What happened to cartoons that were funny?
Saturday morning cartoons used to be a laugh riot with fun times and hilarious action.
Now, they seem to be more interested in being politically correct statements of how we should promote a particular agenda or ideology.
How I miss seeing Road Runner best Wiley Coyote and Bugs Bunny get Elmer Fudd so befuddled that he was seeing red.
Cartoons now seem to believe that they must have some high moral message and call themselves "edutainment" in order to be on television.
One of the funniest cartoons that I have ever seen is the one that features Bugs Bunny going head to head against a wrestler named "The Crusher". It is an impressive display of what a cartoon should be. Witty, funny and slick, Bugs takes on the Crusher and not only gets his goat, he barbecues it in a hilarious show of brains over brawn that turns the would be package of 'fresh meat' into the conquering hero.
Of course, a hysterical aside to the whole shtick is the 'gay nature boy' Ravishing Ronald who is the appetizer for the Crusher. Stuffing Ravishing Ronald into his own hairnet and using him as a speed bag for his warm-up, the mentally lightweight Crusher is enjoying what will be his swan song - only he doesn't know it yet.
And that is what makes the cartoon funny.
We KNOW that Bugs Bunny will best this cretin at his own game by use of devious and dubious means. And it makes it all the more funny because Bugs has the ability to frustrate the Devil himself in the antics he gets up to and out of during the course of the cartoon.
Sure, there are other laugh riots that Bugs has perpetrated. The outrageous activity just never stops when Bugs is on the screen.
I absolutely LOVE the episode where Bugs is playing the part of Leopold Stokowski in order to humiliate the high brow and musically 'superior' opera singer who has trashed his banjo and tuba.
That he does it with so many sight gags and improbable circumstances makes it funny. But the floating glove directing the whole note of the 'nice, fat opera singer' is beyond funny. It is a universe of humor unto itself.
Sending off a letter and waiting for the postal delivery of ear muffs while the singer holds out the note is just a comic reminder of what most of us decidedly low-brow folks feel about most opera that doesn't involve a boy named Peter or a wolf. It is a long note bore awaiting a final chord to spare us from the 'culture' that we just don't want.
Now, lest it be said that I am an anti-cultural snob, know that I have been moved by opera and absolutely love the grandeur of a well played Carmen and the seething evil of Mephistopheles. But I also appreciate the fact that most of us also want things to be a little more digestible from time to time.
Milk before meat, you might say.
Everything doesn't have to be a learning experience custom designed to fit in a time slot.
Sometimes, it's just nice to have a good laugh. Even if it is at the expense of an overblown or musclebound idiot who doesn't know the rabbit is going to win.
August 25, 2007
August 24, 2007
Crime & Punishment
Call me jaded.
But reading about the 'total change' of the pop tarts who spend slight amounts of time in rehab, jail and on probation makes me ill. How can anyone possibly glean anything useful and/or permanent from 82 minutes in jail? One day in rehab? 4 hours in rehab? And it makes me wonder, just who do they think they are kidding?
Frankly, I DO hope they will sort out their lives free of the cocaine, the booze, the rampant sex and the distorted Hollyweird value system that brings them to the brink anyway. They need to clean up, grow up, sober up and wise up. And buy some dadgum UNDERWEAR!
I just have to tell you that if it were me in all of those unflattering mug shots, the local constabulary and circuit court judge would be SO much less forgiving than the holier than thou crowd in California who believe the faux sincerity and drink it in like so much mother's milk. Makes me wonder just what kind of mother they all had as children. Mommy Dearest springs to mind, but I digress.
Since I am related to a police sergeant and grew up knowing several of the more prominent lawyers in the local legal system, I am quite sure that they would throw me UNDER the jail and throw away the key. None of this '4 hours in scary old rehab and I'm cured' crap.
No siree!
I'd be scrubbing the floors with my toothbrush for all eternity and sharing my spacious cell with some really 'attractive' woman named Wanda who makes meth while babysitting and spending all of my free time learning how to be a hooker in a small town from this woman with three teeth missing right in front.
Who knew? If you are a 'john', I guess the higher YOU are, the better SHE looks. GROSS!!!
Calls to Daddy would go unanswered as he would most assuredly let me experience the joys and sorrows of accountability for my actions. And he would say so on the evening news before God and everybody.
The judge in our community is all about responsibility here, and I am not talking about that PR spin version of responsibility that actually comes out more like 'who can I blame and still keep my career intact?'
His is more like the responsibility that involves 12 steps that you can't skip through, reporting to a probation officer and keeping your nose clean - inside and out. Basically, the judge here is a zero fun kind of guy for the pop tart crowd.
Rehab in the rural part of America understands that you can't get off the moonshine in a couple of hours. It also knows that addiction to drugs takes more than a sound byte to cleanse your body and soul of the craving. More than anything, rehab in this part of the country still involves good, old-fashioned SHAME about what you have done to family, friends, employers and self.
That is one particular element I find missing from the headlines, and the most disturbing.
None of the elite seem particularly shamed to be busted. They only seem annoyed that the party stopped. There is no sense of 'oops - my bad', but instead, it's more like they honestly feel the world should continue to patronize them and make it easier for them because they suffer under the tremendous burden of making more money than the rest of us will ever see for mediocre work performed under the influence.
In order for anyone to be successful in changing their lives, they need to make a complete transformation of all facets of life. They have to be willing to change, pure and simple. To do otherwise is to mock the sincere efforts of those who have realized that they are literally out of options and must change or die.
And that is a truth that you cannot manufacture like a fake tear.
I'd like to see all of those stars sent to our local lock-up. They stuff them into orange jumpsuits or the traditional convict wear of black and white striped pajamas and put their butts out on the road picking up dirty diapers, empty plastic bottles and a host of disgusting roadside refuse that clutters the shoulders of our rural highways. Sounds like photo-op time, boys. Fire up those cameras for the daily rags and make those digital cameras smoke.
Convicts here are given work 'opportunities' that are both public and humiliating. It's pre-arranged payback for the embarrasment their choices have brought into the lives of those who love them and previously trusted them. The trust part has to be earned back the hard way. Even a kindly old Grandma in the South gets sick of making excuses for Peanut's bad behavior and will come upside her head for a lick of sense now and again.
I have a novel idea for the pop tarts and their assorted groupies and sycophants. California judges should sentence the priveledged princesses to hard labor in the post Katrina garbage dump that is still the Lower Ninth Ward in New Orleans. The rich and famous should get the chance to clean up the mess that is no less devastating in their personal lives than Katrina was and is to the residents of the Big Easy while shoveling out some post storm damage.
And they shouldn't get any special treatment.
They should have to live in the squalor as they clean it. That seems to be good enough for the people of New Orleans to suffer through on a daily basis, so why can't the pop tarts and their entourage enjoy the same opportunity? Sentencing should be hard labor, 40 hours a week, for about a year or two in an area of the nation that has seen it's share of loss and devastation. No days of for a manicure or a massage. No weekends off to jet away to another cleaner location. No special foods, no personal trainer, no PR and definately NO managers. Unless we get to put the manager and the parents in on the ticket with the pop tart... that would truly be an interesting twist. Make the parents join the wayward child in cleaning up their image by cleaning up a town.
No buy - outs. No slick lawyers. And if they lawyer up, the lawyer joins them by day and does pro-bono work on the side by night for those who have lost everything in the hurricane and been robbed by the billion dollar a year insurance companies.
Maybe a stark dose of the reality of what suffering truly is would help the pampered princesses and their not so royal court to see just how pampered they really are. Even if it doesn't sink in and they return to their life of crime, the photo ops of the beautiful people dirtying their hands in the moldy remnants of the once heralded city would be a kind of penance that money can't buy.
I believe in the processes of repentance and forgiveness. But the part that is being skipped all too frequently in the equation of putting a shattered life back together is the part called 'restitution'.
You can't restore something without undergoing a major overhaul of every element from foundation to rooftop. This also applies to a person's life.
If these people are truly sincere about changing not only their life but the perceptions and beliefs about the sincerity of their purpose, they need to attach some serious financial and personal expense to the process.
Gilbert and Sullivan had it right when they said 'Let the punishment fit the crime".
Until the rich and famous feel the same intensity of punishment the great unwashed feel for the same crime, then they haven't experienced what it takes to truly make them sorry enough to desire change. Even then, the process has set backs and problems. Afterall, we are still sadly human.
But if you put the poptarts in a cell with someone who will not be impressed by their salary and Hollyweird career, it just might make an impact on them.
If it doesn't, then we can only hope and pray that the children of the world will somehow see through the phoniness and sham that is stardom and choose something better for themselves.
But reading about the 'total change' of the pop tarts who spend slight amounts of time in rehab, jail and on probation makes me ill. How can anyone possibly glean anything useful and/or permanent from 82 minutes in jail? One day in rehab? 4 hours in rehab? And it makes me wonder, just who do they think they are kidding?
Frankly, I DO hope they will sort out their lives free of the cocaine, the booze, the rampant sex and the distorted Hollyweird value system that brings them to the brink anyway. They need to clean up, grow up, sober up and wise up. And buy some dadgum UNDERWEAR!
I just have to tell you that if it were me in all of those unflattering mug shots, the local constabulary and circuit court judge would be SO much less forgiving than the holier than thou crowd in California who believe the faux sincerity and drink it in like so much mother's milk. Makes me wonder just what kind of mother they all had as children. Mommy Dearest springs to mind, but I digress.
Since I am related to a police sergeant and grew up knowing several of the more prominent lawyers in the local legal system, I am quite sure that they would throw me UNDER the jail and throw away the key. None of this '4 hours in scary old rehab and I'm cured' crap.
No siree!
I'd be scrubbing the floors with my toothbrush for all eternity and sharing my spacious cell with some really 'attractive' woman named Wanda who makes meth while babysitting and spending all of my free time learning how to be a hooker in a small town from this woman with three teeth missing right in front.
Who knew? If you are a 'john', I guess the higher YOU are, the better SHE looks. GROSS!!!
Calls to Daddy would go unanswered as he would most assuredly let me experience the joys and sorrows of accountability for my actions. And he would say so on the evening news before God and everybody.
The judge in our community is all about responsibility here, and I am not talking about that PR spin version of responsibility that actually comes out more like 'who can I blame and still keep my career intact?'
His is more like the responsibility that involves 12 steps that you can't skip through, reporting to a probation officer and keeping your nose clean - inside and out. Basically, the judge here is a zero fun kind of guy for the pop tart crowd.
Rehab in the rural part of America understands that you can't get off the moonshine in a couple of hours. It also knows that addiction to drugs takes more than a sound byte to cleanse your body and soul of the craving. More than anything, rehab in this part of the country still involves good, old-fashioned SHAME about what you have done to family, friends, employers and self.
That is one particular element I find missing from the headlines, and the most disturbing.
None of the elite seem particularly shamed to be busted. They only seem annoyed that the party stopped. There is no sense of 'oops - my bad', but instead, it's more like they honestly feel the world should continue to patronize them and make it easier for them because they suffer under the tremendous burden of making more money than the rest of us will ever see for mediocre work performed under the influence.
In order for anyone to be successful in changing their lives, they need to make a complete transformation of all facets of life. They have to be willing to change, pure and simple. To do otherwise is to mock the sincere efforts of those who have realized that they are literally out of options and must change or die.
And that is a truth that you cannot manufacture like a fake tear.
I'd like to see all of those stars sent to our local lock-up. They stuff them into orange jumpsuits or the traditional convict wear of black and white striped pajamas and put their butts out on the road picking up dirty diapers, empty plastic bottles and a host of disgusting roadside refuse that clutters the shoulders of our rural highways. Sounds like photo-op time, boys. Fire up those cameras for the daily rags and make those digital cameras smoke.
Convicts here are given work 'opportunities' that are both public and humiliating. It's pre-arranged payback for the embarrasment their choices have brought into the lives of those who love them and previously trusted them. The trust part has to be earned back the hard way. Even a kindly old Grandma in the South gets sick of making excuses for Peanut's bad behavior and will come upside her head for a lick of sense now and again.
I have a novel idea for the pop tarts and their assorted groupies and sycophants. California judges should sentence the priveledged princesses to hard labor in the post Katrina garbage dump that is still the Lower Ninth Ward in New Orleans. The rich and famous should get the chance to clean up the mess that is no less devastating in their personal lives than Katrina was and is to the residents of the Big Easy while shoveling out some post storm damage.
And they shouldn't get any special treatment.
They should have to live in the squalor as they clean it. That seems to be good enough for the people of New Orleans to suffer through on a daily basis, so why can't the pop tarts and their entourage enjoy the same opportunity? Sentencing should be hard labor, 40 hours a week, for about a year or two in an area of the nation that has seen it's share of loss and devastation. No days of for a manicure or a massage. No weekends off to jet away to another cleaner location. No special foods, no personal trainer, no PR and definately NO managers. Unless we get to put the manager and the parents in on the ticket with the pop tart... that would truly be an interesting twist. Make the parents join the wayward child in cleaning up their image by cleaning up a town.
No buy - outs. No slick lawyers. And if they lawyer up, the lawyer joins them by day and does pro-bono work on the side by night for those who have lost everything in the hurricane and been robbed by the billion dollar a year insurance companies.
Maybe a stark dose of the reality of what suffering truly is would help the pampered princesses and their not so royal court to see just how pampered they really are. Even if it doesn't sink in and they return to their life of crime, the photo ops of the beautiful people dirtying their hands in the moldy remnants of the once heralded city would be a kind of penance that money can't buy.
I believe in the processes of repentance and forgiveness. But the part that is being skipped all too frequently in the equation of putting a shattered life back together is the part called 'restitution'.
You can't restore something without undergoing a major overhaul of every element from foundation to rooftop. This also applies to a person's life.
If these people are truly sincere about changing not only their life but the perceptions and beliefs about the sincerity of their purpose, they need to attach some serious financial and personal expense to the process.
Gilbert and Sullivan had it right when they said 'Let the punishment fit the crime".
Until the rich and famous feel the same intensity of punishment the great unwashed feel for the same crime, then they haven't experienced what it takes to truly make them sorry enough to desire change. Even then, the process has set backs and problems. Afterall, we are still sadly human.
But if you put the poptarts in a cell with someone who will not be impressed by their salary and Hollyweird career, it just might make an impact on them.
If it doesn't, then we can only hope and pray that the children of the world will somehow see through the phoniness and sham that is stardom and choose something better for themselves.
August 23, 2007
Diet food must die
While talking on the phone today to Beth, we were comparing notes on healthy and not so healthy choices for eating in order to achieve the invisible and unattainable nirvana of 'the perfect weight'.
Personally, I'd settle for weighing less than my deep freezer.
But, have you noticed that if it is labeled 'diet' in any way, the manufacturers are COMPELLED to make it inedible, thus rendering your money wasted and your taste buds murdered by the fiendish combinations of 'flavors' that are alleged to be just like the real thing.
For there record: cholesterol free, fat free, non-cheese shreds substitute is only useful to replace the tread on your old, comfortable tennis shoes. The flavor was nothing like the cheddar cheese Mom used to buy and the stuff didn't melt. I don't mean a little. I mean NONE. The little shreds of what had to be orange rubber just lay there atop the 'nutritious' casserole I was making that was certain to shave off the pounds, remove cholesterol from my arteries and restore youth and vigor to my body.
GROSS! I couldn't get to the bathroom fast enough!
I lost weight that night, but most assuredly it was not in the way I had intended. So much for cheeseless cheese.
Some time later, in the ongoing attempt I am making to reduce my body beyond heavyweight contention, I made the youthful mistake of getting a box of cereal that was advertised as a diet cereal that was 'oh so yummy'. Okay, I'll play along. I didn't pay anything for the alleged cereal since I had a coupon for a trial box and figured smugly that I was doing something good for both body and wallet.
Wrong on both counts.
I would have PAID somebody to slap the spoon out of my hand if it would remove the nasty taste from my offended palate!
Coming from the box, the cereal (and I use the term loosely here) resembling nothing so much as some sun dried worms. It looked nothing like the cheerful berry bedecked bowl full of nutrition that the box indicated was inside.
I think the worms would have tasted better, berries or not.
I dumped the remaining offending contents across the lawn out back. I figured the wild animals would eat it. Apparently even wild animals have standards and this cereal was CLEARLY not within the parameters of edible material. I should have consulted them first.
It took TWO mowings before the giblets were sufficiently chopped up to disappear into the thatch of grass clippings on the lawn.
Maybe that is the mistake. I should skip the shopping altogether and simply eat the grass clippings that accumulate in the grass catcher. They are free, when in season, and the decidedly oily taste from the mower would certainly reduce my desire to eat much of them and, in no time at all, I could be svelte, sexy and below double digit dress sizes.
Okay. STOP laughing. We both know double digits will ALWAYS be part of my future in clothing. I'd just like it if the first of the two numbers was a one. I know for a fact that there will never be a single digit because I have an ongoing love affair with food that will never end as long as I live.
Come to think about it, that is why I live some days. It's for the food. I know the old saying that you should 'Eat to live, not live to eat.' If food didn't taste so good and if I weren't a reasonably good cook, maybe I would like lettuce more. Or any rabbit food for that matter.
Since I know there must be some catalyst for the blame game, I will blame it all on the unhealthy preoccupation with beauty that led me to this sorry state of affairs. If I were a grizzly bear, my fat rolls would be considered desirable by the all the males in search of a winter home.
Sadly, I lack the ability to shape shift and I fear that even given the ability to do so, would somehow become the fattest hummingbird in recorded history. There is nothing so sad as a hummingbird who can't reach the nectar feeder. The other birds would point their wings and laugh, making rude comments about the size of my tail feathers and I'd be forced to stravage along on the leavings in cans and bottles that litter our roadways.
I guess the real issue here is finding something that has the word 'diet' somewhere in the description that doesn't make you focus solely on the first three letters.
For now, I guess the new rule of thumb needs to be 'if it tastes good, spit it out'. That brings up another disgusting habit, but at least I would be thinner.
Personally, I'd settle for weighing less than my deep freezer.
But, have you noticed that if it is labeled 'diet' in any way, the manufacturers are COMPELLED to make it inedible, thus rendering your money wasted and your taste buds murdered by the fiendish combinations of 'flavors' that are alleged to be just like the real thing.
For there record: cholesterol free, fat free, non-cheese shreds substitute is only useful to replace the tread on your old, comfortable tennis shoes. The flavor was nothing like the cheddar cheese Mom used to buy and the stuff didn't melt. I don't mean a little. I mean NONE. The little shreds of what had to be orange rubber just lay there atop the 'nutritious' casserole I was making that was certain to shave off the pounds, remove cholesterol from my arteries and restore youth and vigor to my body.
GROSS! I couldn't get to the bathroom fast enough!
I lost weight that night, but most assuredly it was not in the way I had intended. So much for cheeseless cheese.
Some time later, in the ongoing attempt I am making to reduce my body beyond heavyweight contention, I made the youthful mistake of getting a box of cereal that was advertised as a diet cereal that was 'oh so yummy'. Okay, I'll play along. I didn't pay anything for the alleged cereal since I had a coupon for a trial box and figured smugly that I was doing something good for both body and wallet.
Wrong on both counts.
I would have PAID somebody to slap the spoon out of my hand if it would remove the nasty taste from my offended palate!
Coming from the box, the cereal (and I use the term loosely here) resembling nothing so much as some sun dried worms. It looked nothing like the cheerful berry bedecked bowl full of nutrition that the box indicated was inside.
I think the worms would have tasted better, berries or not.
I dumped the remaining offending contents across the lawn out back. I figured the wild animals would eat it. Apparently even wild animals have standards and this cereal was CLEARLY not within the parameters of edible material. I should have consulted them first.
It took TWO mowings before the giblets were sufficiently chopped up to disappear into the thatch of grass clippings on the lawn.
Maybe that is the mistake. I should skip the shopping altogether and simply eat the grass clippings that accumulate in the grass catcher. They are free, when in season, and the decidedly oily taste from the mower would certainly reduce my desire to eat much of them and, in no time at all, I could be svelte, sexy and below double digit dress sizes.
Okay. STOP laughing. We both know double digits will ALWAYS be part of my future in clothing. I'd just like it if the first of the two numbers was a one. I know for a fact that there will never be a single digit because I have an ongoing love affair with food that will never end as long as I live.
Come to think about it, that is why I live some days. It's for the food. I know the old saying that you should 'Eat to live, not live to eat.' If food didn't taste so good and if I weren't a reasonably good cook, maybe I would like lettuce more. Or any rabbit food for that matter.
Since I know there must be some catalyst for the blame game, I will blame it all on the unhealthy preoccupation with beauty that led me to this sorry state of affairs. If I were a grizzly bear, my fat rolls would be considered desirable by the all the males in search of a winter home.
Sadly, I lack the ability to shape shift and I fear that even given the ability to do so, would somehow become the fattest hummingbird in recorded history. There is nothing so sad as a hummingbird who can't reach the nectar feeder. The other birds would point their wings and laugh, making rude comments about the size of my tail feathers and I'd be forced to stravage along on the leavings in cans and bottles that litter our roadways.
I guess the real issue here is finding something that has the word 'diet' somewhere in the description that doesn't make you focus solely on the first three letters.
For now, I guess the new rule of thumb needs to be 'if it tastes good, spit it out'. That brings up another disgusting habit, but at least I would be thinner.
August 22, 2007
Scorched feet and sanity
Any sane person would have known that melting the bottom of my feet while going out to retrieve junk mail was just stupid. But since I seldom can be considered sane, the idea that I would just trot out to the mailbox to bring in the day's mail seemed like a good one.
Sadly, I had neglected to consider the roughly volcanic temperature of the driveway and street surfaces I would be required to cross.
The first half of the journey seemed relatively warm but nothing too bad. Afterall, I am a girl who is accustomed to the barefoot portion of life. And the mailbox, even considering the rural segment of the nation I call home, is hardly miles away.
I cracked open the mailbox and pulled out a couple of junk mail items worthy of only cursory attention, then went to retrieve the garbage can to return to the house. That is when the temperature inversion began. Warmth turned into pain and the bottom of my feet began to feel most unpleasant.
When I got back inside, it was evident that my feet could now be buttered because they were toast.
As to the ponderings of the rest of the day with my feet underneath the ceiling fan to cool off, I consoled myself by remembering that I had witnessed a moment of hilarity earlier that trumped my 3 seconds of walking on asphalt barefooted.
The garbage truck came by and the long armed claw reached out to grab the large green, wheeled bin and dump its contents into the white and smelly truck. The arm lifted the bin (with its wheels spinning aimlessly) higher and higher until, through a moment of what can only be termed accidental stupidity (much like toasting my own feet), the operator OPENED the claw and released not only the trash but the bin as well into the depths of the truck.
I about fell out laughing!
Then, the hapless operator, who is never technically supposed to have to touch the nasty garbage, was compelled to CLIMB INTO THE TRUCK amid the filth, dirty diapers, left over food scraps and assorted unmentionable leavings of society to pull my garbage bin back out of his smelly truck.
He was NOT a happy camper. I had tears streaming down my cheeks as I laughed out loud.
I was looking out the window as the can began to levitate over the side and be hurled to the ground by the now angry garbage truck driver, his lips were moving non-stop in phrases that were less than Christian. I couldn't hear him, but I certainly could read his lips very well.
I imagine climbing into his truck was as far from his mind as burning my feet was to me this morning at the crack of dawn.
Some days just aren't worth getting out of bed.
Sadly, I had neglected to consider the roughly volcanic temperature of the driveway and street surfaces I would be required to cross.
The first half of the journey seemed relatively warm but nothing too bad. Afterall, I am a girl who is accustomed to the barefoot portion of life. And the mailbox, even considering the rural segment of the nation I call home, is hardly miles away.
I cracked open the mailbox and pulled out a couple of junk mail items worthy of only cursory attention, then went to retrieve the garbage can to return to the house. That is when the temperature inversion began. Warmth turned into pain and the bottom of my feet began to feel most unpleasant.
When I got back inside, it was evident that my feet could now be buttered because they were toast.
As to the ponderings of the rest of the day with my feet underneath the ceiling fan to cool off, I consoled myself by remembering that I had witnessed a moment of hilarity earlier that trumped my 3 seconds of walking on asphalt barefooted.
The garbage truck came by and the long armed claw reached out to grab the large green, wheeled bin and dump its contents into the white and smelly truck. The arm lifted the bin (with its wheels spinning aimlessly) higher and higher until, through a moment of what can only be termed accidental stupidity (much like toasting my own feet), the operator OPENED the claw and released not only the trash but the bin as well into the depths of the truck.
I about fell out laughing!
Then, the hapless operator, who is never technically supposed to have to touch the nasty garbage, was compelled to CLIMB INTO THE TRUCK amid the filth, dirty diapers, left over food scraps and assorted unmentionable leavings of society to pull my garbage bin back out of his smelly truck.
He was NOT a happy camper. I had tears streaming down my cheeks as I laughed out loud.
I was looking out the window as the can began to levitate over the side and be hurled to the ground by the now angry garbage truck driver, his lips were moving non-stop in phrases that were less than Christian. I couldn't hear him, but I certainly could read his lips very well.
I imagine climbing into his truck was as far from his mind as burning my feet was to me this morning at the crack of dawn.
Some days just aren't worth getting out of bed.
August 21, 2007
Sleep
We were having a discussion about sleeping this evening and the variables surrounding what is enough and what is too much.
My husband brings the genetic equivalent of Sominex to the table. Regardless of how many naps or the duration of said nap, he is always ready to catch 40 winks and be none the worse for wear. Even a long nap on a Sunday afternoon does nothing to deter the sleep patterns of his evening slumber. While useful to his side of the household, to me it just seems like bragging. It is
sort of like that statement which says; "Consciousness - that annoying period between naps."
I, on the other hand, can ruin a good night's rest by having a single nap of a hour.
God bless him, my oldest son takes after my sleep patterns and my youngest takes after his fathers'. We discovered this particular unsavory truth over the last couple of days in relation to the oldest son. He had come in from his VERY labor intensive job as a stonemason in a veritable pile of exhausted, sweaty splendor.
Between the amount of dust covering him and the sore and tired muscles that dragged him in from the jobsite, he was indeed worn down to the nub. Feeling that a much deserved nap would help ease the pain of the day, he managed to shower and toss himself into the armchair and spread out across the ottoman for a rest.
Sadly, he discovered the painful truth. Sleep fled later that night like a herd of wild mustangs across an unforgiving landscape. Tossing and turning on a bed now as uncomfortable as a night on rocky ground, the hours ticked by in a slow motion parade that left him more tired in the morning than he had been when his work ended the day before.
If there was some way to tap into the wellspring of all day naps that my husband and oldest son share in order to give a refreshing draught of sleep to the rest of us, it would be great. I have no idea what I could offer them in return. I would be willing to offer the ability to NOT sleep during the day to the two of them and see if they can make use of it. Or perhaps a sense of guilt that they can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.
But alas, we are left with the genetic markers of our biological fates. Baggy eyes and droopy countenance is the price we pay if naptime runs too long.
Maybe someone should look into this and see if there is a government grant made to study this phenomenon. While I don't claim to be a scientist, I did learn about the scientific method in school, so that should be enough.
After all, our tax dollars are supporting the testing of road kill as an alternative fuel source (imagine what THAT exhaust would smell like - GROSS!), so why not fund me with the few million it will take for the first year of human testing on the efficacy of naptime past elementary school.
I can even offer it in a bilingual setting since I know those thoughtful people south of the border practice the time honored and much respected afternoon siesta. Why on earth they would want to come over the border to the land of pills that keep you awake is beyond me entirely.
My eyes are getting heavy even as I sit here. I am hoping to fall alseep fast like the TV commercials promise, but I don't want to take a pill to get there. I worry that if I take those pills I will not only fall asleep, but that I will STAY asleep. Sort of a female version of Rip Van Winkle.
Or make that Rita van Wrinkle.
When I do reach that Nirvana of sleep that is like floating along between the heavens and earth, I have technicolor dreams and sometimes Cinemascope nightmares. Inevitably, whatever flavor of sleep I get is accompanied by enough drool to float out a small fleet of Her Majesty's finest mail ships. I awaken with the imprint of my hand, my wedding ring and my seriously in need of a manicure cuticle prints adorning my face. On lucky days, it is merely the imprint of the comforter and pillowcase on my side of the bed that graces the creases pressed into my face by the sheer effort of wresting a nights' sleep from the Sandman.
Sleep beckons me and I will heed its siren song and take to my blanket for some shut eye. Maybe tomorrow will be the day that I discover the secret to sleeping without regret, remorse or consequence.
If not, there will always be another night for my research.
My husband brings the genetic equivalent of Sominex to the table. Regardless of how many naps or the duration of said nap, he is always ready to catch 40 winks and be none the worse for wear. Even a long nap on a Sunday afternoon does nothing to deter the sleep patterns of his evening slumber. While useful to his side of the household, to me it just seems like bragging. It is
sort of like that statement which says; "Consciousness - that annoying period between naps."
I, on the other hand, can ruin a good night's rest by having a single nap of a hour.
God bless him, my oldest son takes after my sleep patterns and my youngest takes after his fathers'. We discovered this particular unsavory truth over the last couple of days in relation to the oldest son. He had come in from his VERY labor intensive job as a stonemason in a veritable pile of exhausted, sweaty splendor.
Between the amount of dust covering him and the sore and tired muscles that dragged him in from the jobsite, he was indeed worn down to the nub. Feeling that a much deserved nap would help ease the pain of the day, he managed to shower and toss himself into the armchair and spread out across the ottoman for a rest.
Sadly, he discovered the painful truth. Sleep fled later that night like a herd of wild mustangs across an unforgiving landscape. Tossing and turning on a bed now as uncomfortable as a night on rocky ground, the hours ticked by in a slow motion parade that left him more tired in the morning than he had been when his work ended the day before.
If there was some way to tap into the wellspring of all day naps that my husband and oldest son share in order to give a refreshing draught of sleep to the rest of us, it would be great. I have no idea what I could offer them in return. I would be willing to offer the ability to NOT sleep during the day to the two of them and see if they can make use of it. Or perhaps a sense of guilt that they can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.
But alas, we are left with the genetic markers of our biological fates. Baggy eyes and droopy countenance is the price we pay if naptime runs too long.
Maybe someone should look into this and see if there is a government grant made to study this phenomenon. While I don't claim to be a scientist, I did learn about the scientific method in school, so that should be enough.
After all, our tax dollars are supporting the testing of road kill as an alternative fuel source (imagine what THAT exhaust would smell like - GROSS!), so why not fund me with the few million it will take for the first year of human testing on the efficacy of naptime past elementary school.
I can even offer it in a bilingual setting since I know those thoughtful people south of the border practice the time honored and much respected afternoon siesta. Why on earth they would want to come over the border to the land of pills that keep you awake is beyond me entirely.
My eyes are getting heavy even as I sit here. I am hoping to fall alseep fast like the TV commercials promise, but I don't want to take a pill to get there. I worry that if I take those pills I will not only fall asleep, but that I will STAY asleep. Sort of a female version of Rip Van Winkle.
Or make that Rita van Wrinkle.
When I do reach that Nirvana of sleep that is like floating along between the heavens and earth, I have technicolor dreams and sometimes Cinemascope nightmares. Inevitably, whatever flavor of sleep I get is accompanied by enough drool to float out a small fleet of Her Majesty's finest mail ships. I awaken with the imprint of my hand, my wedding ring and my seriously in need of a manicure cuticle prints adorning my face. On lucky days, it is merely the imprint of the comforter and pillowcase on my side of the bed that graces the creases pressed into my face by the sheer effort of wresting a nights' sleep from the Sandman.
Sleep beckons me and I will heed its siren song and take to my blanket for some shut eye. Maybe tomorrow will be the day that I discover the secret to sleeping without regret, remorse or consequence.
If not, there will always be another night for my research.
A Bit of Perspective . . .
Each year, our world is blessed by the rising generation reaching the age of majority and going into the world at large for education, trade and training or military service. Some marry and some just drift.
Within each one is a clock that started the day they drew their first breath and will tick until the Good Lord calls them home.
So, let's do some homework.
According to Beloit College, here is a bit of a head start on how those in the latest crop of college age kids have fared thus far in their life.
Most of the students entering College this fall, members of the Class of 2011, were born in 1989.
For them, Alvin Ailey, Andrei Sakharov, Huey Newton, Emperor Hirohito, Ted Bundy, Abbie Hoffman, and Don the Beachcomber have always been dead.
1. What Berlin wall?
2. Humvees, minus the artillery, have always been available to the public.
3. Rush Limbaugh and the "Dittoheads" have always been lambasting liberals.
4. They never "rolled down" a car window.
5. Michael Moore has always been angry and funny.
6. They may confuse the Keating Five with a rock group.
7. They have grown up with bottled water.
8. General Motors has always been working on an electric car.
9. Nelson Mandela has always been free and a force in South Africa.
10. Pete Rose has never played baseball.
11. Rap music has always been mainstream.
12. Religious leaders have always been telling politicians what to do, or else!
13. "Off the hook" has never had anything to do with a telephone.
14. Music has always been "unplugged."
15. Russia has always had a multi-party political system.
16. Women have always been police chiefs in major cities.
17. They were born the year Harvard Law Review Editor Barack Obama announced he might run for office some day.
18. The NBA season has always gone on and on and on and on.
19. Classmates could include Michelle Wie, Jordin Sparks, and Bart Simpson.
20. Half of them may have been members of the Baby-sitters Club.
21. Eastern Airlines has never "earned their wings" in their lifetime.
22. No one has ever been able to sit down comfortably to a meal of "liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."
23. Wal-Mart has always been a larger retailer than Sears and has always employed more workers than GM.
24. Being "lame" has to do with being dumb or inarticulate, not disabled.
25. Wolf Blitzer has always been serving up the news on CNN.
26. Katie Couric has always had screen cred.
27. Al Gore has always been running for president or thinking about it.
28. They never found a prize in a Coca-Cola "MagiCan."
29. They were too young to understand Judas Priest's subliminal messages.
30. When all else fails, the Prozac defense has always been a possibility.
31. Multigrain chips have always provided healthful junk food.
32. They grew up in Wayne's World.
33. U2 has always been more than a spy plane.
34. They were introduced to Jack Nicholson as "The Joker."
35. Stadiums, rock tours and sporting events have always had corporate names.
36. American rock groups have always appeared in Moscow.
37. Commercial product placements have been the norm in films and on TV.
38. On Parents' Day on campus, their folks could be mixing it up with Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz with daughter Zöe, or Kathie Lee and Frank Gifford with son Cody.
39. Fox has always been a major network.
40. They drove their parents crazy with the Beavis and Butt-head laugh.
41. The "Blue Man Group" has always been everywhere.
42. Women's studies majors have always been offered on campus.
43. Being a latchkey kid has never been a big deal.
44. Thanks to MySpace and Facebook, autobiography can happen in real time.
45. They learned about JFK from Oliver Stone and Malcolm X from Spike Lee.
46. Most phone calls have never been private.
47. High definition television has always been available.
48. Microbreweries have always been ubiquitous.
49. Virtual reality has always been available when the real thing failed.
50. Smoking has never been allowed in public spaces in France.
51. China has always been more interested in making money than in reeducation.
52. Time has always worked with Warner.
53. Tiananmen Square is a 2008 Olympics venue, not the scene of a massacre.
54. The purchase of ivory has always been banned.
55. MTV has never featured music videos.
56. The space program has never really caught their attention except in disasters.
57. Jerry Springer has always been lowering the level of discourse on TV.
58. They get much more information from Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert than from the newspaper.
59. They're always texting 1 n other.
60. They will encounter roughly equal numbers of female and male professors in the classroom.
61. They never saw Johnny Carson live on television.
62. They have no idea who Rusty Jones was or why he said "goodbye to rusty cars."
63. Avatars have nothing to do with Hindu deities.
64. Chavez has nothing to do with iceberg lettuce and everything to do with oil.
65. Illinois has been trying to ban smoking since the year they were born.
66. The World Wide Web has been an online tool since they were born.
67. Chronic fatigue syndrome has always been debilitating and controversial.
68. Burma has always been Myanmar.
69 Dilbert has always been ridiculing cubicle culture.
70. Food packaging has always included nutritional labeling.
It certainly begs the question: how would they survive in the world that their parents knew?
Let's take a trip back to the 50's and 60's and review a bit.
1. If you got thirsty and wanted a drink of water, you either went into the kitchen (without banging the screen door, thank you!) and drank from the tap in the kitchen or from the trusty garden hose at the spigot beneath the weeping willow during the summer.
2. We cried when the news broadcasts showed the Berlin Wall fall. And we celebrated! (and for the record, my son will be serving a mission in the area that was formerly behind the wall!)
3. Text messages involved either a 'manual' or a temperamental electric typewriter that had an eraser or a bottle of White-Out nearby. Multiple copies were generated with 'carbon paper'.
4. Humvee? You mean Jeep, right?
5. Rolling down the car windows and driving fast WAS the air conditioner.
6. "Charlie Hustle" made the Cincinnati Reds games worth watching! Pete Rose diving head first into home plate for a score was a guaranteed good time.
7. Few people had ever heard of Prozac.
8. Venezuela was not much more than a wide spot on the road when it came to world attention or power brokering.
9. Nutritional labeling meant your mother sniffed the week old pot roast leavings and labeled it good to eat or good to go in the garbage.
10. Private telephone calls were considered normal. Only rude people "talked about their dirty laundry" in front of strangers.
While I can't possibly come up with an answer to them all on the spot, you get the idea.
Some of the things that have come along in the intervening years since my childhood and adolescence have definately been vast improvements over the old ways from the past.
But I can't help but wonder about some of the 'improvements' we are offering to our kids are really doing them any favors over time. Momma used to say 'every child needs to eat a tablespoon full of dirt before they get grown'. And yes, we did make mud pies and occasionally double-dog dare each other to 'take a little bite!'
We were holding a car wash for the kids at church one day to help them raise money for summer camp expenses and one boy pulled up the garden hose and was going in for a cool, refreshing drink when his mother cried out in total panic. "DON'T DRINK FROM THAT FILTHY, NASTY HOSE!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE IT'S BEEN AND WHAT TOXIC MATERIALS ARE IN IT!!"
The kid dropped the hose like it had been a writhing cobra ready to strike and darted over to get a bottle of sparkling water fresh from the tap in back of the warehouse in Paramus, New Jersey. But the LABEL said "Spring water from artesian wells deep in the foothills of Gaa gaa land." That must make it infinitely better. Certainly more expensive. (And it does pay the bills for Vinnie and his lovely wife Marie...the one with the nice mustache.)
WHATEVER!
Although I have been known to drink bottled water on occasion, I have never been known to turn down a fresh drink from a garden hose. I have had to wash the dirt off of the end from time to time, but again, when you are thirsty, a bit of dirt won't kill you. (reference Momma's comment above) At least it wouldn't in the childhood I experienced.
Now we are told that our water is more toxin than H20 and contains enough filth to create a rainbow of algea colors. I am not too sure all of their careful filtering and osmotic changes can remove it all. But if it's in a bottle, we buy it at a buck thirty five a pop and suck it down like it is better than...,well,...water.
Al Gore and his rabid followers talk big about the problems of pollution in the world and buy up some ridiculous stuff called "Carbon Offsets". What they really are is the modern day equivalent of conscripts, who were poor men hired and paid to fight in place of some pitiful cowardly rich boy who wouldn't own up to his personal responsibilty and found some Bubba to go to war for him.
How can you pay a fee to pollute and leave a ginormous mess behind and say you are "pollution free" and leaving "no carbon footprint"??? It's like sending Bubba off to war to be killed in your stead. Sure, you are still alive, but what about Bubba - he is dead! Whatever money he got paid was most certainly given to his hard pressed family and is no more.
Saying that you personally aren't leaving a carbon footprint didn't toss one lily on poor Bubba's grave. Somebody still has to pay the piper for the dance. And the whackos think it shouldn't ever be them that picks up the check.
Okay people, the fact is that money can't fix everything and times do change. But if we forget the things that brought us to this point and time, our personal perspective can't help but be skewed by an abundant lack of material conclusions.
Somewhere out there is the truth. Or at least an unreasonable facsimile of the same.
Within each one is a clock that started the day they drew their first breath and will tick until the Good Lord calls them home.
So, let's do some homework.
According to Beloit College, here is a bit of a head start on how those in the latest crop of college age kids have fared thus far in their life.
Most of the students entering College this fall, members of the Class of 2011, were born in 1989.
For them, Alvin Ailey, Andrei Sakharov, Huey Newton, Emperor Hirohito, Ted Bundy, Abbie Hoffman, and Don the Beachcomber have always been dead.
1. What Berlin wall?
2. Humvees, minus the artillery, have always been available to the public.
3. Rush Limbaugh and the "Dittoheads" have always been lambasting liberals.
4. They never "rolled down" a car window.
5. Michael Moore has always been angry and funny.
6. They may confuse the Keating Five with a rock group.
7. They have grown up with bottled water.
8. General Motors has always been working on an electric car.
9. Nelson Mandela has always been free and a force in South Africa.
10. Pete Rose has never played baseball.
11. Rap music has always been mainstream.
12. Religious leaders have always been telling politicians what to do, or else!
13. "Off the hook" has never had anything to do with a telephone.
14. Music has always been "unplugged."
15. Russia has always had a multi-party political system.
16. Women have always been police chiefs in major cities.
17. They were born the year Harvard Law Review Editor Barack Obama announced he might run for office some day.
18. The NBA season has always gone on and on and on and on.
19. Classmates could include Michelle Wie, Jordin Sparks, and Bart Simpson.
20. Half of them may have been members of the Baby-sitters Club.
21. Eastern Airlines has never "earned their wings" in their lifetime.
22. No one has ever been able to sit down comfortably to a meal of "liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."
23. Wal-Mart has always been a larger retailer than Sears and has always employed more workers than GM.
24. Being "lame" has to do with being dumb or inarticulate, not disabled.
25. Wolf Blitzer has always been serving up the news on CNN.
26. Katie Couric has always had screen cred.
27. Al Gore has always been running for president or thinking about it.
28. They never found a prize in a Coca-Cola "MagiCan."
29. They were too young to understand Judas Priest's subliminal messages.
30. When all else fails, the Prozac defense has always been a possibility.
31. Multigrain chips have always provided healthful junk food.
32. They grew up in Wayne's World.
33. U2 has always been more than a spy plane.
34. They were introduced to Jack Nicholson as "The Joker."
35. Stadiums, rock tours and sporting events have always had corporate names.
36. American rock groups have always appeared in Moscow.
37. Commercial product placements have been the norm in films and on TV.
38. On Parents' Day on campus, their folks could be mixing it up with Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz with daughter Zöe, or Kathie Lee and Frank Gifford with son Cody.
39. Fox has always been a major network.
40. They drove their parents crazy with the Beavis and Butt-head laugh.
41. The "Blue Man Group" has always been everywhere.
42. Women's studies majors have always been offered on campus.
43. Being a latchkey kid has never been a big deal.
44. Thanks to MySpace and Facebook, autobiography can happen in real time.
45. They learned about JFK from Oliver Stone and Malcolm X from Spike Lee.
46. Most phone calls have never been private.
47. High definition television has always been available.
48. Microbreweries have always been ubiquitous.
49. Virtual reality has always been available when the real thing failed.
50. Smoking has never been allowed in public spaces in France.
51. China has always been more interested in making money than in reeducation.
52. Time has always worked with Warner.
53. Tiananmen Square is a 2008 Olympics venue, not the scene of a massacre.
54. The purchase of ivory has always been banned.
55. MTV has never featured music videos.
56. The space program has never really caught their attention except in disasters.
57. Jerry Springer has always been lowering the level of discourse on TV.
58. They get much more information from Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert than from the newspaper.
59. They're always texting 1 n other.
60. They will encounter roughly equal numbers of female and male professors in the classroom.
61. They never saw Johnny Carson live on television.
62. They have no idea who Rusty Jones was or why he said "goodbye to rusty cars."
63. Avatars have nothing to do with Hindu deities.
64. Chavez has nothing to do with iceberg lettuce and everything to do with oil.
65. Illinois has been trying to ban smoking since the year they were born.
66. The World Wide Web has been an online tool since they were born.
67. Chronic fatigue syndrome has always been debilitating and controversial.
68. Burma has always been Myanmar.
69 Dilbert has always been ridiculing cubicle culture.
70. Food packaging has always included nutritional labeling.
It certainly begs the question: how would they survive in the world that their parents knew?
Let's take a trip back to the 50's and 60's and review a bit.
1. If you got thirsty and wanted a drink of water, you either went into the kitchen (without banging the screen door, thank you!) and drank from the tap in the kitchen or from the trusty garden hose at the spigot beneath the weeping willow during the summer.
2. We cried when the news broadcasts showed the Berlin Wall fall. And we celebrated! (and for the record, my son will be serving a mission in the area that was formerly behind the wall!)
3. Text messages involved either a 'manual' or a temperamental electric typewriter that had an eraser or a bottle of White-Out nearby. Multiple copies were generated with 'carbon paper'.
4. Humvee? You mean Jeep, right?
5. Rolling down the car windows and driving fast WAS the air conditioner.
6. "Charlie Hustle" made the Cincinnati Reds games worth watching! Pete Rose diving head first into home plate for a score was a guaranteed good time.
7. Few people had ever heard of Prozac.
8. Venezuela was not much more than a wide spot on the road when it came to world attention or power brokering.
9. Nutritional labeling meant your mother sniffed the week old pot roast leavings and labeled it good to eat or good to go in the garbage.
10. Private telephone calls were considered normal. Only rude people "talked about their dirty laundry" in front of strangers.
While I can't possibly come up with an answer to them all on the spot, you get the idea.
Some of the things that have come along in the intervening years since my childhood and adolescence have definately been vast improvements over the old ways from the past.
But I can't help but wonder about some of the 'improvements' we are offering to our kids are really doing them any favors over time. Momma used to say 'every child needs to eat a tablespoon full of dirt before they get grown'. And yes, we did make mud pies and occasionally double-dog dare each other to 'take a little bite!'
We were holding a car wash for the kids at church one day to help them raise money for summer camp expenses and one boy pulled up the garden hose and was going in for a cool, refreshing drink when his mother cried out in total panic. "DON'T DRINK FROM THAT FILTHY, NASTY HOSE!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE IT'S BEEN AND WHAT TOXIC MATERIALS ARE IN IT!!"
The kid dropped the hose like it had been a writhing cobra ready to strike and darted over to get a bottle of sparkling water fresh from the tap in back of the warehouse in Paramus, New Jersey. But the LABEL said "Spring water from artesian wells deep in the foothills of Gaa gaa land." That must make it infinitely better. Certainly more expensive. (And it does pay the bills for Vinnie and his lovely wife Marie...the one with the nice mustache.)
WHATEVER!
Although I have been known to drink bottled water on occasion, I have never been known to turn down a fresh drink from a garden hose. I have had to wash the dirt off of the end from time to time, but again, when you are thirsty, a bit of dirt won't kill you. (reference Momma's comment above) At least it wouldn't in the childhood I experienced.
Now we are told that our water is more toxin than H20 and contains enough filth to create a rainbow of algea colors. I am not too sure all of their careful filtering and osmotic changes can remove it all. But if it's in a bottle, we buy it at a buck thirty five a pop and suck it down like it is better than...,well,...water.
Al Gore and his rabid followers talk big about the problems of pollution in the world and buy up some ridiculous stuff called "Carbon Offsets". What they really are is the modern day equivalent of conscripts, who were poor men hired and paid to fight in place of some pitiful cowardly rich boy who wouldn't own up to his personal responsibilty and found some Bubba to go to war for him.
How can you pay a fee to pollute and leave a ginormous mess behind and say you are "pollution free" and leaving "no carbon footprint"??? It's like sending Bubba off to war to be killed in your stead. Sure, you are still alive, but what about Bubba - he is dead! Whatever money he got paid was most certainly given to his hard pressed family and is no more.
Saying that you personally aren't leaving a carbon footprint didn't toss one lily on poor Bubba's grave. Somebody still has to pay the piper for the dance. And the whackos think it shouldn't ever be them that picks up the check.
Okay people, the fact is that money can't fix everything and times do change. But if we forget the things that brought us to this point and time, our personal perspective can't help but be skewed by an abundant lack of material conclusions.
Somewhere out there is the truth. Or at least an unreasonable facsimile of the same.
August 19, 2007
Birthdays, indeed
Well, it would be in extremely poor taste for me to rant about feeling old and then not mention all of the ways my family and friends lavished gifts and their love upon me to make me feel both loved and young.
Because of an association for parents of high school band students, I have had the great good fortune of having some wonderful women in my life. They came by the house Friday and brought the traditional black balloons for the 'elderly' and a bouquet of flowers. There was also a stuffed horses' head - if you haven't seen the Godfather, it would take to long to explain.
Suffice it to say, these women and myself comprised the 'band mafia' that made the kids toe the line as surely as if we had taken the gun and left the canolli. We call ourselves "The Family" and gave ourselves familiar mafia names and job descriptions.
When I saw them at the door with smiling faces and bearing gifts, it really made my afternoon.
My best friend showed up as well turning the event into a real party atmosphere. She brought an iPod for my exercise music to go on and I delightedly began to learn how to use it (technologically savvy I am not).
Between Friday and Saturday I have had so many cards, emails and well wishers that I remember now why I never have considered myself old.
Remind me the next time I start whining that I am blessed beyond measure. Sometimes I forget.
Because of an association for parents of high school band students, I have had the great good fortune of having some wonderful women in my life. They came by the house Friday and brought the traditional black balloons for the 'elderly' and a bouquet of flowers. There was also a stuffed horses' head - if you haven't seen the Godfather, it would take to long to explain.
Suffice it to say, these women and myself comprised the 'band mafia' that made the kids toe the line as surely as if we had taken the gun and left the canolli. We call ourselves "The Family" and gave ourselves familiar mafia names and job descriptions.
When I saw them at the door with smiling faces and bearing gifts, it really made my afternoon.
My best friend showed up as well turning the event into a real party atmosphere. She brought an iPod for my exercise music to go on and I delightedly began to learn how to use it (technologically savvy I am not).
Between Friday and Saturday I have had so many cards, emails and well wishers that I remember now why I never have considered myself old.
Remind me the next time I start whining that I am blessed beyond measure. Sometimes I forget.
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