Valentines is over, so what do I do with the box?

My spouse thoughtfully gave me the traditional heart shaped box of Russell Stover chocolates. Although the chocolates were gone by weekend's end, the box has been laying around. Today I picked it up with plans to get it off my kitchen counter, but now it's on my desk, here by my computer, because I can't decide what to do with it.

I recycle just about everything. From cat food cans to plastic milk jugs, soda cans to Lean Cuisine boxes, if it's paper, plastic, aluminum or tin, I have a container for it and a recycling center down the road that will take it.

But what about this heart shaped box? It's really too pretty to throw away. It has Russell Stover's name stamped into it, so it's not really good for decorative purposes, I of course won't throw it away, but it's really too pretty for the recycle pile. I'm in a quandary. I really don't know what to do.

If anyone out there has a creative use for a heart-shaped box, let me know what it is. I did a quick search on Google looking for ideas, but to no avail. I can't be the only person with this problem. In past years I've received chocolates, so I must have gotten rid of the box one way or another. I don't have a stockpile of these boxes in a closet or on a shelf. But I can't imagine myself throwing them away either.

WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THE HEART SHAPED BOX WHEN THE CANDY IS ALL GONE???

Something Good About George Bush

People who know me will see the title of this post and wonder. But I finally have come up with something good about George Bush: He made us laugh. (Click on the photo to the left for a link to a great compilation of some of W's brightest moments.)

Yes, laughter is good. Although with Mr. Bush that laughter was quickly followed by the nervous twitter of realizing he was the leader of the free world. Usually that led to complete and utter embarassment --at least for me, and it should for our nation. But George Bush fueled the comedy of our nation and the world more than any president in history. He made us laugh more. Okay it was at him, not with him, but laughter is still good.

I'll miss him for that. But I'm really glad he doesn't have to try to be our president any more. I don't think he was cut out for that job. I'd like to see him buy another baseball team or something. I'd even love it if he bought a lake house down here and a nice bass boat. He could come down to get away from the city and hang with the weekenders at Don's Port Marina or the locals at Cedar Isle.

Enjoy your retirement, Mr. Bush. I'm very, very happy for you.

Ice Storm Schmice Storm

I don't watch a lot of television news, but when bad weather occurs, you have to watch. Since we live an hour away from the city, it can be fine where we are but deadly treacherous in Dallas. Since some teachers drive from quite a distance, our schools are often delayed and even closed when the weather "elsewhere" is bad. Thus is the case today.

The big ice storm of '09 is upon us, but not really. News reporters in Dallas and Fort Worth have dug out their cutest winter head gear to stand in the intersection of some major highway to tell you that it's slick out. There isn't much traffic on the roads, Dallas looks to be closed, and my husband just stayed home. With the economy the way it is he isn't overwhelmed at work. Since the company is in Dallas, they may close for the day or at least delay opening anyway. He's been there ten years. He has days off he can take. So be it.

Of course I have to work. There is no such thing as unable to get to work when your office is in your house. It also means I'll have to make breakfast later than usual and maybe take the kids to school when they start at 10. The bridges and overpasses will be icy, and my 16 year old has no experience with that sort of thing. (There are several bridges over a lake before you get to the high school from here.) On the other hand, he has to learn.

I don't like unexpected weather patterns. I don't like having three people "at work with me" unscheduled. These people know me as Mom and Wife, and they are used to talking to me and having me do things for them. Between 8 a.m. and 4 p.m., I don't like to be Mom or Wife. I have work to do.

Ice Storm, Schmice Storm. The weather is fine where I am. I'm a little worried about my iris and Cana bulbs that have sprouted in the last week. My tropicals and palms that are in the ground are not looking too good either. (But neither are the pots of palms and other plants that got brought in for the winter. I just do not have a green thumb.)

But I digress, which is what happens when there are people home who should be at school and work, and when the reporters on TV are making a big deal out of a little ice. But it is a big deal in Dallas. We don't get ice often. People don't know anything about it. Pick-ups do horribly on ice, fishtailing everywhere, and everyone drives pick-ups. I even heard some idiot say, "At least I have four wheel drive." As if that would help! I lived in Colorado for 15 years and we had four wheel drive. It's great for snow or mud or going through streams or up mountains, but on ice it's like having four wheels out of control.

My husband tried something he saw on the news. The dumbest thing I've seen today. He put a cardboard pizza box over his windshield so he wouldn't have to scrape the ice off. I was out this morning doing a "weather check" in time to see him trying to get the pizza box off his windshield. Yes, it was stuck. I wonder how many viewers were dumb enough to try the same thing? And how many are sorry they did today. Once when I was in college I saw on the Dallas news that you could pour a pitcher of water on your windshield and melt the ice off if you didn't have a scraper. I did that with a steaming pitcher of water and my entire windshield cracked, costing me several hundred dollars. These people haven't got a clue!

My kids are getting ready to go to school. My husband thinks he'll take the day off. We've been painting, and he can finish one of the areas. Of course it's part of my office. He says he can do it without disturbing me. I doubt that very, very, very much.

Ice storm, schmice storm. What do they do in other parts of the world? Up north people can't possibly stay home everytime the weather is bad. I suppose that because people down here don't have proper coats or gloves or even ice scrapers, we have to shut everything down. But come on people. How is anyone supposed to get any work done when the city shuts down and my husband stays home. Do you know how easy it is to get me off task? Do you know how much I enjoy a day alone with my spouse, and how rare those days are? I have lunch plans and conference calls....this changes everything. Can we reschedule this storm for next week? I'm just too busy this week.

Is Today Sunday?

My kids have been home since December 23 nearly full time. My spouse has been home since December 24 full time. I have had plenty of time off. I have had a lovely, low key, stress free holiday season, with lots of laughs and plenty of family time. Holiday decorations have been put away. My house is clean, the laundry is done. Even the cats have adjusted and have started sleeping in. This has to be about over.

Don't get me wrong. No one loves vacation more than I. But now the entitlement of it all is starting to wear thin.

My mother will tell you that I have spoiled my boys rotten. I always figured it was my job as mother (and a privilege for me -- a source of pride too) to make my children a warm breakfast. I have made breakfast for my kids for 16 years. As teens they are becoming easier and often want just cereal, which they can get themselves. When it comes to lunch, they can make their own sandwiches but don't. I don't mind making lunch, figuring it saves me money if they aren't wholesale raiding my refrigerator every few hours. But having them home means there's been little time for much else between "feedings."

Meal time has been especially dictated by the incredible poison ivy rash that my youngest, who is severely allergic to poison ivy, decided to get for the holidays. His three times daily regimen of cortizone steroid medication requires food, so I've been a short order cook for a week.

The poison ivy episode itself was an ordeal. The weather has been nice. Dylan and his friends have been building a course for playing with their (I'm told) relatively harmless airsoft guns. On Sunday, Dylan's rash appeared, the itching kept him awake overnight, and by Monday his right eye was nearly swollen shut. After applying every home remedy on the internet (with some short-lived success) throughout the morning, we knew he needed a shot, so I took him to the doctor. Anyway, after a big shot of steroids in his butt he got immediate relief, but he needs meds with food three times a day.

That was five days ago. Since then I've made sure that he has taken his medication three times a day with food. If you can imagine how much time in the day that takes up, you can understand my growing excitement about returning to work, kids returning to school, and life returning to "normal."

The point of this post is that this has been a really good break for me. But it's starting to wear thin.

Yesterday I had a melt down over a movie the boys rented, which disapated into a melt-down about everything to do with them on that particular day. I was relaxing, having spent DAYS doing laundry and the day taking down Christmas decorations and cleaning., putting things back to normal and rearranging things a bit. I was sitting on the couch doing a Sudoku (Santa brought it) when the boys came in from town.

They were carrying fast food drinks and a new horn for the golf cart (honk honk). My boys are funny. They are small town kids, and there really isn't much to do here. They find their fun at WalMart (buying silly things like a horn for the golf cart), and they even enjoy going through the new carwash. Last week my oldest showed me a video he'd taken on his phone of the new car wash. "You took my car through the car wash?" I asked, "Twice," he had answered. "Twice?" I'd asked laughing before adding, "What a waste of money." "It's fun, and besides, Stephen paid," he'd said. "Oh," I'd said, thinking "at least I didn't pay for it." Our neighbors have small town kids too, and they're all loaded up with Christmas money. I guess if one of the neighbor boys wants to pay to go through the carwash for fun and they are in my car, I shouldn't complain. It's pretty funny stuff.

Anyway, you can understand how the kids are getting bored too. You can only go to WalMart and go through the car wash or to the movies or to the burger joint so many times before you are truly bored. That's why they had gone to rent some movies.

So back to this movie: I was sitting on the couch. I never watched it, per say, because I was trying to do a Sudoku, but from the moment it began until the moment when I said, "That's enough, turn it off," I heard nothing but fowl language. It wasn't funny. It was awful. I wasn't watching, but I could hear my husband commenting from behind me about the violence, blood and gore. Before "losing it" and demanding that the thing be turned off, I had been told by my children in response to my exhaltations of disgust, "If you don't like it, go to another room," and "You aren't watching it anyway so don't worry about it," and other disrespectful things.

Anyway, long story short, the movie (a Ben Stiller movie called Tribal Thunder) did not get watched and today I am going to try to take it back to Blockbuster to find out why they allowed kids under 17 to rent a movie rated R, and I'm going to try to get credit put back on my kid's gift card. I can be really calm about this, and I can only try. That movie was nuts though. I'm thoroughly disgusted with Ben Stiller's choice there. I don't know where I lost control of the boundaries with my children, but the fact that they thought they could bring that into my house and play it on the TV in my living room while I'm sitting on the couch relaxing and enjoying some down time, is beyond me. But they learned yesterday that there is a line, and that movie crossed it. My oldest even agreed. My youngest, I was appalled to hear, had already seen the movie at the theatre -- a 14 year old with his 13 year old "date!" What is this world coming to?

So the movie incident led me to the money wasting of buying $14 worth of fast food at 4 in the afternoon (when they would want dinner in two hours anyway) and buying a horn for the golf cart. Spend, spend, spend. I haven't even checked to see if they also washed my car.

It's definitely time for me to get back to work and for the kids to go back to what they do. I have enjoyed having my husband around, although if was around a lot I'd have to buy him a computer and add on another office because he has been on my computer and in my office a lot. There's good reason. He has been helping my son try to fix his XBox. This in itself has been a ten day ordeal that has involved something expensive and electronic being taken apart on my conference table, new tools were purchased, special trips to Dallas for salves and gadgetry were made, as well as two trips to Lowes for nylon then rubber washers the right size. They thought they fixed it yesterday, twice, but to no avail. Now they are looking to buy another broken Xbox off ebay to get the part they need to fix it...I'm not sure I get it, but it's their business. All these activities require a computer so they could watch "how to" videos on You Tube and find locations for stores to buy what they needed, and because I thought the experience was excellent for my son, I allowed it to take place and did laundry instead. Now it really is getting to be time for me to get back to work, and it's about time to get that stuff off my conference table. I haven't said anything yet though.

The problem with a long holiday vacation is that, while at the start of the vacation every day feels like Friday, toward the end every day feels like it should be Sunday. I'm not particularly fond of Sundays. They always have the aura of "Bummer, the weekend is over" combined with "I have so much to do tomorrow." I guess that's why God invented church. Maybe if you go to church on Sunday morning you are thankful for the weekend you had and the job you are returning to. I think I need church every day.

Oh well, it's been a great break...are we going back to school and work now...no, not quite yet, but I've just been informed everyone IS hungry.

Holiday "Arts" Fest

With Christmas behind us, I am patting myself on the back for successfully "low keying" it a bit this year. Despite that, I still have several presents lying around that need to be put away, and there is at least one thing in need of exchanging or returning, but other than that, Christmas is over. Hurray.



My favorite thing about this Christmas was a couple of activities I did that really lifted my spirits. They were those "once a year" or "once every few years" things you do that make you feel like you've experienced at least something special.



My mother and I went to see the Texas Ballet Theatre on Friday afternoon for their presentation of The Nutcracker. Despite my early dismay at realizing there was no orchestra (what kind of big city ballet dances to tape?), the quality of the sets, the dancers, and the costumes made me forget all about it. The Texas Ballet Theatre company is good. Darn good. The choreography was the classic choreography, but these dancers took it to its limits. I found the entire production to be very good. In fact, there are parts of the music that, when combined with the grace and beauty of the dancers, moved me to tears.



I have a bit of history with the Nutcracker. In Boulder I was on the board of the Boulder Ballet for many years, and I was the president of the ballet for a couple of those. I know more about the business of ballet -- fundraising, budgets, dealing with artistic personnel - than about the art of ballet, but I know more about that than most too, I suppose.



My time with the Boulder Ballet was more than a decade ago, but seeing the Nutcracker brought it all back. I really enjoyed being involved with the "project" side of putting on a big production. Ours was big too, and quite a logistical exercise. We did it at Thanksgiving time so that we could rent sets from bigger companies and get them back before they needed them, hire principal dancers from other ballets during their "vacation time," and use university dancers before they left for Chrismtas as part of our company. But even in Boulder, we had a real orchestra -- the Boulder Philharmonic, in fact, which eventually, as part of our maneuvers as a board (but after I was long gone) merged with our little ballet company. There may be a story behind why there was no orchestra in Dallas. In fact there was an "In memory of" section dedicated to a conductor, so I suppose he died suddenly and there was no one to replace him, and as I said, the show went on gloriously. It was a real treat.



On Sunday, my oldest woke up and asked "What are we doing today?" Having no formal plans, he suggested going to the Dallas Art Museum to see the King Tut exhibition. He has been talking about this for a few weeks, ever since his art teacher taught his Art I class about the ancient Egyptians and they studied ancient Egyptian art forms.



So because number one gets whatever he wants, and number two and spouse had no desire to go to the art museum, I took my son to see the King Tut exhibit yesterday.



I'm so glad I did.



In 1922, a group of archeologists who were already clearing out pharoahs tombs in the Valley of the Kings stumbled (literally) over the entrance to young King Tut's tomb. From the photos of the discovery it looked not unlike a storage unit full of stuff you have no room for in your house. Once removed, catalogued, identified, and cleaned (where needed) it was a treasure trove of possessions owned by a boy king.



We saw Tut's "game system" (a game board with two games, drawers for the pieces, and everything in tact), we saw his mallard-shaped cosmetic case (this was Egypt and he was royalty, so yes, he wore heavy eye liner and make-up), and we saw the coffin that his liver had been buried in. We saw the five gold treasures -- a necklace, a daggar and sheath, a headress, a couple others I can't recall -- that were among the more than 100 pieces of jewelry that were wrapped into the different layers of his mummy.



We saw gallery after gallery of ancient artifacts and treasures -- from Tut's grandparents tombs and from his own. We saw treasures that belonged to his father, also a king, and to his father's "main" wife, who was King Tut's mother-in-law. Yes, King Tut married his half sister, the daughter of his father's other wife, at the age of nine. At some point during his life he and his wife had two still born children, whose mummified remains were found in golden splendor with tiny baby death masks inside the King's tomb.



There is speculation that the tomb was never intended to be a King's tomb. Perhaps it was for the babies alone, but with Tut's sudden and unexpected death, they had to put him somewhere. The good news is that the treasures were preserved because grave robbers, who destroyed so much of ancient Egypt during the last 3200 years, never found the site.



The story of King Tut is amazing. It continues too, as a 2005 cat scan revealed no evidence of foul play, even though King Tut died mysteriously and quickly at the young age of 19.



I could go on about Tut, but just let it suffice to say that this exhibition was worth seeing. It's the same one that has been in and out off the U.S. over the last 20 or 30 years, but this was the first chance I've had to get to it.



The Dallas Art Museum has lots of other treasures. We spent a few minutes in the art galleries upstairs where we saw a Picasso and a couple Monets, a Renoir sketch and full painting, some beautiful works by Camille Pissaro, Rodin statues, and even a Van Gogh. We also saw some Mondrian paintings, which were interesting to me since I've worked with designers on Mondrian style brochures before.



My son loved the King Tut exhibition. We both had the audio tour, and that's the only way to go. Otherwise there is too much reading and not enough information anyway. It also makes it a self-directed tour, and it allows you to get the most from what's there.



Yes, I had some nice holiday events. Give me a ticket to the art museum or ballet for Christmas any year. I'm very thankful of having a big city nearby that offers these types of things. It's really nice to step out of your element into a world that is so much bigger or more beautiful than your own. Ballet, golden treasures, and art. Ahhhhhh. A perfect Christmas.

How to Get Out of Doing Favors for Your Kids

In the interest of passing along my ever-growing knowledge of child-rearing, I have a lesson for today. It's "How to Get Out of Doing Favors for Your Kids."

This morning my 14-year old asked if I would bring him Burger King for lunch. This is a once or twice a year affair, usually during final exam week, which this is. Being the wonderful mother I am, and knowing that I had no meetings and would be home working all day and could probably use a break around noon, I agreed.

My morning went in the fashion that is typical of a successful publicist's high-powered office. It was shear chaos. From the time I got up until just before noon things were crazy. Good crazy, but crazy all the same. See, if you do your job right, putting out a press release (itself a time consuming and arduous processs of meetings, writing, editing, approvals, and pitching) is just the first part of the work. The money work comes when editors call, reporters e-mail, interviews are needed, and everyone is on deadline. Thus went my morning. Great hit with a major target newspaper, interviews happened yesterday, photos are happening today. All is well. But busy.

At precisely 12:20 I grabbed my keys, my wallet and my phone and headed to Burger King with an ETA at the junior high mandated as 12:55. My son had taken it upon himself to remind me of my task around an hour earlier. That's something he's learned to do since he knows how crazy my office can be. In his text he gave me his order: "Quad stacker, no sauce, add ketchup and mustard, large fries, large Coke." Even though it's the same order he's had since he graduated from "Double cheeseburger no pickle," he at least knows enough about me to feel a refresher course is necessary.

No sooner had I got on the road than I realized the roads were slick. Black ice here in Texas, especially over bridges. Since I have to cross several bridges over the lake to get to town, I slowed down to a comfortable speed, knowing as I did that my schedule would be all off due to weather. That was something my 14-year old would certainly not understand.

As I made it safely into town I realized I'd forgotten about the construction, yet my target location required that I go through the major road work area. I bit my lip and knew that traffic was another reason that didn't get me any understanding from my son. I've tried that before.

Once through the traffic snarls of the construction zone, I began multi-tasking and looking for my wallet and money. Quickly I remembered that both boys requested money for lunch today -- in fact even the one who wanted Burger King had taken my last ten dollars. A quick trip through the ATM would have to occur before I could hit the fast food line. Time was ticking. 12:41. I would never make it.

After saying a little prayer, I was pleasantly surprised to find the ATM lane free from traffic, even as I looked at the line at the McDonalds nearby. "Hopefully Burger King won't have a line," I thought to myself, knowing my son would never give me any credit if the drive-through line slowed me down.

I got the cash and meandered through the parking lots to return to the main drag and my destination. Driving into the parking lot I was careful not to hit the elderly gentleman, someone's grandfather, no doubt, who was moving slowly across the lot. Even Dylan might have understood that sort of delay, but it would not have gotten me off the hook for being late.

To my surprise, after the geezer was safely out of my way and I had waited for a truck full of workers to head back to their freezing cold outdoor jobs, I found myself first in line at the drive through.

I ordered the burger exactly as texted, drove to the window and paid -- over eight bucks. Ouch. Add that to the ten dollars I gave him for lunch and he could have had steak, I thought to myself, or maybe I said it out loud. I do that sometimes.

Burger bag and drink safely in the car, I waited for traffic to clear then quickly made my way back through town, through the surprisingly free from snarls construction site, through a green light toward the school. "12:54" my car clock said. "I can't believe it" I said outloud to myself. "This has to be some sort of miracle."

I pulled into the lot at 12:55, fully expecting my phone to ring and my son to say "WHERE ARE YOU?" But no. I went into the office, spoke to the receptionist, told her what I had, and she said, to my shock and dismay, "Sign in, you can take it down there."

As I signed in I thought about the fact that I had gone straight to work this morning without much care for my appearance. I knew I wasn't wearing make-up, wasn't sure if I had combed my hair, but a quick glance in the window of the door and I thought, "I look alright. No one will care."

I got directions to the cafeteria. (This is a new school this year, and I have never been to the cafeteria.) I'm not good with directions, and I was worried that I'd end up wandering the halls. As I left the office I thankfully ran into a friend. "Hi, Connie, are you going to the cafeteria?" Teachers are smart, and she'd seen the Burger King bag.

"How are you, blah blah blah," we said as we meandered down the hall. I was ever mindful of the slow pace we were moving as we discussed holiday plans, the school vacation, etc. Dylan would be pacing by now. But I was in the home stretch.

As we walked into a cafeteria full of kids, my friend said, "Dylan usually eats down there," and she pointed right as she turned left and left me standing all alone. I looked where she had pointed, and I didn't see Dylan. I was now aware of hundreds of teenage eyes staring at me. "They wish I was THEIR mom," I thought to myself, as I smiled and kept looking. Then I saw him: the apple of my eye, my baby boy, the reason I'd braved the elements and made the trek.

He was walking toward me, and as he did, I walked toward him. The signs of joy I had expected to see were missing, and fading fast into a frown. I wasn't that late, so it couldn't be that. I had Burger King, which his text distinctly requested. What could it be, my subconcious wondered.

As he reached out to take the food, he looked at me with what can only be described as a combination of pity and disgust, and he said, "Geez, Mom...[grunt], did you have to wear such a fruity shirt?" Only then, as he grabbed the bag and turned on his heels, did I realize the gravity of the situation.

My son's MOM came into the cafeteria. She didn't drop the food at the office for delivery as she had in the past. Not only did she COME to the cafeteria, but she came wearing a bright green sweatshirt with a GIANT CHRISTMAS TREE on it. OHMIGOD. My son's mother was wearing a glittery, admittedly goofy shirt, with tinsel and bulbs, and colorful bangles hanging all over it. It is a shirt I'll readily admit is not for public consumption. It's a home day holiday shirt, something you throw on when you get up in the morning but certainly NOT something you wear to the junior high to deliver food to your son.

As I walked away I also became cognizant of my snow boots that my jeans were haphazardly tucked in, and the scarf wrapped around my neck. I now could freely admit it. I looked like I was dressed to go to Santa's workshop. What a geek.

I sulked through the office and signed out, picked up my car keys I had left there and that were already in the lost and found, and called my husband, knowing he'd help me put it in perspective.

Within minutes, we were laughing. As always, he put the positive on the story: "Look at it this way...he won't ask you to bring him lunch any more."

That is, I'm sure, very true. And you know, after all that, that's just fine with me.

Proud to be an American?

I used to be proud to be an American. I even made a conscientious effort to buy an American car the last time around. In fact, my husband and I have bought four Fords in the last five years -- three of them brand new cars. They have been great cars, so I have to disagree with the ad shown at left in one respect. I would change the headline to "You wouldn't buy our overpriced cars."

Now I bought American after years of driving expensive imports, including Saabs and Beemers. In all honesty, our decision to switch to American cars had less to do with the fact that they were American than with the fact that we live in the boonies and have a nice Ford dealership here. I used to drive a BMW sedan, but every time something went wrong -- and it was frequently -- I had to drive it to Dallas for servicing or sit and listen to some grease monkey tell me why I should buy a Ford. With my BMW, every time something went wrong it was $1500 -- minimum. So we bought Fords.

First my husband bought a small commuter car - a ZX2. It was "cute." I think I told him it was cute one time too many, so he traded it for a Mustang. The Mustang still gets good mileage, but it looks a little less "cute" and a little more "cool." It's not fancy, but it's paid for. Out of necessity for hauling kids and sports gear, I bought an SUV. Initially I bought a Ford Escape. It was brand new, and it was pretty, but it was pricey, and there was something not quite right with the size. The engine was way too fast for the size of the car, and I never felt safe in it. When I'd step on the gas, that thing would go, with the rear end fishtailing onto the highway. Within a few months I was back at the dealership asking to trade. I traded "up" to a Explorer. It has an even bigger engine, but it's a much heavier car, and I have really liked this car. It holds seven people comfortably, has a rack on the top for our luggage, the two boys can spread out on road trips, and it is hefty enough to pull our boat. It's been a great car -- for more than 180,000 miles.

I understand why American car manufacturers are in trouble though. It's not so much about the cars they make, at least not the American cars I have experience with. It's about the way you are treated at car dealerships. Through the years, and before we moved to this small town where there is a really good dealership, I had learned to avoid that car buying experience like the plague.

If you go in to trade a car, they rip you off and give you far less than the car is worth. When you're caught up in the car buying experience, you don't really notice, but most people have buyer's remorse the day after they've made the trade.

If you trade in a car that you still owe money on, they are happy to roll the balance into your new car loan. That way you start out with a new car that you owe more on than it's worth, not to mention the fact that the second you drive it off the lot, it becomes a used car and is worth far less than you paid for it.

My most recent dealings with car dealerships have come while shopping for a car for my teenage son. I'm no fool. I know that no teenager needs a new car, so I've done some shopping around. I have shopped online, on ebay, and I've shopped in person at dealerships. I am not going to make payments on a car for a kid, but no matter what you go in for, the guys on the car lot always want to sell you something else. If you want to find something for $5000, they show you something for $15000. If you decide you're willing to pay $10,000, they want you to buy a new car for $23,000.

This process has been so frustrating that I finally gave up. In fact I won't go near a car dealership, except for service. Service at a dealership is great. But apparently fewer people are having their cars serviced regularly, so those of us who do go in are footing the bill. We get upsold all sorts of things that we probably need but didn't go in for in the first place.

I've gone in for a simple oil change ($30) and spent $500 on all sorts of maintenance they said I needed. I've gone in for a tire rotation and been scared silly by mechanics who tell me I'm just miles away from a major blow out that could result in the end of my life, so I've bought new tires. I've also gone in for a simple servicing and spent WAY TOO LONG in the waiting room. The last time I went to my local dealership, I was there three hours. THREE HOURS! As much as I love those guys, there were people coming and going while I sat and sat, probably while they looked for something else to fix on my car. After the second hour, that got old.

So if people don't want to buy cars from car dealers, and they don't want to get their cars serviced at the dealers, the dealers are going to hurt. If the dealers hurt, the manufacturers hurt. If the manufacturers hurt, the auto workers hurt, and if the auto workers hurt, we're told, everyone suffers and the economy goes into a tailspin.

I don't necessarily buy it. I think if the car dealers were honest, and the service people were efficient, the general public wouldn't avoid buying cars or having them serviced.

I think the biggest problem is the price, which is caused by the unions. The union guys make $60- $80 an hour, and a lot of them don't do anything physically demanding or that requires a brain. Yet because it's the UAW, they have power. They are the cause of the high prices on American cars and the lack of competiveness for U.S. auto makers. They are the cause of making cars cost so much that the average citizen has had to go far into debt beyond what he or she could afford to buy a car to get him or her to that job where he or she doesn't make enough money to make the payment.

When combined with the unscrupulous banks that have let those people buy those expensive cars (and homes) in the first place, it's just one big circular mess. Is it an easy fix? No! Is it because American cars aren't made well? No.

I think it boils down to greed. Greed at the top of the auto companies and absolutely at the banks, greed at the union level, greed at the dealership level, and even greed at the consumer level.

Proud to be an American? Not really. But if I can ever afford to buy an American car again, I will. I have had good experience with the quality. It's the price and now the financing I have a problem with.

I do not want our government giving the auto makers federal money -- our money. They have received enough of it, and they have frittered it away. Let the auto workers lose their jobs. Let the execs at those companies lose their jobs and their golden parachutes. Let the bank executives lose their jobs. Then maybe they'll have to work for a living like the rest of us.