February 24, 2014
Decisions, Decisions.....

In our every day world it's the philosophical query that we all ponder now and then: paper or plastic. And while it might not seem entirely earth shattering a question, when confronted with it I usually pause contemplatively before uttering a response. Why is this, you might ask. In fact I never really gave this much consideration until the other day when the young check out clerk at the local grocery store posed the question to me. That made me stop to wonder. You see, faced with so many political issues today, I have discovered that the paper versus plastic one ranks right up there with so many of the other hot button topics in the world. You've simply got the paper people and the plastic fanciers. And then there are those who don't much care. Much like the clever bank clerks who dutifully rattle of the first names of every one of their customers, most of the seasoned clerks know the preferences of their frequent customers without even asking. But occasionally I throw them off and stray from my usual choice. I like to keep them on their toes. But it usually depends on what I'm buying. Bakery goods and other perishable items just travel better in a paper shopping bag. Canned goods trend to spew from a plastic sack the minute you leave the store parking lot and before you reach home and roll around the floor of the vehicle. Other things like toilet paper, Jello and fresh meat are perfectly suited to a plastic bag. Paper bags sit neatly on the rear seat of the car. Plastic bags rip when you over stuff them. It's as simple as that. It's one of life's disappointments when the consumer isn't provided the freedom to choose between the two. "So", I told the clerk who asked why, "paper bags come in handy for sorting my recyclables. Plastic bags work great as miniature trash bags." It all comes down to that. So, as I'm standing in the check out line perusing the selection of celebrity gossip magazines with one eye, I find my mind busy determining the answer to the inevitable question with which I will shortly been confronted. After all, it's a decision that I do not take lightly.

February 17, 2014 A "Kodak moment" is forever remembered. Last week, in honor of my baby brother's forty-something birthday on Valentines day, we pulled out a gem of a photo that was taken years ago. It is one of the many shot through the years of us gathered around grandma's table. The centerpiece was always a freshly baked-from-scratch angel food cake and the birthday honoree smiling giddily, surrounded by some of the dozens of cousins in our family. With a count of eight Anthony siblings, seventeen cousins, grandma and grandpa plus many more, there was always the opportunity to celebrate someone's birthday at grandmas farm. And that always meant one of grandma's tasty cakes. Sometimes we even had the privilege of accompanying grandma into the hen house to gather fresh eggs for the cake. If you've never had the chance to do this, then you don't know what it's like to slide your hand under a nesting hen in search of a warm egg. It's positively amazing. It took about a dozen eggs to make an angel food cake but eggs were always abundantly available at the farm. The finished product was topped with candles signifying the number of years being celebrated. This particular photograph featured my brother, aged three, with arms flung protectively around his cake, flanked by us cousins who were clearly eager for the first bite of birthday cake. No doubt this honor was reserved for my brother since it was his birthday. That photo, that "Kodak moment", along with countless others, is a little piece of history. It's a testament to another time and place and without it I'm afraid our memories of the event would be rather blurred, if even available. So don't forget to capture a few moments of your own. Someday, maybe forty or so, you will be glad you did because seeing them will surely trigger a whole lot more memories.  And that's something that just can't be beat.

February 10, 2014

A bird in the hand is always better....

The other day, during a particularly snowy afternoon, I was busying myself alphabetizing my cd collection.  Stacks of jewel cases carpeted the floor around me and I got caught up in looking at the colorful inserts, reading the teeny tiny text, and occasionally popping a disk into the stereo that I’d not heard in ages.

Got me to thinking about things, as usual.

Yes, I’m one of those few souls left who actually enjoy my music in the physical form, on one of those little round disks.  (Sort of like how I’m a little attached to reading real, live paper books). These days it’s all about mp3 and wav files.  But not for me.  I guess you could say I want to really feel my music.

When I was a teen and just getting into listening to and collecting music, of course my favorite place to go was the record store-and in my town that was either Musicland, or Alco, or Woolworth’s.  There you could find an endless array of LP and 45 rpm records – I can just about recall the scent of those cellophane-wrapped albums, hear the whop-whop-whop as you flipped through the stacks,  and see the fabulous cover art.

I even remember the first record album that I purchased:  The Bay City Rollers.  Don’t laugh- they were just about as hot back then as any boy band around today.  (“S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!!”….)

And though I purchased my share of LP albums, I also bought a lot of 45 rpm records.  Back then the store would put a stamp on the record and write in the date of purchase.  I guess this was to guard against someone taking it home, recording it on their 8-track or cassette player, and returning it to the record store. 

These days times have changed, as they are apt to do.  Who would have thought that instead of recording a favorite song from the radio with the tape recorder microphone held to the speaker, one could actually download the same song in high fidelity from the Internet?! Or if you like, download the entire album while you’re at it. 

It’s that easy.  But it’s not quite the same to me.

I still own my record collection and even play it on occasion.  My records and I go back a long way after all, and they’re pretty good companions on a quiet Sunday afternoon.  Well, not so quiet I guess you could say when I’m cranking the BC Rollers!!!

February 3, 2014

Tough love often the best cure....

Tis the season....

The other day I overheard a young mother bemoaning the fact that her youngster was under the weather.  "All he needs is a whole lot of hugs and kisses," she wisely said.  

Heard from another, "I feel guilty for being happy to stay home with my sick son because he's so much fun to talk to."  Yes those were the days that I so well remember.

Yet still, nursing an ailing tot isn't all fun and games.  In fact it can be downright disheartening. It's at those times when a young one is suffering the going-around-crud, or chicken pox, or a broken bone, that a mother wishes nothing more but to trade places with her child. 

And that is the absolute truth.

It's not easy seeing your little one hurting in pain and I do not think that a parent ever outgrows that pang and sense of helplessness that accompanies those situations.  

When my boys were growing up I'll admit that I practiced the tough love shake-it-off-and-get-back-up method. That usually worked and things most often continued on its merry course.   

When my toddler's head one time met the concrete sidewalk with a wrenching thunk, I turned my own head in painful agony, trying not to let the horror inside of me show on the surface.  He was okay after some loving mother arms held him for a time and soon he was off and running once again-sporting a knot the size of a small fist on his forehead.  

His brother connected with the sharp edge of a wooden doorway once in much the same fashion several years later.  That time, in an effort to spare me the pain of seeing my injured son and the staples that were used to hold the gaping wound together, his father was the one to take him to the emergency room.

Son #1 went on to put me through one trial after another in the injury department beginning with a broken arm at the age of 14.  Legs, arms, ankles.....he ran the gambit. 

But every broken bone mends and the crud eventually goes away.   And you move on.

Tough love, there's something to be said about it. All that a parent can do is be there and be strong. A healing hug and smile is sometimes the best medicine of all.  After all, we know that life's not going to always be perfect and none of us will ever be spared the pain that comes along the path.  

You might as well grin and bear it.  Tomorrow is a brand new day after all.