Men at Work

  

   Today in the course of my errands, I traveled down Main Street in our little town, where there’ve been ongoing bursts of construction all summer.

Bucket List Revelation

     Thanks to the wild range of jobs I've held over the span of my life - waitress, ice cream scooper, CIA clerk, television production, hospital secretary, teacher - I've had a few experiences I might not have had otherwise.

Monday Errands

Leaving the YMCA today (my water aerobics was class back to normal, thank heaven), I stopped my car for one of the many walkers who hoof it around the complex.

Extra! Extra!

“A good newspaper is a nation talking to itself.”
Arthur Miller

Nowadays, it’s a busy time to be a reporter.

Amateur-in-Chief

Last night we watched the first episode of Designated Survivor, the new series starring Kiefer Sutherland. During the State of the Union address the Capitol is bombed, killing everyone attending the speech except for the one member of the Cabinet who is parked in a safe location for just this event.

          Sutherland plays the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, a position with little glory and in this representation, even less respect. After everyone in the government is wiped out, he’s hustled off to the White House and plunged into a war room with trigger happy generals and officials who are making little attempt to mask their dismay at this new head of the government.

          It’s a compelling premise and I think Designated Survivor has found a place in our DVR line-up.

          However, a warning bell went off as I thought about it. Sutherland’s character begins as someone with few skills for the bump-um cars of political life. It’s easy to see where this will likely go. He’ll fumble and fall occasionally, but will ultimately rise above the backbiting, and with his Everyman integrity, he’ll be a success.

          Granted Sutherland’s unassuming academic bears little resemblance to one of our candidates, but is there a possibility this a certain segment of the American voting public might thump the arm of their Lazyboy, gesture at the TV with the remote and say, “Well there ya go! He’s no politician and look how swell he’s doing!”

Meditation on a telephone pole

Before

Friday was groomer day and we have still another new dog to get used to after 

Mamie's major trim. 

Oh well, it will grow out.

Morning Poetry

Ode to a Mug

Snap Judgment

Hung Up

 

Joan Crawford aside, I could use some more old-fashioned metal coat hangers. 

Me and Mr. Bell

As someone who's a member of the legion of dedicated phone toters, you'd think I'd be in a state of constant conversation. And yet I rarely use it for its original purpose. 

The magic is still there

      Yesterday afternoon we suddenly decided to go to the movies. Why? Because we can, folks. We’re retired!

See you in the funny pages

Never mind Europe’s schizophrenic opening and slamming of doors to the Serbian refugees or the latest hijinks of Hillary and The Donald.

Defining Moments

“Those moments, they stare back at you.”  

Who knew that I’d be using the Sunday night series on HBO, True Detective, as a jumping-off point for a post?

It’s even more amazing that it would be dialogue from the show that would trigger thought, considering that Rolling Stone described the dialogue from this year’s season as

“sounding cribbed from a video game cut scene.”

The catalyst was an event from this past Sunday’s episode in which

Vince Vaughn’s character, Frank Semyon, visits the widow of one of his henchmen, killed in the line of duty.

He pulls the bereaved young son aside after learning the boy is inconsolable over his father’s death.  In an attempt to comfort him, he says:

“Sometimes a thing happens, splits your life. There's a 'before' and 'after,'" says Frank to the kid. "But if you use it right — the bad thing — you use it right and it makes you better. Stronger. Gives you something most people don't have."

My life has happily been free of murderous thugs wanting to off members of my family.

And yet when I look back, those milestone are there, moments so defining that a big, wide line divides everything into the before and after that Vaughn’s character speaks of:

Moves from one place to another: New Jersey, Massachusetts, Virginia,

          Oklahoma, Virginia, England, Virginia, New Jersey, Georgia, New Jersey,

          California, and finally, back to Massachusetts.

Changes in career: waitress, clerical government work, ice cream scooper, car

rental agent, hospital secretary, television production instructor,

teacher, and now writer

A sudden plunge from irresponsibility to adulthood: college to motherhood to career

And all those decisions, both private and public.

I remember giving birth to my first child, alone in an Army hospital while two Nurse Ratcheds stared down at me and commented to each other, “She doesn’t know how to breathe.”

I remember running hand-held camera on a remote shoot where I was not only the oldest person there, but also the only female.

I remember finally slogging to the end of my Masters in English, after three years of reading a book and/or writing a paper every two or three days while still working full time.

Even staring down a room-full of large, grumpy teenagers who had already decided they didn’t like English or me even though they’d only entered my room for the first time ten minutes before. 

And after I conquered each experience, I told myself, “If I can do this, I can do anything.”

Today's Thoughts

I was paying my Kohl’s bill today – you know the place: coupons of 10, 20,30% off that constantly appear in your mail, a perpetual massive sale, and “Kohl’s cash,” the purpose of which is to bring you back to redeem it a week later.

 (An experienced shopper friend of mine often says, “Kohls is crack”)

Out of Body, Out of (my) Mind

          I was running a tad late the other morning, caused as usual by a few too many minutes in front of what a non-techno friend calls “the machine”, aka my computer. Amazing how it can suck up time like a chamois on a wet car. 

Random Thoughts

Judge not lest you be. . . oh, forget it.

          The other day I was on my way to somewhere or other and happened to notice the car in the next lane as it passed me. I saw a slip of paper protruding from the back window and thought, “Oh great, a litterbug.” I had just begun judging that when I realized the paper was being held by a tiny hand that wasn’t releasing the paper, but rather was enjoying the flutter it made as the car moved.

          I began another round of judging:

          “Does the adult on board know that the child may very well have been dropping papers for the past several miles? And why is that child’s window rolled down far enough for him to stick his hand out?” Getting more annoyed, I thought, “Doesn’t the adult realize that child could lose an arm?”

          Then I had another discussion with myself along the lines of:

          “Give them a break! Stop judging! This is probably a perfectly wonderful mother who’s keeping an eagle eye on all activities in the back seat!”

          After the next light as I passed them, I noticed the parent was smoking a cigarette and the smoke was drifting into the back of the car.

          I resumed my judging.

The Mystery of Bingo Wings       

There I was in front of the bathroom mirror, roller brush in one hand, hairdryer in the other, and my arm aching, when it struck me: Considering the decades I’ve been doing this (especially when my hair was so long my husband would determine where to cut it by lining the scissors up with my bra strap), shouldn’t my upper arms have the taut muscle tone of a twenty-one year old gymnast?

Sisterhood

Women really are very different from men. It’s as though we all belong to a club and just haven’t met yet. Think how many times a complete stranger has turned to you in the grocery store and struck up a conversation.

          I had a nice chat with another lady in a dressing room when we both wandered out of our smallish stalls, seeking the big tri-fold mirror. I helped her zip up her dress (One I’d tried on earlier and she looked much better in - which I wouldn’t have minded so much if she hadn’t clearly been several years older.) I sympathized when she told me she wouldn’t be able to buy it since she lived alone and would either never be able to get into it or out of it.

          Another time in Penny’s, in another dressing room, I found myself smiling as I stood there in my underwear. We were all closed into our anonymous cubicles, wrestling our way in and out of garments. 

        Someone several stalls down sneezed and a nice lady from the other direction called out, “Bless You!”

Clean Slate

Outside of cute kitchen message boards and restaurants with the evening specials, few people use slates anymore. You know, the fine-grained, foliated, homogeneous metamorphic rock (that was the definition that sprang into your mind, right?)  Laura Ingalls Wilder would clasp as she sat in that one-room schoolhouse on the prairie. 

When I was teaching, and had time at the end of the day, I’d head to the girls’ room down the hall with my green plastic bucket. I’d fill it up and return to my classroom where I’d dip my giant sponge and wash away the day from my chalkboard. I might re-enter the detention list or a homework assignment, but the most part, it was a fresh start.

Maybe I liked the idea of a fresh start because it’s a close relative to my need for visual order. I could never understand those people whose filing system is composed of towers of paper.  Before I begin a task requiring any sort of thinking, I have to clear my desk of the notepads, old mail, and gloves looking for a mate. When I’m cooking, to avoid using chili powder instead of cinnamon, or baking powder instead of baking soda, I have to empty the kitchen counter and sink before I begin. 

An uncluttered surface can recharge my mind and soul. I can dodge real housecleaning far longer than I’d like to admit, but after I’ve sorted out a drawer or cleared the shoes from my closet floor I can reach inner peace. New shelf paper can leave me with a sense of tranquility that’ll stick around for the rest of the day.

These are all re-sets, new beginnings, another reason I enjoyed teaching.  In September I was able to start over again with a new set of students and the optimism that came with a new year.

  Funny, people write about the rebirth brought each year by Spring, but this is reversed in the teaching world. Spring is the culmination of the school year, when everything finishes up. 

Vital Information

The following are interesting facts that I received recently in

one of those chain emails.

So of course, they must be true.

Men in Uniform

(By the way, John and Chris of Going Gently http://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/are tying the knot today. 
 Best wishes and a long happy future together to them both!)

     Yesterday morning I was in the Y for a much-needed stint on the treadmill. All this indoor living is taking its toll; somehow I’m both restless and lethargic. 

One Paper Clip

        It all started with my lap board, the one I use in the living room when I feel like a change of scenery with my lap top computer. I had bought the board when my husband was laid up with a broken leg. Now, several years later, its cushy bean bag pad had died, so even with meaty thighs it could grow uncomfortable after a couple of hours.

          So of course the obvious solution was a trip to the grocery store for several bags of dried peas.