Lingering

Posted on February 7, 2014 by janets123

A winter poem I sliked. Maybe my readers will also. Lingering.

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Is It Big?

Posted on February 6, 2014 by janets123
giant sweet pepper

It looks big to me!

A real estate agent told me, “Sixteen hundred feet is pretty small,” when discussing our house. She was quite matter-of-fact about it. Without thinking too much, I agreed with her. (We are, in fact, looking for a larger home.) After I had a chance to mull our conversation over, I decided some things about the agent.

She is opinionated, I concluded, and she’s biased and maybe she’s not the Realtor we want to use to try to sell our house because she might tell the buyers it’s “pretty small.”

I remembered that in the house plans retail store where I worked several years, the most popular design in the store was about 1600 square feet of living space. Having discussed design requirements with hundreds of homeowners, I know that big and small are relative terms and not to be tossed about loosely.

If a couple has been accustomed to a twenty-by-twenty bedroom, anything less is small. They want room for two lounge chairs and a big-screen TV, in addition to two dressers and his and her nightstands. Scaling back to a space only eighteen-foot square means the armoire has to go into the guest room or the dressing table won’t fit.

Conversely, a family of five living in a 1200 foot cottage thinks about scaling down when all the kids move out. A bedroom is for sleeping and if there is room for two chests of drawers, it’s huge.

When Dan and I first married, I thought a 1600 foot home was plenty big. As I moved in and tried to unpack, I realized this house doesn’t have enough storage space for two middle-aged people with fifty years of accumulated junk.

I’ve determined a couple of things about abstract ideas, like big and small and cozy and nice. These things are relative to the needs and experience of the person speaking.

A Realtor can generalize and say a location is nice, the bedrooms are large, the lot is huge and the kitchen is well-equipped. It’s risky, though, a bit like trusting a Texan who tells you the salsa isn’t hot. I need Scoville* units! Give me room sizes, please, and let me decide if it’s big.

*What’s a Scoville unit? http://homecooking.about.com/library/weekly/blhotchiles.htm

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Writing Down Rules

Posted on January 24, 2014 by janets123

Honor your parents: that’s a rule, right? And don’t kill or steal or tell lies to hurt someone. Good rules, all written down for us.

Growing up, I had some unwritten rules by which to abide: don’t talk back to your parents; homework before TV; straight home after school; keep your room clean.

I’ve learned to appreciate rules, even depend on them. If it isn’t against the rules, it’s probably okay. Rules give us boundaries and guides to keep us out of trouble.

I’ve been in plenty of trouble through the years but it seems like much of it could have been avoided if I’d only known the rule that applied. For this reason, I like rules!

I actually like it that there are traffic lights to control the flow of sixteen lanes of cars going four directions, even while I’m chaffing at the red light. If I’m trying to make a left turn into heavy traffic, those lights (and the law enforcement behind them) give me a fighting chance of survival.

Sometimes we get into a tangle trying to interpret the rules, especially the ones that seem obscure or vague. What exactly does it mean to “bear false witness”? Does that include flattery? Can we never stretch the truth to spare someone’s feelings about an atrocious haircut? What about political correctness?

Sign not needed in Oklahoma

Sign not needed in Oklahoma

I drive my husband batty sometimes, trying to abide by The Rules. He teases me about it.

“You can’t make a u-turn here!” I tell him every time we visit Oklahoma.

“If we get stopped, I’ll just tell them I’m from Texas,” is his retort. Then, “But my wife will probably have to add, ‘I told him not to do it, officer.’”

Those who interpret rules for us often walk a tightrope. We elect judges (or elect the people who appoint them) to understand the intent of our laws, hand down judgments and stop endless wrangling or fisticuffs or worse. We don’t always agree with their decisions but at least we know where we stand.

Then our elected representatives write more rules based on what the judges say, so we don’t have to go to court over that rule any more. Ah, the law libraries are overflowing with laws, torts, statutes and rules!

It seems like most of life is spent trying to figure out what we are supposed to be doing, what we shouldn’t be doing and what would have worked better had we known.

They say ignorance is no excuse for breaking the law. I sure will be glad when we get them all written down.

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Our Discontented Winter

Posted on January 8, 2014 by janets123

The refrigeration business slows down in winter. It’s the time when we catch up on household chores, take a vacation and spend quiet time together. This year, though, it seems to have become a winter of discontent. We have begun shopping for a new address.

Our house is sufficient; we have 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms for only 2 people. We don’t entertain guests often but when we do, everyone fits just fine.

During warm months, when we are busy making a living, we don’t think too much about our lack of pantry or coat closet or why I still have packed boxes after three years. Or the mess in the neighbor’s back yard. Ah, but when our work slows down, we think.

And we’ve become discontent. Now we not only think we need the above mentioned niceties, we need a two-car garage and a corner lot, a fireplace (in Texas) and a library.

This last is really a man cave for Dan but wouldn’t it be really cool to have a tidy place for all our books?

To be fair, I will disclose that one of our bedrooms is currently used as an office. We really do run the air conditioning company out of our home. It takes two desks, three file cabinets, two printers and a closet.

Our guest room is full of surplus clothes—ours—and model airplane wings. It looks like a giant walk-in closet. Friends and family who occasionally sleep over are privileged to examine our wardrobe and dream of flying.

Still and all, we enjoy and appreciate our house. Tremendously. I think we’ve discovered how much as we shop around for a replacement.

For instance, do you know how many nice homes have a parking place for an oversized work van with a ladder on top? We didn’t realize how rare this is until we started looking.

Most houses also do not have five by eight picture windows front and rear, or handy gutter screens, or 350 acres of wilderness at the back door, or foxes that visit.

So far, all of the houses in the market are lacking something. Or are completely out of our price range. Or have nice features we really don’t want, like a swimming pool.

Surely we’ll struggle through this winter of our discontent somehow. If we find a new house to fall in love with, we’ll move. If not, we could build more cabinets and give away books and sell some clothes on eBay this winter.

If nothing else, I console myself, our discontent will certainly pass with the cold weather!

http://libcom.org/history/red-rose-nissan-john-holloway

Labour protesters in UK

(The Winter of Our Discontent is John Steinbeck’s last novel, published in 1961. The title is a reference to the first two lines of William Shakespeare’s Richard III: “Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this sun of York…” in 1594. The press applied the term to the labor strikes in the UK in 1978-79. It’s just catchy, isn’t it, and rather timeless?)

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Curly Hair

Posted on December 29, 2013 by janets123

It seems to be a part of the human makeup to want to change or improve upon whatever we have, no matter how wonderful. The grass is always greener and all that.

Women with dark hair bleach it blonde, blondes dye it red and when natural colors become passé, they streak it green or purple. Men with heavy beards scrape their faces smooth every day for sixty years. Virtually hairless men deliberately leave a fraction to look more manly and rugged.

Until I was in my mid-twenties, I detested my curly hair. I got bad haircuts and bad perms trying to make my curls go away or at least curl symmetrically. The California Girls of the Sixties all had long, smooth, straight locks and I wanted the look.

Curly hair has a determination of its own. One day it’s glamorous and the next day, inexplicably, it’s a riotous mess. One learns to live with it and there are tricks.

Curly hair gets riotous in the wind

Curly hair gets riotous in the wind
on the Sea of Galilee

A curling iron, believe it or not, will smooth and tame a curly mop. When it has all been coerced into a semblance of order, there is hair spray—lots of it. Certain shampoos make a significant difference and when nothing else works, a good wash will straighten things out for a day.

When all else fails and there isn’t time to get wet and then dry, there are clips. When one side flips up and the other side flips out, the most unruly side can be clipped back in a jaunty, deliberately asymmetrical upsweep. No one will guess it was born of desperation.

I’ve recently come to the conclusion that men are a lot like curly hair. Perhaps I could apply that to people of both genders. However, the experiences that brought me to this conclusion are with my husband.

My spouse has a mind of his own. One day he’s sweet and attentive and another day, inexplicably, he’s sour and grumpy. I’ve learned to live with it and there are tricks.

A sweet disposition and kind words often soothe and tame a sour temperament. When my husband is calmed and well-fed, a pecan pie fresh from the oven can set the mood. When nothing else works, sometimes a foot massage can straighten things out for a day.

When all else fails and there isn’t time to bake, sometimes I have to take a break. After a few days without me, Honey’s generally sweet as sugar. I get to see some friends or relatives and they may never know my visit was not born of a pure motive.

As I get older, wiser and more experienced, I truly “blove” my curly hair and feel quite advantaged to have it, though it may often be untamable. Ditto and more so for my untamed man.

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Stupid Machines

Posted on December 21, 2013 by janets123

This generation of people has come to rely on electronic machines, especially computerized ones, to the nth degree.

Machines are stupid. That is, they cannot think and the people who program them make mistakes, so the machines are “showing a lack of ability to learn and understand things; given to unintelligent decisions or acts.”Ω

People with evil intent can program card readers to steal. People with fuzzy brains can program GPS locators to take a person down a dead-end road. So what does that say about the people who rely too heavily on machines?

I am certainly not a Luddite†, as I sit here at my computer keyboard preparing a little opinion piece to be posted on the Internet. But my brain is “turned on” and I override the machine when it makes mistakes.

For instance, when I selected my file folder this morning, the machine asked me if I wanted to open it with Paint Shop Pro. Why would I want to open a folder of text documents with a graphics program? A person who places her every confidence in machines might assume the computer program is making a logical suggestion. I call that gullibility.

My husband is an AC contractor. He often answers a call for service to find the only thing amiss is depleted batteries in the wall thermostat or a clogged air filter. I’m sure auto mechanics have similar experiences. These simpler machines shut down when they are not maintained by people. More technologically advanced systems don’t turn themselves off immediately but instead do erratic things, like your computer screen turning blue.

I think most of us have a love/hate feeling for technology. When machines work properly, they save human time and effort. When they break down, it sometimes seems like their diagnosis, maintenance and repair is hardly worth it. They leave us stranded by the side of the road or without heat in our house or unable to contact our friends.

The real danger is not when machines stop working but when they “make mistakes” and the people running them, who have come to rely too heavily on their artificial intelligence, don’t notice.

Just think of the consequences when the sterilizing machine at your dentist’s office has a miscalculation in the temperature control. One would hope the (human) technician would notice. What happens when your bank’s computer misfires and your deposit goes into the wrong account? One would hope the (human) bookkeeper notices at the end of the day reconciliation, before any damage occurs.

Have you ever sent a text with your Smartphone but the person on the receiving end didn’t get it until three days later? What about those emails that go “into Cyberspace”? Too much reliability upon machines can wreak havoc with business and personal relationships.

Albert Einstein said, “I fear the day technology will surpass our human interaction. The world will have a generation of idiots.”

Idiot: is that a little like stupid?

Ω http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/stupid

†http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luddite

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The Fantastic Elevator Ride

Posted on December 7, 2013 by janets123

I am continually amazed by children, especially the way they perceive the world. I envy them, for the most part, and often find myself emulating them. To disregard the admonition of the adult in me, often makes life fun.

One evening after dinner, we got on an elevator in a hotel in Jerusalem. Another couple from our tour group was with us and we were all staying on the 16th floor. Someone pressed the button and the elevator doors closed, then opened again.

Another couple got on with us. The man was wearing a yarmulke and carrying a toddler. When I greeted them with, “Good evening,” the man smiled. I assumed his reticence to reply meant he didn’t speak English.

The door closed and opened a couple more times. We looked out to see if someone was pressing buttons. The door closed on someone’s shoulder and started a loud buzzing alarm. “Errrrrrrr!” We pressed some more buttons but the elevator would not go and the buzzer wouldn’t shut up. I found this quite humorous.

Speculating maybe this particular conveyance was set up on Shabat mode, we were 8-20_Jerusalem_Shabatchattering about it in English; the Israeli couple was muttering in Hebrew; the beautiful child was looking round-eyed. I started laughing.

We all got off the elevator and tried another. It did the same thing. I found this hysterically funny, thinking the young Israeli couple probably thought we broke the elevator, most suspicious specifically because I was in a fit of giggles.

Our American friends decided maybe we should walk up one flight of stairs and try to get an elevator there. We agreed, assuring ourselves we were surely not going to walk up sixteen flights. We left the natives staring at the elevator call buttons. I bade them farewell with, “Shalom.”

On the second floor, we discovered all the elevator buttons pointed down. Of course I thought this quite funny. “We could ride one down,” I sputtered between gasps for air. “Maybe then it would go up.” What else could we do? We piled in.

The doors closed and the elevator went down to the lobby floor. The doors opened and there stood our Israeli couple. I laughed so hard my eyes teared and I just about fell over. The young woman backed away, scowling fiercely. She surely thought I was drunk.

We rode down to the spa in the basement. The doors opened but no one was there. This is funny, too, no? Then the elevator started going back up. We stopped at the lobby and picked up our Hebrew friends, noting the other elevator standing open and buzzing loudly.

From there, our conveyance worked properly, whizzing along until we got to the young couple’s floor.

“Shabbat shalom!” I told them. The young man rewarded me with a big grin and a wave, in spite of his disgruntled wife’s disapproval.

I fell into bed that night still laughing about our crazy elevator ride. I’m laughing about it three weeks later. The only unhappy part is the woman’s attitude. How sad that one of the most memorable parts of our trip to Israel made that poor woman so cranky. I do hope her child takes a clue from Daddy.

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Affordable Food

Posted on November 27, 2013 by janets123

Here it is Thanksgiving again in America, a time of feasting, football and family.

We just returned from a fabulous tour of Israel, where we were immersed in the history and culture for two weeks. When we left, the lighted menorahs had gone up all along the streets of Jerusalem and our Jewish guide was looking forward to celebrating Hanukkah with doughnuts, blintzes and latkes.

Most people I know in the U.S. don’t think too much about affording food, except perhaps to fuss about the ever-rising cost of meat or the value of organic produce. A turkey is practically free at the supermarket, if you buy a bill of groceries to go with it. Beans, sweet potatoes and pasta are downright cheap.

Image

Falafel is a popular fast food

Food was expensive in Israel. We were shocked when our guide took us for falafel (fried chickpea) sandwiches and our bill was over $25. A simple fish dinner cost $20 per plate and the lavish hotel buffet was $60 per person.

At first we thought it was just because we were in tourist-y places our guide had chosen, but when left to our own devices we didn’t do any better, paying over $14 for a serving of French fries and a small bowl of tabbouleh salad.

Israel is a prolific producer of food, even though fields have to be irrigated. Everywhere we traveled, we saw fruit orchards, banana plantations, citrus and nut trees. When we converted liters to gallons and shekels to dollars, we realized gasoline is about $8 a gallon there and that may be a large part of the cost of food.

When we arrived home, the first thing we did was buy a cheap hamburger. Two burgers, fries and two drinks cost less than $10.

This Thanksgiving, we are especially giving thanks for America’s affordable feast.

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Seeing the World

Posted on November 11, 2013 by janets123

When travelling, one meets people from all around the world. If a person interacts with them, he can learn things. As always and in all situations, one must be aware this is a singular person representing a culture of millions of people. Still it can be enlightening.

Cruise ships are staffed by a diversity of nationalities. Most of the captains are Italian. The entertainers are primarily British or American. Depending on where the ship sails, she might have a cleaning crew of mostly Filipinos or Jamaicans. Anyone who interacts with the public must have a fair grasp of English.

We had an encounter with a bonnie young lass from Glasgow, serving as a wine steward. She loved her home and missed it, though she was enjoying her sight-seeing tour, paid for by service on the ship. Through her eyes, Scotland is a beautiful country, well worth visiting. The harsh weather? She never gave it a second thought.

One pleasant cabin steward was a middle-aged lady from Jamaica. Her father had toured with the big ships and her husband guided vacationers on horseback rides through the jungle and out into ocean surf. After being on the ship awhile as it cruised around Alaska, her return trip home made her less than appreciative of the tropical heat and humidity.

She loved to talk about her Christian faith and how it is still being influenced by pagan beliefs from Jamaica’s history. She regarded her tour on the ship as a ministry to her fellow-workers.

One young deck hand from the island of Roatan regaled us with his secrets of how to pick up women. With a large smile, he told us he always waited until his wife was too tired to go dancing and the kids were in bed.

Our Croatian maitre-d was one of the friendliest and most willing to interact, leaving us to wonder if everyone from that part of the world is so outgoing and pleasant.

Canadians seem to cheer very enthusiastically and laugh with great gusto, based on the few I’ve met.

A cabin steward from the Philippines told of his ambitious plans to start his own business. It would be paid for in five years of cleaning rooms and attending to the needs of tourists. He was quite excited at the prospect, even after more than two years away from his family.

There are lots of places I’ve never been–Scotland, England, South Africa, the Philippines, Norway–but I’ve met their people. It’s sort of like seeing the world through someone else’s eyes.

I wonder if they went away thinking most Americans are adventurous and uncoordinated, forthcoming and a little bit blonde.

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One Man’s Logic

Posted on October 30, 2013 by janets123

Men have a reputation for being the more logical sex, women being the intuitive ones but ofttimes driven or at least heavily influenced by emotion. Sometimes I think I am more logical than most. Other times the reason of logic eludes me.

On a Disney cruise ship, our cabin had a split bathroom: stool & lav on one side and lav & shower on the other. We had five mirrors by which to get dressed. Wonderful logic!

There were four light switches. Great idea! Even though the cabin was small, one didn’t need all the lights on all the time. One switch controlled the entrance light, one for each of the baths and one labeled “cabin light” for the sitting area at the far side. They were ganged together and not in that order.

The first switch was the entrance, second was the cabin, third was the first bath and fourth was the second bath. All were labeled in tiny gray type we couldn’t read in the dark. Would you like to guess how many times either my husband or myself turned on the overhead lights trying to get a light in the bathroom? Or turned off the bathroom light while the other was in there? We were both ready to slap the engineer who set that up!

Disney used every opportunity to promote themselves. Using Mickey music to sell Mickey t-shirts: perfectly logical (and quite profitable).

Sebastian

Who knew this was a lobster?

When we checked in for excursions and activities, we were given Disney character stickers to put on our clothing. That enabled the group leader to see at a glance who was with his group: red Ariel stickers for the glass-bottom boat tour; yellow Daffy Duck for parasailers; green Sebastian for the submarine dive. People seeing us about town would get yet another Disney promotion.

Wait a minute! Who’s Sebastian? Is it logical to expect grandparents to know all the new Disney characters? We almost missed our excursion waiting for someone to call for the green turtles. (It is also not good logic to make a red lobster into a green sticker, and chop off his pincers, if you ask my level head.)

How logical is it for a land-locked Okie who can’t swim, wears trifocals and gets sea-sick on a fishing dock, to man the mainsail rope of a racing yacht? And win the race? And have a blast?

When we got home from vacation, I priced health insurance policies, trying to comply with government requirements. They say my new policy has to ensure me for all sorts of the unlikeliest things, like emphysema and pregnancy. Even with a $5000 deductible, it will cost three times what I’m paying now.

I don’t suppose our world is ruled by logic, after all. At least, not by the logic of any man.

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