iScream

             Hubby Bill announced he was going to the AT&T store for a phone update and asked if I would like one, too. I tagged along with mixed emotions—excitement and dread. Yes, it would be nice to have more speed and to take sharper pictures. But entertaining no delusions about my computer skills, I also knew I was in for a lot of frustration.

            To preserve her anonymity and to ensure I don’t get sued, I’ll call the AT&T sales rep Holly. Holly was pleasant and, no doubt about it, knew her stuff. After she sold Bill and me two new iPhone 5s, she downloaded our contacts into them. Then she told us the instruction pamphlet in the box contained everything we needed to know. But I had a question:  “Can I transfer all the photos from my old phone onto this one?”

            Any grandparent will understand the importance of this request. For most of my life, I’ve carried no more than two or three pictures in my wallet, but now I need all 491 of my pics and videos with me at ALL times. I never know when someone will ask to see my grandsons blowing out birthday candles. Or sliding down a slide. Or turning over. Or...You get my point.

            Holly said, “Oh, sure. You can do it through iTunes. It’s simple.”

            Her language shocked me. I couldn't believe she used the s-word: simple.

            AT&T might have done an excellent job training Holly to sell and program phones, but they fell short in the customer-relations department. Did the girl even look at me? Were my gray hair and Clarks sandals and the leopard-print case on my old phone not enough to scream, “BABY BOOMER!”? And did she not know that to a Baby Boomer NOTHING associated with technology is ever REMOTELY simple?

             It’s not that Boomers are stupid. It’s just that, unlike her generation, we weren’t trained to use a computer before we were trained to use the potty. And while they might be able to text with their thumbs, I could teach them a thing or two about using the nominative case of pronouns correctly.

            But not wanting to appear stupid, I asked no more questions and took the phone home.  After hours of googling and searching without transferring a single photo, I returned the next day to the store and to Holly. She patiently punched in some numbers on my phone and explained my pics had been stored on my iCloud. All I had to do was download them. Right. 

Thanks, Apple, for shattering my "cloud" fantasy.

            For all my life, a cloud has been a cottony puff of bliss, associated with floating above life’s problems and experiencing euphoria. But Apple has shattered that fantasy. Now, for me, cloud is just another word for stress. My photos were somewhere, floating on my own, personal iCloud. Obvisously they liked it there, because I couldn’t convince them to leave and take up residence in my new phone.  So three days later, not caring if I appeared stupid, I went back to the store and...success! I have no clue what they did and don’t want to find out. All I know is I have my pics on my new phone, and I’m satisfied.

             But if you yourself don’t want to be shocked, don’t mention the iC-word in my presence.

Don't Just Listen to Your Mother--Watch Her

            When the producers of the show Listen to Your Mother called for auditions in Oklahoma, the word listen threw me for a loop. I couldn’t think of anything to write. I mean, yeah, when I was growing up, there were plenty of time-honored, universal “mommy-isms”: Wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident and must go to the hospital; if you keep making that face, it will freeze like that; and in my particular situation, nice Baptist girls don’t dance. (They did. They just didn’t admit it to their parents or their pastor.) But I couldn’t think of anything my mother had told me that was particularly unusual, funny, or riveting and certainly not enough to be the focus of an essay.   

            But at last week’s Oklahoma City performance of Listen to Your Mother, I realized that most of the stories weren’t so much about what mothers said. They were about what mothers did. And with that epiphany, I had lots to tell.

            As with most mothers, there’s not enough time or space to list every loving, selfless action I saw my mother perform. But here are a few that stand out in my memory:

Sewing. In a home where there was plenty of money for needs but little for luxuries, my sister and I were very well dressed. Easter, Christmas, even an end-of-school picnic—any occasion that called for something special to wear sent Mama to her sewing machine, making sure her girls were fashionistas before fashionistas was even a word.  

Traveling. Mama inherited her own mother’s love of travel and insisted our family do a lot of it. Money might have been tight, but I don’t recall a single summer without a vacation. I’m not talking about fancy cruises or airline flights to exotic places. I’m talking about treks across the country, sometimes in a car with no air conditioning and sometimes towing a camping trailer. But these were trips to places that were exotic to us: Washington, D.C., Yellowstone Park, New York City, Canada, Mexico...the list goes on and on. Compared to some of our friends whose total traveling experience consisted of a three-day trip to Six Flags, my sister, brother, and I received a quality, fun (most of the time), and first-hand education as a result of our journeys. And on that topic...  

Mama still models a love of
reading and learning.

Teaching by example. Neither Mama nor Daddy went to college, but both valued and modeled reading and learning. I cannot remember anyone ever overtly stating that I would go to college, but I always knew it was expected of me. And to ensure it happened, my mother took on an extra job of driving a kindergarten van to help pay for it.  

Worshiping. As in many homes, Mama was the spiritual leader in our family. She was the one who insisted we go to church and the one who made the effort to get a family of five ready every Sunday. I didn’t always appreciate this, and there was a time in my life when I stopped going to church altogether. When my mother told me I needed to take my daughter to church, I responded that as a teacher I’d seen a lot of students who were “church-goers” and I hadn’t noticed it helping them all that much. “That’s probably true,” she said. “Taking children to church doesn’t guarantee they’ll turn out well. But it does guarantee parents did everything they could to help them turn out well.” She offered wise advice, and in this instance, I listened.   

            There isn’t enough space or time to mention all my mother’s caring actions over the years. And I’m sure many of you have your own endless list. You might not be able to write them all down, but why not share one or two of them with me and other readers? And, if possible, you just might share them with your mother.

Happy Mothers’ Day to Mama and to all mothers everywhere!

 

Blog on Life Support

            This is the week—I think this is the week— that Dr. Lisa Marotta challenged us to take a technology time out. No, we don’t have to go cold turkey, completely giving up all of our little techie devices we’ve grown to depend on and love. But in taking the pledge for “screen free week,” we were to strive for balance. Try “talking” to someone on the phone rather than texting. Maybe engaging in face-to-face dialogue rather than "facebooking." Or reading a book rather than watching TV or playing a video game or...blogging.

 Uh oh.

Big lesson I've learned about blogging: If I
don't write, readers won't come!

            As you can see from the date of this post, it’s only two days into screen free week, and already I’ve fallen off the wagon. But I’ve got a good excuse. I really, really do. I’ve spent the past ten days either visiting family or having family visit me, so screen free week began early and was more or less forced upon me. Not that I’m complaining. I had a great time, and it was truly liberating not to feel compelled to drag out my laptop or phone at every unoccupied second. But I’m afraid what breathed new life into me dealt a death blow to my blog. It has been over two weeks since my last post, and my stats have all but flatlined. Five hits a day—three of which are mine—are barely keeping it alive.

            So in a desperate attempt to resuscitate my blog and remain true to the spirit of screen free week, I’m resorting to cheating—uh, I mean, borrowing. And in blog-speak “borrowing” means providing a link. If you’ve not already read Lisa’s blog, hop on over there and see what she has to say about taking time out from technology and tuning in to life. There’s so much wisdom in what she has to say, you’ll probably want to take the pledge yourself.

            Next week, I’ll let you know how my tech time out went.

           

In Need of a Catharsis?

            Don’t feel bad if you don’t know the meaning of catharsis. I probably wouldn’t either if I hadn’t taught high school sophomores for over twenty years and included that term in the background material for Antigone. In my ongoing and often fruitless quest to help teenagers understand literature, I’d explain that catharsis meant “a purgation or cleansing of emotions.” When that was met with blank stares, I tried to put it into everyday language. “Catharsis,” I told them, “is a good cry.”

             While some will tell you catharsis is usually achieved through art, there are other ways to experience it. When I was in college I had friends who relieved pent up feelings by riding a roller coaster and screaming at the top of their lungs. And, of course, most males will swear by engaging in some form of extreme athletic activity or by pounding away on...well, just about anything. But for me, there’s no more effective way of bringing feelings back into balance than a good ol’, hold-nothing-back wailing session.

             So, you ask, what sparked all this ruminating about a term few people know and even fewer care about?  It was an article I found while thumbing through an outdated magazine. It announced 2012 was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the play SteelMagnolias. Oh my gosh! How did I miss that??? Had I known in time, I would’ve thrown a Steel Magnolias party, complete with “cuppa, cuppa, cuppa,” and sweet tea—“the dinner wine of the South." Besides having great dialogue and zingers—“You are a boil on the butt of humanity”—Steel Magnolias is the mother of all tear-jerkers. Talk about catharsis. If you aren’t emotionally drained after watching this play/movie, you have some serious sensitivity issues going on.

            I vividly recall the first time I saw the movie. Because I had heard it was sad—a jumbo-box-of-hankies sad—I purposely went alone at a non-peak hour so as not to embarrass myself. It proved to be a good strategy. In the darkness of the almost deserted theater, I didn’t even try to hold back my sniffling, sobbing, out-n-out blubbering. I’m sure if I had, all the backed-up tears and snot would’ve caused my head to explode. As it was, I left the theater with both my emotions and my sinuses completely “purged.”

            If you’ve never seen the play or movie—and I can’t imagine there’s anyone over the age of twelve who hasn’t—don’t be put off by my post. Yes, the story is sad, no getting around it. But Robert Harling, who wrote the play, ingeniously balanced its seriousness with laugh-out-loud moments. As Truvy says, “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” And “laughter through tears” is my favorite way to experience a catharsis.    

            Now it’s your turn. Have a favorite way of experiencing a catharsis? Or how about sharing a favorite line from Steel Magnolias?

It's Alive!!!

             Look closely. Do you see them? There they are! Yes, there, nestled at the base of bare stems and stalks, hiding under a protective blanket of dead foliage are the first new leaves of my hydrangea. They tell me the bush is alive and soon will be erupting in an ostentatious display of lime green leaves and gaudy pink blossoms. They tell me the bush, like me, has survived another dreary winter and is ready to celebrate the cyclic wholeness of life.

            Every year the first warm days of spring find me out in my yard, nudging aside dirt clods and brown leaves with the toe of my shoe, bending down to closely inspect what might be underneath. As intent as a child hunting for Easter eggs, I’m searching for bits of green. And when I discover that first new sprig—either sprouting from a branch or poking its pointy nose through the dirt—I’m as thrilled as the kid who finds the prize egg.

             This week my friend Sonia wrote on her blog she considers spring the prettiest season in Oklahoma, and she posted some fairly convincing pics to support her claim. But I don’t agree. For me, autumn is the most beautiful season in this state. However, even with its buff-colored grass, mercurial temperatures, and threats of violent weather, spring is my favorite season. And although I’ve now seen quite a few springs, I still get excited about another one’s arrival. After being stuck inside the house and stuffed inside heavy sweaters and coats all winter, I can’t wait to get outdoors—to fill my lungs with fresh air, to expose my bare arms and legs to the sun’s gentle rays (using sunscreen, of course), to dig my fingers into the cool, fertile soil. All my senses are whetted by the sights, the smells, the sounds. By mid-summer the early morning drone of a lawnmower will annoy me, but right now the sound is as inspiring as my favorite hymn. It informs me my neighbor is scalping his lawn and soon the dried turf covering all our yards will be transformed into lush, green carpets. 

            As the famous verse in Ecclesiastes proclaims, “there is a season for every activity” (3:1).  Fall brings relief and refreshment, winter rest and restoration, and summer...well, in Oklahoma I’m not really sure what summer brings other than misery. Just kidding. Summer brings relaxation, recreation, and red, juicy tomatoes! But spring brings renewal. It assures us that regardless of whatever season we might be experiencing in our personal lives, God is in control and there is hope. Spring reminds us God loves us enough to “make everything beautiful in its own time” (3:11). And the triumph of a delicate bud bursting forth from a dry and brittle twig tells us that God, in His abundant mercy, hasn’t given up on mankind—that He continues to offer new beginnings.

Life renewed...the message of spring

            What about you? Does spring put you in the mood to celebrate, to “wax poetic”? What is your favorite season?

   

           

 

Circle of Friends: GONE GIRL and Green Beans

This past Monday night, the Friends met at my house. These gatherings are always one of the highlights of my month, but this particular meeting seemed especially enjoyable. Maybe because I hadn’t been able to attend the past two months. Maybe because all the delectable comfort food they brought hit the spot on a cold “spring” night. Or maybe because Gone Girl—our book for March—lent itself to a very interesting discussion.

The Friends were divided in their opinions of this NY Times bestselling mystery by Gillian Flynn. Basically, it is the story of Amy and Nick, married for five years and hell-bent on destroying each other. Amy is narcissistic, self-absorbed, and psychopathic; Nick merely narcissistic and self-absorbed. Neither is remotely likeable. About two-thirds of the Friends enjoyed the book; one third didn’t. Those who did enjoy it liked it mainly for plot, for its “shock value.” As one Friend so succinctly put it, “It creeped me out.” It isn’t surprising the book’s appeal lies mainly in its plot, as there is NOTHING in either of the two lead characters we can even remotely admire. One Friend said she “admired” Amy’s “evilness,” but I’m thinking she found the “evilness” intriguing rather than admirable. The book did lead to a discussion on the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath—a point we never never fully clarified. One googled source stated the issue is debated at the “highest levels.” We decided we definitely fit into that category!

Having given the opinions of the two-thirds who favored the book, I’ll now give voice to the few dissenters, of which I’m one. Before writing this post, I checked the reviews on Amazon. Given the book’s popularity, I fully expected to see it rated as a five-star or at least a four-star read. I was surprised to see it earned only three and a half stars. The one-star reviews expressed my exact sentiment: There is nothing positive to be gained from reading this book. Or as Miss Dupree, my eleventh-grade English teacher, would have said, “It has no redeeming social value.” As I implied above, there is no protagonist in this story—no one to “pull for.” A protagonist doesn’t have to be perfect, but he/she should have at least some qualities that make him/her worthy of our sympathy. Nope, no such person in Gone Girl. Like Tom and Daisy Buchanan on steroids, the lead characters tear through their egomaniacal lives, leaving a path of destruction in their wake. And we don’t even have a Jay Gatsby to feel sorry for.

As for plot, I’ll admit, Flynn writes a great beginning. The first few pages had me hooked, hungrily reading and turning pages. About a third of the way in, I was suspecting the major twist, and about halfway through, I found the plot to be contrived and unrealistic. My husband and I have been married for almost thirty-nine years, and the only prediction I’ll make with absolute certainty about him is he won’t eat beets. The amazing Amy is able to foretell every single move her husband will make. She might be brilliant, but even a genius wife can’t do that. I thought I might be alone in this assessment, but I found many on Amazon who agree with me. For us, Gone Girl can’t be gone soon enough.

Something all the Friends did agree on—every single dish deserved five stars! It was almost impossible to decide on a single recipe to share with you, but one mentioned several times was Jean’s Beans—prepared by Pat. If only all veggies could taste this delicious!     

Jean's Beans

1 lb. fresh green beans

4 T butter (I use less)

1/2 cup minced onion

4 cloves garlic, crushed

1/4 cup celery, minced

1/2 cup parsley, chopped

1 tsp rosemary or 1/4 tsp dried (98% of the time I use fresh, but I did use dried once and it was still good)

1/4 tsp basil

3/4 tsp salt - I use half this amount if I salt the water the beans cook in

Trim the ends off the beans and cut them diagonally into 2" pieces. Cook in enough water to cover them for 15 mins. or until tender

Drain and keep warm.

Melt the butter and saute the onion, celery and garlic for about 5 mins. Add the parsley, rosemary, basil and salt, cook for another the 10 mins. The recipe says to cover them, but I don't.

Toss everything together and serve.

The original recipe is called Herbed Green Beans and Jean found it in the cookbook San Francisco A La Carte which is put out by the Junior League of San Francisco. It has become the go to holiday recipe for most of my family.

Hope you enjoy this recipe as much as the Friends did. And please share with me your opinion of Gone Girl.

Latest Marketing Ploy--More Questions Than Answers

            No doubt about it, the writers for Yahoo Shine know how to rope in a reader. The teaser under the headshot of an attractive young woman was something like: “What’s different about this mannequin?” Oh, so it was a mannequin. I clicked on the pic. 

            I thought the article would be about how a certain H&M store in Sweden is using lifelike robots as mannequins. I was wrong. What’s causing all the buzz—or what has “gone viral” or “set tongues wagging”—is that the mannequins are a lifelike Size 12. In addition to “sparking an internet praise-a-thon,” the use of these mannequins has raised a criticism: “Will this just encourage obesity?”

            I’ll have to say, this particular question was not what first popped into my mind for many reasons. First, Lane Bryant has used “plus-sized,” “full-figured,” or my favorite Precious Ramwotse euphism “traditionally-built” mannequins for years. The concept is not new. I guess what makes these mannequins so special is that they’re being used in a more mainstream venue—a store that caters to the youthful and “hip”—as opposed to the old and hippy. Second, I don’t consider a Size 12 to be obese. A little overweight, maybe, but not to the point of being unhealthy. And when the average size of women these days is a 14—as the article states—a Size 12 could actually be considered the “new small,” couldn’t it? Anyway, that’s the reasoning I’m going with.

            So while the obesity question didn’t occur to me, here are some that did:

·         What’s with the Princess Leia hairdo? I’m so hoping this isn’t a fashion forecast. But maybe because this store is in Sweden, the Viking-opera-singer look works.

·         Why the socks? Are the mannequin’s feet cold, but not her bare legs and midriff? Has she just smeared Vaseline on her heels and doesn't want to get the platform greasy? Are slouchy, stretched-out socks the latest in sexy boudoir attire? If so, I’ve been sexy all this past winter and didn’t even realize it. I don’t think my husband did, either.

·         If this model is supposed to be so lifelike, where’re the muffin tops? I know they claim to make panties that don’t create these, but I’ve yet to find any that follow through on this promise and still stay up without a belt or suspenders.

·         Along this same line, where are the wobbly bits? If we’re truly going for lifelike here, let’s show a little cottage cheese.

·         Why the shawl? Actually, I know the answer to this—to hide the wing-dings. The only time I’ve bared my upper arms in public in the past few years was to go swimming. And I wouldn’t have done it then if they made swimsuits with sleeves.

            Maybe you can answer some of these questions for me. Or maybe you have questions of your own. Or maybe you just don’t give a rip about what marketers tell women they should look like and you’re happy with yourself whatever size you wear. Please comment!

PS If you know where I can find those magic no-muffin-top panties, I'd really love to hear from you!