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Sharing my life online

by Catherine Toth on May 19, 2013 in Musings, The Daily Dish

Today I’m going to talk about sharing my life online at the annual Hawaii Books & Music Festival on the civic grounds in downtown.

I’m on a panel called “Lives Online: Truth and Truthiness.” An interesting title consider what I do for a living — write — and how that may not be perceived as truth.

(The panel starts at 11 a.m., in case you’re around.)

I thought about what I’m going to say for a couple of days now. It forced me to think about whether what I post about myself is really the truth or a construction of the truth from my perspective.

Or maybe it’s a bit of both.

I don’t often blog about myself — meaning, my personal life — and I don’t even share my opinions or feelings as much as most bloggers. And I’ve been criticized for that, with people (often my editors) saying I need to take a stand more often and get people riled up. That leads to more hits — and more hate. But hits are what matter.

But not to me.

I just want people to read something and feel changed in some way. Maybe they want to try a new restaurant or a new recipe or book a flight to Costa Rica. Or maybe they remember something — a favorite dish as a child or a special teacher. Whatever it is, I want people to reflect on their own lives, not mine.

I have two more hours to think about what I’m going to say. And I guarantee it won’t all be about me.

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The woes of buying a new car

by Catherine Toth on May 15, 2013 in Musings, The Daily Dish

We name them. We pick them based on our lifestyle. We don’t want to ever give them up.

What’s with our strange relationship with our cars?

I thought about this the other day when I posted this question on my Facebook wall:

What was your FIRST car?

And in just a day, I got more than 100 responses.

Here are a few:

My dad’s ’86 Pontiac Fiero GT
A beat-up Datsun two-door stick shift I had to learn to drive over the weekend to get to work on Monday
’67 Ford Mustang
1864 blue Toyota Corolla fixed up by the Maui auto shop
’63 Chrysler Imperial
A custom VW with stinger kit, with center lines
1969 Fiat 124 Spider convertible. Loved it!

It was interesting to see how eager we all were to share the stories about our first cars. It shows how much we connect with our cars, trucks and SUVs. And why not? We spend more time in our cars than anywhere else, excluding work. (In fact, some of us actually work in our cars, too!) And we rely on our vehicles to get us everywhere we need and want to be.

It’s probably why opponents of public mass transit don’t think we’ll actually use it. Because we lovelovelove our cars.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with my cars.

Here’s the truth: I’ve had more cars than boyfriends. And I’m always trying to get rid of whatever car I’m driving.

Right now I’m “borrowing” a Nissan Murano that’s not technically mine. My 2000 Honda Civic EX — that I tried to sell for 12 years — was totaled in an accident a year ago and I never got around to replace it.

Which presented a quandary for me.

Suddenly I had to CHOOSE a car — and that meant picking something I would actually like.

It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Here are my car requirements:

• It has to be good on gas. I loved my Civic for exactly that reason. It costs about $75 to fill up the tank in the Murano; it was about half as much for the Civic — and I had to fill it up less often.
• It has to be long enough to fit my surfboard inside. That means the backseats have to fold down or it has to be big enough to fit a board — around 9 feet long — straight through the trunk. The Civic did this, believe it or not.
• It has to be zippy. The one thing I hate about the Murano is how large and heavy it is. It drives well, no doubt, but it’s it doesn’t take corners or make illegal U-turns the way my Civic did.
• It has to fit in parking garages. This was a problem with the Nissan Xterra I had for a year. It didn’t git in the parking structure at Ward Center, for example, and that was a problem when you’re addicted to the li hing margarita at Ryan’s Bar & Grill.
• It has to be easy to park. I park a lot on the street, and I’d like a car that isn’t difficult to park. Like the Murano. I’m surprised I haven’t hit anything yet. (Knock on wood.)
• It can’t break my wallet. This, of course, is the problem.

So it seems like I should just get another Civic. Or maybe a Honda Fit. Or a Subaru Forester.

Or maybe I should just get a bus pass and live closer to the beach.

Thoughts?

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Sometimes being a mom is the easy part

by Catherine Toth on May 12, 2013 in Musings

I’m the first person who’d admit being a mom is hard work.

I see my girlfriends juggle careers and school and marriages — and then raise a bunch of kids. I honestly don’t know how they do it. I have a hard enough time managing two part-time jobs and two dogs.

But being a mom is one of the easier tasks my dear friend, Racie Botelho (above), has to deal with every day.

I’ve known her since I was a kid. Our grandmas were friends and we both attended the same summer fun at First Chinese Church of Christ in Makiki near McKinley High School. I literally spent most of my childhood and teen years with her and her cousin, Kathleen Hood. Some of my fondest memories growing up include them.

But Racie’s had a tough go at life.

She had difficulties getting pregnant. And when she finally did — after years of trying and two rounds of in vitro — she suffered a debilitating stroke two weeks after their twins were born. She spent the next few months in the hospital and in rehab, and she’s never fully recovered.

And to add insult to injury, her husband — the one with the full-time job with benefits — was diagnosed with the rare neuroendocrine carcinoma cancer and died in February, leaving her to raise her twin boys on her own.

I’ve seen her going through the most difficult life situations and never once heard her complain. She gets up every day and gets it done. She works, she takes care of her boys, she manages.

Sometimes when I feel defeated about something going on in my life — like a stressful week of deadlines or a series of car problems — I think about Racie and how she can’t do a lot of the things I can. And she’s lost her husband. And she has to worry about money. And she has two kids to raise.

My life looks very uncomplicated.

So that’s why I wrote that story in today’s Honolulu Star-Advertiser for Mother’s Day. (You can’t access the entire story online unless you pay.) I felt she deserved the recognition. And her boys, only 5, can one day read about their amazing mom and dad.

If you get a chance, read it. You will be inspired, too.

***

A big shout-out to all the mothers out there, whether you have human kids or furry ones like me! Thanks for all you do!

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Know thy neighbor

by Catherine Toth on May 8, 2013 in Musings, The Daily Dish

It was disturbing and relieving all at the same time.

Three women, all kidnapped and held in captivity for years, were found in an abandoned Cleveland home yesterday allegedly held by former bus driver Ariel Castro and his two brothers, all in their early 50s.

Amanda Berry was kidnapped 10 years ago at age 17. Gina DeJesus, a family friend, vanished at 14 in 2004. Michelle Knight disappeared in 2002 at age 20. Berry’s 6-year-old daughter was also found in the home.

Hear neighbor — and town hero — Charles Ramsey recount what happened.

The thought of what these women went through — neighbors reported seeing women on leashes in the backyard and police found chains and ropes in the home — is so disturbing, I don’t even want to think about it. Teenagers, kidnapped, scared and tortured. It’s disgusting.

But at the same time, they’re alive and free and able to reunite with their families. And that’s amazing.

It’s scary to think that we don’t know our neighbors. How can these three men hold three women captive for nearly a decade in a neighborhood where everyone seems to know each other? The Castros knew the family of one of the victims, two even speaking out after she was kidnapped.

Neighbors said Castro was friendly, rode around on his bike, talk to the neighborhood kids. He wasn’t that weird recluse you imagine would commit such a heinous act. He was the guy you waved to in the morning as you drove to work.

We all have our private lives, for sure, but it’s crazy to think that just next door something like this could happen.

I’m not saying we should suspect the worst of our neighbors. But we should know who lives in our neighborhood. And we should, like Charles Ramsey, not be afraid to help.

Thoughts?

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When did I become a ma’am?

by Catherine Toth on May 2, 2013 in Musings, The Daily Dish

I was waiting for the boneless chicken plate lunch I had just ordered from Rainbow Drive-In when a young guy in a baseball cap cocked to one side walked up to me and said the one word no thirty-something woman wants to hear.

He called me “ma’am.”

As in the abbreviated version of “madam.” Which, by definition, can mean either a respectful term for “lady” or the female head of a house of prostitution. Take your pick.

Neither definition really appealed — or applied — to me.

Of course, I went directly to Twitter, posting, “Damn, I just got called “ma’am” again.” A few people responded, offering emotional support and words of advice. To which I posed the follow-up question, “Since when did I become a ma’am?”

Lunarre Omura (@lunarre) quickly responded: “A couple years after you stop getting carded buying booze… and a few years before you stop giving a crap.”

Well said.

Somewhere between earning a master’s degree and getting arthritis in my spine, I went from the young kid in the newsroom to “aunty.” And it’s a bit depressing.

What’s even worse is I stumbled across a blog posted on the AARP site — yes, as in the organization that caters to folks over 50 — entitled, “Don’t Call Me Ma’am.”

Written by a woman who’s in her 50s and has a son almost my age.

And here’s what she wrote about being called “ma’am” by a server at a restaurant:

Would I be ok being “Ma’am” at 90? Sure, that will be ok. 80? Probably. 70? Possible. 60? Unlikely. 50-something? What was it about being called ‘Ma’am’ that made me want to punch the waiter in the face?

I wonder how she’d feel if she were called ma’am at my age!

Look, I’m not afraid of getting older. In fact, I’ve enjoyed my 30s more than any other decade so far. I feel like people take me seriously, they value my opinion, I’m not just some young kid who doesn’t know anything. I’m 38. I’ve lived.

And while I’m no spring chicken, I’m not a dying hen waiting to be plucked and deboned, either.

Call me ma’am when I’m 60 and deserve it. For now, Catherine is fine.

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