It's important in life to be flexible, to not always insist on doing things as you have always done them. My sister and I heartily embraced this philosophy during our Black Friday shopping, deciding that the day's endeavors need not be entirely given over to purchasing gifts for others.
Of course we are not so selfish as to not buy any gifts for anyone else. As noted in the previous blog post, we bought numerous gifts for each other.
But this time we decided that a new approach was needed to shopping for clothes for ourselves. We agreed that we should be open to new types and combinations of clothing items. No longer could we think of an outfit as a couple of separates sharing the same body. We needed to think in ensembles.
"Layers," my sister said. "We need to layer. Blouse, sweater, scarf..."
The problem with this approach, it turned out, was -- as my sister declared -- "it makes me look like a house."
This offers a good example of why women like to shop together: so they can persuade each other that, despite the evidence they plainly see in the mirror, they do NOT look like a house. Exchanges like the following are common in women's dressing rooms:
First female, trying on some item of clothing: Ugh. This makes me look like a house!
Supportive female: No, it does not.
First female: Are you SURE?
Supportive female: I think it looks great on you!
First female: It doesn't make my butt look like a house?
Supportive female: No!
First female: OK, I'll get it.
Sometimes, if the females are closely related or have otherwise known each other since childhood, you might hear this:
First female: Does this sweater make me look like a house?
Second female: No, that sweater does not make you look like a house.
First female: Thank you.
Second female: It makes you look like a factory.
In an effort to be supportive of my sister, I said, "Remember, we're being open...willing to try new things..."
She glared. "I will NOT be open to looking like a house."
So while not giving up entirely on the ensemble idea, we turned our attention to scarves. Scarves are easy, right? They're small. They can go with many different outfits. But we soon figured out that scarves are easy only if you know what the heck to do with them after putting them around your neck.
My sister remembered a technique she had watched someone do with a scarf, and we practiced this, right there in the department store, although we had to wander around the store for a while to find a mirror. As we practiced, other female would-be scarf-wearers joined us, sharing advice, techniques, their cell phone numbers in case we needed further advice after we took the scarf home and forgot what to do with it, etc.
After many treks back and forth to the mirror, I purchased an off-white scarf, which I realized later did not exactly contribute to the brightening of my wardrobe. But it did add some visual interest, particularly when I could not remember exactly how to tie it.
Of course I had to wear the scarf to work the first day I went back. I quickly discovered that while scarves are handy for creating the ensemble look, they are not so handy when you go to wash your hands in the restroom sink at work and there are puddles of water all over the counter, just at the height of the scarf. Or worse, the scarf is eager to check out the sink itself while you wash your hands.
But, as the Hero often says, maybe I can start a new trend: the soggy scarf look.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Black Friday or...play date
The Hero continues to participate in new social experiences, which are broadening his horizons and making him wonder what the Princess is going to drag him into next.
A few weeks ago he attended his first-ever baby shower, which was chronicled here. Over Thanksgiving weekend he was involved in another cultural pastime usually reserved for individuals of a somewhat different age group than his: a play date.
After a very pleasant Thanksgiving feast at a Certain Relative's house, and agreeing to stay in the area for a few days, the Hero firmly expressed his opinion on participating in Black Friday shopping ("No way"). My sister and I therefore dropped him off to spend some time at the home of the Certain Relatives, which includes a mother and father and two young children. The father stuck his head out the front door before we drove away and yelled, "What time are you coming to pick him up from his play date?" he said.
My sister and I, being Serious Shoppers, chafe at having any restrictions placed on our outings. "Can it be open-ended?" she asked.
"Sorry," he said. "We like to have a definite pickup time for our play dates."
We managed to skirt a definite return time by promising to bring pizza when we did come back, which met with rousing approval from the Certain Relatives.
We set off to the mall to do our small part to help boost the economy and spread Christmas cheer, which we accomplished chiefly by buying things for ourselves. Then we assuaged the guilt that was beginning to settle on us by buying things for each other. The process went pretty much like this:
One of us: Oooo, I've been looking for a nice ________ like this. But -- I guess I've already bought enough stuff for myself.
The other one of us: Hey, want me to get it for you for Christmas?
The first one of us: Thanks!
And then the favor would be returned at the next store, with the result that Christmas is going to be pretty sweet for the two of us, although maybe not so much for everyone else on our list. They should have come shopping with us.
Along toward dinner time, when we were really just getting started shopping, the Hero texted that the play daters were hungry and wanting to know when they could reasonably expect the pizza to come. We were in the middle of an important shoe transaction, wherein my sister had asked to see a particular shoe, and the young, earnest salesman had brought out not only that pair but four others.
"It's store policy to bring a customer at least five pairs," he said, somewhat apologetically.
As she tried the shoes on, my sister's interest remained fixed on the pair she had requested, while the young, earnest salesman (Mike) was endeavoring to interest her in another pair he had brought out. This pair was considerably more expensive. Never mind that it was not comfortable on my sister's feet. Mike would take it in the back and "work with it."
It was no more comfortable after he had worked with it, and my sister declined that pair. Mike hid his disappointment well, and turned his attention toward yet another pair he had brought out.
About at this point the text came, and my sister declared to Mike that hungry children were awaiting our arrival, their health and emotional state hanging in the balance, and she must conclude her transaction. She did not mention that most of the "hungry children" were rather over 40. Mike, for whom it appeared challenging to switch gears unexpectedly but who apparently understood hungry children, made a valiant effort to wrap things up quickly.
After we had picked up the pizza and satisfied the hungry children of all ages, I asked the Hero how the play date had gone.
"Great," he said. "We went bowling" (he was terrible, he said), "and decorated the tree, and watched a James Bond marathon. Some people took a nap" (but not him, he said).
"Well," I said, nodding at my purchases, "I'm glad you had a good time, 'cuz I think we're gonna have to go back to the mall tomorrow...."
A few weeks ago he attended his first-ever baby shower, which was chronicled here. Over Thanksgiving weekend he was involved in another cultural pastime usually reserved for individuals of a somewhat different age group than his: a play date.
After a very pleasant Thanksgiving feast at a Certain Relative's house, and agreeing to stay in the area for a few days, the Hero firmly expressed his opinion on participating in Black Friday shopping ("No way"). My sister and I therefore dropped him off to spend some time at the home of the Certain Relatives, which includes a mother and father and two young children. The father stuck his head out the front door before we drove away and yelled, "What time are you coming to pick him up from his play date?" he said.
My sister and I, being Serious Shoppers, chafe at having any restrictions placed on our outings. "Can it be open-ended?" she asked.
"Sorry," he said. "We like to have a definite pickup time for our play dates."
We managed to skirt a definite return time by promising to bring pizza when we did come back, which met with rousing approval from the Certain Relatives.
We set off to the mall to do our small part to help boost the economy and spread Christmas cheer, which we accomplished chiefly by buying things for ourselves. Then we assuaged the guilt that was beginning to settle on us by buying things for each other. The process went pretty much like this:
One of us: Oooo, I've been looking for a nice ________ like this. But -- I guess I've already bought enough stuff for myself.
The other one of us: Hey, want me to get it for you for Christmas?
The first one of us: Thanks!
And then the favor would be returned at the next store, with the result that Christmas is going to be pretty sweet for the two of us, although maybe not so much for everyone else on our list. They should have come shopping with us.
Along toward dinner time, when we were really just getting started shopping, the Hero texted that the play daters were hungry and wanting to know when they could reasonably expect the pizza to come. We were in the middle of an important shoe transaction, wherein my sister had asked to see a particular shoe, and the young, earnest salesman had brought out not only that pair but four others.
"It's store policy to bring a customer at least five pairs," he said, somewhat apologetically.
As she tried the shoes on, my sister's interest remained fixed on the pair she had requested, while the young, earnest salesman (Mike) was endeavoring to interest her in another pair he had brought out. This pair was considerably more expensive. Never mind that it was not comfortable on my sister's feet. Mike would take it in the back and "work with it."
It was no more comfortable after he had worked with it, and my sister declined that pair. Mike hid his disappointment well, and turned his attention toward yet another pair he had brought out.
About at this point the text came, and my sister declared to Mike that hungry children were awaiting our arrival, their health and emotional state hanging in the balance, and she must conclude her transaction. She did not mention that most of the "hungry children" were rather over 40. Mike, for whom it appeared challenging to switch gears unexpectedly but who apparently understood hungry children, made a valiant effort to wrap things up quickly.
After we had picked up the pizza and satisfied the hungry children of all ages, I asked the Hero how the play date had gone.
"Great," he said. "We went bowling" (he was terrible, he said), "and decorated the tree, and watched a James Bond marathon. Some people took a nap" (but not him, he said).
"Well," I said, nodding at my purchases, "I'm glad you had a good time, 'cuz I think we're gonna have to go back to the mall tomorrow...."
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
That cold you feel? Not a wind chill
The National Weather Service is experimenting with a new concept to replace the wind chill factor. For many years, the wind chill has been used to describe certain conditions of cold and wind, particularly when a storm is moving in. The problem with this system, it seems, is that after a storm has passed through an area, the actual temperature may have plummeted, but because the wind has dropped, the wind chill warning expires. This leads people to think, "Cool, no more wind chill. Let's go surfing!"
You can see that this would cause problems in North Dakota and Minnesota, which is where the weather service has chosen to conduct this experiment. This is because the average winter temperature in those states is -400 degrees. (It warms up a few degrees for a day or so each July.)
This is nothing to the people of North Dakota and Minnesota, though. When someone is born in these states, their skin immediately takes on super-insulating properties, allowing them, as they grow, to be impervious to cold. People who are not born in the state, but merely move there at some point, must undergo psychological testing to determine their sanity.
Just kidding! I meant that they do not develop this protective exterior as do individuals native to these states. One example is my mother, who lived in North Dakota for several months with my father on an army base, including the summer months, and she has summed up her stay like this: "It was freezing."
But back to the wind chill. The weather service's idea is that instead of issuing wind chill warnings, it will now issue warnings of "extreme cold."
Extreme cold in North Dakota and Minnesota, according to a meteorologist familiar with the pending change, would kick in around -40 degrees, possibly -45 degrees. At this temperature, he says, "People should make sure they're properly dressed." Like, they should think about wearing a jacket. And maybe some shoes if their feet tend to get cold easily.
Also at -40 degrees there, he says, "kids don't generally go outside to play at recess. There is a general feeling that maybe that's a little cold for them."
Really, the adults are getting quite lax, allowing their kids to be such wimps. Where is that pioneering spirit?
Meanwhile, an extreme cold warning where I live, in the "Middle Atlantic" (which is not, despite its name, located IN the Atlantic), would mean something quite different to people. We, as a group, are a little more delicate than people of the northern plains. In fact, we are so sensitive that such a warning would be issued here whenever it is issued in North Dakota and Minnesota, because merely knowing that it is -40 degrees 1500 miles away would make US feel cold. And we do not like to feel cold.
There is some concern that the new terminology may not go over well with the public. Being used to a wind chill factor, the meteorologist wondered, will people think "extreme cold" is sexy enough?
Given this country's fascination with extreme sports, extreme foods, extreme hair, extreme body piercing, etc., I have no doubt that many people will find the idea of "extreme cold" sexy.
For us in the Middle Atlantic, that will be only if the extreme cold is somewhere else.
You can see that this would cause problems in North Dakota and Minnesota, which is where the weather service has chosen to conduct this experiment. This is because the average winter temperature in those states is -400 degrees. (It warms up a few degrees for a day or so each July.)
This is nothing to the people of North Dakota and Minnesota, though. When someone is born in these states, their skin immediately takes on super-insulating properties, allowing them, as they grow, to be impervious to cold. People who are not born in the state, but merely move there at some point, must undergo psychological testing to determine their sanity.
Just kidding! I meant that they do not develop this protective exterior as do individuals native to these states. One example is my mother, who lived in North Dakota for several months with my father on an army base, including the summer months, and she has summed up her stay like this: "It was freezing."
But back to the wind chill. The weather service's idea is that instead of issuing wind chill warnings, it will now issue warnings of "extreme cold."
Extreme cold in North Dakota and Minnesota, according to a meteorologist familiar with the pending change, would kick in around -40 degrees, possibly -45 degrees. At this temperature, he says, "People should make sure they're properly dressed." Like, they should think about wearing a jacket. And maybe some shoes if their feet tend to get cold easily.
Also at -40 degrees there, he says, "kids don't generally go outside to play at recess. There is a general feeling that maybe that's a little cold for them."
Really, the adults are getting quite lax, allowing their kids to be such wimps. Where is that pioneering spirit?
Meanwhile, an extreme cold warning where I live, in the "Middle Atlantic" (which is not, despite its name, located IN the Atlantic), would mean something quite different to people. We, as a group, are a little more delicate than people of the northern plains. In fact, we are so sensitive that such a warning would be issued here whenever it is issued in North Dakota and Minnesota, because merely knowing that it is -40 degrees 1500 miles away would make US feel cold. And we do not like to feel cold.
There is some concern that the new terminology may not go over well with the public. Being used to a wind chill factor, the meteorologist wondered, will people think "extreme cold" is sexy enough?
Given this country's fascination with extreme sports, extreme foods, extreme hair, extreme body piercing, etc., I have no doubt that many people will find the idea of "extreme cold" sexy.
For us in the Middle Atlantic, that will be only if the extreme cold is somewhere else.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Let the games begin
There are only two more days until Thanksgiving, which means you had better get into gear and start your preparations, if you haven't already. I'm talking here about strategizing for Black Friday.
More and more, Black Friday requires sophisticated survival and attack tactics. With stores opening earlier and earlier -- some even on Thanksgiving itself, resulting in Black Friday being usurped by Black Thursday -- you can no longer afford to lounge leisurely about after the meal is over. Doing so will cause you to miss incredible sales, and your holiday season will be off to a miserable start.
And forget about a post-Thanksgiving nap. If you do insist upon it, you will have to move dinner back accordingly, say to around 9 a.m. If you are the host of Thanksgiving, you should avoid serving leftovers later in the day, and make sure you hide any second helpings of dessert, as the promise of additional food will only encourage people to stick around when you need them to clear out. You need a cool head, and a quiet house, to ready yourself.
A second vital tactic for Black Friday shopping is assembling your store coupons. This is no easy task, as coupons are increasingly complex, requiring legal assistance for interpretation. Some have time restrictions on them, such as "Valid only from 2:00:01 a.m. to 2:01:36 a.m., in countries whose names contain three consecutive Qs."
Others restrict the type of item you can use the coupon for, with so many restrictions that the only thing the coupon is actually good for is a piece of carpet lint (stains not included).
Some additional coupons you may encounter:
Extra 15% off all sale items only. All sale prices expire at 6 a.m. Friday. This coupon good only after 6:01 a.m. Friday.
30% off entire line of children's clothes. Expires at 10 a.m. Friday, or when child's attention span for shopping expires, whichever comes first.
55% off any item approved for sale, except those which are actually for sale.
Coupon good for entire day of shopping. Not valid on today's date or any future date.
35% off one-time purchase of $1,000 or more (metric).
Extra 99% off all items, except those covered by, or excluded by, any other coupon.
$50 off purchase greater than the square of the sum of the ages of all your aunts (by blood).
In the face of all these obstacles, I have developed my own survival tactic: I carefully gather my coupons, approach a harried-looking salesperson, smile politely, and throw all my coupons at her while pleading, "Is there anything I can use here?"
And if this fails, I happily head back home to take a nap.
More and more, Black Friday requires sophisticated survival and attack tactics. With stores opening earlier and earlier -- some even on Thanksgiving itself, resulting in Black Friday being usurped by Black Thursday -- you can no longer afford to lounge leisurely about after the meal is over. Doing so will cause you to miss incredible sales, and your holiday season will be off to a miserable start.
And forget about a post-Thanksgiving nap. If you do insist upon it, you will have to move dinner back accordingly, say to around 9 a.m. If you are the host of Thanksgiving, you should avoid serving leftovers later in the day, and make sure you hide any second helpings of dessert, as the promise of additional food will only encourage people to stick around when you need them to clear out. You need a cool head, and a quiet house, to ready yourself.
A second vital tactic for Black Friday shopping is assembling your store coupons. This is no easy task, as coupons are increasingly complex, requiring legal assistance for interpretation. Some have time restrictions on them, such as "Valid only from 2:00:01 a.m. to 2:01:36 a.m., in countries whose names contain three consecutive Qs."
Others restrict the type of item you can use the coupon for, with so many restrictions that the only thing the coupon is actually good for is a piece of carpet lint (stains not included).
Some additional coupons you may encounter:
Extra 15% off all sale items only. All sale prices expire at 6 a.m. Friday. This coupon good only after 6:01 a.m. Friday.
30% off entire line of children's clothes. Expires at 10 a.m. Friday, or when child's attention span for shopping expires, whichever comes first.
55% off any item approved for sale, except those which are actually for sale.
Coupon good for entire day of shopping. Not valid on today's date or any future date.
35% off one-time purchase of $1,000 or more (metric).
Extra 99% off all items, except those covered by, or excluded by, any other coupon.
$50 off purchase greater than the square of the sum of the ages of all your aunts (by blood).
20% off all store items, except those heretofore on sale, whereupon the value of this coupon is reduced therewith to 10%, notwithstanding any prior such advertisements undertaken by this store or any other, in accordance with current local retail or exotic animal handling guidelines.
In the face of all these obstacles, I have developed my own survival tactic: I carefully gather my coupons, approach a harried-looking salesperson, smile politely, and throw all my coupons at her while pleading, "Is there anything I can use here?"
And if this fails, I happily head back home to take a nap.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Free appliances -- u clean
For some time now, our stove and refrigerator have been lobbying for us to replace them so they can retire. This lobbying takes various forms. The refrigerator emits a number of interesting noises, particularly when we are attempting to sleep, and it leaks, especially when we are away for a while. The stove will either operate as a stove OR an oven, but is extremely unhappy when asked to do both at the same time. Every time I go into the kitchen I expect to see the two of them picketing:
We want mandatory retirement!
Don't force senior citizens to work!
"We should really get some new appliances," I said to the Hero. "We could get brought up on charges of abuse with some appliance commission or something."
For a while the refrigerator required continual nursing care. Every few days enough water would leak inside to fill a largish bowl, and we would have to empty it. And if we didn't put the bowl in EXACTLY the right place, the water would run all over the inside of the fridge.
Once when a family member was visiting, I found the bowl sitting on the counter.
"Aaaaagh!" I said. "Who took this out of the fridge?" I hurried to put it back before the fridge noticed it was missing and decided to shed more water than usual.
"Uh, the bowl was empty," the family member noted.
I explained why the bowl never, ever leaves the refrigerator, feeling like a nurse admonishing a patient's family member to never, ever remove a tube of any sort from the patient. The family member was very interested in watching me try to replace the bowl EXACTLY where it had been.
After months of dumping the water that collected in the bowl every few days, the refrigerator suddenly stopped leaking.
"I'm worried about the fridge," I told the Hero.
"But it hasn't leaked for a while," he said.
"That's what worries me," I said. "What is it doing that we don't know about?"
You'd be hard-pressed to find more ancient, basic models than these two appliances, short of something that's actually antique. Yet there are good reasons we haven't replaced them. One, appliances are not as glamorous to shop for as, say, patio sets. Two, if we were to get rid of them, I would have to clean them first.
See, I have been using the fact that a new appliance purchase is imminent as an excuse to not clean either the stove or the refrigerator. But should we actually decide to make a purchase, as we await delivery and installation, I will be seized by the need to thoroughly clean both appliances.
"Why?" the Hero said.
I can't let the guys who take them away see what filth we live in!" I said.
So in the meantime we dream about the features we would like to have in our new appliances, such as a refrigerator that tells us what items we're about to run out of and makes a list of them. Preferably, it would send this list electronically to the grocery store, where someone would fill our order and have it waiting when we went to pick up our items.
"It'd be nice to have one that weighs the food and tells you how many meals you can still get out of it," suggested the Hero.
Given our propensity to put off cleaning, we would also need a frige that tells us -- gently -- when it is time to clean the inside.
But of course we would ignore this, and the refrigerator would be forced to go the next level of reminder, involving some sort of sound alert and a verbal message: "It is time to clean out the bottom shelf. These leftovers have been here too long."
This, too, would probably be ignored, and eventually the refrigerator would rebel. It would sound a louder alert, worthy of the emergency broadcast system, and a voice sounding suspiciously like a mother's would say, "YOU MAY NOT PUT ANYTHING MORE IN THIS REFRIGERATOR UNTIL YOU CLEAN IT OUT!" And it would promptly lock its doors from the inside.
Whereupon we would threaten to replace it with a NEW refrigerator, at which it would sneer. "Do you think any self-respecting fridge would agree to come to this house? You're blacklisted!"
So yeah, we may have our old appliances for a while yet.
We want mandatory retirement!
Don't force senior citizens to work!
"We should really get some new appliances," I said to the Hero. "We could get brought up on charges of abuse with some appliance commission or something."
For a while the refrigerator required continual nursing care. Every few days enough water would leak inside to fill a largish bowl, and we would have to empty it. And if we didn't put the bowl in EXACTLY the right place, the water would run all over the inside of the fridge.
Once when a family member was visiting, I found the bowl sitting on the counter.
"Aaaaagh!" I said. "Who took this out of the fridge?" I hurried to put it back before the fridge noticed it was missing and decided to shed more water than usual.
"Uh, the bowl was empty," the family member noted.
I explained why the bowl never, ever leaves the refrigerator, feeling like a nurse admonishing a patient's family member to never, ever remove a tube of any sort from the patient. The family member was very interested in watching me try to replace the bowl EXACTLY where it had been.
After months of dumping the water that collected in the bowl every few days, the refrigerator suddenly stopped leaking.
"I'm worried about the fridge," I told the Hero.
"But it hasn't leaked for a while," he said.
"That's what worries me," I said. "What is it doing that we don't know about?"
You'd be hard-pressed to find more ancient, basic models than these two appliances, short of something that's actually antique. Yet there are good reasons we haven't replaced them. One, appliances are not as glamorous to shop for as, say, patio sets. Two, if we were to get rid of them, I would have to clean them first.
See, I have been using the fact that a new appliance purchase is imminent as an excuse to not clean either the stove or the refrigerator. But should we actually decide to make a purchase, as we await delivery and installation, I will be seized by the need to thoroughly clean both appliances.
"Why?" the Hero said.
I can't let the guys who take them away see what filth we live in!" I said.
So in the meantime we dream about the features we would like to have in our new appliances, such as a refrigerator that tells us what items we're about to run out of and makes a list of them. Preferably, it would send this list electronically to the grocery store, where someone would fill our order and have it waiting when we went to pick up our items.
"It'd be nice to have one that weighs the food and tells you how many meals you can still get out of it," suggested the Hero.
Given our propensity to put off cleaning, we would also need a frige that tells us -- gently -- when it is time to clean the inside.
But of course we would ignore this, and the refrigerator would be forced to go the next level of reminder, involving some sort of sound alert and a verbal message: "It is time to clean out the bottom shelf. These leftovers have been here too long."
This, too, would probably be ignored, and eventually the refrigerator would rebel. It would sound a louder alert, worthy of the emergency broadcast system, and a voice sounding suspiciously like a mother's would say, "YOU MAY NOT PUT ANYTHING MORE IN THIS REFRIGERATOR UNTIL YOU CLEAN IT OUT!" And it would promptly lock its doors from the inside.
Whereupon we would threaten to replace it with a NEW refrigerator, at which it would sneer. "Do you think any self-respecting fridge would agree to come to this house? You're blacklisted!"
So yeah, we may have our old appliances for a while yet.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
A letter to commuter train officials
Dear Sirs and Madams,
I would like to express my strong disapproval of several changes recently implemented on my line. These changes have severely interrupted the ability of your passengers to operate on autopilot when boarding your trains. On the morning train, for example, many of us stand in the same exact location on the platform waiting for the train to arrive (if you look closely, you may be able to see the imprint of our various shoes in "our" spots). This is because we know, after months or even years of riding this train, precisely where the train is going to stop, and how many steps it is to the closest door of entry.
Why, then, have your drivers begun messing up our perfectly choreographed formation by stopping a half-car further up than previously, forcing us to a) look back and forth from the door in the front of the car to the door in the back of the car, b) calculate which is closer and which seems to be the less popular choice, and then c) shuffle several feet to whichever door the person in front of us is going to? As you can see, this requires the simultaneous operation of gazillions of brain cells and our conscious will to move, which most of us simply do not have at our disposal when it is not even light yet in the morning.
Another alarming trend is that, after months of arriving several minutes late, the morning train has, without any warning whatsoever, begun arriving on time. This has forced many of us to actually leave the house on time, which I'm sure you can appreciate is quite disruptive to our morning routines. Perhaps, to ease this burden on us, instead of sending text messages that tell us when the train will be delayed, you could instead send messages such as "The train will be arriving on time today. We regret any inconvenience this may cause."
But the changes instituted on the morning train pale in comparison to what we have been facing in the evening. Previously, the train has consisted of a single-level car in the front, another in the back, and several double-level cars in the middle. Now, the train resembles a child's string of beads, with alternating beads: single, double, single, double, etc. Is this because, perhaps, you recently hired someone who is obsessed with order and pattern? If so, please take the earliest opportunity to transfer this person to some other position, preferably one in another state.
This new arrangement of cars, while perhaps aesthetically pleasing, has severely disrupted our usual routines. In the past, for instance, we have always been able to board, say, the fourth car from the rear. This is OUR car. We know exactly where it is. There is no thinking involved. NOW, however, with this mixing of single and double levels and fewer seats, we have no idea WHERE to get on. Start at the back and keep walking forward? Start somewhere in the middle? It taxes the brain overly much, and distinctly goes against the sage advice of the great philosopher Abraham Franklin,* who said, "Too much thought destroys brain cells."
(*An obscure but very wise common descendant of Abraham Lincoln and Benjamin Franklin. He also declared, "Let them eat chocolate!")
Another complaint has to do with the recent time change, which has resulted in the evening commute taking place almost entirely in darkness. While this is, perhaps, not entirely your fault -- although I would not be surprised to know that you had a hand in it somehow -- nevertheless you have made it a little more difficult in one respect.
Before, when it was still light out, your conductors would make several announcements about each upcoming stop to allow passengers time to ready themselves to disembark. Now that it is dark, and we have no idea where we are or how close we might be to the next stop, suddenly the conductors have become very secretive about when and where the train will be stopping. Announcements are now made as an afterthought: "Thank you for traveling on this train and oh, by the way, that was Seabrook we just stopped at."
I hope that you will seriously consider reversing these policies, which will no doubt result in far happier passengers. In the meantime, I remain your faithful, brain cell-challenged, ever-tardy passenger.
I would like to express my strong disapproval of several changes recently implemented on my line. These changes have severely interrupted the ability of your passengers to operate on autopilot when boarding your trains. On the morning train, for example, many of us stand in the same exact location on the platform waiting for the train to arrive (if you look closely, you may be able to see the imprint of our various shoes in "our" spots). This is because we know, after months or even years of riding this train, precisely where the train is going to stop, and how many steps it is to the closest door of entry.
Why, then, have your drivers begun messing up our perfectly choreographed formation by stopping a half-car further up than previously, forcing us to a) look back and forth from the door in the front of the car to the door in the back of the car, b) calculate which is closer and which seems to be the less popular choice, and then c) shuffle several feet to whichever door the person in front of us is going to? As you can see, this requires the simultaneous operation of gazillions of brain cells and our conscious will to move, which most of us simply do not have at our disposal when it is not even light yet in the morning.
Another alarming trend is that, after months of arriving several minutes late, the morning train has, without any warning whatsoever, begun arriving on time. This has forced many of us to actually leave the house on time, which I'm sure you can appreciate is quite disruptive to our morning routines. Perhaps, to ease this burden on us, instead of sending text messages that tell us when the train will be delayed, you could instead send messages such as "The train will be arriving on time today. We regret any inconvenience this may cause."
But the changes instituted on the morning train pale in comparison to what we have been facing in the evening. Previously, the train has consisted of a single-level car in the front, another in the back, and several double-level cars in the middle. Now, the train resembles a child's string of beads, with alternating beads: single, double, single, double, etc. Is this because, perhaps, you recently hired someone who is obsessed with order and pattern? If so, please take the earliest opportunity to transfer this person to some other position, preferably one in another state.
This new arrangement of cars, while perhaps aesthetically pleasing, has severely disrupted our usual routines. In the past, for instance, we have always been able to board, say, the fourth car from the rear. This is OUR car. We know exactly where it is. There is no thinking involved. NOW, however, with this mixing of single and double levels and fewer seats, we have no idea WHERE to get on. Start at the back and keep walking forward? Start somewhere in the middle? It taxes the brain overly much, and distinctly goes against the sage advice of the great philosopher Abraham Franklin,* who said, "Too much thought destroys brain cells."
(*An obscure but very wise common descendant of Abraham Lincoln and Benjamin Franklin. He also declared, "Let them eat chocolate!")
Another complaint has to do with the recent time change, which has resulted in the evening commute taking place almost entirely in darkness. While this is, perhaps, not entirely your fault -- although I would not be surprised to know that you had a hand in it somehow -- nevertheless you have made it a little more difficult in one respect.
Before, when it was still light out, your conductors would make several announcements about each upcoming stop to allow passengers time to ready themselves to disembark. Now that it is dark, and we have no idea where we are or how close we might be to the next stop, suddenly the conductors have become very secretive about when and where the train will be stopping. Announcements are now made as an afterthought: "Thank you for traveling on this train and oh, by the way, that was Seabrook we just stopped at."
I hope that you will seriously consider reversing these policies, which will no doubt result in far happier passengers. In the meantime, I remain your faithful, brain cell-challenged, ever-tardy passenger.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
The end of Daylight Savings...and daylight
With the recent time change and ending of Daylight Savings Time, some of us have entered a new season: the Months of Never Being Home During Daylight (Except on the Weekends).
Our entire daylight hours are spent somewhere other than where we live. We inhabit our houses only during the hours when it is dark outside, like some sort of reverse vampire. It is dark when we leave the house in the morning, and dark when we come home. We have no idea what things look like outside our house. When the weekend comes, and we finally do get a peek at our environs, we wonder where all the leaves have gone. Entire new housing developments could spring up around us. Santa could establish a workshop on the roof of our homes. And we would have no idea, although it might be difficult to keep the reindeer quiet.
We rarely see any of our neighbors during these months, and we may forget who they are entirely by the end of the winter: "You live here? Really? Huh. I guess you do look familiar, though."
After coming home, eating, and puttering around, our bodies declare that since it has been dark for several hours now, it is time to go to bed.
"It's 8:30," we say. "We are not going to bed at 8:30."
Things are not all bad, however. The darkness is a very good excuse for putting off certain items on the outdoor to-do list.
"You've been wanting to get that garden stuff put away," the Hero reminds me one morning. "It's going to be warm tonight, maybe you could do it when you get home."
"Can't," I say smugly. "It's dark by then."
Yep, all there is to do in the evening is stay indoors. Read. Be a couch potato.
Maybe even go to bed at 8:30.
Our entire daylight hours are spent somewhere other than where we live. We inhabit our houses only during the hours when it is dark outside, like some sort of reverse vampire. It is dark when we leave the house in the morning, and dark when we come home. We have no idea what things look like outside our house. When the weekend comes, and we finally do get a peek at our environs, we wonder where all the leaves have gone. Entire new housing developments could spring up around us. Santa could establish a workshop on the roof of our homes. And we would have no idea, although it might be difficult to keep the reindeer quiet.
We rarely see any of our neighbors during these months, and we may forget who they are entirely by the end of the winter: "You live here? Really? Huh. I guess you do look familiar, though."
After coming home, eating, and puttering around, our bodies declare that since it has been dark for several hours now, it is time to go to bed.
"It's 8:30," we say. "We are not going to bed at 8:30."
Things are not all bad, however. The darkness is a very good excuse for putting off certain items on the outdoor to-do list.
"You've been wanting to get that garden stuff put away," the Hero reminds me one morning. "It's going to be warm tonight, maybe you could do it when you get home."
"Can't," I say smugly. "It's dark by then."
Yep, all there is to do in the evening is stay indoors. Read. Be a couch potato.
Maybe even go to bed at 8:30.
Monday, November 14, 2011
You want me to go to what?
The Hero has lived through an event that probably few other men have who are not personally responsible for that particular event: a baby shower.
This event, held in honor of our neighbors, was preceded -- in our house, at any rate -- by a game of Twenty Questions.
"Guys are invited?" the Hero said, with heavy disbelief.
"Yes," I said.
"But are they usually invited?"
"Sometimes," I said.
"Why?"
"Why not?" I said. "Look. Just think of it as a social event. And there'll be food." I said it would be held at one of our favorite restaurants. He perked up.
But even food only sustains faith for so long.
"Are you sure I'm actually invited?" he said. "It wasn't just 'Oh, bring him along if he's not doing anything'?"
"No," I said. "Your presence, and that of several other men, has been formally requested." I showed him the invitation with his name on it.
"How many guys?" he said suspiciously.
I told him I didn't have an exact head count, but there would be several.
"Are any of them not related, besides me?"
I said I thought so.
His concern turned to whether he might be called upon to do anything embarrassing.
"What do you do at a baby shower? Do I have to play games? Like melt the baby stuck in the ice cube, or something?"
"Where did you hear that?" I said.
He shrugged.
"Well, you're in luck, because there won't be any games at this shower."
He gave a sigh of relief. "So what will we do, then?"
"Eat, open the presents, and talk. Lots of talking."
He wanted to know what gift we had gotten the couple.
"Baby books," I said, proudly. As a writer, editor, and former educator, I pride myself on choosing books that are not only entertaining and attractive but also developmentally appropriate for children.
"Books..." he said. "Is that an okay gift?"
One of these books, about cats, weighed about 12 pounds, and this I was tempted to use to make contact with a part of his person. But I didn't want to hurt the book.
I informed him that when I had signed the card, I had also offered to babysit the new Little Person if the parents ever needed someone to help out. He thought this was a very nice gesture.
After the shower, which was lovely, the Hero said that it had been a very nice time.
"Good, I said. "Because when I said in the card that I would babysit, I actually said WE would babysit."
Luckily, we'd already handed over the 12-pound baby book.
This event, held in honor of our neighbors, was preceded -- in our house, at any rate -- by a game of Twenty Questions.
"Guys are invited?" the Hero said, with heavy disbelief.
"Yes," I said.
"But are they usually invited?"
"Sometimes," I said.
"Why?"
"Why not?" I said. "Look. Just think of it as a social event. And there'll be food." I said it would be held at one of our favorite restaurants. He perked up.
But even food only sustains faith for so long.
"Are you sure I'm actually invited?" he said. "It wasn't just 'Oh, bring him along if he's not doing anything'?"
"No," I said. "Your presence, and that of several other men, has been formally requested." I showed him the invitation with his name on it.
"How many guys?" he said suspiciously.
I told him I didn't have an exact head count, but there would be several.
"Are any of them not related, besides me?"
I said I thought so.
His concern turned to whether he might be called upon to do anything embarrassing.
"What do you do at a baby shower? Do I have to play games? Like melt the baby stuck in the ice cube, or something?"
"Where did you hear that?" I said.
He shrugged.
"Well, you're in luck, because there won't be any games at this shower."
He gave a sigh of relief. "So what will we do, then?"
"Eat, open the presents, and talk. Lots of talking."
He wanted to know what gift we had gotten the couple.
"Baby books," I said, proudly. As a writer, editor, and former educator, I pride myself on choosing books that are not only entertaining and attractive but also developmentally appropriate for children.
"Books..." he said. "Is that an okay gift?"
One of these books, about cats, weighed about 12 pounds, and this I was tempted to use to make contact with a part of his person. But I didn't want to hurt the book.
I informed him that when I had signed the card, I had also offered to babysit the new Little Person if the parents ever needed someone to help out. He thought this was a very nice gesture.
After the shower, which was lovely, the Hero said that it had been a very nice time.
"Good, I said. "Because when I said in the card that I would babysit, I actually said WE would babysit."
Luckily, we'd already handed over the 12-pound baby book.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Bible study gets a little rocky...and weighty
Last night the Hero and I went to our weekly Bible study meeting, where we typically discuss topics of deep importance with a small group of people, such as how to better serve God each day and whether or not there is any food that powdered sugar does not make taste better.
Because our leader, Bob, was not in attendance this time, we decided to vary the format a little. When Bob returns next week and asks us how we spent the evening in his absence, we will say, truthfully, that we all weighed ourselves and talked about our favorite rock songs.
The intent of the evening was to share a little about ourselves, thereby getting to know each other better. "Sharing" is a favorite pastime among Christians, particularly if it is accompanied by, or followed by, food. Preferably accompanied AND followed by food.
So a series of questions was asked, and we went around the circle so everyone could answer. The questions started off benignly, things like your favorite holiday, a treasured childhood memory, and places you absolutely loathe to go.
When the question was posed about what you like to do for fun, one woman, in preparation for her answer, whispered loudly to her husband, "Do I DO anything?"
"Nothing that's fun," he answered.
This same couple declared that the place they most loathe to go is the dentist's, and that the dentist's staff, although caring and sensitive, pretty much reciprocate this feeling.
We were also asked how many pillows we sleep with. One man answered five. Our hostess said she, too, slept with five pillows, and that she had never met anyone else who used five pillows.
"I just made that up," the man confessed. "I really only use one."
We will have to tell Bob that we were not entirely truthful during this Bible meeting.
Another attendee, who later declared that he had MEANT to ask us all what our favorite popular songs were, asked instead what our favorite ROCK songs were. You probably know, if you have ever discussed a song with another individual, that it is difficult to merely talk about the song -- particularly if you are past a certain age and the song in question is now considered a "classic" -- without eventually beginning to sing at least certain parts of it. And once YOU start, other people cannot remain silent. So, ahem...we did not remain silent.
Later we pondered questions of deeper import, finally coming to a point where we felt we had revealed enough about each other for one night. We then moved on to the food portion of the evening, which involved various tasty, caloric treats that inevitably led to discussions of weight.
Our hosts prevailed upon someone who had recently visited a doctor's office, and had had his official weight recorded, to try out their bathroom scale. "We think it's a little off," they explained. They moved the scale into a discreet part of the hallway, and the man stepped up on it.
Soon cries of dismay filled the house, as he informed us that the scale was indeed off: He weighed almost twenty pounds less on it.
"Twenty pounds!" our hostess moaned. "And here I was feeling so good about my weight!"
Naturally everyone was curious to see if THEY weighed less, too, so we all tried out the scale in turn. And all reported that they, too, weighed significantly less than usual.
Everyone declared that this was the greatest scale EVER, and that they were going to have a second piece of cake AND some powdered sugar on their brownie. Finally, after many adulations heaped upon the scale, everyone left enriched in soul and body.
And once he finds out about our evening, Bob will never be absent again.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
All aboard! But first an announcement
Each day those of us who commute by train to the nation's capital are given several repeated, important announcements by those operating the train, most of which are promptly ignored. These announcements range from admonitions to read the safety instructions in the seat pocket in front of us to instructions on where and where not to stand in the train if we have to stand (in the middle of the car -- OK; blocking the stairways or doorways -- not OK; on another passenger's lap -- ask first).
But once in a while an announcement is made that commands our attention. These are usually related to some reason the train is not moving when it should be moving. We all strain to listen to these announcements, and not just because we want to know why we are stopped and when we can expect to become unstopped. It is also because the loudness of any message is directly proportional to its importance: When the conductor is intoning about the necessity of reading the safety instructions, his or her voice is clearly audible. When we have not moved for the last hour or so, and a voice comes on to provide an eagerly anticipated explanation, the voice appears to come from another train over in, say, Vladivostok, and sounds as if it is being carried to us by tin can.
Once in a while there is an enlightening announcement concerning proper etiquette in the Quiet Car. The Quiet Car is a designated car on the train particularly for passengers who could cheerfully pass their travel time without learning that, for instance, the sister of the person behind them is embroiled in a love triangle, or what is being served at the funeral dinner for the father of the person sitting next to them.
I once was unwillingly privy to an entire conversation about how far particular funeral attendees were or were not likely to travel in order to, as the speaker behind me kept saying, "eat some fried chicken." I gathered that the person on the other end of the phone felt strongly that the attendees would drive a great distance to eat HER fried chicken.
But back to the conductors' announcements. Here are some noteworthy examples:
"Our first car today is our Quiet Car. No cell phone conversations should take place in this car, no electronics making loud noises, and no loud talking in this car, please. Your conversation is to be a whisper." There is a great deal of emphasis on "whisper."
Apparently people in the afternoon Quiet Car have been whispering too loudly, for now we have been admonished the following:
"The last car today is the world-renowned Quiet Car...We prefer that you do not talk in the Quiet Car, but if you DO talk in the Quiet Car, we ask that you please talk silently."
Next thing we know, the Quiet Car will become the Silent Car ("Ladies and gentlemen, please refrain from breathing while traveling in the Silent Car. If you are heard breathing you will have to move to another car").
Occasionally I hear the announcement of stops for an Amtrak train at Union Station, which one particular day proceeded like this:
"This train stops in Alexandria, Richmond, Lynchburg, uh -- what IS this? I have no idea what that says -- Newport News, Norfolk..."
Just as I am typing this, there has been an important announcement of something on my afternoon train. By the barely audible voice I could tell that this was important, and I strained to listen.
"Starting tomorrow, there will be some changes on this train," the conductor said, in a voice that indicated plainly that we were all in trouble for some infraction -- perhaps for not talking silently enough? -- and punishment would be delayed a day. "One thing we will NOT do," the voice said sternly, "is --"
But here the already lowered voice almost completely died away, leaving us with no idea of what is going to happen to us tomorrow. Stay tuned.
But once in a while an announcement is made that commands our attention. These are usually related to some reason the train is not moving when it should be moving. We all strain to listen to these announcements, and not just because we want to know why we are stopped and when we can expect to become unstopped. It is also because the loudness of any message is directly proportional to its importance: When the conductor is intoning about the necessity of reading the safety instructions, his or her voice is clearly audible. When we have not moved for the last hour or so, and a voice comes on to provide an eagerly anticipated explanation, the voice appears to come from another train over in, say, Vladivostok, and sounds as if it is being carried to us by tin can.
Once in a while there is an enlightening announcement concerning proper etiquette in the Quiet Car. The Quiet Car is a designated car on the train particularly for passengers who could cheerfully pass their travel time without learning that, for instance, the sister of the person behind them is embroiled in a love triangle, or what is being served at the funeral dinner for the father of the person sitting next to them.
I once was unwillingly privy to an entire conversation about how far particular funeral attendees were or were not likely to travel in order to, as the speaker behind me kept saying, "eat some fried chicken." I gathered that the person on the other end of the phone felt strongly that the attendees would drive a great distance to eat HER fried chicken.
But back to the conductors' announcements. Here are some noteworthy examples:
"Our first car today is our Quiet Car. No cell phone conversations should take place in this car, no electronics making loud noises, and no loud talking in this car, please. Your conversation is to be a whisper." There is a great deal of emphasis on "whisper."
Apparently people in the afternoon Quiet Car have been whispering too loudly, for now we have been admonished the following:
"The last car today is the world-renowned Quiet Car...We prefer that you do not talk in the Quiet Car, but if you DO talk in the Quiet Car, we ask that you please talk silently."
Next thing we know, the Quiet Car will become the Silent Car ("Ladies and gentlemen, please refrain from breathing while traveling in the Silent Car. If you are heard breathing you will have to move to another car").
Occasionally I hear the announcement of stops for an Amtrak train at Union Station, which one particular day proceeded like this:
"This train stops in Alexandria, Richmond, Lynchburg, uh -- what IS this? I have no idea what that says -- Newport News, Norfolk..."
Just as I am typing this, there has been an important announcement of something on my afternoon train. By the barely audible voice I could tell that this was important, and I strained to listen.
"Starting tomorrow, there will be some changes on this train," the conductor said, in a voice that indicated plainly that we were all in trouble for some infraction -- perhaps for not talking silently enough? -- and punishment would be delayed a day. "One thing we will NOT do," the voice said sternly, "is --"
But here the already lowered voice almost completely died away, leaving us with no idea of what is going to happen to us tomorrow. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
A Liliputian in the Land of Gulliver
I recently attended the annual conference run by the organization I work for, which included a large gathering of teachers and vendors and was held in a warm part of the country. As is common in locations with warmer temperatures, the convention center itself is kept at a constant -78 F degrees year round, so that, although you might boast -- which of course you do -- to friends and relatives back in colder climates about being in a warm, sunny locale, you are actually, though you do not mention this, much colder than they are.
Nevertheless, I learned much useful information at this conference, including things about myself that were enlightening. For one, I realized I would cheerfully have committed acts of violence in order to acquire a Segue, which some individuals used to get around the convention center. This violent thought was owing to the size of the convention center, which could comfortably include several car dealerships, airports, medium-size countries, interplanetary bodies, etc., inside it.
Although this expanse enabled the 8000+ participants to move about without bumping into one another -- indeed, without even SEEING one another, except when needing to use the restroom, and then all 8000 were in line at once -- the sheer size of the building overwhelmed our physical resources, particularly our feet. As the days wore on, choosing a session to attend progressed from "Which sessions would help me understand the current critical topics in the field, and allow me to gain knowledge that would help us address our market's needs?" to "Which room is within crawling distance?"
(One area that attracted a great deal of traffic, in addition to the restrooms, was the vendor exhibit area. This was true particularly at the beginning of each day, when there were free gifts involved. Teachers LOVE free gifts. They don't care HOW far they have to walk or how early they have to stand in line to get them, by golly, they are going to get their free gifts.)
But it is not just the convention center that is oversized. Everything in this city appears to be built on the possibility that the entire population of Europe might suddenly, unexpectedly, decide to visit here, all at the same time, needing hotel rooms, meeting space, and a large collection of shopping venues, and the city had better be ready!
Moreover, there seems to be a general feeling among city planners that visitors need to be encouraged to stop and smell the roses. To that end, sidewalks meander through charming gardens and fountains, but they do not actually lead anywhere. If you want to leave Point A and arrive at Point B, you should get a taxi, although even by this manner of transport it is not possible to get to your destination by the most direct route. Roads simply do not go straight. They have been designed to accommodate, perhaps, long victory parades. I can say that you certainly feel like celebrating when you finally do reach your destination.
The perfect landscaping found throughout the city (city motto: "Landscaped to within an Inch of Our Life") engendered some discussion among our group. Despite plentiful trees and bushes, not one leaf clutters the ground. I suspect that there must be people whose full-time job it is to make sure that when a leaf falls, it is immediately whisked away before contaminating the perfectly manicured lawns. "No leaf left behind" seems to be the motto there.
My only regret about the conference is that I was not able to make it to one particular session, titled (seriously) "The Adventures of Captain Underpants." I am sure that, even if this session hadn't been within crawling distance, it would have been worth it. Although maybe I would pass on any free gifts.
Nevertheless, I learned much useful information at this conference, including things about myself that were enlightening. For one, I realized I would cheerfully have committed acts of violence in order to acquire a Segue, which some individuals used to get around the convention center. This violent thought was owing to the size of the convention center, which could comfortably include several car dealerships, airports, medium-size countries, interplanetary bodies, etc., inside it.
Although this expanse enabled the 8000+ participants to move about without bumping into one another -- indeed, without even SEEING one another, except when needing to use the restroom, and then all 8000 were in line at once -- the sheer size of the building overwhelmed our physical resources, particularly our feet. As the days wore on, choosing a session to attend progressed from "Which sessions would help me understand the current critical topics in the field, and allow me to gain knowledge that would help us address our market's needs?" to "Which room is within crawling distance?"
(One area that attracted a great deal of traffic, in addition to the restrooms, was the vendor exhibit area. This was true particularly at the beginning of each day, when there were free gifts involved. Teachers LOVE free gifts. They don't care HOW far they have to walk or how early they have to stand in line to get them, by golly, they are going to get their free gifts.)
But it is not just the convention center that is oversized. Everything in this city appears to be built on the possibility that the entire population of Europe might suddenly, unexpectedly, decide to visit here, all at the same time, needing hotel rooms, meeting space, and a large collection of shopping venues, and the city had better be ready!
Moreover, there seems to be a general feeling among city planners that visitors need to be encouraged to stop and smell the roses. To that end, sidewalks meander through charming gardens and fountains, but they do not actually lead anywhere. If you want to leave Point A and arrive at Point B, you should get a taxi, although even by this manner of transport it is not possible to get to your destination by the most direct route. Roads simply do not go straight. They have been designed to accommodate, perhaps, long victory parades. I can say that you certainly feel like celebrating when you finally do reach your destination.
The perfect landscaping found throughout the city (city motto: "Landscaped to within an Inch of Our Life") engendered some discussion among our group. Despite plentiful trees and bushes, not one leaf clutters the ground. I suspect that there must be people whose full-time job it is to make sure that when a leaf falls, it is immediately whisked away before contaminating the perfectly manicured lawns. "No leaf left behind" seems to be the motto there.
My only regret about the conference is that I was not able to make it to one particular session, titled (seriously) "The Adventures of Captain Underpants." I am sure that, even if this session hadn't been within crawling distance, it would have been worth it. Although maybe I would pass on any free gifts.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Stay tuned
We regret the sudden cessation of posts last week. The Princess was away at a conference for work, which was held in a pleasantly warm part of the country. She did, however, return, and so will the blog.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Halloween should bring out the adult in us
Every year at Halloween we adults are bombarded with messages about how we, as concerned, mature human beings, should show some responsibility for the impressionable youngsters who will knock on our doors and demand candy. We should do this, we are told, by refusing to give the youngsters any candy and instead give them something sensible, such as rice cakes, toothbrushes, illustrated brochures on how to avoid tooth decay, etc.
We heartily agree with this sentiment, as long as it is someone else giving out something sensible. If we are going to have anything left over from Halloween, it had better be chocolate.
A family member has a neighbor who is a dentist, and each Halloween the dentist takes quite seriously his responsibility to help children make positive choices in their lives. He offers a small cash bounty for every piece of candy the neighborhood kids are willing to bring him, thereby helping them learn that greed is a positive choice. I mean healthful eating is a positive choice! Healthful eating, yes.
No doubt this conscientiousness is due to the dentist's profession, and no doubt also due to his profession his wife buys sensible treats to pass out at Halloween, like toothbrushes, and therefore paying the kids to bring him candy is the only way the dentist can get any decent treats for himself.
But even though we adults have weighty responsibilities on this particular holiday, there are also some advantages to being an adult at Halloween. For instance, you don't have to worry about unscrupulous siblings infiltrating your stash of candy, taking your favorite kinds, replacing them with your least favorite kinds, telling your mom you ate too much candy, telling your mom that THEY are innocent, etc.
No, as adults, you and your spouse can divide any candy left over from your trick or treaters in a calm, rational manner, as shown here:
You: (reviewing the leftover candy in the bowl) Okay, here's what we have left: Hershey Kisses, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Mr. Goodbar, Hershey's Dark. Whatever we don't like I can take to work.
Spouse: I like the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
You: Me too.
Spouse: (grabs all the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups)
You: Hey, I want some, too!
Spouse: But you said you're just gonna take them to work.
You: But not the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups!
Spouse: Wellll...
You: (magnanimously, suddenly remembering that there is a convenient amount of candy left in the bag that did not make it into the bowl) That's okay, you can have them.
Spouse: Thanks!
Later...
Spouse: (spotting you with several Reese's Peanut Butter Cups) Hey, where'd you get all those peanut butter cups?? Did you raid my stash? (immediately counts to make sure none is missing)
You: (piously) Nope. I got them from the bag.
Spouse: You didn't say there was any in the bag! No fair! I'm telling. I'm telling...um...the Great Pumpkin!
Of course this is NOT what happens between the Hero and me. We are able to avoid such childish displays, mainly because we eat the candy BEFORE any trick or treaters come.
Though if we were truly the responsible adults we should be, we might also be able to avoid such childish displays if we did as we are urged in these responsible times, and handed out toothbrushes.
We heartily agree with this sentiment, as long as it is someone else giving out something sensible. If we are going to have anything left over from Halloween, it had better be chocolate.
A family member has a neighbor who is a dentist, and each Halloween the dentist takes quite seriously his responsibility to help children make positive choices in their lives. He offers a small cash bounty for every piece of candy the neighborhood kids are willing to bring him, thereby helping them learn that greed is a positive choice. I mean healthful eating is a positive choice! Healthful eating, yes.
No doubt this conscientiousness is due to the dentist's profession, and no doubt also due to his profession his wife buys sensible treats to pass out at Halloween, like toothbrushes, and therefore paying the kids to bring him candy is the only way the dentist can get any decent treats for himself.
But even though we adults have weighty responsibilities on this particular holiday, there are also some advantages to being an adult at Halloween. For instance, you don't have to worry about unscrupulous siblings infiltrating your stash of candy, taking your favorite kinds, replacing them with your least favorite kinds, telling your mom you ate too much candy, telling your mom that THEY are innocent, etc.
No, as adults, you and your spouse can divide any candy left over from your trick or treaters in a calm, rational manner, as shown here:
You: (reviewing the leftover candy in the bowl) Okay, here's what we have left: Hershey Kisses, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Mr. Goodbar, Hershey's Dark. Whatever we don't like I can take to work.
Spouse: I like the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
You: Me too.
Spouse: (grabs all the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups)
You: Hey, I want some, too!
Spouse: But you said you're just gonna take them to work.
You: But not the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups!
Spouse: Wellll...
You: (magnanimously, suddenly remembering that there is a convenient amount of candy left in the bag that did not make it into the bowl) That's okay, you can have them.
Spouse: Thanks!
Later...
Spouse: (spotting you with several Reese's Peanut Butter Cups) Hey, where'd you get all those peanut butter cups?? Did you raid my stash? (immediately counts to make sure none is missing)
You: (piously) Nope. I got them from the bag.
Spouse: You didn't say there was any in the bag! No fair! I'm telling. I'm telling...um...the Great Pumpkin!
Of course this is NOT what happens between the Hero and me. We are able to avoid such childish displays, mainly because we eat the candy BEFORE any trick or treaters come.
Though if we were truly the responsible adults we should be, we might also be able to avoid such childish displays if we did as we are urged in these responsible times, and handed out toothbrushes.
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