Sale away...

It seems as if any holiday, especially one designated as a Monday holiday so we can have a long weekend, is no longer an opportunity to celebrate the reason for which the holiday was originally created.

We don't celebrate the birthdays of some of our presidents of the U.S., we celebrate Presidents' Day (lumping them all together) or, for some lucky kids, Presidents' Week (still lumping them together). We go on vacations to the sun, to the snow, or week-long expeditions to the mall. Every manufacturer, ever retail outlet, practically every business has a sale that day. But how often do we think about those presidents who have given us our holidays? Or, for other holidays such as Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, or Veterans' Day, how often do we think about the veterans who gave us their time or their lives so we are free to have a job that allows us enough money and the time to take a vacation or buy more stuff at the mall? How often do we pay tribute to the formation of this country, its government, the philosophy that affords us the freedom to declare that we'll not only have a holiday to celebrate, but that we get to take time from work (banks, post offices, government offices, schools, businesses, etc.) and move freely about the US of A at will in order to spend our day or our dollar (or both if a car is involved)?

There's nothing wrong with having sales on holidays, but it appears that the focus of our holidays currently is to "shop". We only have picnics or parades or BBQ-ing before or after we have been properly merchandized. People complain about Christmas becoming too "commercial". Well, I'm not sure that all of our holidays haven't become one big "commercial" enterprise. Considering that houses are getting bigger--we do need more space for all that stuff we are convinced must be purchased, especially on sale, sometimes two for the price of one!--and landfills are quickly being overwhelmed by items being thrown away in record volume (some of which are probably serviceable, fixable, re-usable but which don't meet the current needs of their former owners). Perhaps we should return our focus to the original group, person, ideal for which the holiday stands, refuse to buy more stuff until what we have wears out, is given to someone who can use it or is recycled, and enjoy the day off being with family and friends, enjoying the bounties of nature, our community, and just how fortunate we are to live in a country that affords us yearly opportunities to say "thank you" to those who made sacrifices in order for us to be free. Buying $100 designer jeans for $79.99 or a new car with gas coupons that will keep our fuel purchases at $2.99/gallon no matter what, just don't seem like appropriate ways to pay homage to great men and women and the ideals that continue to draw the attention of the world's citizens. So, if you must spend some of your holiday shopping, at least take a few moments to remember that the liberty you enjoy in so doing came at a cost.

Roadies in Kentucky

On my way to church this morning (I was a few minutes late), I was driving a little faster than normal to make up my deficit. Most of the roads I drive en route are single-lane (with no shoulders in case another car is coming from the opposite direction; all this just to make the adrenaline flow a little faster) or are double-laned, but narrow. There's no room for a Hummer on one side and a small scooter on the other. I think Kentucky drivers, who live in the "country", must pray a lot that they won't be creamed or run off the road into a ditch. I know I do.

Back to the story--I'm driving along and I see something on the road ahead of me shaped like half a football with four legs, a tail and a long neck with a small head. I stop (there isn't much traffic early on a Sunday morning) and wait for Mr. Turtle to slowly work his way across the road to get to the other side (and I wonder, as I watch, if turtles know the answer to the chicken question about why they cross the road). I realize that the words "scoot", "hurry", "speed-up", or "move it" are not in the turtle's lexicon. I am now officially late, so, after Brother Turtle finishes his journey, I "hurry" on with my task, hoping I won't meet another turtle or some deer (met five of them yesterday afternoon crossing the same road--there must be some animal map with this particular spot noted as a "safe crossing" which all the local furry or shelled folks read). I'm feeling confident that I can make up for my lost time until I come around a curve and find a bicyclist ahead of me. I'm on that narrow road with no shoulders (well, I have shoulders, but the road doesn't), no turn out, and a double yellow line. What's a frantic motorist to do? No, I didn't run over the cyclist (it's Sunday and I'm going to church, so I'm thinking generous, charitable thoughts--the murderous ones will come along Monday morning). I just slowed down and contemplated how late I might be if I had to follow him all the way to church. Then I contemplated how much the ticket would cost if I went around him in a no passing zone. I bought the ticket (well, not literally, because there were no police around for my little motoring indiscretion) and zipped passed the cyclist. I was only five minutes late. Moral of the story--leave early, plan on obstacles in the road--four and two-legged, and remember the moral to Aesop's tale that slow and steady wins the race. And, being old and slow, and not necessarily steady, I think this is a good motto for my driving excursions. However, I do not believe these attributes can ever be used in the same sentence with the word "race"...

Cats R Us

If you've been reading my blog lately (yes, all one or two of you), then you'll know that I am currently, as they say, "between residences". I'll be moving in to my own place at the end of this month, but meanwhile, I'm back at the ranch.

One of the other residents here--an orange and white, fluffy cat--is named Oscar. One of his favorite activities is running in front of you while you go up and down stairs (he obviously takes delight in seeing your bulging eyeballs, mouth agape, and hair standing on end [or three hairs in my case]). He sometimes does this little maneuver in dark hallways or rooms, but prefers testing your reactions where the danger quotient is highest. My reaction is nuclear and I play kick the cat. So far, I've made three goals--JB 3 and Oscar 0--and haven't found myself doing a carpet inspection...yet. Oscar also loves to walk on your head and face while you sleep. If you're wearing any kind of face cream or lip balm when you retire, you will wake up resembling the abominable snowperson. I believe this is Oscar's method for removing any loose fur he might have. It works...very well. I just wish I could figure out a way to keep the hair he deposits so generously on my head, on my head. I'm willing to look like an escapee from the musical, "Cats", just to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror with a full head of hair (or fur). Finally, Mr. O likes to sleep under the bed (when he's not in a face-walking or stair-tripping mood). The first time I spotted him doing this, he was head under and body out. He never places himself completely under the bed when he naps there. There are always random body parts exposed to foot traffic, but he appears oblivious to the fact that, if he's trying to find a safe, snug, hidden place to sleep, he is only partly there. He's a little like the ostrich who places his head in the sand and assumes that he is now hidden from view. I like to be helpful. Always have. So when I see Oscaritch's bottom half sticking out, I help him out by side kicking him under the bed. Score! Fortunately for me, I don't think Oscar understands the concept of vengeful unless you count the fact that he ramps up the stair assaults the same day I play furry soccer with him.

Impatiently waiting...

I have moved from CA, where I had a DSL line, to Kentucky, where I am currently residing with my Sister and her husband. They live on 7 beautiful acres "out of town" with four dogs, six cats, one horse and whatever other fauna wander through their property--snakes, gophers, rats, lots of bugs--walking, flying and humming--and assorted other species. The downside (at least for me) of living here temporarily while I prepare to move in to my own place is that no satellite or cable communications are available--not enough people to feed the bottom line and too many trees to let the satellite signals get through. So, whenever I use the Internet I am (shall I risk saying this) on a dial-up line.

I am trying to be patient as I wait for things to "load". Text obviously is faster than anything photographic or complicated. I am learning to be creative with the time I spend waiting. Sometimes I take short naps, but I find that often my head hits the keyboard and sends commands that I never intended and, I have to redo whatever it was for which I was waiting ever so patiently.... Other times I re-arrange the furniture in the bedroom where I'm staying or paint the room, or give myself a pedicure. On a few occasions I read. I found that War and Peace is about the right length for a large download of photos.

So maybe all this wait time is a good thing. I am accomplishing a lot around the house and stimulating my brain which goes mushy if I just stare at the screen, watching that little blank "bar" at the bottom fill up with blue. I have also learned that the computer universe has a sense of humor. If I leave the room to use the bathroom or make a quick cell phone call, the blue bar fills up immediately in my absence and by the time I get back to my computer, I've been signed off because I took too long. Good-bye! If any military geniuses or police read this, I have a suggestion for them--want to torture prisoners? Break them down? Force a confession? Just make the alleged enemy or criminal use dial-up to access YouTube or the like and you'll get everything you want and more. I confess it would work for me....