When I was born and raised, back in the 1950's and 1960's, women were supposed to be glamorous. In fact, my mother insisted that I spend a few miserable months in charm school somewhere in my early teens. I learned how to walk, how to speak without ever really expressing an opinion, how to tilt my pinky finger when drinking tea, and how to appear glamorous at all times. The only thing I remember from charm school was how to tell what fork to use first. The rest is a distant blur.
Maybe that is because I was never destined to be charming. It has taken me quite a few years to come to terms with this, but now that my 65th birthday is fast approaching, I can honestly say I don't give a rat's behind. There. Was that glamorous enough for you? It was for me. As I sit here in my jeans, sneakers and t-shirt in front of the computer, I am totally comfortable with my glamour-free status. Here is how I have arrived at that conclusion:
I am sitting in front of my computer with the air-conditioner going full tilt, and I am sweating like a pig. There is nothing delicate or feminine about the way I perspire. I am soaked, with drips leaking from my ears to my shoulders, and my face is a fully reflective surface. My hair is kinky and damp, and showing no visible signs of a style. Glamorous women somehow withstand excessive heat, with nothing better than a handkerchief to dab at their moist cheeks. I need a bath towel.
I am long enough past menopause to be sprouting a few testosterone-fueled and very dark hairs on my chin. Not enough to spend thousands on a laser treatment, but enough to pull out a razor every morning and get rid of them before I scratch someone while doling out a hug. They are in direct proportion to the long white hairs suddenly appearing in the middle of my eyebrows. I swear they grow in overnight, from nothing to an inch or two in length, and sticking straight out as opposed to up or sideways. The hair on my head, however, seems to be getting thinner with every haircut. None of this seems very glamorous to me.
Also, my waistline has disappeared. I was never one of those hourglass-shaped lovelies, but at least I could wear a belt without it disappearing between two distinct folds of pudginess. Now I cut the belt loops off of my coats and sweaters. Maybe folks will think it's the clothing that drapes without an indent, and not the body.
I can not wear high heels. I had a grand old time back in the 60's and the 70's with my platform shoes and 5-inch heels, but just looking at what is selling in shoe salons currently makes my arches ache. I have my wonderfully comfy sneakers, and three different colors of my favorite walking shoes. None of those colors is chartreuse. There are two pair of sandals I can wear, one flat and one with about a one-inch heel. Even that feels risky. My balance seems to have disappeared with my waistline. I used to walk like a model. Now it's more like a Model T.
Makeup does not work on this face. I spend far more than necessary at my local cosmetics counter, but my attempts to achieve a "smoky eye" look more like an eye that has been firmly punched. My rosy cheeks are more likely from rosacea than from the correct color of blush, and any attempts at contouring look like I'm preparing for a football game in bright sunlight. Mascara is out. It makes my eyes itch. And I was actually trained as a makeup artist.
At some point I thought over all of these facts, as well as a few more, and decided that being glamorous just wasn't in my cards. I had a few minutes in my twenties when I could turn heads by walking into a room, but now it's probably because I have tripped over something. I think my most important accomplishments have not been based on looking just so, but more on what directions I chose to look. I was lucky to discover early on that glamour was pretty boring stuff, and had very little impact on the human race as a whole.
It's not that I look forward to being a frump as I get older, but I sure look toward continuing to make one big positive dent after another in the lives around me. I can't always look in the mirror and like what I see, but I sure do like who I see.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Out with the old? Not so fast!
I have recently received the same email from a number of friends and relatives, and feel the urge to respond with some thoughts of my own. The message was all about the things in our lives that we currently take for granted, and how they were most likely to become obsolete and even extinct. I can't say that I agree with all of the items on the list, though I do understand that the term "endangered species" might apply.
First of all is the Post Office. I understand that email has taken over the hand written letter. I still really like getting hand written letters. I get nice thank-you notes, formal invitations to events, and updates from friends and organizations I support. The post office is also the best and cheapest delivery form for packages. They cost about a third of what UPS charges to send stuff overseas, and their local delivery is much less expensive than the competition. I do hate the level of junk mail I regularly receive, but the recycled paper industry is doing well as a result. I see this cutting back, but not disappearing entirely.
Next is the check. Again, I do admit that I do 98% of my banking and bill paying online. However, when the local landscaper delivers a truckload of mulch to my back yard, I don't think she'd appreciate waiting for me to drive to the bank and get out enough cash to pay her. When my car gets fixed, it gets done extremely well by a local mechanic, who prefers not to accept credit cards. Again, he really appreciates that I can write him a check before he gives me back my car. And I really appreciate that I don't have to pay the 21% interest rate on a credit balance.
Third on the list is the newspaper. Have you read a newspaper online? It is a royal pain, the advertising gets in the way, and it is very hard to flip to the page with the article you were looking for. Until they get the interface right, I prefer my newspapers tossed on my lawn. They are also cheaper that way.
The book is going to disappear? Not likely. I do have a kindle, and I think it is terrific for reading books (primarily fiction) that I want to get through quickly and comfortably. However, my very favorite books are of art museum collections, Amish quilts, instructions in watercolors or Chinese brush painting, photographers displays, oil painting techniques, drawing workbooks, colored pencil illustrations, etc. There is no way these could be translated into screen-appropriate material, at least not without a considerable loss in color, context, or readers' joy.
The land-line telephone. I know lots of folks who do not have a land-line installed in their apartments. If it works for them, that's fine. It does not work for me. I live in an old neighborhood full of huge trees. These trees have a disturbing tendency to drop their limbs on electric lines. When we do not have power, and I have forgotten that my phone needs charging, I am up the proverbial creek. There have been times when our power has been out for two or more days. Use of the cell phone is those situations is great, but only until the charge runs out. Even the land-line portable phones don't work in those circumstances, so I am glad that on each floor we have a plugged into the wall, corded phone.
How anyone can think that music is going to disappear is beyond me. If all one listens to is the current pop fare (yuck!), maybe they would welcome the disappearance, but most of my friends and I prefer things like modern classical, jazz, esoteric rock, and other items that are continually growing and changing. Live music beats the daylights out of recordings, and if you look for really good music, you will find it thriving everywhere. If all you care to listen to is top 40, sorry!
As for the next item on the list, television, I have to assume this was written by someone who watches sitcoms and reality shows. When they go away, I will be celebrating. Well, okay, I do like "Big Bang Theory" and "So You Think You Can Dance", and am borderline addicted to "Project Runway." Notice that only one of those runs on one of the three major networks. Again I am far more likely to delve into cable fare, and I like to curl up on the sofa and watch, not on my computer screen, but on my TV. I like pay-per-view movies and the almost unlimited choices I have through my provider, and I do not want to watch anything on my cell phone!!!!
Possessions are the next to last expected to disappear. The loss of possessions listed in the email is almost exclusively in reference to computer gadgets, and I know people who love computer gadgets so much that they have way more than a reasonable share of possessions, just in that category. As for other things, we will still want kitchen appliances, furniture, art, clothing, air conditioners, candles, fuzzy towels and the occasional teddy bear. So much for possessions.
Finally the email bemoans the disappearance of personal privacy. As if this comes as a surprise to anyone. If you think you have privacy to lose, Google yourself. Also, I happen to live in a small town, where everybody knows everybody and watches out for them. Yeah, this is a loss of privacy, but I like knowing that if I have an emergency, there are 12 people ready to jump in and help. I don't know if I have ever had total privacy, nor that I would want it. People who are my friends like all of me, including the warts. Privacy may really mean loneliness.
Maybe I am just revealing my age, but I truly think things like books, music, newspapers and letters have a certain value that keeps them alive, even if it is in a small minority of the community. I am pleased if I am considered to be a part of that minority, and will continue my outdated habits that happily keep me there.
First of all is the Post Office. I understand that email has taken over the hand written letter. I still really like getting hand written letters. I get nice thank-you notes, formal invitations to events, and updates from friends and organizations I support. The post office is also the best and cheapest delivery form for packages. They cost about a third of what UPS charges to send stuff overseas, and their local delivery is much less expensive than the competition. I do hate the level of junk mail I regularly receive, but the recycled paper industry is doing well as a result. I see this cutting back, but not disappearing entirely.
Next is the check. Again, I do admit that I do 98% of my banking and bill paying online. However, when the local landscaper delivers a truckload of mulch to my back yard, I don't think she'd appreciate waiting for me to drive to the bank and get out enough cash to pay her. When my car gets fixed, it gets done extremely well by a local mechanic, who prefers not to accept credit cards. Again, he really appreciates that I can write him a check before he gives me back my car. And I really appreciate that I don't have to pay the 21% interest rate on a credit balance.
Third on the list is the newspaper. Have you read a newspaper online? It is a royal pain, the advertising gets in the way, and it is very hard to flip to the page with the article you were looking for. Until they get the interface right, I prefer my newspapers tossed on my lawn. They are also cheaper that way.
The book is going to disappear? Not likely. I do have a kindle, and I think it is terrific for reading books (primarily fiction) that I want to get through quickly and comfortably. However, my very favorite books are of art museum collections, Amish quilts, instructions in watercolors or Chinese brush painting, photographers displays, oil painting techniques, drawing workbooks, colored pencil illustrations, etc. There is no way these could be translated into screen-appropriate material, at least not without a considerable loss in color, context, or readers' joy.
The land-line telephone. I know lots of folks who do not have a land-line installed in their apartments. If it works for them, that's fine. It does not work for me. I live in an old neighborhood full of huge trees. These trees have a disturbing tendency to drop their limbs on electric lines. When we do not have power, and I have forgotten that my phone needs charging, I am up the proverbial creek. There have been times when our power has been out for two or more days. Use of the cell phone is those situations is great, but only until the charge runs out. Even the land-line portable phones don't work in those circumstances, so I am glad that on each floor we have a plugged into the wall, corded phone.
How anyone can think that music is going to disappear is beyond me. If all one listens to is the current pop fare (yuck!), maybe they would welcome the disappearance, but most of my friends and I prefer things like modern classical, jazz, esoteric rock, and other items that are continually growing and changing. Live music beats the daylights out of recordings, and if you look for really good music, you will find it thriving everywhere. If all you care to listen to is top 40, sorry!
As for the next item on the list, television, I have to assume this was written by someone who watches sitcoms and reality shows. When they go away, I will be celebrating. Well, okay, I do like "Big Bang Theory" and "So You Think You Can Dance", and am borderline addicted to "Project Runway." Notice that only one of those runs on one of the three major networks. Again I am far more likely to delve into cable fare, and I like to curl up on the sofa and watch, not on my computer screen, but on my TV. I like pay-per-view movies and the almost unlimited choices I have through my provider, and I do not want to watch anything on my cell phone!!!!
Possessions are the next to last expected to disappear. The loss of possessions listed in the email is almost exclusively in reference to computer gadgets, and I know people who love computer gadgets so much that they have way more than a reasonable share of possessions, just in that category. As for other things, we will still want kitchen appliances, furniture, art, clothing, air conditioners, candles, fuzzy towels and the occasional teddy bear. So much for possessions.
Finally the email bemoans the disappearance of personal privacy. As if this comes as a surprise to anyone. If you think you have privacy to lose, Google yourself. Also, I happen to live in a small town, where everybody knows everybody and watches out for them. Yeah, this is a loss of privacy, but I like knowing that if I have an emergency, there are 12 people ready to jump in and help. I don't know if I have ever had total privacy, nor that I would want it. People who are my friends like all of me, including the warts. Privacy may really mean loneliness.
Maybe I am just revealing my age, but I truly think things like books, music, newspapers and letters have a certain value that keeps them alive, even if it is in a small minority of the community. I am pleased if I am considered to be a part of that minority, and will continue my outdated habits that happily keep me there.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
New Movie with old, uncomfortable theme
I've started and stopped writing this about a dozen times in the last week or so, mostly because I wasn't sure of the direction it would take. Now, however, I find myself with some time and some clarity of thought, though the two do not always occur simultaneously, and the result will, I hope, make some sense.
A new movie has come out in the last week, and I will admit I honestly know nothing about it. I have not seen it, I have not read any reviews, and yet the theme of the film as I understand it is driving me absolutely nuts. It is the new version of "Red Riding Hood." It is one more film which, at its core, or at least the core of its most popular ads, has the combination of implied violence and sexuality firmly joined together. I thought we had put most of that behind us with the disappearance of the "Twilight" series, but no, we have one more growling, snarling beast and one more innocent maiden sent into a frenzy of sensuality at the touch of its steamy breath. Or at least that's the impression I get from the trailers that have been all over the TV for the past few days.
When the hell is Hollywood going to get the message that there is nothing even slightly sexy about violence directed at women?
With the advent of the Twilight movies and their bloodthirsty hero, emergency rooms all over this country found themselves dealing with ever-increasing numbers of young teens suffering from bite wounds. It seems that the young ladies, in particular, who were all soft and melting over Edward, were talking their boyfriends, or even sleepover buddies, into taking a good chomp to see if the passions would flow. The only thing flowing, sadly, turned out to be the supply of antibiotics needed to avoid serious infections.
What do you know - violent behavior, it turns out, really hurts!
All anyone has to do is ask a member of the female population if they have been the victim of violence, either verbal or physical. When you discover that an incredibly large number of them have, at some, point, been victimized, your next question should be "Gee, was it a turn-on?"
I can guarantee that, if you don't get asked to leave the area immediately, you will get a resounding "NO!" as your answer. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing, sexy about being belittled, humiliated, or battered. In case no one has read the expert opinions in law enforcement, let me fill you in with the facts regarding the ultimate in crimes against women, violent rape. In all of the psychological studies out there, it is not even considered to be about sex, but about power and the creation of helplessness.
It makes me heartsick to see the number of media outlets who still joke about these attacks, and state that "make-up sex" is the best sex of all. Soap operas, for example (and we all know how realistic they are), continually go out of their way to show intense fights between couples, followed by intense coupling. In reality, intense fights are usually followed by hospital visits or nights alone in a hotel or the car, as far away from the partner as one can get. Then they are followed by arrests and the issuance of orders of protection.
I guess the most important point I am trying to make is this: Somehow we continue to raise our daughters to believe that violent behavior is in some way proof that the boy (or man) in our lives really loves us. We are making an enormous mistake in supporting media stories that tie violence and sex together, and letting our girls think that Prince Charming is somehow related to the fire-breathing dragon.
As a long-ago victim of those beliefs, I would like to know when we are going to come to our senses and see these story lines as complete fiction, and not worthy of our attention.
A new movie has come out in the last week, and I will admit I honestly know nothing about it. I have not seen it, I have not read any reviews, and yet the theme of the film as I understand it is driving me absolutely nuts. It is the new version of "Red Riding Hood." It is one more film which, at its core, or at least the core of its most popular ads, has the combination of implied violence and sexuality firmly joined together. I thought we had put most of that behind us with the disappearance of the "Twilight" series, but no, we have one more growling, snarling beast and one more innocent maiden sent into a frenzy of sensuality at the touch of its steamy breath. Or at least that's the impression I get from the trailers that have been all over the TV for the past few days.
When the hell is Hollywood going to get the message that there is nothing even slightly sexy about violence directed at women?
With the advent of the Twilight movies and their bloodthirsty hero, emergency rooms all over this country found themselves dealing with ever-increasing numbers of young teens suffering from bite wounds. It seems that the young ladies, in particular, who were all soft and melting over Edward, were talking their boyfriends, or even sleepover buddies, into taking a good chomp to see if the passions would flow. The only thing flowing, sadly, turned out to be the supply of antibiotics needed to avoid serious infections.
What do you know - violent behavior, it turns out, really hurts!
All anyone has to do is ask a member of the female population if they have been the victim of violence, either verbal or physical. When you discover that an incredibly large number of them have, at some, point, been victimized, your next question should be "Gee, was it a turn-on?"
I can guarantee that, if you don't get asked to leave the area immediately, you will get a resounding "NO!" as your answer. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing, sexy about being belittled, humiliated, or battered. In case no one has read the expert opinions in law enforcement, let me fill you in with the facts regarding the ultimate in crimes against women, violent rape. In all of the psychological studies out there, it is not even considered to be about sex, but about power and the creation of helplessness.
It makes me heartsick to see the number of media outlets who still joke about these attacks, and state that "make-up sex" is the best sex of all. Soap operas, for example (and we all know how realistic they are), continually go out of their way to show intense fights between couples, followed by intense coupling. In reality, intense fights are usually followed by hospital visits or nights alone in a hotel or the car, as far away from the partner as one can get. Then they are followed by arrests and the issuance of orders of protection.
I guess the most important point I am trying to make is this: Somehow we continue to raise our daughters to believe that violent behavior is in some way proof that the boy (or man) in our lives really loves us. We are making an enormous mistake in supporting media stories that tie violence and sex together, and letting our girls think that Prince Charming is somehow related to the fire-breathing dragon.
As a long-ago victim of those beliefs, I would like to know when we are going to come to our senses and see these story lines as complete fiction, and not worthy of our attention.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Now I've gone and lost my temper...
I have officially had it with the new governor of Pennsylvania, and he's only been in office for a few weeks. He's right up there with a couple of other governors you may have heard about lately. The new budget is out, and what's the first thing he has cut? EDUCATION! At the K-12 level, he has slashed a huge amount of each districts' annual income from the state, and in our fair city of Philadelphia, he has, among other cuts, dropped all funding for kindergarten. This in a school district that has close to a 50% dropout rate, and that has too many of its classrooms trying to function with no textbooks, no computers, no A/V equipment. Arts and music curricula will no doubt have to be eliminated, as will after-school activities. All the added latch-key kids will have the dear governor to thank for their time at home alone.
I'm waiting for the discussion of vouchers to show up. That will no doubt be one of the next steps. Because, after all, a $1,000 voucher will do ever so much good in helping local families send their children to private school. The last time I had to come up with private school tuition, which was in 1995, the cost was $12,000 per year per child. Would those who keep suggesting this idiotic "solution" please tell me where families are going to find the other $11,000? I know how we paid tuition: we re-mortgaged our house, drove cars with 150,000 miles on them, and furnished the living room with second-hand furniture at a total cost of $73.08. That doesn't count the rugs, which I trash-picked.
As for the college-age folks, they are also getting royally screwed. The budget has taken 50% out of the money for state colleges, like Penn State and Temple University. That means a tuition hike of around 20% for students who already are scraping the bottom of their families' financial barrels. I have to wonder how many perspective students will just give up trying to afford their dreams of a good college education.
Oh, and by the way, our new governor has firmly stated that there will be no corporate taxes for the natural gas drillers or other huge commercial ventures. That's okay, they'll probably go out of business eventually because they won't find any educated engineers, project managers, accountants, office managers, or administrators. His rationale is that he doesn't want them moving to other states to do business. Duh. How does he suggest they move the natural gas deposits to take them along? Maybe he's being advised by someone who went to a high school with cost-cutting firmly in place. Yeah, the one with no books and no after-school science club.
I have a suggestion for the political mavens of our fair state. The next time you go out looking for a candidate for office, put on your list of requirements the following: The individual will not have made any more than $50,000 per year for any of the previous ten years. That way you will get people running for office who really understand the kind of life most of us are living. Most of the state's residents are hard-working, middle class families who are struggling to put food on the table, gas in the car, and tuition payments in the bank. For the vast majority of these families, their best shot at an educated child is a good, well-equipped public school system. It has just been proposed that the chance every child deserves will be gutted.
Oh, and for those who think teachers are overpaid? I dare them to spend one week in the classroom. I have been a teacher for the last 19 years, and it is the toughest job you can imagine. That is, if you really care about educating your students, and most of the teachers I have known really do care. They take money out of their own pockets to equip their classrooms, make sure their students are well-fed and sometimes even warmly clothed. All of their time "off" is spent taking courses, correcting papers, developing classroom activities, reading possible textbooks, and finding ways to improve their own classroom performance. Anyone who has been in the trenches at any level, whether K-12 or college, can only react with horror and dismay at finding out that once again, the budget axe has fallen squarely on their shoulders. When the hell are we going to stop short-changing our young people and start making those who can afford it pay a bit more for all of our futures?
Dear Mr. Governor, you can't possibly have gotten it more wrong.
I'm waiting for the discussion of vouchers to show up. That will no doubt be one of the next steps. Because, after all, a $1,000 voucher will do ever so much good in helping local families send their children to private school. The last time I had to come up with private school tuition, which was in 1995, the cost was $12,000 per year per child. Would those who keep suggesting this idiotic "solution" please tell me where families are going to find the other $11,000? I know how we paid tuition: we re-mortgaged our house, drove cars with 150,000 miles on them, and furnished the living room with second-hand furniture at a total cost of $73.08. That doesn't count the rugs, which I trash-picked.
As for the college-age folks, they are also getting royally screwed. The budget has taken 50% out of the money for state colleges, like Penn State and Temple University. That means a tuition hike of around 20% for students who already are scraping the bottom of their families' financial barrels. I have to wonder how many perspective students will just give up trying to afford their dreams of a good college education.
Oh, and by the way, our new governor has firmly stated that there will be no corporate taxes for the natural gas drillers or other huge commercial ventures. That's okay, they'll probably go out of business eventually because they won't find any educated engineers, project managers, accountants, office managers, or administrators. His rationale is that he doesn't want them moving to other states to do business. Duh. How does he suggest they move the natural gas deposits to take them along? Maybe he's being advised by someone who went to a high school with cost-cutting firmly in place. Yeah, the one with no books and no after-school science club.
I have a suggestion for the political mavens of our fair state. The next time you go out looking for a candidate for office, put on your list of requirements the following: The individual will not have made any more than $50,000 per year for any of the previous ten years. That way you will get people running for office who really understand the kind of life most of us are living. Most of the state's residents are hard-working, middle class families who are struggling to put food on the table, gas in the car, and tuition payments in the bank. For the vast majority of these families, their best shot at an educated child is a good, well-equipped public school system. It has just been proposed that the chance every child deserves will be gutted.
Oh, and for those who think teachers are overpaid? I dare them to spend one week in the classroom. I have been a teacher for the last 19 years, and it is the toughest job you can imagine. That is, if you really care about educating your students, and most of the teachers I have known really do care. They take money out of their own pockets to equip their classrooms, make sure their students are well-fed and sometimes even warmly clothed. All of their time "off" is spent taking courses, correcting papers, developing classroom activities, reading possible textbooks, and finding ways to improve their own classroom performance. Anyone who has been in the trenches at any level, whether K-12 or college, can only react with horror and dismay at finding out that once again, the budget axe has fallen squarely on their shoulders. When the hell are we going to stop short-changing our young people and start making those who can afford it pay a bit more for all of our futures?
Dear Mr. Governor, you can't possibly have gotten it more wrong.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Me and my Bears
I have always loved stuffed animals, of any kind. I was not a huge fan of dolls as a kid, but I have very fond memories of a big white stuffed poodle and a wonderfully squishy, flop-eared dog I named Poochie. As an adult, I have tried very hard to keep this passion in check, as I have seen what can happen when you tell your friends you collect something. For too many years I had a never-ending supply of hippos arriving on birthdays, Mothers' Day, Christmas, and any other time when one was found. I was fond of hippos at the time, but very particular about the ones I felt I needed around me at all times. Many have gone the way of the Garage Sale.
I have a few seals, and a manatee here and there, and some bunnies and mice (I do not include the real live ones we occasionally have as visitors). Once in a while I may come upon a dragon that catches my fancy, but I let no one know of these joys so that the numbers remain manageable. I have actually made some bears as baby gifts for friends and relatives, and for years I have featured bears in the illustrations for my annual Christmas Card. Only one or two bears, however, had come into my house to stay. That was until 1995.
It was my daughter's senior year in high school, and her school requires 40+ hours of community service during senior year for graduation (an idea I think should be copied everywhere!). She had been doing some volunteer work at a local nursing home, and helping out neighbors with projects, but wasn't really sure she was getting as much as she needed, both in hours and in appreciation for duties done. Then we were hit with a double disaster. The Oklahoma City bombing happened on a Wednesday, and that Friday she lost a friend in a car accident on the girl's way to school.
Saturday morning we were all just reeling, and she wondered aloud what we could possibly do to turn these horrible events into something positive. I'm not sure which one of us thought of it first, but an idea began to take shape. We would find a way to do something for the children in Oklahoma City, and do it in her friend's honor. By the end of that day the Oklahoma City Children's Comfort Project was born.
By that evening we had a donation of a dozen or more moving cartons from a local moving and storage company. We had ten drop-off sites set up, two newspaper articles written, and three TV stations scheduled to come to her school Monday morning for a story. We were going to collect as many new stuffed animals as we could, and deliver them to wherever the greatest need might be. Through the Mayor's office in Oklahoma City we learned that the police department had run out of it's "comfort bears" that sit in police cars in case a child might need a soft friend. We found out that a residential home for mentally-impaired young adults would love to have some comforting, and the mood at other day care facilities in the city would be lightened by the arrival of some stuffed travelers.
People all over our area jumped at the chance to do something to help, and within a few weeks we had well over 600 beautiful new stuffed animals to go to Oklahoma. UPS made sure they would get there by waiving almost all of their charges, and ten large moving cartons were soon on their way. The thank you letters we received helped my daughter tremendously in her grieving for her friend, but that was far from the only thing we got out of this adventure.
When given a chance to do something good, we found that people from all areas, and all walks of life couldn't wait to jump in and help. I got one phone call from a gal in a distant part of our nearby city that had collected around her neighborhood, and had three large trash bags full of bears. Could we come and get them please? You bet we could.
Even Russ Berrie, the owner of one of my favorite toy companies, got into the act by sending to my house two large cartons full of delightful, brand-new teddy bears, with soft tan fur and pale pink cheeks. They were beautiful, and I will be a fan of Russ toys for life.
Needless to say my house looked like a bear convention. Though there were a few other animals and even a couple of rag dolls, bears were by far the chosen creatures. There is something about a soft, gentle-faced teddy bear looking at you and being hugged, that melts the heart of any but the most hardened folks. After that wonderful life-affirming experience with the snuggly fellows, I was hooked. I started seeing an occasional bear that just had a certain look to it, I guess wistful is the adjective I would use - a carefully crafted, soft and loving little friend who could not be ignored.
Yes, my friends and relatives know I collect bears, but they are smart enough to know I am fussy. My bears must have character and personality, and must look at you in way that asks for a special amount of loving. My house has them everywhere, and I appreciate my husband's tolerance. My son, in his late 20's at the time, even got me a Build-a-Bear gift certificate for Christmas one recent year, and came with me to help design the fuzzy fellow. That was the best part of the present!
So, after all that, I am what you would call a bear afficionado, even a bit of a bear freak. In fact, as a lover of bears and a lover of things artful, I am toying with the idea of taking this thing one step further. I am in the process of developing a series of bear-based prints, paintings, and illustrations to put into a line of art prints and/or stationery. I have the name copyrighted = "Nothing is UnBEARable".
I assume you will agree.
I have a few seals, and a manatee here and there, and some bunnies and mice (I do not include the real live ones we occasionally have as visitors). Once in a while I may come upon a dragon that catches my fancy, but I let no one know of these joys so that the numbers remain manageable. I have actually made some bears as baby gifts for friends and relatives, and for years I have featured bears in the illustrations for my annual Christmas Card. Only one or two bears, however, had come into my house to stay. That was until 1995.
It was my daughter's senior year in high school, and her school requires 40+ hours of community service during senior year for graduation (an idea I think should be copied everywhere!). She had been doing some volunteer work at a local nursing home, and helping out neighbors with projects, but wasn't really sure she was getting as much as she needed, both in hours and in appreciation for duties done. Then we were hit with a double disaster. The Oklahoma City bombing happened on a Wednesday, and that Friday she lost a friend in a car accident on the girl's way to school.
Saturday morning we were all just reeling, and she wondered aloud what we could possibly do to turn these horrible events into something positive. I'm not sure which one of us thought of it first, but an idea began to take shape. We would find a way to do something for the children in Oklahoma City, and do it in her friend's honor. By the end of that day the Oklahoma City Children's Comfort Project was born.
By that evening we had a donation of a dozen or more moving cartons from a local moving and storage company. We had ten drop-off sites set up, two newspaper articles written, and three TV stations scheduled to come to her school Monday morning for a story. We were going to collect as many new stuffed animals as we could, and deliver them to wherever the greatest need might be. Through the Mayor's office in Oklahoma City we learned that the police department had run out of it's "comfort bears" that sit in police cars in case a child might need a soft friend. We found out that a residential home for mentally-impaired young adults would love to have some comforting, and the mood at other day care facilities in the city would be lightened by the arrival of some stuffed travelers.
People all over our area jumped at the chance to do something to help, and within a few weeks we had well over 600 beautiful new stuffed animals to go to Oklahoma. UPS made sure they would get there by waiving almost all of their charges, and ten large moving cartons were soon on their way. The thank you letters we received helped my daughter tremendously in her grieving for her friend, but that was far from the only thing we got out of this adventure.
When given a chance to do something good, we found that people from all areas, and all walks of life couldn't wait to jump in and help. I got one phone call from a gal in a distant part of our nearby city that had collected around her neighborhood, and had three large trash bags full of bears. Could we come and get them please? You bet we could.
Even Russ Berrie, the owner of one of my favorite toy companies, got into the act by sending to my house two large cartons full of delightful, brand-new teddy bears, with soft tan fur and pale pink cheeks. They were beautiful, and I will be a fan of Russ toys for life.
Needless to say my house looked like a bear convention. Though there were a few other animals and even a couple of rag dolls, bears were by far the chosen creatures. There is something about a soft, gentle-faced teddy bear looking at you and being hugged, that melts the heart of any but the most hardened folks. After that wonderful life-affirming experience with the snuggly fellows, I was hooked. I started seeing an occasional bear that just had a certain look to it, I guess wistful is the adjective I would use - a carefully crafted, soft and loving little friend who could not be ignored.
Yes, my friends and relatives know I collect bears, but they are smart enough to know I am fussy. My bears must have character and personality, and must look at you in way that asks for a special amount of loving. My house has them everywhere, and I appreciate my husband's tolerance. My son, in his late 20's at the time, even got me a Build-a-Bear gift certificate for Christmas one recent year, and came with me to help design the fuzzy fellow. That was the best part of the present!
So, after all that, I am what you would call a bear afficionado, even a bit of a bear freak. In fact, as a lover of bears and a lover of things artful, I am toying with the idea of taking this thing one step further. I am in the process of developing a series of bear-based prints, paintings, and illustrations to put into a line of art prints and/or stationery. I have the name copyrighted = "Nothing is UnBEARable".
I assume you will agree.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
What's white and fluffy, cold and beautiful, and a pain in the neck to remove?
Happy New Year everyone! According to the Farmers' Almanac, this winter is supposed to be mild and dry. Usually the Farmers' Almanac is better informed and makes better predictions than most, including the folks on the Weather Channel. This year, however, the weather guys win, hands down. At an average of two storms per week, we have had snow on the ground for the past two months, and it shows no sign of letting up.
Usually I like following weather patterns, and I do watch the Weather Channel occasionally, looking for some explanations of what the heck is going on in our part of the country, which is the northeast. This year I find myself purposely channel surfing past #119, the Weather Channel according to our local channel provider.There has been a pattern of lousy weather on Tuesdays going back to early November. Why do I pick Tuesdays to bellyache over? Because every Tuesday night since early November I have been teaching a course in a satellite campus of my college, 28 miles away.
Normally when it snows I like sitting quietly in my living room and watching the flakes gathering in my neighborhood. There is something about old homes, huge shade trees, and snow that is calming and quite beautiful. I actually enjoy bundling up and taking a silent stroll around my block, sometimes with a camera in my pocket, looking at the gentle white clouds forming along the streets and in the yards. The total silence is almost overwhelming, while everything around me becomes coated with a perfect creamy blanket. I have been known to flop down without notice and create a well-placed snow angel in the yard of a friend.
When my children were young, we used to create what we thought were the very best of snowmen, sometimes with a slightly bizarre twist. I remember in particular our "punk" snowman, complete with chains and a Mohawk hairdo. Snow has been fun and creative and challenging. There were years when the neighborhood kids built elaborate igloos, with passages in between where the perfect snowball fights could be planned and carried out. Forts of all shapes and sizes sprung up around the neighborhood, along with huge piles of shoveled snow whose purpose was solely for landing, after jumping as high as possible off the top of a fort, or a wall, or a picnic table left out for the winter.
Now I will admit to getting older and more cautious, appreciative of the beauty of a snowstorm, but full of concern when I have to travel through the barely plowed, slippery streets that come between me and my chosen employment. Yes, I am supposed to be retired, but like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to the promise of teaching just one more class. For some reason I cannot fathom, I chose a class this term at our satellite campus. Bad idea.
I love the students, mind you, and the class has been tremendous fun, but there is a weekly anxiety attack when I look at the weather forecast for each allotted Tuesday evening. I have looked with dread toward my 28-mile trek (each way!) up and down hills, around hairpin curves, and under arched overpasses with sharp turns at either opening. I have not hit anything yet, but as each Tuesday and its accompanying forecast looms, I imagine that this will be the week of sliding semis and fellow travelers with bald tires or no knowledge of winter driving techniques.
This Tuesday is the last of the term. The weather forecast has gone from snow, sleet, and freezing rain to mostly cloudy with either a rain/sleet storm or a whopping pile of snow to arrive later. Now, in fact, they are backing away from the most dire of Tuesday predictions, and my friends who will be teaching on Wednesday are in for a bit of trouble. No matter what, I will be on the road Tuesday night, teeth gritted and arms locked in position, with both hands firmly gripping the wheel. I hope the snow is beautiful, and I hope nobody needs to go out in it, and I sincerely hope it waits until Wednesday.
And next year I will not be purchasing the Farmers' Almanac
Usually I like following weather patterns, and I do watch the Weather Channel occasionally, looking for some explanations of what the heck is going on in our part of the country, which is the northeast. This year I find myself purposely channel surfing past #119, the Weather Channel according to our local channel provider.There has been a pattern of lousy weather on Tuesdays going back to early November. Why do I pick Tuesdays to bellyache over? Because every Tuesday night since early November I have been teaching a course in a satellite campus of my college, 28 miles away.
Normally when it snows I like sitting quietly in my living room and watching the flakes gathering in my neighborhood. There is something about old homes, huge shade trees, and snow that is calming and quite beautiful. I actually enjoy bundling up and taking a silent stroll around my block, sometimes with a camera in my pocket, looking at the gentle white clouds forming along the streets and in the yards. The total silence is almost overwhelming, while everything around me becomes coated with a perfect creamy blanket. I have been known to flop down without notice and create a well-placed snow angel in the yard of a friend.
When my children were young, we used to create what we thought were the very best of snowmen, sometimes with a slightly bizarre twist. I remember in particular our "punk" snowman, complete with chains and a Mohawk hairdo. Snow has been fun and creative and challenging. There were years when the neighborhood kids built elaborate igloos, with passages in between where the perfect snowball fights could be planned and carried out. Forts of all shapes and sizes sprung up around the neighborhood, along with huge piles of shoveled snow whose purpose was solely for landing, after jumping as high as possible off the top of a fort, or a wall, or a picnic table left out for the winter.
Now I will admit to getting older and more cautious, appreciative of the beauty of a snowstorm, but full of concern when I have to travel through the barely plowed, slippery streets that come between me and my chosen employment. Yes, I am supposed to be retired, but like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to the promise of teaching just one more class. For some reason I cannot fathom, I chose a class this term at our satellite campus. Bad idea.
I love the students, mind you, and the class has been tremendous fun, but there is a weekly anxiety attack when I look at the weather forecast for each allotted Tuesday evening. I have looked with dread toward my 28-mile trek (each way!) up and down hills, around hairpin curves, and under arched overpasses with sharp turns at either opening. I have not hit anything yet, but as each Tuesday and its accompanying forecast looms, I imagine that this will be the week of sliding semis and fellow travelers with bald tires or no knowledge of winter driving techniques.
This Tuesday is the last of the term. The weather forecast has gone from snow, sleet, and freezing rain to mostly cloudy with either a rain/sleet storm or a whopping pile of snow to arrive later. Now, in fact, they are backing away from the most dire of Tuesday predictions, and my friends who will be teaching on Wednesday are in for a bit of trouble. No matter what, I will be on the road Tuesday night, teeth gritted and arms locked in position, with both hands firmly gripping the wheel. I hope the snow is beautiful, and I hope nobody needs to go out in it, and I sincerely hope it waits until Wednesday.
And next year I will not be purchasing the Farmers' Almanac
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
FIreplaces and Wood Stoves, what's not to love?
Every house I have ever lived in has had a fireplace. At least the ones I remember. The remodeled chicken coop I lived in until I was 4 may not have had one, but then it was constructed out of pretty old and dry wood. It probably would have gone up like a match. All of the other ones, however, have been enhanced by the presence of a warm and glowing spot in the living room.
The fireplace had special importance attached to it when I was a kid. Every Sunday, or most of them, anyway, my dad would put a substantial piece of steak on a special grilling rack with a long handle, and he would work culinary magic over the fireplace logs. If we were really out to have a good time, we would cook either popcorn or marshmallows over them, too. The popcorn usually signaled a session of home-movie watching, while the marshmallows were just good sticky fun.
In high school I lived in a fabulous Victorian farmhouse with 12-foot ceilings and two fireplaces, back-to-back, in two joined parlors. Pocket doors separated the spaces, but I don't ever remember them being closed. At any given time in colder weather the fireplaces would be blazing away. This was partly for aesthetic enjoyment, but mostly because the big old place was almost impossible to heat. We would bundle up with a blanket or two and plunk ourselves down in front of the warmth, watching the crackling flames and feeling the heat on our faces. It was a gathering place out of necessity, but that didn't make our enjoyment any less measurable.
When I first started living on my own, I searched for apartments in old buildings, mostly to find an abode with a fireplace. In some of those apartments it would have been courting disaster if I had actually piled up some wood and found a match, but I enjoyed the possibility if not the reality. When my husband and I finally got down to some serious house-hunting, there was no way I would have even considered a home with no fireplace.
When we first found our wonderful old stone foursquare, built in 1900, we were delighted to see that it not only had a fireplace, but it had originally been a coal-burner, and had some beautiful cast iron grates and covers. They were great to look at, but we really enjoyed the open fireplace as a room-warmer. Once again I had settled in a great old house with little to no insulation. It wasn't too long before we found a fabulous used wood-and-coal burning stove to insert into our lovely fireplace and vent up the existing chimney. The flue has since been replaced.
When our children were babies I can remember a night in the middle of winter when we had no power for close to 24 hours. We set up lots of blankets and a sleeping bag or two and everybody slept on the living room floor in front of the stove. It was an adventure, but not necessarily one I'd like to repeat. I did love the coal aspect of the stove, however. One good load of coal would burn for up to 16 hours, keeping the whole house toasty. Of course, as I was the stay-at-home Mom, it was my job to stoke the thing, and shovel the coal, and empty the ashes. I felt like a pioneer of sorts.
That stove still sits, 30 years later, in my living room fireplace, and still is used (though only with wood nowadays) quite regularly in the winter. It does a great job of warming the front half of the house, and works nicely as a spot for a kettle of piping hot water for tea or just to add to the humidity. It has been cooked on once in a while, again when the power goes out. That still has a feeling of adventure to it, though I am happy it doesn't happen often.
Recently my husband and I have opened the conversation on retirement, and the downsizing that seems to go naturally along with it. I easily admit that our large house needs a lot of maintenance, and that we probably should look for something smaller and less difficult to care for. No matter where it is, or what style, or what age, there is one item I refuse to do without, and that is the fireplace. I do not, mind you, want one of those phoney-logged electric or gas fired things that are in so many newer homes. They look nice, but serve no purpose and have no aesthetic variety in their looks.
No, I want only the real thing, with a pile of wood outside and a stack in the living room. I will still enjoy crumpling up the old newspapers, putting on the kindling, and adding just the right logs at just the right time. Not only does a fireplace bring warmth and comfort, but it includes with it a big batch of family memories, and waits for more moments when gathering with long, skinny forks and a bowl of marshmallows is still very tempting.
The fireplace had special importance attached to it when I was a kid. Every Sunday, or most of them, anyway, my dad would put a substantial piece of steak on a special grilling rack with a long handle, and he would work culinary magic over the fireplace logs. If we were really out to have a good time, we would cook either popcorn or marshmallows over them, too. The popcorn usually signaled a session of home-movie watching, while the marshmallows were just good sticky fun.
In high school I lived in a fabulous Victorian farmhouse with 12-foot ceilings and two fireplaces, back-to-back, in two joined parlors. Pocket doors separated the spaces, but I don't ever remember them being closed. At any given time in colder weather the fireplaces would be blazing away. This was partly for aesthetic enjoyment, but mostly because the big old place was almost impossible to heat. We would bundle up with a blanket or two and plunk ourselves down in front of the warmth, watching the crackling flames and feeling the heat on our faces. It was a gathering place out of necessity, but that didn't make our enjoyment any less measurable.
When I first started living on my own, I searched for apartments in old buildings, mostly to find an abode with a fireplace. In some of those apartments it would have been courting disaster if I had actually piled up some wood and found a match, but I enjoyed the possibility if not the reality. When my husband and I finally got down to some serious house-hunting, there was no way I would have even considered a home with no fireplace.
When we first found our wonderful old stone foursquare, built in 1900, we were delighted to see that it not only had a fireplace, but it had originally been a coal-burner, and had some beautiful cast iron grates and covers. They were great to look at, but we really enjoyed the open fireplace as a room-warmer. Once again I had settled in a great old house with little to no insulation. It wasn't too long before we found a fabulous used wood-and-coal burning stove to insert into our lovely fireplace and vent up the existing chimney. The flue has since been replaced.
When our children were babies I can remember a night in the middle of winter when we had no power for close to 24 hours. We set up lots of blankets and a sleeping bag or two and everybody slept on the living room floor in front of the stove. It was an adventure, but not necessarily one I'd like to repeat. I did love the coal aspect of the stove, however. One good load of coal would burn for up to 16 hours, keeping the whole house toasty. Of course, as I was the stay-at-home Mom, it was my job to stoke the thing, and shovel the coal, and empty the ashes. I felt like a pioneer of sorts.
That stove still sits, 30 years later, in my living room fireplace, and still is used (though only with wood nowadays) quite regularly in the winter. It does a great job of warming the front half of the house, and works nicely as a spot for a kettle of piping hot water for tea or just to add to the humidity. It has been cooked on once in a while, again when the power goes out. That still has a feeling of adventure to it, though I am happy it doesn't happen often.
Recently my husband and I have opened the conversation on retirement, and the downsizing that seems to go naturally along with it. I easily admit that our large house needs a lot of maintenance, and that we probably should look for something smaller and less difficult to care for. No matter where it is, or what style, or what age, there is one item I refuse to do without, and that is the fireplace. I do not, mind you, want one of those phoney-logged electric or gas fired things that are in so many newer homes. They look nice, but serve no purpose and have no aesthetic variety in their looks.
No, I want only the real thing, with a pile of wood outside and a stack in the living room. I will still enjoy crumpling up the old newspapers, putting on the kindling, and adding just the right logs at just the right time. Not only does a fireplace bring warmth and comfort, but it includes with it a big batch of family memories, and waits for more moments when gathering with long, skinny forks and a bowl of marshmallows is still very tempting.
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