Sigh. Another Saturday afternoon, the one before Mother's Day, and I still haven't gotten anything for the significant women in my life. What can I do? What can I get that will let them know what I truly feel and care for them.
I just returned from the grocery store, where millions (okay, not millions but thousands or maybe even just hundreds) of desperate shoppers were viciously attacking the front floral display, grabbing at anything that came up, looking for a price tag (Okay, so it was more like 20 or 30, but over time it could get up to the millions). Looking in their wallets, they'd either keep what they grabbed or toss it back into the sea of items that they could get for their "moms." As I stood in the line at the check-out, I pondered back to the good old days. Ah, the good old days.
Flashback -- The Good Old Days. Occasionally I had to work on Sundays. And of all the Sundays I had to work, Mother's Day was my favorite. I was in charge of all the plants and flowers. Mother's Day was my day to get back at all the cheap Valentines Day misers who bought chocolate and other things. Not everyone has a Valentine, so usually I was stuck with thousands of dollars worth of flowers that in desperation, were marked half price, then 1/2 price again, until we were basically giving someone flowers just for coming in. Who wants Valentine flowers on the 15th of February. So, here it is, Mother's Day, and EVERYONE has a mother, and nothing gets marked down. The doors would open, and in would come the patsies, er, esteemed customers. They'd circle the display like great white sharks, even nipping at each other in the "feeding frenzy" they created at my display. Ah yes. Today would be the day that I made some money off of my flowers. Nothing would be marked down, and everything would be sold.
Now, you have to understand the human psyche and the shoppers who come in on Mother's Day. Most of them, you could tell, had just lied to their mom/spouse/girlfriend/significant other by telling them, "Ah yes, I have your gift. It's right outside here..., in the garage..., SCREEEEECH!!!!!" Now they had that look of fear. That look of desparation, like any burglar caught with his hand in the cookie jar. They had to come up with something to get them out of hot water. These people would buy a broken stem of chrysanthemum to prove that they did indeed remember this holiday. They had taken great lengths to ponder what great gift they'd get for their "mom(s)."
Back to the Future
I noticed an acquaintance of mine at the lobby display. He picked out something, a vase, and a bunch of flowers. He then disappeared into the store. Minutes later (I must have the worst luck when it comes to shopping, as every lane I get in seems to start slowing down. I happened to be in the "New Checker" lane), he reappeared with 2 poster boards and some candy and got in line a couple of people behind me.
"Whatcha doin'?" I asked.
"Making a card for my mom."
"Don't remind me. I still need to get something for my wife, and for my kids to give her."
"You'd better hurry up. Things are going fast over there."
"That's a pretty cool vase you have there," I added, admiring at the glass with streaks of white marbled in it.
"It should be, for $17 dollars," he said as he showed me the price tag.
"17.99," I thought as I looked at it (for some reason, retailers just can't bring themselves to put that extra penny's worth on an item, so we know that we are getting a REAL BARGAIN).
I made my purchase of items and on the way out, decided to check on some of the items in the lobby. "$20 for a mini rose?!!! Okay, actually it was $19.99, but who's counting. For $15.00 (er, $14.99) I could buy a patened Grade 1 rose from a nursery, with blossoms on it. For $19.99, someone from the nursery would even install it for me. I picked up a painted basket with a plant in it. "How much do they want for this?" I wondered as I looked for the price tag. "Made in China." Hmmm... I wondered if some child laborer had made this pastel basket, thinking about his mom, only to have it taken from him and sold to some free-market American company at 97% of what it cost to make and pay the kid to paint it, who'd then turn around and sell (or attempt to sell) it to the general public for 97% more.
What happened to the good old $6.99 mini-roses I had sold a few years ago? Prices have gone up, and the quality is not even the same, or the variety. Imagine what a stem of chrysanthemum would go for these days. And the average chrysanthemum has 20-30 stems, at $1.00 a stem, that's $20-30 (give or take 20-30 cents if you give them the $0.01 discount). Hey, maybe I'm on to something here.
Do you remember the "Even Better" old days when your mother was happy to get a piece of paper with your hand traced on it, and your name, age, and something like, "I love you," scribbled in crayon? Is there a magic age when that doesn't work anymore. I hate to think that my mother would be so materialistic that she could be bought off with some flowers, and/or candy. So, I decided to make a list of things that you, the general reader, can do to make your mom or wife know that she is appreciated. Now most of these reflect on your mom, not your wife, but it IS Mother's Day, not Wife's Day.
1.) Stand when your mother, wife or any lady enters a room. Okay, it sounds a bit old fashioned, but it really scores some points with those who notice you doing it.
2.) DON'T buy candy. For some reason, women feel that they are 20 pounds heavier than they are, and candy just adds to the problem. Besides, I think I buy my wife candy more because I want it, rather than she wants it. And of course I end up eating more of it than she does. Luckily, I have children whom I can blame if she discovers that she hasn't had her quota of the gift.
3.) Straighten up and fly right. Nothing tells people more about your mother than the way you act and treat others. Your character (along with number 1) reflects your mother's training in your life.
4.) Handmade gifts still out class anything you can purchase.
5.) Call and write more than just once a year, at Mother's Day. Okay, I need to work on this one, but until then, Mom, no news is good news.
Happy Mother's Day to all of you "Moms" out there.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Fanatically Speaking
Exercise! Stay healthy! We have been given wonderful gifts of a mechanical nature that mankind can not imitate. The human body is truely a scientific marvel. A myriad of hydrolic, chemical, electrical and physical systems that are unmatched by anything built by today's scientific geniuses. It can be injured by diseases, penetrating objects or violating chemicals, yet rebuild and repair itself. Yes, man can replace some of the worn out objects, but creating anything from scratch that is like unto it is just not possible, at this time.
So, these bodies grow. Amazingly, at different rates and different sizes. Why are some of them bigger? Why are some of them taller? Some are faster, while others are smarter. But all of them, like snowflakes, are unique to themselves. There are no two that are the same. Even twins have differences that make them individual.
Of course, like any machinery, there are maintenance requirements for these bodies. Just like a car, you have to add things to make them go. Food and vitamins are like the gasoline and oil that we put in our vehicles. If we don't do it often, we either run poorly or run out of energy. And an old car sitting there in the sun, rain and other elements ends up being in rusty, poor shape. We have to take care of our bodies, if we don't want them to end up in a scrapyard.
So, scientific geniuses have developed a great plan to keep them running in top condition. This plan is called exercise. However, like a lot of things that are "good" for one, are not accepted as "good." We rebel against anything that might cause us minor pain, even if it is "for our own good." So, to get around this, the geniuses decided to change the name from "exercise" to "sports." Everyone likes to play games and sports. They are being tricked into doing exercises.
Well, remember the previous principle that no two bodies are the same. Some people are good at particular sports, while others, well, let's just say they shouldn't quit their day jobs. In fact some are so good that the ones who are not good would rather pay to watch the ones who are do these exercises. And pay dearly. They pay so that the others can do these exercises, while they sit in the stands and eat some of that food. A lot of times, the food they eat makes it so they are even less able to do that exercise so they feel the need to keep paying to watch the others exercise. In fact, sometimes the exercise of going to watch is just too much so they pay to be able to watch this exercise from the cushions of their couches at home.
Now, the physically challenged observers (that's politically correct for inept, lazy, couch bums) always dream about being able to do this exercise. I mean, who wouldn't want to get paid millions of dollars to play a sport, any sport, even for just one season. They dream to a point that during a particular season, all they can think about is the next game, or the next meet, or the next time their teams or individuals will be visible to them, so that they can watch and not exercise themselves. This euphoria has a hypnotic affect to where the admirers even start claiming to be part of the team.
"Yeah, WE are just one win away from the championship."
"WE are undefeated."
"WE played OUR best WE'VE played all year."
I'm listening to fans just trying to figure out how I can sign up to be part of the team. Of course, there is a downside to belonging to a team, and once the team does poorly, these same admirers instantly jump off ship.
"THEY couldn't win to kill THEMSELVES."
"THEY couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."
"THEY should trade so and so to another team."
"I knew THEY couldn't win the big one.
Well, the physically challenged observers have come up with a name for themselves: FANATIC, or FAN for short. Again, no two fans are alike. Some go to extremes of watching their teams, calling into work as being sick so that they can follow "the team" and purchasing all sorts of team paraphernalia. They call themselves "True Fans" and anyone who mocks them isn't really a "true fan." They paint their faces, or bellies, or..., well lets just say that they would sacrafice any part of their bodies for the "benefit of the team." They feel that it is because of some aurora emanating from their fully decked out bodies, ash trays, car fresheners, and the myriad of other items that are making someone in the People's Republic of China richer, that is the cause of their team's success, or failure.
Now, I admit that at times I too have been involved with fanaticism. In fact, there are two words that I won't use in the same sentence together, because in the past, whenever I have gambled on one particular football team using the word "bet" they have lost everytime. Not only did I learn at a young age the sins of gambling, but I also undoubtedly was the cause of this team not winning more championships than they should have if I had never been born. But I have been cured of this "fanaticism." I no longer feel the pain that I did as a child. And having been cured, I take great joy and satisfaction in watching other fans struggle through their "adolescence" of fanaticism.
The other night I attended a college basketball game. I was invited by a friend who provided my tickets so I took my daughter and we sat in "his" section which happened to be the visiting team. Not wanting to offend my friend, and not really having any connection with the home team other than they happen to be housed in my home city, I was rooting for said visiting team. We happened to be on the edge of the home/visitor dividing line, so I found it amusing to hear one group of fans yelling things like, "Come on, Ref!!! Are you blind?," while the other group was yelling, "Great call, Ref!!!," on the same play.
Being an official, I've learned that there are 3 views in all sporting events. There is the opinion that since a game is being played in a particular place, the home team gets all the calls. There is the notion that particular teams or players get better calls because the ref's like them. Then there is the correct point of view, that the officials could not care less who wins, someone is going to like their calls and someone is not.
Back to the basketball game, as we were enjoying the game and I was trying to be impartial and explain to my friend why some calls are made and some are not, pointing out that he can't watch everything at the same time, which is why there are several officials out there and they have specific jobs. Yes, sometimes things get missed, but it goes both ways. Well, we are having a good conversation when something goes bad for the home team. "COME ON, DAVIS!" Evidently, one of the home players named Davis just threw the ball away and a fan from across the aisle was unsatisfied. I hadn't been following the team, so didn't know who Davis was, but my friend was happy. Then later in the period, "GET DAVIS OUT OF THERE!" Again, the same fan with the loud voice, who obviously was the upper level section LL coordinator for the home team was trying to relay the message down to the head coach that Davis was not performing to his abilities and should be removed from the game. Thinking quickly the next time the hometeam had the ball, I disguised my voice and yelled out, "GIVE THE BALL TO DAVIS."
Well, after the game, my daughter asked, "Did WE win, Daddy?" WE sure did, 'Millie. WE sure did.
So, these bodies grow. Amazingly, at different rates and different sizes. Why are some of them bigger? Why are some of them taller? Some are faster, while others are smarter. But all of them, like snowflakes, are unique to themselves. There are no two that are the same. Even twins have differences that make them individual.
Of course, like any machinery, there are maintenance requirements for these bodies. Just like a car, you have to add things to make them go. Food and vitamins are like the gasoline and oil that we put in our vehicles. If we don't do it often, we either run poorly or run out of energy. And an old car sitting there in the sun, rain and other elements ends up being in rusty, poor shape. We have to take care of our bodies, if we don't want them to end up in a scrapyard.
So, scientific geniuses have developed a great plan to keep them running in top condition. This plan is called exercise. However, like a lot of things that are "good" for one, are not accepted as "good." We rebel against anything that might cause us minor pain, even if it is "for our own good." So, to get around this, the geniuses decided to change the name from "exercise" to "sports." Everyone likes to play games and sports. They are being tricked into doing exercises.
Well, remember the previous principle that no two bodies are the same. Some people are good at particular sports, while others, well, let's just say they shouldn't quit their day jobs. In fact some are so good that the ones who are not good would rather pay to watch the ones who are do these exercises. And pay dearly. They pay so that the others can do these exercises, while they sit in the stands and eat some of that food. A lot of times, the food they eat makes it so they are even less able to do that exercise so they feel the need to keep paying to watch the others exercise. In fact, sometimes the exercise of going to watch is just too much so they pay to be able to watch this exercise from the cushions of their couches at home.
Now, the physically challenged observers (that's politically correct for inept, lazy, couch bums) always dream about being able to do this exercise. I mean, who wouldn't want to get paid millions of dollars to play a sport, any sport, even for just one season. They dream to a point that during a particular season, all they can think about is the next game, or the next meet, or the next time their teams or individuals will be visible to them, so that they can watch and not exercise themselves. This euphoria has a hypnotic affect to where the admirers even start claiming to be part of the team.
"Yeah, WE are just one win away from the championship."
"WE are undefeated."
"WE played OUR best WE'VE played all year."
I'm listening to fans just trying to figure out how I can sign up to be part of the team. Of course, there is a downside to belonging to a team, and once the team does poorly, these same admirers instantly jump off ship.
"THEY couldn't win to kill THEMSELVES."
"THEY couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."
"THEY should trade so and so to another team."
"I knew THEY couldn't win the big one.
Well, the physically challenged observers have come up with a name for themselves: FANATIC, or FAN for short. Again, no two fans are alike. Some go to extremes of watching their teams, calling into work as being sick so that they can follow "the team" and purchasing all sorts of team paraphernalia. They call themselves "True Fans" and anyone who mocks them isn't really a "true fan." They paint their faces, or bellies, or..., well lets just say that they would sacrafice any part of their bodies for the "benefit of the team." They feel that it is because of some aurora emanating from their fully decked out bodies, ash trays, car fresheners, and the myriad of other items that are making someone in the People's Republic of China richer, that is the cause of their team's success, or failure.
Now, I admit that at times I too have been involved with fanaticism. In fact, there are two words that I won't use in the same sentence together, because in the past, whenever I have gambled on one particular football team using the word "bet" they have lost everytime. Not only did I learn at a young age the sins of gambling, but I also undoubtedly was the cause of this team not winning more championships than they should have if I had never been born. But I have been cured of this "fanaticism." I no longer feel the pain that I did as a child. And having been cured, I take great joy and satisfaction in watching other fans struggle through their "adolescence" of fanaticism.
The other night I attended a college basketball game. I was invited by a friend who provided my tickets so I took my daughter and we sat in "his" section which happened to be the visiting team. Not wanting to offend my friend, and not really having any connection with the home team other than they happen to be housed in my home city, I was rooting for said visiting team. We happened to be on the edge of the home/visitor dividing line, so I found it amusing to hear one group of fans yelling things like, "Come on, Ref!!! Are you blind?," while the other group was yelling, "Great call, Ref!!!," on the same play.
Being an official, I've learned that there are 3 views in all sporting events. There is the opinion that since a game is being played in a particular place, the home team gets all the calls. There is the notion that particular teams or players get better calls because the ref's like them. Then there is the correct point of view, that the officials could not care less who wins, someone is going to like their calls and someone is not.
Back to the basketball game, as we were enjoying the game and I was trying to be impartial and explain to my friend why some calls are made and some are not, pointing out that he can't watch everything at the same time, which is why there are several officials out there and they have specific jobs. Yes, sometimes things get missed, but it goes both ways. Well, we are having a good conversation when something goes bad for the home team. "COME ON, DAVIS!" Evidently, one of the home players named Davis just threw the ball away and a fan from across the aisle was unsatisfied. I hadn't been following the team, so didn't know who Davis was, but my friend was happy. Then later in the period, "GET DAVIS OUT OF THERE!" Again, the same fan with the loud voice, who obviously was the upper level section LL coordinator for the home team was trying to relay the message down to the head coach that Davis was not performing to his abilities and should be removed from the game. Thinking quickly the next time the hometeam had the ball, I disguised my voice and yelled out, "GIVE THE BALL TO DAVIS."
Well, after the game, my daughter asked, "Did WE win, Daddy?" WE sure did, 'Millie. WE sure did.
The Mis-Advenutes of Mik Retnuh
As a child, I always dreamed of becoming a super hero. My favorite was Zorro, the masked legend who beat his enemies not because of some unnatural strength, but because of his wit and physical abilities to out do his rivals. I always wished I could fly, and I still dream about flying all the time, but Zorro was within reachable limits of someone who I could become, unlike Superman, or Spiderman, et. al.
My father was an English professor and I admired the way he wrote. I took my elementary and secondary schooling quite seriously and listened to my English teachers. I do not profess to have perfect grammar and spelling capabilities, but I do enjoy writing some of my life's moments in the eyes of the "superhero" I became, the infamous Mik Retnuh (so famous that I'm in-famous).
One day I hope to publish these in a book, but until then, you are about to enter the MisAdventures of Mik Retnuh. Not everything goes my way, but I've learned valuable lessons that I hope to pass on to others so that they might enjoy life more fully, for that is the purpose of life, to have joy and spread it on to others.
My father was an English professor and I admired the way he wrote. I took my elementary and secondary schooling quite seriously and listened to my English teachers. I do not profess to have perfect grammar and spelling capabilities, but I do enjoy writing some of my life's moments in the eyes of the "superhero" I became, the infamous Mik Retnuh (so famous that I'm in-famous).
One day I hope to publish these in a book, but until then, you are about to enter the MisAdventures of Mik Retnuh. Not everything goes my way, but I've learned valuable lessons that I hope to pass on to others so that they might enjoy life more fully, for that is the purpose of life, to have joy and spread it on to others.
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