“Jean, I’m a hoarder!”

That’s what my mother hit me with when she came for her typical visit.

“I can’t get rid of anything! And did you know 1 in 50; maybe even 1 in 20 people are hoarders? People in senior centers are hoarding like crazy!”

“Mom just because you’re living in an assisted living center doesn’t mean you’re a hoarder.”

“Hoarding is all we have to do at Friendly Arms!”

Hoarding seems to be the newest reality show obsession. There are real people who become so attached to their stuff that they can’t throw anything away, even if it’s garbage. These people often suffer from psychological problems. Come to think of it, my mother fits the description.

“Jean, Maury is a hoarder!”

“Mom what are you talking about?”

“All those gadget things he has. He has so many! Oh and what about your friends! The ones with all those fancy purses and shoes and clothes?”

My mom read in the paper that there have been several cases of hoarding in Scottsdale. There’s even a task force being put in place to help these people with their problem.

I roll my eyes as my mother wanders around the house mumbling to her self about how having cluttered living areas, non-discarded items, and a lot of stuff are the characteristics of hoarders. She’s counting my things, probably trying to figure out whether or not I’m a hoarder.

“Can you live with out this?” My mom calls from the other room.

No, probably not.

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“I saw on the news about an elderly woman getting mugged.  She was just out on her afternoon walk, minding her own business when some guy came and grabbed her purse. He dragged her before taking off, purse in hand! Why did you make me move to such a dangerous place?”

“Mom, Scottsdale is not dangerous!”

“She was 76 years old! And it was during the day! When I think about muggings I think Central Park when all the creeps come out. Does this mean I can’t go out without a bodyguard or a can of pepper spray?”

“Mom, I’ve got to go, don’t go out by yourself until I call you later!”

I think about this unfortunate incident while heading to lunch with April and Glee. I can’t help but be on my guard.

What kind of a person steals from old ladies anyway? I know times are tough, but that’s no excuse. If someone tried to take my mother’s bag, they would be in for a surprise. She doesn’t have anything in it except for her reading glasses from Walgreens, her moisturizer and her hemorrhoid cream!

I can imagine if someone tried to take one of April’s designer bags – those cost more than anything she has in them! She’d have such a tight grasp on it, her knuckles would turn white from the grip she has on the strap. That purse won’t be going anywhere unless April’s with it. The one’s she is carrying now is wait-listed. Recognize it?

I think the only reason April works out every day with Pilates is so she can protect her handbags!

Is there a handbag you would sacrifice your savings and/or life for? Share with me your most coveted handbag!

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As I’m running around Fashion Square looking for a jacket, I realize no one else is shopping for an outer layer. Scottsdalians rarely need more than a T-shirt and jeans even in the winter. Why am I doing this? Why am I allowing my kid to manipulate me? Where am I going? My phone. I fumble in my feedbag. Michael. He rarely calls. It’s usually Rivka asking me how to get crayons off the wall.

“Hi Michael. Excited about this weekend?”

“Mom. Did you see the story about Don Lapre?”

“No. Why?”

“This vitamin guy was arrested on 41 counts of mail and wire fraud. He said he had ”The Greatest Vitamin in the World.”

“Why do I need to know this?”

“Because Grandma bought into it.”

“What?” I knew I should have looked for a way to block infomercials on her TV.

“This is the guy grandma gave money to!”

“What? I thought she just ordered some supplements. She told me they would improve her libido. When I pointed out she didn’t have a partner to test them out on, she got angry with me.”  It wouldn’t surprise me if she had already turned her “great vitamins” into jewelry.

“People have lost millions. You’d better check her credit card purchases.”

Great. Just what I need. My mother may have been ripped off by a supplement huckster, my kid’s taking me on a mystery vacation I don’t need and I’ve just missed a dental appointment. I’m anxious. “Listen, Michael, do you know where Lara is taking us? I’m not crazy about surprises. Plus, she has me shopping for a jacket.”

“Honest, Mom, I don’t know. They’ve rented a van so we can all drive up together. Her idea of a good time is a car full of kids. But, I’m telling you right now: Rivka has to sit in the front because she gets car sick. Oh, and I think the kids have a virus.”

I adore being in small spaces with people who might vomit and contagious kids. “Michael, maybe we should call this off.”

“No, we can’t. Lara’s gone to a lot of trouble to surprise you for your anniversary.”

“What? Our anniversary isn’t until next month. I don’t want anyone to do anything.” Oh dear. It’s enough dealing with Glee and April and their celebration mania. One year they dragged us to Shangri La, a nudist camp, to find our inner peace. With Lara in charge this might involve camping (I’m allergic to sleeping on the ground), cooking outside (if Michael’s in charge of this part we’ll starve) and no bathroom facilities. Uh oh.

“Michael, I insist. I must know where I’m going. I’m your mother so you have to tell me.”

“Ma, if I tell you, Lara will kill me. Remember the scene in ‘Doctor Zhivago‘ when he comes home and 15 families are living in his house? We’re all going to get to know each other very well.”

“What?”

“Ma, just get a good sleeping bag for you and Dad.”

Sleeping bags? I stop tearing through sales rack. I need REI. Sounds like I’m going to need mosquito repellant too. I am very stressed!

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I find most of this embarrassing because friends and relatives call from other states questioning the veracity of the reports. Simply said, I want to stay out of it. I am way too busy–that means stressed–to get involved in politics, especially after Maury hoodwinked me into participating in a scandal-ridden campaign last year fraught with a charisma-lacking politician, a nutty legislator who attacked me and a Rock Burglar scandal.

I am very interested in staying non-political despite the fact that Maury, my husband of all good causes, insists on spreading his passionate opinions.

The fact is Sarah Palin has bought an 8,000-square-foot home in North Scottsdale on four acres with five bathrooms and a six-car garage. It’s all over the news. Pundits predict she will be attending local political events and will seek higher office after establishing residency.

Personally, I don’t care. That’s right. I refuse to get sucked into politics when I’m dealing with my mother, kids, babysitting, a consulting job and Maury, my left-wing husband who can go over the edge. He’s not at the Rush end of the spectrum but he’s not exactly in the center either. At any rate, he’s a bit excited because Sarah’s coming to town. He’s convinced the Tea Party is going to make Scottsdale their headquarters. Really? Sun-tanned blondes with enhanced boobies and perfect nails marching? I don’t think so. Frankly, as long as they don’t bother my mother and exacerbate her psoriasis it’s not my business. I’m dealing with other issues.

“Jean, did you hear they want to take away my Medicare?”

“Mom, please. No one’s taking away your Medicare. They might take away mine but that’s another story.”

“What will happen to me?”

“Maury and I will always take care of you. You know that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mom, you’ll never be out on the street.”

“How do you know? What if something happens?”

“Mom, nothing will happen. We’ll make sure of that.”

“Does that mean I can move in with you?”

“Uh–not exactly.”

Yes, having a former vice-presidential candidate with a high profile moving to our neighborhood is going to make things interesting around here. But I refuse to let it distract me. If I see her at the grocery store I’ll just say hi. And, no matter what, Maury is not involving me in one of his crazy schemes!

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Recently theTennessee Senate passed a bill that bars teachers from discussing homosexuality or alternative lifestyles with elementary and middle school students. I had no idea he would be so passionate about it.

“Jean, you can’t say ‘gay’ in Tennessee,” Maury tells me as he grips the steering wheel while we drive to Wildflower, a neighborhood haunt that serves multiple pieces of bread with everything you order. My mother enjoys this because she takes it all home, puts it in her freezer and forgets about it.

“Well, I wasn’t planning to. Why?” I text Lara to remind her that she’s picking up her grandmother for our family dinner.

“Because it’s not fair to restrict someone’s freedom of speech. They can’t ban a word. We have to do something about this.”

“Like what? Go to Tennessee and protest?” I respond to Rivka to see if she’ll pick up my mother.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! We can stand outside the schools and say ‘gay, gay, gay.’ Prove a point.” He slaps the dashboard with enthusiasm.

“Maury, there is no way we’re taking a trip to Tennessee. I have more important issues to deal with.” Rivka, upon hearing she might have to go out of her way, texts me that she’s exhausted from shopping and can’t pick up my mother because she has catarrh, an inflammation that involves mucus. I delete her.

“What’s more important than basic human rights? Besides, they’re not teaching about it. They just can’t say the word. I’m going to Google the ACLU when I get home to see what they’re doing.”

“Maury, we don’t have time to get involved in other states’ problems. We have plenty right here.” My mother is calling my cell phone. I will call her back. I have to make sure my darling husband doesn’t get involved in some crazy scheme that involves the Deep South, the word “gay,” and his latest obsession, Civil War re-enactors because he’s reading Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz.

“Honey,” I say in my best soothing voice, “Let’s not get excited. We have plenty to do right here in Arizona with Sarah moving to North Scottsdale, an invasion of stink bugs and the capture of the Rock Burglar.” I have to make sure he doesn’t get me involved in one of his annoying political campaigns too.

“Stink bugs? The ones that leave fruit bruised and discolored and give off a horrendous odor? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? We have to help our local farmers fight those creeps.”

“Sweetheart, stay on Scottsdale Road. We’re picking up my mom.”

“Huh? Thought the kids were doing that. What happened?”

“You don’t want to know.”

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That means there’s a brown haze hanging over us. I see it happen every winter. The “brown cloud” embraces our Valley from all the cars over populating our roads. The high pollution warnings tell seniors, children and those with respiratory problems to stay indoors. The minute my mother hears that she has a task she needs to complete with urgency.

“Jean, why is the air a hazy color and shimmering? I can’t see the mountains and I cleaned my glasses. I must go out today to check out the new rinse for grey hair at Walgreens.”

I called Lara—she’s the family environmentalist—to get her opinion to see if Scottsdale deserves this dirty ranking.

“Hi Honey! You’re up on these things? Your Bubbe wants to go out today. Is the air really that bad?”

“Mom! It’s disgusting! Make her heed the warnings. At the very least tell her she has to wear a mask.”

“Lara, if I tell your grandmother that she’ll want to hold up a store. Or she’ll tell me it doesn’t match her outfit. Worse, she’ll make me wear one!”

“Well, you can’t let her out. Today’s the driest, dirtiest day of the year.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sakes! Who conducts these surveys anyway? I read in last month’s issue of Newsweek’s The Daily Beast a list of America’s 30 Funniest Cities. To my surprise Scottsdale/Phoenix weren’t on the list! Results reflected cities with the highest percentages of residents who describe themselves as funny or watch sitcoms and visit comedy clubs. I think it’s very funny here. I could write a satire about Scottsdale…not that there’s anything to make fun of.”

“Mom, you’re very funny. Michael and I laugh about your crazy antics with your friends all the time. Whoops. Dad has a droll sense of humor.”

“It still baffles me that Scottsdale isn’t on this list. I understand how Austin, Texas and New Orleans take the top two spots, but how does Milwaukee rank number seven? Now all we’re left with are headless bodies according to the Gus and big snakes that creep into our backyards from the desert. They even caught a bear cub near the library the other day. The residents here may be taking our pollution problems more seriously.”

“Mom, since when are you the Scottsdale Ambassador?”

“Since we moved here from Tempe and I schlepped your grandparents here from Florida. She reminds me every day about the cool, ocean breezes. The last thing Scottsdale needs is for everyone to think we are a miserable, dirty, and humorless city. I’d rather stick to the stereotype that we’re a bunch of boozing, spray-tanned, BMW driving blondes like on that housewives reality show. Now that I think about it, not sure which stereotype I would prefer. I think I will just stick with Stressed in Scottsdale.

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Magazines and catalogs are stashed next to the sofa in the family room, piled up on the desk in the kitchen and, I’m sorry to admit, overflowing in the bathroom magazine rack. Only men do the latter. I don’t know any women who have much time to spend in that room. Once, Michael was in there so long a golf ball came through the window shattering glass all around him. He was only ten and came running down the hall with his pants around his ankles screaming about an invasion.

I don’t even read all of them. I love The New Yorker and Vanity Fair but they’re both so ponderous and intellectually weighty I don’t have time for them. Only the postal person is impressed we receive them. I save them all because some day, somehow I’ll go on a vacation where nothing buzzes or rings and I’ll take the stack with me. But until then I keep looking at the covers with longing.

I just can’t throw a magazine out unless I have looked through it, including all the ones that interest Maury–golf, archeology, history, home improvement and more golf. Why would I need to know about fish supplies? I don’t even own an aquarium! I definitely won’t need to shop for power tools anytime soon.

I also found coupons that are years old. I guess I figured I would use them eventually but never did. Who needs that many coupons? Don’t these companies know they are harming the environment by wasting all this paper?

April was telling me about people who never get rid of anything and live in complete clutter, hoarders. It’s a serious problem.

“Jean, you’re in danger of becoming a television show. I saw one episode of “Hoarders” and the woman couldn’t walk in the living room. It was filled with laundry baskets of clothes, cereal boxes and paper towel rolls.”

“April, I may not be the neatest person around but I’m not a hoarder…yet. But my mother might fall into that category.”

“Start cleaning out. You’re in danger. Just save Sky Mall. They have really good stuff.”

“No! Maury orders electronics from there we don’t need. That’s the first thing I have to throw out. Right now!”

She recommended that I should watch a show on TLC, Hoarders: Buried Alive. After one episode I decided I need to recycle all of my useless catalogs. I’m stressed by all the magazines and catalogs and I’m too stressed to throw them out!

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Until the goats contracted an eye infection that spread to the sheep who went blind. And fell off the fake mountain. I was upset for days that these beautiful creatures who love to lock horns could no longer see each other.

I cannot make this up! Consult Chapter 2 in Stressed in Scottsdale for more documentation.

I, however, am not the only fan of Ovis canadensis. It seems Zen Mocarski, an education manager at the Arizona Game and Fish Department, is one too. He spearheaded an effort to build three overpasses so sheep can cross safely. I admire him.

But, of course there’s a level of absurdity to this as I point this out to Maury.
“Maury, Arizona’s largest herd of bighorn sheep will be safe from traffic.”
“I am very relieved to hear that.”
“They were going to build underpasses like they do for elk and deer but the sheep are very visual and can detect movement up to a mile away.”
“That’s nice, dear.”
“They don’t like to go underground in dark, dank tunnels.”
“Neither do I.”
“Maury, this is serious. The biologists asked the sheep. They collared and captured 75 of them with the help of sportsmen.”
“Wait. Those are the guys who want to kill them.”
“Right. But they won’t have any to shoot if the herd dies of disease or doesn’t breed properly.”
I continue to share this urgent information including the fact that this project cost $4.8 million. “They even seeded the surfaces with native plants and lots of dirt. Remote cameras took the first pictures of them crossing. I bet they looked cute with their little furry faces.”
“Jean, do you mean to tell me they can’t pay for transplants for a hundred people and they’re funding driveways for sheep?”
“Exactly.”

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Now I understand we all have our scandals, but the latest news rocking New Rochelle, NY caught my attention. Catholic Sister Marie Thornton embezzled $850,000 from a suburban New York City college as Vice-president of finance. It was all for her personal use. Sounds like a Scottsdale story for sure!

Okay, maybe my mental picture of a woman with a no-nonsense haircut devoid of make-up in plain clothes and nurses’ shoes lacks imagination, but what could she have spent that amount of money on? Designer lingerie? Jimmie Choos to roam her stark apartment? Wigs? Jewelry?

Nope! Gambling in Atlantic City! Blackjack specifically. And she must not have been very good at it. The 62-year-old sister of a religious order worked all week and used Iona College‘s money to play on the weekend. The tony school charges $28,000 a year for tuition.

When the college caught her after a ten year run they said she left for medical reasons. Most of the money was recovered and no one would have been the wiser except…for the fact that Iona College filed the losses on their income tax. Hello? You have an employee who steals almost a million dollars and you not only don’t press charges but you create a cover-up and then you put in down as a loss on your taxes? Given that gambling is an addiction like alcohol is there any moral outrage?

By the way, a recent picture of her fit my description perfectly except I missed the eyeglasses.

Garbage and Flowers

I make an effort to go through all our mail everyday, sorting Maury’s golf and political magazines, solicitations from charities, who, once you make a small donation because they got you with a limpid-eyed-child, dog or horse, will never stop, announcements from new chiropractors, cleaners and dentists in your neighborhood and invitations to charitable events that cost $10,000 a table, you realize that a lot of paper is being wasted.

There’s not a solution for junk mail. It’s a free country and people can send what they want. But, it freaks me out. I can fill up a large garbage bag with discarded mail, paper from packaging and plastic that won’t be bio-degradable for 1000 years. If I add, the flowers that have bloomed and passed leaving purple petals on my kitchen counters, their pistons and stamens naked in smelly water, I could probably win a garbage contest. There’s only two of us and an old dog. Wouldn’t it be great if we could opt out of the mail? And then email? And then faxes? I think I’m stressed again!

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As if we all aren’t busy enough and multi-tasking to complete our holiday schedules without participating in Black Friday, a few things have happened to create another level of anxiety.

1. Maury lost his keys again and although we have searched through every article of clothing in his closet with pockets for ten days, they have not shown up. He THINKS he threw them away because he usually has lots of important items in his hands from Home Depot when he comes in from the garage. Should I change all of the locks on the house? Do we really need anything from the file cabinet we can no longer access? Is it that important to have only one car key?

2. Glee is insistent that she wants to help me wrap the 32 Chanukah presents for the grandchildren. Eight nights. Four kids. I did the math. Never mind that some of the presents are as exciting as one pair of cotton underpants (Why didn’t I get the days of the week ones? That way one package would have taken care of seven nights!) or a pencil from the museum store. Glee says we have to set an example by going green as we wrap everything.

“What does that entail?”

“You need plain brown wrapping paper or grocery bags without logos, raffia instead of cloth ribbons, fresh organic herbs and pine cones.”

“I don’t have any pine cones. I’d have to drive almost three hours to get them from Flagstaff.”

“Start driving. Everything has to be natural and non-commercial.”

3. A woman from the A&E reality TV show “Hoarders” brought home a pregnant rat. The Humane Society in San Jose has rescued 1,000 of them to put up for adoption. One creepy plague-carrying, citrus-eating rodent makes me apoplectic. One thousand? I’d need a strait-jacket. But worse, who do they think is going to adopt rats? “Oh honey, I got you such a great pet for Christmas! It eats everything and multiplies quickly.” Do I need to mention the neighbors turned them in because “the pets” were actually eating the house?

4. April is only buying designer water with names like Lelu, Vidago and Tasmanian Rain. She is convinced that a new brand made from 12,000 year old snow is the answer to longevity, long before our atmosphere was filled with impurities.

“Jean, it’s the fountain of youth. Steve got me Bling H2O from Tennessee spring water. It’s only $50 for a Swarovoski crystal-encrusted bottle! And that’s not as good as the new iceberg stuff. Glace is the purest of the pure. It’s the French word for ‘ice’.”

“April dearest, I know you mean well, but that’s all hype. Water is water. Don’t buy into the latest trend.”

When I told Maury about the entrepreneur investing $4.5 million to make bottles of water he shook his head and said, “People in Scottsdale will buy anything.”

5. My mother has a boyfriend.

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