Karen Sandler

Category: Introduction

  • Pride and Education

    In the last week, my son and daughter-in-law have both been awarded their PhDs in economics. To say I’m proud of them is an understatement. I’m pretty much doing the Snoopy dance of joy in response to their accomplishments. It’s made even more impressive by the fact that both of them achieved their bachelors degrees in three years rather than the usual four. And they did that by excelling in their high school AP courses so that those classes counted toward their BA.

    On my husband’s side of the family, his dad was an attorney. His mom completed some college. But on my side, both my mom’s mom and dad’s dad only went as far as the 8th grade. My dad didn’t finish high school. He got his GED from the Navy. My mom graduated high school, then attended beauty school. She ended up spending much of her working life as a waitress (although in the last part of her life, she owned a restaurant).

    Of my three sisters, only the oldest one went to college, and she got an AA. I knew I wanted more than that. I remember sitting down with my dad one day, telling him I wanted to go to college. He asked, “But what if you get married and quit?” I told him, “Oh, Dad, I won’t do that.” It seems so old-fashioned for a dad to ask a daughter that question, but at that time, we were on the cusp between women being homemakers only and women beginning to test the waters that only men swam in.

    So I got my BA and later a masters. The first one in my family to go that far. And when I had my own kids, we never lectured them about college, we never pushed them, but it must have been in their DNA. They went straight from high school to college. Leading to a BA for my older son and an eventual PhD for my younger son.

    This blog post is a bragfest, but it’s also me announcing how fanatical I am about education. I feel strongly that kids have to do something after high school, whether it’s four-year college, trade school, apprenticeship. If they want a job that’s going to pay more than minimum wage, that might eventually earn them a profession, they need education. And if there’s any way to do that without a pile of debt at the end, that’s ideal. It sucks that education costs so much at many institutions.

    So I’m going to bask a little in the reflected glow of my son’s accomplishment (and my daughter-in-law’s even though that’s even more reflected). And there will be a massive grin on my face (and a few tears) when they graduate June 14th.

  • Buddy, Please Don’t Loan Me a Dime

    I got my car detailed yesterday. This wasn’t just a run through the auto-wash with a couple guys swabbing it off with shammies. This was a full court press, inside and out, upholstery and carpet steam-cleaned, the dash wiped down with some miracle restorer, the trunk vacuumed out and even the carpet in there cleaned.

    It cost me a pretty penny. But other than those nicks and dents and that tree sap on the trunk lid, my 1997 Camry looks pretty darn new. And since I just put in a breath-stealing amount of money in miscellaneous maintenance, I’m tickled to have a newish-looking car to drive around now.

    You might wonder what insanity possessed me to put bucks-bucks-bucks into a 15-year-old car with nearly 270K miles on it. I’m a pretty thrifty person and throwing all that money into such a geriatric vehicle might not make much sense.

    Hubby and I thought long and hard about the choice to preserve and protect my old Camry or to buy a new (well, newer used) car. The repairs that needed to be made to the Camry were maintenance issues (timing belt and struts that were overdue by 10K miles), but expensive. My mechanic felt pretty confident that once those were taken care of, I’d be good for a few more years, with nothing but oil changes and new tires.

    If we bought a new (used) car, we’d either be taking a big chunk out of savings (ugh) or we’d have to borrow (triple-ugh). I really-really-really dislike debt. I do not want to be owing the bank or the car company monthly payments. And on top of those payments, there’s the increased insurance and increased registration fee. That would be hundreds more dollars a year on top of a monthly car payment. I could buy a lot of repairs for that money.

    So I gave my old Camry a spa day instead. I still have to treat her to some new tires and an alignment, then I might even splurge on a new windshield. And if I’m feeling really flush, maybe I’ll indulge her in a brand-spanking-new steering wheel cover. Yes, I’m a wild thing.

  • Dance Camp!

    I’m heading off to a week-long dance camp today in Stockton, CA. This is an annual pilgrimage for my husband and me (and a 100+ other dancers from around the world). On the schedule this week are classes in Portuguese, Macedonian, Bulgarian, Israeli, Vintage, English Country, What’s Hot in Europe and Square dance. We stay in the dorms of the University of the Pacific and eat yummy (not so much) dorm food.

    Here’s what my piles o’ packing look like:

    You’ll notice the kitties are a little apprehensive of all the disarray. We have a great housesitter lined up to stay with them, but they don’t know that. They don’t like it when we leave.

    In the third picture, those big black bags are clothes on hangers. Since we’re at dance camp for a solid week and because we’re dancing our little footsies off for several hours a day, we need lots of changes. Plus there are parties every night, some of them that involve costumes. So hubby and I need lots of changes of clothes.

    I like to make sure each outfit–skirt, blouse socks (yes, socks with a skirt. You can’t wear dance shoes barefoot, and it’s mighty hot for hose)–to be color coordinated. So I put them together on hangers so when I go to the closet for an outfit, I don’t have to think about where everything is.

    Even still, in my don’t rock the boat/rock the boat fashion, I’ll probably end up mixing everything up. And there are also the bargain finds at the rummage sale which I might end up wearing.

    Here’s one of my coordinated outfits:

    On Wednesday of the camp, we all have pictures taken. It’s nice to wear a costume that night. Last year I got a screaming good deal at the silent auction on a German dirndl costume. At the live auction, I bought a complete lederhosen costume for my husband, so we’ll both be well outfitted for picture night. I am part German although I don’t know that my German Jewish great-grandmother would have ever worn a dirndl.

    I’m hoping I’ll have enough spare energy this week to post to my blog about the camp. My goal is every day, but it may end up being just a few times during the week. One limitation is exhaustion (have you ever danced 8-10 hours a day?). The other is that my grandbaby will be at camp this year for the first time and I hope to help babysit her. But with luck you’ll see posts from me complete with cool pictures.

  • Censored by fear of saying the Wrong Thing

    I have a very weighty blog entry in mind, one that will be full of things I find scary to say, but things that really must be said. This is not that blog entry. This is the one about how often I keep my lip zipped due my to fear of saying the Wrong Thing.

    That is not to say that I never say anything awkward or clumsy. Au contraire, I’ve always had a real talent for putting my foot in my mouth (literally, as well as figuratively–doh, there I go again putting an embarrassing image in your minds). From childhood, I have blurted out the Thing I should not, the Observation that should have remained unsaid, the Critique I should have kept to myself. I’d get scolded, I’d feel mortified, I’d feel terrible for anyone whose feelings I hurt.

    In my more mature years, I’ve managed to put a pause on my patter. Most of the time I can take a moment before spewing out the Thing that impulse is goading me to say, to consider whether it’s such a good idea to make that joke or commentary. Sometimes I say it anyway, many times I do not.

    The downside to this is that I’ve become a bit of a coward. I’m so worried about who might be offended that sometimes I say nothing when I should be speaking up. I’m particularly worried about what I post online because of the varied audience and the permanence of words on the internet. I have this fear that I’ll spout an opinion or make a declaration that will anger some group of people so heartily that they decide they’ll Never Buy My Books. Then they’ll tell all their friends, and they’ll start an internet campaign and pretty soon no one will ever buy my books.

    Okay, that’s a wee bit on the irrational side. But it lurks in the back of my mind and I sometimes (often) wonder if those fears end up watering down what I write. Maybe my blog posts, tweets and Facebook statuses are more bland than they could be. I think I’m braver in my books, but there’s at least some self-censoring going on there too.

    I’ve been working on it though. Getting myself accustomed to definitively declaring my stand. Not in every little thing (I try to keep politics out of it), but when it’s something that’s important to me, like in this post, I’ll make a statement.

    Someone once described me as “Don’t rock the boat/rock the boat Karen.” Meaning I hate to rock the boat, but at the same time I feel compelled to rock it. I think it’s time I did a little more rocking.

  • #ArmchairBEA Intro

    I’m a latecomer to ArmchairBEA, so I have some catching up to do. I would have loved to attend BEA this year because I love NYC. Yes, very corny and cliche, but for me ’tis true.

    I was lucky enough to attend one BEA when it was in Los Angeles. It’s a short flight for me from Northern California and since my mom-in-law lives in L.A., I got to stay with her. The convention floor was pretty overwhelming, even though I only attended one day. I did get to sign one of my romance novels, which was fun. It’s always great to meet readers.

    Now I’m writing YA rather than romance (TANKBORN, my dystopian YA, is due out in Sept. 2011). Since I’m so into reading YA now, it would have been fabulous to check out all the new books and scoop up some freebies from the convention floor. To meet the authors and check out all the publishers. But since I can’t be there at BEA NYC this year, ArmchairBEA is the next best thing.