When times get tough...the tough go shopping

Men may have the technical world figured out, but they fall short when it comes to understanding the female need to shop.

There are two kinds of excursions a woman makes.   One is a "buying" trip....that is usually inclusive of, but not confined to, essentials like toilet paper and fabric softener.  The second is a "shopping trip".  The two can be combined, but as a rule a "shopping trip" includes a high calorie lunch and much more comfortable shoes than a "buying trip".   Women understand this concept, and it is where the male and female paths diverge.

More often than not when I tell my husband I'm heading to the grocery he will happily hop into the car and ride along.  If, in the middle of the ride, I announce I will also be doing some "shopping" his demeanor changes to the one Molly (the family Yorkie) gets when she realizes she's been lured into the car for a trip to the vet. 

I must admit it.....I like to shop.  There are times when nothing else will do but to head into a nice department store where I can wander through pretty clothes, sparkling costume jewelry,  sampling every new scent at the pretty perfume counters.   And shoes?   I think my Mother must have been frightened by Cinderella when she was pregnant with me, because I am always looking for the perfect shoes.  Nothing perks me up like a little "retail therapy", and I must confess I just don't understand why that isn't true for most males.

Shopping with my husband the conversation seldom changes.   Me:  "Honey, try this sweater on....it would look great on you".....Him:  "I don't need a sweater.   I have a stack of sweaters.".....Me: ".....but it's green".    Or our standard.....Me:  "You need jeans.  Try these on, please???  For me???".....Him (checking the tag)...."They're not Levi's"....end of shopping conversation.

I thought men were hunters, but obviously the thrill of the hunt does not include Ralph Lauren stores.   Women are gatherers, and that is why we need the large size shopping cart.   Nothing is more unfulfilling for both parties than an excursion into a previously unexplored store that features a husband (where's the sporting goods department?) and wife (this place is AWESOME!) mismatch.  He tries to be a good sport, but in truth he only cares about the Ohio State score....while I am developing a muscle cramp from holding an armload of clothes as I wait for a dressing room to open up.  Finally his patience is expended and he just has to get to the radio.  "Take all the time you want, Honey.   I'll be in the car."   Nothing cramps a woman's style like a man waiting in the car.

And so, as the biggest shopping high holidays arrive,  I have words of wisdom for all females who might be too young or too inexperienced  to have figured this out for themselves.  Choose a girl friend who has the stamina  and the shopping gene.....and go Christmas shopping.   Leave your significant other home to eat potato chips and watch NCIS reruns.   You'll both be happier.....life is good.

A gift for the world....

   If I could give our country (the rest of the world may need it as well) a big present it would be the gift of good grammar.  That may seem frivolous to some of you, but I really believe it might help us work through some of our social issues if people could only communicate respectfully, intelligently and easily.   Good grammar promotes civility.

   Home with a day off, I'm cleaning out closets and doing a general "de-junking" around the house after the Thanksgiving holiday.   I have a longstanding habit of tossing my belongings around as if the world were my warehouse.   Then, the morning before our crew arrives for our one o'clock meal, I feign the appearance of neatness by sticking things in every available opening.  The following day the search is on....and I clean out places, drawers and closets looking for the things I salted away the day before.  I'd call it a "ritual", but that would be giving my hoarding tendencies too much credit.

   During this yearly cleaning frenzy I often listen to TV, and this morning my husband had the set in his den tuned into one of the "judge" shows that seem to fill the daytime airwaves.   I could not...and would not....direct you to the program, but I can tell you we are in dire straits if this group parading before the microphones represents our country.

   The slang is bad enough, and I understand it's a generational thing that I don't understand it.  However, the constant banging on my eardrums with the word "like"........."she said, like, I don't know him....and I'm like, hell yeah you do....and she's like".    And why do people with a mic in front of them feel compelled to say, "and, your honor, at that time she hit me in my face.   And at that time I yelled."  And it's all interlaced with, "and I have saw her do it"....and "she done did it".....or "she seen me coming".   (I won't even go into the use of "bitches" as an acceptable description for anyone of either gender)  It is not a grammatical error, but a full on assault of the language.

   This awful television show is a perfect representation of conversations overheard daily.  Our standard of communication has disintegrated to the point that the sound of an average conversation is really quite ugly.  I often leave a public place thinking we sound like a nation of people with low intelligence and even lower standards of behavior. 

   If I had a magic wand I'd wave it and give everyone good vocabularies and an excellent command of the language.   Maybe if we spoke differently to one another we would begin to behave better.  It wouldn't have to sound as if everyone had attended Oxford....but just imagine someone making the ridiculous hand gestures and duck face after saying, "excuse me, but I would like to speak to your brother for just a moment."   Wouldn't happen.

  As our language shrinks to a vocabulary of four letter words, we create hostility simply by speaking.  The words we hear thrown around so easily on television "reality" shows paint an ugly, uninhabitable world.  

   So.....as I look toward Christmas gift giving I wish I could give the gift of language skills to our country.  If we're going to go down the tubes we can at least do it in a civil fashion...."after you....no, please....after you!"

   I know it may not be the biggest thing we face in this country, but how can we solve any problems if we cannot communicate?   If only the mouth worked like an automobile, nothing would happen till the brain was in gear. Unfortunately we're not on level ground any longer, so we are headed downhill at a very fast clip.  I have no solution to offer, only observations.

   One thing I do know.  There are three words that are very hard to screw up.  Use them...live them...believe them.....Life is Good.

Pumpkin pie kickoff

There is something about the night before a big holiday like Thanksgiving that is timeless.  I've experienced this "time bubble" many years now.  Like so many holiday eves before, this evening the oyster dressing is all done, ready to pop into the oven.  The turkey is washed and seasoned and ready for the roaster oven at five am tomorrow.  The house is in pretty good order.   I've put all the leaves in the dining room table, giving it the appearance of an oak airport runway, and it is surrounded by every chair in the house.  Other things that could be done ahead are waiting to be thawed or heated or both....and now I enjoy a cup of coffee, some music and the quiet that will be gone tomorrow for just a little while.

Our family has evolved and changed the way most families do.  Marriages, divorces, deaths and births change the cast of characters from time to time.  I know tomorrow, as I look around me, I will wish I could freeze time and keep everything the way it is....but I also know that isn't possible.

I have so very much to be thankful for.    I thank God for hearing prayers....answered and unanswed.  I realize at moments like these how little control I have had over events in my life...and for that I am grateful.   I will enjoy this quiet time, poised on the edge of yet another holiday season.
                                                     
                                                                   Life is Good

 

   

Why would I DO that?

Writing a blog is cathartic....and invasive.  I started writing this months ago and only put the address out there last week.   I wasn't certain I would ever have the nerve to publish it, so I put the address in my Editor's column in the holiday issue of Heart of Ohio Magazine...and just went with it.

Why is it so easy to write about other people lives and so difficult to write about my own?  I've always been a very private person, so perhaps that is some of it.   I can only liken the feeling of putting this address out there to being a teen aged girl,  sitting in the living room with her parents, who discovers her little brother is about to do a recitation from the diary that he just discovered under her mattress.

Talking with good friends I am always amazed at the varying degrees of self doubt we all experience.  Whether it's putting your thoughts down and allowing people to rummage through them in a blog, serving the first meal to your in laws, or standing up at a neighborhood meeting to express a concern,  we all seem to have an inner voice that whispers all the reasons this is going to turn out to be a disaster.

Years ago I read a book entitled, "The Impostor Syndrome".   The bottom line was that we all share that nasty little voice in our heads that tells us the world is going to find out that we're actually a fraud.  The artist who know he really has no talent, the writer who can't actually write, the cook everyone applauds who really just throws stuff in a pot.  No amount of education or experience can squelch the inner voice that speaks with the full knowledge of our short comings.  I believe that voice may drive some creative people to distraction.  Maybe that's why we see so many actors, artists and musical talents who destroy themselves trying to stop it. 

My only defense against the negative voice in my own head is my belief that the things worth doing are the things that take you out of your comfort zone.   Armed with that hard won understanding, I continue to write.  Doing the best I can, with what I have to work with, and sharing experiences with others is what writing is all about for me.  

Talents come in all shapes and sizes, but each of us has one.   My own talent is the ability to enjoy life.....to feel its texture and listen to its music and laugh at its absurdities.  Life is good.     

Thankful thoughts

November is a busy month for all of us, but especially at our house.   We have four birthdays in addition to a big family Thanksgiving, which amounts to a food orgy for anywhere from twenty to twenty five people.  

Six years ago all those things had to be put on hold because my father was dying.  His last thirteen months of life had been played out in a nursing home, and now there were no more rabbits to pull out of the hat.

I know everyone thinks being in a nursing home is sad, and in a lot of ways it is, but Pop had a good quality of life those last months.  He had the wife he adored there every day, friends from church and some he had worked with visited.  I'm an only child, so my husband and three kids were Pop's family and support group, and we were in and out of there every day as well.

Sunday was a day he looked forward to, because I would stop and get the News Journal and a fresh bunch of flowers and head in to the nursing home almost every Sunday morning.   Pop would sit in his wheelchair, the paper spread out on his bed, and direct me as I arranged the fresh flowers in a vase.  Then every attendant who came in he'd say, "See what my daughter brought me?   She's really my doctor you know.....she takes good care of me."   We had a lot of good, quality time together those last months.  I spent more time and talked more with Dad than I had in my entire adult life. 

My father fought in WW 2....he was wounded eight times, lost in the jungle, and they sent him back home to Kentucky to die at the age of 21.  He fooled them all and lived a long life, but it was a life that was haunted by experiences he never talked about.  In the nursing home he told me about some of those things for the first time, and I felt I came to understand him just a little better.  He had served his country well, but he had gone through hell.  Being the strong man he was he knew if you were marching through hell to keep marching....and he did.

Our family gathered in Dad's private room for Thanksgiving that year.  We brought food and we clung together for support and we waited.....it was all there was to do.   Occasionally he would rally, moments that were precious and over too soon.  I think I will always remember that Thanksgiving as the most important one of my life because it was a family pulling together, supporting one another.   In spite of where we were and what was happening we had a great deal to be thankful for.

Another November has rolled around, and the speed with which the months go by now seems to be in fast forward.  We will be preparing for kids and grandkids and friends to come for the day, cooking enough food to feed a small country and soon kicking a path through shoes left around the family room door. 

I am thankful for my wonderful family, I am thankful for my friends, and I am thankful for memories that make me cry......

The real glamour girls.....

Good, bad or indifferent I think we all have people we remember as being pivotal in our lives.  For me there were two women who are responsible for my love of reading.....and my love of books has been one of the greatest enjoyments and assets in my life.

For starters I owe my love of reading to my second or third grade school teacher, Ms. Hilda Bowman.  She taught at Mifflin Elementary, and  I still have a school picture of her, I thought she was an old lady when I was in her class, but looking back she was actually a young woman.  She always read to the class, and the book that absolutely facinated me was "The Boxcar Children".  Each afternoon she would read us a chapter, and within a few days I was chomping at the bit to finish that book.  I went to the library and got the book and finished it.  Something about the story grabbed and held me, and after that I couldn't wait to find another book to enjoy.....and another.   Ms. Bowman gave me something precious that has remained with me my entire life.

The second woman who really enhanced my love of reading was a Cleveland newscaster, Dorothy Fuldheim.  She is exactly who I wanted to be when I grew up.  I remember watching her on the One O'clock club with Bill Gordon in the summer when I was out of school.   Every Thursday Dorothy would do a book review.  Always beautifully dressed, and often wearing an orchid corsage on her wrist, she would discuss the book of the week.  Even though her reviews were not aimed at the average ten or twelve year old, I often got the book from the library because she had piqued my interest.  I can't believe there were many girls my age looking forward to 'Thursday afternoon book reviews by Dorothy Fuldheim.....but there you are.  When she did interviews on the news I watched with rapt attention.  She met and talked with the most important people of the fifties and sixties, not intimidated by their fame or fawning in her interviews as she dug for the truth.  I thought she was amazing then, and I still do. This was not a woman who wiggled her way into a career....Dorothy Fuldheim was not the short skirted weather girl on the evening news.  A woman with the expression and mane of the Metro Goldwyn Mayer lion that roared in the opening movie credits throughout my youth, Dorothy's career was based upon her wit and intellect.  So, of course, if she said "read this book" I read that book!

Of all the things one can enjoy I consider reading the greatest blessing.  I have traveled the world.....met kings and queens.....flown airplanes and captained submarines.....all through the pages of a book.  I am grateful to these two women for giving me the gift of curiosity and the ability to satisfy it through reading.

I hope my grandchildren are lucky enough to have a Hilda Bowman.....and the country could sure use a strong woman in the spotlight with the strength and intellect of a Dorothy Fuldheim.   I was so fortunate to be in a generation that had an abundance of  interesting role models instead of sour faced runway models.  I am forever in their debt, and I will always try to pay it forward.   Life is good.

A sparkly door to nowhere

And so...this brings me to my second most embarrassing job interview.  Again I was very young, and I answered an ad in the newspaper.   Once again I was surprised when I got an interview.   This time the ad in the paper had convinced me I wanted to be an assistant to a store manager at the mall when I grew up.   The lucky person who landed this job would travel between stores in several malls doing some (I was certain) amazing things.   Okay...maybe not amazing, but it was full time work, so I headed out to the interview.

Walking into the small shop at the mall I scoped out some pretty clothes I wanted to look at when the interview was done.   As I headed to the desk at the back of the room I felt really good about this place.   Surrounded by pretty clothes and beautiful colors....this would be a pleasant job to have.

A very tall, very bald gentleman came from a back room to greet me.  I followed him through a sparkly gold door, but that is where the sparkle ended. I found myself standing in a rather disorganized looking storage area with one small table that held a portable typewriter, two folding chairs and a trash can.  The rest of the room was filled with boxes, hanging racks and stacks of bags imprinted with the store logo.

Mr. Baldman offered me one of the folding chairs at the rickety table, then handed me a tablet and pencil.  "I'm going to dictate a letter to you.  I need you to take it down, and then type it for me.  I think I remember you said you take short hand, right?"

I once read that stress comes from the brain screaming "no way" and the lips murmuring "no problem".  That's exactly the situation I found myself in.  

"Of course," I said.  "Oh my God, did I say that?   No!!  I didn't say that! ", my brain screamed.

He rattled off the contents of the letter from a paper he fished from his shirt pocket, and I feverishly took it down. "I have my own system" I said to him.  This of course proves I will almost always lie when I'm drunk or when I'm embarrassed and cornered in the back room of a dress shop behind a sparkly door.

My intentions were to get the big stuff down and "remember" the small things he said.  He finished, handed me typing paper and (groan!) CARBON PAPER.  "Make a copy, and how long to you think you'll need?"   In truth I was thinking, "It won't take long to find a back way out of here and I am gone", but again my mouth spoke without benefit of brain cells and said, "Oh, not long."

Mr. Baldman left through the decidedly unsparkly door, and after I determined there was no back door out of this mess, I worked to decipher my own squiggles, abbreviations and panicked scrawling.  It's not bad enough I actually had to try and recreate what he had just said, but do it with CARBON PAPER so they could see how accurate a typist I was.  Oh, the humanity!

That's when the light went on.  A big old light bulb, just hanging over my head right there in that storage room. (figuratively, of course)    If I had to make a carbon copy so did other applicants....and some of them might actually know what they're doing!   I grabbed the trash can and searched for a nice, crispy piece of carbon paper.   Viola!!!   I held it up to the light and sure enough, there was the letter Mr. Baldman had just dictated to me.

Plagiarism is such an ugly word.  I prefer to use the words "shamelessly copied" when I describe holding the carbon to the light as I typed with one hand and squinted to make out the words.  It was a laborious process, but my determination to get out of there without disgracing myself was a powerful motivator."If you don't hear from me in a few days you can call to see where we stand in the process," he said.  I knew once I was back in the safety of the mall traffic stream walking by this store I would never speak to Mr. Baldman again.   I had not disgraced myself by having to admit I had no right to be in this interview.   Lying yourself into an interview.....scary.   Getting out without admitting you're an idiot.....priceless.

Finally the letter was complete.   I gave the biggest sigh of relief I've ever experienced before or since, and I put the letter on the shaky table.   Then I gathered myself up to my full five foot two inches, took a deep breath and hit that door.

Back on the sparkly side of the door, Mr. Baldman was waiting, looking at his watch.   I suppose it takes more time to "shamelessly copy" someone else’s work than it does to actually know what you're doing and do it.  But that didn't matter to me.   The big, open front of that store was calling to me.   I was walking out of here with my empty head held high......and I was never coming back.  

I returned home a wiser woman.  I really don't remember telling Mr. Baldman I could take shorthand, but the fact is I might have.   I realized there would be no job harder than the one you talked yourself in to knowing you couldn't do it.  I also learned that life could look very different depending on the side of the door you're on. 

On the other hand, I also learned to keep my mouth shut and check the trash can before I confess to any major shortcoming.   Sometime life is just plain funny......but life is good.

My Fish Story

Over the span of my work life I must have interviewed at least a hundred potential employees, and I imagine I've read twice as many resumes.  Finding the right person for the job requires instinct, good listening skills, and a sense of humor.  Years ago I know I gave two people who interviewed me a good story to retell at parties.....let's just say I fare much better behind the desk than in front of it.

When I was a young radio copywriter I answered an ad for a writer for Lumbermens Insurance.  The big, elegant building on the hill by the Country Club....just doesn't get any better than that. No one was more suprised than I  when I got an interview!  I was a nervous wreck, but excited, too.  

As the big day arrived  my youngest daughter was in bed with a fever and sore throat.  Already nervous about the interview, and feeling guilty for leaving her, I asked what I could bring her to make her feel better.  Her feverish little face screwed up into a grin and she said, "A goldfish, Mommy." 

I have a terrible habit of being early.   It's one I've developed to compensate for my dreadful sense of direction.   I always leave enough time to get lost, get found, and get there on time.   So, on this cold, snowy day, I was early and decided to stop at the pet store for a goldfish before my interview.

I carefull selected a fluffy tailed fish, which the gal popped into a plastic bag of water.   She folded the top of the bag and put a red rubber band around it.  "He'll last in there a little while, maybe an hour or more.  I wouldn't try to keep him in there much longer than that."

Arriving (on time) at the stately Lumbermens building I stared in awe at the beautiful structure.  I was completely intimidated, and every ounce of confidence I had drained out of me as I parked the car.  Fearing the fish would freeze to death, I carefully put the plastic bag into my huge purse and headed to the door.

Inside I was greeted and led to a beautiful office with dark wood paneling, and what had to be at least an acre of celery green carpet.  I stood there waiting as a tall, official looking man came into the room to shake my hand.   He pulled a chair out for me in front of his desk, dragged a second chair across from mine, and told me to make myself comfortable.....which of course was out of the question.

I put my handbag down and perched nervously on the edge of the chair.   Knowing I must look as uncomfortable as I felt, I settled back into the chair and, trying to look casual, crossed my legs.

No "Lucy" episode ever did it better.  As I crossed my legs I kicked over the big handbag.  The freshly bagged swimmer rolled out, as if on cue.   As the force of the water popped the red rubber band into the air, the water gushed and the goldfish flopped helplessly on the celery green carpet.

I had no idea a man in such an expensive suit could move so quickly, but Mr. Whathisname jumped up, grabbed a coffee mug off his desk, and ran into the hallway to a water cooler.   In no time flat the fish was swimming in a bag of murky water with a tinge of cream and sugar.  Frozen in horror, I still sat in the chair, one leg crossed, but not quite touching the other.

I will not lie and tell you I remember the rest of the interview.   I only remember it finally, mercifully, ended and I found my self on my way home with a fish, and no chance of a second interview.  There are some things from which you can recover during an interview......playing croquet with a goldfish on expensive carpet isn't one of them.

I learned the hard way that humiliation begats empathy.  Later in my career I always tried to make people comfortable during an interview.  They tell you more about themselves, their experiences, and relaxed people show you more of their people skills.   And one more very important thing about folks who are relaxed during an interview.....they do a lot less property damage.   Life is good.

Unremarkable and loving it

    
This blog address is about to be published in the holiday issue of Heart of Ohio Magazine, so, with any luck, there may be a few more people reading it.  Previous to that I had just asked a few friends to take a look at my ramblings, and they were gracious enough to do that.  One in particular asked where I came up with the name, "Unremarkable woman".....so I will share that with you.

I read.   It's what I do, and I do it a lot.  I especially enjoy biographies and history, and over the last few months I got around to reading about Mother Teresa.  In spite of her religious and self-doubts, in spite of the poverty and horror she witnessed....she kept on.  She had a focus and tenacity that I've never read of in any other woman. But in a chapter of the book she was described as, "this unremarkable little woman....”   Really?   Later in the same month I was reading something else, this time about the Holy Mother, Mary.  "This unremarkable woman, just a girl really.......”  How could a mortal woman who brought the messiah into the world be described as "unremarkable"?  

I can only assume the authors of those pieces mean neither had any super powers such as being able to fly, or read minds or turn straw into gold.   Maybe it meant they were just common people, just like the girl next door.   But somehow I cannot find that phrase "unremarkable woman" applying to either of these women in any capacity.

These references only made me wonder, where is the bar set?   A man who raises his children "alone" is applauded as being somewhat amazing...."He raised those boys on his own, you know".    A woman who works and raises her children alone is a "single mother"...the sponsor of kids who end up in trouble and a less than admirable role model.   Sometimes it seems that bar is a "limbo" bar for guys and a "pole vault" for women.

I've been so fortunate in my life and in my career.  I have wonderful kids that my husband and I raised together, and I’ve had interesting jobs; working in radio, building a carousel and now writing a magazine.   However, I've never done anything that would even remotely quality me for "remarkable".   I've never tended the sick in Calcutta or fed the starving...and I've certainly never been singled out to give birth to a deity.  But it seems to me that, given the company in this category, being an unremarkable woman might be construed as a compliment. 

So, that's where the title for this blog came from.   I now know I will remain unrepentantly and unashamedly unremarkable for the rest of my life.  I am comfortable with the fact that nearly every woman in the country must be in this same group, and I can't imagine what any of us poor mortal women could do to improve our station in life.

Remember, I don't make the categories, I just occupy one.   But if there is ever a real contest I can't wait to see who the contestants for "remarkable" turn out to be.  And there darn well better not be a bathing suit competition.   Life is good.    

Food for thought.....and memories

Tonight I'm starting to prepare the food for tomorrow evenings dinner.   It's time again for "Katie's Dinner".

With nearly every marriage there comes something else....a Mother in Law.  My own was what is commonly known as "a corker".  Katie never had a lazy day in her life.   She worked hard, and if she was at your house you worked, too.  When it came to yardwork Katie set a pace that soon had anyone working with her begging for mercy.  When any of us  needed help with any project she was there to dig in.  Nothing was too hard, too heavy or too dirty for Katie to dig into. 

Katie worked at a local laundromat well into her seventies, and she was an asset  because she treated her job as if it were her own business she was running.  She helped raise grandchildren, helped run a business for her son during a very rough time in his life, and she never seemed to run out of energy or love for any of her brood. 

In the seventies my husband Larry, our three kids, and I moved in with Katie while waiting for a house we'd bought to be vacated.  She simply moved over, made room and welcomed us.   Every morning I'd be up early to make breakfast and get the kids ready for school.  I would fix her a cup of coffee and take it to her bedroom, and she loved it.  It became one of the stories she always told over and over to the family....and I was glad to be a part of Katie's family. 

Late in her life Sunday became a day when Larry and I would often have Katie and my Dad to our house for dinner and to visit while we did yard work or tinkered around the house.  My father loved Katie, and they would sit in lawn chairs in the sun and talk.....at least as long as Katie could stand to sit still. After we ate and visited Katie would head home, usually as she left she'd hug us and say, "Thanks for putting up with me." 

On one of those Sunday visits she and I sat talking, and she said, "You know, someday I'm not going to be here and I wonder if my kids will lose touch.  I worry about that."  Katie was the one who visited every one of her kids and took the family news from house to house.....before the internet she was our family's answer to Facebook.  I thought she'd live forever, but I said, "Katie, I promise that as long as I can I will get everyone together once a year.  I'll do my best to round them up." 

So......years after she left us all wanting more, we have Katie's dinner every year about this time.  I time it just before Thanksgiving because we all  have our individual holiday plans and life gets hectic.  Other than the family reunion it's usually the only time the four couples sit down together to catch up on what's going on with our kids and grand kids and life in general.  And of course there are always plenty of Katie stories.

It's a little thing....just a promise in passing.  This dinner every year for Katie's "kids" is my thank you to a lovely woman who never asked for much, and gave everything she had.  I hope I am as lovingly remembered.   Life is good.