What a bunch of weenies!

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Okay, I promised another move-in story, so here goes.

Arriving in South Bend, I wanted to get checked in to a hotel before moving My Favorite Domer into his dorm for Summer Term.

He, of course, insisted he move in first.

Since he only had a small window of time to move in, I acquiesced.

It wasn’t as bad as last year. We probably packed better, the weather cooperated, and we had less stuff.

How much junk does a kid need for Summer Term, anyway?

It’s almost like packing for camp.

So we got him settled, then off we went to find me a room for the night.

That’s when the fun started.

We checked a couple of places — all full.

Finally, in frustration, I asked one of the desk clerks what was going on that had hotel occupancy off the charts.

He sheepishly admitted they’d had a wicked storm the night before, and most of the hotel guests were actually residents who didn’t want to be inconvenienced because their power was out but knew the hotels had generators.

Huh??

You could have knocked me over with a feather!

After all, I lived on the Gulf Coast for several years, and every season (or so it seemed!), we had a hurricane blow through and knock out power for a week at a time!

In 90+ degree weather, day AND night!

No hot food. No hair dryer. No air conditioner. Not even a stinkin’ fan!

But we suffered through it. Brave little warriors, wearing our sweat-drenched T-shirts and sharing our tales of woe with anybody who’d listen.

Yet here these “weenies” were, spending a couple of hundred bucks to stay overnight  in a hotel — with FREE TV, air conditioning, and a pool!

Topping it off, the next morning I noticed the temperature had dropped to a cool 62 degrees.

I’m tellin’ ya, some people have more money than sense!

Of light vs. dark

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Isn’t it odd how we never stop learning about ourselves?

I just returned from dropping My Favorite Domer off at Notre Dame for Summer Term (more on this tomorrow). Anyway, it’s the first time I got a hotel room away from the main lights of the city.

So it was dark. Really dark. The kind of dark that leads your imagination to play all sorts of tricks on you.

Like when you hear funny noises and imagine creepy critters scurrying about. Or when you see looming shadows and know you’re next.

I thought about leaving a lamp on, but no way can I sleep with that much light.

At home, nights aren’t that dark because there’s plenty of light from streetlamps and our neighbors.

Not in the hotel, though.

So I decided to leave the TV on. I turned the volume way down and aimed the screen away from the bed.

But the station kept switching scenes and the resulting flashes were anything but restful.

I jumped up and changed to a steadier channel.

Still no luck.

Frustrated, I jumped up again and turned it off.

Now hunkering beneath the covers in my dark room, I started to itch.

Probably just the Lysol I sprayed onto the pillow, I thought.

Or maybe it was bugs.

I jumped up again.

Nothing.

I swear I was more tired after “sleeping” eight hours than I would have been if I’d just stayed up all night!

So next time, I’m going to pack a nightlight and my own sleeping bag.

Can’t be too careful now, can we?!


Oh, the joys of getting your car serviced!

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Am I just being fussy, or do others hate taking their cars in for service, too?

It doesn’t much matter whether your wait-time is long or short — it’s far from fun.

Here are my pet peeves (how many agree?):

  • Boring choice of reading material. Haven’t the-powers-that-be ever heard that women take their cars in for service, too? How many women do you know who enjoy reading magazines about electronics, mechanics, building trades, etc.?
  • The ever-present blaring TV. Everybody’s afraid to change the channel that’s on when they arrive, or to turn it down; and what’s with the pompous guy who commandeers the remote and acts like he’s in his own den?
  • Cramped quarters. No, I don’t like sitting side-by-side with a perfect stranger!
  • Stuffy air. The place is invariably too hot or too cold, and you can’t find a good fan to save your life.
  • The smells. Yep, I’m talking about what looks like week-old popcorn and day-old coffee. Do they really expect us to make our own food and drinks? If I wanted to wait on people, I’d get a job where at least I’d get paid to do it!

Now what makes the wait particularly irritating are the other customers. You know who I’m talking about:

  • The chatterbox. This is the guy or gal who can’t shut up! They chat with other customers and the salespeople; they haul out their cell phones and give the rest of us a glimpse into their lives that we’d rather not see.
  • Hospital Holly. The person who should have stayed home, in bed. Instead, they drag themselves to the dealership, sigh and moan about their ailments, use half a box of Kleenex, and make sure the rest of us get what they’ve got.
  • Daddy-with-the-kids. Does he really expect any woman waiting for her car to help him babysit? He drags in 3 or 4 toddlers — one at least with a full diaper — then parks himself behind a magazine while the kids run wild through the showroom, leave gooey fingerprints everywhere, cry and scream uncontrollably, or spill juice on the carpet.
  • Miss Thrift. Hear that ripping sound? This one helps herself to coupons from the magazines. Who said those things were free?
  • Office Ollie. He busts out his laptop and proceeds to conduct high-powered business, spreading out dozens of file folders and papers over several surrounding seats. On second thought, he’s probably just trying to avoid having strangers sit next to him!
  • Slick Mick the pickup guy. He thinks any female would be delighted at his attentions and does his darnedest to snag a date for the weekend.

I’m positive there are others. Which ones creep you out?

How to pass a rainy day

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It rained and stormed much of yesterday.

Yuck — boring.

So, I decided to pass some time doing one of my favorite hobbies — beading jewelry.

There’s something wonderfully relaxing about rolling different shaped beads between your fingers. About matching (or contrasting) different textures and colors. About fashioning glass and stones and metals into earrings, bracelets, or necklaces.

And it’s fabulous having unique pieces to wear! When I get tired of something, I just break it apart and re-create it into something else. Or make something new to go with a new outfit. Or “copy” a cool design I saw in a magazine, giving it my own special touch.

I’m surprised at how many compliments I’ve gotten on my handmade creations, too. People tell me I should open up a little business, maybe on the Interwebs, and sell my stuff.

I don’t know. That sounds like a lot of work.

I’d have to line everything up, take individual pictures (of hundreds of items!), edit those pictures, design a Website (complete with shopping cart for orders), monitor the incoming orders, package the orders, ship the orders, handle any customer complaints — gosh, I get bleary-eyed just thinking about it!

I think I’ll stick with Web design and writing.

But for those interested in what I came up with, here’s a photo:

This is a Y necklace with a silver lobster-claw fastener. It measures 22 inches around the neck, with a four-inch “tail.” I used a combination of green Russian jade, tiger’s eye, pink zebra jasper, and fire-polished crystals, interspersed with mostly silver spacer beads.

What’ll they think of next?

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Sometimes e-mails can be so annoying!

There are those “chain letter” messages, which promise something dire will happen if you don’t forward them to 25 friends. Then there are those sugary-sweet missives, complete with “awww” pictures, that you’ve got to pass on. And don’t get me started on e-cards or spam about cheap meds, hot chicks, or free I-pods.

But e-mail has its good points, too. Take today, when I received a forwarded message from a friend telling me of the new “bottle bombs” kids are planting.

Never heard of a “bottle bomb”?

Me, neither.

Turns out, it’s a pretty scary thing, and I can’t imagine having so much time on my hands to stir up mischief.

Nor can I imagine anybody thinking this would be funny.

Apparently, the perpetrators take an empty 20 oz. soda bottle and add Drano and tin foil, then leave it on somebody’s lawn, in somebody’s mailbox, etc. The gases combine in a chemical reaction, exploding the bottle (and leaving the finder with blindness, loss of fingers, and 2nd and 3rd degree chemical burns).

Not so funny, is it?

Nor are the penalties if one is caught:

  • Possession without causing damage, 15-year felony
  • Possession causing damage, 20-year felony
  • Possession causing physical injury, 25-year felony
  • Possession causing serious injury, up to life in prison
  • Possession causing death, mandatory life without possibility of parole

I know kids will be kids. I know kids decry many towns because there’s nothing to do.

But when I was a kid, moping around complaining just earned me unnecessary work — like moving a pile of bricks from one side of the yard to another, or washing windows, or pulling weeds. . . .

Ah, the good ole days!

Memorial Day

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Why do people say, “Happy Memorial Day”??

Yes, we’re getting a three-day holiday, but it seems to me that we’ve totally forgotten the meaning behind this day.

Memorial Day is not a “happy” occasion. It’s a somber observance.

Once upon a time, Memorial Day was called Decoration Day. It was a day set apart to recognize those brave individuals who gave their lives in the service of our country.

I can remember my dad, who grew up in the Deep South, talking about how, as a boy, he went to the cemetery with his mother each Memorial Day. He said the ladies of the region always decorated the graves then. They put out real flowers (not those plastic things you buy today at Wally-world!), cleaned up the weeds, and so on. It was a big deal.

Today, Memorial Day is more noted for being the official start of summer. Kids get out of school; swimming pools open; golf courses are full; grills come out of storage, and grocery stores push the sales of barbecue sauce, chips, soda, and beer.

Not so long ago, Memorial Day was observed on May 30. Not May 25; not May 31. May 30th. That meant you got a holiday in the middle of the week sometimes. Cool!

But in 1971, Congress changed the official holiday observance to the last Monday in May (giving workers a three-day break). That’s nice, I guess, but some fear it’s contributed to a lackadaisical attitude about Memorial Day.

My town, like many others, doesn’t hold a parade on that holiday. Few people know Flag etiquette, and cemeteries now have caretakers (paid or volunteer) to tend the graves.

To counteract ignorance about the significance of the holiday, the government in 2000 authorized a National Moment of Remembrance. People were supposed to stop what they were doing at 3 p.m. (local time) on Memorial Day and reflect for 60 seconds on the sacrifices others made so we might all be free.

Good idea, but I confess I didn’t even know about it until I was doing research for this blog! So that didn’t go over big, did it?

Some now are advocating a return to the traditional May 30 date to observe Memorial Day. I’m with them.

With all the distractions of picnics, bargain-hunting, and outdoors-enjoying, the remembrance and the mourning are tossed aside. And lest anyone forget, we are still losing young men and women to war. We are still fighting to keep our freedoms.

As one Pennsylvania man so aptly put it, it’s because of what Memorial Day represents that the rest of the days of each year are our holidays.

Why I Work for Myself

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There’s something simply splendid about working for yourself!

  • No nit-picking boss (just nit-picking clients!).
  • No dress code (unless you include every-day-as-casual-Friday!).
  • No required starting time (nobody running you off the premises, either!).
  • No putting in requests for vacation and days off (what, you mean other people DON’T work round the clock, even on holidays?).

But there are some downsides, too.

Take, for instance, that last bulleted item. Go ahead, we’ll wait while you read it over again.

Working round the clock. That’s a big part of being your own boss.

If you can’t manage time, if you don’t have an innate sense of responsibility to do what’s necessary to get the job done (right and on time, too!), you might as well forget it.

Go back to being somebody’s minion.

If you consistently feel the need to socialize, or shop, or go golfing, or read a good book poolside — again, forget it.

Those things, when done in moderation, can be wonderful brain-cleansers. They can even help your business if you run into people who need your services — or if you make time for casual networking.

But most entrepreneurs will admit they work harder for themselves than they ever did for a boss or a company. Even the perk of stock options from a company isn’t the same thing as being self-employed.

With only yourself to rely on, you have to be the sales force, accounting department, collections agency, legal department, marketing department, secretary, chief cook and bottle washer, even janitor!

Admittedly, it’s not for everyone. But those of us who do it love it.

We invest so much of ourselves in our business. The business becomes our “baby,” and we have a driving need to see that baby succeed. Our reputation is on the line (and maybe a bit of our pride, too!).

Who doesn’t want to prove — to someone, somewhere — that, despite the odds, they “made it”?!

Flying away

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My favorite Domer has been home just over a week now, and it’s rained almost every day.

Yuck!

No tennis. No golf. No outside barbecues.

Shoot, I’m struggling to walk my pudgy pooch between showers!

Yet every day your kids are home feels like a holiday.

You parents with little kids don’t understand this. You’re not supposed to.

Deep inside, you’re thinking, “Just give me a few hours to myself — away from the taxi-ing to and from activities, away from the incessant unanswerable questions (why do birds have wings?), away from the internal and external pressures of parenting.”

But trust me, you’ll live to eat those words!

I know I am.

People older and wiser than I told me to “enjoy every minute with your little ones.” I did, but sometimes, when the pressures added up and it felt like I’d never have another moment’s peace, I found myself wishing for an island somewhere, a place I could go ALL BY MYSELF where there were no responsibilities and every day was sunny. . . .

But that’s pie-in-the-sky, isn’t it?

Watching your darling fly away from the nest (whether it’s to college, marriage, the armed forces, or a job clear across the country) leaves you with a bittersweet ache in your heart.

You miss them, certainly, but it’s right that they grow up — and go away.

Congratulate yourself — you’ve given them roots and wings!

Besides, their flight frees you to do some of the things you always wanted to.

To reinvent yourself, as it were.

Unless, of course, you have other “little birds” still at home.

Then all bets are off!

Moving out

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Apparently, there are a bunch of people — parents and students — in serious need of a Physics class these days.

I just got back from picking up My Favorite Domer in South Bend after the end of his First Year of Studies.

To call Moving-Out Day “interesting” would be a gross understatement.

I found I had to laugh or cry. Only an extreme emotion would work for something like this.

First, the weather (typically!) refused to cooperate. PermaCloud hovered overhead as a cold front neared. By mid-afternoon, the wind had kicked up and torrential rains produced huge puddles and spongy ground.

In between the showers, I watched parents and students load up their stuff:

  • Somebody was trying to squeeze an overstuffed, full-sized sofa into the back of an SUV (didn’t they measure??)
  • Somebody rolled three TVs out on a cart and put ’em in one vehicle (who can watch 3 TVs at once?)
  • Somebody wrestled one of those plastic carts with pullout shelves into the bed of a truck
  • Somebody hauled out two sets of golf clubs; another had two hockey sticks
  • Somebody maneuvered a futon into an SUV (what were they thinking?)
  • Somebody bear-hugged a refrigerator all the way out to his car; others hauled armloads of clothing, wheeled executive desk chairs, or hoisted more shelving into trunks

No wonder UPS set up shop nearby to capture the overflow!

No wonder the campus had all sorts of containers available for  students to donate to local charities!

No wonder the enterprising youths were “wheeling and dealing” on big-ticket items their comrades couldn’t fit in!

I feel positively impoverished when I recall the amount of “stuff” I took to college, compared to what today’s kids have to have.

Different times, I guess.

But still, even I (who didn’t take Physics) know there’s a finite amount of space in cars, trucks, SUVs, etc. and once that space is filled, the rest of your “crow’s nest” is going to get left behind or shipped home.

Anybody got any tips for how to do this again come Fall Term??

It says Stop, not Park!

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Why is it that some people just can’t drive??

I’m not talking about the really old — though goodness knows, they contribute to the problem by creeping, then slamming on their brakes every other minute.

I’m not talking about the really young — though they seem to be in a BIG hurry most of the time and are distracted with putting on eyeliner, talking on cell phones, fiddling with IPods, etc.

I’m referring to your average, run-of-the-mill driver, the one who never figured out what to do about Stop signs.

They get there and stop.

And wait.

And wait some more.

C’mon, people, why’d you get behind the wheel if you didn’t have any place to go??

Here’s a refresher on how it’s supposed to work:

  • If you’re the first one to get to an all-way intersection, you stop. And you go. Simple.
  • If you arrive at said intersection and others are already there, you have to wait until they’re all gone.
  • And if you get there at the same time as somebody else, you yield to the guy or gal on your right. Then you can go.

Don’t muck up the works by signaling somebody to go when it’s your turn.

You might think you’re being polite, but you’re just being confusing.

Don’t throw your car into Park and camp out for a spell, either.

That’s annoying.

Unless, of course, you like to have other drivers honk at you.

It’s a lesson everybody should have learned in kindergarten — take turns.