The Summer of My Malcontent

When I reflect upon past summers in which I had ample opportunity to do absolutely nothing, yet felt compelled to remain a little worker bee, I think to myself, “Wow, what an idiot.”

As a pre-teen, I continued my education during summer break through daily viewings of the CBS soap opera, Guiding Light (most of the little I know about life came from that show).   I then committed myself to reading any magazine I could get my hands on:  Seventeen, Young Miss., Bop – anything that had self-help hints, make-up tips, and the latest news on Rick Springfield. 

At age 16, I started working after school and during the summer months.  As an adult the allure of summer vacation drove me into a career in education, so what did I do?  I set aside each June, July, and August to work on my master’s degree (which I never got, by the way, and I don’t even care).  I then moved into an administrative role, and haven’t had any summer fun since.

 

That’s a lie.  We’ve taken many fantastic trips and spent a great amount of time around the pool.  I suppose my little musing today is my declaration of rebellion:  I’m not going to bust my hump working this summer.  I’ve got plenty of little tasks lined up to keep me financially sound until I return to the full-time grind in August.  The bills will be paid, the groceries bought, and a few gorgeous things shall be purchased, no doubt. 

Society tells us to work work work so we can get more more more.  I’ve got more than I need, thank you very much, and quite frankly I’ve been through the ringer the last few months, and I know that I’m no good to anybody unless I get some time to just sit and be.

Therein lies the challenge, though, Sweeties.  I find it difficult just to sit and be.

I feel guilty for doing nothing.  I always have.  Isn’t that ridiculous?

So I’ve made a little list of things I’d like to accomplish, which I know counters everything I’ve said up to this point.  Gosh, am I a contradiction today or what?  Who cares – it’s almost lunchtime and I’d like to get this thing posted.

Beth’s Summer Fun To Do List:

Proficiency on the ukulele (I dream of performing a little cabaret act in which I tell funny stories and then balance them with depressing songs.  Think about it:  ‘Guy walks into a bar…’ followed by ‘Today Billy Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge..”)

Elegantly muse more –stop groaning. Ingrates.

Sew – My nieces’ Barbie dolls are swimming nude, and that’s just not done in my family.

Read – I do this already so I shouldn’t even put it on the list.

Anyhow, if you have the summer off, I encourage you to enjoy yourself.  If you don’t, I feel bad for you, you poor slob, and I do hope you can schedule in a little fun at some point. 

 

PS:  Because I’m a giver, here’s my recommended summer reading list, compiled with love just for you:

My Way of Life – Joan Crawford

Jenny and the Jaws of Life – Jincey Willett

Anything by David Sedaris

Gunn’s Golden Rules – Tim Gunn

The Complete Stories of Truman Capote

 

 

This Just In

Goodness gracious, how my heart sang upon reading the New York Post’s coverage of the recent Kardashian-West nuptials:

 

If only every news outlet gave it to us this straight and then shut up about it.

I confess, though, that I don’t watch much news, don’t read much news, and don’t really care that I might be perceived as a bit ignorant when topics of conversation turn to current events. Oh, did I mention that I used to work in broadcast news?   Quite frankly, the media inundates us from every angle, and I vowed a while back not to give them the satisfaction of my attention.  Most of what society perceives as news isn’t really newsworthy at all.  It’s time-wasting filler. 

Example 1:  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that rain has consistently fallen in the Houston area for three days.  Parts of the city flood easily.  I know not to drive in it. I don’t need round-the-clock coverage.  Next.

Example 2:  All things Kardashian.  Who are these people, and why won’t they and their ilk go away? 

Example 3:  A man running for office sought treatment for depression thirty years ago.  And this affects me how?

And don’t get me started on investigative reports that pop up during a ratings period.  If you buy into this propaganda, you’ll come to believe that any and all germs will immediately kill you, your suburb is filled with loose housewives, and that we should all start wearing helmets when walking to and from our cars (dangerous sun rays or angry birds, I’m not sure which one…).  I officially proclaim us as a nation of scaredy-cat, star struck drama queens. 

Back in my brief days as a journalist, a news director told me that my written copy came off as a little ‘upper crust’.  ‘Tone it down.  Pretend you’re writing for a seventh grader.’  I don’t know if that old rule still applies, but perhaps it’s one of the reasons our language skills have drastically declined. But that’s an entirely different post that I shall save for another time.

Anyway, Sweeties, I vote we end this madness now.  Who’s with me?  Stop Klicking (;) on links leading us to the latest in celebrity drivel.  Turn off the telly at 6 and 10 PM. Read a book.   Listen to an entertaining podcast while you’re driving. Turn on some good music (Dean Martin comes to mind), pour a glass of wine, and find someone interesting to talk to (they may very well live in your house, but you haven’t noticed because you’re too busy pressing your face to a screen absorbing the latest headlines).  Call a friend.  Sit and stare into space.  I don’t really care what you do provided it’s safe and legal.  My point is, let’s band together, get real, give our attention where it’s needed, and start enjoying ourselves.  It certainly won’t garner a reporter’s attention, but that’s a good thing, don’t you think?




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I Have a Kitchen Because It Came With the House

I don’t give a damn about broccoli, and I feel the same way about certain spatulas.  Only chumps sift flour, and if you think I’m spending one precious moment of my time carving rosebuds out of radishes, you’re setting yourself up for a lifetime of hurt.

Don’t get me wrong, Sweeties, for I do enjoy spending time in my kitchen, especially when I’m not cooking.  Truthfully though, I do like preparing meals, particularly if they’re a) relatively healthy, and b) extremely easy.  I used to tell everyone (and by everyone, I mean me, myself, and I) that I simply didn’t have time to learn all the fancy-schmancy nuances that come along with creating a stunning and satisfying meal.  That’s a lie, however, and I’ll own it.  I’ve got time, but I simply prefer to spend it in other ways (napping, devising effective-but-humane devices for warding off squirrels, etc.)

 

Mr. Newman and I have been on a juicing/smoothie kick lately.  Like a fine meatloaf, you can put anything in a smoothie and it will turn out okay.  The Mister is a little more particular than I, however.    My ‘Green Goodness’ concoction was met with a look of disgust I hope to never witness again, along with an inquiry about the deal I struck with the yard man following a full day of mowing.  Mr. Newman will rue the day he mocked my super food efforts, once he notices my line-free face, svelte figure, and shiny hair.  My energy shall be boundless, too.  At least that’s what the dirty hippie who gave me the recipe promised. 

Many evenings we work, which doesn’t allow us the opportunity to sit down together and enjoy a full meal.  Juicing is a great way to get that end-of-the-day, much-needed sustenance.  Have you ever tried to suck a sandwich through a straw?  It can’t be done.  Liquid meals are fast, and there isn’t much clean-up afterward.

I sometimes think society puts too much emphasis on food.  I can always find something to eat – just ask my neighbor, whose oranges mysteriously disappear from her tree on a regular basis.  I commend those who can whip up a seven-course meal at the drop of the hat.  I wish I had that sort of enthusiasm, but I don’t.   No one in my house is starving, so I suppose that it’s alright.

 

 

 

Green Goodness Smoothie:

½ cucumber

2 stalks celery

4 leaves of Kale

Parsley (to taste)

Lemon Juice (to taste)

One small apple

Blend until smooth (duh)

Teach 'Em What They Don't Know How

Sitting in a meeting with high school educators and community leaders the other day, the topic of life skills arose.  On one side, we had several who expressed dissatisfaction because too many young people, according to them, didn’t have any.  Some blamed the system, while others blamed parents.  I kept my mouth shut, for I really didn’t have a dog in this fight, and it was getting close to 5pm.  On a Monday.  Following a nice long weekend at the beach.  Remind me never to schedule a work thing the day I return from a vacation.  Anyway, getting back to the point of pointing fingers, I silently played for both teams on the issue.

As someone who’s worked in education now for almost twenty years (egad!), I’ve noticed a slight downward movement within classrooms.  There’s an awful lot of apathy amongst many educators, for myriad reasons, I’m sure:  the pressure of teaching to standardized tests, the fear of calling a kid out on bad behavior for fear of a lawsuit, the anxiety that comes with underfunded schools that have cut the arts in order to beef up security.  It’s a long list, and I empathize with the good teachers who are still out there swinging, trying to make a difference.  I say good teachers, because there are an awful lot of bad ones simply making time.  You’d think that the hoops one must jump through in order to land a job teaching would cut out the riff raff, but they don’t. 

With that kind of pressure, it’s no wonder teachers can’t schedule a lesson or two on good manners.  You know, to reinforce what’s being taught at home?

Oh, yeah, that’s right – so little of it is taught at home these days, according to others attending the meeting. I agreed with them on several – not all – points.

We have, unfortunately lost the art of thank you notes.  Looking an adult in the eye and speaking to her is long gone, too, as is the good old-fashioned handshake.  Sure, every young person I know can show me how to close the apps on my phone properly, but ask them to set the table and they’re lost.   They can communicate up a storm via text, but try to talk to them one-on-one and see where that might get you.

Other complaints from the meeting included the following:

Give a kid $20 for a $12.99 item, and he can’t make change without a calculator (neither can I, I thought)

They’re too busy looking at their phones to interact with anyone (I do that on occasion, but only when surrounded by idiots and thumping bores)

They can’t eyeball measurements for recipes (that’s why God gave us measuring cups, lady).

They can’t figure the circumference of a room (Mister, is this really keeping you awake at night? Really?)

Their music is too loud (my parents voiced the same complaint against me in the 80’s …this is a generational thing, and had absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand.  This was merely some yahoo desperate to throw in, unaware that I had a pile of laundry and a glass of wine to get home to.  Jerk.)

Sure, I’d like to see young people better behaved, and I’m happy to report that I personally know a number of young people who do understand the importance of saying and doing the right thing. They may not know how to make change or convert measurements, but those sorts of things don’t matter in my world.  Sure, their mannerly efforts may not be implemented with the greatest finesse, but at least they’re trying.  Some of them have fantastic support from their homes and their schools, while others do not.  I truly believe it’s a crapshoot as to who will make it and who won’t.  The ones who are making it seem to share a couple of common traits, though:   the right attitude and the desire to succeed. 

Perhaps if we recognized them a little more, and turned a blind eye to the others, things might actually turn out okay for us all.  Additionally, if we offered better examples of courtesy and how to host snazzy, classy parties, we might not have to say to them, “This is how you do it.”  They’re smart, these young people, and incredibly savvy.  They’d figure it out, eventually, I’m sure.

Pieces of the Story

 

Christmas, some years back:

“I hope you like it,” my sister said, “even though it’s probably just a box of crap”.

 

Practically every time I visit my husband’s grandmother:

“Take it, honey.  It’s just crap nobody wants.”

 

Today:

I boldly confess that I will, indeed, take all of your crap, but only if the crap in question is a box of vintage costume jewelry.  That’s what I received in the above scenarios, and that’s what I like – old accessories with a story to them.  Granted, I don’t know the story behind every piece I’ve acquired over the years.  Much of my collection comes from garage sales, thrift stores, and a wonderful clothing swap party that my friend Marian hosts from time to time (http://www.marianbell.com/). 

This past weekend’s swap party proved highly successful for me.  Not only did I score enough clothing to keep me out of the stores this summer, I met a wonderful woman named Monica who specializes in my favorite pastime.

Monica’s jewelry was not up for swapping, however.  She sells it on behalf of others.  Her clientele includes folks who’ve lost Grandma and would like for Grandma’s jewelry to go to a good home.  They also include people who are simply downsizing their jewelry boxes.  Old pieces.  Interesting pieces.  Pieces full of personality.  Pieces you just don’t find anymore.

I had my eye on this:

 

And on this:

 

Knowing that old costume accessories can sell for a pretty penny, I hesitantly asked her price.  I almost fell over –in a good way- when she told me.

“I’m not really looking to make money here.  I just want to find people who’ll be good to these items.  I merely need a little to cover gas to these sorts of events and such.”

I handed her the cash, and as she wrapped them lovingly and placed them in a bag, she informed me that the necklace and the bracelet were owned by the same woman.  “Her name was Laura,” Monica said, “would you like to know more about her?”

“Indeed I would!” I proclaimed as I sat down at her table.

“I actually knew Laura quite well.  She passed away a couple of months ago, and I miss her.  She was like a grandmother to me.”

“How so?”  I asked.

“We used to do tequila shots together.”

Now, I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I never did tequila shots with either of my grandmothers.  Nonetheless, Laura sounded like my kind of gal.  In addition to her affinity for tequila, Laura was also a school teacher (I was, too, and totally get her need to imbibe from time to time), she tended to favor books over people on occassion (me, too), and knew how to play the ukulele.

“You’re kidding!”  I cried, “I’m learning to play the ukulele!”

“I think Laura had a hand in you finding her things,” smiled Monica.

I agreed and took my leave of her, Laura’s jewelry secured in my purse. 

That evening, as I put the pieces away in my jewelry box, I took a good look at what I’ve got.  Someday, when I’m too old to fasten a necklace or simply too worn out to care, I’m going to start passing this stuff along.  Many of those on the receiving end may view it as crap, but hopefully others will fancy it, particularly if they know the story that will go along with it.

 

Between God and Me

Although I acquired a snazzy new outfit, I didn’t go to church this Easter morning.  I recognize it’s no different from any other Sunday, really, but when a holiday rolls around I do like to put in an appearance –whether I have a new outfit or not.

But not today.

You see, God and I aren’t on the best of terms at the moment.

Now, before you raise an eyebrow, call the prayer chain, or (if you happen to be my dear mother) collapse into a fit of vapors, let me explain a couple of things.  First of all, my definition of God may differ from yours, and I appreciate you for respecting it.  In spite of what I do and say, I take my spiritual beliefs seriously.  Secondly, because my views on The Almighty are hard to explain, I shall refer to those views as ‘God’ or ‘He’.  Finally, I’d venture to guess that many of us have questioned our beliefs at some point in our lives.  If you haven’t, you’re either lying or are a much better person than I.

I have an awful lot of questions at the moment.  I know I’ve been a nag with regard to them, and for asking certain favors of God these past few weeks.  He, evidently, has had enough of my henpecking, and appears to be giving me the cold shoulder.  That’s fine, Big Guy – I'm feeling pretty tough right now, and am fairly confident that I can handle whatever you wish to sling in my direction.

It’s hard, though, to keep up my defenses and play along with His macho head-games.  As I scrawl out this little musing, baby ducks gather at my feet.  I’m outside, by the way, not in my office.  That would be weird, huh?  An occasional gecko sneaks in, but never a duck.  Gosh, could you imagine? I wouldn’t mind the ducks, but the mess and the smell would simply drive me over the edge.

But I digress.

Try as I might to withhold the fabulousness that is me (wink, wink or gag, gag depending on your opinion of me), God keeps sending tiny reminders that we’ll keep moving forward, somehow.  Sure, scars will run mighty deep, but we’ll make it – eventually, although changed.

I’ve had the chorus of an old Lyle Lovett song playing in my head today.  It’s called God Will.

 

God does

But I don’t

God will

But I won’t

And that’s the difference

Between God and me.

 

I think God gets the fact that although we’re ‘created in His image’ we’re certainly not wired as such.  I believe He’s okay with that and I think He’s okay if we don’t want to hold hands and sing songs of praise at this particular point in our lives.

He and I are at least back on speaking terms, with fewer insults hurled than in recent conversations.  We can actually have a chat without one of us getting snippy and storming out of the room.   It’s still a little shaky, but perhaps sooner rather than later we can sit around and swap stories like we used to.

And what stories they shall be, I’m sure.

 

Bad Times, Bad Manners

 

(The following, I know, is not my most well-written attempt.  You may be asking, "Is any of this blog particularly well-written, Beth?  Do you really need the disclaimer?"  To which I reply, "Up yours, Smart Guy."  It's written out of love, of which I know a little, and snarkiness, of which I know alot.  If you can relate and find a chuckle or two, then I know it's a success.  If not, perhaps you should take a good, hard look at yourself and find another blogger to bother.  I got bigger fish to fry than you, Chief)

 

No loss is ever easy, but the loss my family and I experienced last month really hit below the belt.

But I don't want to talk about it.

What I do want to talk about, boys and girls, is the ‘what to do and say' vs. the 'what not to do and say’ when someone passes.   Before I begin, however, I must preface it by acknowledging that there are an awful lot of classy people out there who’ve helped us out tremendously during this time.  Words cannot express how much your deeds, words, prayers, and good energy mean to us.  We are lucky – still incredibly sad, but lucky in that we have your support and friendship.

I don’t think anyone really knows, exactly, what to do during a loss.  Sure, there exist certain things that need to be figured out fairly quickly, and we were extremely fortunate to have someone who spearheaded it all on our behalf.  Many people simply want to reach out and do something.  Food preparation is always a nice gesture, as is dropping off paper goods.  Light housekeeping, laundry, walking the dogs, and such – much appreciated.  Knowing when to be there, and knowing when to make yourself scarce– that’s important, too.  Donating time or money to a worthy cause in memory of someone – perfect.  All those little things make a huge difference.

So with that being said, let’s take a peek at the ‘oh no you didn’t’ side of things (because it's me, after all, and my blog, and we're not going anywhere until I call out certain behaviors):

Inane Chatter – I’ve never been a big fan, and I wholeheartedly believe the world would be a much better place if everyone would just shut up for at least a little while.  When dealing with something tremendously heavy, the last thing we want to hear about is Ethel’s rosebushes.

Drawing Comparisons – I lost my father nine years ago; you, perhaps, have lost yours as well.  That’s common ground.  The phrase, “I know how you feel” applies.  “I know how you feel” does not apply in every situation, particularly in a situation that is quite out of the ordinary. Comparing one loss to another is unbelievably self-centered, I think.  Misery doesn’t love company – at least mine doesn’t.

Complaints– No one thrives upon another's gripes.  You’re mad at your brother – big deal.  Your toilet leaks – so what.  You’ve got the blues in the night – who doesn’t?   Figure out how to deal with it without dumping it on someone else and move on.

Don’t Judge and Don’t Hassle – about anything a grieving person is doing or not doing.  I mean, if they start taking hard-core, illegal drugs, you might say something, but if they’re skipping a meal or smoking a cigarette, that’s really none of your concern.

Don’t Expect to Be Fed – This actually happened when my dad passed.  He had barely been taken to the funeral home when someone showed up ‘out of concern’ and then asked my mother why no one from the community had brought any food.  Pal, if you’re hankering for a casserole, go home and make it yourself.

Don’t Post Sad/Bad News on Social Media Sites – We know what happened, so we don’t need a link to remind us of it.  I actually took a pre-emptive strike and contacted people who needed to know, and kindly asked them to relay to others that any messages for us should be sent privately.  Why the pre-emptive strike?  Because I can name at least four people who would have posted something on Facebook had word not gotten out that such an act would be considered highly unfavorable, to put it mildly.

Don’t Complain About Your Kids – Hug them tightly.

Small Acts of Kindness Go A Long Way – I haven’t paid for a drink in a month, and I am much obliged to friends and club owners for that.

Don’t Wear Your House Shoes to a Funeral – another winner from my dad’s passing.

Don't Say the Following:

He/she is in a better place (perhaps true if they’re aged and ill, but still…)

I told him not to buy that damn boat (particularly if the boat had nothing to do with his demise)

We became close…very, very close…as close as any man or woman can be (someone actually stated this at a memorial service for a friend of mine – gossip ensued)

She led a secret life (evidently, judging from what the jackass above just said)

I could go on, but I won’t.  Again, though, let me reiterate that generous and thoughtful people live and love in this world, and I appreciate them.  And when you get down to it, that’s what really matters – people.  Not money, not possessions, not jobs, not those day-to-day tiny inconveniences.  In the grand scheme of things should be a phrase that’s positioned first and foremost in our minds. 

Think, too, about the legacy you want to leave.  Do you want to be remembered as someone who enjoyed life, who brought along a certain amount of vibrancy everywhere you went?  Someone who was an absolute joy to be around?

Or do you want to be the house-shoe- wearing, complaining- about-your-kid, no-casserole-having- numbnut?

Think about it.

 

Ps… If this particular little musing resonated with you on any level, kindly make a donation to The Monarch School (http://www.monarchschool.org/) in memory of Stephanie Kirkpatrick, who always giggled when Aunt Beth used the term 'numbnut'.