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 |  I've maxed out. Closed this blog. |
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This is a way of making myself write something coherent and grammatically correct almost every day. I'm opinionated and need an outlet. I'm also prone to flights of fancy. Thanks for stopping by. |
| I witnessed an incident that I found hard to believe yesterday. A grown woman was buying birthday party goods for her one year old. She told the cashier, "My baby is going to be one year old. She's my last baby, so I'm going all out. I won't have another chance." The cart was overflowing. I waited while she placed popular child theme gift bags, gift wrap, plates, napkins, and tissue paper on the counter. One present rang up $50. There were more pretty pink and lilac gifts, stacks of clothes, which cost as much as adult clothes. Still she put things on the counter. The cashier finally said, "That will be $450 something or other." The woman couldn't believe it. "No, it can't be that much." "Great." I thought, "Now we'll all wait while they go over the receipt and start eliminating a couple of items." Sure enough, she eliminated the $50 item, then two more. At that point, she needed a manager override, because it looks suspicious when a cashier takes too many items off. The total was whittled down to under $300. The woman was in tears and wiping her eyes dramatically. Then she angrily said, "More items have to come off." All the expensive party items came off, The $10 tee shirts, size one, came off. The next subtotal was still too big. More items were removed. The woman was huffy and short with the cashier. Finally, at $180, she said okay, and paid. Over half the items she bought came off the counter top. Everyone waited. She never thanked the cashier or apologized to anyone for causing a delay or inconvenience, but left in an obvious bad mood. How does a responsible parent of several children go shopping with no idea of what she's spending? Does she have no idea how arithmetic works? Had she never been shopping before? Why was she so oblivious to what she was doing? Who's the child here? Worse, when she was disappointed or realized her mistakes, why did she take it out on someone else? Maybe people would have felt more sympathy for her if she had just expressed a little concern for other people, either the other customers or the clerks who had to re-shop all her merchandise. It's hard to feel sorry for someone who's rude. |
| I listened to someone tell the story today of her one and only grandson. He's in his twenties and has cut all ties with his father, with whom he has been close his whole life, and, subsequently has cut himself off from her. His mother was never a very good mother, but now she's reaching out to him. He's grown and can help her. So he left a good job to move to another state and be near her. It reminded me of stories my mother used to tell me about grown children who treated their mothers like queens, even though they were lousy mothers when the kids were growing up. Of course, my mom was trying to impress upon us that she should be treated the same way by us, her ungrateful children. I pointed out to my mom that it worked out the way it did because she was a good mother. She did what mothers are supposed to do. She was there for her kids, she took care of them herself, she taught them what they needed to know to survive. As grown-ups, her kids had her love and affection and knew it. They didn't have to continue and struggle to win their mother's approval and acknowledgment. My mom didn't buy it. She wanted the adulation, non-stop. (She was well-cared for, and had daily visits whenever she was in the hospital or nursing home. Her family continues to be very close.) The truth is that if kids are raised properly, they will continue to respect their parents, but they won't have to "win" their approval. They won't have to make personal sacrifices or throw the other parent under the bus to finally get the parental affirmation they didn't receive as children. I'm not talking about an elderly or disabled parent, but a fully functioning, healthy parent. Even children of bad parents should see to their basic needs for medical care and shelter in their waning years. |
| I wish more people would do their bios on Writing.com. You don't have to be detailed or reveal personal secrets. You don't need to jeopardize your security. But it helps if you want other people to review your work. For instance, a story by an eighth grader might get a gentler review than someone with a PhD. Or someone who hasn't written since high school, but is recording his life now that he's retiring from a long life of auto mechanics, might need general steering more than grammar. English as a second language is a good tip, too. A good bio would tell us what stage of life the author is in presently. It might also tell us the person has some expertise in the subject matter or is just guessing. The point is that our reviews could be more helpful, maybe gentler, if we knew more about the writer. We don't need to know a lot of personal stuff. Maybe for Party Central, we could encourage everyone who hasn't set up a bio to make a quick stab at it. Just put some general guidelines down, Happy writing. |
| Since I have to make a living, I am working at a job I don't like, but I don't hate it. So I am trying to make the best of it and have a positive attitude. The staff is much nicer than many where I have worked. My main complaint is strictly personal. I have to spend 5 or more hours on my feet. The shorter days aren't so bad, but the longer ones make my legs and ankles swell. That breaks the capillaries which creates a really ugly red rash. Granted I always wear long pants, so no one sees but me. However, the blood dissipates and leaves the iron behind. That creates brown spots the doctors call "rust". It's permanent. So the fronts of my ankles and tops of my feet are "tan" looking. Right now, I get to wear comfortable, supportive shoes, like sneakers or other walking shoes. With good socks, my feet aren't experiencing any problem. This doesn't hurt mind you. Except that the skin is a little tender on the red spots the day after a 7 or 8 hour shift standing or walking. I have to go shopping for compression knee highs. They're expensive, hard to get on, but they keep the blood vessels supported. I'm on a lot of medication and have circulatory problems. Keeping my feet in the same position, like sitting at the computer, and forgetting to move around, causes problems, too, so it's not just the pressure of being upright. I guess I need to keep my resume out there, too. If the condition continues, even while doing everything else right, I might have to get something that allows me to prop my feet up occasionally. |
| This is a great time of year. The days are still hot, but the nights are cool. The shadows are longer. The air just seems to be different. Evening comes much sooner. The morning creeps in a little later, like an employee who used to come in early with anticipation, but now shows up with a little less enthusiasm barely on time. The trees are changing. The squash, the beans, the peppers have all played out. There's still a few tomatoes. We'll have some fried green ones soon. Peaches are abundant. My basil has just about wilted away, but it still smells good. It's just too withered for cooking. The mosquitoes, wasps, and little lizards are still in full force. In fact, our neighborhood has been besieged with scrawny looking foxes and raccoons recently. A cat had to have surgery after a raccoon attack on its own porch. Asters and fall colored mums are started to show up. Our shrubs have been trimmed, and the summer flowers have been cut back. We're trying to get the yard in shape before leaf raking begins. Then the scarecrows and jack-o-lanterns will start to show up. Maybe something about September makes us recall, if only vaguely, the resolutions, the dreams. Now as we rush towards the end of the year, we mark our progress or lack thereof. As children, it's a new time, a beginning of a new school term, a new course. Somehow as we get older, it marks the beginning of the end, as the year rushes to close up shop. It's exciting and sad, exhilarating and wistful, all at once. |
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