This Friday morning before the sun rise, shoppers will stand outside in the dark. They do this so they can spend money they don’t have on things no one needs. But it is the biggest shopping day of the year.
The process begins with studying the ads to see if the item on somebody’s wish list is on sale, or if an item is priced so low you can’t pass it up. The stores open earlier than normal and they discount their prices (sometimes to ridiculous levels) to draw people inside.
I’ve done this. I read the newspapers, and occasionally the ads, but this time of year I like to get in the Christmas mood, so I survey the ads to see what I want (need has very little to do with it). One year my daughter, Jennifer, and I got up early - like 5:00 a.m. - to participate in the madness. If you have ever thought about going to Palermo to run with the bulls may I suggest day-after-Thanksgiving shopping as a warm-up?
Having waited in the cold outside the store, we were shoved through the chute when it opened. Propelled along with the rest of the herd, we stampeded through the store. Carefully avoiding the china I managed to find the luggage set that was on sale. Resisting the temptation to use it as a battering ram I hoisted it above my head.
Jennifer and I then made our way to the kitchen gadget section and picked up a large electric grill (the six-pancake model). Armed with our oversized gifts, we were shielded from the aggressive advances by the other shoppers. We paid for our items and left the madhouse. By now the coffee shop had opened, so we sat in there and had some caffeine to unwind.
Not all my Christmas shopping experiences were like this. When I was young downtown Belle Plaine was brightly decorated with lights, bells and candy canes. In the middle of the main intersection a large bell hung suspended by large swags of garland covered cable. Snow would gather on this centerpiece and then blow off as the bell swayed in the wind.
The Coast to Coast hardware store would open its second floor to the public a couple weeks before Christmas. In that hardware store attic - 30 stair steps above hammers and nails, brushes and paint - children would see what Santa’s elves had been making in his workshop. There were toy guns, games, rockets to Mars, cars, dolls, dishes, trains and trucks.
One year, Mom took Terry, my little brother (who now stands two inches taller than me), and me to that magical world. Like most families with several children, we drew names for gift buying (which were then posted on the refrigerator for all to see). Terry picked my name so Mom helped him choose a gift for me.
On the way home, Terry, who was about four or five, had me guess what he had bought me for Christmas. At first I declined to guess, but he persisted.
“A truck,” I suggested.
“Nope,” he said
“A game,” I asked.
“Nope,” he said with a grin.
“A gun,” I offered.
Immediately tears welled up in his eyes. He leaned over the front seat and announced “Mom, he guessed.”
I got a toy gun that year for Christmas, and so did Terry (from Santa). We played with those guns together for many years. I no longer play guessing games when it comes to gifts; I prefer to be left in the dark with the rest of the shoppers.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
What you don't know can kill you
Steve, one of the guys that will still talk to me after forty-five years, was in my garage the other day. Inclining his head toward the gas-guzzling, non-clunked SUV he said,
“It looks like those tires could use some air Jer,”
They did look a little low, but am I supposed to keep track of that? Steve’s family was in the car business for many years, so he has that over me. I’m not a mechanic. I have people for this kind of thing. Must I add psi to my list of things to be mindful of?
The amount of things that I need to be aware of, to think of, to know is becoming a bit too much for me to handle, but you already knew that didn’t you? I tell you it’s enough to drive a man to drink, except I am not even sure what to drink anymore. Whether it’s coffee, red wine, water, or milk, you can find opposing views advancing arguments for the merits of consuming more or less of each of these.
I have given up on having a working knowledge of all the areas of my life. For example: I have chosen to not become an expert in the kitchen. If I had to, I could be very comfortable eating cereal three times a day. It has that rich, tasty goodness that kids love and mothers trust. I stick with cereal because of the whole balanced diet thing that I am supposed to know about. The milk covers the dairy end of the spectrum, for fruit you can eat Raisin Bran, or Fruit Loops. The added sugar will keep you going all day. The required dietary grain element is in all cereals (don’t take my word for it – like I said, I’m no expert). For the vegetable part I recommend Corn Puffs.
The older I get, the less I know, and what I don’t know about the day to day stuff can fill whole libraries. It’s likely there is an update for my computer, it’s possible the windows in my house need to be replaced, perhaps a warranty is about to expire, or maybe someone I know expired and I missed their obituary.
Sometimes I find myself in situations where I feel alone in my ignorance. The first time I was on a plane with an in-flight movie “A Fish called Wanda,” was the feature. When I put on the headphones I was surprised that they were playing the French language version. Wishing I had tried a little bit harder in my high school French class I was only able to pick-up a few of the words. The guy seated next to me seemed to be enjoying the movie so I asked him if he understood French. He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language.
“You have to turn that dial to English,” he explained as if he were talking to a child.
“I knew that,” I said with a laugh. “Of course, I was kidding.”
Humorist Will Rogers said “All I know is just what I read in the papers.” Communist Karl Marx said “All I know is that I am not a Marxist.”
Kenneth Grahame wrote in “The Wind in the Willows,”
“The clever men at Oxford
Know all that there is to be knowed.
But they none of them know one half as much
As intelligent Mr. Toad!
Even someone as smart as Mr. Toad probably didn’t check the air pressure in his tires either. But then we may have missed out on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.
“It looks like those tires could use some air Jer,”
They did look a little low, but am I supposed to keep track of that? Steve’s family was in the car business for many years, so he has that over me. I’m not a mechanic. I have people for this kind of thing. Must I add psi to my list of things to be mindful of?
The amount of things that I need to be aware of, to think of, to know is becoming a bit too much for me to handle, but you already knew that didn’t you? I tell you it’s enough to drive a man to drink, except I am not even sure what to drink anymore. Whether it’s coffee, red wine, water, or milk, you can find opposing views advancing arguments for the merits of consuming more or less of each of these.
I have given up on having a working knowledge of all the areas of my life. For example: I have chosen to not become an expert in the kitchen. If I had to, I could be very comfortable eating cereal three times a day. It has that rich, tasty goodness that kids love and mothers trust. I stick with cereal because of the whole balanced diet thing that I am supposed to know about. The milk covers the dairy end of the spectrum, for fruit you can eat Raisin Bran, or Fruit Loops. The added sugar will keep you going all day. The required dietary grain element is in all cereals (don’t take my word for it – like I said, I’m no expert). For the vegetable part I recommend Corn Puffs.
The older I get, the less I know, and what I don’t know about the day to day stuff can fill whole libraries. It’s likely there is an update for my computer, it’s possible the windows in my house need to be replaced, perhaps a warranty is about to expire, or maybe someone I know expired and I missed their obituary.
Sometimes I find myself in situations where I feel alone in my ignorance. The first time I was on a plane with an in-flight movie “A Fish called Wanda,” was the feature. When I put on the headphones I was surprised that they were playing the French language version. Wishing I had tried a little bit harder in my high school French class I was only able to pick-up a few of the words. The guy seated next to me seemed to be enjoying the movie so I asked him if he understood French. He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language.
“You have to turn that dial to English,” he explained as if he were talking to a child.
“I knew that,” I said with a laugh. “Of course, I was kidding.”
Humorist Will Rogers said “All I know is just what I read in the papers.” Communist Karl Marx said “All I know is that I am not a Marxist.”
Kenneth Grahame wrote in “The Wind in the Willows,”
“The clever men at Oxford
Know all that there is to be knowed.
But they none of them know one half as much
As intelligent Mr. Toad!
Even someone as smart as Mr. Toad probably didn’t check the air pressure in his tires either. But then we may have missed out on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Christopher Robin
Dropping sticks in a river with your children is more fun than it sounds. This summer Rhonda and I, along with Jennifer and Nathan, our two adult children, went down to Lanesboro and biked on the trails. If you like riding bikes and you get along with your family I can recommend Lanesboro for a family vacation. Otherwise stay home and watch TV.
The bike trail crosses over the Root River. Stopping on the bridge, Nathan grabbed fours sticks and invited us to play a round of Pooh-sticks. This game, straight out of Winnie-the-Pooh, involves dropping the sticks on one side of the bridge and peering over the other side to see which stick floats by first. There is not much strategy needed, just the right current, but win or lose you won’t forget the moment.
I want to write a children’s book. It’s just that I am having a little trouble getting started. It’s not writer’s block, which I define as the inability to fill the blank page. It’s much bigger than that – it’s writer’s mock. I can’t decide which children’s classic I want to use as my spring board to fame and fortune.
The “Wicked,” series is being referred to as a parallel to Frank L. Baum’s “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.” Seems to me someone just stole Baum’s characters and used them as their own.
Frank Beddor has written “The Looking Glass Wars,” which the “Minneapolis Star Tribune” calls a reimagining of “Alice in Wonderland.” Has originality fallen out of favor? Go ask Alice - I think she’ll know.
The one that bothers me the most is “Return to the Hundred Acre Wood,” by David Benedictus. It tries to continue the story of Christopher Robin and friends. Unlike the way some childhoods end abruptly, Milne had ended that childhood story elegantly.
In the final pages of “The House at Pooh Corner,” Milne wrote how Christopher Robin tries to prepare his friend, the stuffed bear, for the unavoidable change they will experience when Christopher Robin grows up.
“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.”
“How old shall I be then?”
“Ninety-nine.”
Pooh nodded. “I promise,” he said.
Why try and improve on a masterpiece? The copying of classics is a disturbing trend, but I may want to cash in on this plagiaristic party. So with that in mind I am toying with a couple ideas myself.
“No longer Velveteen, this rabbit is mean,” is a story of how the Velveteen Rabbit, joins up with a gang of rabbits from Watership Down. Hopping a train they travel to Pottersville where they bake Old man McGregor in a pie. The little rabbit then marries Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail. After all, why should marriage be confined to just one man and one woman?
“Green Scales,” finds Jackie Paper and Puff “The Magic Dragon,” reunited again in Honah Lee. Having lost all of his money supporting his drug habit, Jackie searches for his life-long friend along the Cherry Lane. There they join up with a band of pirates, and using the autumn mist as cover, they raid the yachts of noble kings and princes.
To try and add pages to a classic children’s book and call it your own seems wrong. But to borrow pages from the same book to make a memory with your children on a summer afternoon seems about right. Someday my children may have fun with their children dropping sticks in a river and watching them float away. Or maybe, they may borrow a page from their dad’s writing to make a memory.
The bike trail crosses over the Root River. Stopping on the bridge, Nathan grabbed fours sticks and invited us to play a round of Pooh-sticks. This game, straight out of Winnie-the-Pooh, involves dropping the sticks on one side of the bridge and peering over the other side to see which stick floats by first. There is not much strategy needed, just the right current, but win or lose you won’t forget the moment.
I want to write a children’s book. It’s just that I am having a little trouble getting started. It’s not writer’s block, which I define as the inability to fill the blank page. It’s much bigger than that – it’s writer’s mock. I can’t decide which children’s classic I want to use as my spring board to fame and fortune.
The “Wicked,” series is being referred to as a parallel to Frank L. Baum’s “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.” Seems to me someone just stole Baum’s characters and used them as their own.
Frank Beddor has written “The Looking Glass Wars,” which the “Minneapolis Star Tribune” calls a reimagining of “Alice in Wonderland.” Has originality fallen out of favor? Go ask Alice - I think she’ll know.
The one that bothers me the most is “Return to the Hundred Acre Wood,” by David Benedictus. It tries to continue the story of Christopher Robin and friends. Unlike the way some childhoods end abruptly, Milne had ended that childhood story elegantly.
In the final pages of “The House at Pooh Corner,” Milne wrote how Christopher Robin tries to prepare his friend, the stuffed bear, for the unavoidable change they will experience when Christopher Robin grows up.
“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.”
“How old shall I be then?”
“Ninety-nine.”
Pooh nodded. “I promise,” he said.
Why try and improve on a masterpiece? The copying of classics is a disturbing trend, but I may want to cash in on this plagiaristic party. So with that in mind I am toying with a couple ideas myself.
“No longer Velveteen, this rabbit is mean,” is a story of how the Velveteen Rabbit, joins up with a gang of rabbits from Watership Down. Hopping a train they travel to Pottersville where they bake Old man McGregor in a pie. The little rabbit then marries Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail. After all, why should marriage be confined to just one man and one woman?
“Green Scales,” finds Jackie Paper and Puff “The Magic Dragon,” reunited again in Honah Lee. Having lost all of his money supporting his drug habit, Jackie searches for his life-long friend along the Cherry Lane. There they join up with a band of pirates, and using the autumn mist as cover, they raid the yachts of noble kings and princes.
To try and add pages to a classic children’s book and call it your own seems wrong. But to borrow pages from the same book to make a memory with your children on a summer afternoon seems about right. Someday my children may have fun with their children dropping sticks in a river and watching them float away. Or maybe, they may borrow a page from their dad’s writing to make a memory.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Favorite Time of Year
Mom used to warn me about wishing my life away. Whenever I would look past the present and concentrate on some future event she would remind me that each day has its own blessings and should be appreciated. I don’t think her reasoning applies to the long winter months though.
Abraham Lincoln said “It is true that you may fool all the people some of the time; you can even fool some of the people all the time; but you can’t fool all of the people all the time.” To this I would add – but you can fool yourself most of the time.
This is a good time of year to engage in such an exercise. We have not had an exceptionally beautiful fall this year – rather below average actually, but with the proper perspective this time of year seems to fly by.
The autumn days can be very labile. I chose labile, which means liable to change because my smart aleck sister, Colleen, used it in a sentence the other day and I didn’t know what it meant – so I looked it up.
We are enjoying less sunlight, the days are getting shorter and the pumpkin is rotting on the step. I know it won’t last; the good things never do. There is nothing like wind, rain and snow to push a guy indoors where he can relax.
November and December just don’t last long enough. Thanksgiving and Christmas dominate the months with one long holiday season. Thanksgiving is only three weeks away, and then bam – the biggest shopping day of the year.
Only a heretic could ignore the hectic, chaotic Christmas season. I haven’t even started my shopping yet (my very wise father-in-law always did his on December 24th). The calendar is already filling up with parties and events. I just don’t know when I’ll have the time to get all of those Christmas cards addressed.
We all know about January – it just rushes past. You are just getting through Christmas with the gifts, the comings and goings of all the relatives, and then wham – Happy New Year. There are more parties to attend, and you have to find time to stand in line to secretly return the gift that you had gazed at with glee declaring “I love it.”
Where does the time go? Why it seems like just last year ... of course it was just last year wasn’t it? (Feel free to use that joke early in January.) I barely have time to get all of my thank-you notes written before I flip the page and say hello to February – the shortest month of the year.
There is not a lot of pre-scheduled activity in February, which is a good thing as it gives you plenty of time for all of those indoor winter activities you have been looking forward to: playing board games, doing cross-word puzzles, latch-hooking rugs, putting together jig-saw puzzles, finding the jumper cables and drinking hot-chocolate.
Before you know it, March comes roaring in. Unfortunately, March has a reputation for becoming a bit sheepish at the end of the month. This month simply cannot be relied on for consistent good old-fashioned winter weather. Oh sure, people say “March can be your snowiest month,” but that’s just wishful thinking because with spring around the corner the snow just doesn’t have any staying power. But for now let’s live it up, for soon enough winter will be gone.
I am not fooling myself. It’s going to be a long winter, and I won’t wish it away. There are many things to enjoy right now.
Abraham Lincoln said “It is true that you may fool all the people some of the time; you can even fool some of the people all the time; but you can’t fool all of the people all the time.” To this I would add – but you can fool yourself most of the time.
This is a good time of year to engage in such an exercise. We have not had an exceptionally beautiful fall this year – rather below average actually, but with the proper perspective this time of year seems to fly by.
The autumn days can be very labile. I chose labile, which means liable to change because my smart aleck sister, Colleen, used it in a sentence the other day and I didn’t know what it meant – so I looked it up.
We are enjoying less sunlight, the days are getting shorter and the pumpkin is rotting on the step. I know it won’t last; the good things never do. There is nothing like wind, rain and snow to push a guy indoors where he can relax.
November and December just don’t last long enough. Thanksgiving and Christmas dominate the months with one long holiday season. Thanksgiving is only three weeks away, and then bam – the biggest shopping day of the year.
Only a heretic could ignore the hectic, chaotic Christmas season. I haven’t even started my shopping yet (my very wise father-in-law always did his on December 24th). The calendar is already filling up with parties and events. I just don’t know when I’ll have the time to get all of those Christmas cards addressed.
We all know about January – it just rushes past. You are just getting through Christmas with the gifts, the comings and goings of all the relatives, and then wham – Happy New Year. There are more parties to attend, and you have to find time to stand in line to secretly return the gift that you had gazed at with glee declaring “I love it.”
Where does the time go? Why it seems like just last year ... of course it was just last year wasn’t it? (Feel free to use that joke early in January.) I barely have time to get all of my thank-you notes written before I flip the page and say hello to February – the shortest month of the year.
There is not a lot of pre-scheduled activity in February, which is a good thing as it gives you plenty of time for all of those indoor winter activities you have been looking forward to: playing board games, doing cross-word puzzles, latch-hooking rugs, putting together jig-saw puzzles, finding the jumper cables and drinking hot-chocolate.
Before you know it, March comes roaring in. Unfortunately, March has a reputation for becoming a bit sheepish at the end of the month. This month simply cannot be relied on for consistent good old-fashioned winter weather. Oh sure, people say “March can be your snowiest month,” but that’s just wishful thinking because with spring around the corner the snow just doesn’t have any staying power. But for now let’s live it up, for soon enough winter will be gone.
I am not fooling myself. It’s going to be a long winter, and I won’t wish it away. There are many things to enjoy right now.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Books Smell Good
Do people still press leaves between the pages of a book? Before electronics took over our lives, a nice autumn afternoon could be spent collecting leaves of various colors, sizes and shapes. The leaves were then taken back home and placed between the pages of a book. There they would stay, perhaps forgotten until next year. We haven’t had many nice autumn afternoons this year and books are being threatened by electronic devices.
The other day I was paying for some books at Barnes & Noble when the clerk handed me an advertisement for their new electronic device. Nook is the newest gadget designed to complicate our lives.
Like its competitors, Amazon’s Kindle and the Sony Reader, Barnes & Noble’s Nook makes it possible to read the text of a book, magazine or newspaper on a portable electronic screen. The images can be ordered, downloaded and stored on the device where they are displayed on the screen. An electronic image of text on a computer screen is not a book – but the devices are being referred to as electronic books. I don’t like the reference – but I can’t change it. A book is paper, ink, glue, and binding. It has a physical heft, a friendly scent and pages to touch.
I studied the clerk as I took the ad from him. Did he know that he was unwittingly aiding in the demise of civilization? I looked around the store and saw people talking on their phones while they looked at magazines. I watched friends who at first glance appeared to be enjoying each other’s company over a cup of coffee, but instead were busy sending text messages. I wondered if they were communicating with an unseen person and ignoring their coffee partner, or maybe they had lost the art of snappy conversation and were corresponding with one another across the table.
I am a bit conflicted with this battle of old versus new. I actually like and use technology. I write (type?) these words using a computer; I then email (electronic mail) it to my editor. I refer to my Blackberry often and I no longer own a typewriter. It has been many years since I have sat down and wrote a letter using pen and paper, but there are only a handful of people who can read my handwriting anyway.
I suppose electronic books have a purpose and a place. Perhaps like the iPod which has made it easier to listen to your favorite music, electronic books will allow portable access to the written word – but I can’t help thinking that we are losing something along the way when we so readily grab the latest gadgets and place our past on the shelf.
It was either Twain or Einstein (I can’t find the reference, but it was some guy with white hair) that had developed a trick to wake himself from a nap. While reading a book in his chair he would start to nod off. Not wanting to sleep his life away he would hold the book with one hand over the edge of the chair and close his eyes. Just before he would slip into a deep sleep his hand would relax its grip on the book allowing it to crash to the floor. The sound would wake him and he could start reading again.
Using the same method with an electronic book would probably only work once or twice before you had to replace it.
I suppose someday I will surrender and buy such a device. But I should buy two for napping and pressing leaves.
The other day I was paying for some books at Barnes & Noble when the clerk handed me an advertisement for their new electronic device. Nook is the newest gadget designed to complicate our lives.
Like its competitors, Amazon’s Kindle and the Sony Reader, Barnes & Noble’s Nook makes it possible to read the text of a book, magazine or newspaper on a portable electronic screen. The images can be ordered, downloaded and stored on the device where they are displayed on the screen. An electronic image of text on a computer screen is not a book – but the devices are being referred to as electronic books. I don’t like the reference – but I can’t change it. A book is paper, ink, glue, and binding. It has a physical heft, a friendly scent and pages to touch.
I studied the clerk as I took the ad from him. Did he know that he was unwittingly aiding in the demise of civilization? I looked around the store and saw people talking on their phones while they looked at magazines. I watched friends who at first glance appeared to be enjoying each other’s company over a cup of coffee, but instead were busy sending text messages. I wondered if they were communicating with an unseen person and ignoring their coffee partner, or maybe they had lost the art of snappy conversation and were corresponding with one another across the table.
I am a bit conflicted with this battle of old versus new. I actually like and use technology. I write (type?) these words using a computer; I then email (electronic mail) it to my editor. I refer to my Blackberry often and I no longer own a typewriter. It has been many years since I have sat down and wrote a letter using pen and paper, but there are only a handful of people who can read my handwriting anyway.
I suppose electronic books have a purpose and a place. Perhaps like the iPod which has made it easier to listen to your favorite music, electronic books will allow portable access to the written word – but I can’t help thinking that we are losing something along the way when we so readily grab the latest gadgets and place our past on the shelf.
It was either Twain or Einstein (I can’t find the reference, but it was some guy with white hair) that had developed a trick to wake himself from a nap. While reading a book in his chair he would start to nod off. Not wanting to sleep his life away he would hold the book with one hand over the edge of the chair and close his eyes. Just before he would slip into a deep sleep his hand would relax its grip on the book allowing it to crash to the floor. The sound would wake him and he could start reading again.
Using the same method with an electronic book would probably only work once or twice before you had to replace it.
I suppose someday I will surrender and buy such a device. But I should buy two for napping and pressing leaves.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Halloween
Next weekend is Halloween, the time of year where it becomes permissible to borrow someone else’s identity and panhandle, kind of like panning for gold and rocks, but this time candy is the sought after treasure. This is the season for trick-or-treating, watching “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown,” and playing dress-up.
My costume-donning experience goes back to the glory days of Halloween when a kid could get a year’s supply of teeth decaying treasure with only a few hours of effort.
My earliest memory of the hedonistic holiday is through the eye-holes of a suffocating plastic clown mask (the kind with the elastic string which becomes eternally entwined with your hair and rips it from its roots upon removal). I carried a brown grocery bag that confirmed the collection of the candy with a papery popping sound.
Using the station wagon as a base, my brothers and sisters and I would steal from patio to porch while Dad would carefully traverse the crowded streets so as to not send little ghosts and goblins to their graves.
Back home I sorted the candy on top of my blankets and buried the remaining booty underneath my bed. If carefully rationed over the long winter the supply could last until Easter when a fresh shipment was scheduled to be delivered.
When I went to college I gave up trick-or-treating because as everyone knows you are not supposed to take candy from strangers – and college is full of strange people. But then there were the costume parties. One year a few friends and I each bought matching long coats at Ragstock, some berets, a few squirt guns, and went as the French Resistance. I still smile when I think about it.
So as a public service, I am going to share some costume ideas. I make no promises regarding the ease of putting these together, but you should have plenty of time to get ready before the social event of the season: the neighborhood costume party.
For women - you can go as Sarah Palin; men you can dress up as Tim Pawlenty. Both of these characters, having become bored with being a governor, appear to be in the early stages of a presidential campaign. But what makes them prime candidates for parody is that they won’t admit to any future plans. So if you dress up as one of them you can spend the entire evening dodging questions, being evasive and talking in circles.
Couples could go as Kanye West and Taylor Swift and walk around interrupting one another and stealing each other’s microphones. Or, they could duct tape a camcorder conspicuously on their shoulder. Pretending to be a pimp and a prostitute, the couple could ask others for advice.
Carry around a small sheet of plastic. If you pretend it’s a teleprompter you would always have a prepared speech on display in front of you. This way you would never be at a loss for words.
Dress up as a census taker. By doing this you could ask anyone inappropriate questions, and when you are challenged merely reply: “I am from the government and I am here to help you.”
Go as the president and write stimulus checks to people, and then later on in the night you could hand out more money to bail them out.
Three or more individuals could go as an award’s committee and give out prizes for some future accomplishment that they hope will be achieved. For prizes give pebbles so the winners can say in their best Charlie Brown voice “I got a rock.”
My costume-donning experience goes back to the glory days of Halloween when a kid could get a year’s supply of teeth decaying treasure with only a few hours of effort.
My earliest memory of the hedonistic holiday is through the eye-holes of a suffocating plastic clown mask (the kind with the elastic string which becomes eternally entwined with your hair and rips it from its roots upon removal). I carried a brown grocery bag that confirmed the collection of the candy with a papery popping sound.
Using the station wagon as a base, my brothers and sisters and I would steal from patio to porch while Dad would carefully traverse the crowded streets so as to not send little ghosts and goblins to their graves.
Back home I sorted the candy on top of my blankets and buried the remaining booty underneath my bed. If carefully rationed over the long winter the supply could last until Easter when a fresh shipment was scheduled to be delivered.
When I went to college I gave up trick-or-treating because as everyone knows you are not supposed to take candy from strangers – and college is full of strange people. But then there were the costume parties. One year a few friends and I each bought matching long coats at Ragstock, some berets, a few squirt guns, and went as the French Resistance. I still smile when I think about it.
So as a public service, I am going to share some costume ideas. I make no promises regarding the ease of putting these together, but you should have plenty of time to get ready before the social event of the season: the neighborhood costume party.
For women - you can go as Sarah Palin; men you can dress up as Tim Pawlenty. Both of these characters, having become bored with being a governor, appear to be in the early stages of a presidential campaign. But what makes them prime candidates for parody is that they won’t admit to any future plans. So if you dress up as one of them you can spend the entire evening dodging questions, being evasive and talking in circles.
Couples could go as Kanye West and Taylor Swift and walk around interrupting one another and stealing each other’s microphones. Or, they could duct tape a camcorder conspicuously on their shoulder. Pretending to be a pimp and a prostitute, the couple could ask others for advice.
Carry around a small sheet of plastic. If you pretend it’s a teleprompter you would always have a prepared speech on display in front of you. This way you would never be at a loss for words.
Dress up as a census taker. By doing this you could ask anyone inappropriate questions, and when you are challenged merely reply: “I am from the government and I am here to help you.”
Go as the president and write stimulus checks to people, and then later on in the night you could hand out more money to bail them out.
Three or more individuals could go as an award’s committee and give out prizes for some future accomplishment that they hope will be achieved. For prizes give pebbles so the winners can say in their best Charlie Brown voice “I got a rock.”
Thursday, October 15, 2009
An Extra Bag of Cookies
Occasionally for lunch I will have home-baked cookies garnished with a sandwich and a side of mandatory fruit and vegetables. This is when I bring my lunch to work. I don’t pack it – my wife does. It’s not that I require her do it – I just won’t do it. So, if she doesn’t pack me a lunch I will eat out.
When I was 16 I had a summer job driving the delivery truck at a lumber yard in Le Center. When I wasn’t out making deliveries, I would sit in the park and eat the lunch my sister Joanne had packed. After a couple days of this it dawned on me that my grandfather lived near by.
I didn’t bother to call; I walked there uninvited and unannounced. As I got close I saw him working in his garden.
The green work pants hung just above his black sensible shoes. His grey long sleeve shirt, buttoned at the cuffs and collar, would have hid his long underwear if not for the contrast of his dark skin against the white cotton. A drop of sweat clinging to the tip of his nose hinted of the July temperature. The only time he wore a hat was to church.
“Hi Grandpa, remember me?”
He studied me through his glasses as he held his hoe.
“No, no. I can’t say that I do.”
I understood. I was no longer the little boy who “was seen and not heard.” I was now 16 – almost a man, or so I thought.
“I’m Tom’s son, Jerry.”
“Sure” he said, pronouncing the word as if it had two syllables.
I told him that I was working at the lumberyard, and that if he liked I could stop for lunch sometimes. I don’t know if he had planned on eating lunch that day but he invited me in.
I sat at the table for two in the kitchen while he cooked his potatoes and fatty meat. I politely waited to open my lunch box until he sat down with his lunch. He poured each of us a glass of milk (whole I’m sure) – because as he liked to say “milk is not only a drink, it is also a food.”
Joanne always included a bag of cookies in my lunch so I offered to share them with Grandpa on that first day.
“That’s your lunch, what will you eat then?”
The next day Joanne packed a bag of cookies for Grandpa. When I handed the cookies to him I explained that Joanne had baked them for him.
“That’s very nice”, he whispered as he pushed his glasses up from underneath to rub the tears from his eyes.
We shared many hours together that summer, eating in that small kitchen. Sometimes I would stop with the truck and he would tell me to “be careful with that big thing.”
“I have seen many changes,” he said as he told me of the days when a horse was the only transportation available, then when money allowed a nice buggy was purchased.
Then tractors and cars replaced horses. Soon people flew in airplanes and man went to the moon. Grandpa said that with every change he thought that this was as far as we could go.
He looked at me and asked “What will it be like you are my age?”
I didn’t have an answer then and I won’t for another 40 years. But when I am 90 I hope I am healthy enough to entertain a grandchild in my home. I just hope they bring some cookies to share.
When I was 16 I had a summer job driving the delivery truck at a lumber yard in Le Center. When I wasn’t out making deliveries, I would sit in the park and eat the lunch my sister Joanne had packed. After a couple days of this it dawned on me that my grandfather lived near by.
I didn’t bother to call; I walked there uninvited and unannounced. As I got close I saw him working in his garden.
The green work pants hung just above his black sensible shoes. His grey long sleeve shirt, buttoned at the cuffs and collar, would have hid his long underwear if not for the contrast of his dark skin against the white cotton. A drop of sweat clinging to the tip of his nose hinted of the July temperature. The only time he wore a hat was to church.
“Hi Grandpa, remember me?”
He studied me through his glasses as he held his hoe.
“No, no. I can’t say that I do.”
I understood. I was no longer the little boy who “was seen and not heard.” I was now 16 – almost a man, or so I thought.
“I’m Tom’s son, Jerry.”
“Sure” he said, pronouncing the word as if it had two syllables.
I told him that I was working at the lumberyard, and that if he liked I could stop for lunch sometimes. I don’t know if he had planned on eating lunch that day but he invited me in.
I sat at the table for two in the kitchen while he cooked his potatoes and fatty meat. I politely waited to open my lunch box until he sat down with his lunch. He poured each of us a glass of milk (whole I’m sure) – because as he liked to say “milk is not only a drink, it is also a food.”
Joanne always included a bag of cookies in my lunch so I offered to share them with Grandpa on that first day.
“That’s your lunch, what will you eat then?”
The next day Joanne packed a bag of cookies for Grandpa. When I handed the cookies to him I explained that Joanne had baked them for him.
“That’s very nice”, he whispered as he pushed his glasses up from underneath to rub the tears from his eyes.
We shared many hours together that summer, eating in that small kitchen. Sometimes I would stop with the truck and he would tell me to “be careful with that big thing.”
“I have seen many changes,” he said as he told me of the days when a horse was the only transportation available, then when money allowed a nice buggy was purchased.
Then tractors and cars replaced horses. Soon people flew in airplanes and man went to the moon. Grandpa said that with every change he thought that this was as far as we could go.
He looked at me and asked “What will it be like you are my age?”
I didn’t have an answer then and I won’t for another 40 years. But when I am 90 I hope I am healthy enough to entertain a grandchild in my home. I just hope they bring some cookies to share.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)