Posted on November 1, 2008
All of a sudden, I’m popular. Like in high school, when two boys asked me to the same dance. It didn’t happen often, but when it did I was flattered.
Now, several people are wooing me, all via email. Al Gore wants me to volunteer my time for Obama’s campaign. Hillary Clinton wants me to volunteer my checkbook. Senator Chris Dodd reminds me it’s “too close to call,” while Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi harps that it’s all about change. General Wesley Clark says there are thirty-three congressional races up for grabs; and the candidate himself, Presidential nominee Barack Obama, writes that “the last thing we can afford to do is look up on November 5, and find ourselves counting the way we could have won victory in the most crucial elections of our lifetime.”
Ah, it’s nice to be wooed.
I must admit I have received no invitations from the McCain camp; and, for a while, I wondered why. But then I haven’t donated to his cause (I haven’t donated to Obama’s either.) , so maybe that’s why I’m not on any GOP email lists. Or maybe it harkens back to what McCain said months ago, that he wasn’t particularly Internet savvy or email smart.
Actually, none of this popularity matters; because I handed in my early voting ballot to the local township office yesterday. In addition, Earl handed in his. Which means we’ve cancelled each other out. As usual.
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Posted on October 30, 2008
Where we live, tonight is the community’s scheduled time for youngsters to go Trick or Treating even though Halloween itself isn’t until tomorrow. But our community is going the way of the nation; that is, scheduling things for convenience and not necessarily on the traditionally given day.
We’re having Trick or Treating a day early because there’s an important local football game on Halloween; and the community elders think it would be too chaotic, too much traffic, too many choices if youngsters went door to door for their annual candy giveaway on the same night as the football game.
I don’t agree.
I understand the dilemma about traffic, etc. and that some parents may want to be at the football game while they also want to escort their children through the neighborhood in search of candy and treats. I understand there’s a choice to be made. What I don’t understand is rearranging the social calendar so that choices are eliminated. Choices are part of life. It’s the old saying about eating cake and having it too.
But then I’m bucking the trend. About thirty years ago someone started tampering with the holiday calendar to provide for three-day weekends wherever possible. Memorial Day and Labor Day quickly were re-designated. I believe Martin Luther King Day was too. In the mix, Columbus Day and Veterans’ Day all but disappeared. Now only the Fourth of July, Christmas Day, and New Year’s Day remain intact so that they’re celebrated on the exact day they fall. Hopefully, they will remain that way as I wouldn’t want to celebrate Christmas on the fourth Monday of December every year, regardless of the date. Nor would I want to celebrate July 4 on the first Monday in July. Some traditions are worth keeping.
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Posted on October 29, 2008
In the past seven days, I’ve been to New York and back. I had tales to tell and ideas to spew forth on the Internet. But I was waylaid by a very strange experience, at least strange to me.
Over the past couple days my face has acquired the texture and feel of a pineapple and the color of a cocktail cherry. It’s most disconcerting, especially since my foundation make-up is no longer up to the task of concealing the problem.
This morning I called my doctor and then went to her office to see what could be done. She determined I’d had an allergic reaction to a cleansing product I’d been using for a year. Now I’m not sure why this sudden response to something that had formerly been benign, but at this point all I wanted was to pinpoint the problem and find a solution. Besides, the paper bag I considered wearing over my head would probably cause as much comment as the condition itself.
I will say this incident has given me an appreciation for what others with skin problems greater than mine go through. After all, when it’s your face that’s involved it’s really difficult to hide.
My doctor gave me some topical creams and made a follow-up appointment for Friday. I went home and began spreading the creams on my face as if they were mudpacks. That was about ten hours ago. Do I see improvement since then? I’m not sure. Do I long for improvement? To quote Governor Palin, “You betcha.”
I’ve never considered myself a vain person, although I did like what this particular cleansing product did to my face. I thought it made me look younger, less wrinkled, less blotchy. But I certainly don’t look younger now. I just look strange.
See more 10 Minutes in category Annoyances, Me/Family
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Posted on October 22, 2008
Our health club just put in an additional parking lot. I’m not good at determining sizes, but I’d say it’s about half the size of a football field. It’s all smooth blacktop too. Which is an inline skater’s dream. Particularly mine.
So this morning, despite temperatures in the forties, I headed over to the health club with my Rollerblades® in tow, hoping to christen the parking lot. It’s really an overflow lot, so there weren’t a lot of cars to impede my plan.
I pulled into one of the spaces and put on my skates. It had been almost three years since they’d been out of the bag, but nothing had changed. They felt as snug and comfortable on my feet, and the only reason I’d not had them on more recently is that there are very few surfaces around St. Joe that lend themselves to inline skating.
I put on my wrist guards, but didn’t bother with a helmet. Wore my Tahiti baseball cap instead in the hope that such a cap would make me think the weather was warmer. Then I started skating up and down the lot, skirting around the half dozen cars, turning right and then left, building speed and letting it go. I was tentative for the first few minutes, but after that it felt like old times.
Years ago, long before I became interested in physical fitness, Earl told me, “Find an activity you love and pursue it.” I found inline skating and did it regularly until I broke my leg in a race. It was slow going after that, as “tentative” became a by-word. But now that I’ve become more interested in fitness, I notice I’m also more willing to take a risk, lose that tentativeness. The new parking lot at the health club is wonderful for that.
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Posted on October 21, 2008
A friend who is in my “Fit over Fifty” class at the local health club is organizing a piano party at her home in November. She is a beginning piano student and thought it would be great fun to invite other novices for an evening of food, drink, and music. We would all play something we’re working on or have mastered or simply just want to share. (We would all probably want a couple glasses of wine first.)
Originally, I declined since I never play in public, which means Earl’s standing invitation to rent Carnegie Hall for my debut is not in any danger of being accepted. But she was persuasive, and I finally agreed to come. Earl and I would join the party.
So I’ve been practicing regularly even though this pseudo-recital is still three weeks away. I chose two selections I’d learned a couple years back because I knew I could play them well without becoming flustered in front of others. I’m a perfectionist and piano is something I’ll never be perfect at. So it humbles me, which is a good thing every now and then. But it’s also fretful.
I think the real challenge of the evening will be to measure the value of playing well or poorly against the camaraderie of new musical friends enjoying an evening together. Really, which is more important?
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Posted on October 20, 2008
I’ve had a mind to sell my three kayaks for a long time, but yesterday’s trip down the St. Joe changed my mind. Maybe I still don’t need three; but I certainly need at least one for days like this. A friend drove my neon green kayak and me to the public landing at Jasper Dairy where he pushed me off the boat ramp and I paddled away.
I’ve done this trip many times in the past several years; and even though it’s the same route it is never the same experience. Today was no exception, except that perhaps it was the best trip of all. The fall colors were in high bloom and it was a spectacular sight. It was also a revelation of what pleasure kayaking is really about.
Pleasure kayaking is about pleasure, not performance. It’s about relaxing, not racing. Tranquility, not turmoil. In fact, I’ve taken to not wearing a watch when I kayak so that I’m less conscious of the time. What does it matter if it takes two hours or two and half to get from Point A to Point B if the purpose of the trip is to revel in nature’s display in the solitude of one’s kayak?
I put my iPod on Shuffle, which might be contradictory to enjoying nature in solitude, but I found the songs that showed up enhanced rather than detracted from the entire experience. “Fanfare for the Common Man,” for instance, never sounded more majestic. Neither did the “Rollin’ on the River” lyric from Creedence’s “Proud Mary.”
It sounds crazy, but I’m thinking I’d like to go down the river after the first snowfall. I suspect it would be breathtaking (and warm, if one is dressed appropriately). Maybe then I’ll be listening to “Old Man River” as I glide across the crystal water to my house. Or maybe it will be Christmas carols. Now that’s a thought!
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Posted on October 18, 2008
This fall’s colors are extraordinary, rich yet nuanced at the same time. Brilliant yet somber. Blazing yet paced. They make me want to cry.
Instead, I’m planning a trip down the St. Joe River tomorrow morning to drink it all in. Maybe for the last time, since our house is on the market. But certainly for the last time this year. The temperature is predicted to be in the low sixties; but I’ll be on the water in the morning, so it won’t be that warm. Maybe long underwear is in store. Maybe a vest and a sweatshirt.
I think I’ll dress like I do when Earl and I go fishing in upper Saskatchewan the end of July. I always take long underwear and several sweatshirts, so that I can peel a layer or two off as the day progresses.
It takes about two hours to paddle to our house from the public launch about six miles upriver. And every time I’ve done it has been a singular experience. Once the water was so shallow I had difficulty maneuvering, even though a kayak doesn’t need much draft. Another time, the river was so swollen it exceeded its banks and made for an unusually fast current. I arrived at my house in record time.
I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring, other than fireworks of color, compliments of the trees and Mother Nature. The wind is supposed to be between ten and 20 knots, but since I don’t know the direction I’m not sure if it will impede or enhance my paddling abilities. No matter, I’m in it for the beauty of the day. And there could still be a tear or two.
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Posted on October 16, 2008
Last night I fell asleep about half an hour in to the last presidential nominee debate. I had the best of intentions, but I lay down on the family room couch. And whenever I lie down anywhere sleep claims me. I woke in time to shuffle off to bed, the debate and the diagnosis long over.
So today I’ve been scurrying about, gathering tidbits here and sound bites there. Learning that it was the nastiest of debates to date, and that each reiterated his position over and over. McCain questioned Obama’s experience while Obama tried to link McCain to Bush’s policies.
And then there was Joe the Plumber, the reincarnation of Joe Six-Pack. Joe wanted to know if it was true that he would be taxed more under Obama’s plan if the business he planned to purchase made over $250 thousand dollars. Originally he asked Obama that question on the campaign trail. But somehow his concern ended up on the national debate, and both candidates tried to reassure him. Because of this, pundits are saying he was the real winner in last night’s debate.
Maybe so. However, today’s blogs were filled with more details about Joe: that he is not a plumber but an apprentice, that he owes back taxes, that he has a brother who lives in Wasilla, Alaska. I don’t know if any or all of this true but it does make me think that much of the presidential campaigns, on both sides, is smoke and mirrors.
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Posted on October 12, 2008
I love rings and have been collecting them over forty years, the first one being a diamond engagement ring I received at Christmas in 1964. I married the giver the following year. Back then, my list of desired rings was short: It included a diamond, a pearl, a ruby, star sapphire, and an emerald.
My new husband was aware of my love of rings and, in time, provided me with a lovely pearl and a Linde star sapphire. Today, the pearl has long been lost on a field trip I took in graduate school. When I realized it was missing, I retraced my steps in the hope of finding it. But no luck. No insurance coverage either.
Fast forward to the past decade where my obsession with rings has intensified. Now I’m interested in such precious stones as tanzanite, spinel, tourmaline, and Caribbean mystic. I love aquamarine, peridot, and alexandrite. Jade, colored sapphires and colored diamonds. And every time I purchase a new ring I tell myself, “This is the last ring you need.”
Family and friends will acknowledge I’ve had a lot of last rings. Probably behind my back they whisper that I’m deluding myself as there is always one more ring calling to me. Most recently, it was an imperial topaz; and I bought it before the recent stock market tumblings. I paid cash too. And, unlike the pearl of years ago, it’s insured.
This isn’t about bragging rights. Actually, I’m thinking that this could really be the last ring as the economy doesn’t justify continued extravagance for my fingers. So, if I hold to my statement, I will have to settle for never having a ruby. But there will be the pleasure of proving my family and friends wrong this time.
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Posted on October 11, 2008
Yesterday’s blog dissected Time magazine; today’s examines Newsweek, since I purchased both during my travels home from NYC. I hadn’t meant to make a case study; but, after reading both magazines front to back I feel compelled.
These two magazines were regular weekly reading for me back in the day. I’d subscribe to one, then the other (never having enough money back then to get both at the same time), and spend quiet time reading every page. It took an evening or two.
No longer.
I read both magazines in the space of one hour’s waiting in an airport and another hour inflight. It didn’t require speed reading either. It didn’t even require one hundred percent of my attention.
That said, I found this week’s Newsweek with Sarah Palin on the cover to be more like the Newsweek of old. There were still cogent articles to be found, still commentaries to consider, still fluffy stuff so that readership could be as broad as possible. But the fluffy didn’t outweigh the huffy. I didn’t bother to count how many pages of content there were vs. pages of advertisement; but I believe the content column would have won. After all, if the ads had been as intrusive as they were in Time I would have felt compelled to count them. Instead, I turned page after page and felt the feeling of recognition, that I’d seen this format before.
So in the battle between Time and Newsweek, I give Time three editor’s marks and Newsweek four.
