Wishbook

My usual routine in the morning is to shower, make coffee and retrieve the paper from my front deck. Thanksgiving Day went as scheduled, except I had to put down my cup of coffee so that I had two hands available to pick up the stack of ads that greeted me in all their retail glory. The ads included Thanksgiving Day specials, Black Friday blowouts and Super Saturday savings. I lugged the pile of papers to my kitchen table and decided that I was going to need more than one cup of coffee to motivate me to page through the glossy enticements. Many cups of coffee and a day later, I finally scanned my way through the stack. Needless to say, I was past the moments of opportunity and would have to either buy at a higher price or live without. Not a tough choice in my world.

As a child, I remember another retail siren song that arrived each year in our mailbox. It was a bound catalog wrapped in nondescript brown paper. My sibs and I eagerly awaited its arrival about this time of year. I’m sure my very organized mother had some system for keeping us from pouncing on it like vultures on carrion. I only remember that we jockeyed around for our turn with the treasured tome and hoped we wouldn’t have to wait too long for some quality time with the catalog.

Our object of desire was the Christmas Wishbook. Sears and JCPenneys issued catalogs laden with everything from baby buggies to walkie-talkies. We didn’t have much for TV in those days so the Wishbook was our pipeline to the outside world. We lovingly leafed our way through pages of dolls and childhood delights. The go-to pages were dependent upon our age and gender.  We were farm children so the toy tractor section and the miniature kitchen sets saw a lot of action. Pages were dog-eared and often in danger of falling out of the book.

One might think that we used the Wishbook to make our own wish list. For the most part, that was not the case. We knew that our meager allowances would never come close to having the purchasing power needed for such lavish items. We also pretty much knew what our gifts would look like each year. We usually received one practical item like a new pair of mittens or a scarf, and we received one “for fun” item like a cherished book or small toy. (I’m sure my youngest sibs are feeling a bit guilty right now as they realize that they lived a more spoiled existence, but I’m not bitter, no sir-ee.)

I don’t remember exactly what I coveted each year. I think it was such things as little dish sets, toy typewriters, and Viewmasters with pictures from exotic locales. The Wishbook was our way of escaping for a few hours and dreaming of a candyland world where everything was fun and easy.

Fortunately, my parents were wiser than a catalog. They knew that is was best for us not to swim in the pool of excess. As much as they enjoyed watching us open little gifts, they loved sensibility even more. I can’t claim their depth of wisdom yet but I do know that the world of retail is still a mystery to me.

I must confess, though, that I am enjoying my lone Black Friday purchase. Believe it or not, there was one paper shredder left after the crowds had long gone and I felt safe enough to go out to my neighborhood drugstore.

Sometimes the late bird does get the worm and yes, I can now say my Christmas shopping is done.

Abundance

Many of my students live amidst chaotic and fragile circumstances. One student, in particular, comes to mind. She has been concerned about an impending eviction this past month. Each week, plans have changed as to what the future might hold for her family. As the daily countdown closed in, she was increasingly uncertain about the final outcome. Finally, she shared with me that it looked like her family would be split up for a time. She and her siblings would each go to live with different relatives and her parents would live in a car until other arrangements could be made. When I asked her how she felt about the situation, she replied, “Oh, it’s okay. I am now sleeping on a very small couch and our heat has been shut off. If I go live with my cousin, I will get a big couch to sleep on and it will be warm.”

I was immediately overwhelmed with a sense of obscene wealth. I had few words to give in reply.

Give thanks.

Security

As I fumbled my way toward the front door early one morning this week in a pre-coffee haze, I realized that the door was unlocked. I would like to tell you that this was a rare breach of security in our household. In reality, our safekeeping measures are lackadaisical at best. On another early morning this week, I discovered our garage door wide open, yawning away with a come-thither look to all who were passing by. An uneasiness always settles over me and I vow to do better next time. So far, any would be thieves have either not been in the neighborhood or have taken one look at our loot and decided it wasn’t worth the time. A part of me wouldn’t mind if someone snuck off with a chunk of our junk so we could save time disposing of it ourselves.

Here are a few things I’m pretty sure the thieves would choose to ignore.

1)     Furniture—I don’t think we own anything that was purchased within the last decade. Most of our furnishings are cast-offs from family, friends and acquaintances. Our kitchen table is approaching a 3-digit birthday and not in a treasured, antique sort of way. As long as I keep a Shopko, vinyl table cloth on the top of it, I’m pretty sure the table will last us until we check into the assisted living facility.

2)      Appliances—Our toaster is in pretty good shape, other than that, I don’t think our other appliances would be worth the gas it takes to back up a truck and haul them away. Our refrigerator gurgles and murmurs and dribbles a puddle of water every once in awhile. Our stove is sans a few knobs and occasionally sounds off with its timer for no reason other than to taunt the household inhabitants (sorry about that 3:00 a.m. event, sis).

3)     Electronics—The VCR needs a slap or two to get going and the DVD player refuses to play every third disc. Loads of entertainment fun with those two machines. My $9.99 Tracfone is reliable and sturdy but maybe not flashy enough for a techno-bandit.

4)     Cash—I guess there could be a few coins wedged into the couch cushions, other than that, it’s going to be a strike out at our house in the moolah department.

5)      Artwork—Funny.

Here are a few things I think would also be safe, but I would certainly miss if they were gone.

1)     Heating Pad—I’m quite attached to this little gray square of warmth. A hot cup of tea, a good book and my heating pad on a cold winter’s evening—bliss.

2)     Williams-Sonoma Reversible Meat Pounder—A decadent splurge for me with all its smoothly, polished silver goodness. I feel empowered with its heft as I whack away on a piece of resistant protein.

3)     Piano—I gave a lot piano lessons to not-so-Mozart-like children so I could purchase my treasured musical instrument. It does have monetary value, but I’m quite sure its size and tonnage will keep it from being hauled off too quickly. Just ask my husband who has had to move it to new abodes across the country. Each time he longs for a wife who plays the flute.

4)     Cookbooks—I have more of them than I care to count and I’m sure most of them could be replaced. However, the grease splotches, pages stuck together and tattered covers are like a GPS unit guiding me to the good recipes. I’m afraid I would lose my way in the midst of new cookbooks.

I have no solution for our security forgetfulness. I could leave myself a series of Post-It notes as a reminder each evening. I could double check my double checks.

Or, I could just put my Williams-Sonoma Reversible Meat Pounder by my bedside. Burglar, beware.

Skinny-jean-ified

Two of my 12-year-old students came skipping toward me this past week and proclaimed, “Look, Mrs. D., we’re skinny-jean-ified.” They stood arm in arm, beaming up at me with their brand new skinny jeans.  Their next statement exemplifies one of the reasons I teach middle school students. “Hey, Mrs. D., you should get yourself a pair of skinny jeans and get skinny-jean-ified.”  As I desperately slurped on my coffee after a very long week of parent teacher conferences and bus duty, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at their delightful meld of adolescent naivety and optimism. First of all, skinny and my name have never been used in the same sentence and secondly, the very thought that my wardrobe could be jettisoned into the 21^st century by a pair of jeans is implausible, at best. Despite the improbability of following up on their suggestion, I must say their sincere fashion advice gave me great delight throughout the day.

It also inspired me to think back on what was fashionable when I was their age. I was a product of the 60’s, pivotal times on many fronts. Hippies, Woodstock style concerts, and flower children were getting a lot of attention on the national scene. We were carrying out our own rendition of the fads and fashionable flavors in the Midwest as well. Here are a few of them.

1) Bell bottom jeans—never mind that one could easily hide a small whale in the bottom cuffs, we felt cool and that was all that mattered at the moment. I promised my husband that I wouldn’t mention his red striped, uber cool, corduroy pair of bell bottoms…oops, too late.

2) Mini-skirts—no surprise that this was a fad of pariah proportions in my conservative circles. Many of us discovered that a few rolls of our skirt waistbands quickly converted a modest skirt into something a bit more modern. School personnel saw to it that we didn’t get by with too many rolls. The thrill was in testing the limits.

3) Drive-In theaters—hot muggy evenings, cars stuffed with friends on bargain night, crackly sounding speakers, salty popcorn. It just didn’t get better than that.

4) Dippity-Do hair gel—I was obsessed with creating the perfect side curls out of my chopstick straight hair. Gooey globs of gel were applied before bed, secured by pink, crinkly tape, in hopes of morning glamour. What I achieved was a big comma shaped curl and a red mark on my cheek where the tape had been pulled off. A kink in the hair, yes. Glamour, not so much.

5) Granny dresses—the antithesis of the mini-skirt. Think Bohemian style with a very white Dutch girl trying to pull it off. Groovy.

6) Gum wrapper chains—intricately entwined, zig zags of gum wrappers created by those with crafting abilities. Needless to say, I never created a single one. Crafts make my hands cramp up.

7) Tanning creams—a very new invention and a great product if you didn't mind looking like a pumpkin in July.

8) Mood rings—baubles that were supposed to change color to match your moods. Probably not such a good idea for teenagers.

Suffice it to say, each generation enjoys a sense of camaraderie and adventure when a new invention or style arrives on the scene. After 50-plus years, I can safely say that it’s okay to hang on to a few relics of the past. You never know when they might be just what the vogue doctors are ordering.

25 Hours

For folks who have made the statement, “I wish I had an extra hour in my day,” this weekend is for you. It is time to turn back the clocks one hour and step out of the Daylight Savings time zone. It is also time for me to nurture two of my favorite dueling internal forces—guilt and rationalization.

I am the queen of guilt. I carry it around on my shoulder like an old friend. I feed it daily with copious amounts of “I-should-have-done-thats." I even have a name for my friend. I call it the Guilt Gibbon. He persistently whispers in my ear, demanding more attention than I should, perhaps, be giving him.

I also belong to the royal court of rationalizations. When the Gibbon is shrieking away about a shortcoming, my rationalization responder is busy generating a ready reply. Carrying these two buddies around isn’t always easy, but it is certainly entertaining, in a twisted sort of way.

Turn-back-the-clock-weekend is the perfect arena for a match between my two cronies. The Gibbon obsesses about the most productive and dynamic way to use the extra hour, while the Rationalizer squawks back with a seemingly reasonable counterpoint.

Here is a list of activities that the Guilt Gibbon would advise for the extra hour, followed by the Rationalizer’s response.

1)     You should organize your underwear drawer.

It’s good enough. You already have three piles: good elastic, some elastic, and only for desperate days elastic.

2)     You should wash your windows.

That’s going to take longer than an hour so you are going to lose hours in that equation.

3)     You should write thank-you notes to people you care about.

Stamps, cards, addresses, a pen that works….too many details.

4)     You should clean out your e-mail inbox.

What if you delete an important message? Best to just wait for a notification from your provider and deal with it then.

5)     Read a classic novel.

You already have 3 books that you haven’t finished and are due back to the library by next week. Best get cracking at those instead.

6)     You should start your holiday baking.

Storing all that stuff in the freezer too early is just asking for stale, baked goods come time for the holidays.

7)     You should take a brisk walk outdoors.

What about that rogue dog you saw in the neighborhood last week? You know you don’t do well with the canine species.

8)     You should figure out why your camera keeps flashing that weird icon.

Do you even know where the manual is? Besides, fuzzy out of focus pictures are sorta artsy.

9)     You should check some papers for school.

It’s the weekend, you silly goose.

10)  You should winterize your house.

You don’t even know what that means.

Well, folks, I hope you enjoyed the show. I will probably do what I always do when I am presented with an extra hour.  Pour myself another cup of coffee and be thankful.