Freak Out Friday,” when I realize that none of my craft projects are complete, and even if I stay up till 2 a.m. every night until Christmas, I still don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of finishing them. I panic and decide to both bake and craft my gifts. It’s too crowded to park at Vons, so I go to Gelson’s and spend twice as much money but the shelves are much neater. Expenses: $42.57, all I buy for myself is a Diet Coke and a new muffin pan.

Saturday-Spending money forms much of our social life. Our house is too small to entertain in, so if we want to meet friends, we go out for dinner, which involves spending money on myself. I talk my friends into going somewhere inexpensive, and then justify the expense because it’s not much more than eating at home. I’m feeling great until M wants to do some holiday shopping afterward. I agree, hoping she wants to go to Abercrombie, where nothing fits my body or my budget. Nope. Urban Outfitters is having a sale on these really cute purses. I decide to buy one for myself “from Santa,” and throw in some cute scarves, hats and gloves that may or may not be for gifts. That doesn’t count, right? Expenses: zero for me; $159.27 for Santa.

Sunday-This is my final, self-deluded day to attempt outlandish holiday crafts and baked goods, knowing full well there isn’t enough time, talent, sugar, glitter or glue sticks in the world for all of the ambitious projects I have planned. I feel like a complete and utter shopping failure, about to gift everyone on my list with gift cards once again.

But then I re-read the story about Andrea and Steven and realized that their pledge to buy nothing had more to do with living a greener, more socially responsible life than saving money.

That’s when I get the brilliant idea to save the gas and the plastic and the time required to give gift cards and just give out cash instead. What could be greener than that?

Plus I did save money by passing up those purple UGG boots.

When Leslie’s not avoiding the retail rut, she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 19, 2008.

The naked truth about communication

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Stockimages, freeimages.net

Stockimages, freeimages.net

Communication is complicated, especially when it involves men and women.

Men don’t understand our obsessions with the shoe department at Nordstrom, our friend’s relationships, and Grey’s Anatomy. And we don’t remotely understand their fascinations with remote control anything, video games, or the Three Stooges. I’ve also yet to meet a woman who has figured out why men take so long in the bathroom when they’re not putting on makeup or drying their hair.

Luckily, my careful research into the male species has enabled me to compile this translation guide, “the naked truth about communication.”

Keep in mind, as relationships evolve, so does the conversational code. Here are some clues for the beginning stages, when you first meet.

The guy you’re flirting with says: “So maybe we could get together or something?

You hear: “I like you, but not enough to ask you out.”

He really means: “I really want to ask you out, but I’m too chicken to say so.” Also, “I’d like to see you naked.”

Or in the beginning stages, another loaded question when you meet a man is, “What do you do?”

What he hears you say is, “Are you making enough money to support me in the style I’d like to become accustomed to? Then you can see me naked.”

Of course you really mean nothing more than “What do you do?” but a safer question might be “What do you like to do?” If he makes up an answer that sounds sophisticated and smart (“I like to go wine tasting in the Valley or read Yeats by the fireplace at my house on Padaro Lane”), he’s lying, but at least you know he’s trying, and he probably likes you. Milk this, because he’ll actually converse with you during this courtship period.

Once you start dating regularly, you may have months or even years of “What do you want to do?” “I don’t know, what do you want to do?” conversations ahead of you, so don’t be afraid to take over the social planning. You can be pretty sure he’s happy if your plans involve his seeing you naked. And if he really doesn’t want to do something, don’t worry; he’ll let you know with a grunt or sometimes even a funny face or an audible noise.

Once you’re married, you may be less apt to be naked, but that doesn’t mean communication gets any easier. Here’s an example.

Wife gets home late from work. Husband’s eyes are glued to the TV. “Hi, honey. How was your day?”

He barely looks up. “Hi.”

Wife: “Are you okay?”

He says, “Fine.”

You hear: “Leave me alone. There are lines around your eyes and you look fat.”

He really means … “God, I know you want to talk about my day and all my relationships with my colleagues and boss but I just want to drink a beer, eat a bag of chips for dinner and zone out on the Three Stooges.” Also, “I’d like to see you naked.”

Here are a few more things I’ve learned about how to talk to a man so he understands you.

Men–and nine-year-old boys–can only take directions one at a time. So, if you have a 104-degree fever and you want him to go into the kitchen and get you a drink of water, make it a two-part request. Pictures and props are also useful. Your Charades techniques can also come in handy here.

When men bother to use words instead of gestures or grunts, it’s to inspire action. If a guy insults another guy, he automatically thinks he wants to fight, unless they’re friends, and then its in lieu of a kiss and a hug hello. And if you say you like his shirt, he thinks, “Cool, she wants to see me naked!”

A man will say, “I’m fine,” even when being tortured or held up at gunpoint. It’s not in his nature to reveal weakness because that betrays vulnerability. It’s an evolutionary thing. I found this same tough guy mentality also goes for little boys (but only if there are other little boys around). Keep in mind that he’s not fine if he’s bleeding, his face is wet around his eyes, the Gaucho’s just lost or he has to pay for parking.

Otherwise he’s probably fine–just don’t ask him about it–unless of course you’re naked.

Little by little, Leslie is becoming fluent in guy speak. Share your insights at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 12, 2008.

29 Gifts Bring Bountiful Blessings

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29gifts-bgThe story is right out of a Lifetime movie, only this time it’s true.

Lovely 30-something Cami Walker was on top of the world. She had conquered addictions to alcohol and drugs–now her career was thriving and she just married the man of her dreams. Then, two weeks after her honeymoon, her whole world came crashing down around her. Her hands didn’t quite work, then one of her eyes stopped functioning, and she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.

Multiple sclerosis is an autoimmune disease that affects the brain and spinal cord. It isn’t fatal, but it can result in serious physical and cognitive disabilities, depending upon the form it takes. Soon after being diagnosed, Cami didn’t have the strength to keep working. Feeling desperate, hopeless and depressed, she decided to perform a simple ritual suggested by one of her spiritual teachers, a South African medicine woman named Mbali Creazzo. The idea was to take her mind off her disease–and herself–by focusing on helping others and giving something away each day for 29 days in a row.

“I thought the suggestion was crazy at first, but decided it couldn’t hurt to try it. Things couldn’t get much worse,” said Cami. “I was shocked by how quickly things turned around for me. For me personally it’s totally helped turn my health around in pretty miraculous ways. When I started this I was extremely sick and I was very lonely, I really had gotten to the point where I isolated myself from people. I was feeling totally alone, I was broke, I was so ill I hadn’t been able to work in months and I was very much in a downward spiral in my life.”

By day 14, Cami was able to walk without her cane, and was able to start working part-time again by day 29. “And my bank account was actually greatly improved because I was able to start working part time again and work just started showing up for me … it was crazy, like my phone just started ringing and clients just started showing up and it blew my mind. And, I think most importantly, I had reconnected with friends and family by the end and made some new friends as well,” she said.

Now in her ninth giving cycle, Cami was so inspired by the improvements in her life that she decided to turn the 29-Day Giving Challenge into a worldwide giving movement. Today www.29gifts.org has more than 3,200 givers in 38 countries, including–drum roll please-—yours truly.

“I have definitely been surprised by how quickly it’s grown,” said Cami.

I’m not that surprised because it’s fun and it’s mostly easy. Gifts can be as big or as little you like. The important thing is to make a mindful effort to do something nice for somebody else. One day I played 12 games of checkers in a row with my son, without a single grumble or complaint from me. Another day I bought lunch for a stranger without a single grumble or complaint from me. I’m pretty sure the not complaining part is important. It doesn’t matter what you do, but the website is full of great ideas for gifts of time, money, things, or kind words. In fact, so many great stories have been posted online that Cami got a book deal out of it. Her book will be coming out in the fall.

“I think one of the coolest stories that’s come out of the site is Operation Teddy Bear Care,” she said. “It started with a woman named Maureen Forbes who lives in the bush in South Africa with no electricity. She powers her computer with a solar panel that charges up a generator so that she can have two-three hours of light and use her computer. She posted on her blog that she had been visiting children in some of the remote AIDS clinics and she was just appalled by the conditions that they were living in and the level of poverty and that none of them had anything to call their own. She posted that she sews and she wanted to sew 100 teddy bears to give away but she only had enough fabric for 20.”

Flashes of the Hanukah story go through my mind, as Cami continues. “Someone on the U.S. side, his name is BJ in Georgia, he read her blog and said, ‘I’m going to help you out. We’re going to help you get enough materials to do 1,000 teddy bears.’ … One of my gifts was to help them create a website and an identity for themselves and get their organization functioning on its own. … Our goal is to help them give 1,000 gifts to South African children living in poverty by the 31st of December. And so far I think we’ve given almost 400 already, so we need about 600 more donation packages to be purchased. Go to teddybearcare.ning.com if you want to check them out.”

I went to the website, and guess what Day 25 was for me?

I asked Cami why she thinks the 29 gifts challenge has caught on. “It’s a time where I think a lot of people are tired of the negative messages they see in the media over and over, and feeling kind of scared and frustrated with the state of the economy and some of the other things. The reality is that there are a lot of problems that we’ve got to deal with, especially in America but pretty much everywhere. And I do think that part of the reason this has caught on is that people are looking for something positive that they can feel like they are part of.”

Sounds like a happy ending to me.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 5, 2008.
If you’d like to be part of the 29 Gifts Challenge visit www.29gifts.org for more information, and tell Leslie you’re doing it at email. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.

Drive Through Ditch

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Photo by David Castillo Dominici, freeimages.net

Photo by David Castillo Dominici, freeimages.net

The golden rule has always seemed a little selfish to me.

I love to do things for other people in part because there’s a buzz I get when I do volunteer work, for example, that makes me feel good about myself. It’s not selfless at all. It’s intentional kindness and I always feel like I get just as much out of it when I volunteer or do something nice as the people I’m trying to help–maybe even more.

But this time I wanted to try to be randomly kind and anonymous.

I sometimes tell my son, it’s easy to do a nice thing when adults are watching, but you show your true character when you do a nice thing and no one’s watching. It was time for me to walk the walk and not just talk the talk, and do some nice things for other people without getting anything in return.

But what could I do? There are almost no parking meters for me to feed in my town and besides; I read somewhere that it’s illegal to put money in someone else’s parking meter. Go figure. When I helpfully tried to gather up the stray grocery carts in the Ralph’s Supermarket parking lot, the box boy on duty accused me of “trying to put him out of work.” So much for that idea.

This anonymous do-gooderness was getting to be frustrating. I couldn’t catch a break trying to give someone a break.

Then I saw this thing on the news, where the drive though Starbucks in Loveland, Colorado reported that a customer wanted to pay for her own drink and also buy one for the person in the car behind her. That person then passed on the gift to the next car and on and on, cycling through 109 cars in a row, each willing to pass on the freebie to the next person. Like ding dong ditch, only the opposite. Drive through ditch, where you leave something good for the next person instead of leaving a bag of dog poop on their doorstep. I loved that idea!

Unfortunately there’s no drive-through Starbuck’s where I live, and there’s always a line, so no chance for me to buy someone’s morning coffee anonymously. But we do have a drive through McDonald’s, so I decided to buy my coffee there the next day and drive through ditch the person behind me.

I looked nervously through my rear view mirror at the elderly man in the big white car. He looked sort of grumpy, but hopefully my gesture would put a smile on his face. The brown-capped McDonald’s girl who took my money looked confused–after all, it was 8 a.m. and she probably hadn’t had her coffee yet either–but she eventually understood me after I repeated myself three times and included some hand signals.

I drove away quickly, as I imagined the man in the white car with a smile on his face.

Later that day I drove through the Carl’s Junior line, this time for a Diet Coke, and I only had to tell the guy working twice that “I’m doing a drive through ditch” meant I wanted to buy the person behind me lunch. There was no one behind me yet, which confused him a bit, but I was less nervous that time, so I think I explained myself a little better.

Again, I drove away quickly, fantasizing about the harried mom or cash-strapped teenage boy who would drive through next and receive my drive through ditch gift.

I got my caffeine fixes–and my drive through kindness attempts–a few more times that week at various drive through windows, always anonymously.

It was a slow news week, and every morning I half expected to see a headline about the random acts of kindness that were popping up at drive through windows around town. Nope, nada, nothing. Not even a passed on story from a friend about how some nice person had treated her to coffee in the drive through.

By my tenth attempt at a random act of kindness in the drive through line I started to wonder–how could this not be catching on? Were the people in snowy Loveland, Colorado more gracious than those in my sunny hometown of Santa Barbara, California? It was hard for me to believe. Still I continued with my drive through ditches in the lines at In and Out Burger, Jack and the Box and even Burger King. Still, it didn’t seem to be catching on.

I swore off fast food for a while and had almost forgotten about my drive through ditches until this week, when I found myself in a drive through line once again. I pulled out a twenty and told the guy to buy the person behind me lunch with the change. This time I didn’t even glance in the rear view mirror to check out who would be the recipient this time. I drove away smiling and teary-eyed and feeling better than I had in a long time. Who cares if drive through ditches aren’t catching on the way I thought they would? It’s a nice thing to do anyway, and wasn’t that the point?

Later that day when I picked up my son from school, one of the moms had a big grin on her face. She told me a story about how someone had treated her to coffee that morning in the drive through line. “What a great idea,” I said, with a great big, anonymous, not-so-selfless smile on my face. “I’ll have to do that for someone sometime.”

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 28, 2008.