Overheard

The comedy never stops.

"Between the maid and my nanny, I just can't find a thing in my house." How inconvenient for you.

"I've had an awful week! My Range Rover got broken into and they stole my Birken bag." I'm fine, thanks for asking.

The color of money

As you can imagine, in the city of Newport Beach raising money for the local schools takes on a whole new dimension. Where on earth have you ever heard of a public school raising over $250,000 annually in support of additional teachers, equipment and computers? Nearly half of those funds are garnered in one shot, at the quintessential Newport Beach fund raising activity … the annual parent’s party with requisite silent and live auctions.

Last Friday night, our local elementary school had its annual event, “Tropical Nights,” at a nearby Newport Beach Hotel. $42,000 was collected before the party even started in pure cash donations through “underwriting.” $64,000 was laid down in the Silent and Live Actions that night. Keep in mind, this is a public school. This is not “Jerry’s Kids” or “The Cystic Fibrosis Foundation” or “Multiple Sclerosis.” This is simply parents raising money for their child’s elementary school. It’s like selling candy bars, or wrapping paper, or cookie dough. Except with 3 cash bars, a live band, steak entree, and dancing.

I answered a call for 4 parent volunteers to work the auction desk under the direction of the consultant hired to run the auction. I don’t have much time to volunteer for the school outside of my child’s classroom (where the rubber meets the road) so I figured working at this event would be a good way to meet people and to also help out (in a non-committee participating way). I was told to be at the event by 4:45 and ask for the Auction Consultant.

Two of us showed up a 4:45. The other two were nowhere to be seen. Three high school student volunteers were assigned to work with “the moms” (our official title) since our co-workers were no shows. It appeared that the high school had donated about 25 kids to assiste specifically with the auction (dressed snappily in white shirts and black pants). I later learned these kids were working in order to get community service credits. Is it just me or is working a silent auction to benefit the needy children of Newport Beach at a high end hotel really on par with more traditional community service activities such as serving in a soup kitchen in Santa Ana? I was quickly informed that “the moms” would check guests off the list, issue “fish” tags if guests ordered fish, hand out leis to appropriate “status” guests as noted on the guest list and issue auction bid numbers. The students would enter information into the computer and swipe credit cards. The Auction Consultant felt the students would be better suited to the computer work. I was a little insulted. I later learned my student partner was into art, music and theatre which explained her computer skills. I have a computer and finance background which explained my bad handwriting on the bid number signs. Isn’t that the way of life?

After our check-in training was complete, the Auction Consultant went off to train the other 22 student volunteers on the silent auction procedures. I am sure they were taught things I later learned are particularly important like “pick up the auction sheets promptly at auction close or there will be trouble” and “ensure bids are incremented in the amount at the top of the sheet or a drunken parent is liable to get nasty.” At 5:30 the other two parent volunteers showed up for the 4:45 training. I told them where they could find the Auction Consultant. I never saw them again that evening.

At 6PM the five of us (two moms and three kids) were at the registration desk waiting for guests to arrive. At 6:55 we finally had a rush of arrivals. We got a pretty good rhythm going right away. “Hello and welcome to Tropical Nights. Here is your auction book with all the exciting items you can bid on this evening. Your lucky winning bid number is written on the back. We would like to pre-authorize your credit card number to make checking out quicker at the end of the evening.”

I did not anticipate one horribly embarrassing personal problem I would suffer working the registration desk. Our Kid has been going to this school for 2.5 years. We have lived in the same house for 8 years. I have met a lot of people during this time between the neighborhood, volunteering in the classroom, birthday parties and soccer. It would have been nice if I had bothered to remember anybody’s name. I was finally totally screwed by my complete lack of memory and social finesse. People would walk up, say hello, chit chat about our mutual kids and then look at me expectantly. I would finally be forced to say “I’m sorry, what is your last name.” The truth was I didn’t remember their first name either. After a few of these exchanges, my teenage partner figured out how lame I was and started rescuing.

I haven’t been around teenage kids since I was a teenager. I had only vague ideas of what they are like. These kids seemed especially sophisticated to me. They dressed well and were good looking kids. They knew a lot of the adults and interacted very politely (and seemed to know most names). When things were quiet, they reverted to their native tongue (generally ignoring me and the other mom).

“The dads look all that and the moms seem old.”
“Do you think that a lot of the moms have fake boobs?” “Flash!”
“Insert name of female or male singer/actor I have never heard of is insane.”
“Do you still model?”
“Look at this picture on my phone of my biology lab partner. He is hot.”
“I like your insert jewelry, hair, nails, clothing, body part. Very glam.”

Later in the evening, a dad who I thought looked especially young and handsome (well the teenagers brought it up first) came to the registration desk and chatted with his teenage daughter. He was holding a glass of red wine. They exchanged a few pleasant sentences. Nothing appeared unusual to me. He paused. She said “Did you need me to drive you home tonight Dad?” He said “Yes” and walked off. Nice family moment.

I am a big fan of auctions and part of the reason I volunteered was a) to avoid buying anything at the auction as I am on a strict budget left over from a 2005 home remodel gone wild and b) to see how these large school auctions work. I had poured over the auction booklet prior to the evening and knew some really amazing items were up for bid. Some unusual prizes were featured and raised a ton of money that night. A framed Michael Jordan jersey went for $1,200. Lifeguard for a Day went for $750. A Ride in a Newport Beach Patrol Car went for $500. A local mom’s art was featured in the “chance” drawing and raised $1,300. By far, the most popular items were “Dates with the Teachers.” The teachers volunteer to donate their time to take their students somewhere fun like the movies, or on a picnic or to the Balboa Fun Zone. These teacher dates are hotly contended auction items. My husband had strict instructions to win the Duffy Boat Ride with my Kid’s teacher. Fun for the Kid and flattering for the teacher (a two-fer).

During the bidding, my husband and 2 other sets of parents realized they were all just upping the price of the Duffy Boat ride needlessly and since the auction item was for three kids they could simply share the cost. They agreed to bid the boat ride up to $150 and then split it three ways. They actually ended up paying $200 because someone (obviously not from their alliance) jumped in at the last minute and raised it again.

Silent auction tables closed at various times throughout the evening. My job was to data enter the auction item number, the winning bid number and the amount. Simple. Everything was going really well up until about the time that the spindly network of 5 computers crashed. I volunteered to get my husband to help the Auction Consultant fix it but was quickly brushed off (how could I possibly understand serious auction computer problems?). Perhaps my Network Engineer husband would have understood, but by then I was hungry and getting a little bored with my front desk duties.

It was about 8:45 and time for a break. I excused myself politely to go have the dinner that I paid $95 for. Due to my front desk job, I hadn’t seen the Silent Auction and Dining Room. WOW! The decorations were beautiful with flowers everywhere and fake tiki torches lighting up the interior night sky. A band was playing old Jimmy Buffet tunes. People were still buzzing around the remaining open Silent Auction tables. I found my husband and some of his soccer friends at a fairly well situated table in the middle of the room. Things were pretty lively and soccer gossip was flowing freely (it didn’t appear that the cash bar had deterred anyone from enjoying the evening). I wolfed down my steak dinner (something about Fridays and meat…what is it???) and talked a little to my husband and dinner companions. I could only talk to half of the table as the other half was blocked by a three foot wide, four foot tall tropical flower arrangement. By 9:30PM the Live Auction was set to start. This was where the really big ticket items got purchased. Ice skating lessons with a famous Mighty Duck Skater went three times for $2,500 each. A ride in the Good Year Blimp for two people went for $3,000.

At that point duty called and I ran back to the auction desk. All hell was breaking loose. Guests were starting to come and ask to be cashed out, but only one of the five computers was running. All I could do was tear the invoices for the Auction Consultant. Even that wasn’t good enough for her high standards as she implored me to “tear just a half a second faster.” Understandably, she was frantic as the never-ending line wound down the hall of the hotel. Non-winners were demanding to see the original auction sheets to determine who had snaked them out of their daughter’s Roxy Luggage. Deals were being cut on some of the largest items like the private home theatre evening (splitting it amongst several families). Five young girls worked the front counters presenting invoices, taking credit cards and escalating issues. For the most part, the crowd was patient and cheerful and just a little tipsy (not in that order).

Finally, the line died down around 10:30PM. The Auction Consultant excused me officially. “You must want to go dance with your husband.” I really think she preferred ordering the fifteen-year-olds around to the forty-something-year-olds.

“Are you sure? I think I will.” He had left an hour ago to take the babysitter home but I know an exit line when I hear it.

AnonMomOC

To give credit where credit is due. This blog AnonMomOC http://anonmomoc.blogspot.com/ was inspired by a book titled MY WAR: Killing Time in Iraq written by Colby Buzzell http://cbftw.blogspot.com/ . He and I read the same Time magazine article about blogs in 2003 (I believe). Only, he did something about it. And when he did it, he was a typical soldier in Iraq-- before the army realized there were typical soldiers in Iraq documenting the war in private blogs. More than just a story about Iraq, the book is more interesting for its portrayal of the average nineteen-year-old American male.

I enjoyed the fact that Buzzell was underground and documenting the previously undocumented. His blog and book were my inspiration for these tales from the front in Newport Beach -- "Anonymous Mom: Killing Time in the O.C." In order to have complete freedom of expression, in this neighborhood, it is imperative that I remain anonymous.

Read more about military blogs "Blogs of War" on Army Times web site http://www.armytimes.com/story.php?f=1-292925-700605.php .

Ashes

Ash Wednesday (ăsh) n. In the Western Church, the first day of Lent, being the seventh Wednesday before Easter. On this day ashes are placed on the foreheads of the faithful to remind them of death, of the sorrow they should feel for their sins, and of the necessity of changing their lives. The practice, which dates from the early Middle Ages, is common among Roman Catholics, Anglicans and Episcopalians, and many Lutherans.

Today I went to my first Ash Wednesday Mass EVER (see February entry On Becoming Catholic for full explanation). I woke up excited this morning for my first big Catholic test. I had made my final determination of what I would give up for Lent. For consideration was going without dessert (read chocolate) or alchohol (certainally not both!). I went with alchohol because, frankly, that is the more painful choice for me. I haven't gone without booze for 1 week (much less 6 weeks) since the day I turned 21. Having a nice glass of chianti every evening (maybe 2) is something I look forward to. A lot. This could be challenging but I felt ready.

During the Mass, my favorite Priest, the young Korean, gave a stirring homily (sermon) regarding the 3 most important things you can do during Lent and Ash Wednesday. I leaned forward in my pew confidant that I was going to get an "A." First he talked about "giving alms" or donating more during Lent. Fine, I pulled out my checkbook and wrote an nice fat check. Then he discussed extra prayers. Easy as well. And he ended with the benefits of fasting. Fasting? Nobody had mentioned this to me. Was I supposed to be fasting? Honestly, there are so many subtle rules to being Catholic, just when I think I have it down, I get thrown a curve ball.

After the service, I got on my cell phone and called my Sponsor. "Are we supposed to be fasting today?" I yelled into the phone, genuinely upset that I was already breaking the rules.

"Yeah. On Ash Wendnesday and Good Friday you fast." Then she muttered some gibberish about you can have one meal but if you have two other meals they can't be as big as the one combined. Or something like that. I looked it up later that evening in a book called "Catholocism for Dummies" and it still doesn't make sense to me.

"You sure are a crappy sponsor." She just laughed at me.

Next I called my husband. "Hey, I didn't know that we were supposed to be fasting on Ash Wednesday. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't talk right now, I'm at lunch," he whispered into the phone. I hung up.

Ash Wednesday is also especially significant for me because it kicks off Lent which is the 6 weeks leading up to Holy Saturday (the day before Easter) and the day I become Catholic. We're in crunch time now and my RCIA instructors are carefully monitoring attendance and demeanor -- ascertaining who is worthy and who will have to wait till next year.

I am behaving duitifully and doing everything requested. Right before Ash Wednesday Mass I had a meeting with the Director of the Adult Faith Formation Program at my church. This is the critical meeting where she tells me how I am doing with the program and discusses my readiness for becoming Catholic. Turns out, I had nothing to worry about. She opened the meeting immediatley by stating how reliable and dependable I am and that she has no concerns about me. But did I have any questions as we head into Lent?

Well, just one question. "There is one thing. As the parent of a young boy, the pedophile priests bother me. I have to answer questions from my friends who wonder why I would be getting involved with an organization that has these types of problems. I personally know why I am doing this . . ." I paused and let the sentance hang in the air.

My Director gazed down, lost in thought for a moment. Finally she looked up, drew a deep breath and said "That's a fair question. It was heartbreaking when it happened a few years ago and all the stories started coming out. We had a deep sense of betrayal and of loss. It was a loss of innocence and a loss of trust. We grieved."

"I organized a Town Hall meeting with the parishioners and our Priest. I kept it very controlled because emotions were running so high. I had everyone submit questions in advance and I would read them off and hand them to the Priest to answer. We went through all the questions one by one. Then people were welcome to express any additional thoughts they had. By the time we got to the open mike portion of the agenda, a lot of the anger and emotion had been diffused. The meeting seemed to help. I won't defend the church. But I also know that other organizations have their problems too. But the problem had been ignored or hidden for so long by the Bishops and higher ups, that when it all broke, it was like a volcano erupting. Everything had built up for so long and was a much bigger situation than if the bad Priests had been dealt with properly in the beginning."

"Letting children be harmed is inexcusable," I said, and she nodded agreement. "But it helps me to understand how it was handled here at this church (my new church). Do you think the rule will ever be changed?"

"Which rule?" she asked.

"The rule that says Priests can't get married. If that rule was changed, I think the whole problem would be solved."

"Yes," she shot back quickly. "They could change that rule with a snap of their fingers," she said as she snapped her fingers. "It isn't even Catholic dogma. It hasn't existed forever. I think it will be changed because of the Priest crisis."

"Crisis?" I sensed I was about to get more new information about being Catholic.

"Yes, there aren't enough Priests. Especially in the United States. To get new Priests, this rule has to change. And I believe it will be changed." She paused suddenly, looking a little defeated, "But I don't think we'll see it change in our lifetimes."

"Thank you," I replied quietly, "that was my only question."