​As the years go by, and all of life becomes less black and white, I’ll admit it.
 
I can be wrong.
 
When this is pointed out, and especially if defeat is imminent, I say what my late partner used to say.
 
“I strike my colors!” 
 
Centuries ago, this meant to lower the flag (i.e. the “colors”) of a ship while it was at sea.  Doing so was a universally recognized indication of surrender, especially if the vessel in question was under attack. 
 
In my world, uttering this phrase means that my opinion needs some serious attitude modification.
 
The last few months—filled with betrayal, anger, and at last, some serenity—have been filled with some extremely rocky days and nights for our family.  Thankfully, we’re now all on the same path… but not without crossing some gnarly territory first. 
 
This is about college.
 
My daughter will soon graduate from high school, a private college prep place that we’ve only been able to afford because The Hubster teaches there.  
 
In just about every way, the school has been a saving grace from our public school experience.  We’ve found small classes; instructors giving quality time to kiddos because they aren’t buried in paperwork, and a mindset that the coolest kids are those who get the best grades and do the most community service projects. 
 
This way of thinking has helped my daughter become a special young adult. 
 
In spite of the school’s strict academic standards and her documented learning differences, she’s a solid B student.  More importantly, she’s compassionate, strong and funny, and runs with a good crew,
 
So when it came time to meet with the school’s college counselor, there seemed to be only one route toward continuing her education: get into a four-year university.  It was suggested that we especially look at private places, since they, too, boast the same Very Good Things as her high school. 
 
When we brought up community college, the idea was immediately shot down.
 
“OH!” said the counselor, turning to my daughter.  “You can do much better than that!”
 
So, this path was dropped in favor of finding nine colleges (three to reach for, three that my daughter would likely get accepted to, and three that would definitely want her) for her to submit applications to.  Because we were taking this route, there would also be SATs for my child to endure, and some extra tutoring. 
 
Still, we caught the excitement, gamely nodded our heads and budgeted accordingly.
 
Knowing how expensive college can be, we also asked the counselor about those costs.
 
“Get accepted first,” she said.  “Don’t worry about money. The money will come.”
 
All seemed to be going to plan when our kid was accepted into eight of the nine colleges on her list.  Out of this, three schools in New York offered congratulations, including the prestigious Pratt Institute, her number one reach school. 
 
Then the scholarship packages started arriving.
 
Except for one huge thing.
 
They weren’t exactly offering the funds we’d thought they would be.
 
In fact, despite as much as 30 percent off from the listed tuition/room and board costs, enrolling in any of these schools was going to cost us, the parents, at least $30,000 per year in loans (yes, that’s four zeros). 
 
On top of that, my daughter would graduate with a monumental amount of debt—up to $50,000.
 
This slope gets even more slippery if parents and kids decide that the loan must be deferred in order to attend
said school. 
 
That’s because once this decision is made, the monies are frequently manipulated to favor the lender. 
 
In fact, it’s not uncommon for federal college funds to be bought and sold several times, with compounded interest merrily added along the way.   Consequently, both parent and student debt often ends up being much higher than the initial figures given.   And basically, unless you die or become completely disabled, there is no way, ever, to get out from under, even if you declare bankruptcy.   (Many dozens of these horror stories are at http://studentdebtcrisis.org/read-student-debt-stories/)   
 
So, yes indeed, the money would come—from our pockets.  This also meant that unless we dived into deep debt doo-doo for the rest of our lives, going to college in this manner wasn’t only not smart, it was unworkable.   
 
It was time to strike our colors.
 
It wasn’t easy for our daughter to hear the new plan—another look at community college.
 
Honestly, this wasn’t a happy dance for me either.   
 
I’d always pictured my kid at a toney East Coast campus, popular and happy, and because we had done everything right and in its logical progression, never having to worry about costs.  And, I also remembered that what was once called junior college was where the losers went. Everyone got in because all of its students had been rejected everywhere else. 
 
Then I started looking into what community college is today. 
 
Specifically, I started looking at the school my daughter will be attending.
 
As it turns out, this CC is ranked in the Top 10 in our state.  It also has only 6,000 kids, so classes here, like her high school, are small.  Did you also know that Walt Disney, Tom Hanks and Jonas Salk all started their higher educations at community colleges?
 
Another plus is that once my child receives her AA degree, she’s guaranteed admission to one of our 23 state colleges or a growing handful of California universities, including UC Berkeley.  There’s another track to ensure that all of her ducks will be in place if she decides on an out-of-state or private school.  Moreover, both public and private four-year schools generally offer way better financial aid to junior transfers, partly because so many freshman and sophomores have already dropped out. 
 
In addition—and it turns out that this is now a trend around the country—many of the CC professors here teach the
exact same courses  at the expensive four-year college that’s down the road.
 
Here’s another selling point: students who start college at a CC are much more likely to graduate from a
four-year institution.  
 
I don’t know exactly why this is.  But I do know that with its far lower tuition rates, and often, far more majors to choose from, community college students have a lot more wiggle room when it comes time to figure out what they want to do with the rest of their lives.  On the other hand, students who enter a pricey university immediately after high school often don’t get this luxury—maybe because a lot of families quickly find out that they can’t shoulder the exorbitant costs beyond the initial four years.    
 
And one more thing. 
 
Thanks to a generous patron, my daughter’s first year of tuition will be free.
 
Cuesta College, here we come.
 
What do you think about college costs today, and what do you think about community colleges today?  I’d love to hear your thoughts!
 
P.S.  Find out more about the advantages of community college here, at http://www.moneycrashers.com/benefits-of-community-college/.

Not very long ago, The Hubster and I had finished up some business in the town next to ours. 
 
As it turned out, this had all of the makings of A Very Good Thing, since we were also near the spot where a much-anticipated natural foods market—after more than a year of starts, stops and promises—had opened the week I was
in New York. 
 
So it was odd that despite an impressive grand opening banner, there were hardly any cars out front and no
lights on inside.
 
Being the investigative reporter that I am, it was decided that I should be the one to see what was up.
 
It didn’t take long to figure out, especially when I read the hours of operation sign next to the door. 
 
You see, it turns out that this new kid on the block is open every day of the week—except Sunday.
 
It was Sunday.
 
But what I found most interesting was my reaction.
 
I wasn’t angry or annoyed.  In fact, I was barely disappointed.   
 
Nope.  More than anything, I was happy. 
 
I think my gut went this way because those locked doors instantly made me feel that a bit of sanity has re-entered our 24/7 world, at least in a few places.   Here, right where I was standing, employees are guaranteed one day of rest from work every single week, however they define that, and however they choose to use those hours.    
 
Most of us know about a couple of mega-stores that are already closed on Sunday.
 
There’s Chick-fil-A, founded by a devout Southern Baptist more than 65 years ago, and now a major American fast-food chain, with about 1,500 locations in 39 states.  According to its web site, all of its restaurants shut their doors on the last day of the week so that employees can rest and if they choose, attend worship services.  It’s the same for Hobby Lobby, an arts and crafts chain with about 500 stores in 41 states. 
 
Sadly, both of these companies are also virulently anti-gay, making it unfortunate that they also have a policy that I
like a lot. 
 
So, folks should also know that while I endorse the idea of closing on Sunday, this doesn’t mean that everyone should be pressured into going to church (or a synagogue or mosque) that day, and/or spending hours in prayer. 
 
If that’s what you want to do, it’s perfectly fine.  But for me, this time should be what some call a stop day: gifting yourself with one day a week to literally cease your labors—to slow down, relax and rewind, and do whatever is best for you.  Say you work at a desk all week.  If this is the scenario, Sundays might be the perfect time to take a long walk.  If you love to cook but can’t whip up an ingredient laden dinner because you’re too tired on a weekday night, this is also the chance to do that.    
 
For those under 30 years old, here’s a shocker: closing on Sunday used to be the norm rather than the exception. 
 
Of course, hospitals were open, and there was always a phone operator on duty if law enforcement was needed.  But pretty much every other enterprise, including small businesses, supermarkets, gas stations and department stores, took the entire day off.  When I was a little girl, you couldn’t even buy milk. 
 
Believe it or not, this wasn’t a big deal. 
 
That’s because this cease-your-labor day had been going on in Western culture, primarily on Sundays, for--hold on to your hats--nearly 2,000 years. 
 
And guess what?  Because everyone knew that this how the end of the week rolled, people planned appropriately, and no one got their panties in a twist. 
 
It shouldn’t surprise anyone that at least one medical professional has come on board with bringing back the tradition.
In fact, former ER doc Matthew Sleeth has even written a book (24/6: A Prescription for a Healthier, Happier Life) about the benefits of taking Sunday off—and the awfulness that so often happens when one doesn’t.    
 
According to Sleeth, the United States is the most depressed country in the world, with about one in 10 of us being treated at any given time for clinical depression.  On a parallel track, Americans tend to work many more hours than any other country on the planet.  Even Japan comes in at number two.
 
What does any of this have to do with a 24-hour, time out window? 
 
“When we’re constantly going, we pour out chemicals to meet those stresses,” explains Sleeth.  “(This includes) short-term stress hormones like adrenaline, and longer-term hormones like the steroids we pour out.
 
“Those chemicals constantly being ‘on’ are bad for us, and they lead to anxiety and depression, (as well as) diabetes and being obese… the idea of having one day a week that I can count on to stop is very reassuring.”
 
Indeed, Sleeth says his entire family began taking Sundays off more than a decade ago.  At the time, his children were in high school, but when his son began medical school, he, too, kept up the practice. 
 
“It helps you to order your life,” adds Sleeth.  “It actually helped us as a family.  Many people I’ve talked to now say that keeping one day of rest a week has been the single best thing they’ve done for their marriage and their family.”
 
Those are some pretty strong words, and at least for me, they all make perfect sense.
 
So, why don’t we all just go back to the way things used to be, say, in 1980?
 
I’ll tell you the reasons we don’t do it.
 
It’s not because more women are working outside the home, and can’t get to their household errands until Sunday.  In fact, it’s not that it’s more convenient to consumers overall.  And it’s not that life has become so frenetic that the only day left to buy our stuff is on a Sunday.  
 
Rather, it comes down to one word.
 
Greed. 
 
In other words, businesses know that closing one day every week means less dough in their coffers—with little thought to the physical and emotional toll this policy likely takes on employees, and even shoppers, who, like the Energizer bunny, are compelled to keep going, and going, and going.  Being able to buy things 24 hours a day via the Internet isn’t doing us any good either.     
 
The madness isn’t going to end anytime soon.
 
But I can choose to check myself out of this particular game, and simply not participate.     
 
So, here’s my pledge: from this day forward, I will make Sunday my stop day.  And, instead of feeling guilty, I’ll know that it’s the right thing to do… mentally, physically and spiritually. 
 
If so inspired, please feel free to take my hand, and come along for the sweet ride.      
 
What are your memories of everything being closed on Sundays, and how do you feel about a stop day?  I look forward to your comments!
 
PS.  A classic song about Sundays—enjoy! www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IO-KwTNKzQ.
          

 
​My daughter and I have just returned from another planet.
 
To be clear, NASA didn’t recruit a weary Clown Mother and her teenage Clown Daughter to see how long they could survive on a space station without killing each other. 
 
But, we have recently spent nearly a week together in New York City, and coming from a sweet California beach town, where the noises of the night are coyotes and the wind, not sirens and folks shouting outside our windows, it really is another universe.
 
Here, in the place where jeans are called dungarees; frosting is icing, and purses are pocketbooks, we walked at least 50 blocks every day.  We also climbed many flights of stairs and ate astonishingly good food.  And we bought Metrocards, which allowed us to ride buses and subways to pretty much wherever we wanted to go.  We also found out that nothing is ever north or south, but uptown, downtown and crosstown.
 
We got really good at crossing streets in spite of red lights, too, and silently ducking into restaurants when we were desperate for a bathroom.  At one point, after yet another amazing dinner, this one in Chinatown, a double decker bus full of out-of-towners flew by.  One of my friends waved and said, “Hello tourists!  Look at the real New Yorkers down here!"

 
In fact, I have lived and worked in The Big Apple.
 
I was in my early 20s, and I’d finally snagged my journalism degree.  I knew what I wanted to do, which was write for a national magazine (I’d already sold my first piece to Seventeen).  There was, of course, no Internet, and since all of the publications I wanted to be a part of were in Manhattan, I simply left California and relocated there.
 
I stayed for nearly four years, working first as a secretary, but eventually landed writing and editing positions with a couple of small magazines, including the now defunct, in-house publication for CBS.    
 
But because I had nothing to compare the experience to, I didn’t know until much later that those were some of New York City’s toughest times. 
 
Streets were dirty; bag ladies were everywhere, and subway cars often broke down.  No one smiled or looked each other in the eye for fear of being followed. I also remember the huge cockroaches in the first place I lived, a tiny studio in the East Village, at the edge of Alphabet City.  And I recall, too, going to a neighborhood bodega and right there at the cash register, seeing rat traps for sale. 
 
In short, New York City was a super hard and mostly lonely place to live in, and I survived not because I was particularly brave, but because I was very young and very naïve.        
 
Things seemed different now.
 
Yes, it’s still a tough place to make one’s way, but one thing that made this visit so enjoyable was how friendly
everyone was.
 
Whether that’s because of a different mayor (Ed Koch was in charge then; now it’s Bill de Blasio), or different priorities (keep the streets clean, find beds for the homeless), I don’t know.  However, I absolutely believe that the extraordinary group trauma of 9/11 also left New Yorkers with a new sense of vulnerability, and consequently, has made it a kinder place.
 
We found this, in little ways, everywhere.
 
There was our first morning in Manhattan, when the bus was the best way to reach our destination. 
 
When it pulled up, we offered our Metrocards to the driver, who gruffly—although not unkindly—told us that “you have to pay outside.”  Huh?  Exiting apologetically, we saw a machine in which to insert our cards for bus fare.  We asked a bystander to show us what to do, and—something that never would have happened years before—she looked directly at us, then demonstrated what needed to be done.
 
Then there was the night we washed our clothes.
 
The friend whose apartment we were lucky enough to stay at doesn’t have a washer and dryer, and there’s no laundry room either (these amenities are not common, especially in older buildings).  So, we did what our friend does: walked four blocks to Baby Girl’s Bubbles & Cleaners (www.babygirlsbubbles.com).   
 
Once inside, we discovered that coins wouldn’t work.
 
Instead, the attendant on duty (a job that simply isn’t seen here) asked us how much wash we had.  We showed her our small bag, and she explained that “that’s about five dollars.”  She patiently led us over to a machine, which, after we put in our money, spit out what looked like a credit card.  We then used the card to do both our wash (28 minutes) and drying (24 minutes). 
 
Shopping for groceries was an adventure as well.
 
Half a block downtown from Baby Girl’s is Best Market—a lot like Whole Foods, but a whole lot better (http://bestmarket.com/stores/harlem/#.VyDwmPkrLIU).  We saw all kinds of bagels prepared in all sorts of ways; several varieties of pizzas, wraps and sandwiches, and even a counter for hot barbecue and traditional sides.  That’s just the street level.  Downstairs, the place was packed to the gills with produce, dairy and baking needs.  (Because it doesn’t take much to amuse me, I was especially fascinated by a miniature escalator made expressly for grocery carts to travel upstairs to the cash registers.)  Oh, and here, too, folks were friendly.            
  
And of course, there’s the eating out.     
 
I didn’t worry about gaining weight because of all of the walking.  (In fact, unlike my town, it’s rare to see morbidly obese people here.)   So I indulged in taro and egg custard ice cream from the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory (www.chinatownicecreamfactory.com); inhaled dim sum at the oldest New York restaurant of its kind in the same neighborhood (http://nomwah.com/), and near Columbia University, gobbled up one of the best bagels ever at Absolute Bagel (http://www.yelp.com/biz/absolute-bagels-new-york). 
 
There was also wonderful chicken pot pie from Serendipity (www.serendipity3.com); heavenly matzo ball soup and monstrous pastrami sandwiches at the Carnegie Deli (http://carnegiedeli.com), and The Best Blueberry Cheesecake Ever from Junior’s in Brooklyn (www.juniorscheesecake.com).
 
I mustn’t forget the cupcakes at the original Magnolia Bakery on Bleeker Street (www.magnoliabakery.com), or my stroll through the Grand Central Market, which can only be described as the ultimate destination for foodies lucky enough to be on a champagne budget (www.thekitchn.com/a-tour-of-grand-central-market-77027). Our final meal was an exquisite spread at a Mediterranean restaurant in the heart of Greenwich Village (http://memeonhudson.com).   
 
Looking back on our visit, I came away with two big things.
 
One, living in Manhattan is ridiculously expensive. 
 
Rents are ludicrous ($3,500 per month for a small one-bedroom apartment is the norm; I paid $350 for my huge place that had a view of the Statue of Liberty), as is entertainment and just about every other living expense.  But for those who are young, and especially for those who are young with money to burn, it’s a virtual playground for the senses.
 
Two, I keep thinking of that famous song about New York City, appropriately titled New York, New York. 
 
Everything about this tune is spot on.  But for me, the best part is the lyric that goes, “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.  It’s up to you, New York, New York!”  
 
I know that’s true, because once upon a time, this California girl clown had a pretty good run in The City That Never Sleeps.  I’m also of the mindset that every just-out-of-school person with the will and moxie should try and do the same. 
 
That being said, I’m very happy to be back in our little town, and especially happy that my washing machine is a few steps from my kitchen. 
 
But I also think this was a journey my daughter won’t soon forget. 
 
Just a few hours into our flight home, she turned to me and said, “Mom? Mom?  I have something to tell you.
 
“I am missing New York right now.”    
 
Have you lived and/or visited New York City?  I look forward to hearing your stories about The Big Apple!