To Those Who Complain about People Not Taking Christmas Lights and the Tree down by New Year's

As my kids once reminded me in a plea to leave our Christmas tree up, I believe we should be keeping Christmas in our hearts all year long.

Too many people rush everything, including those insistent on taking the lights and Christmas tree down immediately (I actually know people who take their tree down the day after Christmas, and brag to all their friends they already have the tree down -- is this a race?).  If we can put up the lights and tree a month before Christmas, why can't they stay up for a month afterwards?

Are these impatient people?  Or are they organizational control freaks? These folks complaining don't seem to take the time to find the joy in the season, let alone rejoice in it.  Are they materialistic folks?

In addition, if these people profess to be Christians, do they not realize that Epiphany is January 6  (and for many religions includes the entire season from Christmas to Ash Wednesday)?  Who dictates Christmas lights and trees need to be down by New Year's anyway? The Fashion Police?

Did these complaining people consider all the love that went into decorating the tree with the family, as well as how long it actually took to decorate the Christmas tree?  What is this mad insistence to rush to the next holiday? 

 Perhaps we should keep our Christmas tree and lights up all year to remind us of the meaning of Christmas . I've actually considered keeping the tree by my railing in the living room as a permanent reminder, yet changing the other decorations in the house for each different holiday, too.

Can't we enjoy the 12 Days of Christmas?  Why is it always out with the old and in with the new?  Please, seriously consider leaving your tree and lights up, and keeping  Christmas in your hearts all year long.  (And for those inflexible folks who focus only on details, organization, and efficiency, do your own thing, by all means, but please stop grumbling about the rest of us who think differently, and consider leaving or do leave our tree, and perhaps, lights, up all year long.)

Dear Telemarketers

An excerpt from my upcoming book, "Letters I'd Like to Send, But Don't or Can't:

Dear Telemarketers,

I’d like to apologize for breaking up with you.  I know I added insult to injury by also making myself unavailable, but I really didn’t mean to hurt you.

Yes, I took the coward’s way out and asked my friend, the National Do Not Call List, to let you know I didn’t want to talk to you anymore.  I could have told you in person, but I wasn’t sure how well you would take the news our affair was over, and I didn’t want to feel guilty.

Please understand that I had to do it.  I just couldn’t handle the pressure of entertaining so many of you on the same day.  I felt like a slut.

I’ll always think of you, and remember our good times.   You stimulated me.  Yes, you stimulated me to tap into my inner resources and creativity.  Role-playing was so much fun with you.  I remember playing the lovely Widow with twelve starving children, who couldn’t afford anything.  I remember sobbing and beseeching you to find a good man for me.  I promised I would willingly give myself to this wonderful good Samaritan and marry him, if only he could help provide for my children.  I did weep on the phone well, didn’t I?

Of course, I loved using my theatre experience to lose myself in each role.  My favorite conversations with you involved me playing a sweet, but mentally-challenged woman, along with her imaginary dog, Sparky, who had come home from the institution for a weekend visit with her family.   Even though he was imaginary, Sparky barked for you and helped me communicate.  “Me and Sparky” always volunteered to go out in the parking lots and look for coins for you since you always seemed so needy and we weren’t allowed to have any money of our own.  Of course, you had the easy part as you only had to hang up.

I will certainly miss you.  Just remember it’s not anything you did – it’s me.  I just need some time to find myself.  Right, Sparky?  Woof!  Woof!

The Continuing Saga of Living with a Princess Cat

The Princess Cat loves being the only cat in the household -- she's much more loving now that she doesn't have to compete with any other cat for attention, even jumping up on available laps seated in the brown recliner, since no other cat can reserve that particular space.  She even purrs faintly when her chin is rubbed. 

Last week the Princess Cat seemed pleased with a new food dish of porcelain that had goldfish painted on the bottom and decorated with additional goldfish swimming around the outside rim.  I'm sure she appreciated the replacement and upgrade from the boys' old, plastic, blue bowl, and she loves the new pastel-colored water bowl, too. The porcelain bowl somehow seems more fitting for her princess status.

Last week, for no apparent reason, Ginger let me know she wanted the right side of my queen-sized bed to sleep on.  I've slept on the right side for years as the lamp, phone, and alarm clock are all on that side of the bed, so it's convenient. 

Monday night, however, I awoke shortly after going to sleep to feel Ginger balancing on the remaining two inch strip of bed behind me.  I have no idea how she could balance on such a small area on the edge without falling off.  She kept pushing against me, and I realized she wanted me to move over to the left.   Other cats usually find an unoccupied space on a bed and curl up there, but not Ginger.  She had the whole rest of the bed to sleep on, but she definitely wanted to sleep on the right side.  She continued nudging me repeatedly, to make me move over and create more room for her. 

It's a big bed and I don't really mind the left side.  So, yes, I moved over -- I just put my glasses on the left dresser instead.  Cats obviously do have distinctive personalities, as most feline owners will attest, but this orange and white one that lives with me, definitely has preferences in many areas.  I love her as she is.   She truly qualifies as a "Princess" Cat.

Vile Ice Cream

Ben and Jerry's has a new ice cream flavor out called "Schweddy Balls."

Adults may find it amusing if they watch SNL on late night tv, but really?  This should not be on ice cream sitting on shelves in grocery stores or on the ice cream which kids will eat.  

There's simply no reason to name an ice cream with such an in-poor-taste name, even by a cutting-edge company.  Let's face it -- there are many other more creative name possibilities.  Even if a company wants to use a marketing strategy that involves identifying with pop culture or a famous person, other choices abound.

I, personally, am not going to buy such a product no matter how good others argue it may taste (if it does) because I'm not going to support uncouth, only-out-to-make-a buck-at-any-cost business people.  Yes, I know businesses, by their very nature, have a right to make money, but where's the line?  Senseless vulgarity shouldn't have a place in main-stream marketing.

 No wonder the French hate American tourists -- inappropriateness and rudeness seem to be prevalent and acceptable everywhere, even in our ice cream names.  C'mon, America -- stop being such crass, disgusting, mannerless, "I can do anything I want and you can't stop me" Jackasses.

Road Rage

Heading down the highway, I often notice the road sign "Drive Slow."  Granted, there's not always a lot of room on road signs so they are often abbreviated, but when The Department of Transportation can make longer road signs that say "Do Not Enter" and "Columbus (I 70 symbol) West," as well as many other beauties, such as "Road Work Next 5 Miles" or "Grand Canyon National Park 4 Miles," then why would anyone make a grammatically incorrect sign, and worse, the "higher ups" or management not send the signs back to be redone correctly?

Obviously, the sign should read "Drive Slowly."  "Slow" is an adjective and modifies nouns and pronouns; "slowly" is an adverb and modifies verbs ("drive" is an action verb), adjectives, and other adverbs, and tells how (Drive how?  Slowly), where, when, why, or to what extent.  Yes, the current signs reflect idiot usage that most people think is correct because they've seen it that way so often on the roadways, courtesy of the uneducated, uncaring, simple-minded dolts at The Department of Transportation.


We have become a nation of complacent imbeciles and lazy slugs who care nothing about details, doing things well, and least of all, using good grammar.  We tolerate stupidity.  We have become a Nation of Nincompoops.


Granted, this may seem like an inconsequential detail to some, but if we let this slide, what else that's incorrect do we begin to ignore?  Where does it stop?  Would we want our surgeons to be incorrect?  Would we want our airplane pilots or journalists to be incorrect in their jobs?  Certainly, there should be people who find this blasphemy a blight.  Have others spoken out about this mutilation of our language?  If so, why has their call for action to change poor grammar on our highways been ignored?  I am puzzled.  It has been said many times over that the future of our country is our children, so do we want our children to see these signs that show such a lack of learning and respect for education?  If we don't care, then why should our children care?  Is this what we want?

The Department of Transportation is part of the government and therefore, a business.  Is this good business to present a company in an unfavorable light by displaying an attitude of slovenly behavior?    This isn't a catchy marketing slogan that's grammatically incorrect; it's a flagrant disrespect for good language skills.  What about how others perceive us?  Do we want businesses and people in other countries to see our business flaws and look down upon us? 


I, for one, cannot condone this incompetency, and am calling and e-mailing The Ohio Department of Transportation's Director and assistant directors.  Here is the Contact Page for ODOT:  http://www.dot.state.oh.us/Contacts/Pages/default.aspx.  I urge people to make a stand and demand our government use correct grammar in this situation.  Rise up, not quick, but quickly, and don't let government bring us down to Big Brother's dumbed-down level of inadequacy.  Please fight for correct language, and ask that road signs be changed from "Drive Slow" to "Drive Slowly."

Cold-Blooded Killer

I admit it -- it's true.  I've killed another vacuum cleaner.  Unfortunately, this vacuum cleaner, who met such an untimely demise, belonged to someone else.  I'm not even sure what kind of vacuum he was.  But he's dead.


Please believe me when I say I certainly didn't intend to harm Mr. Vacuum, not any of his parts, not even his screws, his clutch or his belts.  Matt (my son) and Moe (my friend), however, left me alone one fateful, late summer day in the capital city at my son's off-campus apartment to clean the long-forgotten, rotting potatoes left behind weeks before. Indirectly then, the death of the vacuum should be attributed to them for leaving me by myself.  Yes, it's Matt's and Moe's fault...this time.

The turn-your-stomach stench permeated the apartment to such an extent when we first opened the door that the two of them quickly volunteered to go forth to seek cleaning supplies at the local French store, known as Tar-zhay.  I stayed behind to tackle the problem.  

As a super mom, I began efficiently cleaning the fermenting taters and their sticky, stinking slime, which had encompassed everything in the oozing goo's path.  I eventually contained the offending odor-ridden spuds and the sopping paper towels in a garbage bag I stashed outside the open apartment door since the smell could knock your socks off, and I needed to air out the humble abode.  


The two allergic-to-foul-odor sissies had still not returned, so as I glanced around, I decided to help out and bring more clean to the college kid's living quarters.  


I scooped up two dozen gum wrappers littering the desk and surrounding floor.  I tried to organize the oddities on the desk, and then dusted most of the living room.  Next I decided to vacuum the zillions of black specks sprinkled on the cream-colored carpet from the eroding faux leather of the desk chair.  


Surprisingly, the vacuum cleaner didn't even blink at me as I gingerly opened the closet door.  Surveying his apparatus and appendages, I felt confident I could suck up the black dots easily.  


As I began, I hummed "Hang on Sloopy" and daydreamed.  I remember thinking what a great mom I am.  My thoughts continued along the same vein.  My son is so lucky to have me as his mom.  Heck!  He would probably fall to his knees and kiss my feet when he saw how wonderful I made his apartment look.  Moe would be impressed with my domestic skills.


Then it happened.  I reached under the corner of the futon to retrieve something protruding from under one corner and did not notice the impending doom lurking nearby.  It was already too late.  By the time I smelled burning rubber, I turned my distracted gaze back to the beastly vacuum, only to discover he had sucked up part of the futon cover.  He began making gurgling, suffocating sounds.


I couldn't save him.  Even though I quickly pulled the coverlet out,  the mechanical monster only emitted a deep sigh before collapsing in my arms.  Horrified, I tried to restart him, but he could no longer suck.  He made pitiful noises to warn me it was the end.


I can't get that day out of my mind.  I feel so guilty.   I didn't even know him. He belonged to my son.  I thought I had put my past behind me, but mental pictures of Hoover, Kerby, Sharp, Bernina, and other unnamed victims, floated before me.  If only a stiff drink could obliterate these haunting ghosts from the past.


I'm a Killer.  I've killed before, and I'll probably do it again.  Please help me.  I don't want to harm another vacuum cleaner.  Can anyone recommend a competent counselor?

School Days

Ah!  Back to School Sales litter the paper with their ads, enticing parents to shop their stores for needed bargains, but the county fairs keep calling the masses, the sultry summer days still abound, and no trees have seriously started changing leaf color in preparation for their winter hiatus.  School children, however, will be pulled back into classrooms all over this Ohio county this coming week of August.

I can't say I ever wanted to go back to school while summer still flourished and myriad activities, from swimming, lightning bug catching, picnics, or camping lured me outside.  I remember school starting after Labor Day when I was a child, which somehow seems more fitting to me.  With all the fanfare about children needing education to keep up with the Joneses, I mean, other countries, the argument touted by many calls for starting in mid-August in order to get in an Ohio required 182 days, without extending the school year to mid-June.

Why do we need 182 days of instruction?  How did anyone determine this was the proper number?  Are there school days or parts of days or classes which could be used more efficiently?  Could we not tighten up our schedules and lesson plans if needed?  Actually, all the public schools I know go longer than the required number of hours per day (5 hours minimum for grades 1 -- 6, and 5 1/2 hours minimum for grades 7 -- 12) required by the state of Ohio.  One school district here has the high school students attend 7 hours with a half hour lunch; another one puts in 6 hours and 37 minutes with a half hour for lunch.  These extra hours all add up.

All these hours add up.  By adding all the additional hours together, we provide many extra days of instruction, so schools could actually start after Labor Day and still end in May.  Actually, this also provides a bank of days that could be used for inclement weather days if you get right down to brass tacks, negating the need to make up a few of them.  

Another argument by some is that students forget too much over summer break.  In this modern day when all families either have computers or access to libraries' free computers and usage times, why can't next year's teacher, for instance, send ( or hand out to students before the previous year ends), a summer requirement or project sheet with certain completion dates requiring students to read, do math activities, write, work on a science project, complete a social studies activity, etc., or even provide enrichment opportunities not available during the regular school year to ensure on-going learning, but at a slower, less strenuous pace with a more flexible time frame to accommodate individual family needs and plans?  This can be done at every level, and students without computer/scanner access could be given post-paid envelopes or a drop off location at a library, for instance, to send in assignments.

Teachers could also, in many cases, utilize a seasonal approach if warranted, and focus on summertime in reading, writing, social studies, etc.  It can be fun as well as educational to do activities connected with this special season, from such things as writing poetry dealing with summer, to science projects involving fireflies, to math equations involving Olympic divers or hiking -- the possibilities are endless.  Schools could even run the buses one or two days during the summer, and do field trips, or spend time at 5th grade camps, or do any enrichment activity, rather than use instructional school days.

I think schools should re-evaluate their options and give serious reconsideration to not starting until after Labor Day when kids are more ready to devote time to studies, rather than start (sometimes mid-week) and then stop for the big Labor Day, end-of-Summer activities that occur across the nation.  In addition, poorer schools without air-conditioning in hot-weather climates will be much more student and staff friendly, helping everyone to focus with a later start.  Can't we do some field trip enrichments during summer rather than disrupt entire school days, especially at the middle and high school level, for one class who takes a day for a field trip?  Let's use our time more wisely, be creative, and still enjoy the dog days of summer as well as provide recuperation and vacation time.  Start schools after Labor Day and end at the end of May with some summer projects and summer field trips.  'Tis a season for everything.