Is it any wonder that people talk about the weather. It never stays the same. Even when it does, like during a drought, there's always the anticipation of change.
There's a belief that people talk about the weather when they have nothing else to say.
Not true, I say. Because usually, when talking about weather, people have plenty to say. They can talk and talk and talk.
And can you think of a better, less pushy way to get to know someone? Do they bask in the sun, or do they prefer cuddling in the cold? Do the pretty pastels of spring brighten their world and mood, or are the more vibrant colors of fall their thing? Can you argue the merits of the seasons with camaraderie, or does someone get angry defending their climate?
And, of course, global warming -- now known as global climate change after the cold and snowy winter -- is a hot topic in the more sophisticated circles. Farmer in the drought or sheik in the desert, the weather is always sure to get a response.
That's why we talk.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Is it Over Yet?
There are daffodils in my flower bed. Bright green leaves. Big fat buds. Clusters of them, pushing out from the covering of leaves beneath the (now melted) snow. I don't know when they got there, but there they are. I think today's rain must have squashed the dead leaves down to let the green out.
And such a lovely green it is.
In the meantime, it is snowing again in Kansas. My niece just posted a picture on Facebook of her freshly shoveled walk. I had to enlarge the pic to see where the walk is supposed to be.
Last week it was March. Windy and warm.
Over the weekend it snowed again, just flurries.
Today it is April. Rain, rain, more rain. And daffodils awaiting.
If only the calendar could keep up with the weather.
But then, we'd be pretty dizzy by now wouldn't we?
And such a lovely green it is.
In the meantime, it is snowing again in Kansas. My niece just posted a picture on Facebook of her freshly shoveled walk. I had to enlarge the pic to see where the walk is supposed to be.
Last week it was March. Windy and warm.
Over the weekend it snowed again, just flurries.
Today it is April. Rain, rain, more rain. And daffodils awaiting.
If only the calendar could keep up with the weather.
But then, we'd be pretty dizzy by now wouldn't we?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
How cheap is that?
Now that gasoline is over $3.00 a gallon, even the service stations don't rush to put up their prices. Some few places let their signs fall into disrepair, surviving on convenience customers instead of competing actively for business. Others are looking for new ways to attract the drive-by consumer.
The price signs proclaim 3.09 for regular, 3.45 for diesel, and under those there is often an .89 or .99. Now, it has been a long, lo-o-o-o-ng time since any service station has sold anything for so low a price. What could this alluringly priced item be? Why should I stop here instead of there?
It is coffee.
Gas stations are pricing their coffee on their street signs, in an effort to get you to stop here instead of there. The emphasis is no longer on fueling your car, but on keeping you going. They know the gas prices will no longer bring you in, but you still need some reason -- any reason -- to prefer their business to the next one down the road.
So they offer coffee.
Any kind, any style, any size. Well, some places have any size for .99. Others have 16 ounces for .89.
Just like with gasoline, it depends on where you stop.
The price signs proclaim 3.09 for regular, 3.45 for diesel, and under those there is often an .89 or .99. Now, it has been a long, lo-o-o-o-ng time since any service station has sold anything for so low a price. What could this alluringly priced item be? Why should I stop here instead of there?
It is coffee.
Gas stations are pricing their coffee on their street signs, in an effort to get you to stop here instead of there. The emphasis is no longer on fueling your car, but on keeping you going. They know the gas prices will no longer bring you in, but you still need some reason -- any reason -- to prefer their business to the next one down the road.
So they offer coffee.
Any kind, any style, any size. Well, some places have any size for .99. Others have 16 ounces for .89.
Just like with gasoline, it depends on where you stop.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
failure fails to succeed
There is a sign on the wall of the cardiac unit at Christ Hospital in Cincinnati that says. Heart Failure does not mean your heart is failing.
The sign goes on to explain that heart failure simply means that the heart isn't effective at doing its job. (my own words here)
The sign has me puzzled. Not about heart failure, about definitions. How do they define failure? Isn't a definition of failure not effectively succeeding? Isn't failure not doing one's job?
Obviously, this is not complete and total failure -- it's okay to get help when help is needed. Sometimes, failure to ask for help is more of a personal prideful failure.
The sign is meant to reassure. I know that. But why lie? Heart failure means your heart is failing on its own. We are here to help, and there are things we can do that will help.
Don't say failure isn't failing. Because it is. Even then, some failures are successful. What would they think of that? How will they explain it?
The sign goes on to explain that heart failure simply means that the heart isn't effective at doing its job. (my own words here)
The sign has me puzzled. Not about heart failure, about definitions. How do they define failure? Isn't a definition of failure not effectively succeeding? Isn't failure not doing one's job?
Obviously, this is not complete and total failure -- it's okay to get help when help is needed. Sometimes, failure to ask for help is more of a personal prideful failure.
The sign is meant to reassure. I know that. But why lie? Heart failure means your heart is failing on its own. We are here to help, and there are things we can do that will help.
Don't say failure isn't failing. Because it is. Even then, some failures are successful. What would they think of that? How will they explain it?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Longest Month
We know that Nature and man too often disagree, and the month of February is a perfect example of that. February is the longest month. It encompasses the snows of December, the cold of January, the winds of March, the rains (which in February are frozen) of April. Only at the very end, and often only if we are lucky, do we get a hint of the flowers of May.
It is frustrating that our calendars tell us that we are nearly into spring, as we continue daily to battle the blues of a too-long winter. Only four weeks till warmth, the calendar says, as we chop our firewood or buy our fuel for the coldest blasts of the year.
Only three weeks, the calendar lies, until sunshine comes, and the warm, wet winds, as we once again add an extra layer of clothing to keep us warm as we scrape the ice off our windshields. Only two weeks, the calendar declares, until life becomes beautiful again, and we look out our windows at ice sculptures that glitter in the hard sunshine. (Hmm. Hard? And Sunshine? Maybe the calendar is not so wrong as we first thought.) One more week, swears that calendar of ours, one more week and we will be heading out of winter, as the blizzard roars.
After the blizzard, we walk outside, checking for dangers and damages, and what is that we see, just below the stalactites of water hanging from our eaves. It is a different blade of white, tinged with maybe purple, maybe yellow. A flower, not afraid to brave the cold and the snow. It breathes in the cold crisp air and sends sunshine deep into the earth
Maybe the calendar is not so wrong, we think, but then again, we know. These last four weeks - twenty-eight days - no matter who was counting or how, have taken a lot longer than the six hundred seventy two hours allotted to them by our measurements. It seems that we have spent all those hours battling the last blasts of winter.
February, the longest month, draws to a close.
It is frustrating that our calendars tell us that we are nearly into spring, as we continue daily to battle the blues of a too-long winter. Only four weeks till warmth, the calendar says, as we chop our firewood or buy our fuel for the coldest blasts of the year.
Only three weeks, the calendar lies, until sunshine comes, and the warm, wet winds, as we once again add an extra layer of clothing to keep us warm as we scrape the ice off our windshields. Only two weeks, the calendar declares, until life becomes beautiful again, and we look out our windows at ice sculptures that glitter in the hard sunshine. (Hmm. Hard? And Sunshine? Maybe the calendar is not so wrong as we first thought.) One more week, swears that calendar of ours, one more week and we will be heading out of winter, as the blizzard roars.
After the blizzard, we walk outside, checking for dangers and damages, and what is that we see, just below the stalactites of water hanging from our eaves. It is a different blade of white, tinged with maybe purple, maybe yellow. A flower, not afraid to brave the cold and the snow. It breathes in the cold crisp air and sends sunshine deep into the earth
Maybe the calendar is not so wrong, we think, but then again, we know. These last four weeks - twenty-eight days - no matter who was counting or how, have taken a lot longer than the six hundred seventy two hours allotted to them by our measurements. It seems that we have spent all those hours battling the last blasts of winter.
February, the longest month, draws to a close.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
spring in the air
I keep searching for the signs. First robin, no. First green shoots, no. First green grass, no. But there are less tangible signs, seen everywhere in the neighborhood. People are moving. People are buying new furniture and throwing out the old. They stay at home birds are greeting the dawn with friendly chatter. One can almost hear them saying, "Well, Sunshine, when are you going to stay awhile? We've been missing you all this time." The skunks are out and about, seeking their Awakening. Men are looking over their lawn mowers.
It always amazes and amuses me that one of the first invisible signs of spring is men talking about their mowers. Day after day, they've been talking about shoveling, heating, ice, and one day at the lunch break, they all start talking about their lawn mowers. In my experience, it's been as if someone flipped a switch. Winter talk is over -- let's go on to better things.
It will still snow, freeze, blow ice, be cold. They'll still complain about all that work, but immediately change the subject back to the mowers.
Women do the same thing, to a lesser degree. They talk, in public settings, about flowers. In more private conversations, the discussions are about vegetables.
Long before the snow has melted, before the ground has thawed, before any signs appear -- men are mowing the grass, women planting, and let's not forget the skunks scenting the air.
Yes, Spring is on the way.
It always amazes and amuses me that one of the first invisible signs of spring is men talking about their mowers. Day after day, they've been talking about shoveling, heating, ice, and one day at the lunch break, they all start talking about their lawn mowers. In my experience, it's been as if someone flipped a switch. Winter talk is over -- let's go on to better things.
It will still snow, freeze, blow ice, be cold. They'll still complain about all that work, but immediately change the subject back to the mowers.
Women do the same thing, to a lesser degree. They talk, in public settings, about flowers. In more private conversations, the discussions are about vegetables.
Long before the snow has melted, before the ground has thawed, before any signs appear -- men are mowing the grass, women planting, and let's not forget the skunks scenting the air.
Yes, Spring is on the way.
Friday, February 11, 2011
help needs helped
Everyone needs a hand now and then. Sometimes an applauding hand, but more often the need is for a helping hand. There's nothing wrong with needing help, and there's nothing wrong with asking for and accepting help.
There is something very wrong with taking help for granted.
Today's 'children' are too often guilty of that. They have taken no responsibility for themselves, so that when hard times happen, they greedily grab up every offer of assistance, demand more, and than wonder why no one respects them.
It doesn't matter if they are 25, college (paid for by parents) graduates sitting on their behind playing video or computer games while they wait for the job offers to pour in. These are the job offers attached to graduation . Who ever heard of working for a job before working at one?
It doesn't matter if they are single moms with multiple children of multiple sirage. Many of them -- not all -- are waiting for someone else to pay their rent, their childcare, their this or that.
They are not any different from the first example. They are no different.
They expect help handed to them, because no one has taught them any different way. They haven't even been taught to ask for help. Why would anyone expect them to think of saying "thank you."?
No one has taught them how.
No one has shown the way.
There is something very wrong with taking help for granted.
Today's 'children' are too often guilty of that. They have taken no responsibility for themselves, so that when hard times happen, they greedily grab up every offer of assistance, demand more, and than wonder why no one respects them.
It doesn't matter if they are 25, college (paid for by parents) graduates sitting on their behind playing video or computer games while they wait for the job offers to pour in. These are the job offers attached to graduation . Who ever heard of working for a job before working at one?
It doesn't matter if they are single moms with multiple children of multiple sirage. Many of them -- not all -- are waiting for someone else to pay their rent, their childcare, their this or that.
They are not any different from the first example. They are no different.
They expect help handed to them, because no one has taught them any different way. They haven't even been taught to ask for help. Why would anyone expect them to think of saying "thank you."?
No one has taught them how.
No one has shown the way.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Child Abuse Prevention
There are classes and months and groups devoted to this topic. But when it comes right down to facts, there is no Mr. Everyman way of preventing child abuse.
You can see it, hear it, feel it in the air around the child at risk, but there is not anything a bystander can do. If you call the authorities, you will be grilled and questioned and examined, while the child is still being called names, smacked around, and neglected. You have to be able to prove that there is abuse or negligence that leads to abuse. It does no good to "prevent child abuse" unless you have an abused child to show the authorities. Bruises. Burns. Brain injuries.
How many children have had their brightness dimmed because the laws do not allow "Child abuse Prevention"?
You can see it, hear it, feel it in the air around the child at risk, but there is not anything a bystander can do. If you call the authorities, you will be grilled and questioned and examined, while the child is still being called names, smacked around, and neglected. You have to be able to prove that there is abuse or negligence that leads to abuse. It does no good to "prevent child abuse" unless you have an abused child to show the authorities. Bruises. Burns. Brain injuries.
How many children have had their brightness dimmed because the laws do not allow "Child abuse Prevention"?
Sunday, February 6, 2011
catching up
It's been a crazy weather week. Heck, today was a crazy weather day! We had spring warm up temperatures, ice, rain, then snow. The forecast called for two or three inches of snow, but it wouldn't accumulate. They sure called that one right! Strangest thing I've heard of for a while.
Found out that the show I was writing about, The Tudors, wasn't even an original BBC series. It was created and broadcast by Showtime. Which makes the future "premiere" of just-watched episodes more ironic.
Then there's the toilet paper commercials. The latest annoying one is the guy who stands in the hall hollering "we're out of toilet paper". Then he gets either a buzz cut or a face full of lint. Okay, where do these people keep their toilet paper? In my house, it's in the bathroom. Or at least near the bathroom. No hollering down the halls and playing catch with it here.
There has to be a better way to make their point. Unless they are trying to say stupid people use their brand.
The ads that appear here in this blog are entertaining. Some of them are obvious from my key words, but most of them are more subtle than that. I say my granddaughter had a fever, and ads appear for pediatric thermometers. I mention donating hygiene products instead of food, and offers appear for both paper towels and canned goods.
Now, if I could just convince the computer that I do NOT shop in Dayton, I'd be happy.
At least for a minute.
Found out that the show I was writing about, The Tudors, wasn't even an original BBC series. It was created and broadcast by Showtime. Which makes the future "premiere" of just-watched episodes more ironic.
Then there's the toilet paper commercials. The latest annoying one is the guy who stands in the hall hollering "we're out of toilet paper". Then he gets either a buzz cut or a face full of lint. Okay, where do these people keep their toilet paper? In my house, it's in the bathroom. Or at least near the bathroom. No hollering down the halls and playing catch with it here.
There has to be a better way to make their point. Unless they are trying to say stupid people use their brand.
The ads that appear here in this blog are entertaining. Some of them are obvious from my key words, but most of them are more subtle than that. I say my granddaughter had a fever, and ads appear for pediatric thermometers. I mention donating hygiene products instead of food, and offers appear for both paper towels and canned goods.
Now, if I could just convince the computer that I do NOT shop in Dayton, I'd be happy.
At least for a minute.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
premiere
Two or three weekends ago, I watched a program, The Tudors, on BBCAmerica. It was ten episodes, One through ten, and it was repeated at least once. During the programs, the commercials were touting the new premiere (there's another kind?) of the series on Wednesday nights. That was interesting. The Tudors, especially wicked old Henry VIII, were interesting people, all five of them. And I was ready to take up the shows where they left off -- shortly after Anne Boleyn's execution.
Come that Wednesday night, imagine my surprise when the "new premiere" was episode 1 of the exact same series that had been on at least twice that Sunday.
I've observed this before. The Harry Potter movies have had more premieres than they have fans, or so it seems. They have premiered on Pay TV, on cable TV, on network TV, and most recently they have premiered, individually, on this or that channel. Harry Potter has premiered on ABC Family channel about two thousand times. The 'premieres' now include a Wednesday night premiere or Sunday morning premieres.
I checked the most recent online dictionaries. Premiere is still defined as a first time appearance. Not a detailed first time appearance.
Not a synonym for rerun.
I don't watch Wednesday night premieres anymore. I've already seen the show.
Come that Wednesday night, imagine my surprise when the "new premiere" was episode 1 of the exact same series that had been on at least twice that Sunday.
I've observed this before. The Harry Potter movies have had more premieres than they have fans, or so it seems. They have premiered on Pay TV, on cable TV, on network TV, and most recently they have premiered, individually, on this or that channel. Harry Potter has premiered on ABC Family channel about two thousand times. The 'premieres' now include a Wednesday night premiere or Sunday morning premieres.
I checked the most recent online dictionaries. Premiere is still defined as a first time appearance. Not a detailed first time appearance.
Not a synonym for rerun.
I don't watch Wednesday night premieres anymore. I've already seen the show.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
We did it!
Yesterday my granddaughter came into my bedroom. I was sleeping, and she patted my face with her little hands, stroked my face, and said, "Mammaw, Mammaw," until she woke me up. I sat up, Put on my glasses and said, "What, Baby? What do you want?"
She jumped up in the air, clapped her hands, and started twisting her arms and butt around. "We did it!" she shouted. "We did it! Yay!" She had obviously been involved in watching Dora the Explorer, and she helped.She danced and sang while Mammaw laughed and got out of bed.
What a wake up. It isn't every day that we can wake up with a "we did it!" attitude, but it should be.
That will be my goal.
Today, I did it!
She jumped up in the air, clapped her hands, and started twisting her arms and butt around. "We did it!" she shouted. "We did it! Yay!" She had obviously been involved in watching Dora the Explorer, and she helped.She danced and sang while Mammaw laughed and got out of bed.
What a wake up. It isn't every day that we can wake up with a "we did it!" attitude, but it should be.
That will be my goal.
Today, I did it!
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