Category Archives: Uncategorized

Don’t Touch my Stuff

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Did anyone read “Dear Abby” in the newspaper or online this morning? Go ahead, read it; I’ll wait.

No? Okay, then, I’ll summarize: The writer (Kid 1) said he’d left his college dorm room unlocked for a short time to retrieve something in a friend’s room. Upon his return, Kid 1 found his laptop, cell phone, and several books missing. He panicked because it was close to final exam time. Later that night, another friend (Kid 2), appeared at his door and “confessed” to the deed, saying he was trying to teach Kid 1 not to leave his door unlocked.

Kid 1 pressed charges. Kid 2 was charged with misdemeanor theft, lost his scholarship, and told to do community service. The two are no longer on speaking terms, and Kid 1 says Kid 2 is harassing him and telling his friends lies about him.

Abby called Kid 2 “emotionally disturbed” and said Kid 1 is not to blame; she advised Kid 1 to report Kid 2 to the authorities if he doesn’t stop the harassment.

Doesn’t this smack of overkill?

I mean, c’mon, people, it takes two to tango, and both these young men share some blame.

Kid 2 shouldn’t have removed Kid 1’s things from his room (but at least he returned the stuff shortly after); Kid 1 shouldn’t have spun into overdrive about it.

I mean, really, how many college kids don’t sneak into somebody else’s room and swipe something, usually in good fun?

Heck, I’ve done it myself. My roommate one year had a stuffed animal that she slept with every night. One afternoon, it “disappeared,” and NO WAY was she going to sleep unless and until it reappeared!

So it did, and that was the end of that. I can’t imagine her reporting me to the police and the university!

Maybe a stuffed animal isn’t the same as a laptop, cell phone, and books, but it was just as important to her at the time.

If Kid 1 was so “touchy” about his things, he should’ve remembered to lock his door; why shoot the messenger?

What I’m trying to get at is this: college kids prank each other. Most times, it’s just because they’re bored and think they’ve dreamed up something interesting to do at someone else’s expense.

Pranking continues throughout life. What office worker hasn’t returned from vacation to find green things growing from his keyboard?

Or a cubicle filled with balloons? Or everything covered in Post-It notes or aluminum foil?

Part of life is learning to get along with others; having a sense of humor diffuses many a bad situation.

Unless there’s real harm involved — to someone’s person or things — shouldn’t the adults stay out of kids’ petty disputes?

That’s “Miss Debbie” to you

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The South has a custom I wish the rest of our country would adopt.

Little children down south are taught from an early age to call adults “Mr.” or “Miss,” followed by the adult’s first name.

Think of it! Sam Jones becomes “Mr. Sam.” Stephanie Green becomes “Miss Stephanie.”

No more difficulties in knowing what to call your elders. It would even work for people in my generation, who aren’t prepared to call the adults in my parents’ generation by their first names, even when they insist on it!

Look, people marry, get divorced, take back their maiden names, marry again, etc.

That’s confusing enough for adults; why burden our kids with it?

One of my son’s little friends used to call me “Mrs. (my son’s name) Mom.”

A standard naming practice would eliminate that. Rarely do people change their first names, and those are the names the kids hear all the time anyway.

How many adults refer to the grocer on the corner as Mr. Malone or the dental hygienist as Mrs. McCoy?

No, it’s simply “Henry” or “Molly.”

Haven’t you cringed when you overheard the kids blurt out “Henry” or “Molly” while talking to those adults? Wouldn’t it be easier if they grew up referring to the grocer as “Mr. Henry” and the hygienist as “Miss Molly?”

I suspect the kids would adapt easily. After all, most day cares and preschools call their teachers and aides “Miss,” followed by a first name.

It’s only when they get into elementary school that they’re expected to keep up with Teacher’s marital status and last name.

Why should they have to?

And while we’re at it, let’s go whole hog and have our kids call adults “ma’am” and “sir” when speaking with them.

Doesn’t “yes, ma’am” or “no, sir” really sound better than “uh-huh” or “uh-uh?”

When My Favorite Domer was little, I tried to get him to do that. It sounded so charming when my niece and nephew, both native Southerners, did.

MFD picked it up fairly quickly, but dropped it just as fast when he didn’t hear any of his friends speaking like that.

Too bad.

Maybe he’ll pick it back up when he starts interviewing for jobs!

 

Illinois, stop taxing us to the poorhouse

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Political wrangling in Illinois stooped to new lows yesterday, when Democratic lawmakers (by a single vote) approved a 66 percent hike in income tax. The measure now moves to Gov. Pat Quinn for approval (and he’s indicated he will sign it).

I can’t speak for others, but that makes me MAD!

This vote came in the waning hours of a lame duck session; not a single Republican voted for it, and the new, more Republican General Assembly apparently can’t do a thing other than squawk about it.

Sure, we have a budget deficit in the Land of Lincoln. Sure, we haven’t been able to pay our state’s bills in a long time. Sure, our bond credit rating is in the pits.

But come on! Now they’re going to raise personal income tax from 3 percent to 5 percent. Corporate tax will go up nearly 50 percent, from 4.8 percent to 7 percent.

How the heck do they think they’re going to be able to keep residents and businesses here with taxes that high? As one lawmaker quipped, My advice is to invest in moving vans.

No kidding!

A person making $50,000 a year will see his state taxes increase from $1,500 to $2,500.

This, during an already-lean and difficult economy.

No wonder officials in both Indiana and Wisconsin are reportedly salivating about luring some of the Illinois businesses seeking to flee such a tax burden!

The really aggravating thing about this cowardly move is that it’s not going to stop the rampant spending that got us into problems in the first place. Every resident, every small businessperson, knows you can’t dance like there’s no tomorrow — eventually, the piper must be paid.

And you can’t blame one political party any more than the other. Both got us into this mess; both will have to work together to get us out of it.

It’s bad enough having our “dirty laundry” aired for the entire nation (our last two governors — one from each political party — got into high-profile legal troubles for one reason or another). Now we have to be known as a deadbeat state taxing its residents and businesses to the max.

Lawmakers estimate the new taxes will generate $6.8 billion a year, money that will be used to ease the state’s $15 billion deficit. They say they need to fund pensions and make up the federal shortfall, not initiate new programs.

And they say the measure is temporary. After four years, the rate drops to 3.75 percent.

Ya think??

Realistically speaking, which taxing body ever rescinds a tax once it’s in place??

Ring, ring!

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I have a love-hate relationship with cell phones.

I love them because:

  • They’re convenient. Pop one in your purse or pocket, and you’ll never miss that important call.
  • They’re small. Ditto, above. Remember land-lines? Even the cordless kind was bulky.
  • They’re versatile. Talk, text, take pictures or video, listen to music. Like having an all-purpose fun machine!

I hate them because they make you so available.

They ring; you answer. You stop what you’re doing, and you answer.

Why is that? Most cell phones come equipped with voice messaging. Why won’t we use it?

If it’s an emergency, of course we need to be notified. But chances are, it’s not.

Chances are, it’s just hubby wanting to know which brand of green beans to buy. Or a friend wanting your recipe for coleslaw. Or one of the kids reminding you of soccer practice. Or some such.

Nothing immediate there, right?

Still, we’re expected to be Johnny-on-the-Spot with our “Hello.”

Which wouldn’t be so bad if the call didn’t come in at an inconvenient time. Or place.

Take yesterday morning, for example. I was in WalMart checking out when my cell phone rang. Looking behind me, I saw four angry customers in line and a clerk waiting for my money.

What to do?

Risk angering those strangers further, or hope my caller would understand my brusqueness?

Choices, choices.

And no easy answers.

I’m sure somebody somewhere has come up with a list of do’s and don’t’s regarding cell phone niceties, but nobody seems to be aware of it.

People tell what should be the most private of things into cell phones — at restaurants, shopping malls, airports. They give their entire schedules, bank account numbers,  rendezvous locations. They speak of their kids’ failures, their spouse’s quirks, their own sexual escapades.

All for everyone to overhear.

Inadvertently, or not.

Anyway, I opted for brusqueness. I explained why I couldn’t talk and told my caller I’d return the call shortly.

Simple solution.

Why then did my clerk look so stunned and give me a hearty “Thank you!”?

Wouldn’t anybody in my position do the same?

I guess not. My clerk said most people simply chat away, oblivious to others’ impatience.

I think that’s pretty rude. What do you think?

Another farewell

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About two weeks before Christmas, one of my mom’s sisters suddenly collapsed on her kitchen floor after suffering  a massive stroke.
She was dead less than 36 hours later.
Once again, my family is experiencing grief and coping with the loss of a loved one during the holidays (my dad passed away on New Year’s Eve, 2008).
Once again, our focus shifts from happiness and gift-giving and tinsel on Christmas trees to sorrow and funeral arrangements and tears.
The child in me screams, “Enough already! Turn Death off! He’s too cruel at this time of year.”
But nobody asked for my opinion.
Auntie M. was one-of-a-kind. Clean as a pin, she always had a dishrag in her hands, mopping up someone’s messes, toweling off her already-spotless counters.
Her kitchen was one of my favorite places. The smells wafting around there were enough to melt the cockles of the meanest heart — warm butter (a stick at a time), chocolate chip cookies (mine, without nuts), snow-white divinity, rich and creamy fudge, fig cake cookies (made from an old family recipe).
And you couldn’t get out of her house without at least one colorful round tin filled to the brim with some of those treats!
As if anybody would turn down goodies, fattening or not!
In her younger days, Auntie M. was quite a hoot. We kids would listen enthralled as she and her husband, my parents, and the other siblings and their spouses would gather with their mother (my grandma) around the kitchen table for a rousing game of penny poker.
Oh, the laughter! Oh, the chiding! Oh, sound of coins and cards hitting the table and ice cubes clinking in glasses!
Auntie M. also was quite the fisherwoman. She and her husband had a cabin of sorts along a lake (in addition to their family home), and they loved spending time reeling in fish, which she promptly battered and fried (more yummy smells!)
One of Auntie M.’s favorite expressions was “cotton pickin’.” Only years later did I realize it was her way of protecting us kids from some of the not-so-nice words flying from the mouths of my other relatives!
My mom talked to Auntie M. the evening before her collapse. She said she’d had a wonderful day visiting with her kids and their kids, and she was looking forward to getting together wih my mom over Christmas, to share a few laughs, catch up on old times, and do sisterly things.
It wasn’t to be.
While we mourn for the woman who left us, we rejoice that she’s no longer in pain, that she’s reunited with her beloved husband and parents, and that one day, we’ll see her again.
This is the hope of Christmas, that the Baby lying in the manger came to free us from death and draw us to Himself forever.
Merry Christmas 2010 to all my family and friends!

Here, Kitty!

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My Favorite Domer says I must be part cat. He even calls me “Kitty” on occasion.

I think he’s onto something.

You see, I’ve never been very fond of being wet, be it rain-soaked or swimming-pool immersed.

My dad always used to welcome a good rain, especially if it came with a lightning show and lots of thunder. It cleans the earth, he’d point out.

I agree, but washing is supposed to be done at night, not during the day. And that’s when rains should fall, too.

If they did, there’d be no need for rain jackets and hats and boots and umbrellas — shoot, entire industries would dry up.

So to speak.

But rainy days are depressing. They’re gray and drab — and wet.

It’s that part-cat thing, remember.

Long ago, I was coerced into taking swimming lessons.

“You never know,” my parents said. “Being able to swim might save your life some day.”

Shudder.

So I dutifully went to the pool and suffered.

It wasn’t bad enough that I had to wrap my then-skinny body in a swimsuit. Invariably, the temperature here in June hovers somewhere around the 60-degree mark, give or take. Not near warm enough to heat a huge outdoor pool to where it’s comfortable.

Bath water comfortable, I’m talking about.

Combine the embarrassment of appearing (milky-white body, of course) in a swimsuit with the pain of dropping into near-freezing water and you can imagine how I dreaded the ordeal.

To this day, I shun water sports. I don’t water ski. I don’t swim laps for exercise. I don’t do water aerobics. I don’t dive or snorkel.

And I hate driving on bridges and flying over big bodies of water.

Terra firma, that’s where I’m meant to be.

If the Good Lord had wanted me to swim, He’d have given me fins and flippers instead of arms and legs, right?

 

Don’t be Pigs, People!

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I don’t know if it’s the season or my small town or what, but there’s just something wrong with people these days!

Take yesterday, for example. My Favorite Domer agreed to accompany me to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1, at the movie theater here.

Don’t laugh. We’ve read ALL the Potter books and watched ALL the movies to date, so we weren’t about to miss the final installment!

Now he’d seen it just a few days previously and pronounced it a good show, but that was all I got (other than a warning there was more “death” in this one). He knows better than to ruin my experience.

Unfortunately, the guy sitting catty-corner behind us with his date (wife?) didn’t. All through the movie, Mr. Big-shot is carrying on a running conversation, explaining what just happened, revealing what’s about to happen, pointing out ways the film differs from the book, repeating portions of the characters’ conversations, etc.

I was half tempted to whirl around and demand he shut up! Okay, I did whirl around a few times and give him the “mean-ole-mommy” glare, but it went for naught. He must’ve been a kid who’s mom didn’t glare (if there is such a creature!).

And another thing. What possesses strangers to belly right up to others in a movie theater? I mean, this show had been out a whole week already, and most people had seen it who wanted to see it, so it wasn’t exactly crowded. We got there early, chose seats away from those already sitting, and thought we were doing fine. But as new people came in, they did their best to box us in, leaving whole rows empty in favor of sitting close to us. Go figure.

And what’s with the people who ignore the movie ratings? Somebody came in with about a dozen small children (hey, I have nothing against kids — I have one of my own — but this movie was rated PG-13, and these kids were clearly under the age of 10). They led the kids right to our area, and we were “treated” to rattling sacks of candy, crunching sounds from popcorn, sucking noises from sodas, and inappropriate nervous giggles for the rest of the show. These must be parents who like to traumatize their kids with dark horror; otherwise, they’d have stayed home, saved the admission cost, and rented it when it came out on DVD (where they could fast-forward through the dicey spots).

As the credits finally started to roll and people began leaving, MFD and I looked around and couldn’t believe the mess. People are pigs, he commented. Many of them didn’t bother carrying their trash out (despite having a waste receptacle right beside the door); they left sodas in cup holders, squashed popcorn on the floor,and unused napkins strewn about. Didn’t they realize they weren’t in their own living rooms?

Who’s teaching basic niceties like consideration of others these days???

The Never-Ending Pit

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I’m really furious with my neighbor!

This guy is apparently obsessed with fire. He comes home from work and immediately starts his fire pit. Now I’m not talking about the traditional fire pit that’s kind of a metal bowl with a screen.

Nor am I referring to an outdoor fireplace or chimenea.

I’m talking about plain old bricks set in a circle on top of the driveway and belching smoke like an old-fashioned locomotive.

This goes on winter, spring, summer, and fall, weekdays from about 5 o’clock until 10 or 11 and weekends practically 24/7.

When the wind is coming from his direction, we can’t open our windows to take advantage of cooling breezes, we can’t hang clothes out to dry, and even the dog rushes back inside sneezing after doing his business.

Our community enacted a ban on leaf burning several years ago. The city fathers agreed with petitioners that burning smoke is hazardous to people’s health (especially those with asthma and other breathing problems).

I was glad to see that since I’m particularly allergic to leaf mold.

But fire pits weren’t included in the ban.

“There aren’t that many,” someone at city hall told me when I called to complain. “Besides, they’re only used for short periods of time.”

Really? Maybe they ought to move in with me and see!

On the news tonight, the announcers advised us to curtail outdoor burning until weather conditions improve. We’ve had a really dry fall and the winds have been kicking up.

But has my neighbor quit burning?

Of course not. He’s outside as I write, trying to coax the flames higher and doing a bang-up job of polluting the whole neighborhood.

Some people really make it hard to “Love thy neighbor,” don’t they?

Tummy Troubles??

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One evening a couple of months ago I heard an ad on TV that grabbed my attention.

It was for Culturelle, a probiotic supplement designed to eliminate forever those digestive upsets we all get — constipation, diarrhea, “tummy troubles.”

Sounded too good to be true, actually, but I wrote down the Web address and checked it out the next day.

There it all was, in living color:

  • Testimonials from people “just like me” who had stomach issues once but, thanks to Culturelle, were “cured.”
  • Informative copy telling the whys of stomach troubles and how Culturelle can “cure” them.
  • Discussion of “good” vs. “bad” bacteria and comparison with other probiotics available.
  • Side effects, dosing, where to buy information.
  • Even coupons to help cut the cost of a package at the store.

Still a skeptic, I called the toll-free customer service number and drilled them on the particulars. Finally, I decided I’d give it a try.

The first couple of days, I felt great. Maybe this will work, I thought. But I “thought” too soon. By Day 3, I had a resurgence of “tummy troubles,” so I called customer service again.

Not to worry, I heard. It takes time for your digestive system to adjust to the “good” bacteria and eliminate the “bad” stuff. Keep taking Culturelle with confidence and you’ll see how strong your immune system will become.

So I kept at it. But two weeks later, I found myself in the bathroom four times in one morning! Shoot, I was afraid to even leave the house.

Once again, I phoned customer service and described my experience for them — the bloating, gas pain, digestive noises, and diarrhea.

You shouldn’t be having these issues at this point, I was told. Maybe at the beginning, but not now. You might be one of those who can’t take Culturelle. Package it up and return it to us for a partial refund.

Best news I’d heard in a LONG TIME!

To be fair, I never felt bad taking Culturelle (if you discount that last day), and part of me wonders whether I should give a different probiotic a try. After all, we live in hectic times, we fail to eat properly, we subject our bodies to a variety of toxins like antibiotics, and there must be something to the studies of how probiotics “strengthen the immune system,” right?

Or do they? The FDA hasn’t rubber-stamped them, and manufacturers are quick to note that results differ among individuals. But still. . . .

Maybe it’s just human nature to worry about invisible things like our digestive systems. Any thoughts?

Krud Kutter

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When I find a great product, I have to tell the world about it.

For as long as I can remember, my mom has insisted on washing every window in her house — all three floors of it!

As kids, we hated this ritual — the nasty discarded T-shirt rags, the ammonia-scented Windex, and having to lean w-a-a-y out the window (all the while praying you didn’t fall to certain death!). It seemed like such a time-waster, when we could be out with our friends playing and having fun.

Besides, nobody else in our neighborhood washed windows (or so we thought). Why did we have to?

But our arguments fell on deaf ears, and we could count on at least one “wasted” Saturday sometime during every summer break. Mom would get out the rags (washed, of course) and the Windex, and we’d sigh, groan, and grumble — to no avail.

After we kids grew up and moved off, Mom continued this task. Only this time, she’d found a little “helper.” No, not a cleaning lady; they don’t do that sort of work. Her helper was called Krud Kutter.

I remember when she told me over the phone about it. “Whatever,” I thought without enthusiasm. “Just as long as I don’t have to participate.”

This morning I saw her get out the hose with that determined gleam in her eyes, and I knew what was coming — window washing.

“I need your help,” she said.

Uh-oh.

Following her directions, I attached the Window Wash plastic bottle to the garden hose, spun the dial to select the suds or the water, and power washed until my heart was content.

This product is awesome! We did the entire house in about a half-hour!

Best of all, Krud Kutter doesn’t leave any streaks, it gets rid of all those nasty spiderwebs and bird poop, AND it’s even earth-friendly!

Who could ask for more?

I still can’t say I enjoy window-washing, but it’s really nice looking outside and seeing things through crystal-clear glass.