Category Archives: family

Ode to the Wii

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Boy Playing Videogame by imagerymajestic, freedigitalphotos.net

Boy Playing Videogame by imagerymajestic, freedigitalphotos.net

Thank you Nintendo. Wow–those are three words I never thought I’d say in a million years.

Until rather recently we were a family of Luddites when it came to gaming devices. No DS, no Playstations, no Game Boys, no Xbox 360’s at our house, as our son frequently reminded us. It got so bad that he would introduce himself to strangers by saying, “Hi, my name Koss. I don’t have any brothers and sisters, I don’t have any pets and I don’t have any electronic toys.”

Yes, for a long time our child was pitifully deprived of all that stuff.

When he dared to complain of boredom, we’d mock him mercilessly, then tell him to go read a book, play basketball, ride a bike, bounce on a pogo stick. Video games were a no-no at our house. We just didn’t go there.

I’ve got to admit, I felt a little teensy bit of parental superiority about it. Maybe not quite the same level of superiority that people who never give their kids fast food feel, and definitely not reaching the level of parental purity that those people with “Kill Your TV” bumper stickers feel, but still, I was kind of proud that we hadn’t given in on this particular issue.

My husband, a longtime fan of computer games, was also happy not to have a gaming machine in the house. Although, his thinking went more along the lines of, “Don’t give me a gun, I don’t want to have to kill again.”

Then came the summer of his tenth birthday when the boy had saved up enough money to buy a Wii.

Uh-oh.

He had prepared a 23-slide Power Point presentation on why he should be able to purchase the toy. (Yes, we let him use the computer. I said we were Gaming Device Luddites, not Amish!) He argued that it had lots of non-violent game options, that playing the Wii involved getting off the couch and actively moving, that he would strictly follow whatever time restrictions we gave him for the game, and that he had his own money saved up and this was what he “pretty please with sugar on top” wanted to buy with it.

So we caved. And it was a lot cheaper than getting him a baby sister or an iguana.

Koss was completely addicted to the Wii for about five minutes. Then he got into a new series of fantasy books and forgot all about it for couple of months.

Then one day, it rained. And rather than jump on the furniture or play “vaseball” with the last of my wedding crystal, we brought out the Wii. Whee! Now we have a Wii, the perfect toy for a rainy day.

And whee, let me tell you, every single time it rains I do a little happy dance for the Wii.

Since it’s mostly sunny, Santa Barbara just isn’t very well equipped for rainy days. When you coop 75 pounds of pre-teen energy into a very small house for too long eventually something’s got to give–usually it’s my sanity. Let’s face it; no matter how hard you work to civilize them, boys are wired for action. Thank goodness, now they’re also wired for Wii. While it rains outside, kids can still work up a sweat without catching pneumonia.

And I know this isn’t the case with every kid, but thankfully, as much as we have come to love the Wii, Koss would still rather play outside when he can. Whee, I love that Wii.

Share your thoughts on video gaming with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 7, 2011.

Tackling the Season Like a Man

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Portrait Of Beautiful Woman Wearing Santa Claus Hat by David Castillo Dominici, freedigitalphotos.net

Portrait Of Beautiful Woman Wearing Santa Claus Hat by David Castillo Dominici, freedigitalphotos.net

One of the best pieces of advice I ever got was from my friend Ramey: “If you don’t want to be the only one doing all the work then you have to let other people do stuff using their own standards–no matter how crappy or inferior they may be.”

She was talking about diaper rash and Desitin, but over time I’ve found that her advice applies almost everywhere from the schoolyard and the soccer field to the domestic front and delegating at work.

You can explain it by whatever nature versus nurture notion noogles your noggin, but the fact is that men are overwhelmingly better than women are at letting go of perfectionism. They don’t really notice–or if they do, they certainly don’t care about–that pile of laundry waiting to be folded on the couch. It’s simply an obstacle to sit upon or pushed aside in their quest to find a place to rest their fatigued fannies after a hard day’s work.

They aren’t the least bit disturbed if the dinner table lacks floral finery, or even utensils, as long as there’s an ice-cold beer at their fingertips. They may be masters of their domains, but most of them have absolutely no interest in anything resembling a throw pillow, quilt or home decor accessory (unless it comes in HD and surround sound).

And as for calendars, schedules and to-do lists? Forget about it. Somehow it’s more manly to store things “in your head,” despite the sometimes sieve-like filter associated with this system.

Let’s face it, there are a lot of things that men simply don’t care about and thus they don’t stress about. As hard as it is for me to admit it, I think they may be on to something, especially when it comes to the holidays.

Have you ever in your life met a man who felt guilty when a caring neighbor brought over a homemade dish of goodies and he didn’t have a lavish platter at the ready to gift them in return?

Have you ever heard of a man stalking the aisles of an all-night drug store after midnight because the five shades of curling ribbon he has at home are just not “quite the right red?”

You don’t see men stressing about losing weight to fit into a cute new outfit for the company’s holiday party or going to 17 different stores to find the perfect Secret Santa Gift for the receptionist in their office who won’t even know it’s from them.

Nope, men don’t take it as their seasonal call of duty to personally manufacture every bit of holiday magic that comes into their household. For the most part, whether the laundry is waiting to be folded or not, they sit on the couch, relax and enjoy the spirit–and spirits–of the season.

Which is why this year I’m going to try to take the holidays like a man by relaxing the perfectionism, kicking back and enjoying them.

I hope you’ll do the same.

When Leslie’s not obsessing about not obsessing about her holiday to-do list, she can reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.  Originally appeared in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 10, 2010.

Gratitude Minus Platitudes

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Thank You Computer Key by Stuart Miles, freedigitalimages.net

Thank You Computer Key by Stuart Miles, freedigitalimages.net

“Being grateful may be the spiritual equivalent of Prozac,” according to Dr. Robert Emmons. I couldn’t agree more, which why I’m grateful that it’s almost Thanksgiving time.

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, right up there on the list with National Chocolate Day and the day the clocks “fall back” and we get an extra hour of sleep.

Any day stuffed full of food, family, friends and football is a good day in my book.

But I’ve counted my blessings in this column a few times and realized they don’t really change all that much from year to year, which is a good thing. I am eternally grateful for all of the wonderful people and gifts in my life, but this Thanksgiving I decided to see what some other people are grateful for.

By other people I mean some really famous people–and some not–whose quotes about gratitude might make you smile a little brighter as you toast the turkey this Thanksgiving.

Like Ricky Gervais I am grateful for pajamas, which are certainly handy to squeeze into once you’ve unzipped your pants after a hearty Thanksgiving meal. He says, “I’ve started wearing pajamas out, because they’re more comfortable than trousers. I started out with jeans, then went to sweatpants about ten years ago. Now it’s just pajamas. I’ve gone whole hog. I wore them to the White House.”

“I am grateful that there is life out there for someone who isn’t a scholar,” says Jamie Lee Curtis. “I wear my combined 760 SAT scores like a medal around my neck that ANYONE can make it despite being a round, square, gay, alcoholic, liberal, pampered peg in the proverbial square hole of what is the norm.” Of course having two movie star parents doesn’t hurt, but I get where she’s coming from and am happy to offer a holiday cheer to misfits everywhere.

“Though I am grateful for the blessings of wealth, it hasn’t changed who I am. My feet are still on the ground. I’m just wearing better shoes,” says Oprah Winfrey, who admitted her shoe addiction to a live TV audience but regrettably still hasn’t invited me into her walk-in (and probably bigger than my whole house) closet.

“I figure if I have my health, can pay the rent and I have my friends, I can call it ‘content,'” says one of my favorite actresses, Lauren Bacall, who is still smoldering at 86.

And finally, some wise words from the Buddha: “Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn’t learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, at least we didn’t get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn’t die; so, let’s all be thankful.”

Cheers to that and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

When Leslie’s not counting her blessings, gobble by gobble, she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally appeared in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 19, 2010.

Sifting Through Silly Bandz and Squishys

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Image http://www.sillybandz.com/photoweek.php

Image http://www.sillybandz.com/photoweek.php

Fart jokes, cooties and “one, two, three Jinx you owe me a Coke” are perennial rites of childhood that never fail to make me smile, but some of these new trends leave me feeling a little old and out of it.

First it was that array of extra-long shoelaces. Sure the colors were fun-who wouldn’t want to add tropical pink soccer balls and neon green tie dye to their wardrobe-but there was also so much more shoelace to figure out how to tie and then trip over. Seems like a lot more danger than they were worth – which is proof positive that I am old and cranky.

Then came the digital pets-Tamagotchi, Furby, Giga. Seriously? There are plenty of real animals waiting to be adopted. Or if you want something low maintenance, get a goldfish.

Then came the key chains. You couldn’t walk down an elementary school hallway without hearing the clang of Sponge Bob SquarePants, Strawberry Shortcake, Hannah Montana and Justin Beiber dangling dangerously from backpacks. Surely these were an accident waiting to happen.

Squishy mania was next on the scene. An infestation of blob-like sea monsters, jungle creatures and zoo animals began to appear in schoolyards, and fast food restaurants and liquor stores equipped with vending machine capsules were suddenly de rigueur. I was with my niece when she spotted a particularly rare glow-in-the-dark octopus Squishy and I thought I was going to have to call the paramedics to extract her hand from the vending machine.

Now silly bandz are the latest, out-of-control kid craze.

To a childless person these colorful bracelets stacked like Slinkys up the arms of kids might look like simple rubber bands. Yes, they are rubber bands, but simple, not so much.

These silly bands (or bandz depending on which brand you buy) are shaped like everything from Bugs to Barbies and musical instruments to Marilyn Monroe. Even skinny Elvis has his own silly band, which momentarily becomes fat Elvis if you put it around a grownup’s wrist.

But the beauty of these silicone-molded bracelets is that they return to their original shapes when you take them off your arm. It’s a magical shape-shifting rubber band.

Kids say half the fun of collecting the bracelets, which typically come in sets of 12 or 24, is trading them with friends. Parents like the price point (usually $3 for a pack of 12; $5 for 32). As one toy retailer said, “If you can do a shut-me-up product for $4.99, you won that day.”

Teachers, at least in some states, are less than thrilled. Complaints have come in that silly bands are distracting in class or even downright dangerous. The ban on bands has stretched from schools in Brazil and England to Boston, Wisconsin and Indiana. Can California be far behind?

Probably not.

Either way, nobody in our household will be too upset; since this is one trend my son has resisted the lure of. When I asked him why, he shrugged and said, “It’s just one more thing to remember in the morning. Besides, if you have rubber bands on your arm you’ll want to play with them and getting snapped by a rubber band hurts.”

That’s my boy.

When Leslie’s not pondering the latest kid crazes (Zhu Zhu hamsters, Lady Gaga, My Pillow Pets) she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally appeared in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 12, 2010.

The Upside of Arguments

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Photo by David Castillo Dominici, FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Photo by David Castillo Dominici, FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Though it pains me to admit it, I’ve got a mean streak when it comes to arguments. Whether I’m right or wrong, or even arguing about something I don’t really care about—I like to win.

So does my husband.

This can lead to some heated discussions, most of which are amusing and some of which are actually our busy parent version of foreplay.

So you can imagine how hot I got when-in yet another scientific example of something I knew instinctually must be true—I came across a University of Michigan study that found that expressing your complaints and frustrations can actually help you live longer.

Did you hear that, honey? Told you so.

According to the study, married women who squelched their anger when they felt wronged by their husbands died earlier than wives who expressed their anger.

Good thing I pride myself on keeping a squelch-free house. I am going to live forever.

Of course the Michigan researchers and a whole arsenal of psychologists agree that fighting a “good” fight can be healthy, but that fighting dirty might be just as bad as letting your hostility simmer. Was I so dead set on winning my arguments that I was crossing the line between healthy discourse and downright nastiness?

I wasn’t sure, so like any logical yet lazy 21st century lady in search of information, I decided to take a quiz on the Internet at http://discoveryhealth.queendom.com/arguing_style.html.

OK.

“The results of the test you just took indicate that you are not a bad fighter, but you still have a lot to learn when it comes to your fighting style.”

I can live with that.

Then I read on.

“A lack of focus is the cause of many overly long, exhausting fights. Do you carry grudges about old conflicts and bring them up time and time again?” Of course I do! It’s called nostalgia. That’s a big part of how we keep the love alive. Without all of those misty water-colored memories of long lost battles we’d have so much less to argue about.

And yet, the quiz still advised me to, “Do your best not to bring them up all at once! When you’re in the heat of the moment, try not to let your judgment be clouded by old hurts and buried issues it’s certainly not easy when you’re seeing red, but it’s for the best. Keep focused on the issue at hand, and learn to recognize when enough is enough.”

That sounds familiar. In fact that logic is a lot like my husband’s frequent plea, “Can we just fight about one thing at a time?”

Aurgh. There’s even data to back that one up. I hate losing. Now I’ll have to bring up something from 1993 to torment him with.

According to research from the Gottman Institute in Chicago, to argue in a healthy fashion couples should “edit their arguments.” I should be able to handle that, right? I’m a professional editor. But seriously, “refrain from saying out loud every single angry thought during an argument. Sometimes, talking about sensitive topics can turn really ugly if everything is let out. Couples who edit their arguments are consistently much happier than those who don’t.”

You mean I shouldn’t explain every one of my husband’s faults to him in excruciating detail and if he doesn’t agree with me the first time, then I shouldn’t say it over and over again in an ever more shrill tone of voice? You mean I shouldn’t constantly nag him with my well-intentioned and ever-so-helpful suggestions about how to fix his shortcomings?

Nope. The health quiz experts advised me to “avoid irony all together. Ideally use even-handed logic to settle your arguments.”

Excuse me. No irony, no sarcasm, no satire, no mockery, no way! Where will I sharpen my wit if not in the soft underbelly of my beloved hubby? And even more importantly, if I have to use logic to win my arguments, how can I possibly win?

When Leslie’s not strategizing to win her next battle of the blurbs, she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.  Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on October 22, 2010.

Fall Artfully Back to School

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Santa Barbara Seasons, Local Lowdown, Fall 2010

Santa Barbara Seasons, Local Lowdown, Fall 2010

Back to School Get Creative!

There’s nothing quite like the creative inspiration found in the inviting smell of a fresh package of crayons or the satisfying sound you get from cracking the spine of a brand new notebook.

Whether you’re going back to school or simply back to work after Labor Day, why not lift your spirits—and expand your vocabulary—with something new, like fair trade messenger bags by Handmade Expressions, available from Folio (4437 Hollister Ave., 805/964-6800). The rules of geometry take on a whole new meaning with this Areaware Strida bike from Imagine (11 W. Canon Perdido St., 805/899-3700) which magically folds down to just the right size to stow, while the lessons of ingenuity are literally right at your fingertips with this bright diary and notebook from Upstairs at Pierre Lafond (516 San Ysidro Rd., Montecito, 805/565-1502).

Santa Barbara Seasons, Local Lowdown, Fall 2010

Santa Barbara Seasons, Local Lowdown, Fall 2010

See below for information about the rest of our finds from Folio, Imagine, Upstairs at Pierre Lafond, UCSB (University Center, 805/893-8321), Westmont College (955 La Paz Rd., Montecito, 805/565-6064) and SBCC (721 Cliff Dr., 805/730-4047).

Clockwise from top: hand woven jute and cotton Handmade Expressions messenger bags from Folio; recycled packaging material diary and notebook from Upstairs at Pierre Lafond; foldable Areaware Strida bike from Imagine; Forgotten Shanghai “Desk in a Bag” from Folio; and Cavallini & Co. Can o Clips clothespins and Chipiola curlicue paper clips from Folio.

Bike folds up and fits in knapsack.

PHOTOS: JULIA MEHLER, AREAWARE STRIDA BIKE COURTESY OF IMAGINE/AREAWARE

Santa Barbara Seasons, Local Lowdown, Fall 2010

Santa Barbara Seasons, Local Lowdown, Fall 2010

A is for All-Ages Education

BACK-TO-SCHOOL TIME isn’t just for kids. Santa Barbara offers a plethora of educational opportunities for learners of all ages. Do you have a passion for plants? UCCE and Botanic Garden offers a master gardener training program this fall (mgsantab@ucdavis.edu). Participants learn about sustainable landscapes, identifying and managing pests, soil and plant nutrition, plant management practices and diagnosing plant problems, then apply their knowledge to assist schools, parks, retirement communities and Botanic Garden with various garden projects.

Why not indulge your artistic impulses and support the environment with a Saturday morning workshop at Art From Scrap (302 E. Cota St., 805/884-0459, www.artfromscrap.org). Almost every Saturday from 10 a.m. to noon, local artists like Dug Uyesaka, Holly Mackay and Bill McVicar lead workshops for children and adults to explore their creativity, all at the bargain price of $6, supplies included.

Want to learn more about art? Santa Barbara Museum of Art (1130 State St., 805/963-4364, www.sbmuseart.org) offers docent-led tours of special exhibitions Tuesday through Sunday at noon and an overview of the collection at 1 p.m. (free to members or with paid admission).

Want to learn to dance the tango, shape up with fitness classes, explore your musical side or teach your dog to stay off the couch? Santa Barbara Parks and Recreation (www.sbparksandrecreation.com/) offers low-cost classes in all of these things and more.

Don’t see anything that tickles your fancy here? Check out Santa Barbara City College Adult Education (http://omni.sbcc.edu/adulted/) and UCSB Extension (www.extension.ucsb.edu/), both of which offer hundreds of classes for lifelong learners.

—Leslie Dinaberg

Top–bottom: Covent Garden Newgate alarm clock and Acme Pens Studio Crayon Retractable Ballpoint Pens designed by Adrian Olabuenaga, all from Imagine; Illustrator’s Sketchbook and “The Game” youth hat from UCSB Bookstore; embroidered hat from Westmont College Bookstore; zippered hoodie from SBCC Bookstore; floral laptop case by Pylones will hold up to a 17” laptop, from Imagine; and Toms Shoes in brown plaid—for every pair of shoes purchased, this company gives new pair of shoes to a child in need—from Westmont College Bookstore.

Originally published in Santa Barbara Seasons Magazine, Fall 2010. Cover photo by Jim Bartsch.

Cover photo by Jim Bartsch.

Originally published in Santa Barbara Seasons Magazine, Fall 2010. Cover photo by Jim Bartsch.

Blooming Girls and Blooming Idiots

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Photo by by imagerymajestic, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by by imagerymajestic, freedigitalphotos.net

Sixth grade started last week and I was shocked to find my still-squirrelly-not-yet-pimply-but-still-closes-his-eyes-when-people-kiss-in-movies little boy in a class full of young women. Never have I seen such blatant evidence of girls maturing faster than boys as I did in that sixth grade classroom.

If Koss had been aware enough of the opposite sex to look-really look-around, he would have been shocked at the new uh, developments that had perked up among his classmates over the summer. Those giggly little girls were growing into graceful young women, or at least women-in-the-making, while the boys were still, for the most part, goofy little boys. Sure, the boys were microscopically taller than they had been in June and their trash talk was becoming a bit more colorful, but these were basically the same increments of gradual maturation I’d been witnessing since preschool.

The girls, on the hand, seemed to have catapulted into womanhood in the blink of an eye. It was like they’d all been sucked into some kind of puberty-filled time machine and grown three years older in just three months. I know there are lots of theories about genetically modified hormones causing girls to mature sooner, but given the preponderance of glitter nail polish and day glow accessories, I’m starting to think they might be pumping something into the air at Claire’s.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when Koss came home from his first day of school and told me about the new rule for the sixth graders: deodorant was mandatory. After all, last year’s sex ed video gave a very basic anatomy lesson, just slightly above the level of the one I gave Koss when he was potty training, and then spent the rest of the video talking about the importance of wearing deodorant. He’s been asking a lot of questions about Old Spice and Right Guard ever since, but sex, body hair, voices changing – all of that stuff – is still way, way off his radar.

I have noticed a few strange and alien tween behaviors, like eye rolls, shoulder shrugs and “yeah, right mom’s,” but not really anything else. Seeing those girls so developed kind of freaked me out. Naturally I went to my friends for advice on dealing with the inevitable onset of, gasp, puberty.

“He’s still a long ways away,” said my friend Audrey, whose three teenage sons give her a lot of street cred in this arena. “But I would advise you to start investing in hair dye pretty soon,” pointing to a new streak of gray in her once auburn tresses.

“At least you have a boy,” piped up Penny, whose daughter, at age 11, is already shaving her legs and buying tampons. To think I used to envy this particular mom when the kids were little and her daughter would swing docilely for hours while I wore myself out running around the park with Koss, feigning endless interest in trucks and dinosaur action figures.

“I’ve got a good idea,” suggested Krista. “We should send the girls to middle school in sixth and seventh grade, and leave the boys in elementary school till they hit puberty.”

Holly laughed, “As soon they tell you they are too old for Superman underwear and watermelon flavored toothpaste, then they have to go to junior high.”

“We could even throw a commencement party and all chip in to buy our boys boxer shorts and sheets that don’t have Bob the Builder on them,” said Nina.

“I’ve got an even better idea,” said Audrey, the only one of us who has been through this multiple times and lived to tell the tale. “Throw mom a puberty party and give her a few years supply of wine and chocolate-and don’t forget the hair dye.” I knew there was a reason why we were friends.

Send your puberty party suggestions-and early donations-to Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.  Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on September 3, 2010.

Back to school daze

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Photo by stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

It doesn’t seem possible that summer is almost over. We’ve only had three decent beach days and we haven’t dusted off the barbecue or the blender in weeks. Summer’s barely started. How can it possibly be time for school to start again?

There is something fundamentally wrong with going back to school in August, especially this year when the entire summer was engulfed in June gloom.

There should be a law enacted that school can’t start until we’ve had at least a week in Santa Barbara where the weather’s hot enough for wimps like me to go in the ocean above my ankles. There should also be a law that school can’t start until I’ve once again mastered the fine art of carting towels, beach chairs, boogie boards, soccer balls, sunscreen, hats, clothing changes, reading material, snacks and assorted children from the parking lot to the beach in a single trip.

And there should, without a doubt, certainly be a law that school can’t start until after Labor Day. How can you possibly start school before the official end of summer? It doesn’t make sense.

I know a lot of parents jump for joy when summer is over and they can finally escape from their kids, but I’ve never really understood that. How can they be so ready for summer to end when it has barely even begun? Do they really enjoy worrying about bedtime and balanced meals and soccer schedules? Do they really enjoy stressing about how they’ll get any actual work done when there’s so much volunteer work to do?

And seriously, is there a parent alive who really likes “helping” their kid with homework? I’m fairly certain that I forgot everything I learned in sixth grade math before I got to high school, but I’ve retained enough logic that I don’t need to point that out to my 11-year-old. And if you value our relationship, then please don’t mention it to him.

Give a mom a break-I’m trying to maintain some semblance of authority here and don’t ask me how it happened, but the kid has a lot of respect for math. He’s been calculating various ways he’s going to rule the school in sixth grade since he was nine. As much fun as his summer has been, I think he’s actually looking forward to school starting. Crazy kid. Doesn’t he know that summer doesn’t end until AFTER Labor Day?

Can’t we just press the snooze button on summer a few more weeks? Sigh. It is still August, after all. No matter what the school says, MY summer doesn’t officially end till next month.

When Leslie’s not soaking up those last rays of summer every chance she gets, she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on August 20, 2010.

History in the Making

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Boehm Family Photo by V. Smith, courtesy Boehm Group

Boehm Family Photo by V. Smith, courtesy Boehm Group

Eric Boehm & Family

Honoring the past while looking toward the future has been a recurring theme throughout the 92 years of Eric Boehm’s life and his most recent venture, Boehm Biography Group, brings together three generations of his own family-son Steven, 49, and grandson Jeff, 25-to help others preserve their heritage and create meaningful legacies.

Boehm’s brush with history began just before World War II in 1934, when his German-Jewish parents’ prescient concerns about their son’s future stirred them to ship 16-year-old Eric from Hof, Germany, to live with his aunt and uncle in Youngstown, Ohio. “If you have to leave home, my suggestion is the time to leave is when you’re 16 years old, because you are young enough to adapt and old enough to be looking for adventure,” twinkles Eric, as he recalls his early life in America.

By the time his parents and brother had escaped Germany in 1941, Eric had received a B.A. from the College of Wooster and was working on his M.A. from Tufts University’s Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy. Those diplomatic skills came into play almost immediately, when he served a critical role in helping dissolve the Supreme Command of the Luftwaffe in Germany at the end of World War II. In a life with many high points, this experience stands out as one of the most significant, says Eric, whose work as an intelligence officer and interrogator is detailed in a new book, The Enemy I Knew (Zenith Press, 2009) by Steven Karras.

After leaving the military, Eric continued to work for the U.S. government in Germany as part of the press scrutiny board, reviewing German newspapers to glean information. While there, he met his wife, Inge Pauli. His cocker spaniel puppy played matchmaker for the couple. ” I took him to work with me every once in a while and he would disappear. He kept going upstairs looking and seeing if Fraulein Pauli was there,” laughs Eric. “She had been feeding him.”

The couple married in a double wedding ceremony with Eric’s brother and sister-in-law in Blake Wood, Illinois in 1948 and worked together until Inge died a decade ago. They had four children: two girls that died as children and two sons, Ronald and Steven, who live in Santa Barbara. If not for an encounter with anti-Semitism from a chemical company, Eric might have become a chemist rather than a historian. He was shattered after losing a job he thought was a sure thing. His history professor pulled some strings, and, unbeknownst to Eric at the time, created a job for him at the University of Massachusetts. While completing his doctoral studies at Yale, Eric published a collection of personal accounts of survival in Nazi Germany.

This passion for preserving knowledge led Eric and Inge to found historical bibliography company ABC-CLIO in 1955. The family and the company moved to Santa Barbara in 1960, soon after they spotted the while town en route to Los Angeles for a vacation. “We said you know, this is a nice place. On our way back let’s stop,” says Eric. “Then we took a hotel room by the beach … and one night here turned into two nights and three nights and four nights and while we were here we looked at houses.” The rest, as they say, is history.

Son Ronald now runs what has grown to become an international academic publishing enterprise.

About five years ago, the family founded Boehm Group. “At 87, I was too young to retire, but I was too old to spell bibliography, so I spelled biography,” smiles Eric, who credits his health and longevity mostly to good genetics. “My father died at 98, and I had a great grandfather who died at 98. The name of one of my ancestors is Liverecht, which translates to ‘live right,’-that’s what I try to do.”

In addition to producing individuals’ biographies to preserve family stories and institutional biographies, such as an upcoming coffee table book commemorating the 100th anniversary of Santa Barbara City College, Boehm Group plans to develop an online program that will offer college degrees in biography, explains Jeff, who is responsible for the technical project management.

“I see huge potential and it’s in the family business-plus I get to spend time with my grandfather and my father,” says Jeff, who affectionately calls his “Opa” (German for grandpa) Eric only when they’re in work mode. “I thought that I’d want to spend time doing something on my own, but this is something exciting that they’re starting new and I’m creating it with them.”

“The idea of working together, making it a family enterprise had meaning to me that I enjoyed,” says Eric. “What greater thing could you have than having a grandfather working with his son and grandson? It’s a real joy.”

Originally published in Santa Barbara Magazine In Spring 2010.

Peace Love Dirt

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Courtesy Live Oak Music Festival (Instagram)

Courtesy Live Oak Music Festival (Instagram)

Welcoming summer at Live Oak Music Festival

The salty smell of Coppertone. A colorful explosion of tie-dyed t-shirts and low-backed beach chairs. A cacophony of live music out in the sun and under the stars. That first sip of an ice cold Cadillac Margarita where the sweet kiss of Grand Marnier meets the sour tang of lime-laced tequila. Summer has finally arrived and I couldn’t have conjured up a better place to greet it than the Live Oak Music Festival.

Believe it or not, this was my first journey to this timeless spot, nestled in the peaceful Santa Ynez Valley, just minutes away from my Santa Barbara home, but worlds away from my fall-winter-springtime life in the carpool lane.

I know it seems like an oxymoron to say that a live music festival featuring a kaleidoscope of sounds ranging from traditional folk, bluegrass, gospel, to blues, jazz, classical, pop, world music and pirate aurghs could actually be peaceful, but somehow this one was.

Unlike some of the musical festivals I’ve been to in recent years, at Live Oak there was no mosh pit to fear, no skunkweed stink and no stale beer spills to accidentally step into. It was just an eclectic mix of great opportunities to hear, make and learn about music in a pleasant atmosphere alongside a community of several thousand genuinely friendly people relaxing and enjoying themselves. What a great way to welcome the summer.

No wonder people have been coming back here for 22 years.

It was Rickie Lee Jones who finally lured us to Live Oak. I was first introduced to her spacey, jazzy, sad chick sounds when I was in college, and thought “We Belong Together” was the most romantic song on earth. I still can’t resist Johnny the King walking in the streets without her in the rain looking for a leather jacket and a girl who wrote her name forever.

Her “Flying Cowboys” CD tunefully distracted me while her album of standards (“Pop Pop”) amused me through my commute during my driving years of living in Los Angeles. Zak was a fan too. We’d seen Rickie Lee Jones perform half a dozen or so times over the years, mostly in dark, smoky clubs, so we jumped at the chance to see her outside under the giant oak trees. The fact that it was Father’s Day was a bonus, as the rest of my family (and a few friends) jumped at this unique way to celebrate the holiday.

As usual, she didn’t disappoint. The sound was great, the setting unparalleled and I still love her music just as much as I did the first time I heard it.

I didn’t have any idea what to expect from the rest of the artists and was happily surprised. Starting with the high energy antics of Baka Beyond, who fuse African music from the Cameroon rainforest with Celtic fiddling, and sing about things like peace and porridge. Then there was the amazing jazz organist Dr. Lonnie Smith, who you really have to see-and hear-to believe; followed by the folksy rock tunes of Josh Ritter, an indie artist who is making a dent in the mainstream big-time, having recently been discovered and marketed by Starbucks.

They were all enjoyable but I have to say I took as much pleasure in people watching as I did the music.

Where else can you see (and Solstice doesn’t count) an absurdly fun parade led by an octogenarian Grandma in a purple tutu; a tribe of Zinka-nosed surf rats; a blissed-out hippie swaying to a tune that only he can hear; a weathered cowboy hosing down the dusty path as a bevy of tiny fairies hand out wishing dust; joined by a 50-ish brunette with a stylish haircut, Prada shoes, and a pair of ladybug wings and a yupped-out backpacker couple loaded down with the entire REI catalog worth of coolers and chairs?

My son liked playing soccer the best and I think my dad enjoyed his nap, so three generations of our family and friends all found something to like under the giant oaks this Father’s Day.

“This is a really cool thing. We should do it again next year,” said my mom, smiling and passing some more food. I couldn’t agree more.

What signals summer to you? Email Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on June 25, 2010.