Robin Evans, August 30, 2008

John McCain's choice of vice presidential running mate Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin seems to me a clear ploy to woo the Hillary women still distraught over her failure to capture the Democratic nomination. Despite the vast differences between McCain and Barak Obama, some Hillary supporters were still threatening to vote Republican on the eve of Obama's official coronation. It's such a ludicrous posture that I'm not certain Clinton's lauditory halt to the roll-call vote her supporters had demanded -- which would have reminded everyone just how close she came to being the first woman to run for president -- and her admonishment "No McCain, No Way" will change their minds. Perhaps their drive to have a woman in the White House trumps their desire for change. Because I certainly wouldn't want to accuse them of emotionalism.

Cathy Bowman, August 18, 2008

Madonna and I, like, have so much in common. We're married with children. We love to dance and we often wear black. We live in London. Ok, so she earns a wee bit more, owns multiple houses in fabulous locations and has a better wardrobe. Did I mention her large household staff, private gym, cook and who knows what? Now Madge is 50. Amazing. Good for her for being all that she can be (without joining the army) but don't ask me to make her my fashion icon. I don't know what it feels like to be 50, but I'm sure I won't be wearing knee-length knickers over tights on my way to the gym. Madonna's music is great to dance to, but her children's books are torture to read. Gotta give the girl credit, though - at least she's not shy about trying new things.

Cathy Bowman, August 9, 2008

The New Yorker does great cartoons. Some of the best feature a familiar scene: a therapist, a patient, a couch. They're good for a laugh, even if therapy isn't what it used to be. I live near London, where shrinks are about as common as vegans. I was sitting near a lovely manicured garden recently talking to an Englishwoman who had just described a horrendous situation facing her sister-in-law. What about therapy? I asked. “Oh no,” she replied. “The English don't do therapy.” A friend jokes that Americans run to their shrinks the minute their horoscopes look cloudy. Where did she get this idea? Probably from reading about Manhattan psychotherapists who charge $600 per session. OK, so most of us aren't losing sleep over our art collection (unless your kid just caught you sticking her drawings in the recycling bin). Still, therapy has its place. People who find it useful should be able to get it. Just don't expect to find The Bob Newhart Show when you've tuned in to watch Desperate Housewives.

Cathy Bowman, July 25, 2008

Everyone needs a hero. At least I do. Most of my heroes are my friends and family – people who inspire me to do my best. I want to believe in goodness, kindness and a power greater than myself. I want to have hope and live my life with passion – the kind of passion that filled Randy Pausch, the Carnegie Mellon University professor who has died at the age of 47. Millions of people have watched the "last lecture" that Pausch delivered last year, not long after learning he had terminal cancer. It's an amazing speech about achieving your childhood dreams – heartbreaking and exhilarating all at once. Don't underestimate the importance of having fun, he said. Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted. It's a sad, sad day now that he's gone – but what a gift to leave behind.

Robin Evans, July 15, 2008

Caregiving is hard. Losing the one you're caring for is harder, as Cecily O'Connor reported in her story. One woman talked of how sad she was because she and her father had gotten closer than ever before. He told her many things he had kept to himself until then. That's not uncommon. My dad was like that, too. And when he was near death in hospice, unable to speak, I told him many things I would not have had the nerve to otherwise. He had a temper, you see. Which is one of the things I advised him to get control of in his next life. Oh, and sitting there day after day, holding his hand, watching his immobile face, I went into great detail about my Buddhist faith. And I chanted for him, right there. And joked that he would never have put up with it otherwise. We had joked a lot - it was a great cover for a lot of family pain. Now, reading about the woman whose father just died, I, too, feel sad - that it should take the specter of death to allow the heartfelt exchange for which we all yearn.

Cathy Bowman, July 7, 2008

What makes balloons so magical? Boomers remember Up, Up and Away, the 1967 hit song by the Fifth Dimension. The French film, Le Ballon Rouge, makes me cry every time. Now some guy has flown to Idaho in a lawn chair tied to a bunch of balloons. Sure it's crazy, but the photo of the gigantic, colorful orbs is stunning. Balloons touch the heart. They touch the soul. It's a shame they are bad for the environment and a choking hazard for kids. But I am mesmerized by them, and so are my children. I don't buy balloons but they find us just the same. We were strolling along a cobble=stoned street near our home in England when a young woman in black handed me a coupon for an overpriced facial. My 2-year-old got a black balloon, which she set free in the supermarket. We watched our magic friend hover over the bread aisle, watching us. It was all for the best - no slow death at home, no me stabbing a sickly balloon at night to stop its misery. Sometimes it's best not to know the ending.

Cathy Bowman,July 4, 2008

Ah, the Fourth. Fireworks. Parades. Watermelon. It's always been one of my favorite holidays. So how did I forget about it? I've lived in England nearly 18 months, and for obvious reasons, the Fourth isn't a big holiday here. Last year I tried to create an “authentic” meal, but it was a school night and there weren't any fireworks. It just wasn't the same. This year, I forgot about the red, white and blue frenzy until my mother asked me how I planned to celebrate Independence Day. Hmm ... putting the kids to bed early? I think the fact that I forgot the Fourth is probably a good sign. It means I'm present in the life that I'm living and longing less for the life I left behind. The best part of the Fourth of July is getting together with friends and family. We'll do something here for the kids to remind them of their roots. Maybe we'll get out the drums and maracas have a parade in the living room. These days, the simple pleasures count for a lot – even if it's just sharing potato salad with someone you love.

Cathy Bowman,  June 25, 2008

When life gets tough on earth, there's always heaven to think about. Americans believe there are many ways to get there, which is good news. I find it comforting to wonder about the afterlife. Are the fountains filled with chocolate? Do flowers bloom at night? Does anyone speak French? Recently I read Up In Heaven, a children's book about a dog named Daisy who dies in her sleep. It's a tender, beautiful book that follows a little boy as he deals with his grief. The dogs in heaven are having a fabulous time. No creaky joints, no leashes, no cats. No wars, no floods, no wobbly housing prices. The mutts sit in big comfy couches as they discuss how Daisy can comfort the boy she left behind. In time, Arthur finds happiness with a new playmate. The book reminds me of our perfect, imperfect time here – and that challenges and joy are all part of the journey.

Cathy Bowman,  June 13, 2008

Americans are living longer than ever before. But do you already roll out of bed and find that your knees ache and your back groans? Do you feel like you're 78? Do not fret. Some day you will feel 78 and actually be 78. If you're a woman, you'll probably live even longer. So what's a gal to do with all those years? A friend e-mailed the text of a speech J.K Rowling gave recently at Harvard University. She spoke about the benefits of failure and the importance of imagination. She spoke poignantly of the time she spent working for Amnesty International helping people who suffered unspeakable horrors and survived. She talked about how changing ourselves inside can affect change on the outside. Rowling's words are beautiful, inspiring and heartfelt – definitely worth a read while contemplating your coming decades.

Cathy Bowman,  May 31, 2008

Gas prices are up. Food prices are up. What's a person to do? It's easy to feel discouraged. The best way to cope? Start small. Can't grow an entire garden? Put a pot of basil in the window. My daughters have planted two strawberry plants (Rebecca and Charlie) and one tomato plant (Maggie) in clay pots that sit on our tiny terrace. My neighbor here in England says Prince Charles talks to his plants. It seems to work; my 8-year-old coos at her veggies, and they double in size every few days. We're battling an army of cigar-sized slugs, but it's a start. There is nothing quite like the thrill of watering a lump of damp soil for days, waiting and waiting and waiting for something green to appear. You make breakfast, you turn away to fill your cup of tea and - Voila!  - the arugula seedlings have pushed their little heads into the sunshine, the children are laughing and clapping and you feel like Thoreau. Gardening may not fix the world, but it sure makes me feel better.

Cathy Bowman,  May 18, 2008

I just went to Shakespeare's Globe Theatre in London and watched A Midsummer Night's Dream. For about $10, I got to stand in front of the stage and watch the drama unfold above my chin. What struck me about the play was how fresh it seemed, even though I've seen it performed elsewhere. I thought about how often I skip experiences because I think I've already had them. It's like looking up at the sky. You know it's going to be blue or gray, because it's always blue or gray. Then one day the sun and the fog mingle and you think, “Wow, that cloud looks like a dancing bear in a cowboy hat.” You can walk along the river where you always walk when - Boom! - you find yourself having a spiritual conversation with yourself. Or maybe your dog. It's the same with computers. They are boxes of unopened emails, taking up space like the blender and the toaster. How wonderful that people are finding spiritual nourishment through podcasts. What a fresh and creative way to use technology.

Cathy Bowman,  May 9, 2008

I was at a dinner party in London recently where politics was the main course at my end of the table. Between the spanikopita and the chicken wings, the English guests were shaking their heads about the city's eccentric new mayor, Boris Johnson. "How did he get elected? Do you know anyone who voted for him? He looks like an overgrown toddler!" It was a relief to talk about a political race that was not You-Know-What. A teacher from my daughter's preschool stopped me on the playground today and asked, "What do you think? Hillary or Obama?" She confessed she was watching the Democratic race with the zeal of a soap opera fan. When London elects a new mayor, poof! The old one disappears almost as soon as the ballots are counted. It may be a shock, but mercifully, the race ends. It reminds me of a French film that spins a tale and then just...stops. You see Fin and you know the flick's over. In the US, I'm praying for a happy ending.