December 23, 2013 Starring as a Snowflake Can Be Hard Work Everybody loves a parade  rightt?  Picture this:  a crystal clear, brisk winter evening, thousands of twinkling, multi-colored lights, store windows displaying mouth-watering displays of merchandise....put it all together and you will have the Minneapolis Holidazzle Parade, an event of epic proportions that, in 15 years of existence, has become a must-see tradition.  Enchanting to watch, most definitely. But to participate in:  incredible.

Years ago I had opportunity to experience the Holidazzle parade.  Intended as a surprise to my then 10 year-old son, my oldest sister and I originally planned on taking him to the parade and attempt to get him on a float as an extra volunteer.  What we did not anticipate, though, was that we all would become a part of the production.

As we arrived, our first impression of downtown Minneapolis, on the Nicollet Mall, was one of awe as we stared at the sparkling-lit trees strewn down the street.  Merchandise in the store windows were artfully displayed in a dreamlike manner.  A bevy of red-clad Santa Clauses greeted us, wandering the street, sipping cappuccino drinks.  Just prior to that they had participated in an organized race on the downtown mall.

We registered our names to be 'extras' and hoped we would be needed.    As we dawdled in the hallway of the Hyatt Hotel amongst hundreds of other participants ranging in every age imaginable, a distant casting call was heard, "We need two more flakes over here," the man said.

Could we handle the assignment?  Could we do it?  

We decided to give it a whirl and stepped forward to volunteer.  In the blink of an eye, or the twinkle of a light, we were whisked away to the staging area where a 16-pound power pack, resembling a small car battery, was strapped to each of our lower backs. As snowflakes, we were told, we would come very last in the parade, announcing Santa Claus in his glorious glowing float.  Mulling about the street outside the hotel, we could not help but wonder what we had gotten ourselves into.

  

Outside on the street, waiting our turn, we stuck together with the rest of the 'flakes'.   The crowds gathered along the 7-block route at a rate of approximately 3,000 per city block.  An estimate of total spectators was about 30,000 or so, all out to take in the holiday extravaganza. Before long, we happened upon a very small snowflake, adorned just the same as we were.   This experienced little flake told us that it was easy, all we had to do was 'high-five' everyone and say “Merry Christmas!”  Assured that we could indeed handle the assignment, we awaited the lighting of the floats that signaled the start of the parade.  Soon Santa boarded his sleigh and we were off.  We walked ahead of the float, serenaded by Santa, who sang Christmas favorites to his fans of every age.  Now, setting aside our doubts, it did not take long to fall into the snowflake characters, presenting Santa to his adoring fans. We danced and twirled, we high-fived them, and we hollered "Merry Christmas!" to the spectators.  Sparkles of joy danced in their eyes as we were transoformed from mere human beings to utter star status.  (Though we were technically snowflakes, as the stars came first in the parade, we were repeatedly mistaken for stars.)  When all was said and done, we had shaken hands and greeted hundreds of people along the route. By the time we hit the last block we snowflakes had begun to melt.

I suddenly remembered the battery pack, and how heavy it really was.  All of us snowflakes had melted somewhat as we made our way along the trek.  Awaiting us at the end of the parade were several metropolitan buses  aglow  in a sea of twinkling lights that shuttled us back to where we began.   We disembarked, eager to shed the adornments. Together we had resembled a unified, impressive sight to the crowd.  But in doffing the elaborate snowflake headpieces, we realized that each was a unique flake in our own right.  We had lived up to the adage that no two snowflakes were completely alike, for they come in all sizes and shapes. More than fifty thousand Christmas tree lights covered the costumes of parade participants. And that's enough to light up the night sky completely, not to mention the many faces that we encountered along the way that night.

December 16, 2013

People Watching Costs Less Than Shopping....

I happen to be a people watcher.  I enjoy looking at groups of people or just a lone straggler.  Doesn't matter, I'm still entertained by what I see.  When I go to a shopping mall I derive more pleasure out of sitting in the courtyard and observing the vast variety of people who are shopping than I do at finding the best sales items.

 

That was the case this last weekend when I found myself at the grand daddy of shopping meccas, commonly known as the Mall of America.  It was the annual Christmas visit to the monolithic mega mall and I will have to say I thoroughly enjoyed the visit.

 

For one thing, we marveled at the massive, 4-story Christmas trees that deck the main lobby of the mall.  All I can think is that adorning those trees took quite a bit longer than decorating my 8' fir tree. 

 

Everywhere you turned oversized ornaments abounded and lights dangled from the ceilings overhead - it was a sight to see I'll tell you.

 

But even more entertaining than the holiday lights or the amusement park rides or even the stores, for me that is, was watching the plethora of people scurrying and bustling hither and yon.  Most have no idea that they are being studied by this curiosity seeker.....they have but one thing on their mind and that is to quickly and efficiently black out their entire bingo card gift shopping list and then of course go home and put their aching feet up for a well deserved rest.

 

I have nothing against embracing the spirit of giving and there's hardly anyone who loves finding just the perfect gifts for my loved ones than me, but somewhere along the line you could say that things have gotten just a little bit out of hand.

 

Nevertheless, it's good humor watching people.  I can't help it but I often write their story in my mind - paint a picture of who they are and what their tale is.

 

There's the young woman who is darting from table to rack in the women's clothing store.  Close behind her follows her guy, loyally sticking to her like a loving golden retriever (eyes glued to his cell phone which I'm sure makes ladies apparel shopping much more palatable for him).

 

And the loving man following a step behind his wife, at the same time toting her handbag while she corrals the stroller and toddler.  I was touched by that sight. 

 

And the two guys, out on a desperate shopping spree together - maybe there's strength in numbers when one finds himself just days before Christmas and not a clue what to buy his sweety. The moral support never hurts I'm sure.

 

Then there's the dear, sweet aged man sitting across the way from me on a comfy seat, nodding his head into a blissful nap.  I'll admit I was jealous of those few moments that he dozed.  Upon waking he said to me with a smile that he should have brought his pillow along.

 

Yes, shopping can be exhausting labor.  But it's not all about the stores and the spending.  Next time you are in the shopping mall, take a few minutes to watch some people.  I guarantee you'll be entertained, will spend less, and  leave the place feeling a whole lot happier and more relaxed than when you arrived.

 

 

 

December 9, 2013

Shopping for the Perfect Gift 

It was a frosty December evening downtown hometown of Worthington.  Only a couple of weeks before Christmas, the stores were filled with customers seeking the perfect gifts for their loved ones.  I was about 9 years old at the time and mom and dad had bundled us up, packed us into the car,  and headed downtown for some shopping.

The night was mystical and magical with snowflakes drifting blithely down from above.  The street light poles were dressed in colorful holiday decorations and strings of garland were strung from one street light to the other across the roads.

Christmas music played magically down the length of the sidewalks that ran in front of the many stores on main street.  As I walked, my feet cut a trail in the light dusting of snow, and I smiled at the people I met along the way.  It was a "silver bells" evening.

Dad had given each one of us kids $10 and sent us out to seek the things on our list:  those items that we would carefully wrap and give to each other come Christmas morning.  I was on a mission to find a watering can for my mother, who was in dire need of a new one as her old one had rusted through the bottom. 

To my dismay, Woolworth's Dime store had no watering cans, nor did Ace Hardware, Ben Franklin, or Rickebeil's Hardware store.  
Dejectedly, I trudged back to our meeting place at JCPenney's department store just down the block.  There I found the rest of the family waiting patiently for me.

"I checked everywhere but no watering cans," I told them, wearing a disappointed frown.  There was a silence as everyone looked at me with wizened eyes.  The look on their faces said it all:  I had spoiled my big surprise for my mother. 

But mom just smiled and said nothing.

I do not believe that I found a watering can that Christmas, but when Mother's Day came around the following May, there were plenty to be found in the local stores and you can bet that mom finally got her new watering can.

To this day, the song "Silver Bells" remains my very favorite Christmas carol because hearing it always takes me back to that special Christmas shopping night so many years ago....

"City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style.   In the air there's a feeling of Christmas.   Children laughing, people passing, meeting smile after smile, and on every street corner you'll hear:   Silver bells, silver bells, it's Christmas time in the city.  Ring a ling, hear them ring, soon it will be Christmas Day!

Strings of street lights, even stop lights blink a bright red and green, as the shoppers rush home with their treasures.  Hear the snow crunch see the kids bunch this is Santa's big scene, and above all the bustle you'll hear:  Silver bells, silver bells, it's Christmas time in the city.  Ring a ling, hear them ring, soon it will be Christmas day."

December 2, 2013

Christmas is a Time for Memories

Memories. Traditions. Symbols.  It's the essence of what wafts from the cherished boxes  of decorations that are opened every year at this time. 

 

Memories of the hunt for the perfect tree...shaking one after another to find just the right one with branches that will be filled with cherished heirlooms.  Of carting it home and placing it in its stand, twirling it until its best side is front and center, hiding the bare spot against the forgiving wall. And then reveling in the familiar aroma that fills the room with delicious holiday scents. 

 

Traditions of opening the boxes so carefully packed the year before with the treasures kept for use once a year.  Discovering the ornaments so soon forgotten yet no less precious:  the trinket that adorned ones first borned cradle, the gift from a long-passed grandmother, so simple yet no less valued than the sparkling crystal jewel, the ornament given by a cherished childhood friend.  Each one holds special meaning and brings to life the spirit of the season.

 

The symbollic placing of the Angel atop the tree before any other adorments are added.  Of stringing bright colors of sparkling lights around the green boughs. And hanging endless bobbles on the branches.

 

It's what Christmas is about.

 

Days gone by mingle with the here and now in a delightful dance.  And when all is done, it's a delight for the senses.  Who can say why - it's just that way.   

 

As the calendar fades to December, it's time to turn and look back a bit on Christmases past. 

 

One of my favorite delights as a child, when everyone else was asleep, was to sit in the darkness with the tree aglow, squinting my eyes to make the lights glimmer and glow.  I'll admit I still do that and still find it magical. 

 

Memories of my dad  anchoring the tree to the wall with fishing line and the year he didn't and it toppled on top of  my sister.  Of family portraits taken in front of the tree, all smiles and happiness. Placing carefully wrapped gifts under the branches. Sneaking peaks of wrapped presents and wondering.  

Photographs of Christmas morning gift giving at the foot of the tree. 

 

Because Christmas is a time of of mystical joy and the tree a tribute to the wonder of the season, may you, too, discover that same magic this year.

 

November 25, 2013

Simply said, "Thank you"...

Gratitude.  For some its comes easily, others not quite so.  But nonetheless, it's something that we as a nation collectively come together at this time of year to celebrate.  Or perhaps better yet, to recognize and contemplate. 

 

It seems to me at times that these days there's much less thankfulness than there should be.  Much more taking for granted and even more selfishness than there should be.  So it's a good thing that we celebrate once a year the notion of thankfulness.

 

Traditionally Thanksgiving is a time of decadent feeding frenzies.  But it isn't all about the roasted turkey, brimming dishes of mashed potatoes and candied yams. (Though I will state for the record that the latter has never been one of my favorite indulgences.) 

 

I recall the times when mom could be heard in the kitchen at 4:00 a.m. preparing the 20 pound turkey that would roast slowly, tickling our tastebuds all morning long, and satisfy a multitude of hungry folks later in the day.  A plethora of pies would line the countertops and side dishes of every sort were lovingly prepared.

 

But it isn't always about the feast.  There have been Thanksgivings that I've spent far from my family, or with close friends or even by myself.  Those times have given me the opportunity for quiet introspection to truly grasp what is most important.

 

I remember the year that our family trip to the annual family gathering that was shattered by a last minute snow storm that grounded us at home.  That was the year, when caught unprepared, that we feasted on a dinner of meatloaf and baked potatoes.  I will add that it was the most delicious meatloaf I'd ever tasted.

 

We were together and that's all that mattered.

 

Other years my family welcomed to our table those without a family with which to share Thanksgiving.  Friendships were forged and bonds made that would last a lifetime.  Because that's what Thanksgiving is all about.

 

I am grateful for so many things. But at the top of  my list this year is my loving family, wonderful friends and a terrific community of caring souls in which we live,  who have all been there through thick and thin. 

 

Because that's what it's all about.

 

Thank you.  I am truly grateful.

November 18
All Things Gone with the Wind.....

I know why they're called leaves.  When those lovely green appendages reach the end of their lives and the trees let loose of them they sure do scatter in a hurry and leave crunchy carpet piles in their wake. 

When I was a kid we never raked them up.  Dad's credo was that the good Lord  put them there and he'll surely take them away.  And I must say that this fall he has done his best to accomodate by providing plenty of hefty winds to scatter them hither and yon.

But I'll admit that due to the sheer bulk of leaves this year in my yard that I've had three sessions of leaf abatement this fall.  I don't know where they all came from and I must say that among the plethora of maple leaves from my own trees, I spied a few oak leaves as I raked.  Now I know there aren't any oak trees in the near vicinity of my neighborhood, but I guess Mother Nature decided to share the wealth so I can't complain.  

Dried leaves are truly lovely with their array of colors and shapes and I love them all. There's hardly anything quite as satisfying as shuffling through a pile of dried leaves. It's almost like breaking a path in freshly fallen snow.

This year son Patrick ran his nifty leaf sweeper over the lawn and together we removed three brimming truck loadfuls and a trailerful initially.  Then a few weeks later, pending a forecast of snow I attempted another round of leaf removal just hours before the white stuff fell atop them.  Satisfied that I'd taken care of them for the year, I was disappointed when the trees deposited yet another rusty blanket  on the yard.  So in a third round I raked them up for the final time this year. 

My leaves joined the mountain of leaves at the tree dump.  Aren't we fortunate to have such a wonderfully maintained tree brush dump in our community?  It's open for anybody in city limits to access.  In the past there were problems with inappropriate dumping there so it was locked up and accessible only by visiting city hall for the key.  Three cheers to the responsible use by citizens now, which allows for open access to the dump at all times.

Frankly I never understood the concept of stuffing ones leaves into big plastic bags just like trash when they make such perfect mulch.  But leaving a thick blanket of leaves to smother the tender grass isn't a great idea either.  I look at raking leaves like having a good aerobic workout. It's a win-win situation I suppose.

When my kids were little we'd rake the biggest pile of leaves possible and then take turns leaping into them.  It's one of life's greatest joys enjoyed by not only the littlest ones.  Yes you'd emerge with itchy  leaves down your back and in your hair but it was oh so much fun. 

This year intent on removing them, alas I didn't take the time to do any leaf pile jumping.  I'll admit  though that it was tempting to scale the towering mountain of leaves at the dump and wallow in them  just a bit. 

I restrained myself.  But it wasn't easy.

November 11, 2013

Deer Hunting Marks Beginning of Holiday Season

It's that time of year again:  the thermometer registers "brrr", snow flakes are in the air, and chili is on the stove. 

Yes, folks, it's deer hunting season.

When I was growing up my dad took an annual deer hunting excursion "up north" every year.  It was one of the few times that he ever went anywhere without my mom and a time that we kids anticipated eagerly.  

It wasn't because we didn't want Dad around.  My little brother in fact wanted to go hunting with him so keenly that he even tried stowing away in the trunk of the car one year.

No, the reason we loved deer hunting weekend was because of the annual "shopping" trip that we kids and mom took to the local hardware store every year at that time.  As soon as the taillights of dad's car had disappeared from view we'd bundle into the car and off we'd go to Fleet,  transformed magically for the Christmas season, (which I might add, never began before the start of deer hunting season in November), from an ordinary farm supply store to a veritable toyland delight.

Filled with all manner of goodies for our eyes to feast upon, it was Christmas come to life from top to bottom.  Lights twinkling everywhere, music lilting throughout the store, toy boxes piled as high up as we could see.

 Mom would keep an eagle eye on us all as we leapt through the aisles one after another dreaming of just what might be......of the things that could be, just might be....our very own.

There's nothing wrong with dreaming and wishing and hoping.  It's what makes the REAL things in life so much sweeter after all.  Window shopping was usually about all that happened on those deer hunting weekends, though mom always made sure we all came home with one trinket or another. 

The annual deer hunting weekend toy shopping adventure provided mom with some very vital information; you might even say she had ulterior motives for this traditional rendezvous:  to discover what each of us kids wanted the very most...and what was a the top of our Christmas lists that year.

That was in November.  Days and weeks flew by and all the begging and wishing and hoping faded.  By the time Christmas rolled around you can imagine the delighted and surprised children that we were when we opened our special gifts one at a time on Christmas morning. 

It's just what we always wanted!! I wonder how our parents knew??

November 4, 2013
Variety stores were treat to the senses

Slayton has a brand new store and its shelves are filled with all manner of goods.  It’s truly exciting to have this addition to our town’s retail armada. I just love variety stores.  There’s nothing quite like our beloved Hometown Variety, Loopy’s, and now the brand new Family Dollar store.

               

Wandering through the maze of aisles in any one of these stores brings to mind two of the favorites from my hometown: Woolworth’s and Ben Franklin’s.  When I was a youngster, stepping through their doors was always an exciting experience for me.

The Woolworth “dime store” was amazing – a true one-stop shopping store.  There you could find clothing, hardwares, household items, gift items, record albums, office supplies, yard goods, and so much more. 

Of course one of my favorite spots was the Brach’s candy counter-a veritable sweet tooth fantasy, that was located strategically in the front of the store.   There shoppers could purchase chocolates by the pound – filling a bag from the bulk varieties.  

Mmmm, I can still smell the delightful confections tickling my nose.

Woolworth’s even had a soda fountain and café with booths, counter and barstools.  On the counters bubbled tanks filled with delicious soda varities.  Waitresses bustled to and fro refilling coffee cups and waiting on diners.  A treat for me and my siblings was to drop in while Dad was coffee breaking with his work buddies. 

It was there that I had my very first experience sipping soda through a straw.  Granted I was but a toddler, but I recall sidling up to my orange soda and instead of sucking in on the straw, I blew on it and sprayed orange drink all over.  Other times we’d enjoy a delicious cup of hot chocolate that was topped off with a generous spurt of real whipped cream.  Nothing quite as tasty in my opinion!

But perhaps the best thing about the store was located in the far back corner.  That's where I could most often be found when it was time to leave.  It was the fish and pet department.  There I’d be hang out for as long as I was allowed, chatting with the delightful mina bird and mesmerized by the vast varieties of tropical fish in the huge tanks. 

Fascinating indeed. 

Down the street a ways was the aged Ben Franklin store.  I can still hear the creaking old wooden floors in that wonderful store. The aisles were close together in the dimly lit store but one knew where everything was located and you could find what you wanted without fail.  Not, I might add, like the super stores of today where one can wander aimlessly and often in vain to locate something.

Being the creative soul that I was, it was where I always shopped for yarn and other crafting supplies.  The Ben Franklin store stocked Red Heart yarns and embroidery thread of every hue imaginable and it was truly a magical feast for my eyes.

Sights, sounds, smells, tastes – to this day my senses recall them all so very vividly. Indeed I will never forget any one of them.

Those stores of my youth are so dear to my heart.  Perhaps that is why I delight that there are still such shopping experiences available right here in our town.  If you haven’t tried shopping them I suggest you do so.  Perhaps you too will fall in love with them. 

I, for one, am sold on the old fashioned variety store.  As we enter the gift giving season, why not give them a try and you may be as well!

October 28, 2013

Morning Routines Are the Best

When I was growing up, thanks to my dear mother who never faltered in her efforts to see that my siblings and I were always well fed, I started every school day morning with a bowl of hot cereal.  Mmm, what a way to wake up!!  

Being the morning person that I am not but wish I was, I'd stumble to the table after the third of fourth call to get up came from mom. Some mornings I relied merely on the luscious scent of breakfast wafting in the air to guide me. There awaiting me once I opened my eyes was a kerosene lamp or candle, aglow with soft light, (mom just knew that the subtle flicker of a flame was much more pleasant for gradual awakening in my case).  

And sitting at my spot was a bowl of Coco-Wheats. 

Aromatically enticing, the tendrils of steam stirred my very being and gently awakened me, as I added milk and sugar into the mix. Lots of sugar, plenty of milk.   I can still to this day appreciate the pleasure of that hot cereal breakfast.

Day after day, year upon year, always the same.  And I never grew tired of it. It just wasn't morning without my daily ritual of Coco-Wheats. Through the  years Coco-Wheats and I have become the best of friends.  

In our house everyone had their favorite morning foods.  When dad wasn't indulging in a platter of eggs and bacon (one slice), his regular choice was always Wheaties ("the Breakfast of Champs") - and it still is.  Our family would also eat breakfast food for our evening meal.  French toast, pancakes or cold cereal were quite often evening fare at our round table.

Now that the morning temperatures are inching down around the thirty degree mark, I am once again indulging in a hearty breakfast of cooked cereal every morning.  And I'm even branching out to Malto-Meal, and even trying some of the flavorful variations that have been introduced in the last few years.

Coco-Wheats dates back to 1930 when Little Crow Foods, a company in Indiana, first began manufacturing it.  In 2012 the the iconic product was sold to MOM Brands, the Minnesota company formerly known as Malt-O-Meal, and it is still available on grocery shelves today.

It's a breakfast that will indeed stick with you - and after all don't they say it's the most important meal of the day.  Might as well make it a great one.  And chocolate for breakfast?  Well that's a no brainer in my opinion.

Better stock upon on a couple boxes of Coco-Wheats because I have a feeling we've got a long, cool winter ahead of us.

October 21, 2013

Local Production Sparked Electricity and Fire

Thirteen years ago members of the Slayton community and beyond, youngsters and adults, families and friends, all came together to perform an incredible production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolored Dreamcoat, on the Murray County Central high school stage.

That show featured a massive cast of dedicated performers…..creative sets…..fabulous vocals…..outstanding costumes and so much more.
               

I was thinking about that experience the other day while listening to the soundtrack of the Broadway production.  Well of course that led to digging out the old video cassette recording that was made of the local performance, and I watched it with vivid memories in my head and a tender touch of nostalgia in my heart.

               

I have said it before and still contend that I enjoy watching this local production even more than the professional movie version, starring Donny Osmond.
               

Directed by Lon and Rhonda Hellenga, the local production was led by the incomparable Krista Parker Keller and her brother Tommy (who by the way made his musical and acting debut in this drama).  If you have fond recollections of that summer, or once you've watched the old VHS, I think you’ll agree that their voices were truly inspired as were those of the many other cast members.
               

It was a marvel to rival any production of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s “Joseph”.   Charlie Asman, in the part of Jacob, held the distinction of being the eldest and patriarch of the vast cast that numbered over 50, while the youngest, my son Patrick, was a mere 4 years old at the time and making his own stage debut.  A bevy of brothers and wives and children portrayed by local thespians (many of whom were making their own stage debuts as well), comprised the cast.
               

It was truly unforgettable.
               

That memorable performance, which was sponsored by the Friends of the Slayton Library, led to the formation of the Prairie Oasis Players, who went on to present other remarkable musical and theatrical performances including:  Music Man, State Fair, Jesus Christ Superstar, Oliver, Into the Woods and others as well as one-act plays and variety shows.
               

Oh the memories.
               

Some of the players have moved on to other communities but many are still here.  I wonder if they miss the challenges and satisfaction that creating a show like any one of these entails.  The beauty of a community organization such as this is that it provides an opportunity for entire families to be involved together in a short-lived summer season.  Young and old rub shoulders in a common cause and sturdy bonds are formed that in some cases can last a lifetime.  What’s not to love about that?
               

I will again watch the video cassette recording of our “Joseph” and gladly lend it to anyone who wishes to watch it too.  And I challenge the community to think about coming together once again to create some new notable moments.  

  

  

October 14, 2013

There's Nothing Wrong With Your Television Set....

A few years ago a movie came out that extolled the virtues of old time television shows.  In "Pleasantville", the main character found himself living in a black and white world where innocence was a part of life.  His artless manner was derived from his passion for the simpler things in life. 

But alas this naïve young man soon wizened to the world and all of its realities. And as he, and those around him did, they became colorized. 

I have long been a fan of old time television myself.  Wouldn't it be wonderful to return to a time when life was just a bit less complicated?  When a laugh track bolstered your confidence just a little bit when you were beginning to feel overwhelmed?

Come to think about it, I’m pretty sure I’d like living in a town like Mayberry, where crime on monotone streets was minimal and friendliness maximum.

Or living in a mansion in Beverly Hills and somehow retaining your independent streak among the upper crusted echelon of society.

When I was a youngster one of the favorite shows in our house every week was “Lassie”, the story of an uncannily intelligent dog who managed every week to perform some sort of heroic or loving act for her family.  

I will admit that the poignant stories usually brought me to tears.

In fact, just the opening music and credits most often opened my water works many times. (I suppose you could say I was an overly emotional girl).  

It was because Lassie often endured life threatening escapades in her daily life that I found my young self crying.  And yet Lassie always prevailed.  If I’d just have realized that at the beginning then there would have been no reason for tears.

But I, as well as many others, can also be reduced to snivels by a well meaning television commercial, too. I guess those ad people know just what they’re doing when they can tug at the heart strings and produce that reaction.

These days I still love the old television shows and never tire of watching them. Perhaps it’s because I yearn for the world of innocence and simplicity that they portray.  Or appreciate the good values that they convey.

Or maybe it’s just that I think I look good in black and white. 

April 23, 2013

Buying New Shoes....the Old Fashioned Way

A new pair of shoes has always been an unexpected joy for me.  Perhaps the reason is buried deep within my past experiences, but sliding my foot into a shiny new shoe recalls a delight much as a particular aroma or sight can assail one's senses.   It immediately calls to mind  previous experiences of long ago.

When I was a youngster my shoe wardrobe consisted of a pair of canvasas converse tennies and a pair of shiny patent leather Mary Jane dress shoes.  When back-to-school time rolled around every year we'd make the annual trek to the local JCPenney department store seeking suitable "school shoes".  Much to my sheer delight these were usually penny loafers - dapper leather slip-ons with slots in the top to slip in a shiny new penny.

The store's shoe department employed a real-live shoe salesman who would take the time to measure my foot with a metal slide-rule like device that indicated my exact shoe size.  

Make no mistake, there was no guess work involved in this transaction.  Once my choice was made the sales clerk would disappear into the back room where, I was sure, unfathomable stacks of shoe boxes towered on the shelves.  By the way, years later I became a shoe sales clerk in that very store and was privy to the mysteries of the back room of the shoe department. 

Returning with my selection, the clerk then slipped it on my waiting foot that was dutifully perched on a special tilted stool.  I remember feeling much as Cinderella did when her prince slid the famed glass slipper onto her waiting foot.  There was then the inevitable to probe and the command, "wiggle your toe" so as to test the fit. 

And then I'd try my new shoes out for size, smiling in delight as I pranced around the carpeted shoe department area.  And then, "sold"!   The  clerk then wrapped white string around my new shoe box  so that i could carry them home. 

The hardest part about buying my new school shoes was that I couldn't wear them anywhere until school began except to break them in.  so I would rehearse wearing my new shoes around the house until the big day arrived.

 Buying myself a new pair of shoes evokes much the same feeling of simple excitement for me.  It's hard to explain but it just does.  But shoe shopping isn't what it once was.  Now the fine art of shoe fitting is virtually non existent.  Most often shoe shopping is self-serve which saddens me a bit.  

An entire generation of consumers will never know the joy and luxury of being waited on by a shoe sales clerk. They will never experieince the feeling of individual service provided by the shoe salesman in a department store.  And they will be cheated out of the Cinderella experieince of my childhood. 

But I am happy to report that wearing a new pair of shoes around the house to break them in is still an unexplained joy and such a simple pleasure.  And a brand new pair of shoes on one's  feet is utterly indescribable.  Try it sometime, and I think you will agree.  There's just something about a new pair of shoes.

April 29, 2013
Early Morning Needle Pricks Aren't So Bad

At a recent medical visit to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester I had an interesting time as usual.  First things first, my printed scheduled directed me to report to the laboratory desk at 7:20 a.m. sharp to have blood drawn, or more correctly, a "venipuncture specimen" taken. 

I'm not so sure about the need for that sort of medical terminology but perhaps it's gentler on the mind of those more squeamish souls whose hearts may palpitate slightly at the notion of a needle stick.

My wait in the bustling  reception area that resembled Times Square at rush hour, was rather longer than I expected but I whiled away the time watching people, which is one of my favorite things to do in the absence of any other productive tasks at hand.

My turn arrived eventually and I heard my name blasted over the loudspeaker system.  Any notion that I may have lolled off into an early morning snooze as I was awaiting my turn were banished when I realized that the sound of one's name announced aloud usually brings one to a snappy attention.  

It's just hard to ignore.  Why this is I know not. Perhaps it reckons back to the solemn reprimand from mother who has always used my given, full name rather than its shortened version.  Or maybe a teacher singling me out for an answer in class used that name. 

It's hard to say.

At any rate, I was summoned to Door #3.  I couldn't help but wonder what was behind the other two panels, let alone the plethora of curtains hanging behind them in the laboratory, but I didn't get to ask.  Instead I sat dutifully while my attendant skillfully drew the required allotment of red stuff from my arm.  

In a flash it was all over, leaving me wondering when she was going to stick me with the needle. Again, I may have slipped into another little snooze.....it was awfully early in the morning after all.

I marveled at this bustling hive of activity at 7:20  in the morning.  Most days, I was told, the lab sees 800-1200 patients, beginning at 6:30 a.m. That's a whole lot of needle sticks and even more blood being drawn.

So,  you may recall my regaling tale of my first time as a blood donor a few months ago.  I guess it's time once again to donate a bit more of stuff when there's a blood drive in town.  What do you think, care to join me?

July 16, 2013
Slivery Serpent No Match For Us

I really don't have anything against snakes. In fact I stirred one of the slivery serpents the other night when I was on the hunt for firewood and I left it alone. But I didn't tarry long in the vicinity, that's for certain.

But hearing about my sister's recent encounter with a plague of snakes while tending her lovely rock garden and pond set me to thinkiing about a situation that took place many years ago in my mother's garden. 

Mom's gardens would rival the best around.  She would plan her gardens every year, even mapping it out on paper, and spent hours crafting pathways and layouts long before planting season arrived. Her gardens had rock-lined pathways and a vast variety of plants and flowers, and every year she varied the layout, just for fun and variety.

A source of great pride for her was the wildflower rock garden that she painstakingly created using rocks and plants garnered from the many family travels we experienced   Mom's rock garden was and still is considered a work of art.

With dad's help one year she even added a waterfall and pond amongst the wildflower.  She stocked it with big, fat gold fish that swam contentedly around the trickling water.

But all was not always as expected in mom's garden as we were  to soon discover. 

Turns out she, too, was plagued by a bevvy of snakes that soon discovered a delectable meal was close at hand.  Yes, the snakes in mom's garden developed a liking  for dining on the unsuspecting goldfish that lived there and would dive into the pond in search of goldfish prey.

Raised on a farm, mom was no stranger to the facts of life, and too she wasn't about to put up with snakes raiding her goldfish pond.

One lazy summer afternoon I happened to hear the distressed call of, "Rebecca!!!" coming from the garden.  Running outside expecting the worst, I quickly discovered that mom needed my help. She had trapped a snaky offender in the process of devouring one of our fish and needed assistance in dispatching it on the double.

Now I didn't then, nor do I now, possess the killer instinct.  I usually try to abide by my philosophy of "live and let live".  Wildlife of every sort has the right to live.  Yet in this case, the killer in me quickly boiled to the surface.  I grabbed a nearby spade and ran to mom's assistance, lobbing off the head of the offender in one fell swoop.

I still cannot fathom where I drew the strength to perform such a gruesome task, but I did. And the goldfish lived to see another day, that much I can tell you.  Would I be able to do that again? 

Well, it is said that a mother will protect her offspring with her life. I guess if a snake were to invade my abode I could indeed give it the what-for. But for now I guess I'll just let the wildlife around my home live in harmony. 

However I can't say that for the mosquitoes or other pests that challenge me every day.  I'm giving them fair warning to beware if they go after my flesh or family.  

Deep down, I still harbor a killer instinct and it's there should I ever need to call on it. Fair warning? I should think so!

October 8, 2013

Happy Welcome to Fall

This year the autumnal equinox slipped right past me and I didn't even do my usual happy dance to mark the first day of Autumn.  In honor of that momentous occasion, I present a list of reasons to embrace this, my favorite season of the year.  

1.  The colors all around waking our tired eyes from the hum drum of summer with a snap of kalaidoscope hues.

2.  Relief from the sweltering sauna of summer at last.

3.  Refreshing cool rains that bathe the landscape and bring about a vibrant blanket of colors to the landscape.

4.  Soup weather:  beef stew, chicken noodle, tomato, and my favorite:  chili!

5.  Sweater season. Warm comfy socks and fashion boots. And all of the rich colors of autumn in my wardrobe.

6.  Football season, all too short, much like Fall always is.

7.  No more grass to mow.

8.  Leaves to rake.  Piles of leaves to jump in.

9.  Great sleeping weather - leaving the window open at night to feel the chill air in the early morning.

10.  No more mosquitoes or other creepy crawlers that terrorize me.

11.  Bonfires.

12.  Winter coats.  Found money in winter coat pockets.

13.  Knitting projects, so much more fun when the weather turns cool.

14.  Pumpkin bread, donuts and apple cider.

15.  Halloween.

What's not to love about fall, I ask.  If only it could last until Spring.