Jordan still groggy, woke up to say “goodbye” to his brother Austin, on the right.

Driving Austin to his first day of college at the University of California Santa Barbara required leaving our house at 5:45 a.m., to beat traffic through the heart of Los Angeles.

As with most activities in California, freeway driving takes patience. I’ve spent years of my life standing in line, especially at Disneyland and Universal Studios where lines are so long, I’ve witnessed the birth of several new varicose veins on my legs. Patience is the only way to stay sane in Los Angeles.

According to my husband, I still haven’t mastered the art of patience, but what do you expect after living in Paris for 15 years where cutting in line, is an art in itself.

With a bicycle and a surf board attached to the roof of my husband’s yellow Chevy Aveo, Austin had all he needed to start a successful college career at UCSB.

Once on campus, we followed signs and waited patiently in snake formation, to off load Austin’s belongings. Staff and students waved us along, welcoming us with warm smiles. This made the waiting rather pleasant.

With giant hampers on wheels waiting for each student to dump their stuff: computers, printers, bikes and suitcases were being tossed inside. Everything ran smoothly.

Austin checked off items on the list. The lights worked, the bed and mattress were there etc.

The bike made it.

The nine foot surf board made it. Basically all the important stuff for college at UCSB, made it.

When I said “Goodbye,” to Austin during lunch, I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his peers, so I hugged him and turned away.

Two days later, I walked past his open door and peeked inside. Everything was missing except for his electronic keyboard, and the lyrics and notes to Bob Marley’s song, “One Love,” which Austin had been practicing the week before. The tears started as I looked at his favorite childhood photo from pre-school: the one with him sitting cross-legged and smiling, holding onto some giant crayola crayons.

It finally hit me that he was gone. Soon he will grow up to become a man, a husband with a wife and his own family. My little boy is now gone.

I’m taking Alec to UCSB, University of California, Santa Barbara tomorrow.
It’s his first day of college and being away from home.
I’ve already been through saying “Goodbye” once, when Steve left. Perhaps it will be easier this time.

I am grateful that their one year in Belize, following an Internet high school program, actually helped their grade point average, allowing both sons to be accepted in some great colleges.

Do you have any thoughts or experience with saying “goodbye” to your kids?

Poor Josh, 15, will feel like an only child.

Sorry I won’t be posting or visiting until I return on Sunday.

In the meantime, I wish all my blogger friends a wonderful weekend, filled with family, friends and love.

During my twenty-two years of marriage, raising three boys, I’ve heard the following two phrases, several times: “Get to the point,” and, “Your point is?”

With only one other female in my house–my dog–you can imagine my relief when a panel of four female published authors, spoke at the Ventura Book Festival, and confirmed that I was not alone.

“Men and women have different ways of thinking,” said Mara Purl, author of The Milford-Haven novels. She explained how this is reflected in fiction writing. Women’s fiction uses all five senses–Women want to know what the character was wearing, her perfume and the color and style of her hair.

Men’s fiction is all about velocity.

When women speak to one another, they want sensory details. Men want you to get to the point.

If I said, “She wore a pink dress with matching sandals,” my husband would say, “So what’s your point?” Perhaps I should try a different approach: “She owns a 27 foot lanchon with a 95 HP Honda engine on it.” That might get his attention.

Starshine Roshell, columnist and author of Keep Your Skirt On, has a weekly column which tackles topics from sex and politics to family and culture. She writes about women, and men say they learn about women from her columns. “I explain to men why women cry in certain situations, and why women care about flowers,” she said.

Thanks to this excellent panel of authors, I feel better knowing that I’m not the only one being told to get to the point. I must confess that years of brainwashing from the males in my house, now make me secretly say, “So what’s your point,” when some of my female friends ramble on.

What I’d like to know is if you’ve been told to get to the point? If so, by whom?

To my writer friends, do you agree with the differences in men’s fiction, versus female fiction?

One thing I love about my teenage sons is how they always find the funniest YouTube videos for me to watch. You have to see this parrot. I laughed so hard, tears were streaming down my face.

Take a look at Gutsy Parrot.

This would be the perfect pet when you don’t have the guts to tell someone to “shut up.”

Do you have any fun pet stories or videos to share?

Exhausted from a long day of volunteering at the Southern California Writers Association, and taking copious notes from Jerry Simmons’ excellent lecture, I drove home and was greeted by a sixteen foot metal arm, dividing my side of the garage, from my husband’s. At least the crane wasn’t blocking my spot, so I parked my car, walked into my air-conditioned house, and collapsed on the couch next to my husband.

“What’s the crane in our garage for?” I asked.

“I need you to be Vanna White and a Zombie,” my husband said.

“What?”

“I’m shooting a commercial to show how the crane works, and Jim agreed to let me film his Classic car.”

“You know I hate acting. Ask the neighbor’s daughter,” I said.

“She’s at work,” he said.

Duke always surprises me. An attorney by day, he dreams of a career in film, and spends most of his spare time either building cranes, writing scripts or discussing cameras on various forums.

When I left in the morning, I had no idea he planned on filming a car commercial later in the evening.

I tried to force my sons to do the commercial instead of me, but at 6′ 4″, I don’t think Austin would make a good, Vanna White.

Jordan convinced me to be brave and play the role.

“Mom, just move like Michael Jackson in Thriller,” he said.

Within the hour, I was standing on the street, neighbors watching, and cars slowing down, first pretending to show Classic car, then acting like a Zombie.

Enjoy the video, and YES, that is my voice, then Duke’s voice and YES, Duke made the crane from scratch and filmed and edited it himself.

Classic Cars of the Future Today! from Duke Marsh on Vimeo.

So have you done anything out of your comfort zone to help your husband or anyone else? I’d love to hear.