A Muff or Not

 Most of you know I was brought up in South Carolina, a state where "winter" weather is limited to 6 weeks in February and March. Maybe every 4 or 5 years snow will fall, generally just enough to cover the ground and cause mass pandemonium. 

All that said, my mother had certain ideas in her head of things that were proper. Not necessarily practical but proper.

There was a piece of "Winter" apparel Mama thought I needed to have and use. Beyond a scarf and gloves which were rarely used, Mama decided I needed a muff, a full white rabbit hare muff.

For those of you not familiar, a muff is defined as "a tube made of fur or other warm material into which the hands are placed for warmth". Such as this one as seen in the 1880's, in Europe where there is a true cold winter 4 months of the year. Memories of the snowy sleigh scenes in Dr. Zhivago come to mind, not the "chilly" winter days in South Carolina where the temperatures rarely drop below 40.

This is definitely not the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks of South Carolina. 

So in December, I would be dressed for church in my short sleeve velvet dress, black patent leather shoes, short white socks, and a muff. If it were cold enough I may have had on a sweater or a coat. But this begs the question - if it is not cold enough to wear tights or a coat, what in Sam Hell's name does one do with a muff? Well, in my case, thankfully (or maybe not), it came with a lanyard that went around my neck, preventing me from losing the blasted thing. Just for the record it is a very efficient hand warmer.

This all comes to mind the other night when I was watching a movie (the story line being in Europe) and one of the ladies had a brown fur muff. In that instance, it looked appropriate. Of course the story line was based in the Victorian Era and it was the winter season. (As in snow on the ground and temperatures in the low 20's).

I spared my daughters of this ridiculousness. I'm not sure they even know what a muff is. 

Don't get me wrong, in the right weather  (very cold), and the right situation (one that includes a lot of snow and a sleigh), a muff would be an appropriate piece of apparel. And next time, I find myself in that situation, I will no doubt be unprepared without a muff.

Perhaps, I should thank Mama. If nothing else, she prepared me for the $500 question on Jeopardy,  under the category of "Obsolete Victorian Winter Accessories" -  the clue being "The fur tube Victorian women used to keep their hands warm." Ding, Ding, Ding - "What is a muff?"

Silk Purses, Sows' Ears, and Wet Hens

Every once in a while random thoughts go through my mind - not necessarily world peace type thoughts or questions of the universe. But, there are some things I just have always wondered about.

I'm pretty sure pigs don't fly but do the cows ever come home? 

How actually mad does a hen get when doused in water? Does it take dogs and cats?

Exactly how drunk was Cooter Brown any way? 

And, just who was Sam Hill?

I didn't know frogs had hair, if so it must be pretty fine.

Do grasshoppers have knees?

And, God help us if that creek ever crests.

Can the pot and kettle really speak, and, if so why is the kettle black?

What is the difference between a doohicky, thingamajig and whatchamacallit?

Certainly a cat would know better than to walk across a hot tin roof.

Is there a antonym for  "Highfalutin"?

Frustration in the Check Out Line

 Do I look like I care? Seriously!

A day or 2 ago I was in line at the grocery store. The lady checking out 2 folks ahead of me, apparently did not realize that she would have to pay for her groceries. So after the cashier had checked her out and filled her bags, the customer started digging into her large purse to find, of all things, her check book. Then there was the issue that she seemed to have misplaced her pen.

Meanwhile the lady in front of me had a toddler in her buggy. She was on her mobile chatting - fairly loudly. "Well honey, I'm sorry but I figured you would not have the day off." Silence. "Sweetheart, you work in retail, that's the day after Thanksgiving - Black Friday. No one at the mall will have that day off." Silence. "No, I know you cannot drive 6 hours home Wednesday night, then 6 hours back Thursday. It makes no sense." Silence. "No, I'm afraid I cannot buy you an airline ticket." Silence. "I'm sorry, but I just can't." Silence. "Honey, I just can't."

Now, to get the full picture, the entire time of the phone call, the toddler was throwing a toy on the floor, and crying for her mother to pick it up. The mother would pick the toy up (all the while continuing her phone conversation) and give it back to the child, saying,"Don't do that." But, the child immediately did just that. After several of these out bursts, I wanted to grab the toy, put in in my bag, and inform that child that if she cried again, Santa Claus was not coming. But, I held my tongue, after all the child was not mine - thankfully. And, obviously the child and the mother would repeat this exercise until the child tired of throwing the toy down and having a fit.

When her phone call ended, the lady turned to me and announced, "She just hung up on me." As she put her phone back in her purse, she continued,"That was my oldest daughter. She just got her first job at a mall and thinks she should have Black Friday off." She stopped, picked the toy off the floor, gave it to the child and admonished her that 'If she did that one more time. . .'

She continued her story. "She has been our problem child and I have just had to do tough love. She makes poor choices. She dropped out of school. She is living in this horrible little place in a sketchy neighborhood. The boy she dates is horrible. And, this is her first job - at 19. Now she is upset about missing Thanksgiving." Just then, the mother turned to the toddler and once again told her, 'Not to do it again.'

I looked ahead and hoped the older lady had found a pen, written her check, took her groceries and left. But, alas, it was not be, she was chatting with the cashier. At this point, I wanted to wake up from this frustration dream. But, the sound of the toy being thrown on the floor, made me realize it was not a dream, just a nightmare in real life.

The mother continued,"I just don't know what we are going to do with her. She just makes poor choices. I just don't understand. I have given her everything - given her money, a car, and paid her rent. She keeps saying she is going back to college, but this boy she lives with doesn't want her to. Thankfully, she finally has a job."

Just then she realized that the lady ahead of her had moved on and she needed to get her groceries on the counter and check out. Thankfully that turned her attention away from me. Just when her groceries had been bagged, the toddler, once again repeated her throw-the-toy-on the floor- and cry routine. The cashier was losing patience. I did not fault her. The lady turned to the cashier and laughed, "I guess I need to pay." She opened her purse and started rumbling around, I assume to find her wallet. 

As she did, she looked at the cashier and started up, "I'm sorry, but my oldest daughter just called. She's upset because she cannot come home for Thanksgiving. See, she has made poor choices. . ."

All I could think was - Shoot me now. I need to develop a visage that shouts, "Don't share - I really don't care!"

Yearning for Our "Old" Norm

 This is the time of the year when we start thinking about the new year coming up. Just saying 2022 is as if one is talking about the distant future. 55 years ago, I pictured life in 2022 like the Jetsons lived. Certainly by now, we would having flying cars and robotic maids. (Well, thanks to Hazel, at least one of those is true.)

But rather than go to the future, I find we are more likely looking back to the past for comfort. Remember the days when one could visit anyone anywhere with no concern over vaccinations and masks? Think of the family holiday get-togethers when our only trepidation was Uncle Howard showing up, three sheets to wind telling his very inappropriate jokes about the fairer sex and politics.

As I age, I long for the family Christmas dinners of years past. The one with my mother's family that was always a great time. My brother and I got to see our cousins and run free through my grandparents' rambling home. As a younger child, it was Christmas on their farm in Marlboro County. My memories of those holidays were of a dining room table covered with dishes of wild game my grandfather brought home, and all the other familiar foods of a holiday dinner. Thankfully the distant memories of those days are well documented on the home movies my father took. 

Christmas dinner on my Daddy's side was a whole different ball game. My brother and I were the only grandchildren, and according to my Aunt Kat and Granny, we could do no wrong. This visit was always a quiet affair until Auntie (my 300 pound Great Aunt) showed up with her ever present pack of Salem cigarettes and off colored stories. Then the fun really began.

Those years until now seem like a movie reel that is running at reckless speed - way too fast. As we age time really does go by faster. (I wrote a post about that phenomenon a while back.) Just when we are mature enough to appreciate every minute of everyday, we find they passing at lightening speed. 

This year I only yearn for our "old" norm - days when we will no longer be confined by a pandemic. Now I am frustrated by the knowledge that this could quickly go back to that normal if more of the country's population would get vaccinated. But, I digress. 

Once again, I am looking backwards to get to the future, hoping time slows down, and trying to enjoy every day before it slips away. 

 

First Class Any Where in the World, Except Down Under

 I'll be the first to admit that I find the USPS (United States Postal Service) frustrating. However, I know of no other service where, for less than 60 cents one can send an envelope across the country (all 50 states). And, they deliver your mail to your home. And, let's face it, the post office is an American Institution, first introduced by Benjamin Franklin.

I was horrified last year to learn that the new Post Master General was going to "revolutionize" the postal service by cutting hours, doing away with postal machines, and, as of September 3, 2021, suspended service of First Class US Mail to Australia (Honest truth!). What did Australia do to deserve that? What's next? The United Kingdom? 

Seriously, I agree the postal service needs some updating, but I question cutting worker's hours, deciding that the latest machines that quickly read and sort mail are no longer needed, and, oh yes, who wants to send anything to Australia. I checked and one can still send a First Class letter to Tibet and the Seychelles, but not Australia. Needless to say, the Post Master General does not have the USPS in his best interest. Perhaps his personal investments in shipping and mailing services in the private sector have something to do with his trying to kill the Post Office by a 1000 cuts - just saying.

All this said, I needed to drop a package off at our local Post Office. I had gone online and already paid the postage, printed the label, sealed and labeled the box. All I needed to do was put it on the counter. It was just a little bit too large to put in the regular mail box. Our local post office is only open from 10 until 4 (and closed for lunch between 12 to 1). 

When I arrived at 10 am, it was not open. It was not long until there was a short line of patrons waiting for it to open. By 10:15 there was much conversation about the post office operating on "Postal Time". Quips were made about the shortened hours. One lady gave up and left. Then a young man standing with us just laughed. "We are going to be here until tomorrow. I just remembered it is Veteran's Day" - a national holiday when all federal government office are closed.

With all the stress and pressure the service is under, they definitely deserve a day off. Now, I just need to find another place to drop off my package. I'll have to come back to my local post office to buy my stamps. However, I need to plan my visit after 10 am, before noon, after 1 pm, before 4 pm, on a weekday (Monday - Friday), and not on a Federal Holiday. Doing the math, that gives me 25 hours in any given week without a federal holiday. I'll mark my calendar.

And, as a caveat, I dropped my USPS box off at the Friendly UPS that is opened every day and does not close for lunch.

The season of Lords, Ladies, and Turtle Doves are Upon Us.

 It's that time of year again. That time, when like it or not, the Christmas season is upon us. Once again Thanksgiving is overlooked, much like the red headed step child relegated to the table in the kitchen. Anyway, a true look at the economics of the day, is the price of the 12 Days of Christmas. 2020 was a bit short, given due to Covid there were no: Dancing Ladies, Leaping Lords, Pipers, or Drummers. But as we get back (close) to our old norm - if it exists, all twelve gifts are once again available. Here is the list of the cost of the gifts.

• A Partridge in a Pear Tree - $235.40
• 2 Turtle Doves  -                 $567.00
• 3 French Hens -                  $264.60
• 4 Calling Birds -                 $755.94
• 5 Golden Rings -                $1,190.70
• 6 Laying Geese  -               $775.20
• 7 Swimming Swans -         $14,700.00
• 8 Milking Maids -              $64.96
• 9 Dancing Ladies -            $8,461.82
• 10 Leaping Lords -            $11,200.00
• 11 Piping Pipers -              $3,078.73
• 12 Drummers -                  $3,328.92

For a grand total of $44,623.27

Of course 2020's cost was only $16,168.14 due to the lack of Ladies, Lords, Pipers, and Drummers. 2019's cost was $38,953.59. The 2021 total clearly reflects the inflation that dominates the front pages these days, as compared to 2019, the cost has increased by a little less than $6,000.

Now, as a caveat, with the shipping issues and shortages, the Golden Rings may be a little hard to find. The Lords may have issues getting here, given the Covid travel restrictions and flight cancellations. 

A bit of history here. The song was first published in England in 1780, although its origins are probably French. The current version is an arrangement first published in 1909 by English composer Frederic Austin.  The first day starts with Christmas day and run the 12 days until Epiphany. 

But, all said, and God willing, the 2021 Christmas season will once again enjoy these 79 delights.

Happy Holidays!

When You Care Enough . . .

There is one holiday tradition that I hold dear - Christmas Cards. In these days of texts, emails, and e-cards, I feel the least I can do is take the time and effort to send a pen and ink, authentic paper Christmas card to my family and friends. At this point I long for the obnoxious letters included in cards I received years ago touting the accomplishments of the sender's children. You know the ones, when everything from an Olympic medal to a Fullbright Scholarship to being the 3rd string short stop on the local Little League team was regaled in lengthy text. As tedious as those were to read, I found the ones lamenting over every ache and pain, Doctor's visit, and medical prognosis to be the worst. 

I think this tradition on my part goes back to Daddy's drug store. In the 60's and 70's, he was the only Hallmark dealer in our town. Each year around September, the Hallmark Representative would come to our home. He would have with him this huge (24 x 18 inch) dark green loose leaf book. Each page had a different card attached with the accompanying envelope. Mama and Daddy would sit with him and select the cards that would be sold in the store that year. Also, Mama would place an order for the personalized card our family would send. Later that week, Daddy would let his customers know that the book was in the store and they could order their personalized cards.

As dear a place in my heart as Hallmark has, I generally try to find some unique card to send each year, be it by Hallmark or not. I usually start in late September looking for the right card. Some years they are handmade, others they have been designer and fairly pricey. This year I found some precious ones that were not that expensive. After all, it is the thought (and effort and follow through) that counts.  My list rarely changes. I may add new friends I have made this past year. OK, I'll admit that I may drop a name or 2 off the list. But only if I no longer want to encourage that relationship. Fear not, if for some reason you do not receive a card from me this year, no doubt it got lost in the mail.

Also, each year I look forward to receiving holiday greetings in the US Mail from friends and family. For some, it is the only time I hear from them. So my holiday season begins each year as I sit and address my cards. Perhaps I'm old fashioned, but there are some traditions I feel should be carried on. 

My Nemesis

 As with anyone who has attained my age, I have accumulated several nemesis along the way. I think my earliest foe was a girl named Rhonda in 6th grade. That was followed by Algebra in 10th grade, Biology my freshman year in college, and Astronomy my sophomore  year. I shudder with just the thought of cell structure or the Andromeda Galaxy, But, I digress. And I'll spare you my entire list of antagonists.  

However, the most evil enemy I have encountered over the years is my bathroom scale. The status of my day is made or ruined by this small flat electronic device. I learned years ago that the only way (no pun intended) to control my weight is to subject myself to this device of torture. I have an acceptable range of weight that I need to stay within. A bit over the range tells me that I need to "seriously watch" what I eat that day. Within the range means I just need to "watch" what I eat. If the God of the Scales blesses me with a number below my range then I am free to eat without worrying so much. But reckless abandonment is never on the table. That joy ended many years ago.

Coming in at a close second to the evil scales is my clothes. I despise tight clothes. Not only are they unsightly and uncomfortable, they are an undeniable sign that my weight is edging up. Since I refuse to buy larger clothes, the tight material around my thighs and weight is a constant reminder that portions need to be decreased and sweets eliminated. 

So I live in a constant tug of war with my weight and size. Each year nature makes this a miserable tussle, one I lose more than win. So while most people would chose unlimited money if granted a wish from the genie,  I would choose the ability to eat with reckless abandon, needless to say, followed by the a second wish for the monetary resources.

If nothing else, I could purchase a kinder set of bathroom scales that would not torture me each morning. And to think some people fear speaking in public or crossing a street. 

Hazel is Under the Weather

Hazel is ill. I found her this morning on the rug, lifeless. Oh, she has been ill before. But, overall she has always been active, discreet and dependable. Usually, each morning, I find her tucked away in her little place. She brings me great joy. She gets herself in most interesting situations. There have been times when she loses her way. I will find her in the most random places - under the sofa, by the back door, hiding in the corner. She has a habit of getting so full she can go no further. 

It is not unusual to find her tangled in charging cords, stuck under a chair, or in a tiff with one of Marshall's many toys. But, this morning was different. There she was lying there, deathly quiet, lifeless. For those of you who do not know, Hazel is my robotic vacuum cleaner. She is the best thing since sliced bread, Post-it Notes, or the Swifter Sweeper. 

For years I thought such a device was only for the privileged. Those with disposable income who saw a commercial and were determined to have the first one in the neighborhood. What an expensive toy. How could it clean, just randomly moving this way and that across the floor. 

A year or two ago I received her as a birthday present from one of my daughters. After hearing testimonies  from others about how efficient they were, I had added her to my list. The thrill of finding one's floor each morning clean without lifting a broom and dust pan is most satisfying. I have her programmed to starteach morning at 1 am. This prevents her becoming a sparring partner with Marshall.

 I am believer. I worship at her charging station. In my life, she is an angel. (Perhaps even an Archangel). She is the death of dust bunnies, dog hair, and bits of anything finds on the floor (thatthe dogs have not already consumed). She gladly takes care of a task I despise - sweeping.

When I first brought her home, I read the directions, programmed her (with her handy remote), placed her charging station under the buffet, gently placed her on it, and named her Hazel (after the delightful show I watched as a child about a funny, loud, dedicated family maid). My grand daughters are most amused. Grancurrie has a vacuum cleaner she calls Hazel. Later I found that I was not the only one who loving named their faithful device. The list of names often used includes: Jarvis, Jeeves, Rosie (re: The Jetsons), Minion, Wallie (as in Wall-E), Roberta, Rover, to name a few. And, yes, the name "Hazel" made the list.

To me, she is the 8th Wonder of the Modern World. Just like a fax machine, I do not understand how she works, but she does. How can something her size randomly know how to awake at 1 in the morning, leave her charging station and clean the floor. How can she cover the entire floor in her the random and circuitous route, weaving in and out of the legs of chairs and tables, moving on and off the rug with grace, and gliding underneath the sofa.

Each morning I pull out her dust bin, delighted in the amount of trash she has collected on her early morning tour of my den and kitchen. By this time, she is safely on her charging station. I am content to know that the following morning, she will have again completed her task, be back in her place and the floor will be clean.

Now, I need to find her user's manual and see what it suggests I do to make her better. If need be, I'm not sure where my broom is, not having used it in a year or more. I need to fix her, so my life will return to normal and my floor will be clean again. Oh, I have a conventional, large, bulky vacuum upstairs. However the idea of dragging that thing down and, heavens forbid, having to use it, is not a delightful thought. This just won't do. How did I ever live without her.

St. Columbanus , Patron Saint of Motorcyclist

 Given this is All Saints Day, I was curious to see a list of Saints. In my mind, there are saints named as Patrons for such things as Travelers (St. Christopher), Children (St. Nicolas), and Animals (St. Frances of Assisi, as well as St. Anthony of Egypt and St. Cornelius). But who knew accountants have their own saint, but low and behold they do - St. Mathew the Apostle. For all the brewers, you too are covered. In fact there is a trifecta of saints for  Brewers - St, Augustine of Hippo, St. Boniface, and St. Wenceslaus. Divorcees fear not, for you too have a patron saint watching over you - St. Helen. (Although how does one know which side she takes?)

Anesthesiologists are protected by St. Rene Goupl. Sore Eyes are assigned to St. Augustine. Volcanic Eruptions (I kid you not) are protected by St. Januarius. St. John the Baptist protects Road Workers. St. Micheal the Archangel looks over EMTs.  

Not being of the Catholic persuasion, I had no idea what exactly an "Archangel" was. I learned that he/she is the eighth order of the ninefold celestial hierarchy. The Nine Celestial Order of the Divine Angels (aka the Choir of the Angels) is made up of the Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominations, Powers, Virtues, Principalities, Archangels, and Angels. Who knew Angels themselves are on the longest rung of the totem pole (so to speak).  But, I digress.

From Skiers to Singers to Storms, there are dedicated saints watching over them. Television has 2 saints (St Claire of Assi and St. Martin de Porres), while Teenage Girls have only one (St. Maria Goretti). Lightening has a saint (St. Victor of Marseilles) and well as Large families (St. Richard ).  However, I wonder just how many children constitute a "large family".

There are saints protecting Fevers (St. Petronille), Funeral Directors (St. Joseph of Aremathia  ), and Girl Scouts (St. Agnes of Rome). St. Teresa of Alvila is assigned to Headaches and Ice Skating is watched over by St. Lidwana of Schiedam. Notaries look to St. Mark the Evangelists for protection. 

Of all the many saints,  I feel for St. Kateri (the Environment), and St. Eugene of Mazenot (Dysfunctional Families), for they have a heavy load. But, I feel a kindred spirit with Rita of Cascia, the Saint of Impossible Dreams.

All in all, there are over 10,000 saints recognized by the Catholic Church. Doing the math, it would take 27 years and 142 days to honor each of them if each was assigned a day.

 

What to Do

It's always a conundrum to me. Does one celebrate Halloween on October 31st, All Saints Day on November 1st or both. The alternative is Day of the Dead. Actually it is the "Days" of the dead.  I guess this a question of the status of one's soul.

These days Halloween has become pedestrian. It is a day to dress up, no longer in a costume of evil or jest - a witch, a ghost, the devil, a skeleton, an angel, or a clown. Gone are the days of a simple white sheet with 2 eye holes cut out! These days costumes vary from the image of a former president to characters from the latest video game to some female fashion persona from TV. It is a day of candy, plastic pumpkins, and parading up and down the neighborhood. Gone are the days of harmless tricks - someone's buggy placed atop a barn or a scarecrow redressed as a witch. Bobbing for apples is no longer part of the day.

All Saints Day is now relegated to celebrations by the Episcopal and Catholic churches. It has not changed very much over the ages. However now there are over 10,000 recognized saints - that's a lot of canonizations. The most popular perhaps being St. Michael the Archangel, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Catherine of Siena, St. Joseph, St. Valentine, St. Christopher, and  St. Patrick. Note several of those have their own celebrated days. Do the churches celebrate them in mass (no pun intended) or select a favorite few to honor?

One can celebrate either or both of these "holidays".

The alternative being the trifecta, the three Days of the Dead, celebrated October 31, November 1, and November 2. Dating back to the Middle Ages, and not coincidentally being the same time as Halloween and All Saints Day. The purpose these days is to remember family and friends who have died and to assist them on their spiritual journey. It is celebrated October 31, November 1, and November 2. These days coincide with the celebration of Allhallowtide - All Hallows Eve (Halloween) on October 31st, All Saints Day on November 1st, and All Souls Day on November 2nd.

Each of the 3 days, represents a separate celebration. October 31st is in celebration and memory of angelitos (spirits of dead children), when children build the Ofrendas (home altars with a collection of objects placed on a ritual display).  On November 1st it is believed the spirits of the adults return. Families visit and decorate the graves of their loved ones on November 2nd. Candy and toys are placed on the graves of the children and gifts for the deceased adults include Tequila, trinkets, and their loved one's favorite candy. A new addition to the celebrations are parades where family members dress in costumes of skeletons and other symbols of the dead and walk through the streets of their towns and cities. No former politicians, gaming characters, or fashion icons here.

So I guess it comes down to modern character costumes and candy, rituals of the church, or alters, visits to cemeteries, and tequila.