I took my little grandson to McDonald's for supper the other day. Yes I know, horrible Nana, feeding him that nasty stuff made up to look like real food in appealing colors and shapes. My saving grace however is he never eats that much of anything-it's more to address his instantaneous need for something to fill his tiny little belly after a hard day at the salt mines of daycare.
We call it "his work". He has a long day of greeting staff, being helpful with minor disputes, leading or directing the other children in some type of rebellious act or hazardous adventure before the caretakers catch on and spoil the fun, By evening he is ready for some serious chill time and a "snack". Consequently I am convinced he will not eat enough of that McD's to actually harm his growing body.
At any rate he is meticulous at carefully pouring his fries into the other side of the nuggets box. Why, even his Mother does not know, but he is neat about it. He eats the equivalent of one quarter of one tiny nugget and 3 french fries and then heads to the play area. I don't know why I bother to bring the left-over remnants home. I am the shoeless grandparent who hovers anxiously in the background as he climbs on anything he can in the play area hoping to avert disaster or having to make that phone call to the parents from the local urgent care. All the while trying not to stifle his natural curiosity and acrobatic attempts on the equipment. Papa keeps his shoes on as Joe has a tendency to make a break for the dining room when he gets bored.
Well on this episode, Joe took off running and was around the tables and up to the counter before Papa got moving to catch him. He found Joe calmly ordering a "cupcake" (muffin) when they asked him what he wanted. I will always wonder if they would have filled his request to have it "his way" without money but now I will never know. Just another day in the life of an almost 3 year old as you know "you gotta love the baby"!
Monday, March 2, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
CLOTHING RANT
I heard an interesting statistic today. Supposedly 64% of American women fit the plus-size dimensions as determined by the "fashion industry". The same industry that designs 90% of their clothing line to fit the 8-10 year old body that apparently they believe is the norm or perhaps what we should strive to emulate. Even more disturbing is their definition that plus-size starts at size 14. I would daresay that if I checked any "normal" American woman's closets, including mine, I would find clothing from size 8 to size 14 or higher. It depends on the designer. That is why when many of us go shopping it does take several hours as we must try on multiple clothing items (all claiming to be the same thing of course) to find one that actually fits!
If you linger near the very limited number of dressing rooms available (what's up with that by the way, as no one can buy off the rack without trying it on) you will no doubt hear the sounds of grunting, sharply drawn in breath and quiet,yet fluent, cursing as we try to fit our very real bodies into very poorly designed clothing. My assumption is that the designers and store buyers must believe that little girls have all the money. NEWS FLASH-we mature women have the money, the need and the desire to purchase well-made and flattering clothing. Don't even let me get started on boots and shoes. As we mature, our feet become wider yet I defy anyone to find a comfortable, flattering shoe in a wide size and yet again, we are the ones with the money!
Why do women put up with this? Men buy a pair of pants by waist and length and it doesn't change based on a designer's whim of what they think a man should wear. Same with jackets and shirts-neck and length and a little more generous tailoring where needed. My theory is that we don't complain and demand the industry listen to what we want. Instead women are allowing themselves to be brain-washed into believing they must look a certain way or be a certain size to be acceptable. To that I politely say bushwah (thought really it's spelled bullshit)! I complain every time, but then I am known for my impatience with incompetence and bad service. However the clerks, store managers and buyers do not really care as we continue to buy this crap. Money talks and maybe we don't realize how much power we actually have.
We all need to step up and support our normal sized sisters and demand better choices. We need to celebrate we are built like women and not 10 years old children who dress way too provocatively by the way. We need to stop cramming our beautiful curves and slightly wider feet into things that do not fit and quit being so damn polite about it. Support designers that "get it" and design for all shapes and sizes. Get noisy ladies-change doesn't happen in silent acceptance-you just get more of the same.
If you linger near the very limited number of dressing rooms available (what's up with that by the way, as no one can buy off the rack without trying it on) you will no doubt hear the sounds of grunting, sharply drawn in breath and quiet,yet fluent, cursing as we try to fit our very real bodies into very poorly designed clothing. My assumption is that the designers and store buyers must believe that little girls have all the money. NEWS FLASH-we mature women have the money, the need and the desire to purchase well-made and flattering clothing. Don't even let me get started on boots and shoes. As we mature, our feet become wider yet I defy anyone to find a comfortable, flattering shoe in a wide size and yet again, we are the ones with the money!
Why do women put up with this? Men buy a pair of pants by waist and length and it doesn't change based on a designer's whim of what they think a man should wear. Same with jackets and shirts-neck and length and a little more generous tailoring where needed. My theory is that we don't complain and demand the industry listen to what we want. Instead women are allowing themselves to be brain-washed into believing they must look a certain way or be a certain size to be acceptable. To that I politely say bushwah (thought really it's spelled bullshit)! I complain every time, but then I am known for my impatience with incompetence and bad service. However the clerks, store managers and buyers do not really care as we continue to buy this crap. Money talks and maybe we don't realize how much power we actually have.
We all need to step up and support our normal sized sisters and demand better choices. We need to celebrate we are built like women and not 10 years old children who dress way too provocatively by the way. We need to stop cramming our beautiful curves and slightly wider feet into things that do not fit and quit being so damn polite about it. Support designers that "get it" and design for all shapes and sizes. Get noisy ladies-change doesn't happen in silent acceptance-you just get more of the same.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
LIFE LESSONS FROM TODDLERS
Recent visits from my darling little grandson have forced moments of bribery, err negotiation, as he "wants what he wants when he wants it" and meltdowns are messy and embarrassing when they occur in public. It prompts me to ponder that dealing with a 2 1/2 year old is similar to personal interactions with people of all ages. Or perhaps a lifetime of experience in personal encounters has allowed a certain wisdom when applied to a head-strong toddler. I have always had a problem with the word "compromise" as it means one or both have given up something in order to reach agreement.
Human interactions, contract negotiations, complaint resolution, ordering a hamburger with no onion all rely on a certain amount of problem resolution. We seem to be by nature, or nurture, under the impression that we must win or at least best the other person no matter how insignificant the encounter. It takes maturity to realize both can end up winning yet it is a concept that is not universally acceptable. Why is that? When raising children or grandchildren our goal is to raise happy, confident, honest little people who understand they are loved and are able to love others. And of course, we also need to understand when we are being bullied and not allow others to affect our own feelings of worthiness.
When contemplating any negotiation what we think we must have is really more an issue of want rather than need, and to be honest, in most cases we can be happy with a lot less than originally believed. To inspire that positive negotiation in others requires active listening - Open ears, Close mouth. I was "schooled" in the practice of the active listening technique over many years of investigating business and safety failures in order to provide a plan of action, solution or preventive measures. Amazing what people reveal about themselves and situations when you just wait and are legitimately interested in what they say. I confess I also perfected the ability to swallow a yawn without the other person ever knowing. Ok, everything is not fascinating but one does owe respect.
Have you ever noticed how a sales person will get a little personal (to a point) when trying to close the sale? We would much rather buy from a "friend" even a temporary one. This concept works whether you are selling "fries with that burger" or the extra accessories on your new car. Of course that is also the opportunity for the buyer to obtain a few perks -- a lower price, more free add-ons or services. Also the higher priced the item, the more the sales person is willing to negotiate. Both buyer and seller are happy. Isn't that a much better way to feel after your interactions?
As for my beloved grandson, I normally give in to his demands though I do employ redirection and substitution whenever possible. That way neither one of us has a tantrum...
Human interactions, contract negotiations, complaint resolution, ordering a hamburger with no onion all rely on a certain amount of problem resolution. We seem to be by nature, or nurture, under the impression that we must win or at least best the other person no matter how insignificant the encounter. It takes maturity to realize both can end up winning yet it is a concept that is not universally acceptable. Why is that? When raising children or grandchildren our goal is to raise happy, confident, honest little people who understand they are loved and are able to love others. And of course, we also need to understand when we are being bullied and not allow others to affect our own feelings of worthiness.
When contemplating any negotiation what we think we must have is really more an issue of want rather than need, and to be honest, in most cases we can be happy with a lot less than originally believed. To inspire that positive negotiation in others requires active listening - Open ears, Close mouth. I was "schooled" in the practice of the active listening technique over many years of investigating business and safety failures in order to provide a plan of action, solution or preventive measures. Amazing what people reveal about themselves and situations when you just wait and are legitimately interested in what they say. I confess I also perfected the ability to swallow a yawn without the other person ever knowing. Ok, everything is not fascinating but one does owe respect.
Have you ever noticed how a sales person will get a little personal (to a point) when trying to close the sale? We would much rather buy from a "friend" even a temporary one. This concept works whether you are selling "fries with that burger" or the extra accessories on your new car. Of course that is also the opportunity for the buyer to obtain a few perks -- a lower price, more free add-ons or services. Also the higher priced the item, the more the sales person is willing to negotiate. Both buyer and seller are happy. Isn't that a much better way to feel after your interactions?
As for my beloved grandson, I normally give in to his demands though I do employ redirection and substitution whenever possible. That way neither one of us has a tantrum...
Monday, January 26, 2015
STRICTLY RANDOM
Not sure if I heard it right, but had this brain spark while half-listening to a commercial for a cold remedy. Did the announcer really say "coughsequences" or "consequences" of not taking the medication. If I heard it wrong and my own warped brain picked it up as the former, then how witty am I? Remember your saw the birth of the new word here first.
Stopped at a restaurant for breakfast that I have patronized for several years on Saturdays before grocery shopping. I always have the same wait-person and do not even have to order as my coffee, water and ham and cheese omelet (hold the taters) arrives shortly after my sliding into the booth. Going on a Monday, however changes things. My favorite wait person was not working today and I had the monumental challenge of dealing with a previously foreign menu and remembering what "my usual" would be. I said "well things change but the jelly never does". This is in reference to the fact that every restaurant orders from the same vendor supplying grape, strawberry, mixed fruit and orange marmalade but NEVER NEVER cherry-even in Traverse City. What is up with that? And really who eats marmalade (the chick jelly - Ma me laid) complete with orange peel unless a person is suffering from scurvy. Nothing like a chunk of chew with your favorite citrus as of course people eat oranges like apples chomping down on the skin as part of their enjoyable treat. I don't think so!
Stopped at a restaurant for breakfast that I have patronized for several years on Saturdays before grocery shopping. I always have the same wait-person and do not even have to order as my coffee, water and ham and cheese omelet (hold the taters) arrives shortly after my sliding into the booth. Going on a Monday, however changes things. My favorite wait person was not working today and I had the monumental challenge of dealing with a previously foreign menu and remembering what "my usual" would be. I said "well things change but the jelly never does". This is in reference to the fact that every restaurant orders from the same vendor supplying grape, strawberry, mixed fruit and orange marmalade but NEVER NEVER cherry-even in Traverse City. What is up with that? And really who eats marmalade (the chick jelly - Ma me laid) complete with orange peel unless a person is suffering from scurvy. Nothing like a chunk of chew with your favorite citrus as of course people eat oranges like apples chomping down on the skin as part of their enjoyable treat. I don't think so!
Sunday, January 25, 2015
THIRD QUARTER
When they asked what I wanted I said a really good pen- well guess what? I got it, two actually, and a couple of journals to fill. A sign? A fulfillment? A prophesy to be fulfilled? Well have paper, will write. The weirdest, but perhaps flattering theme is everyone keeps asking what are you going to do? Apparently I am too young (looking) and vibrant to just veg. The sin is I have no plan-it will evolve I'm sure. And by the way, those are really fine pens. Comfortable to the hand and smooth rolling writing surfaces that pull thoughts and stories out all by themselves. Perhaps magic is embedded in gifts given from the heart of true friends.
First few days of the final third of life. Ooh that sounded creepy. Let me explain - lst third of life culminating in my daughter; 2nd third the incredible body of work by working incredibly hard "for someone else" though I am proud of that work. Now a third left to do something else, lots of something else's according to things that have opened up. Gosh Mrs. Kelley would be appalled at my license to be grammatically and spelling-incorrect, but I'll just call it EG (eccentric grammar). I now am the grammar police of my crimes and I give myself a pass. Also using ink in a hand-written journal keeps one humble and unexpectedly honest as you can't really go back and edit when you put it in writing without causing a lot of speculation of why is that crossed-out, scribbled or rewritten? It is obvious when one writes by hand. The flow of pen over paper may be comforting and sensuous but obvious when you err. You have no idea when it is keyed in and printed. TIP: If it seems as if my spelling has gone to proverbial "crap" that is because I'm excited and trying to type faster than the keyboard can accommodate.
On commercials- oh don't get me started. I have seen this one about 100 times. Question: If I was suffering from long-term bi-polar depression (well at least half the time if I understand "bi") would I be cognizant enough to know I needed it and beseech my doctor for said drug? A drug that I will self-prescribe because the television or the internet told me so? If I know it than maybe I don't suffer the malady or on the upside I think I'm just fine which would not prompt me to ask for it. Thank goodness for advertising that helps me not only diagnose, but treat and apparently, cure all my illnesses. Gosh many times I don't even realize I have the illness until a commercial or lawyer advertisement tells me what to take or who to sue. Only in America. Of course, we are one week away from the mother lode of all commercialdom - the SUPER BOWL! And I really don't think I am the only one who hits the bathroom during the game so I don't miss any commercials.
First few days of the final third of life. Ooh that sounded creepy. Let me explain - lst third of life culminating in my daughter; 2nd third the incredible body of work by working incredibly hard "for someone else" though I am proud of that work. Now a third left to do something else, lots of something else's according to things that have opened up. Gosh Mrs. Kelley would be appalled at my license to be grammatically and spelling-incorrect, but I'll just call it EG (eccentric grammar). I now am the grammar police of my crimes and I give myself a pass. Also using ink in a hand-written journal keeps one humble and unexpectedly honest as you can't really go back and edit when you put it in writing without causing a lot of speculation of why is that crossed-out, scribbled or rewritten? It is obvious when one writes by hand. The flow of pen over paper may be comforting and sensuous but obvious when you err. You have no idea when it is keyed in and printed. TIP: If it seems as if my spelling has gone to proverbial "crap" that is because I'm excited and trying to type faster than the keyboard can accommodate.
On commercials- oh don't get me started. I have seen this one about 100 times. Question: If I was suffering from long-term bi-polar depression (well at least half the time if I understand "bi") would I be cognizant enough to know I needed it and beseech my doctor for said drug? A drug that I will self-prescribe because the television or the internet told me so? If I know it than maybe I don't suffer the malady or on the upside I think I'm just fine which would not prompt me to ask for it. Thank goodness for advertising that helps me not only diagnose, but treat and apparently, cure all my illnesses. Gosh many times I don't even realize I have the illness until a commercial or lawyer advertisement tells me what to take or who to sue. Only in America. Of course, we are one week away from the mother lode of all commercialdom - the SUPER BOWL! And I really don't think I am the only one who hits the bathroom during the game so I don't miss any commercials.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Love Explained
Love is standing in place -- not about winning and losing; not about getting one up on one another; making a better deal; holding one another hostage to their own tender feelings to make them feel week and defeated. Love means accepting who they are without thoughts of or need for changing them. Equals no matter what because flaws do not exist where one has pure love. Not seeing any negative but only delight whether things change or not. If you cannot be unselfish, undemanding or not delighted in what you have found, it is not love. Love is not a competition and one may not know to love like that but we all need to try. When you feel ready to take on the world but they do not recognize the beauty and quality of your love it really doesn't matter. If you never regret the love that you have given or shared, you have found true love.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
The Power of Christmas Chapter 1
It was going to be different this year and it was. Just not what we had anticipated. As the saying goes, make plans and God laughs.
For the first time in many years Grandma was coming to enjoy great grandson Joseph's reaction to Christmas. Arriving between snowstorms on Saturday was the first miracle. Of course as usual I was sporting my end-of-year illness. Don't know what it is about holidays or vacation time, but I tend to get sick. And it's not pretty-red eyes, harsh cough, miserable all over. The type of cold that scares small children & causes cats to hiss. Everything was ready & the next to last run to the store for supplies had occurred as we all settled in for a long-winter's nap puncutuated by my hacking a lung up every few minutes. Thus I was able to hear the constant and glorious gunshot sound of tree limbs snapping and falling throughout an ice storm filled night.
At 4:30 am an alarm sounds as Grandma's oxygen machine goes into emergency shut-off mode. Ruh roh. We wake Grandma and hook her up to the battery operated model hoping to see power back within our 4-hour window. No such luck. Dragging the 30 year old generator from the basement, we needed to drain all the old gas out before we could attempt ignition. We were both covered with gas vapors as well as the floor of the garage, rugs, etc. by the time that little task was completed. Good news - the trusty ancient generator starts on the 3rd pull! Ok we're good for a while & able to charge up Grandma's machines. On the phone to find a hotel, as something tells me this "ain't" gonna end quickly or neatly.
Scored a room & we headed to check-in before the similarly affected powerless got there. After checking in we headed off to find breakfast and hit 3 places before we found one that was 1) with power; 2) not packed or at least a reasonable wait. Back to the hotel running on battery power. Got through the outside door & entered a dark? hallway. With a sinking feeling, I felt my way down the hall on emergency lights only to find the hotel had lost power in that 30 seconds between getting through the outside door and hitting the hallway. Humerous aside, Burt was stuck outside the hotel with a pile of equipment, because duh, the door locked behind us when we went in. Tried calling my cell phone to no avail as it was with my gear in the darkened hallway. Making my way to the front desk & gently (for me)suggested they needed to have some explanation or game plan for the hordes who would be making their way to the front desk to find out what the "H" they were going to do for them? They were reluctant to venture any ideas, but I did find out they had no back-up generator.
I promptly solicted a note from the manager to cover their lack of accomodation as they already had my credit card. Anther humerous note. The one in a million time that I actually shopped at Target was during the nasty time of stolen cards so obviously I was a little sensitive to bogus charges being applied. I really feel for the family who was having their family Christmas party in the hotel conference room with the husband optimistically saying, hey there's enough light through the windows to do this thing. I can't describe the looks he was getting.
Racing across the street to another hotel (I know-what was the logic in that?), I found they were freshly out of power too, though I did see their elevator going up-wondered what that was all about. Turns out a power pole had snapped just up the street moments before taking the transformer with it. We discovered that piece of intelligence as we tried to go south & found our way blocked by the afore mentioned power pole and a mess of wires in the road. As it is now afternoon, looking for hotels now became a crisis issue or at least a power issue. I envisioned sitting in an open McD's plugging in our oxygen machine. Appearances are nothing in crisis mode. Making our way to another hotel, I entered the lobby to hear that power had flickered, all computers were down & they weren't making any guarantees. Back in the car, I started calling hotels finding either no answer or no power. Back into the iffy hotel only to hear two parties ahead of me that they were booked.
Heading to another hotel a short distance away, I threw myself on the mercy of the front desk. Crazy scene. The phone rang constantly & the front desk person had a housekeeper helping her. Remember I am sporting the red-eyes & hacking cough of the truly deranged. Finally, with a catch in my voice, I said "hey-I am here before the phone call people". They agreed & found a room on the 3rd floor with a bed & fold-out couch, and miraculously-electrical plugs!
Ok-recharging completed. Everyone exhausted a quick run to the nearby Wendy's would suffice for dinner. After an hour wait (yes there were that many people) they had run out of chili, potatoes, etc etc. Chicken was left in abundance for some reason. Drama over for the day, well not quite.
At approximately 12:30 am the familiar alarm of a powerless oxygen machine goes off. Really dude. Pitch black fumbling around trying to shut the d--- thing off switch to battery mode. Meanwhile the sound of the alarm awakens the 3rd floor & we hear the excited voices of our neighbors trying to figure out what's going on. After turning it off, we just laid low & didn't enlighten anyone of what caused the alarm. It could have been a mob thing out there... Anyway an hour and half later the lights came back on and stayed on. Whew.
For the first time in many years Grandma was coming to enjoy great grandson Joseph's reaction to Christmas. Arriving between snowstorms on Saturday was the first miracle. Of course as usual I was sporting my end-of-year illness. Don't know what it is about holidays or vacation time, but I tend to get sick. And it's not pretty-red eyes, harsh cough, miserable all over. The type of cold that scares small children & causes cats to hiss. Everything was ready & the next to last run to the store for supplies had occurred as we all settled in for a long-winter's nap puncutuated by my hacking a lung up every few minutes. Thus I was able to hear the constant and glorious gunshot sound of tree limbs snapping and falling throughout an ice storm filled night.
At 4:30 am an alarm sounds as Grandma's oxygen machine goes into emergency shut-off mode. Ruh roh. We wake Grandma and hook her up to the battery operated model hoping to see power back within our 4-hour window. No such luck. Dragging the 30 year old generator from the basement, we needed to drain all the old gas out before we could attempt ignition. We were both covered with gas vapors as well as the floor of the garage, rugs, etc. by the time that little task was completed. Good news - the trusty ancient generator starts on the 3rd pull! Ok we're good for a while & able to charge up Grandma's machines. On the phone to find a hotel, as something tells me this "ain't" gonna end quickly or neatly.
Scored a room & we headed to check-in before the similarly affected powerless got there. After checking in we headed off to find breakfast and hit 3 places before we found one that was 1) with power; 2) not packed or at least a reasonable wait. Back to the hotel running on battery power. Got through the outside door & entered a dark? hallway. With a sinking feeling, I felt my way down the hall on emergency lights only to find the hotel had lost power in that 30 seconds between getting through the outside door and hitting the hallway. Humerous aside, Burt was stuck outside the hotel with a pile of equipment, because duh, the door locked behind us when we went in. Tried calling my cell phone to no avail as it was with my gear in the darkened hallway. Making my way to the front desk & gently (for me)suggested they needed to have some explanation or game plan for the hordes who would be making their way to the front desk to find out what the "H" they were going to do for them? They were reluctant to venture any ideas, but I did find out they had no back-up generator.
I promptly solicted a note from the manager to cover their lack of accomodation as they already had my credit card. Anther humerous note. The one in a million time that I actually shopped at Target was during the nasty time of stolen cards so obviously I was a little sensitive to bogus charges being applied. I really feel for the family who was having their family Christmas party in the hotel conference room with the husband optimistically saying, hey there's enough light through the windows to do this thing. I can't describe the looks he was getting.
Racing across the street to another hotel (I know-what was the logic in that?), I found they were freshly out of power too, though I did see their elevator going up-wondered what that was all about. Turns out a power pole had snapped just up the street moments before taking the transformer with it. We discovered that piece of intelligence as we tried to go south & found our way blocked by the afore mentioned power pole and a mess of wires in the road. As it is now afternoon, looking for hotels now became a crisis issue or at least a power issue. I envisioned sitting in an open McD's plugging in our oxygen machine. Appearances are nothing in crisis mode. Making our way to another hotel, I entered the lobby to hear that power had flickered, all computers were down & they weren't making any guarantees. Back in the car, I started calling hotels finding either no answer or no power. Back into the iffy hotel only to hear two parties ahead of me that they were booked.
Heading to another hotel a short distance away, I threw myself on the mercy of the front desk. Crazy scene. The phone rang constantly & the front desk person had a housekeeper helping her. Remember I am sporting the red-eyes & hacking cough of the truly deranged. Finally, with a catch in my voice, I said "hey-I am here before the phone call people". They agreed & found a room on the 3rd floor with a bed & fold-out couch, and miraculously-electrical plugs!
Ok-recharging completed. Everyone exhausted a quick run to the nearby Wendy's would suffice for dinner. After an hour wait (yes there were that many people) they had run out of chili, potatoes, etc etc. Chicken was left in abundance for some reason. Drama over for the day, well not quite.
At approximately 12:30 am the familiar alarm of a powerless oxygen machine goes off. Really dude. Pitch black fumbling around trying to shut the d--- thing off switch to battery mode. Meanwhile the sound of the alarm awakens the 3rd floor & we hear the excited voices of our neighbors trying to figure out what's going on. After turning it off, we just laid low & didn't enlighten anyone of what caused the alarm. It could have been a mob thing out there... Anyway an hour and half later the lights came back on and stayed on. Whew.
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