Now, That's a Package

     The headline said the Quaker Oats Guy (aka Larry) lost weight and got a face-lift and a haircut.  I was expecting a big change, but this is all it amounted to - a five pound weight loss, a little sculpting on the neck, and a half inch off the pageboy.

     It's good to bring outdated packaging up to date.  Today's Aunt Jemima is a far cry from her original self.

     I started thinking that it might be fun to put some celebrity heads on advertising characters.  Can you see Danny Bonaduce's head on Ronald McDonald's body?  Maybe Carrot Top?  David Caruso?  Any red head will do.  One of the band members from ZZ Top might elicit second looks at a box of cough drops.

     The Quaker Oats Guy looks less like Ben Franklin and more like a healthy middle aged guy who eats his oatmeal, but I can improve upon things.  My silver fox Mike could stand in for Larry.  Now that's a package.

Class Pictures

     "Happy in Hainesport" celebrates blooming where you are planted.  I represent the third generation of my family to make a lifelong home in Hainesport.

     My great-grandparents came from the Alsace region of what was then Germany (but is now France).  My great-grandfather went to work in the Columbian Iron Works Foundry.  My great-grandmother set up housekeeping.  Unfortunately, she found herself a young widow with three children to support when her husband drowned in a boating accident.  She became the manager of the boarding house where most of the foundry's single male employees lived.  The boarding house sat on the site of what is now The Bradford Estate on Marne Highway.

     Since my great-grandmother was working, she entrusted her three older sons with the care of my infant grandmother (born in 1893).  My grandmother told me that her brothers dug a hole in the ground and plopped her into it, so she wouldn't crawl off while they played.  I guess that was a nineteenth century play pen.  Eventually, my great-grandmother remarried.  My grandmother always said her step-father was a wonderful man.

     My grandmother went to school in the building that is now the Hainesport Senior Center.  Even then the annual class picture was a tradition.  I don't see any kids making faces, though.

Hainesport School Class Picture 1893

Hainesport School Class Picture 1895

     You'll find the hole digging baby sitters, Charles and Eimel Keinle, in the second row (boys standing behind girls), fourth from the left (Charles) and eighth from the left (Eimel).  Dominic Kienle is in the third row, ninth from the left.

Hainesport School Class Picture 1903

     The first girl on the right, standing in the third row, is my grandmother, Anna Keinle Pagel.  The boy who would one day be her husband, William Pagel, is sitting in the bottom row, fourth from the right.  Grandmom told me that she didn't have an interest in my grandfather.  He, on the other hand, told her from the time they were small that they would be married some day.  He stopped by her house frequently bearing gifts from the day's hunt.  It took a lot of pheasants and rabbits, but she finally relented.  They were married in 1916.

     If you have deep roots in Hainesport, you might have a relative in these pictures.  My grandmother identified as many people as she could remember when she gave these photos to me.  Here are the last names:

Albright
Bozarth
Bridge
Clivers
Cleveland
Cook
Deacon
Eicker
Elsinger
Endress
Gauntt
Greenwald
Gsell
Hampton
Nack
Nichman
Ritter
Rummel
Schilick
Street
Troutman
Van Sciver
Walthers

Crank Call

      Brr-ring.  Brr-ring.    

     “Hello.”  It was my automatic response to every incoming phone call.

     “I don’t know if I have the right number,” he began.  It sounded like the voice of an elderly gentleman.  “Is this 3-1-6… something.  I don't know.  Anyway, I have a proposition for the lady of the house.  It’s about some funds,” he continued.  At least that's what I thought he said.

     Oh, no, another one.  Even though we were on the "do not call" list, the telephone solicitations were endless – newspapers, charities, survey takers.  Maybe it was some stockbroker making cold calls.

     He went on, “Anyway, as I said, I’d like to make the lady of the house an offer.  Are you the lady of the house?” he asked.

     “You mean a job offer?” I inquired innocently.  I wasn’t in the market for a new job.  Was this one of those work-at-home scams?

     “No, no, there’s no money involved,” he responded.  “It’s only for some fun.  Are you the one?”

     I slammed the receiver.  I’m definitely not the one.  

Kumihimo

     Not that long ago I learned about a craft called kumihimo.  The term kumihimo translates to "coming together of threads."  It is a form of Japanese braiding, originally done on a wooden apparatus called a marudai.  Real kumihimo artists still use the marudai, but the rest of us use a portable foam disk.  You can make all sorts of nifty items like jewelry, key chains, belts, or purse straps from satin cord, hemp, ribbon, embroidery thread, even contractor's twine.

Marudai

Foam Disk

      I was given the opportunity to teach kumihimo to children through a happy accident.  I was working on a braiding project while I waited for my friends to finish up their greeting cards at a rubber stamping class at Bordentown Library.  The children's librarian noticed what I was doing and asked a few questions.  The library was setting up a summer program featuring crafts from around the world.  A kumihimo project would fit the bill perfectly.  Suddenly, I was a crafts teacher.

     Getting supplies for our group was a little more complicated than a quick trip to Joann or Michael's since kumihimo is not well known in this area.  You might be able to find a foam disk in a lanyard making kit at Joann.  Joann also has a limited selection of satin cord, but their price is quite high.  Ordering off the internet is the way to go.  While you can get a foam disk on Amazon or Ebay, I have found a site with reasonable prices and great service called Weir Dolls and Crafts.

http://www.weirdollsandcrafts.com/kumihimo/kumihimo.html

The best selection and cheapest prices for satin cord (called rat tail cord) are at B. B. Crafts.

http://www.bbcrafts.com/others/2mm-satin-tail-cord-/

Take a look at some of the projects we've done in our classes.

    

   

     We keep it simple for the little ones.  Feast your eyes on these more grown up kimihimo projects.  I'd love to get a group of adults together to make some of these.

Are Blondes Having Any Fun?

     We just spent a fun weekend with family.  The joke telling began as we sat around the table after supper on Saturday night.  Neither Mike nor I had jokes to tell.  Mike makes me laugh.  He has a sense of humor.  I think I can be pretty darn funny, yet we didn't have a single punch line, clean or dirty, to share.  The two of us need to work up a routine.

     I decided my specialty will be blonde jokes.  I went in search of some material, and this is what I found:

  A blonde went into a pizza parlor. When she said that she'd like a medium pizza, the clerk asked her how many pieces she'd like to have it cut into: six or twelve.
     "Six, please," she said.  "I could never eat twelve."


Q. What does a blonde see when she looks into a box of cheerios?
A. Donut seeds.


A young ventriloquist is touring the clubs and one night he’s doing a show in a small town in Arkansas. With his dummy on his knee, he starts going through his usual dumb blonde jokes when a blonde in the 4th row stands on her chair and starts shouting: “I’ve heard enough of your stupid blonde jokes. What makes you think you can stereotype women that way? What does the color of a person’s hair have to do with her worth as a human being? It’s guys like you who keep women like me from being respected at work and in the community and from reaching our full potential as a person. Because you and your kind continue to perpetuate discrimination against not only blondes, but women in general, and all in the name of humor!” The embarrassed ventriloquist begins to apologize, and the blonde yells, “You stay out of this, mister! I’m talking to that little jerk on your knee.

     I also found a real life a real life blonde encounter that made a big splash recently.  A young husband posed a question to his lovely, blonde wife, "If you are traveling 80 miles per hour, how long does it take you to go 80 miles?"  The wife struggled to answer while hubby taped her clueless analysis of the problem. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ax2mGGOeWT0

The video that he posted hoping to amuse a few of their friends ended up getting several million hits.  And he ended up apologizing to his wife on Good Morning America.

http://wcrz.com/woman-who-cant-figure-out-mph-appears-on-good-morning-america-viceo/

I guess you could say they were both blonde-sided.

I Read Dead People

     I read an article last week about a guy who got an email from his deceased friend.  The email, dispatched after the sender's demise, urged the recipient to clean his dirty attic, the last place the two of them spent time together.  The best explanation for how this happened is that a prankster hacked the dead man's email account.  The article went on to explain that, if the death of a loved one isn't complicated enough for the ones left behind, these days our executors have to clean up our cyber lives as well as our natural lives.

     There are emails accounts to close.  There might be online profiles (like Facebook or LinkedIn) or blogs to shut down.  Your next of kin will have to kill you off electronically.   There are lots of websites set up to serve death related needs.  Assetlock serves as a safe deposit box where you can store files, passwords, and instructions.  You decide who has access.  Once your death is confirmed, your chosen representative gains entrance to your account.  This is probably much better than leaving a list of written instructions in a desk drawer.

     For the person who wants to live forever in cyberspace , there's Lifenaut.  You can set up a "mind file" by creating avatars and uploading content or you can create a "bio file" by uploading a copy of your DNA profile.  Why would anyone want to upload their genetic profile?

     If you would like to do a little haunting, there are websites that can help you with that.  Dead Man's Switch will release emails upon your death.  The site requires that you check in periodically.  If you fail to check in after three reminders, it is assumed that you are dead, and the emails are released.  There's an oops factor there.  Another site, Eternity Message, will (for a fee) send emails for up to 60 years.  Sending a birthday greeting to the grandkids all the way into their old age could be a cute idea, but this site also has the potential for evil.  You could be stalked by your mother-in-law or bitter ex-wife long after you thought you were rid of them.  There is also something called voice banking.  You record yourself so that future generations can hear your voice.

     Humans have always suspected that the dead are trying to stay in touch.  In the old days they did it through dreams and visions.  As technology developed, they used the telegraph, radio, and telephones.  Does anybody remember the Twilight Zone episode in which a boy gets phone calls from his dead grandmother - on a toy phone?  You can watch the entire episode on YouTube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOwKT-lAZCo

Doo-doo-DOO-doo, Doo-doo-DOO-doo.    

The Shorts of Old Age

     I was walking through Walmart the other day, thinking that I should pick up some new shorts.  All of my old ones were smeared with paint, the result of various home improvement projects.  I wasn’t looking for anything fancy – just something inexpensive and comfortable.  Those are really cute tank tops, I thought.  And next to the tank tops, I spied the matching shorts. 

     Good grief!  I almost said the words aloud.  Those shorts were really short!  The inseam must have been all of three inches.  I realized that I wasn’t in the market for shorts.  I really wanted Capri pants – inexpensive, comfortable, and modest Capri pants.

     How I’d changed.  There was a time when I would have grabbed those shorts – one of each color.  Those were the days when I wore tight clothes- the tighter, the better.  I also wore tube tops.  Along with many others, I went braless in the braless 70’s.  I understood that full-breasted women would opt to wear a bra, but why would anyone wear a bra with under wires?  I remember swearing that I would never don a pair of pants that had an elastic waistband.  Ditto for briefs.  I wore only wildly colored bikini underwear.  Skimpy, form fitting, minimal – that type of apparel looked best and felt best on my skinny frame.

     Sometime during the intervening forty years, I decided that elastic waistbands didn’t dig into that roll of fat that had accumulated around my mid-section.   They also expanded to accommodate over eating at mealtimes.  I traded in my beloved bikinis for briefs that were sold in three packs.  The only way to sport the cleavage that I had finally developed was, you guessed it, to wear bras with under wires.

     There I was at Walmart searching for Capri pants.  Whatever you call them – peddle pushers, clam diggers, or crop pants – they’re the shorts of old age.            

       

A Girl Named Eva

     Today is Wednesday, and Wednesday is the day I go to creative writing class.  My class is one of the programs offered at the Mount Laurel Community Center.  The Center (previously the Mount Laurel Senior Center) is now open to all ages, and out- of-towners, previously excluded, are eligible to enroll in programs.

     An energetic, enthusiastic woman named Eva teaches the course.  The first thing I noticed about Eva was her bright eyes.  As soon as she spoke, I noticed her German accent.  How does an immigrant, for whom English is a second language, end up teaching creative writing?  Well, Eva loves to write, and her mastery of English puts us native speakers to shame.  She will find every spelling error, every missing comma, and every place the subject and verb are not in agreement.  Under Eva's tutelage, you will tell your story, and you will learn proper grammar.  Eva is not the only person with an accent in our group.  Another member is also from Germany, a World War II war bride.  A third member, came to the United States from Switzerland.  These ladies have become my special friends.  They worked their way into my heart one writing assignment at a time.  

     While learning the mechanics of writing is the obvious thing going on in class, there is something magical happening below the surface.  We students reveal ourselves to each other through our stories.  We've had some hearty laughs telling stories of not recognizing one's own husband as he walked down the street or getting off a bus with just five out of the six children who started the journey.  There have been stories about war and being a refugee, of being cold and hungry.  There have been accounts of love lost and "what if"  as well as stories of soldier heros and marriage.  My three friends are adventurers.  They are brave, strong women.

     While two of them have written down their stories for only family and friends, Eva decided to publish memoirs of her childhood.  Her book, A Girl Named Eva, will be available soon on Amazon.  Eva read her book to our class as she wrote it, so I can guarantee it's a good read.  I'll let you know when the book goes up for sale.   




     

Pretty in Pink

     My mother had breast cancer.  Several of my co-workers had the disease.  My sister-in-law just finished breast cancer treatment.  The likelihood of developing breast cancer is about 12% or a 1 in 8 chance.  Sadly, "the girls" can turn against us.

     There are theories out there that laughing can enhance the body's ability to cure itself.  It's been suggested that people with cancer watch Marx Brother's movies.  I think a few episodes of "Two and a Half Men" might be a better choice.  There are books, written by people who have been treated for cancer, that point out the funny side of the situation.  Not Now, I'm Having a No Hair Day  by Christine Clifford is one of them.  The American Cancer Society recommends Humor Therapy.  They admit that there is no evidence that it works, but it can't hurt either.

     Today I read about a guy who, in my opinion, is on the list of best husbands (and, yes Mike, you are on this list, too).  Back in 2003 Bob Carey  dressed in nothing but a pink tutu and took a picture of himself.  He wanted to give his wife a laugh since she was in the midst of unfunny cancer treatment.  The stunt took on a life of its own.  Today Mr. Carey has lots of tutu photos taken in settings from Times Square, to a cow pasture, to the Cape May-Lewes ferry.  His website, The Tutu Project, launched March 12, 2012.

http://www.thetutuproject.com/

     Mr. Carey and his wife (whose cancer returned in 2006) hope to raise $75,000 through their site, which they will donate to breast cancer organizations.  Individuals can make a donation, buy a T-shirt, or purchase Ballerina, a collection of Carey's photos that includes humorous stories related to snapping those pictures.

     So, check it out, have a good laugh, but most importantly, make a donation.  Save the ta-tas.

If You Can Read, You Can Do Anything

     If she told me once, my mother told me a hundred times, “If you can read, you can do anything.”  Sure enough, I figured out how to crochet by reading a book.  Books taught me how to refinish furniture, replace the innards of my toilet tank, and housebreak a dog.  Books can instruct or entertain.  They can introduce us to new world’s or help us make better sense of the one we are in.  Whenever I want a book, I can get it for free at the county library. 

http://www.bcls.lib.nj.us/

     I have heard that people tend to ignore wonderful things in their own back yards.  Some lifelong New Yorkers have never visited the Statue of Liberty.  Some Philadelphians have never seen the Liberty Bell.  How many county residents are without a library card?  Do people know the vast array of services, besides loaning books, that the library offers?

     It isn't just about shelves full of books.  The library subscribes to dozens of newspapers and magazines.  They have large print books for the visually impaired and books on CD's.  If it pinches the pocketbook to shell out $9.00 for a movie ticket, you can borrow movies on DVD.  There are also entire TV series, in case you want to have an "Upstairs, Downstairs" or "Nip/Tuck" marathon.  No computer?  The library has lots of them in the Technology Lab.  Just grab a seat and surf the net.  Here is an incomplete list of other library services:

Adult literacy programs

Legal and geneology research materials

Copy, fax, and mail services

Job resources 

Notary services

Tax assistance

Free, legal music downloads

Museum pass program - Check out the museum pass on your library card, and you get to go to several local museums for free.  You even get a discount at the souvenir shop! 

Inter-library loan - In the rare even that the library doesn't have the book you want, they'll get it from another library for the paltry sum of $1.00.  I wanted to read Edgar Rice Burrough's Tarzan series.  The library found one of the books, an  edition printed in the 1930's, at a library in Wisconsin.  

Classes - There are classes for everyone from 12 month old babies to senior citizens.  There are crafts for children and adults.  I'm teaching knitting at the Cinnaminson Library branch.  I enjoy the rubber stamping and paper crafting classes at the Bordentown branch.  There are story hours for kids, magic shows, and parties.  If you lack computer skills, they have classes for that.  You can even play Wii.  

Bookmobile - No car?  No problem.  The library will come to you.  The Bookmobile regularly visit Burlington County communities.  Go online or call for the schedule.

Amphitheater - Free weekly concerts from June through September. 

     It might seem like the whole world has internet, Nook, and Kindle, but they don't.  What we all have is the local library.  It's the great equalizer.  Use it for all it's worth. 

  

        

       

Waxing Poetic

     It's going to be a hectic day, so here's another poem from the creative writing class archives. 

We got a dog

I thought, “How neat.”

Now our family is complete.

We go for walks.

“How cute.  How fuzzy.”

What a great idea.  Or was she?

She likes to chew.

She ate a leash.

Computer wires helped cut her teeth.

I sort the wash.

She likes to stare.

Then she makes off with the underwear.

She has to pee.

I ask, “Go out?”

But after, she pees in the house.

No matter what

Sun or raining

Just grab a bag and do house training.

And not just days

We train by night

At one and five before first light.

I have a dog.

I got my wish.

She’s better than a tank of fish.

I don’t want cats

Or pretty birds.

I have a dog too cute for words.

     Thank goodness, she has completed her housebreaking and is over the chewing stage.  Now, if I could just do something about the running in and out all day long... 

Sex, and I'm Talkin' All Kinds, Sells

     There's a hot new book on the New York Times Bestseller list - Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James.  James, a Brit, is a TV executive, wife, and mother.  She's trying to keep her full name (or would that be real name?) a secret.  Fifty Shades is the first part of a trilogy.  The book details the exploits of Anastasia Steele, a shy college student, who becomes the willing trainee of Christian Grey, a billionaire entrepreneur and BDSM (bondage, domination, sadism, and masochism) master.  The reviews I've read say that the first twenty pages of the book are a poorly written set up for the non-stop sex that follows.

     Ms. James' book is currently published by Writer's Coffee Shop, an Australian e-publisher.  The book is mainly read on Nook and Kindle.  Hard copies are out there, but they are rare.  One nut tried to get $999.99 for a paper copy on Amazon.  Thanks to social media, especially Goodreads.com and Twitter, Fifty Shades has been picked up by Vintage Books and "real" books will be out on April 13, 2012.  I'll probably spring for a copy.  If the county library decides to buy it, I would be 3,000th on the hold list, and I don't want to wait that long.

     Every so often a juicy tome takes the world by storm.  The book reviews are comparing Fifty Shades to The Story of O, published in 1954.  I got hold of my mother's copy of The Valley of the Dolls in 1966, and it helped to round out my education.  I also remember Naked Came the Stranger, a fornication filled novel, written as a joke, that became a bestseller.  The Huffington Post calls Ms. James' volume "pornography for mommies."  The soccer moms are calling it Levitra for ladies.  Readers swear the book is improving their marriages by stimulating their libidos.  To each their own.  I don't ever hear myself saying, "Yes, Master Mike.  I would be glad to tie your shoe laces with my teeth."

  Sex sells, and we were due for this one.  So congratulations, E. L. James on the success of your book.  Maybe I should have  become a pornographer instead of the happy blog lady.

    
     

A Sirius Education

     I recently got a new car with three months of free XM radio.  I don't know if I'll subscribe at the end of the three month trial, but it's been interesting so far.  If I feel nostalgic for a particular decade, I can select a radio station dedicated only to those ten years.  Need a laugh?  There are multiple comedy stations.  Need a bigger laugh?  Tune into one of the polical stations.  There's a station for any musical style.  I think my favorite channel is Z100 - NY.  They play the latest hits.
  
     My father was stuck in the Lawrence Welk era.  He made me a bet in 1966 that the Beatles would be washed up in five years.  My mother, on the other hand, loved popular music.  She must have developed a taste for it during the hours she sat in front of the radio taking down lyrics in shorthand.  I begged her to do this, so I could study the words and learn them faster.  Like Mom, I enjoy the Top 40.

     The melodies of the latest songs stick in my head and I'll give a song a "98" if you can dance to it.  Lyrics, on the other hand, are occasionally puzzling and at times troubling.  Here's a sample of what I've had to look up on Urban Dictionary ( http://www.urbandictionary.com/):

Pumped Up Kicks - Expensive shoes.

Too School for Cool - Preferring education over popularity

G - A gangster

305 - An area code on Florida, "the ghetto-est place in Florida"

Drive By - A one night stand

2-ply - Urban Dictionary doesn't list this one, but context tells me it has something to do with two people as close as layers of a Kleenex

Hefty Bag - A really big condom

Moves Like Jagger - Style in the way one presents oneself

Goin' Gorilla - Nothing in Urban dictionary on this one either, but I'm guessing it's the same as the old school "ape-sh**"

Lots of this music glorifies heavy drinking and hard partying.  It goes far beyond expressing a desire to hold hands.  I don't get too worked up about it, though.  In every generation there will be some tainted lifestyle out there calling to kids.  We had hippies.  Now, there are gangstahs.  Besides, it's not all bad, like this one by the Black Eyed Peas - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EICNm-Ow0ms

Habits, Good and Bad

     All animals have a set of behaviors.  Birds fly south.  Pigs root.  Dogs sniff.  We humans accept other animals’ behavior as hard wired brain circuitry.  It’s genetic.  It’s the product of so many years of evolution that it must have served a purpose in the past and maybe still does.  No matter how hard you try, you’ll never prevent Scamp from poking his nose into Aunt Tilly’s crotch.  Just apologize and put him in the laundry room

     Only humans fight their natures.  Some lower portion of the brain tells kids to blow air out of their noses when they detect an obstruction.  It that doesn’t work, they insert one of their nimble fingers to clear the airway.  Yet, as soon as a mother sees a toddler effectively cleaning his nose in this manner, she attempts to stop him.  “Don’t do that in front of people,”  “Use a tissue,”  “Don’t put that in your mouth,” and “Wash your hands,” are all orders, that mom delivers at a high pitch, when all Junior wanted to do was breathe better.

     When I was young it seemed like all the adults were in on the campaign to stamp out youngsters’ bad habits.  Burping, playing with your hair, twisting buttons until they popped off, and teasing your sister had to stop.  Teachers picked up where parents left off.  On Sunday morning, the minister joined the crusade.

     I was about ten when the bitha incident happened.  The pastor held up five strips of paper with one letter written on the top of each strip.  It spelled "BITHA."  He asked if anyone ever had an illness called bitha.  Though my sister denies it to this day, I saw her raise her hand.  After surveying the bitha victims, the minister rearranged the letters to spell "HABIT" and went on to explain that we all have bad habits that we should confront and overcome.  Otherwise, like a disease, the bad habits will eat away at our better selves.  Of course, I ran home and told my parents that Sis, poor kid, had bitha.  After that, whenever anyone was out of sorts, the first question asked was, "Do you think you might have bitha?"  I’m pretty sure this case of bitha helped my sibling correct her habit of jumping on the band wagon before thinking things through.

     As a result of parental harping, peer pressure, and maturity, many childhood habits like tattling on sisters fell by the wayside.  I gradually took on my parents’ and the pastor’s opinion that I should always work on being a better person.  I don’t smoke and I don’t drink to excess.  I dress appropriately for my age and figure.  I can cuss like a sailor, but I only do this in front of my husband and some friends with the same proclivity.  I was about as good as I was ever going to be until I retired.

     I still get up in the morning, but I have developed a habit of staying in my pajamas.  I turn on my computer and read the news.  I answer my emails.  I blog.  I clean and do laundry.  Why shower and dress to work up a sweat while house cleaning?  I recently got a puppy.  One might think that I would dress in order to take the dog out in the morning.  No, I just went to Walmart and bought a bunch of sweat pants and tee shirts that serve as pajamas.  I appear dressed from somewhere over the fence, but I’m not wearing underwear. 

     Since the invention of the blow dryer, people in super markets and school parking lots have been spared the site of women with curlers in their hair.  I recently decided that I like my hair better when I roll it up rather than blow it out.  Since no one manufactures those hair dryers with the hose and the big plastic bonnet any more, I’ve acquired another bad habit of appearing in public with a head full of rollers.  So far, it’s just been to go to the mail box and to accompany my husband on a bike ride.  We rode in the park on a rutted gravel road the day that I wore my rollers.  I have a suspicion that he didn’t want to be seen with me on our neighborhood thoroughfares.

     I also clean the house less because I would rather read, or work on crafts, or spend time with friends.  If I am expecting guests, or if the sand and mulch tracked in by the dog gets too gritty under foot, I vacuum that small area in front of the door where it shows most.  The rest of the house can wait.  

     I know that it’s March 2012, but without a job to tie me to the calendar, I’m never sure of the date or day of the week.  I thought that was another bad habit that I had slipped into since leaving work; however, looking back, I think working made me uptight.  I’m not uptight now.  I’m so relaxed that I sometimes have to make apologies.  I’m not telling my sister, but I’ve come down with a bad case of bitha, and I hope there’s no cure. 

Parenting Advice from Someone Who Never Had Kids

     I just read that today's pre-schoolers have rotten teeth.  Tooth decay is on the rise among children ages two to five.  These kids already have six to ten cavities.  Dentists are knocking out kids as young as age two in order to repair the massive amounts of damage in their baby teeth.  This is occurring at all income levels.  Two culprits being blamed for this are the ever present juice box and too much snacking.  When kids have a few swallows of mouth cleansing water, that water is likely to come from a bottle.  Bottled water lacks  fluoride, a cavity preventive, that has been added to the public water supply.  But the biggest reason for the dental caries epidemic is that parents are lax about making kids brush.

     I started thinking about what might encourage kids to brush their teeth.  I shouted in the direction of the man cave, "Hey, Mike.  Do they still advertise toothpaste on television?"

     "I can't remember seeing a toothpaste commercial in ages," was his reply.

     Because Mike is at work all day, his TV viewing is mostly the sports channels, on demand, and the more mature subject matter televised from 9:00 p.m to 11:00 p.m.  I continued to wrack my brain.  I recalled seeing commercials for tooth whitening strips.  Oh yeah, they are also running an ad for Crest 3-D White.  Colgate is pushing a deep cleaning dentifrice that's suppose to keep plaque germs at bay for a full twelve hours.  How could I, with my sensitive teeth, have forgotten the Sensodyne commercials?  All of these sell jobs are aimed at grown ups.  There's not a "look-mom-no-cavities" in the bunch.  Maybe those just for kids networks are airing toothpaste commercials.  I searched YouTube and came up blank.  There were plenty of vintage ad's to promote kids' interest in brushing, but nothing after 1979.  I guess Madison Avenue has decided there's no profit in planting messages in kids brains for toothpaste.

     So in addition to everything other struggle, parents are going to have to be more diligent dental police.  Wait a minute.  A picture is developing here.  Mom and Dad, the Cavity Cop is going to have to patrol your bathroom.  Don your hat, pin on your badge, and pack a tube of bubblegum flavored toothpaste in your holster.  Deliver your tooth brushing sermon in your best Barney Fife.  Seriously.  This technique could make brushing fun when they're small, convince them that you really do have a screw loose when they are teenagers, and give them an example when they have to figure out how to make their own kids brush.  

What Was Target Thinking?

Have you seen the new Target television commercial?  A hot air balloon descends.  When it lands, lots of acrobats in brightly colored suits jump out and race through people’s lives spreading color everywhere they go.  Everything from dowdy wardrobes to boring table settings are brightened up with something from Target’s trendy inventory.  All the while we hear the French song “Alouette” playing in the background.  The whole spot is very lively and entertaining.  But what about the music and lyrics?  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxQjBYRD0_s

“Alouette” is a French Canadian children’s song.  Alouette is the French word for skylark, a type of bird.  The French colonists in Canada loved to eat skylarks, and the song is about plucking the feathers off the little critters.  The singer tells the bird that he’ll “pluck his head, nose, eyes, wings, and tail.”  

     These days, Cornish game hens probably substitute for skylarks.  The song is used to teach French and English speaking Canadian children the parts of the body.  As they sing, they point to their heads, nose, and so on.

     Here’s the song in French with a loose English translation:

Alouette, gentile Alouette     (Little skylark, lovely little skylark)

Alouette, je te plumerai        (Little skylark, I’ll pluck your feathers off)

Je te plumerai la tete           (I’ll pluck the feathers off your head)

Je te plumerai la tete           (I’ll pluck the feathers off your head)

Et la tête                                (Off your head)

Et la tête                                (Off your head)

Alouette                                 (Little skylark)                                                                 

Alouette                                 (Little skylark)

O-o-o-o-h                                                                         

The song continues:

Et le bec           (Off your nose)
Et le cou           (Off your neck)                                                                      

Et le dos           (Off your back)                                                                         

Et les ailes        (Off your wings)                                                                     

Et les pattes      (Off your feet)                                                                  

Et la queue        (Off your tail)                                                                     

     Target (Tar-Zhay) has capitalized on the non-existent French connection before, and it makes for some clever commercials.  “Alouette” takes most of us back to childhood songfests.  I suppose the image Target is going for is replacing the old with some colorful new plumage.  Still, I’m wondering, will it hurt?

     (Thanks, Wikipedia for background information and song translation.)

Celebrate

     What's happening in March?  More than you might have realized.  Check out http://www.brownielocks.com/ and you'll find a reason (or an excuse) to celebrate just about anything.

     If you can believe Brownielocks (and she says all holidays and observances on her site have been authenticated), March is awareness month for 55 different causes, has 49 weekly observances, and has individual holidays too numerous to count.

     March is the month designated for Colorectal Awareness, Eye Donor Awareness, and Multiple Sclerosis Awareness.  In March, we celebrate Irish-American Awareness.  My husband likes that one.  March is also Optimism Month.  If you would rather support some less weighty subjects, you can adopt a rescued guinea pig, or glorify bell peppers, broccoli, berries, and cherries.

     My favorite weekly observances are Return the Borrowed Books Week (3/4 - 3/10), the World Rattlesnake Round Up (3/8 - 3/14), and Act Happy Week (3/19 - 3/25).  Why do we need Root Canal Awareness Week (3/25 - 3/31)?  If you ask me, people should just live in blissful ignorance on the subject of root canals.  You'll understand it soon enough when you need one.

     These are the holidays that I want to keep in March -

3/2 - Dr. Suess Day
3/11 - World Plumbing Day - What?  Who isn't grateful for indoor plumbing?
3/12 - Napping Day - The Monday after daylight savings time.
3/24 - National Chocolate Covered Raisins Day - The reason for Root Canal Awareness?
3/27 - Viagra Day - Just one day?  I would think the guys who use it celebrate every time they pop that blue pill.

     It's March 8th.  Today is Girls Write Now Day.  Have a happy.

How Much Does it Really Cost to be Hot?

     I read an article about the high cost of Jennifer Aniston's good looks.  The total cost is a whopping $141,037.97 per year!  Jen goes in for $295 facial peels, $600 hair cuts, and $80 eye brow shaping.  Her personal trainer costs $300 per visit, after which the friendly one's well toned body gets a $45 bi-weekly spray tan.  The tab for pre-made meals is $385 per week.  Make-up runs $4,402 annually.  The writer of the article states that Ms. Aniston's only confirmed cosmetic procedures were two nose jobs.  Fancy Beverly Hills plastic surgeons charge around $9,000 for a rhinoplasty.  I suppose if you divide the cost of two nose jobs by the remaining number of years one expects to live, the average annual cost is pretty reasonable.

     Hainesport isn't Hollywood.  I feel safe saying there is no such thing around these parts as a $600 haircut.  I'm satisfied with the $25 trim I get at Sheer Perfection.  I don't know if Jennifer has to cover any gray hairs, but I use L'oreal very six weeks, and it runs $8.99 per box.  The Noritate that I use to keep rosacea at bay sets me back $18 for the co-pay.  I barely have to tweeze my brows.  Forty years of plucking has killed most of the hair follicles.  Forget the personal trainer.  Cleaning gutters and moving furniture is a great way to stay in shape.  Spanx will do the rest.  I buy a fresh mascara every six months since mascara is a medium for all sorts of bacteria.  I'm not conscientious about replacing any other cosmetic item, and my Mabelline Brush On Brow Color is probably three years old.  Most of my make-up comes from Walmart or CVS, but I occasionally treat myself to an item from the department store make-up counter.  I'm sure my annual make-up budget does not exceed $100.  Forty five dollar spray tans?  I can buy a couple of tubes of Banana Boat self tanner and a huge bottle of No Ad sunblock for that price, and it lasts from April till October.  My half of our $100 per week grocery bill is $50.  That's $2,600 per year.  However, the actual cost of food is less since items like toilet paper and trash bags are included in the grocery bill.

Some quick math shows that I can hold body and soul together for $3,199.35 per year - that's $137,838.62 less than Jen's bill.  A nose job, a little work around the eyes, and a tummy tuck are tempting, but Mike says I'm hot just the way I am.

Happiness is knowing you look good enough to be Jennifer Aniston's mother.      

Did You Get Anything Done Today?

6:30 a.m. – Up and at ‘em because dog refuses to stay in bed until 7:30.  It’s time to pee and chase some birds.

6:45 a.m. – Pick up dog poop.  Chase dog into house so she can’t dig another hole in the back yard.

7:00 a.m. – Help husband move 1,000 pound dresser in order to accomplish the day’s goal of painting one bedroom wall.

7:15 a.m. – Prepare breakfast.  Check email to kill time while waiting for husband to finish grooming rituals.

7:30 a.m. – Holler at husband to come and eat.

8:00 a.m. – Chase husband out door.

8:15 a.m. – Ignore whining dog while trying to write blog.

8:20 a.m. – Let dog out.

8:30 a.m. – Catch dog enlarging hole by fence.  Beg dog to come inside.  Trick dog into running back inside by making self object of chase. 

8:40 a.m. - Alternately write blog while threatening to throw dog out with the trash if she doesn’t stop whining.

9:30 a.m. – Climb ladder and begin caulking cracks in bedroom woodwork before painting.

9:40 a.m. – Climb down ladder to answer phone.  Receive update on progress of custom made picture frames.  Change some aspects of the job because Picture Frame Guy offers some interesting alternatives.

9:47 a.m. – Climb back up ladder.

9:49 a.m. – Descend ladder because Picture Frame Guy calls again. 

10:00 a.m. – Decide to start dinner.  Pull out recipe from the little cook book that came with the slow cooker back in 1975.  Wonder why this recipe hasn’t been committed to memory by now.

Pot Roasted Pork

3-4 lb. pork loin roast

Salt and pepper

1 clove garlic, sliced

2 medium onions

2 bay leaves

1 whole clove

1 cup hot water

2 tbs. soy sauce

Trim all excess fat from meat.  Make slits in meat and insert slivers of garlic.  Add some oil to Dutch oven and brown meat on all sides.  Put a layer of sliced onion in the bottom of the slow cooker.  Add the browned meat.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Cover with more sliced onion and add other ingredients.  Cover and cook on low until done – about 10 hours.  Or cook on high for two hours and turn back to low for 6 more hours.

10:35 a.m. – Begin applying blue painter’s tape.  Consider taping dog’s mouth shut.  Instead, nudge her out the back door.  Supervise the trip.  Bring her in as soon as she squats.  Spread drop cloths, fill paint tray, realize that human bladder should have been emptied one half hour ago.

10:56 a.m. – Sprint to bathroom.  Wonder for the umpteenth time why dog finds the flushing process so fascinating.  Chase dog away in order to lower lid.

11:00 a.m. – Let dog out, but not because she has to eliminate.

11:01 a.m. – Take a break.  Breaks are for washing breakfast dishes and scouring the impossible-to-keep-clean surface of the ceramic cook top.  Curse electric stove and vow to convert to gas.

11: 16 a.m. – Call dog inside.  Watch her look up then go back to pulling out clumps of grass.  Curse dog.  Again, dupe dog into returning to house by making self object of chase.  Wonder if neighbors are watching.  Pry clump of grass from dog’s locked jaws.  Wash dog’s filthy feet.

11:30 a.m. – Thrown in a load of laundry.

11:35 a.m. – Return to bedroom.  Put on old clothes.  Begin painting.

12:10 p.m. – Note commotion in kitchen.  Washer has gone off balance.  Run for the kitchen and catch glimpse of dog running in the opposite direction.  Rearrange wet clothes, restart washer, and hang on to it as it completes cycle.

12:17 p.m. – Notice dog has stopped shaking and is resting in crate.  Return to painting.

1:17 p.m. – Hear dog yipping.  Enter living room and see dog sitting at back door, vocalizing.  Suspect it’s a lie, but let her out.  Observe dog scanning terrain for squirrels and wild turkeys, sniffing around, and finally, eating a piece of mulch.  Five minutes pass.  Spy dog moving toward site of previous digging.  Knock vigorously on window and smile when dog leaps aside.  Call dog and she comes.

1:30 p.m. – Finish painting wall.  Stand back and admire work.  Think briefly that the new color is a lot like the old color.  Reconsider and conclude that it is nothing like the old color.  It’s very different – a complete change.

1:40 p.m. – Feel stabbing hunger pains.  Consume banana, juice, and this morning’s vitamins.

1:46 p.m. – Decide to take a bath.  Hair washing can wait one more day.  Put dog in crate.  Close door.  Admonish self for the smug feeling that accompanies closing the crate.  Dress, leave house.  Go to Petsmart for dog food, order fabric at Joann for making bed skirt, pick up weekly groceries at Shop Rite.

5:30 p.m. – Return home.  Reluctantly release dog from crate.  Dog wants to be under foot.  Jettison dog out back door.  Unpack groceries while dog stands on hind legs at side fence.  Marvel that she longs for a visit from the pooch next door.  All he ever does is lift his leg, pee in her direction, and saunter back home.  Theorize that man and beast operate on the same principles when it concerns infatuation.

6:00 p.m. – Husband walks through door.  Dog greets him enthusiastically.  Husband asks, “Was she a good girl today?”  Wife responds, “Did you have fun at work today?”  Then spouse asks, “Did you get anything done today?”  Husband spends the evening letting dog in and out four more times while wife watches television.