"Mindless Marketing"

     It amazes me that retailers are baffled when sales are low, which is often.  In their infinite brilliance, did anyone in their marketing departments ever stop to consider that, in rushing the seasons, they are sabotaging, rather than serving to enhance and grow, their own sales?  The temperature today is 5 degrees, and with wind chills, it feels like -25.  Yet, when I walk into Target, the first thing I see is racks upon racks of bikinis.  Hello!?!?!?  Did it ever occur to anyone that winter coats would be more likely to sell at this time of year, considering the current conditions? That is-winter weather!?!?!?  The stores could probably sell fifty winter coats for every single bikini that they sell in January or February.  It seems like fairly simple logic to me.  I would buy a new winter coat right now-if I could find one.  But no, the stores will be teeming with them in August, when I, and countless others like me, am more apt to be lounging around at the beach than shopping for cold weather apparel.  In late spring, I want to buy light weight clothing and spring jackets.  In June, July, and August, I want to buy bathing suits, shorts, and beach towels.  In September, I think of fall, and the switch to slightly heavier clothing in warm colors.  In October, Halloween is imminent, and I wish to buy the appropriate decorations.  In November, I am thinking turkey, and all of the trimmings.  

     When I was a child, the Christmas season began the Friday after Thanksgiving, and that is how it should be.  The Christmas lights were lit, and people began their shopping.  There was an accompanying air of, not to sound corny, peace and good will.  People were kinder, and with the season came joy and comfort.  Now, people trample each other, sometimes to death, to purchase the desired sale items that they can't live without.  Personally, I don't know of any TV that is worth killing a fellow human being over. 

     I have no more desire to buy Christmas decorations in August than I do scarves and hats and coats.  I don't want to skip over Halloween and Thanksgiving, to get to the highly commercialized Christmas, and on Christmas, I don't want to buy Valentines candy (not that I have a significant other to buy it for, but that's another blog post).  The point is, if the stores would promote their merchandise when there is a need for it, it would sell.  Isn't that known as supply and demand?  Why don't they get it?  They resort to mindless marketing, and then wonder why their sales have plummeted. Duh!

     By the way-does anyone know where I can but a winter coat?

"The Beautiful Past"

"the vague far past, the beautiful past, the lamented past! I remember it so well"
*Mark Twain

     This morning I went into my sewing basket to obtain the materials needed to sew a button onto a pair of slacks that have suddenly become too tight (they must have shrunk)-a needle, (steel) thread, scissors...  It's been years since I even opened my sewing basket, and I was surprised to find sewing patterns for pajamas and pants that I had made for my sons when they were little.  I cannot say that the past came flooding back to me in a rush, for it is always with me, but the find did evoke more memories.  I miss my babies and my little boys so much, that at times, I just don't know how to cope.  Life can be so cruel.  We are given these beautiful little people to love and to cherish, and we do.  We build entire lives around them. Then they grow up and are no longer ours.  We are compelled to let them go, to give them to another human being who will have the privilege of sharing their lives, as I had done for more than twenty years of my life-the best years, when I was young and strong and energetic, and optimistic.  Those times were hard...sleepless nights, endless bills, cooking and cleaning, raising and nurturing, holding down a job... But I would go back, in a heartbeat.  Had I known how quickly my children would grow and leave me, I would have spent every waking moment with them, instead of wearing myself out with working and cleaning and painting (rooms, not landscapes).  Now, I sit alone with my memories, and try to build a new life on my own-not an easy feat for one who is old and set in her ways.  I work and go to school, I have friends who are dear to me, yet I miss my sons, who mean everything to me.  But they are grown men, and entitled to live their own lives, as I did when I was their age.  I don't begrudge them that-I understand.  I hide my true feeling from them, as I do not want to impart any guilt on them for doing what comes naturally.  It is the cycle of life, and like it or not, it is what it is.

     I had an aunt who was very dear to me, and she too lived on her own for many years after her children were grown. I used to visit her with my young sons, as she became a second mother to me when my own mother passed away.  I often think of her now, when I am feeling sorry for myself, and I wonder did she experience the same loneliness that I do now. I know she had her sorrows, but she demonstrated an infinite amount of strength, for the sake of her family.  Her love was boundless and unwavering.  She was one of the kindest and most loving individuals I have ever known.  She never had an unkind word to say about anyone.  She was forgiving, and professed her love for her family, even those few who had wronged her.  I miss her too, and I look to her for inspiration.  

     Forgive me if I have become redundant, but at times I have trouble letting go.  I push my feelings down, like a baker pounding down yeast laden dough for bread.  But like that dough, they expand, and I am compelled to beat them down again.  Sometimes, a person just has too much time to think.  I have been alone so much the last couple of weeks, recovering from surgery.  I have not been able to partake of the activities that would normally keep my mind occupied...  As I resume my normal routine, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, and plod on, albeit unwillingly.  Life has changed, and I've no choice but to embrace it-gracefully, I hope...

                                          The pajamas resemble those on the left.  I still have them.

                                            My beloved Aunt-my inspiration.

A Pain in the Neck

     Recently I wrote about upcoming surgery in my post titled Not Necessarily Cancer (it was).  The surgery has been performed, and I am left with a scar and resulting pain in my neck and throat-lots of it.  Having a number of age lines dominating my almost 6 decade old neck, I was anticipating that the doctor would  utilize one of them when he made his cut.  That was not the case, however, and a 4 inch wide scar is adjacent to my age lines, their appearance subsequently resembling the lines on a city map.  A dense map.  Like a New York City map.  Never having been one to wear scarves all that often, I am now planning to invest in about a dozen, something I probably should have done anyway.  My neck is actually pretty scary looking now, as what was once smooth is now, in addition to being lined, crater like, and I am able to see everything moving within.  I know-I probably shouldn't look, but I am in the habit of scrutinizing my neck, after having discovered its mysterious bump recently.       

      Since the surgery was performed, I now protect my neck with my hand gracing my throat, similar to the manner in which a baseball player protects the ball with his glove.  Everything is sore, from the flesh that has been carved like an Easter ham, to the muscles that have been manipulated and rearranged to dissect my troublesome thyroid.  That being said, I now am recuperating at home, still barely eating, and sleeping as much as possible.  I never realized how much I actually used my neck muscles, until they were violated by my surgeon, resulting in  restriction of  movement. I am also keenly aware of how slowly I have bounced back, as compared to when I was younger.  Anyway, enough of bellyaching.  I am indebted to my surgeon, who has provided me with a new lease on life.  I was skeptical about him initially, but I was pleasantly surprised by his skill and his kindness, and would gladly, and gratefully, recommend him to anyone who asked.

     I have had to miss class these couple of weeks.  I must admit, I like writing my own absentee notes.  When I return, it will be to my first exam of the semester.  I am not worried, however, as I am prepared, despite not having been in class.  In my previous semester, having taken American Government & Politics, I was constantly remarking about the extraordinary volume of information that we were compelled to absorb.  I have now discovered why.  The professor of my current class, American National Government, who assigned the same text book, has indicated that the former class was to cover the first ten chapters, and that he would cover the remaining eight.  We previously covered seventeen chapters!  No wonder I was feeling overwhelmed!  It didn't stop me from earning an A, however.  Also, the first professor did me a favor, because I am entering the current class with a greater understanding than if he had only covered the requisite ten chapters.  

     Surprisingly, to me at least, I am really enjoying the study of our Government.  Having always ignored government and politics as much as possible, I was always silently critical of it, a common characteristic of the ignorant.  Now however, I have a much greater appreciation for the framing of our government, as well as the mechanics of it.  Brilliant!  Of course there are some bad eggs within our government, but they are in the minority.  Besides, isn't that true of any group, that there are always good and bad within, but that generally the bad are not the majority? 

     While recently watching the opening credits of my favorite show, Downton Abbey, I realized that I recognize most of the actors' and actresses' names and am able to equate them with their corresponding roles.  I can only hope that I am as familiar with the names of our government officials and their titles for the upcoming exam.

HAAA or How Annoying Are Acronyms?

     HOAA (how annoying are acronyms)?  You see them everywhere.  They RTUH (rear their ugly heads) in all types of CC (correspondence and communication), so much so, that I keep an AI (acronym index) on my desk next to my ED (emoticon directory), so that IKWPATA  (I know what people are talking about) and WETAE (what emotions they are experiencing).  WTF!  (what the fudge!).

     SAO (sometimes acronyms overlap), meaning two or three phrases PTSA (possess the same acronym), LMRC (leaving me really confused), a confusion that has NTDWD (nothing to do with dementia).  In these modern times, PCCI (people can communicate instantaneously), but NOK (no one knows) what anyone else ITA (is talking about).  Additionally, peoples' ATS (ability to spell) diminishes exponentially with EPD (every passing day).  LINATM! (Life is not a text message!).  SIO!  (spell it out!)  TI,IYKH...(that is, if you know how...)  Sarcastic, I know.  But my readers are FA (fully aware) that I am a SpSn (spelling snob). 

     WIB (while I'm bitching), and NTBR (not to be redundant), an Email is NAC! (not a conversation!).   IAL! (It's a letter!)  I sometimes find it VD (not what you're thinking-Very Difficult-this is another of those overlapping acronyms I was telling you about) to access, read, or print my Emails.  I used to be able to open them in a PUW (pop up window), as if I were OAL (opening a letter), but that is NLP (no longer possible) because the Email is POAC (part of a conversation).  HF (Heaven forbid) that I should need to VAE (view an Email) that was PR (previously received).  I am CC (completely clueless-as opposed to correspondence and communication) then.  I think someone should invent TFOP (technology for old people).  Given the EHN (extraordinarily high numbers) of BB (Baby Boomers), there is DAM (definitely a market).  DYA? (don't you agree?)  It's the young people who are ITM (in the minority).  MSI (my son insinuates) that I don't have a HF (huge following) OMB (on my blog) because people in my age group DNWABI (don't know what a blog is).  I daresay-HR! (he's right!)

    I know IMBGO (I must be getting old), because my patience for the YG (younger generation) DD (not Dunkin-diminishes daily).  IMY (In my youth) INT (I never thought) I would mimic my MG (mother's generation), but that day has come, and ATQ (all too quickly).  HG (Her generation) used to think the seventies WB (were bad), and ATT (no, not the phone company-at the time) I could not fathom why.  I can't BTI (begin to imagine) what they would think if they were OTW (of this world) now.  BIDUTT  (But I do understand their thinking).  Ah, TBYA... (to be young again...)

     Now, imagine if the only way to read this entire post was to revert back to an AI (acronym index) in order to comprehend what I am trying to say.  Daunting, isn't it? And tedious?  YB! (You betcha!)

"Let us make a special effort to stop communicating with each other, so we can have some conversation."*

*Mark Twain

Free Range Children

     So, a couple in Washington, DC is under investigation for neglect because they allow their 10 and 6 year old children to walk to and play in the local park by themselves.  The children, and others like them, are deemed “free range”.  I love this new term “free range children” (not!). It sounds more like a description of non-Perdue chickens as opposed to children.  Who comes up with this stuff?

     When I was a young adult, we had latchkey kids.  When I was a child, however, I was on my own.  Period.  The chief of police lived next door to us, yet no one ever accused my parents of neglect.

     I attended grammar school on the other side of the city I lived in, a 30 minute ride on the public service bus that I rode daily. The year was September of 1960. I remember being a kindergartner, age 5, and my father taking me on the bus, showing me where to get on and off, and how to navigate the various intersections that were necessary for me to cross.  I used to arrive so early that the school doors were locked, prohibiting access.  The weather didn’t matter.  I patiently, or impatiently, waited outside, sometimes for an hour.  Was that considered parental neglect?  No.  My parents fostered my independence out of necessity, because they had to go to work and they had no other choice.  I imagine they would never have gotten away with it in these times.

     The street I grew up on was busy, even in the early sixties.  It was the main drag, which cut across the entire city, like the scoring on a loaf of French bread.  Our house was located at the top of a small incline, and my father taught me to cross there, where I had clear visibility, rather than where I actually got off of the bus, at the bottom, which was also an intersection.  I learned very young to be cautious.

     I was not allowed to have a key to the house at that time, and was compelled to wait on the front steps for my mother to come home from work. (Are you noticing a pattern here? I spent a good portion of my childhood just waiting!)  On one occasion, I had to go to the bathroom so badly, that I went behind the house, lifted my skirt, and peed in the woods.  Luckily, child protective services (and predators) were not around.  That little incident landed me a key, however, leading to another learning experience.  My folks instructed me never to enter the house if anything looked amiss, in case the house was ever broken into.  That taught me, at a very young age, to be aware of my surroundings.  Upon arrival, I would take off my uniform, place it on a hanger, and hang it on the bathroom doorknob, because that was all that I could reach.  I would have a snack, and then start my homework, never getting into any mischief while my parents were not there.  They taught me to be neat, disciplined, and obedient.

     In the summer, I was often home all day, every day, by myself.  I slept late, and watched TV until my folks arrived home from work.  Have I mentioned that we did not have smoke or carbon monoxide detectors?  I doubt they even existed at that time. 

     Currently, it appears that, increasingly, busybody people stick their noses where they don’t belong.  People despise children who misbehave in public places, yet report people who would discipline their children to the authorities.  People condemn those who keep their children in the house in front of the TV all day, yet report people like the folks in DC, for allowing and encouraging their children to be outside, for teaching them to cross the street, and to be independent.  No matter what folks do as parents, there will always be some non-expert waiting to condemn them.  Quite frankly, I think people should mind their own business.

                              My beloved father, and teacher. I love him to the moon and back:

                                                       

                                              

Canine Cuspid, or Lack Thereof

     I recently noticed that Buddy, my chocolate Lab, had a funky smell about him.  Initially, I thought perhaps he had stepped in some dog mess outside, but there was no physical evidence of that.  Then, as I was lying on the couch (one of my favorite pastimes), he approached and subsequently breathed on me!  The offensive odor was coming from his mouth!  In a shocking and worrisome deja vu, I remembered by beautiful yellow Lab, Holly, who, years before, had the same rotten odor emanating from her mouth.  She had cancer-of the tongue-and was gone within the week.  The Vet indicated that he hadn't seen that condition in a dog in twenty three years!  How traumatic it was, especially knowing we would have to put her down.  My brave son, who was just eighteen at the time, took her for me, and stayed with her, as I couldn't do it.  I still miss her...

     I hurriedly made an appointment with our Vet, and, much to my relief, Buddy's bad breath was merely caused by a cracked and infected tooth, which would require oral surgery to be removed.  I scheduled his appointment for the day after Christmas.  As with humans, he was not allowed to have anything to eat or drink after midnight. He stared at me in puzzlement that entire morning.  I explained it to him, but I don't think he was listening...

      Big "scaredy-dog" that he is, Buddy hides behind me whenever anyone approaches.  On that day, a look of shear terror crossed his face when he realized I was leaving him with the Vet.  "Maternal" guilt kicked in, and I left there feeling dejected, but aware that what I was doing was in his best interest.  The surgery was done in a number of hours, and I picked him up at suppertime.  

     The Vet indicated that Buddy might experience difficulty navigating stairs due to the anesthesia.  Have I mentioned his weight?  Ninety three pounds!  And that we inhabit a second floor apartment?  Fortunately for me, he was just a little wobbly, and also highly motivated to return to his personal love seat.  We ascended the stairs without a hitch.  

     Buddy's diet was restricted to soft foods for two weeks.   I have always given him dry food, so the canned dog food was like going from a diet of  stale bread and water to steak tartare and Dom Perignon.  He required no encouragement to eat.  

     It's been three weeks now.  Buddy has had his follow up visit with the Vet, and is doing fine.  His gums have healed nicely, and the funky smell is completely gone.  It was well worth the nearly one thousand dollars that it cost me.  He is such a good dog, and I love him so much.  Hopefully, that canine "old man" will be with me for years to come.

                                                                  "Me and Buddy"

                                                                "Holly and Brandy"

Fearless

     As a Catholic and a Christian, I am offended by those who would take Christ out of Christmas, as, I am sure, are many other Christians.  The difference between us and a percentage of some members of other religions, is that we Christians don't opt to slaughter en masse those who do not support our views, or who demean our beloved Lord.  Christians are taught to pray for our "enemies", not massacre them.

    To say that I am appalled by the recent vicious terrorist attacks in Sydney and Paris would be a gross understatement.  I am particularly disturbed by the execution of the French policeman, Ahmed Merabet, a Muslim, who was simply doing his job.  People who kill and terrorize in the name of God love to kill,  terrorize, and exert control.  They merely use the name of God to justify their distorted lust for the blood of the innocent.  It is that lust that propels them to arbitrarily kill, even their own. 

    I will forever remember  the images of distraught people waiting for the arrival of doomed Pan Am Flight 103 in December 1988.  It is my first recollection of terrorism.  The memory of watching the news, with my baby in my arms, crying for the victims and their relatives, is vivid still.  I am saddened by countless other acts of terrorism that have occurred since.  The murder of children and teachers in Pakistan recently was a despicable act.  I heard on the news that some female teachers were burned alive.  What could possibly justify such a horror?  Most recently, the image of French policeman Ahmed Merabet lying on the ground with his hands up in surrender will be forever seared in my memory, as will images of our Towers and the planes that struck them, or innocent hostages in coffee shops and supermarkets running in fear from those who would harm them. 

     With today's technology, and the ability to see and hear anything online instantaneously,  I imagine that those who would choose to intimidate and terrorize are enjoying the graphic images of their handiwork.  I wonder if sensationalizing their heinous acts is encouraging and gratifying them.   I feel it is now more important than ever to collectively strive for a peaceful coexistence amongst all the peoples of the world.  Otherwise-where will all of this end?  Are we destined to be forever enmeshed in a climate of hatred and killing?  I have only to think of my children, and the grandchildren that I hope to have one day.  I want them to inhabit a world in which they do not have to fear getting on a plane, going to school or work, seeing a movie, or stopping to buy a cup of coffee. 

     In my youth, I was fearless.  I considered myself privileged to live and to raise my children in the safest country in the world, naively believing that nothing could touch us.  Having witnessed increasing acts of terrorism, not only worldwide, but within my own country, has been both traumatic and foreign to me.  I could not be more shocked than I am over the recent beheading of a woman in her place of employment-in Oklahoma!  She was not even the intended victim, any more than  Ahmed Merabet was.

     As a parent, I worry incessantly about the safety and well being of my family.  Now, however, in addition to the normal parental worries, there are the added worries of radicals who could possibly take members of my precious family from me. In my opinion, we should utilize modern technology to promote love and respect for one another, and tolerance for those who are different, be it in views, religious beliefs, appearance, or nationality.  The time is now- before any more innocent people are executed.