Journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall reports from the the second half of life -- on books, writing . . . her husband, house, aging relatives and grown-up kids.
Four pretty girls. Christina is second from right in the pink leotard and white tutu. Photos by BF Newhall.
By Barbara Falconer Newhall, The Oakland Tribune, September 1987
“What does Christina have on today?” M.J. wanted to know.
M.J. and Christina are friends. They ran into each other while shopping for tutus.
M.J., who is 4, was wearing a dress.
She looked pretty.
Christina, newly 4, was wearing dungarees.
She looked OK.
My sister-in-law Alice had warned me [Read more...]
Our magnolia and Jim, its biggest fan.
By Barbara Falconer Newhall
He shows up every spring. Some years we see him. Some years we don’t.
He shows up at our house just as dozens of daffodils are showing their bright, ridiculously optimistic faces all over the neighborhood and the show-offy star magnolia in our front yard is glorious with blossoms.
Every year he arrives with his camera to try yet again for the perfect shot of the perfect magnolia.
This year I spotted him just as I’d pulled my car out of our driveway and was heading downhill to the camera shop.
I stopped the car and rolled down my window. “Hey, are you the guy who takes pictures of our magnolia every year?”
“Yes. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all.” I check my rear view mirrow for cars coming down the hill behind me. “How long have you been doing it?:”
“About ten years.”
“Well, this year I’ve got my camera with me. So I’d like to take a picture of you taking a picture.”
“No problem.”
Photos 2010 B.F. Newhall
Click. And click. I get two shots. Now there’s a car looming in my rear view mirror.
“Gotta go. See you next year. What’s your name?”
“Jim . . . . ”
The guy in the car behind me does not honk in frustration.
Of course he doesn’t. It’s spring.
Want to know whether you are a Millennial, a Gen Xer, a Boomer or a Silent Generation-er? Take this test on the Pew Forum website.
According to this test, I’m a robust 38 years old. And I only cheated a little — I said I had texted within the last 24 hours. But that’s only because I haven’t figured out how to do that on my new iPhone. Gimme another day or two.
We were sitting at breakfast on Friday morning when Barbara pointed out a story in that morning’s San Francisco Chronicle. A three-judge panel of the Federal Appeals Court had ruled, 2-1, that including the phrase “under God” in the Pledge of Allegiance does not violate the Constitution’s so-called “Establishment Clause.”
c 2007 B.F. Newhall
The “Establishment Clause” — as you know — is the first of the ten Amendments in the Bill of Rights. It states: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”
My God, I thought, this latest decision doesn’t make any sense. After all, many if not most of our public schools encourage children to recite the Pledge of Allegiance aloud each morning. And when that daily chant includes the words “under God,” aren’t we indoctrinating our children with a firm religious belief? Like it or not, there are millions of Americans who don’t believe in God, or who have other very sincere concepts of religion that find this wording objectionable.
Can you imagine the outcry from certain folks on the far, far right if the wording were to say: “one nation under ‘the Gods,’ or “one nation under ‘Zeus,’ or “one nation under ‘Allah’ “?
The Chronicle story went on to report that Judge Carlos T. Bea justified the decision by explaining: “The Pledge of Allegiance serves to unite our vast nation through the proud recitation of some of the ideals upon which our Republic was founded and for which we continue to strive: one Nation under God–the Founding Fathers’ belief that the people of this nation are endowed by their Creator.”
Judge Carlos T. Bea might be surprised to learn a fact about the Constitution. The word “God” or “deity” or any similar term does not appear – even once – in the entire Constitution. Why? That was not by accident. It was because the Founding Fathers were strong believers in the separation of church and state.
They knew from personal experience the dangers posed by allowing religion or the church to meddle in the affairs of the state.
I need to make a slight confession here. One of the reasons I find the inclusion of “under God” so tacky is that I’m a child of the 1940′s and 1950s’. I clearly remember reciting the Pledge of Allegiance before the God phrase was added in 1954. To this day, I find the rhythm of today’s Pledge a tad off key because of the imposition of that phrase.
I also remember that “under God” was added during the so-called McCarthy era, an period of national paranoia. One of its primary purpose was to prove that God-fearing Americans were clearly superior to those godless communists on the other side of the world.
I’ve always felt that American is better than that, and that we don’t need to chant about our nation and God in order to prove our system is the best the world has to offer. Because it really is.
c 2010 Jon Newhall
Hey, Everybody: My mom is in the hospital again, and that’s all I can think about right now. As you can see, however, my husband Jon is doing a lot of thinking about Thursday’s Federal Appeals Court decision. — BFN
By Barbara Falconer Newhall
Christina hadn’t called. We had dropped her at the airport hours ago. The flight to Burbank takes only seventy minutes. She should be home by now.
But Jon and I still hadn’t gotten the, “I’m home. The plane didn’t crash. My roommate remembered to pick me up, and we didn’t get mugged in the garage,” phone call.
Christina at home with us -- where we know she's safe.
It’s a phone call that we have come to need from our twenty-six-year-old, totally grown up, perfectly competent daughter.
Days can go by — a full week can go by — without a peep from Christina. Not a problem. We live in the San Francisco Bay Area. She lives hundreds of miles away, in Southern California. She is off our radar.
Jon and I go about our lives like normal adults, working, shopping, cooking and kicking back after dinner to watch TV, Jon in the den with the latest episode of 24, and me in the living room with House reruns.
But when Christina visits, or Peter, they are back in our lives in all their lovableness. My not-quite-extinguished mothering hormones – my overmothering hormones — kick in. So when Christina, or Peter, departs and I can’t be absolutely sure that my kid is totally safe, happy, and equipped with a sturdy umbrella and 60-watt sunscreen – I start to wonder.
The next thing you know, I’m dialing Christina’s cell phone.
No answer. I finish clearing off the dinner table and go to the living room to see if I can find a House episode I haven’t seen.
Half an hour later, Jon calls from the den. “Have we heard from Christina?”
I wasn’t worried up till now. But if Jon is worried, I’m worried. I dial Christina again.
Still no answer.
It’s 10 p.m. Late, but not too late to phone Christina’s roommate. She won’t be in bed yet. I picture her sitting around the apartment playing with the cats, or eating popcorn and watching Ugly Betty, or flossing her teeth.
There’s no land line at Christina’s apartment, of course, so I look up her roommate’s cell number. I just happen to have it written down next to every phone in the house. Just in case.
I dial.
Christina’s roommate picks up. “Hello,” she whispers.
“Hi. It’s Barbara, Christina’s mom. Is Christina home yet?”
“I can’t talk now.” Roommate’s voice is muffled. Strained. Annoyed maybe. I hear voices in the background. “I’ll call you back,” she says. She hangs up.
Later that night, a phone call from Christina. “I’m home. I’m trying to sleep. My cell phone battery ran out. Talk to you tomorrow.”
The next day: “Mom. Please don’t call my roommate like that. She was in a meeting when you called.”
“You mean she wasn’t home, getting ready for bed?”
“No. She was in a meeting. A business meeting.”
“Hmmm. How about if I get myself an iPhone — so next time I can just text her if I have to?”
“Mom. You’ve got a life. I’m pretty sure you do. Why don’t you go downstairs to your writing room and look for it. I’m sure it’s down there somewhere.”
I go downstairs.
I found it. Photos c 2010 B.F. Newhall
I sit at my desk. I am surrounded by two walls of bookcases and a serious bank of file cabinets, both overflowing with important stuff. My desk and parts of the floor are covered with papers, three-by-five cards, unopened mail, thumb drives, half-read books, empty tea cups and coffee mugs cover – important stuff all.
And right in front of me, juicy story ideas jotted on sticky notes make a halo around my computer monitor. Whaddya know. Here it is. My life.
I almost forgot.
© 2010 Barbara Falconer Newhall
