Posted on December 10, 2008
If I am to believe the Internet, I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. I could bargain for the Taj Mahal or the Hearst Mansion. How does this work? In the past forty-eight hours, I’ve gotten approximately a dozen emails alerting me to my newly acquired wealthy status.
Dr. Usman Shamsuddeen, supposedly from the Nigerian Government, wants to give me an ATM card with a credit of $5 million if I will provide certain personal information. Mrs. Rita Lydia, coincidentally also from Nigeria, wants to give me $1 million if I send money to FedEx to cover her expenses in getting it to me. Then there is our own Federal Bureau of Investigation that informs me it has approved the federal government of Nigeria’s interest in making me rich. If that doesn’t take the cake, then one Professor Paul Carlos of Ireland assures me the Nigerian government really does want to give me $6 million dollars.
This reminds me of the old adage that if it seems too good to be true, then it probably isn’t. It’s also where logic trumps luck. As much as I would love to inherit an unearned million or two, I have no connection with the government of Nigeria. Nor have I purchased a lottery ticket from that country. I don’t even know anybody from Nigeria.
So if your e-mail box is becoming stuffed with notices like the ones above, I suggest you hit your “Delete” button. Do not send personal information to the sender, even if it seems innocuous. Do not send bank account numbers or social security numbers either. Because the person who may be realizing a rich man’s dream might just be the person who contacted you in the first place.
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Posted on December 8, 2008
Yesterday was the sixty-seventh anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. How many people are alive who remember it? I’m sure there are many, but fewer and fewer as the years go by. I was only six months old, so I can’t attest to the attack firsthand. Regardless, I try to remember it for another reason.
My stepfather, Ollie, who enlisted for World War II in his middle thirties, died on Pearl Harbor Day in 1994. I don’t know if the Pearl Harbor attack spurred his enlistment or not. We never discussed it. But I’ve always thought it was ironic that he died on this day. He was 87.
I thought of Ollie yesterday while I was writing about snow people. And I thought about how much he added to the fabric of my adult life. He and my mother, who had been divorced an incredibly long time, married in their middle years and were devoted to each other. Ollie especially was devoted to her. If she ordered whitefish from the menu on a restaurant, he would too. If she wanted to visit Egypt, he agreed. And if she said purple was no longer a color, he would have struck it from the rainbow.
I adored him. Because of his devotion to her, I could go about my own business, not worrying because my Mother, that most social of beings, was no longer alone. That she had someone other than me who could care for her. That I didn’t have to be there one hundred percent of the time. It was a blessing for an only child. Especially one who craved time alone, when her Mother craved time with others.
So even if I’m a day late, here’s to you Ollie. You made my life easier for so many years, not only by being there for my Mother but also for being there for me.
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Posted on December 7, 2008
I collect snowmen. Or, to be politically correct, snow people. I have stuffed snow people, ceramic ones, a quilt with snow people embroidered on it, ornaments, music boxes, etc. Some people collect Santa Clauses, but it’s snow people for me. They’re more ethereal.
I recently had occasion to photograph my collection, and I realized one thing about snow people. For the most part, they ALL have carrots for noses. I checked those snow people under my care and noticed that only three of them didn’t have carrots protruding from their faces.
So what does this tell us? Applying Mendelian logic, I think it means that carrot-nosed snow people are the dominant species, just like brown eyed humans are the dominant species. But once in a while a twig-nosed snowman is born. And once in a while a coal-nosed snowman arrives.
Celebrate them all: carrots, twigs, coal. Because snow people represent the fleeting joyous moments of the holiday season. They shine and then they melt, leaving only memory to remember.
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Posted on December 6, 2008
There are still forty-five days until President-elect Obama’s inauguration. In the meantime, he is filling Cabinet positions and appearing patient while he hunkers down in Chicago. He’s acknowledged that there’s only one President at a time in this country, and he is not that person . . . yet.
At the same time, the economy continues to spiral downward. Half a million jobs were lost in November alone. The Big Three want money. Homeowners are desperate. Everyone has a favorite cause as the linchpin for recovery. Is it lower interest rates, easier mortgages, an automotive bailout, federal works to employ those who’ve lost their jobs, a stimulus package, who knows?
I’ve heard Democrats think Obama should be more “presidential,” meaning more aggressive. I’ve also heard that President Bush regrets some of the decisions he made. Which may or may not open the door for Obama to step in.
Personally, I think Obama has struck the right chord. I’m sure the current Democratic Congress will not support bills he wouldn’t approve of in his term of office, even though they are curmudging about it now. With this in mind, now is the time for Obama to organize his “team,” not to create policy, even though the economy might worsen.
I think one problem is that we elect our new President in November, but he (or she) doesn’t take office until January 20. So we have this down time where the current President has little real power and the next President has none in terms of legislation. The economy of our times emphasizes how crazy this is. Why isn’t there some movement to change either the date we vote or the date that the inauguration takes place?
It wouldn’t take billions of bail-out dollars, although it probably would take a constitutional amendment. It wouldn’t be the first one.
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Posted on December 5, 2008
I wrote yesterday about how hectic this time of the year can be. And I ended with asking myself, if no one else, how we can rid ourselves of “hectic.”
Here are things that came to mind, some of which I’ve tried, others not.
1. Start preparations early. That means shopping in September or October so that all your gifts are purchased and wrapped before “hectic” starts.
2. Decide if holiday greetings (read Christmas cards here) are really important to you. If they are, then write that form letter early and address the envelopes early too. You can send them whenever the spirit moves.
3. Determine when you need to decorate your home. Some years it could be earlier than others if you’re entertaining or going out of town for a week or two before Christmas.
4. Keep an accurate calendar of social commitments, so nothing sneaks up on you.
5. Take yoga or meditation classes, the better to keep focused.
6. Don’t step on the scale. Most people gain weight over the holidays, and watching oneself weigh more isn’t soothing.
7. Decide that laughter beats organization. If you’re not completely prepared for a party or a gift exchange or — Heaven forbid! — Christmas Day dinner, just go with the flow.
8. It’s more important to enjoy the company than it is to enjoy the meal. Meals are one of a kind; company — especially family — transcends any dry turkey or crummy dressing.
9. Ask for help. If you’re the hostess and are overwhelmed, commandeer the first guest who asks, “What can I do to help?” Assume that the person means it.
10. Finally, remember what we’re celebrating. Christians revere the birth of Jesus Christ at Christmas; Jews have different traditions that center on Hanukkah; African Americans revel in Kwanza. But it’s really all the same thing.
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Posted on December 4, 2008
Hectic . . . that’s the word that describes this time of year. I’m trying to keep up my usual schedule of working out, practicing piano, working, and blogging. But I find it gives way to shopping, wrapping, decorating, and cooking. There aren’t enough hours in the day.
What to do? For me, I cut back on the activities I like, knowing it’s temporary, in order to accomplish those holiday-related projects. We’ve done our tree, but that’s just a start. There are gifts to order and then wrap, other decorations both inside and out to set up, cards to write, food to prepare, parties to attend.
Given the economy this year, we’re cutting back. Even so, the actual activities are not diminished; only the dollar value of them is. We still purchase gifts for everyone on our list, although not as extravagant in past holidays. We still send cards, although maybe not as many. We still decorate and cook for the same number of people. And we’ll still have to dismantle the holiday finery after Christmas is over.
So this is an interesting phenomenon. Even in a time of financial concern, there is still the same amount of work. Which leads me to the next question: What might we do to eliminate some of the work while adding to the pleasure? In other words, what can we do to rid ourselves of “hectic” this time of year?
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Posted on December 3, 2008
Tonight Earl and I finished decorating our Christmas tree. Over the years we have gravitated to an artificial tree rather than a real one. In that time, I’ve come to love artificial, although for the first fifty-five years of my life I wouldn’t have dreamed of such a thing.
Artificial represents convenience, but it also represents extended enjoyment. You can decorate your tree earlier because there is no concern about fire hazard or watering. One year we put our tree up at the beginning of November. You can take it down on your own schedule too. There is no concern about dropping needles or drooping branches. Both your wallet and your carpeting don’t take a beating either.
About the only thing I miss is that an artificial tree doesn’t smell as good as a real one, especially one cut down just yesterday. But if we want the scent of fresh evergreens, we can purchase boughs at the local supermarket to hang on our front door or in our hallway.
So I guess convenience wins over tradition. Easy wins over more work. And contemporary beats memory. In the end, the gifts underneath the tree don’t care and most of the revelers don’t either. So I’ve given up being a purist in regard to Christmas trees. Amen.
Posted on December 2, 2008
Early in October, Earl was confronted with two boy scouts at our door, each seeking money in exchange for popcorn or trail mix or both. Earl ordered something from their catalogs, gave each lad twenty dollars, and sent them on their way.
“Did you get their names?” I asked when he told me what he’d done. “No” was the answer. He didn’t bother to get a receipt or a telephone number of the Scout in question either. So secretly I wondered if we would ever see these two Scouts again, given the way of the world and the ethos of the economy. If we didn’t, how could we track them down?
But Boy Scouts are still Boy Scouts and have not been jaded by today’s society. Each boy arrived at our door within the past few days with the product Earl had purchased, and it gave me renewed hope that there are still people in the world who keep their word. Hopefully there are still people in the world who keep their word even if they were never or are no longer Boy Scouts.
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Posted on December 1, 2008
The holiday season is upon us, and it’s shorter than usual this year with only four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s probably a retailer’s nightmare in that there is less time in which to reap great profits. For me, however, it’s time to revisit Christmas carol classics, the same ones I’ve revisited the past few years.
Why is this even worth writing about? It’s because each year when I pull out the books of Christmas carols I can see how far I’ve come in the past twelve months. This year, I can almost automatically move my fingers to the right note without having to determine mentally what note it is. I can find the F on the bass scale and know that it’s a certain white note on my piano.
This is great progress, since taking up piano in my twilight years is a challenge in the first place. It’s a challenge in the second place because I had no musical education as a child. So when I say I started playing piano as a five year old even though I was fifty-eight, this is not an exaggeration.
I may or may not have the opportunity to display my skills in front of others. No matter. I am heartened by the fact that the same carols that presented problems last year are finally tamed. And I can play them with confidence.
I look forward to what next year brings.
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Posted on November 29, 2008
I’m not a morning person; in fact, I’m hardly an afternoon person. Call me nocturnal and accept when I say I hate to hear an alarm clock go off. My body retreats into the fetal position while my mind registers the interruption and then builds a mental fence around it. So how do I arise and meet any day’s commitments?
I’ve tried various approaches over the years.
At high school graduation, I received a radio alarm clock which I programmed to bring music into my bedroom about half an hour before I really wanted to rise. At first this worked. I listened to music and slowly wakened. But after the novelty wore off, the singers of the day became intruders. I began to hit the off button before they began to croon.
In college, the problem was avoided when I learned to sign up for late morning classes. In early marriage, I dutifully rose and fixed my new husband his breakfast but then went back to bed when he left for work. It was only with the advent of children that I was forced to rise, if not shine.
Then came the snooze button, and I resorted to tactics similar to the first radio alarm in my life. I set the clock early, heard it buzz, hit the snooze, and returned to dreamland for the allotted five minutes. Heard it buzz again, hit the snooze, and returned to dreamland. However, there was no lasting effect. I still abhorred daylight.
Time passed. Today, Earl is my alarm. He wakens feeling fit and alert, ready to go. This is often at ungodly hours, but he finally understands his mate doesn’t share this behavior. So we agree the night before at what time he will re-tiptoe into our bedroom with some beverage for me, gently turn on the light, and hope that I don’t grumble. He always has a saying of the day too. I still don’t believe in getting out of bed early, especially if the sun isn’t up yet, but so far it’s the best routine. There’s no buzzing, dinging, music, or children crying. Only Earl and a morning hug.
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