This 'N' That

This will be a mish-mash of thoughts and experiences.

Yesterday I went to the store about mid-afternoon while the Cowboy game and several bowl games were televised, I giggled to myself, as traffic was almost as light as Christmas morning. Anyone ever heard Texas is a football state? Actually, I woulda been watching too if I had an aerial. I don't, and the landlady forbids satellite. I refuse to pay cable. So-no football. Considering how the game went, I am just as glad I missed it.

Two weeks before Christmas, I had an emergency and had to call my oldest son, who in turn called my youngest son. Moms are supposed to give help, not ask for it. I really, really hated that. But a funny thing happened. I knew my sons loved me, but I didn't really know how much. And I was expecting them to go all bossy and tell me what to do. They didn't. They were very loving, and we sat down as a family and decided how I would proceed with me getting a full vote. It was a wonderful gift. Presents? Faugh! I got pure, undiluted love for Christmas. What is better than that? And I got the frills, too. I am a very lucky woman.

I usually make my goals and resolutions on my birthday, but this year, I will make some resolutions for tomorrow. I hate whiners, but realize I haven't been meeting some goals because I snivel "it's too hard." I will work on this. Another flaw is my prayers each day for blessings, but when extras come along, I tend to say, "no thank you, I have a plateful and I don't need seconds." How stupid is that? For 2008, I vow to say yes more often than no. And I've always had trouble asking for help. I've worked on this for years and will continue to do so. And I look forward to a happy year. That most of all.

Happy New Year!

A Short Christmas Can Be Twice as Sweet

Shopping last Friday (Dec. 14), I began noticing a lot of people smiling at me. Huh, I thought. What's THAT all about? And then I realized I myself was smiling and happy, humming along with the Christmas carol music and having a good ol' time. Yup. I've always said my Christmas spirit clicks in around Dec. 15. And it did. And I realized how instinctively wise I've been all these years not to start shopping until a week-10 days before the holiday. I'm not a holiday marathoner. I may not even be in the 5 K unless I'm part of a Christmas relay team.

When I was working, I could always dive into the job and avoid this holiday activity until I was ready. (By the way, has anyone else noticed the ads seem particularly numerous and repetitious this year or is that just me? )

Yes, I got about half my shopping done early, but not with joy. At all. I tried not to scowl, but I did fantasize about finding the control panel in some stores and ripping out the wires so I wouldn't hear Christmas music before Dec. 1 for Pete's sake. Even after Dec. 1. I was polite to the clerks, honest. But I suspect I looked kind of grim, because I felt kind of grim.

So next year, I will go back to my usual habits of shopping two weeks before the holiday and quit worrying that most of my friends are organized and are finished long before now. (Talked to one friend this weekend and she has almost everything wrapped. For me, this simply does not compute.)

But then, as I said, I seldom enjoy shopping. It's like being told that for the 12 days of Christmas, we will eat turnips every single day, isn't that great? While listening to Wagnerian operas. While wearing shoes a half-size too small. And I should be thrilled and looking forward to this. Oh, and did I mention? We will pay through the nose for this because It is Good For The American Economy.

But Friday, I really enjoyed shopping. Spent 31/2 hours, in fact, which for me is amazing. Got some stuff for me, too. And now I'm listening to some of my favorite Christmas carols, and I've gotten cards from people I don't hear from but once a year, and I've seen some longtime friends who are usually too busy to synq schedules, and that part I enjoy very much. The spiritual part is a major component, whether or not I'm involved in organized religion in a particular year. At least half my friends eschew the God stuff completely, and that is fine with me. As they accept that for me, it's an absolute essential of Christmas.

This year, I keep thinking about the people who lost their homes in California and the Northwest, and that some folks in Oklahoma are just hoping they will have lights and heat so they can get home for Christmas. Not what they had planned, most likely. And I remember Dr. Seuss' book about The Grinch, who discovered to his puzzlement that even when he took away every single trapping of the holiday, the Who celebrated because Christmas just comes.

I think I will try very hard to be a Who or remember a Who this year. All the time singing carols along with the radio.

Spankings versus Beatings

(sigh) been meaning to write this for days. Just lazy, I guess.

There has been a big brouhaha across the nation over Massachusetts lawmakers considering the absolute ban of pinching, spanking, etc., of children by the parents. And I agree. That's just silly. I've heard some psychologist on radio saying unfortunately, some parents just go too far. Well, that's true.But the majority don't seem to. Go through any school, and you will not see kids with bruises and welts in the halls. You will see smooth-skinned kids without injuries, so far as we know. (A handprint on the butt doesn't show.)

In my state, there is a misconception that the state protective agency doesn't want anyone spanking there kids. That's just not true. Most workers were spanked and in turn, spank their own kids. BUT---

What is a spanking, and what is a beating? My parents both spanked me. Dad used his hand on my bottom (outside my clothes). He got a lot of strength into that swing, and it stung. Sometimes left a red mark that lasted 10 minutes. Mom was the product of Southern parenting. She sent me out to pick my own dreaded switch with a few leaves on the end, and then she switched my calves, three time My, that stung! and again, the marks had faded in 10 minutes. While I was getting the corporal punishment, they were both telling me what I had done wrong, (Dad much louder than Mom) how disappointed they were and how they expected me to act in the future. Spankings were not frequent. They really made an impact, so to speak. And I surely didn't want another one. But I never had a mark. That's a legal definition, by the way, of spanking, except I think Texas law gives the marks up to an hour to fade.

Pinching is okay, too, see above. But I have seen kids with 3-4 red-purple marks on their arms from what must have been really vicious pinches. Life-threatening? Nope. Probably doesn't even interfere with the parent child bond too much. Most folks I dealt with seemed to think that unless there were bruises or welts, the spanking would not do its job. Frequently used implements are wooden spoons (one mom meticulously hit her eight-year-old 70 times; she was not out of control), sticks, yardsticks, thick wooden paddles, belts (for some reason, many I saw held the smooth leather end and swung the buckle, leaving gouges where the tongue bit into the skin one or two inches) and the ever popular electric cord. There are dads who have their children drop their pants and lean over a chair so they can spank them bare-assed. That usually leaves bruises for several days.

And no, the state will not take your kids away for any of the above, unless it's considerably more severe than I have discribed.

Discipline means the parent is in control and has a goal, a lesson to be learned, from the spanking. Too often, I've seen evidence the parents lost control and just flailed away.

No, foster parents are NOT allowed to use coropral punishment. Think about it. Why? The kids have already been abused, to the extent they have been taken out of their homes. Foster parents get extra training, and many are super good with kids anyway. You should see the appearance and behaviour of these kids after six months of predictability, safety, and consistent rules. You really can parent effectively without spanking, hitting, slapping or pinching. But for many, it takes classes to introduce these new ideas. It's kind of like always knowing how to use a hammer very well, and then going into a class where you learn about a whole bunch of new tools and how to use them. You hardly have to use the hammer at all any more.

I remember a 13-year-old girl with a single mother we were dealing with. Mom was 28 or 29 and absolutely beautiful, and a very strong woman. She dealt with the schools, with social services, with police, and she was invariably polite. But she had decided what she was going to do and she was not to be dissuaded.

Daughter, 13, was also beautiful and fully developed. At the point of our visit, she was 3-5 months pregnant and stubbornly refusing to reveal the identity of the father Oh. And she had a mouth. Sometimes she got in scuffles at school and ended up in alternative classes. Mom was beside herself.

So the day came when she came to school with welts all over her, electric cord welts. No open cuts, but welts, on her arms on her back and yes, on her barely pregnant belly. This was not discipline. This was Mom utterly losing it. Kid wasn't in mortal danger, but still--not supposed to happen. And it indicated a bad situation at home where things could escalate. I was on-call that day (meaning from 4:30 p.m. that day till 8 a.m. the next morning I was called to handle any reported emergency that came in to my county.) My boss sent me out to get a signed paper contract (not legal in court, but most folks who sign such contracts and put their name on it will honor it. Health care counselors sometimes use the same technique with depressed clients to keep them safe till the next session.)

"There is no way we are picking up this kid," my supervisor told me. "and you are not to leave without a signed contract." Nice work if you can get it...thank God by then we had cell phones.

When I got to the home, Mom was in the kitchen cooking supper. She wasn't happy, but did let me talk to her daughter alone in the bedroom. She turned off the stove and we began to talk. And we talked and talked. She steadfastly refused to sign anything. She obviously was angry and frustrated with her daughter. After two hours, I was getting a little desperate because I relaly needed to use the bathroom. I figured I would have to excuse myself, drive to a store a block or two away and return, hoping she would let me back in.

Finally she sighed and said she didn't understand what was going on these days. Her mother had whipped her children and no one intervened. She said she guessed my parents had never spanked me. No, I told her emphatically. I was spanked.
"Then you had bruises," she said. No, I told her, I had spankings and switchings but I never had a mark after about 10 minutes. She stared at me. I looked at her. We had a joint epiphany. It had never occcurred to her a spanking or whipping could be administered without some lasting marks. It had never occured to me that she didn't understand it could be done withOUT leaving lasting marks. We talked another hour and somehow my bladder perservered. And ultimately she signed. And she kept her word, too.

So when people talk about giving spankings, I've learned that what one person means may be very different from the law. And in many cases, this doesn't matter a great deal. But I still run into people who rhink spankings or whippings mean beating the kid black and blue or leaving switch marks that last for days. That DOES matter.

Government doesn't have a right to intrude on your family to insure your kids a happy childhood. You can still be as dysfunctional as you want. You just can't beat your kids black and blue or puncture their skin with belt buckle tongues or leave bleeding wounds. That's not too intrusive, is it?

Oh, Tannenbaum, how lovely are your branches!

Trees for Troops is an organization that got off the ground three years ago. This year AmEx is assisting. Contrary to the name, most of the trees are not going to the troops, but to their families, who have very little money to pay for fresh trees.
The growers are donating much of their expense, and Amex as well. Here's the thing--they need you-or someone like you--to buy a tree or two. You can do this on-line this weekend or get a list of places you can go by to make a donation.

This is no big, huge mega organization. Three years ago they distributed 4,700 trees. This year they plan to distribute 17,000 to 20,000 trees. In Texas, most of the trees will go to families at Fort Hood or Lackand.

What does a tree mean to someone? I don't know. I only know as an adult, my sons and I went out one holiday year to pick out the tree and here was this white pine. The tree of my childhood. And very pretty. My dad liked them because he said the branches were far enough apart to really see the individual ornaments. Oh, but that tree was so much more than pretty. It was a whole childhood. Both my parents were gone. I had an uncle who sent us $150 each year. He didn't know it, but his annual gift paid for the tree, the food, and any gifts I could eke out (one was always a paperback book.) But that tree. It was twice the price of the regular trees. I looked and looked at that tree, but I couldn't justify paying for that tree. So I started to turn around to leave when my older son grabbed my arm. "Mom," he said, "get it Let that be your gift to yourself this Christmas."

And so I did. And it WAS my Christmas gift. It spread our home with the scent of balsom, sparkled beautifully, shimmered as I played Christmas carols and listened to my children laugh. A tree can be mighty special.

I can't remember most of the Chrismas presents I've gotten in my life, but I'll never forget that tree.

So this weekend, consider a donation to Trees for Troops. You might just put in a little magic for some kids missing their parents at Christmas.

Countcher blessings and quitcher bitching

Some years back, I was making a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. I was using an old, glass pie plate that certainly was inexpensive, but old enough it was deeper than its counterpoints today. The crust was already rolled out and lying in the pan as I combined the ingredients for the filling. The oven was heating.

Suddenly, I had one of those moments where I felt so connected to the generations before this present moment. My grandmother, who married in the 1890's, had bought this plate--I don't know when--and used it. My mother had made pies in this plate. And here was I, making my filling from my mother's recipe in a 1935 church cookbook, before stoves had thermostats. Recipes called for a hot oven or a moderate oven or a warm oven. My mother's recipe differed from most modern pumpkin pie recipes in its use of ginger. It always seemed to me her pumpkin pie was just a little better, but that may simply have been love and tradition. But there I was, at the kitchen counter, making a pie as my mother had, as my grandmother had, using the same dish. And for that moment, we were connected. I wasn't a lone woman standing there but a link in a chain of women, each of whom had loved the next generation and cooked for them. And, I feel quite sure, giving thanks for what they had. Because I DID know those women.

When I was growing up, there was always seven for dinner--my three grandparents, my uncle, my parents and me. We raised turkeys, so the bird was very fresh. Dad made the dressing the night before. (As I've blogged, I've come to wonder where he learned to cook, because he did, quite a bit. And he always made the stuffing and cooked the turkey.) As I got older, he delighted in showing me how he made the stuffing. The secret, he said, was to go by the smell. He cooked and stirred until it SMELLED right.Celery and onions, and he always added a finely diced apple. Fresh cornbread, still hot from the pan. Stale bread that had been bought a week before and sat on the refrigerator getting stale. Less bread, I think, than cornbread. Salt, pepper, poultry seasoning and a little sage. Smelling right had to do with the spices. A can of chicken broth,maybe, or more likely or he would boil the neck for broth, to provide the flavorful moisture to bind it together.Then refrigerated overnight to ripen the flavors.

The next morning he would waken at 4:30 a.m. to stuff the turkey with the dressing, saving enough for an 8X8 pan for my mother, who preferred a dryer stuffing with giblet gravy. It went in a large roaster and into the oven. In those days before infusion, he was pulling it out every 15 minutes or half hour to baste it again. His turkeys were always juicy and flavorful. I would awaken to the wonderful aroma of baking turkey and stuffing throughout the house, in addition to the possible breakfast smells like frying bacon. Since the turkey had to stand for awhile when he pulled the finished bird out before he could cut it, there was plenty of time to cook mother's stuffing and the Hubbard or acorn squash, each with their pat of butter and salt and pepper. They weren't SO bad, just not my favorites, but my history buff parents insisted that at the first Thanksgiving, the Indians brought squash and maybe succotash. THAT I really liked. Mashed potatoes, and no, we didn't do gravy, unless someone wanted to use the giblet gravy, and I think some did. Mother always made a sweet potato casserole, too, which we ate on the day, and she mostly threw away a few days later. A relish plate full of cut celery stalks, black and stuffed olives and maybe sliced dills. Mother served store-bought rolls, but always put out a compote of cherry preserves. Cranberry sauce.And then, while I carefully cleared the table, Mom would go whip the whipping cream to go on our slices of pumpkin pie.

Grandaddy was a Methodist minister, and we always asked the blessing before meals anyway. The Thanksging prayer was longer, but, I think, pretty interesting as he thanked the Lord for stuff I had just taken for granted during the year.Much conversation and laughter. A lot of love at that table.

The first time my husband took me to his grandmother's in Oklahoma for Thanksgiving, I realized how different holiday customs can be. Here, too, was custom and tradition. The same white tablecloth. But my word. First, his cousin and her husband and his aunt and uncle were there, as well as his mother and brother and us and his great-aunt. Secondly, there was a turkey and a ham and was there a roast? maybe. Dressing, and her recipe required eggs and was baked outside the turkey and was delicious. Giblet gravy and regular gravy, and yep, the same store-bought rolls, and at least three kinds of congealed salads and green bean casserole and...I can't possibly remember. Fruit salad with marshmallows, melt in your mouth pound cake and at least three kinds of pie. I think it was more like five kinds. And again, a lot of laughter and conversation. There was a lot of love at THAT table, too.

As I like to think there was at my own. I never provided the bounty his grandmother did, but I added ham to the turkey and extra dishes. One year, instead of turkey or ham, we had fried quail breasts and grilled sirloin steak. And I made more than one dessert. Some years, we invited friends to join us, and my late brother-in-law and his children were regulars at the table for several years after his wife was killed in a traffic accident. I have not cooked such a meal since the arthritis hit about 10 years ago. I am struggling to get back some of my coping skills to do more than simple cooking now, but it will be awhile. But in my whole life, I have never sat at table for Thanksgiving with anyone but people I really liked and enjoyed. Something to be thankful for.

Friday, on the radio, several persons were sharing stories of Duty Gatherings, where at least some if not all the persons dislike or feel contentious about the others and someone always takes umbrage, grabs their family and storms out. A friend told me she had a Duty Thanksgiving which wasn't so bad because they mostly got along and the food was good. But there was no question of her spending the holidays with her parents. It Wasn't Allowed. And this doesn't even get into the nasty drunk family member who destroys the peace. I guess, maybe after a few years, you get used to it? But how horrible to say, "I have to go" rather than "I want to go."

But this is the holidays, the time of illusion, where fantasy is in full force. Someone was saying recently that this is no longer a period of truth, but of image. So many of us care more about the appearance of how things are to the reality. (Huh. wonder how holiday dinners are for members of Congress.) There are as many expectations and traditions as there are families.

I simply give thanks this year for the many, many happy holidays I have shared and the love my family has shared. How lucky, lucky I have been.

One man on the radio said his family, he and siblings all grown, were simply having more and more trouble with a traditional dinner since his mother's death. She had always done it. Getting together wasn't the problem, they all really like each other. But a few years ago, they said the heck with it, pulled out the grill and had a delicious holiday meal of grilled hamburgers and French fries. It was, he said, a great relief. Makes sense to me.

Well, next week is round one. The easy one. Just a meal and family. The big, complicated doozy of a holiday is ahead. I'll probably run into you at Walmart sooner or later. (Did I mention I really hate to shop, almost ANYtime?) But at some time, maybe not till Christmas Eve but sometime, I will get to awe and wonder. And then all will be well.

The Cheerleader Drugs in Modern Medicine

Somehow, a cookie must have followed me home, because now almost every time I open e-mail, I've got three offerings for Viagra.Other than deleting, I don't know what to do, but it is mildly irritating. Before the Viagra showed up, it was offers for mail order drug programs. At least there was some logical chance I could use those.

When I read a magazine, there are always several pages advertising drugs ranging from antihistimines to heartburn remedies,and antidepressants,to hormone therapy to rather mysterious ads that advertise drugs whose use I can't figure out.

The radio also abounds with drug ads.

I understand there is a plethora of drug advertising on television as well. When I moved into my current home six years ago, there was no aerial and I refuse to get cable,so I seldom watch television. But plenty of ads are out there. People with tivo tell me they escape the deluge by simply deleting the advertising on the shows they watch.

Is the advertising effective?

At the same time all this advertising is hitting the public, drug company reps are hitting the doctors, leaving boxes of samples for the doctors to try on their patients. Or refill orders when the doctors have started using them.
Patients show up with a wish list of drugs they want to try and discuss it with their doctors. Sometimes they have conditions that contraindicate what they want to try, sometimes not. Sometimes the doctors have a good supply of what the patient wants to try and there seems no harm, so off they go with a handful of samples to try before coming back for a prescription. So yes, use of those drugs is up. ca-ching!

Then let us not forget the surgical ads. Knee replacements with specific brands is a frequent one I hear. Now a partial knee replacement. Lap-band surgery to control weight. I read in a national news magazine recently (don't remember which one) that an increasing number of parents are getting the surgery for their teenagers, even when they are not morbidly obese. And (shudder) that creepy facelift surgery where they don't really cut but thread string through the muscle and suture it at the sides of the face to lift the desired area. (I did see some video on this and it gave me the creeps). And, of course, laysic(sic) surgery for better vision.

The surgical ads are effective, too.

Apparently, we consumers who are howling about the high price of our meds, mean only those meds that basically keep us alive, like blood pressure, heart and vascular meds, diabetes, etc. No ads for those. Maybe it's the fact we don't get to choose. I just know the American public is asking for more medical drugs and procedures than ever before. And I marvel at the effects of the advertising, because that has to be a factor.

Now consider the kid watching cartoons who asks for the toys advertised during the commercials. And we chuckle indulgently at the susceptibility of our children to tv advertising.

Well, folks, you are all grown up. And you see an ad for this medication or that medical procedure, and you say, ooooh, gotta have it. You don't even listen to the possible side effects.

To me, the kids make more sense.

The Warming of Bank Customer Service

Had a visit at the bank recently. I've had an account forever in one of the large, mega-size banks (partly because they have ATMs all over the place.) After all these years, never once have they offered a service that would save me money. So I was intrigued when they said something about coming in to cut my service charges. I made an appointment to be there.

The day of my appointment, I overslept and had an earlier appointment. I threw on some clothes and dashed out the door. After that appointment, I stopped at a restaurant for some soup, then moseyed over to the bank, getting there on the dot.
I ran my hand over my clothing, automatically smoothing and tucking any tags that had come out.

Whoops. That's when I learned I had my shirt on wrong side out. I hate when that happens.

Well, I was on time, so I went in. And indeed, the bank wanted to change the designations on my accounts, leaving the account numbers alone. I shouldn't be paying ANY charges, the young man said. Click. It was done. Anything else he could help me with? he asked. I asked if there was anything he could do about the over-frequent promotional materials the bank was sending me? All I wanted each month was my statements. He said he believed he could do that, went somewhere else on the computer and clicked. We'll see, but I'm pleased overall. He tried to sell me a bank credit card, which I refused. Then I asked for info on how to go online to check my accounts and make payments. He set up my user password and gave me three pages of instructions to utilize it. So now, maybe, I won't be quite as much a disosaur as previously.

We parted most amicably, me having rather warm feelings for my bank for the first time in oh, 13 years.

I brought this up at Yahzee later that week, and the others agreed: banks have had a sea change. They are warmer, friendlier, offering actual services. A financial friend we all know says it's because of the competition among too many banks, and a bunch of those banks are going to go under in the next few years. Oh, well.

In the meantime, the season of bank warming towards the customer feels very nice.