They say if you want to be successful at any kind of weight loss or exercise program, you have to be public about it so that your peers can cheer and jeer you on. You also have to maintain some sort of eating journal. How much more public can you get than a blog?

On New Year’s Eve, the G.R.O.W. girls were here for tea and we were setting achievable goals for the coming year. Shannon was here, too, so she joined in. I decided to have some input, and I figured the girls could all be of some help to Old Auntie. Indeed they were. However, I made the decision to make a few changes to the program – a little tweaking, as it were.

I was in pretty good shape a few years back. Then I got a shoulder injury that set me back while I did physical therapy. After that, my knees, which had been showing some bad behavior, got really recalcitrant. So it was off to physical therapy for that. Little by little, I have watched my former strength and stamina erode and I don’t like it. Last year I tried Curves, but that’s when my knees went into full-blown rebellion. Not only that, but in the three month trial period, I did not lose one damn inch, nor even one half pound, as it had proclaimed I would. Luckily, it was an Avon fitness study and it didn’t set me back very much.

Meanwhile, I have had Anna’s treadmill staring me in the face. Now this is why we middle-aged types should always keep a bevy of young people in our sphere. Shannon gave me an in-service. I discovered it wasn’t as hard as I thought, but even though I have this wedding coming up in September, I can’t say I was terribly motivated. Even Oprah’s falling off the wagon didn’t motivate me!

But the girls had to have an example, and it occurred to me that if I made my little fitness project a project they could follow, then perhaps I could stay on the wagon – er, treadmill. So they helped me set my goals, and Shannon, who is a really good listener (this is why she will be such an outstanding lawyer), offered to teach me crunches. (She knows my pot has been bugging me and evidently crunches are the answer.) With her input (that swimmer’s dedication….), we worked out a schedule. I decided to change it up a little, though, and I think it will work. Today was Day #1.

I was about to crank up my iPod when I realized I had no pockets on my sweats or my shirt. Not to worry. I have a really cute boogie bag from my sister and it wouldn’t hurt to use that until I get some sort of arm holder for it. I set up my tunes and got to work. Lesson #1: I cannot walk and chew gum at the same time. That means, do not try to check on what the name of a tune is while working on a moving machine. Oh, I’m okay – just a little abrasion on my knee (not the worse one, thankfully). But I learned my lesson! (That little safety button needs a string and a safety pin on me!)

It’s almost painful to admit this, but I had some trouble deciding what would have enough tempo to keep me going. In the old days, when I walked my hilly neighborhood, I did 2 miles in 35 minutes. I liked it at first – I went out while it was dark and I could be alone with my thoughts, and unseen, as I pounded the sidewalks. I didn’t use headphones because being outside is gift enough. I don’t have a lot in my iPod yet, so I tried Herb Alpert’s Going Places. It worked really well. Some of those tunes had me really boogying along. I even kind of trotted to Spanish Flea!

But I wanted to be mindful of the fact that I need to work into this and not overdo. An old bag like me risks injury, after all, and those are what I want to overcome in the first place. I decided I would stop at either 30 minutes or something close to 2 miles. As it happened, Herb took me to 1.5 miles in about 31 miles, so that was a good start. Shannon says it’s important to work up a sweat, and a little ‘flashiness’ notwithstanding, I managed that. Lesson #2: I cannot walk and chew gum at the same time. Do not try to wipe off sweat with one’s sleeve. One gets dangerously close to the end of the treadmill!

Tomorrow are knee and shoulder exercises, along with a little yoga. If I get a little time today, I’m going to make up a Motown mix for Wednesday. Pray for me, y’all!

As it happened, we gathered with the rest of the family in a church parlor before filing into the sanctuary. It was clear, BK’s cousins were still very upset about their mom’s death and it was quite touching to see as this is a family not known for demonstrating their emotions. Those Swedes like to keep it all under lock and key.

My mother-in-law attended, and this was part of the land mine - Aunt Sis was the one who fixed her up with my father-in-law way back when. He has been her ex-husband for many years, but as we passed her (she was in her mother’s pew), he actually extended a hand to her! We are talking a major development in the ‘playing nice’ process!

On the way out, Big Kitty hopped to and collected his other aunt, who was having a lot of trouble navigating, and they proceeded down the aisle. I saw my mother-in-law tear up with pride (BK really is a prince sometimes), so I stopped at Gran Ruth’s pew and stayed with her. There was enough pain going around and she needed one of her children, too. I volunteered. I figured his dad could manage because he had his wife for support, and she does that role extremely well.
Aunt Sis had been robbed of her faculties in her final years. Her increasingly frail husband, who so adored her, tried valiantly to care for her by himself. Then he had a fall that broke some ribs and punctured his lung. The kids had to put both in a nursing home for the interim. They are busy rearranging their lives and living arrangements in order to care for Uncle Bob so he can stay in his own home. It’s nothing new - families everywhere do this.

Tomorrow will mark Tom DeBaggio’s 67th brithday. He has lived with the diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer’s for ten years now. When he first learned the reason why he couldn’t call up plant names, he immediately began writing a book about the experience, and that morphed into a second book. Following Aunt Sis’ memorial service, I finally sat down and read the book. (To be honest, I am giving a talk about it on Tuesday, so it was time to get down to business!)

What I learned made me realize that it was critical for the family elders to forge a healing process among themselves, and yesterday demonstrated their willingness to give it a try. They had to unlock those tightly welded Swedish emotions, but they had their brother’s example to show them that a man weeping for the loss of his wife is not a bad thing. Rather, it showed the depth of his love for her.

Yes, Aunt Sis had no clue, but then maybe she did. Maybe, as Tom DeBaggio demonstrates in his book, the mind maintains deep recesses where love and the spirit reside undiminished. Maybe Uncle Bob knew that about his wife.

My own father’s family earned doctorates in grudge-holding. Dad went to his grave disturbed by the fact that he was unable to reconcile with his oldest brother. That isn’t the way to close out one’s life. Unfinished business is never good. All it takes is the willingness to say, “I’m sorry.” Tom DeBaggio’s sister came clear across the country to settle something that was bothering her. He had no idea it was a big deal to her, but it had been on her mind and she needed to tie up that troublesome loose end. She was smart to do that. It was her willingness to reach out and admit she’d felt bad about something that touched him.

Families are tricky, there is no doubt about it. Making peace is often hard, and as my dad discovered, it doesn’t always come about. But to make the effort is the key. We all crave closure, and while we don’t necessarily get it, the nearer we get to it, the better all the way around.

In my own life, I burned a red slip of paper that had something on it I needed to leave behind. I will now begin the work that helps that “thing” get left so I can move on. I’m not in a huge hurry, but I would like it over with. When you have something that doesn’t work for you, sending it up in smoke can be liberating! Sure it’s symbolic, but a memorial service is symbolic and look at how it helps nurture a healing process.

This is a good thing to do. Later that evening, we were at a New Year’s Eve celebration at the home of friends we hadn’t seen in ages. I asked another friend if he remembered when we did that burning thing for one of our church services and he chuckled. It’s largely symbolic, but when you examine all the other things in our lives that are symbolic, but over which many, many people get exercised, you realize that these things play a huge role in helping us keep things orderly in our lives.

I’m not one to bother with the Pledge of Allegiance, and that’s mostly because I don’t like having it imposed on me or anyone else. But the symbolism is important in many civic and public functions, so I stand respectfully and recite it in my head the way I learned it before Eisenhower went and messed with it. I don’t sing the national anthem because I’m a lousy singer. I cannot hear it without thinking, and wanting to shout, “Play ball!” at the end. Saying grace at the table is symbolic. We don’t do it in our house, but when I am in a home where the blessing is recited, I am a good girl and behave appropriately. Why? Because the act of blessing the food and the company is symbolic to the people who initiate it and we need to be respectful.

My loyal reader, Cat in a Web, responded to my rant about the disrespectful behavior of cell phone users in her retail establishment. I feel for her. Some retail businesses impose really high sales goals on their employees, and it’s awfully hard for them to provide good customer service when they have a distracted client. By the same token, I get burned up when the phone customer takes precedence over me while I’m trying to get help or pay for an item.

The owner of the nail salon where Big Kitty and I get our toes done forbids his nail technicians from jabbering on the phone. There was one there last month who talked on the phone the entire time she was giving me a manicure. It was disconcerting. Bang doesn’t like that and I wasn’t surprised to see that she wasn’t back. There was a technician there a long time ago who was really good. Unfortunately, she was another one with the phone in her ear and he fired her.

Bang knows that manicures and pedicures require communicating with the client. A happy client is return business, and he is really big on treating his customers well. I have noticed that the clients put away cell phones while they are in there. Is it the example set by the technicians?

All of it boils down to respect. It’s a kind of “love the one you’re with” proposition, and to tell the truth, it played a part in what I decided on for a series of New Year goals.

The first is already in play. I find I hold up the House Goddess because we get to talking. We’re friends and we have a lot of catching up to do. But it isn’t fair if I hold her up from getting to her next client. The next client is fuming because she’s not there on time, or her day goes much longer because we were chattering. So, today we did our gabbing, but we made it quick. I’m leaving her to do her thing, and if she needs me, she’ll give me a shout. It’s respect for her and for her schedule. (And she has some pretty strong words about cell phone users, too!)

The thank you notes have been written and are in the mail. All that remains to close out 2008 is to fish out all the old receipts and statements and consign them to an envelope for storage. After that, the tax junk will get pulled together, and we can look forward to the new year, a new president, and hope for better times ahead.

I’m wishing all of you a happy and healthy 2009. I’m also hoping the people in the Mid-East don’t bomb themselves off the map! It would make it awfully awkward for Rand McNally!

This last rant is something I have been thinking and yapping about for a long time. In yesterday’s newspaper, I read an op-ed piece from Barbara Shelly, who writes for the Kansas City Star editorial board. It was called Please drop everything else. In very reasoned fashion, Shelly revealed how she realized that inattentiveness played a role in her conversations with her elderly mother. Citing a whole lot of studies and statistics, she stated what we already know: multitasking is a series of accidents waiting to happen. So here it is, and for those of you who are among my nearest and dearest, you undoubtedly will read about yourselves. I’d apologize, but what I really want is for you to reform your wicked ways, so pay attention and understand that I’m bitching because I love you and I fear I will lose you.

Shelly was doing an internet search while talking to her mother on the phone. She was distracted. Here is where her self-awareness kicked in – she wasn’t paying close attention to what her mother was saying and, although she didn’t put it this way, got to feeling guilty about her bad manners.

Cell phones and computers have changed our lives, there is no doubt. In some regards they have become life savers, literally. In others, they have become killers. The operative word here is inattentiveness. I know I sound like the schoolmarm that I am, but let’s be honest. If you are talking on the phone while you are driving, you aren’t going to have all your attention focused on the road and the other drivers who don’t have all their attention on the road. I’m speaking here of the large purple behemoth that loomed up to my rear bumper while its occupant ran his mouth on his cell phone. I was aware of him, but I do not for one lousy minute believe he was aware of me. What if my attention had been on a conversation, as well?

Then there is the general rudeness. I have been on both ends of that equation, and I can tell you, it is annoying as hell. Somebody explain to me why the person at the cash register should have to put up with a person who is not attending to business. If I had a PENNY for every time I have been held up in a grocery line by some inconsiderate person who cannot cut the cell umbilical long enough to pay attention and settle up the bill, I’d be able to bail out GM all on my own. How many times have you been in a store and been nearly run down by some blabbermouth with a cell phone who cannot steer a cart and talk at the same time? Or dodged an aimless wanderer who drifts from rack to rack while grunting the occasional affirmative? Or been subjected to a loudly profane attack on another person’s character? Or sat across the table from someone who has invited you to dine and who “has” to “take this call”? Or tried to run errands with someone who doesn’t know how to let the voice mail pick up? Or attempted to carry on a meaningful, but brief, conversation with a person who puts you on speakerphone, thus ending any semblance of a to the point discussion? Or tried to converse with someone who sat behind that computer screen like ‘the man behind the curtain,’ manipulating a mouse (I know you’re only playing solitaire, so give it up!)?

Do I sound a little peeved? Just a little? Well, I am, dammit, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the poor manners associated with inattentiveness, and I’m sick of the time it wastes. And I’m as mad at myself for the occasional lapse as I am with those around me.

I received a darling message from a young man I’d worked with in the Obama campaign office. It was on my cell phone. I didn’t get it until a week after he’d left it. Guess that tells you I don’t have that phone on 24/7. I don’t need to. I don’t need to be needed that desperately and I don’t want to be found every waking moment. I also do not think other people need to be connected that much, either. They just think they do, because they can. It never occurs to them that they are invading when they call. It never occurs to them that the rest of us shoppers do not want to hear their conversations, either.

Shelly refers to it as the BlackBerry Brush-Off. This is what I get when I am mid-sentence and my darling friend ignores me and checks a text message. Does she understand that she has placed importance of a face-to-face conversation below that of a person who can easily wait ten or fifteen minutes for a response?

Remember when people called your home phone, and if you weren’t there, the phone rang and rang? They called back the world didn’t come to an end. We found answering machines to be helpful. Voice mail is also helpful. Call waiting is an abomination. I have it. I do not leave a conversation that is in progress. That beep simply serves as a signal to me to check voice mail when I hang up with the person currently on the line. I cannot say the same for most of my friends. They treat call waiting as the Hold button in a busy office. I say there is a time and place for that. If you are expecting an important call, then don’t call me while you wait around for that other party to ring you. (If you are at the office and have to hang up to take a business call, I expect that, and rightly so.)

The other day, I was at the cash register in a store. Shannon called. At least I figured it was her because we were planning to get together that day when she finished work. I didn’t even bother to fish the phone out of my pocket because IT WOULD HAVE BEEN RUDE! I waited until we had finished transacting business and I could step away from the register and out of hearing range of the rest of the customers before I even put my hand on the device. Why? Because as much as I adore our Shannon, she could wait. It wouldn’t kill her. Besides, I didn’t need the entirety of Steinmart to listen in. I don’t have a need to demonstrate how important and integral I am.

Multitasking has turned into some sort of martyr-like activity. It is this self-appointed importance that makes me roll my eyes. I would rather someone do one thing at a time, do it right the first time, and then move on to the next task. Instead, you get slipshod work from people who aren’t really paying attention to what’s important. This refusal to prioritize and be mindful of the consequences of a poorly done task is pervasive, even among those of us who know better.

I used to work with a woman who was very good at what she did. Unfortunately, she suffered from that “I am indispensible” syndrome, and multitasked all day long. Deadlines were met by the seat of her pants, things were disorganized and anything that required time and focused attention got pushed off until it couldn’t be pushed off any longer without severe penalties.

When she left the organization, I inherited all her tasks except those that dealt with bookkeeping. I set up a schedule, put things on my desk calendar (the old-fashioned kind) in different colored ink for the categories of tasks, and everything got done. My boss was notorious for not getting print copy finished on time, so I moved his deadlines up a little. He knew what I was doing, but he let me get away with it because he was grateful I had willingly taken on all the other work with no raise.

My entire point was to show that it could be done without all the drama. If you focus on something, you can get it done. When you take a shotgun approach, nothing gets finished. I’m a huge procrastinator, so I know this.

People who think they are indispensible have a problem. They need to be the center of the universe. That phone, BlackBerry, or computer feeds their egos. I’m not saying they are egotistical so-and-sos, I’m just saying they can’t just BE. They crave the connectedness because it makes them feel important, and validated. It hurts to see people in that kind of emotional state.

This is a pretty long rant, but it’s been simmering on my back burner for a long time. In fact, it’s fair to say that this topic was on my list of rants from the day I launched the blog in January! Am I asking my friends to make me the center of attention when we eat together? Yes. Am I asking my friends to sit down and converse with me when they call me? Yes. Am I asking my friends to ignore their phones when we are out shopping? Yes. Am I begging my friends not to talk (or text) and drive? Most emphatically, yes. Am I asking my friends to do anything more than mind their manners when I ask them to do the above? No.

Miss Manners has written extensively on this topic. It seems to have the same effect as her admonitions about including where the bride has registered with the wedding invitation. It’s rude as all get out, but people are still doing it. But Barbara Shelly has placed this phenomenon into its cultural context, examined all sides of the issue and still came out with the same conclusion: multi-tasking isn’t efficient. Miss Manners would add that if it includes a form of communication, it is also in poor taste.

I’m going to end this by adding the quote Ms. Shelly used because it spoke to me.

“To do two things at once is to do neither.” Publilius Syrus (1st Century B.C.)

Parents frequently muse about the differences in their children, noting that one is laid back while another is anxious, one always has a book open while another is bouncing a basketball, one eats anything you put on the table, another picks at food – People who have cats make the same observations. No two cats, littermates or not, are alike. As this first year of Herban Sprawl comes to a close, it’s time to write about my third fellow, Simon. He reminded me of this yesterday morning, but I started cleaning my office and that was that.

Even as a kitten, Simon was different, but we had no idea what we were in for. He lay, upside down in the crook of Grandpa’s arm. We thought we had a really laid-back cat. And we did, until the window perch became dislodged and overturned. For several weeks, Simon crept through the dining room, belly to the floor. He was never the same. Suddenly, the energetic kitten became suspicious, territorial and feisty.

At the same time, never have either of us had – mind you, between us, we’ve logged a number of felines – such an affectionate cat. Simon, in an amorous mood, will snuggle up and bestow kisses, head butts and paw pats that would melt the heart of the most avowed cat hater. Of the three, the most attached to his people is Simon. The morning after we’d returned from a week in Colorado, I discovered him under the covers, tucked against my stomach, a paw atop my hand.

The undisputed king of the back windows or the chief porch lobbyist, Simon patrols his perimeter with the fervor of a one-cat street gang. If there is going to be a stare-down, he leads the charge. Heaven forbid if one of the others wants in on the fun. He will hiss and box his brothers as though they are the enemy. Yesterday he was puffed to a fare-thee-well thanks to a neighborhood tabby who’d come by the yard for a fix. (I have mentioned that we are the neighborhood dealers, haven’t I? Our catnip is the best – just ask around, any cat will tell you the patch by the stone wall is some good shit, man.) Mr. Cat was going to sidle on down the steps to the back patio for a hit on the patch in the Detectives’ Garden, but he saw me standing at the window and made for the neighbor’s fence. Old Puff and Hiss wasn’t satisfied. He patrolled until he just had to have a nap.

He’s also the herb kitty. We noticed it when he hopped up on the bathroom counter after Big Kitty had brushed his teeth. The tea tree oil in the toothpaste drew him and when I walked into the bathroom, he was busy swabbing down BK’s beard and mustache! BK couldn’t stand it anymore and his amused, but tightly clamped, mouth broke open in a grin. Simon proceeded to swab his teeth! (Listen, we swap spit with cats every time we pet them, so no fair being grossed out!)  When I chop fresh basil in summer, my hands get a thorough washing with his rough tongue. All the things cats are supposed to hate, he likes. Basil is in the mint family, as is catnip. If you know your plants none of that is surprising. But limes?

He’s jealous of his siblings and even though he’s claimed ownership of a lap, a passing brother will receive a swat from above. Crabby Tabby will muscle one out of a warm nap site if it suits him. And just as he might be craving affection, he will turn around and snap with the jaws of a steel trap. (Neither of the other two bite us – maybe each other, but not their people.)

In the evening, he greets Big Kitty by a well-timed and executed leap to his thigh, whereupon BK will respond with a quick movement upward and maybe a steadying hand. Simon then settles around BK’s neck, where he nuzzles and grips with his paws. He’s been known to muscle in on my smooch for BK. Brat.

Visitors have a hard time distinguishing Simon from Barney, even though Simon has a bull’s-eye on his sides. He’s not as flabby, that’s for sure, and he doesn’t weigh quite as much, but he’s just as large. When he settles on my lap, my joints feel it, especially when I’m on the floor sitting pretzel style, reading the Sunday paper. He demands my undivided attention and will brook no excuses, making his displeasure known by means of retaliatory puddles on the kitchen counter. Luckily he hasn’t done that in a long time, knock on wood!

He rounds out the tribunal with his crabby nature one moment and kisses the next. Demanding and petulant, he claims ownership of us. Sharing is what others do. He manages us with the persistence of a border collie. The other two offer polite hints, but the Border Tabby routs us from whatever it is we are doing (You weren’t planning to sleep past five, were you?) and herds us to the food bowl.

Most onlookers would correctly assume that Big Kitty loves his boys dearly, but that he especially adores Simon. He’s the only one we got to name! He keeps us in line. It’s his job and he takes it very seriously!

]]> http://herbansprawl.com/HerbanSprawl/archives/196/feed/ http://herbansprawl.com/HerbanSprawl/archives/195 http://herbansprawl.com/HerbanSprawl/archives/195#comments Sun, 28 Dec 2008 02:58:51 +0000 Auntie Brickbats and Grumps http://herbansprawl.com/HerbanSprawl/archives/195 Big Kitty and I ventured out into the world of post-holiday sales today. The trip had a purpose: cheap wine from the warehouse store and more holiday storage boxes. I would have been happy with cardboard had it not been for the discovery of evidence that spelled a moisture issue in the kneewall storage area. So we needed to find plastic storage - and vino, of course.

We found some bargains (can you believe it? more lights?) and we had some fun investigating the leftovers at Target. We finally landed at B&N, after Auntie scored a pair of giant bottles of her favorite Eye-talian lavender bubble bath at Maxx. There, the goal was the latest book by Ina Garten. I saw a copy of a D.C. magazine that had a fabulous cover picture of the Obamas, and had to sit down and read the pictures. (Uncle Cookie and I are fond of reading the pictures first, then going back to the articles when we get time.)

I was very lucky and saw my former haberdasher, Jeff. I truly missed his store when he moved out of the mall. I had to make it a point to get myself there in his subsequent locations, but by then his ladies’ wear just didn’t float my boat. In the days of my infamous size 4 period, I dropped a lotta checks in there - he had a couple of fabulous saleswomen, and he had clothes that were just what I liked - simple, classic and stylish. He also had the best alterations lady this side of the Atlantic! Anyway, he is busy being a landlord of the building he built in the county, and his youngster is making a name for himself as a great auto detailer.

I told him about my rant about pants. He gets it. Even his mother predicted that Talbots was headed for trouble when they tried to change their demographic. That there are no classic pants around these here parts is a testament to the shift in our retail mindset. We no longer have local stores who understand their customers and go to market with the practiced eyes of merchants accustomed to providing superior customer service, along with clothing that everyone knows came from their store.

As we blunder our way through the dark side of an economy that still hasn’t been fully revealed to us, it is essential that certain things change. Americans won’t have the loose change for lots and lots of clothes and accessories. Furthermore, many of us are disenchanted with the high cost of clothing manufactured in Third World locations that cost peanuts to produce. We see that our own skilled textile workers are out of jobs and we see the move to offshore manufacturing for what it is: union busting.

Even now, the concessions expected of the automakers are being focused on the working stiffs, but not the high dollar executives. The bailout of Wall Street reeks of no oversight, and we’re all jittery. Banks requesting a piece of the bailout pie who don’t need the injection of cash, only want the money so they can buy up other failed banks. Where is the pride in what we make?

Pretty Woman was on last night. Remember the part where Vivien comments that Edward doesn’t make or build anything? Remember how it hits him that he’s missing something in his life by only tearing apart and never building? Is Edward Lewis a metaphor for our country?  Will this country wake up like he did? Or are we doomed to a life of pants that don’t make anyone look good? Are we destined to an existence of cheap goods because we can no longer afford to support the pillars of middle class society? Is Royal Worcester-Spode truly history?
I hope we don’t have unrealistic expectations of this young president-to-be, but I, like a lot of people, really do want to be hopeful. It’s just tough to feel positive when you can’t go out and get a decent pair of khakis or jeans. Ah, well, there is always chocolate, this new cookbook, and a treadmill for afterward!

This morning I tried to tidy up and put things away, but got interrupted by the need to be taught how to rip a CD so I could load my new iPod. (I’m gonna be so cool… I cannot wait to make up my Motown mix and my Ultimate Tony Rice mix.) Something kept coming back to me from a conversation with the maternal unit yesterday. It was the same topic I had had with the matriarch of BK’s company, and her co-matriarch (aka sister-in-law). Pants.

A few weeks ago the Star City’s newspaper ran a big article about how to select pants that fit and are flattering. None of it made a bit of sense. The more I read it, the more I realized, the stores are full of these gawd-awful hip-huggers that do not look good on anyone except those of a stick figure. Even in my size 4 days of yore, I would not have liked them on me. The latest Talbots catalog, a combination of winter on one side and cruise wear on the other, was chock full of the miserable pieces of crap, and I thought it was very, very revealing that the pants were all modeled by the 16 year old sticks. The lone middle-aged model (she looks like the one who used to be my favorite from about 20 years ago) is fairly slim, and her so-called paunch is barely noticeable. She isn’t in any of those hip huggers. That should tell you something!

Looking around me as I bop around town, I see younger women with fat tushies crammed into these pants. The top of the pants (you cannot call that which never sees the waist a waistband) cuts into their flab and their figures take on the look of the Michelin man. It ain’t a pretty sight. I see older women trying to make it work, but they look ridiculous with their poochy tummies encumbered by all manner of waistband hardware. It just makes them look poochier. The pants do not drape well, and they are unattractive on everyone except the size 2 sticks.

I cannot for the life of me understand why a retailer cannot see that at the end of the season, no matter how much lycra is poured into these travesties, they have racks of them left to try to unload in the post season sales.

The ladies I mentioned previously had the exact same complaints as I did, and all three are slim. All three have a tiny tummy and all three said the hip huggers all made their tummies look even bigger. One the so-called tips from that article suggested a wider and heavier “waist”band that would hold the tummy in. Oh, please. It only cuts the chub in two and creates the Michelin look. Even on a slim woman with a middle-aged poof, if looks ridiculous. If you have to run a full page set of tips that are as blatantly silly as those were, then it’s clear, no one knows what to do with the damn things and no one wants them.

My idea is to not buy them and leave the retailers high and dry. Maybe they will get some sense and return the stacks of unsold crap to the designers with a note saying, “Are you out of your mind? Americans are fat and they don’t have the money to spend on pants that are ugly and make them look worse than they already do!”

I’ve got extra poundage around my middle, that’s true, but I’ve always been able to find clothes that were well-cut and could be altered to fit my shape, which is, by all standards, hourglass. I’m pretty good at finding things that don’t make me look like a pear, but these pants make it very difficult. I gave in and bought some capris because I thought I was no longer fit for shorts. Not a good look for me, but at least I don’t have to see my spider veins and neither does anyone else. All my capris have what is euphemistically referred to as a contour waistband. I wore those in the sixties. They fit better then because they were truly a contour.

My mother-in-law and I were remarking on that yesterday. We even chuckled over our collections of belts that were contoured to fit. They lay perfectly just below the waist, instead of being straight things that cut into the flab. And that’s what’s wrong with this look. It’s supposed to be a little retro, but the designers are so poorly trained in tailoring that they don’t know how to make a true contour waistband.

I dunno. If the cruise wear is any indication, I can forget Talbots for pants for yet another season. What a rotten deal. We women need to just go on a buying strike. Unfortunately, the stupid fools would just whine that it’s the bad economy, not their crappy pants. I think I need another cup of coffee and a few cookies to cheer myself up!

This was one of those spur of the moment, design by the seat of my pants projects. My little alpine tree, decorated with tiny straw Scandinavian ornaments and other little Nordic mittens and such, needed a tree skirt. I went to the fabric store with the intention of getting a yard of red felt.

The plan was to cut out hearts and then stitch the red felt onto a white felt background. Very Scandinoovian, as they say up in da Windy City. Well, the felt was skimpy and there was a beautiful bolt of chili pepper red fleece. I went for the fleece, and when I ran into Peggy, and old herb pal, she decided the fleece was much fluffier than the stuff she’d picked out for snow, so she nabbed some white fleece. (Now her snow is washable!) The best part is that it was half price!

I was walking away from the cutting table when I saw some heart buttons. I went through the buttons, but, as with last year when I was on the hunt for large red heart buttons, the ones I saw didn’t blow up my skirt, so to speak. I wandered through the store and finally decided I’d had enough. On the way home, it hit me – white buttons from my mother’s button box.

After a few other errands, I arrived home seconds ahead of Shannon, who eagerly tucked her box of cookies into her car. (She’d been waiting for this box of treats all last week!) I dumped out a bunch of white buttons while she watched. Shannon doesn’t know about my “and then, and then” projects. Sometimes I can knock one off with the swiftness of a rookie Greg Maddox fastball. Other times I get bogged down trying to make something look like it looked in my head. This one was a quickie.

After she left, I pulled out a giant silver tray and traced a circle with it. I made a center hole and the opening. Then I hauled out some white #5 mercerized cotton thread and began to blanket stitch around the edges. Harry came by for his box of cookies, and watched with that kind of look that says, “I know you think you know what you’re doing, but I have my doubts.” In all fairness, he was whipped – he’d helped deliver 408 bags of groceries to 34 families in the Montgomery County area. He’s got a car dealer buddy whose staff takes up a big collection. The dealer matches the amount, and then the local grocery store sells them the food wholesale. The local teachers identify the needy families, and this year each family got 12 bags of groceries. Harry was pooped, and with good reason.

I watched a 1957 movie, Band of Angels, while I finished the blanket-stitching, and then I started sewing on the buttons. It’s just about finished. There were two baby-sized buttons that need fine needles and thread. Then I’m going to add a little border of snowflake shaped buttons that are left over from the advent calendar project from last Christmas.  Budde’s buttons have a whole new purpose being proudly displayed against the bright red. Ta-da!

Anyway, I made pine nut tassies, kolacky (that’s ko-loch’-key to those who don’t know a word of Polish), cocoa snowflakes, three-nut fingers, cardamom butter squares, and the Hanukkah favorite, rugeleh (okay: ruh-geh-luh all short vowels). I’m big on making parts ahead of time and refrigerating until it’s time to put things together, so that’s why I could do a marathon in two days.

This evening, I packed samples of each kind into bakery boxes, tied them with ribbon and attached the little gift tags. Inside, I taped a kind of map like a Whitman’s  Sampler, so the recipients will know what they’re biting into. It was fun doing that and I’m really pleased to see a stack of seven boxes ready to be taken around tomorrow.

I have one more gift to organize - my nephew’s. I need to make a call during business hours for it, they won’t get it in time, but it’s the thought that counts. I also have a gift I am making for my sibling and her spouse, but it will be a while. It’s the cookies that were the big project and if I’d had any sense, I would have knocked those off a week ago!

So, here we are, the house decorated, the cookies baked, the cards mailed, a box sent to Chicago, and a few odds and ends to attend to. Now is the time to be sure to let that idiot in front of you into the line of traffic, even if s/he doesn’t deserve it. Hold the door for that nice lady who is scowling at you, and above all, smile and be patient. Good karma has a way of coming back. (Maybe someone will bake cookies for me!)