Category Archives: Real Life

Christmas without a calendar

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Christmas should never be restricted to the month of December. We always hear the optimistic, always happy people who exclaim they have Christmas everyday. The premise and promise should be celebrated daily. There are those select folks who do celebrate Christmas without a calendar which include all of the accoutrements and joy to behold.

The first Halloween for our youngest son going door to door in our subdivision yielded an incredible surprise for me. He probably does not remember the event as vividly and clearly as I do. We approached a home decorated with sparkling twinkle lights and Santa figures in the yard. The woman answering the door was slightly emotional and made a huge fuss over Joe dressed in his Harley Davidson get-up. She then asked if I would like to bring him in to see their Christmas tree. I’m wondering why this woman would have a Christmas tree put up for Halloween. She seemed extremely put together and not the type to be over the edge. So, we entered her home into one of the most magnificent magical views of the joyous Christmas season. The tree was almost as high as the cathedral ceiling and dressed in a lit gold theme. The train was traveling around a village at the bottom with a horn blowing and holiday music was playing. The room even smelled like pine and holly. There were Christmas cookies displayed on beautiful plates and candy in extravagant jars. Every detail was accounted for.

My four-year old was mesmerized, enchanted and I later found out confused by the switch in holiday theme for the day. It took me a week to get him into the Halloween excitement with the explanations of dressing up and visiting the neighbors at night to receive a few pieces of candy. This woman, our neighbor had a son in the Army who was returning home from Iraq. He had been on the ground and fighting in the desert. Since he had missed Christmas with his family last year, our neighbor re-created the entire event for his homecoming. She cried when she hugged Joe goodbye.

This was the Halloween of 1987. My other son was ten years old. Little did I realize, he too would be involved in a war or conflict that never seems to end. They just give it different names for different reasons during all seasons. We too, kept our Christmas tree up for a January homecoming one year. Christmas shouldn’t have a calendar.

 

 

Cultural diversity can change who we are

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Cultural diversity takes on many faces from the observers perspective. I have come to the conclusion, cultural diversity is dependent on elements making you, the observer, uncomfortable. It is all encompassed by our upbringing, attitude to change and acceptance. We make ourselves the “odd man out”.

Travel is the best education but only allows a superficial glimpse of different menus at McDonald’s worldwide. Let’s face it, when an American travels to France, they are going to hit McDonald’s. Familiarity is a magnet. Rationalize you just want to see the differences. It will provide a homecoming speech repeatable to your audience of how the Parisian McDonald milkshakes are nothing but a milky substance with a few shards of ice floating around in it.

Immersing yourself in a culture is more than prancing around Saks in New York City or limiting yourself to the city bus tours. A true cultural experience is meeting a young man in Spain who introduces you to his friends. You attend a wedding with them. You eat at their homes and learn how they live without a car or a refrigerator. You get sick and the young man takes you to a doctor, who happens to be his uncle. You realize the world is so much bigger than you will ever be. Their lives are so rich and full without the glitz and gizmos.

If you have never lived outside a major metropolitan area, you have no idea what life is like in a small town. It is a major culture shock. You lose your need for immediate satisfaction because the solutions are far-reaching. A trip to a major retailer is over 100 miles away. You learn to plan and improvise. People in, what you may think is secluded communities, have always lived with the resources they have available. If you grow up with an outhouse in the backyard and a wood burning stove in the kitchen – you don’t know you’re “poor”. There is no comparable.  If the area has no cable or satellite available and you never had it – how would you know what you’re missing? Money changes everything. Broadband access opens a new dimension for how farmers run their businesses and schools educate our children. It takes funding to change their way of life. Is this our way of making them more like us? Whatever “us” is.

The Amish community survives without modern convenience. Through the last century they have had to make changes to conform to modern society. Buggies must have reflective triangles and/or tape to travel on Pennsylvania public thoroughfares. As minor as this life saving measure appears to be, it was fought for religious and cultural reasons. “Be not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed….” Romans 12.2 Knowing societal differences does not make one jump up and applaud the change.

If you have never been outside the county or parish you were born in – take a walk, grab a Greyhound, find a bus station, share a ride and see what is happening in the world around you. It makes a better you. The observation may not affect you immediately. It will assist you through later stages in life. Cultural diversity can change who we are. You become compassionate, understanding and appreciative. As a very young person, I fought being dragged through every art museum across the United States and Europe. It has proven to be one of the greatest gifts I have ever received. The journeys and the gift of gab enabled me to truly immerse myself into other people’s lives and learn so much more than what the tour guide had to offer. By the way, Paris, Texas is very different from Paris, France.


Truly good people

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How many truly “good people” do you know? I am not referring to people who are cute or put smiley faces on every text. I am referring to those folks who will get up in the middle of the night, after working all day. They haul ass to your house to do laundry, clean up after the dog and get your kids ready for school because you have pneumonia. That kind of “good people” is what I am referring to.

Everyone has experienced the one hit wonder. You drop a bag of kumquats at the store and everyone around you assists with picking them up. That is a good deed. Someone holds the door open for you. They are being polite. A good Samaritan is one who finds your stolen wallet and returns it with at least your Charming Charlie discount card still in it.

“Good people” are your friends from the moment you meet them until forever. They like you when you’re an ass. You are forgiven for all faults and your neurotic habits are overlooked.

You look forward to hearing from them even if they repeat the same story over and over about the winning pass during the varsity football game in high school. The story had a kick until everyone had celebrated their fortieth birthdays, but you listen patiently. After a few cocktails, you may ask them to “hold that thought” and move onto talking about yourself!

“Good people” are difficult to find. You may think a newish friend or acquaintance is slotted for this title, only to find out they are too tired to help you shovel the avalanche of snow in your driveway. They don’t care if you have a broken leg. They have to have their 8 hours of sleep. Disappointment follows their failure to attain “good people” passage during the initial interview process.

Work friends rarely fall into the “good people” category either. Yeah, y’all go out for happy hour on Thursday nights and pour each other into a car for the designated driver ride home but that is the law and not “good people”. They’re worried about liability and their own ass. “Good people” would assist with the police interview if you had been dropped off at the wrong house and woke up on someone elses couch.

If you called them in the wee hours of the morning because you were in labor or someone was peeking through your windows, not so good people would tell you to call 911. They would go back to sleep and then tell everyone at work you were friendless and they don’t understand why you called them. “Good people” would have been at your side, wrapped you in their grandmother’s handmade antique quilt and made you hot chocolate – unless you were in the labor situation.

“Good people” are brave and forthright. They are able to tell you when enough is enough. They teach you how to fish instead of handing you a fish. They are critical without judgement. They suggest the right direction, keep you out of the slammer, know how to do artificial nails, drive all the way to Dallas when you have car trouble, tell you your favorite suit makes you look lopsided (that’s nice for horrible) and love you for who you really are.

Skinny Prejudice

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Prejudice is a brutal act by any means. Human beings, unconsciously or consciously, stereotype each other upon first greeting. If you appear different in comparison to society’s vision of “normal”, challenges are a given. Being a skinny person in today’s world can lead to isolation and ridicule.

In sales, if you are particularly busy, juggling multiple accounts and the bucks are rolling in, the boss will tell you  it is a grand problem to have. The same applies to being skinny in a circle comprised of over weight people. Assumptions are apparent when introductions are made and the fluffy person rudely walks away. Even as a kid, I took this as a personal affront. How could they not like me when they don’t even know me?

I have had complete strangers walk up to me, in a public and say, “I hate you.” When I ask why, they inform me it is because I am thin. It isn’t a choice I made for myself. Just like the color of my eyes and skin, this is the assemblage I inherited.  I am genetically predisposed to an ectomorphic body build. It is what it is. This isn’t to say I don’t eat good food or never exercise. My food choices, like everyone else, could use improvement. Exercise is running to the refrigerator and all the way back to the couch. An active life will lead to natural exercise if you do most things for yourself – like mowing the lawn and cleaning your own pool. Being on the thin side does not guarantee you are healthy and in great shape. There are loose parts banging around, protruding abdomens, doughy arms and piano leg shapes – just on smaller frames but the ratio can be equal to any others deficits. They are just not evident at all times.

Skinny prejudice is rampant in the media. Mega ads for diet programs, exercise machines, health club hype, exercise avoidance gimmicks and everyone’s favorite has to be the “bind you in foundation garments” that will slim your appearance. I do not recall one ad to build up skinny people to enhance them into voluminous sex gods and goddesses.

There is no prominent national advertising for booty builders, bust bloomers or buttress enhancements. There are fat farms but no skinny farms. “The Biggest Loser” is a popular TV show but the schedule does not include “The Biggest Gainer” programing. Spam emails even advertise in losing weight trick methodology. Facebook ads are even better. If you fall into a specific age category, their marketing algorithms assume you are interested in losing weight, love to buy junk jewelry and are republican. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t like Mit the twit, I only wear the real deal and I could definitely use the 10 pounds someone else may be willing to donate.

The grocery store has shelves of low cal, sugar free, diet, sodium free, imitation taste and real fake food. Twinkies even taste different than they did twenty years ago. There is a saccharin after taste that lingers longer. Try and buy a real shortening and sugar frosted cake. It is near impossible. Bakeries cater to the masses and sell that diaphanous, tasteless, no sugar frosting. Ice-cream is whipped and beaten with extra air to make one think they are getting so much more with less caloric intake. The 100 calorie snack bags contain a couple of crumb crackers in a bag full of air. Where are the products higher in calories, full of dense grease and glorious sugar with sentiments they will make skinny people rubenesque?

Allan Sherman, a comedic genius, was great at promoting the usual into sentimental laughter. He brought to our attention the joy of being ourselves. “Hail to thee, fat person” is a 1960s classic example of embracing who you are with great humor. I am still searching for a song alluding to my body type. We always need a laugh – it keeps the heart healthy.

 

Polite Conditioning

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We are busy walking on light bulbs. One misstep and feelings are hurt, cultures are insulted, entitlement is diminished and you get lost in the process. Lost because society dictates you should just shut up.

Your feelings, opinions and intellect do not matter. No one wants to know your observation or suggestion of change. It creates an opportunity to discuss the underdog excuses or label you as rebellious or radical.

Paranoia is rampant in conjunction with distrust and submission. Every brigade has a chip on their shoulder. Personality has been traded for “fit in the cube”. Color outside of the lines and someone initiate a lawsuit. We are turning into “Stepford Wives”.

I don’t want to go back to blatant bigotry and prejudice. Watching movies and television shows during “back in the day” time periods is shocking. I was shocked back then. Women were submissive and shallow. Minorities stayed in their place. Each targeted group was conditioned and mandated to a caste system. Discrimination is now masked under the guise of political affiliation, religious subordination and privatization of educational systems. The “good ole boy” network is thriving with a new spin.

During the process of necessary change we have lost ourselves in the balance. Humor is passe’. We used to enjoy each other. It doesn’t seem to be allowed anymore. It is as though our minds can’t step over the boundary quick enough to process and accept a joke, no matter how innocent the subject. We’re conditioned to not take a chance.

Joy and laughter are learned behaviors and should be incorporated into the educational process with reading. Taking a walk on the wild side creates an environment for progress and change. Risk is viewed as corrupt instead of innovative. Judging and demoralizing each other will guarantee falling backwards at the expense of our future.

Extremes will jeopardize our souls. Quit taking every word as a personal affront. You can not be attacked without permission. Counter the moment with wisdom and wit. A sagacious grasp of human compassion and joy advances a culture. Loosen up, laugh and listen. It will not hurt you.

October is Adopt a Shelter Dog Month

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Not wanting to sound like George Carlin, but if everyone waited to adopt a dog in October, there would be a lot more dogs seeking shelter. George would ask, “Why only in October?”

July brought a German Shepherd mix dog visitor to our property. She, found out later the nature of her feminism, would sleep under our outbuilding during the scorching heat of the day. Our territorial yard-Nazi dog, Vincent, would have no participation in the “share your yard” campaign. He was like a persistent 3-year-old child who absolutely thinks you have no right to sleep more than 5 minutes per session. The second he would discover the German Shepherd sleeping under the outbuilding, Vince justified his position as yard-nazi and chased this tired, ragged dog to the edge of the property. She would actually climb the cyclone fence to escape his yapping. Refuge was the yard behind us.

In the oncoming weeks, we discovered the German Shepherd was pregnant and delivered a large litter of pups, on our neighbor’s property. Vincent still had no regard for the antics he made her perform while she was “with child times many”.

Our neighbors are compassionate and caring people. A new home was created for the mom dog and her big brood. Early morning flood lights illuminated their yard when Mr. Neighbor would check on the newly established dog family. Mom dog is fed regularly and puppies are comforted to quiet their squeaks and squeals.

The puppies are now big enough to receive homes of their own. A homemade sign is posted on a pole in front of our neighbor’s house which simply states, “Free puppies to a good home.” A few times, we have witnessed families visiting the yard to play with the puppies and choose the lucky winner of the “take me home” contest. It appears, there is only one or two puppies remaining. I am not nebby enough to know if I am seeing the same puppy once or in duplicate. They are adorable, either way. Mom dog is content and obviously doing a great job.

October is “Adopt a Shelter Dog Month”. I also think everyday needs to be Christmas and one’s wedding anniversary. Lift the October only restriction and think about adopting a dog any of the other months, too. It makes my heart happy to know we live among benevolent people.

 

Vincent – a dog tale

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Vincent is our 95% Schnauzer and 5% something else dog. He came to us kind of accidentally. Our next door neighbor is Lucy. Her oldest son, Colby, is best friends with Jacob. Jacob’s father had made a trip to the animal shelter and brought Vincent home when he was 8 weeks old. Vinnie has a breeder tattoo on the inside of his leg. Obviously, the breeder was upset because there was a break in the purebred cycle. The litter of puppies had been dumped off at the shelter. Jacob’s father had Vinnie for a couple of weeks and then Jacob’s father passed away.

Lucy took care of Vinnie during the funeral and wake. A week passed and finally Lucy asked Jacob if anyone was coming to pick the puppy up. Jacob’s mother didn’t want him and the maid didn’t want the responsibility. So, Lucy called me and asked if I would go with her to take the puppy back to the animal shelter.

We already had two dogs. One was a high maintenance, totally neurotic mini-dachshund, riddled with separation anxiety and pancreatitis. Harley was eating prescription dog food as well as constantly being treated for back injuries, allergic reactions, unexplained seizures and a heart murmur. The other dog, Sydney, was a dachshund mix with the most precious face and perfect disposition. Our household was extremely busy and I was the only member with patience enough to take care of the dogs. I absolutely could not and would not participate in taking the little black puppy to the pound. I told Lucy to bring him over to our house.

Vinnie was now about 12 weeks old. He had a very tiny body and long lanky legs, curly black hair and a little head. We had no idea what he was or how big he would get. I almost named him after my prospective divorce attorney! It would definitely be the end of a long-term marriage if this dog was half Mastiff and half Basset hound.

The vet took one look at Vinnie and immediately stated he was definitely a Schnauzer but with a round jaw instead of a square one. As previously stated, someone back in the lineage stepped out for a fling one evening. I remember looking at that little 5 pound dog and trying to imagine him turning into a Schnauzer!

Vincent’s appearance changed into a Schnauzer at about 6 months of age. His face changed dramatically, resembling the Star Wars character, Chubaka. Vince’s first trip to the groomers did not fare very well because he exhibited anxiety while getting his hair cut. Is it me? Why are my dogs nuts, except for precious Sydney? Needless to say, Vinnie’s photo hangs at the groomers’ reception desk with a sign simply stating, “no longer welcome here”. Because he is uncooperative and looked like he had been shaved into a Schnauzer with a lawnmower. His appearance now is constant bed head.

Vincent, named for art and not a divorce attorney, turned out to be Mr. Personality. He is the happiest dog on the planet. Devotion and eagerness to please are his focus in life.

The purpose of this blog entry is to urge people to pay attention to and care for their dogs. Abuse is intolerable. Ignoring them is just as bad. If you don’t have the time to interact and truly get to know them, please find someone who will.

Shelters are full of dogs like Vincent. Please know the amount of  responsibility and patience it will take to open your home to a dog or puppy. Words can not describe the gifts you will receive in return for letting one into your heart.

 

 

 

Inundated with advertisements

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Minute Maid Park 2012

It will not be long before there are ads printed on your toilet paper – both sides. We are so inundated by advertisements. You can’t even say the name of a stadium or ballpark without giving notice to a corporate giant. Minute Maid Park just doesn’t sound sportsy.

The Skeeters, a minor league baseball team, built a magnificent ballpark, Constellation Field,  in Sugar Land, Texas. We attended a ball game during the grand opening weekend. Before entering the park, Wells Fargo had their wagon out front and people were fighting their way to it to get a coin bank, advertising the name of the said financial institution on it. You would’ve thought they were giving away Rolls Royces. The stadium has the perpetual signs around the ball field advertising just about anything you can imagine. The grassy sitting area is sponsored by Krogers! The scoreboard is 65% to

Constellation Field 2012

90% advertisement. It takes you a minute to figure out the score because your brain has to bypass State Farm Insurance. I don’t even like mentioning these companies in this article. I can’t remember what team the Skeeters played. I can’t remember any of the ball players names, but I can tell you between innings, some mascot type person ran the bases for State Farm. The game is interrupted with continuous plugs. The Skeeters is a new organization in the business of making a profit under the guise of charity, community and family. It is a fantastic Sugar Land asset and brings bucks to the city.

Don’t tell me advertising is necessary to keep these venues profitable. I attended many games at Forbes Field to watch the Pirates play. As a small kid, five years old, I remember Roberto Clemente and Bill Mazeroski because Rowsey Rowswell wasn’t promoting Schwinn bicycles and Studebakers. He was calling plays, building excitement and and truly was “the voice of the Pirates”. I’ve been told the ball games were memorable because the Pirates won the World Series that year. I did not attend the World Series.  I was afraid of the fireworks. My grandfather with his patience and lots of snacks in a cloth tote bag, took me to almost every game. I even remember the really large black woman with the wooden sign around her neck and a tin cup sitting outside the Forbes Field entrance. I don’t remember being brainwashed by Mellon Bank and Allstate Insurance.

Sport venues are not the exception. The same can be said for cable and satellite television. You actually pay to watch commercials. The receipt at the grocery and drug store is further product advertisement. Junk mail advertisement is killing trees and junking up the kitchen counter. Credit Card statement stuffers are another nuisance. Nursing home residents have emery boards with the name of a funeral home advertisement. Buy a car and the license plate holder is an ad. Vending machines in schools is making a lot of corporations, dentists and doctors wealthy and the kids are paying the cost for obesity, health issues and cavities, to name a few.

There is big bucks in pitching product and service. I don’t mind the online media because it is not dominating the moment. Blocking pop-ups cured that problem. I do glance at the side ads. It presents the new and shiny. I don’t feel suffocated or overwhelmed with sorting it out from the direct focus. I am in business and need advertising. Balance is required to allow performance. One direct, simple and strategic banner conveys more retained information than a conglomerate of mass media enveloping your entire being.

I predict ads will be strategically placed in your panties and boxers so the ads can be read while you’re on the can. Baby strollers will have placards built into the sides and backs. Sidewalks will have electronic banner images flashed onto them. Vehicles are already “wrapped” and clothing is already a walking billboard. Will the exterior of our homes and pets be next? Which theater, organization or sports venue will be sponsored by a hemorrhoid cream, tampon or proctologist in our future?

 

 

 

Good Eater

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My ex-boss accused me of being the fussiest eater he’d ever met. The statement was made after taking a group of us to an Asian restaurant for lunch. Five courses were set in front of each of us. I was starving when we finished.

It was dark, loud and crowded. The joint was filled with suits and cleavage. Seating was butt to butt and the grill was in the middle of the table. I asked multiple times what was in the soup and the waitperson was rather abrupt with hand gestures and little information.She had the craziest comb in the back of her up do. Can you believe some patrons actually bring their own chop sticks? It wouldn’t occur to me to bring my flatware to Ruth Chris.

There is something not quite right if a partial skeleton with flesh hanging off of it is floating in a clear broth. If I can not identify what goes in my mouth, I can not eat it. If it has a face, it should have a name. The salad had a milky white dressing that coated iceberg lettuce and sat in a puddle underneath. It just didn’t look appropriate for a salad!

Next up on the parade of horrors was sushi. I have mopped up enough seaweed tramped in from the beach. Why would I want to eat it? The display looked like colorful petite fours. I am sure they were delightful to an alternate focus group. The shrimp tempura was the next titillating course to reckon with. There were two shrimps displayed in a position to appear like they were swimming at you. They also seemed huge, which is opposite of what the name implies. The tempura batter was magically wrapped around a salad shrimp. One cut in and everything collapsed. Meanwhile, a chef, swishing the air in front of me with what appeared to be razor-sharp knives and machetes, did his rendition of make a lot of smoke and artistically cut up vegetables on the grill as if they were a live snake about to bite. He appeared to have murdered each onion and pepper with extreme expertise. I was hoping the headline on the front page of the Houston Chronicle didn’t describe a woman decapitated in front of Hitachi in North Houston, the next day.

Dessert was little tan cookies and tea. Quaint, cute and lacking sugar.

I would never make a smart or derogatory remark in the company of the boss or co-workers. This group and I had been working and traveling together for many years. We had eaten at some of the highest ranked restaurants all over the United States. I am a “good eater” by modern-day standards. I used to eat hoagies from the grill at Weiner World on Fifth Avenue in Pittsburgh. If you can imagine a grill that never stopped and the wall behind it never cleaned, you will know I am a trooper.