Newspapers still have uses

Ask many people where they get their news and many will say from television. But the value of television news over newspapers leaves much to be desired, in my humble opinion.. Many seem to think they get it all on TV, since it’s up-to-the-minute, has sound and movement, and has pretty/handsome faces delivering a personal report.

I wonder if they have stopped to consider how long each story on the TV news actually is, how many stories there are, and how in-depth they are.

By contrast,  newspapers cover more stories, tell readers more about each one, and cover the facts that a few seconds on TV can’t possibly deliver. Newspapers also mention stories you won’t see on TV, such as the company that went bankrupt in the reader's hometown, the number of people without jobs this month, what the cost of gas means to the average consumer and what a favorite civic club is doing to raise money this month.

Can tv viewers cut out a picture of their child, parent or other relative and paste it in a scrapbook? Can they keep a copy of articles from tv in that same scrapbook? Can they take out articles they enjoy and read them again and again and sometimes pass them on to other people? Can they take the tv to the a quiet place and spend time catching up on their neighbors, what the state legislature is doing, how the war is going in whatever country the action is in, who the local police department arrested over the weekend, and  what the calendar of events is for the coming week?

When we consider how technology has advanced, few of us would give up what’s been accomplished, including TV news. But let’s not forget that some “dinosaurs” have contributed to our way of life in ways we don’t think about.

'Learn' to drink? Poppycock!

 

I don’t know what it is about this society that thinks everybody needs to “learn” to drink. It’s simple: you pour the booze, mix it with something if you like, add some ice and you drink. Then you get in your car, drive down the road, impaired, and kill somebody.

 

I have never seen anything good come from drinking an alcoholic beverage. Yes, I drank some as a young woman but as I grew older I began to wonder why. It just made me sleepy and loud and made me say things I regretted later. Good time? Hah! Being hung over the next morning would hardly qualify as a good time.

 

Why would sane parents give permission for their children to drink? Aside from being against the law, children who drink don’t have the maturity to know when to stop. That maturity comes with age. And forget this noise about being “old enough to fight but not old enough to drink.” The two have nothing to do with each other.

 

Families have been broken, children have been neglected or left without one or fewer parents, people have been destroyed, property has been damaged or destroyed, disease has attacked bodies—resulting in funerals—all for the love of alcohol. I could say the same for cigarettes, except that with cigarettes the process is drawn out over many years. Booze can make it happen instantly.

 

Alcohol is not necessary to have a good time. In no way is it worth a hangover the next morning. I also used to smoke, and did for many years, quitting only a few years ago. Fortunately my ills today have less to do with cigarettes than with genetics.. But at least no one has ever smoked a cigarette and gotten in their car and killed themselves or somebody else.

 

To parents who want to “teach” their children to drink at home: you are turning your child into a potential alcoholic. No one has ever become an alcoholic who has never taken that first drink. Remember that, you teenagers who can’t wait until the legal drinking age.

 

It’s unfortunate that I had to be in my 40s before I learned the alcohol lesson and in my 60s before I learned the cigarettes lesson. I wish the rest of the world would learn sooner. Unfortunately, that isn’t the way human nature works.

 

 

Stuff that gets under my skin

What ever happened to niceness?

Once upon a time you could go into a store and be greeted by a clerk who seemed genuinely glad to see you. If you had been in the store before, the clerk remembered your face, if not your name, and treated you like a valued customer. Now you’re lucky if you can even FIND a clerk – they’re hiding in the clothes racks or standing behind the so-called customer service counter, laughing and joking with their co-workers. If they’re very young, they might be talking about last night’s date or their weekend trip or an upcoming event. Grocery stores with teenage clerks seem to be the worst offenders (but then again, I don’t get out much).

There used to be “service” in the name of the place where you bought gas. An attendant greeted you and asked if he could help you (I know I’m being sexist using “he,” but the fact is most service station attendants were male) and see that you got what you needed. If you wanted gas, he pumped it for you. While that was happening, he washed your windshield, checked the air in your tires and refilled them if necessary.

Clerks no longer smile, greet you cordially (most of the time it’s a perfunctory “How’re you?” (as if they couldn’t care less), and offer to help you. Waitresses come to your table and ask “Take yer order?” One in ten will say “May I take your order please”, with a smile. Older people are addressed as “honey,” “sweetie,” or “dearie.” In professional offices staff members often address everyone by his first name, regardless of age. I prefer to wait until I know someone before becoming so familiar.

Here’s a list I made up a while ago, unsure how to distribute it. It’s for clerks everywhere and I call it “The Ten Commandments For Serving the Public.”

1.                  Whenever waiting on a customer, discard the gum or candy, or at least hide it in your jaw. Don’t chew in the customer’s presence.

2.                  Smile as if you mean it, not a plastered-on grimace. If you can’t smile, at least put a pleasing expression on your face: eyes open and bright, mouth relaxed, posture confident, attitude welcoming. Say “Good morning” or “Good afternoon” or whatever is appropriate. Politeness is never out of place.

3.                  Don’t ask “How are you?” You don’t really care and the customer might think you mean it; she might feel compelled to launch into a recitation of her ills. A simple “Hello” will suffice. Your employer might require that you add “Did you find everything you need?”

4.                  Small talk is okay but not the banal “Pretty day today, isn’t it?” “Hot./cold out there, isn’t it?” (PLEASE don’t say “ain’t!”)

5.                  Speaking of “ain’t”, don’t use it at all. It may be in the dictionary but it ain’t a word!

6.                  While working on your customer’s transaction, your co-workers do not exist unless you need help with the cash register. Let the walls of fire consume you if you stoop to conversing with your co-worker about a date or party or boy- girl-friend.

7.                  Let your spouse or sweetheart know that if he/she shows up during working hours, conversation must wait until you have no customers at your station.

8.                  Never, ever say “That’s not my job.” It reflects badly on you with your boss and customers.

9.                  Always say “thank you” when your customer’s transaction is finished.

10.              Never take your break while you have a customer at your station; one exception: if break time comes and you have a long line, be sure someone is ready to relieve you first.

 

To employees of whatever age:

If it helps you remember these “ten commandments,” think about this: without customers you wouldn’t have a job and therefore a paycheck.

 If you think you don’t make enough money or the work is too hard/boring/complicated or beneath you, remember: you agreed to do the work for the pay specified. There used to be “service” in the name of the place where you bought gas. An attendant greeted you and asked if he could help you (I know I’m being sexist using “he,” but the fact is most service station attendants were male) and see that you got what you needed. If you wanted gas, he pumped it for you. While that was happening, he washed your windshield, checked the air in your tires and refilled them if necessary.

Look for another job is you’re unhappy with the money, the customers, the boss, your assignment or the hours. But if you haven’t given it your best, don’t expect a positive recommendation when a prospective employer calls for a reference.

Nobody is indispensable. If your work or your attitude isn’t up to par, your employer will be happy to replace you. If you are truly a good employee and an asset to the company, you might get a counter-offer when you tender your resignation. Do you really want to take the chance?

If you're an employee and any of this strikes a chord, take a moment to reflect (pardon the cliches): is the grass really greener on the other side of the fence? Or is the devil you know better than the one you don't?

 

 

 

 

 

Written about 1986

I watched him pack up his books and I knew he was leaving for good this time.

He did that once before, when he was 18 and went away to college. I grieved then, too, not knowing he'd be back.

The taking of his books is an indication he means business. He didn't take all of them becaause he didn't have room. But the process has begun.

I watched, the tears stinging my eyes but determined not to let him see me cry. Somewhere inside I thought maybe I should let him see me cry. It's the only way he'll let me show him I care. And he has little patience with that.

This child of mine--correction, this man I gave birth to 21 years ago--hasn't been the easiest person to live with. We were on entirely different levels and therefore communicated rarely, if at all. He kept his emotions hidden and I didn't do that well at all. His brain was like a sponge soaking up all the knowledge it came in contact with; mine could barely function day to day.

I didn't realize it but the day he was born, I began to lose him. His mind was so full of the wonder of everything around him I couldn't keep up. Sometimes I used the excuse that I was too busy trying to keep up all clean, fed and clothed but that wasn't all of it. Maybe I was by nature incapable of being his friend so he left me behind. And maybe I didn't try hard enough.

When he was 18 I knew it was time for him to go, to search for his place in the world. The grief was unbearable. I cried almost constantly for days, weeks. Than, a kind of resignation set in. I let go, painful as it was.

A miracle happened. He moved his books back home, claiming he had no place to put them. Secretly I was glad, knowing where his books were, there his heart was. I got a reprieve. I tried to make it work and to some degree I was successful. Little by little we were able to have normal conversations, at least about some things. We laughed a little together and occasionally talked about the way things are. But a distinct line was drawn and I did my best not to cross it. My efforts seemed to pay off, a little.

I thought I had another year, or maybe three. He's a senior in college now and hasn't decided whether to get his master's. But he had a light semester and wants to get a job. Seems there's this expensive computer he wants and he'll need a job to pay for it. There's also need for a different apartment, one that isn't quite so cold in the winter and doesn't leak when it rains.

So now my little boy, who hasn't been really young for a long time, is taking his last steps toward independence. He'll be back to visit, of course, but he'll never live at home again, not like he once did. Some parents seem glad to get the kid out of the house. I don't understand that kind of thinking.

I'll get used to it, somehow. Even grief runs its course. Changes are part of life. So is the growing up of a child. It's the way things are and I wouldn't have it any other wayl Someday he may even present me with a daughter and some grandchildren.

And sometimes at night, when the only sounds are creaking walls and the thoughts inside my own head, I'll say a prayer of thanks for the privilege of watching and helping my child become a man.

Just when things start looking up...

Blam! There they go, all to h--- again.

On my last post I congratulated the return of warm weather and bragged about how well I felt. That was on a Monday. The very next day, I took my husband to the hospital where he died eight days later. Lung cancer, of all things, had invaded his body with no symptoms except a hurting right shoulder, which he thought was arthritis. He had been in pain a couple months, refusing to see a doctor. When he did, it was an orthopedic doctor. This doctor treated him for arthritis, looking no farther for the cause of his pain. Of course not. When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. (I've heard that story for years and I finally know what it means, for real.) To sum it up, the cancer was a fast-moving kind and takes no prisoners. I was grateful that my life partner didn't have to suffer long. If that sounds strange, you haven't watched others waste away while your heart cried.

Things moved so fast I couldn't keep up. When the end for him came, I couldn't move, couldn't cry, could only be "busy" -- take care of things like funeral arrangements and such. I wondered if I was unnatural. After all, we had been married almost 51 yers and had been together almost 3 before that. It wasn't a wonderful marriage; we didn't hold hands and kiss each other hello and goodbye. But there was a trust, a knowing that the other would be there when needed, would take care of whatever came along. Neither would consciously destroy the other. We had grown old together. Now one of us has left the other, totally unintentionally but left nonetheless. It's a shock.

That was just over 8 weeks ago and life is finally coming back around. Now I'm alone and it's not exactly a thrill. I always knew I'd be okay, and I am. But I miss the little things, like someone to hang a curtain rod, mow the grass (a neighbor is doing it), clean out the utility room, bellow for me from another room...

I've started a campaign to improve the house. It's old, as am I, and it needs some cosmetic attention. It's sturdy but it isn't as pretty as it could be. A painter is coming this week to take down some old wallpaper and paint the walls, then put down a new kitchen/dining room floor. From there will be some new curtains and I'm not sure what else yet. If I'm going continue to live here, I want to have some improvements. Besides, when my time comes, my kids will need to sell the place and it will go easier when it looks better.

When I was young I used to say I was nice to little old ladies because someday I hope to be one. Now I'm finding out exactly what that means, too.

Coming back to life

It's spring! I say that with all reverence and gratitude. The winter has been very harsh in more ways than just weather. Mostly I dealt with the fallout of a-fib and congestive heart failure but a positive was my CPAP machine. This is a device that helps you deal with sleep apnea. I think it has probably helped with the fibromyalgia, too. With fibro, sleep problems were a major problem; most often I'd get an almost-headache similar to the ones I used to have but not as fierce. I've since learned it was related to sleep, or the lack of it.

Let me explain:
Back in the 70s, I developed these crazy headaches. I call them headaches but they were really neckaches, starting in my shoulders and radiating into the base of my skull and then to my head. The muscles got very tight and painful. My only relief was pain pills, sometimes more than was good for me. One doctor gave me a sleeping pills, which made me sleep but didn't stop the headaches. Years later friends told me I had done some crazy things while taking those pain pills, such as erratic driving.

In 2000, the same year of my breast cancer, I found a doctor who gave me medication for my fibro. It was the first time in 30 years that I could sleep all night without insomnia or headaches/neckaches. Yet as time went on the headaches returned, a little. My shoulders were no longer tight as drums but some muscles insisted on tightening up, again radiating into my head. Last fall the pain meds came to an end, an edict of the American Medical Assocation. My doc could give me pain pills but not that particular one. Just the other day one of my grown children told me that in the past 10 years (the duration of my fibro meds) I had sounded quite drunk at times on the phone.

So now I'm dealing with breathing problems and some fibro. Oddly enough, I feel better than ever. I'm working in my flowers again, just got through planting 24 petunias and helping a little boy develop some pride in himself. He dug holes, he and a friend decided on a design, and I taught them how to water the hole, then the plant, and pack dirt around it. Sounds like a small thing but he called his mother over the see what he had done and today showed a great-aunt. Oh, and the grandmother he lives with lent some encouragement and praise as well. He wanted to know if he could come over some this summer and see the flowers, even giving them some water sometimes.

The boy has an unfortunate family history but his grandparents are helping him overcome it. Lucky kid.

Hope I can hang around long enough to see what kind of man he becomes.

Getting Old Ain't for Sissies

I've heard or read this comment a thousand times since I turned 50. Believe me it's true.

In the mid-1990s I had a car wreck that ruined my body for the rest of my life. I had been fairly capable until then except for chronic insomnia and headaches that weren't migraines but every doctor thought they were. Therefore there was no treatment, only pain pills. I learned this is part of fibromyalgia. Google it and you'll find all kinds of things about it.

The wreck was on a side street I travel on my way home from work. A young woman, also coming home from work and going to pick up her baby, ran a stop sign and hit my right front wheel. The impact turned me completely around, hit a phone pole and landed against a tree in someone's yard. I seemed to be fine when I came to a stop but after 4 hours in the ER, the pain was enough to make me pass out. Some kind man, whose yard I had desecrated (I think) called my husband and he met me at the hospital, saw me through the exam and X-rays and took me home. Since the pain was building fast, I had to have a shot so I could stand in front of the X-ray machine. Husband took me home and with the help of a neighbor, poured me into bed. He slept on the floor beside my bed the whole night. I woke him at 6 a.m. to help me go to the bathroom.

Four years later I had breast cancer. Again, my husband was my lifesaver.

My mother died in 1963 and my dad in 1994. I don't miss my father. Wish I had some good memories.

Ten years after cancer, my heart started racing and I couldn't breathe. Atrial fibrillation and congestive heart failure. Husband was a lifesaver again. (I think I'll keep him as long as I can.) I'm still dealing with that.

Meanwhile fibromyalgia has been a constant, along with blood pressure problems. Every now and then I have an episode of devastating pain or insomnia that nearly does me in. Husband DOES NOT approve of the pills I take for that.

Have I mentioned my two children have grown and left home? One is married and has given me the only granddaughter I'll probably ever have. A mixture of gloom and a bright spot.

Dealing with Medicare, a supplement, medicine, do I get a flu shot, in light of the probability that I'll have a reaction? Osteoporosis. Bad feet. Arthritis. Geez! it's enough to make me cry.

Stay young as long as you can.