Fall Fanfare

Once again, Fall lurks around the next corner, bringing about back-to-school excitement and fall activities to communities all over the country.  As I enter a local store this past week, two young children dressed in clothing with logos to support their group beg with outstretched hands holding empty cups for money for their team.  Sadly, they are one of many who will appear in the next few months.

Don’t get me wrong – I like supporting young people and their causes, and often do.   I applaud their dedication and contributions to society.   I believe in teaching young folks to get involved, be positive, and to give back.  However, I do not support begging.  

I gladly support kids who do something to earn money for their groups.  I would gladly hire kids to pick up sticks in my yard, and I would pay them far more than the going rate to help them with their cause.  I love kids with the energy and initiative to hold bake sales to earn money, and I often pull into a car wash and simply give a donation as my car doesn’t usually need washed.  I’m glad to help.  There’s a host of other things kids can also do to earn money for their teams and schools such as walking dogs, and organizing a walk or run or swim for dollars that people could pledge, along with more traditional selling of popcorn and magazines.

Parents and coaches need to rethink what they are teaching their kids. They are sending out the wrong message.  Begging should not be an option, even for a good cause. 

 *I realize this blog may stir and fire up some parents who automatically switch to a defensive mode anytime someone mentions children and change.  With my comments, I’ve also suggested some other options which I think should be considered as improved alternatives to current practices.  I do not condone begging.

Attending?

R.S.V.P. – from the French, “Répondez s'il vous plait” – please respond.

R.S.V.P. appears throughout our lives on many invitations.  Hosts need a response, either a “yes” or a “no” to their invitation.  No answer, or not replying, is not an acceptable option. 

Most invitations include a card for the invited to simply check “yes” or “no,” as well as a stamped, pre-addressed envelope to make it easy to respond.  How difficult is that? 

Not surprisingly, The Grinch probably does not respond to any invitations as he probably doesn’t receive any.  Actually, if he did receive one, however, he’d probably take perverse delight in responding with an emphatic, “No,” unlike the discourteous people in our culture who can’t be bothered to respond, or erroneously think by not answering they are saying they are not attending.  Even The Grinch is more polite than they are.

Even though he seems like loads of fun, the Trix Rabbit probably doesn’t respond to any invitations either because he doesn’t appear too bright, and in all probability, can’t read.  I’m guessing his friends understand his plight, and only issue verbal invitations to him. 

Casper the Ghost, on the other hand, due to his nature, appears unexpectedly anywhere; he just shows up.  At least he’s polite and mannerly despite his transparent condition.  Showing up without responding is not an option for anyone but Casper.

If you haven’t responded to an R.S.V.P., how do you explain your discourteous behavior?  Maybe you think you, or one or two others not responding, won’t make a difference, but what if 10 or 20 or more people do the same thing?  The host, of course, must provide the caterer an exact number, so you either cost the host extra money for the no-shows, or there are not enough dinners for all the guests.  Even a third grader can understand this math.

If you were invited to a gala hosted by Hillary Clinton, Jimmy Fallon, Michael Jordan, or anyone you admire, wouldn’t you respond to the invitation?  Of course, you would.  So what’s your problem?  Do you think you are so powerful, like Miranda Priestly from “The Devil Wears Prada,” that you don’t have to reply to anything? What's your excuse for not responding, Lame Brain?

Doctor/Date Shoes

Last summer as I rushed around the house to brush my teeth and change clothes for my doctor's appointment, I sent my son's fiancee to retrieve my doctor/date shoes from the closet and my son to back the car out of the garage for me.

"What are Doctor Date Shoes?" Lauren inquired.

"They are the clean, white Reeboks in the front that look new, " I answered.  "I only use them if I'm going to the doctor's office, or if I have a date that includes an activity requiring tennis shoes.  I always keep a new pair ready for doctors and dates."

My son had joined his fiancee by this time, and they both chuckled over my need to keep special shoes for those two life events.  They found a great deal of amusement in the fact I had doctor/date specialty shoes, and claimed I was the only one they knew who had doctor/date shoes.

Obviously, doctors and dates are important enough in my mind to warrant a high ranking in shoe priorities.  I like my shoes to be clean and relatively new on occasions that involve doctors and dates.   After the shoes get a little wear and tear, I downgrade them to everyday Reeboks, and move the current everyday ones to a lower category for yard work and muddy times.  Then I buy a new pair for the doctor/date category to stand at the ready. Not only is that practical, but I own nice shoes for occasions when I need them.

So, bring on the doctors and dates -- I'm ready, and I have shoes.  Actually, let's not bring on the doctors -- I really don't want reason to see them.  Bring on the dates then.  If it's a dinner date, however, maybe I need a new pair of dressier shoes instead of my Reeboks.  All right!  I certainly need to get shopping.  Sometimes a gal just needs special shoes for special occasions, and you never know when that might be.  Bring on the shopping.  You can't go wrong with good shoes.   :)

Waiting Room Anguish

Sitting in a waiting room this week, like countless other people before me in a myriad of locations everywhere, I entertain myself with noticing how someone has decorated  and furnished this particular waiting room. 

Fairly sturdy chairs.  A reasonable number of chairs, each three making a settee.  A TV in one corner playing the news.  A muted, leafy green color.  A series of pictures, hanging in a row on the walls, featuring flowers.  One picture appears missing.  The paint is a pale yellow in the vacant spot. Wonder where the picture is, and why it has not been replaced.  Fake plants for ambience.  A couple of magazines on an end table.  An upscale wooden desk, rather than an office desk.   No chair in front of the desk to use, as well as nothing on the desk.  The desk looks out of place. 

Why is there a naked desk in this waiting room?  What purpose does it serve?  Maybe someone intended to put brochures there?  Wait.  I’ve got it.  I know what happened.  The pieces are all falling into place.  I can visualize it now.

The unobtrusive, yet mysterious, desk hides a blood stain.  Yes, a blood stain.  A murder definitely unfolded here in this exact spot.  Someone ran out of patience with their loved one, and cracked.  Maybe the victim had complained incessantly, driving the relative over the edge, or perhaps the victim revealed a secret before the telling lab work came back, that the stranger in town running the floral shop, worked for the CIA, and the baby was his. 

Enraged and agitated for whatever reason, the relative obviously grabbed the picture with the sturdy, oak frame off the wall, and beat the victim’s head in until blood seeped from the multiple gashes into the carpet.  Blood stains are not easy to remove, and that would certainly explain the missing picture, too -- a convenient and lethal weapon in a crime of passion.

The waiting room desk sits calmly, hiding the aftermath of a grisly scene.  Few people notice it’s there or think about why it is there, and definitely they do not question the lack of a chair, or even a picture.  To them, it’s just another waiting room.  Certain professions need people who notice details. Perhaps, I could grow up to be a writer?