Do Something

First off,  big thanks to all who turned out to the Imperial Farmers Market in Sugar Land, TX yesterday.  Yours truly reserved a table in order to peddle a few wares:

If you couldn't make it out, both books are available through Amazon.

What a great day it turned out to be.  Nothing soothes the soul more than being surrounded by creativity and farm fresh eggs.  Community involvement - I normally shy away from it, but yesterday's event took me back to my own small-town upbringing.  Every event from the stock shows to the senior proms were held in the Dimmitt Expo building -never in conjunction, but sometimes awfully close.  There's nothing quite like slow dancing to Wham's Careless Whisper while inhaling the unmistakable  aroma of cattle manure.

Now don't get me wrong, boys and girls - I do love where I currently reside.  It's a safe, clean, convenient suburb outside of Houston, TX.  One that has experienced a lot of growth over the last ten years (see safe, clean, convenient).  That growth keeps the community well above water economically - a good thing until you Google Sugar Land Podiatrists and over 500 names pop up.  Honestly, where to you even start?

But back to the Market and a chance to make a little cha-ching.  It's a nice feeling when others spend their green American dollars on something you've created.  I've written a great deal about creativity recently.  I believe we all have a creative streak, and I think we owe it to ourselves t0 take the time to channel that creativity.  Even if you've no intention of making a buck -especially if you've no intention of making a buck.

To create simply for the sake of creating.  To not even consider garnering a green American dollar for it.  Working with one's hands, one's imagination, with precious little concern about looking a fool.

Therein lies the rub - some folks simply don't want to be the weirdo who makes stuff.  I'm finally at the stage in my life where I'm willing to let my inner weirdo shine. Are you?  You're taking the time to read this, so that tells me right there you're probably  a dime short, so you may as well embrace that urge and just go for it. (Side note:  those who know me personally assumed I'd come out of the weird closet a long time ago.  Trust me, Sally - you ain't seen nothing yet.)

Perhaps if we turn off the telly, shut down the screen, and cut back the hours, we could get a full-blown grass root creative society going. Grow our own food, sew our own clothes, design our own decor, sing our own songs.   Everyone's welcome, provided they don't force us to really listen to the lyrics (I'm looking at you, hipster-musician.  You're bringing the party to a crashing halt with your pretentiousness.  Plus, you reek of artisan beer and clove cigarettes.  Clean up, straighten up, and stop taking yourself so seriously).

I have a dear folk-singing, french-speaking friend who told her young children that they could have anything they wanted for Christmas provided they didn't see it advertised on TV.  As a result, she raised a fine group of artists, musicians, seamstresses, and one convicted meth-maker. (Hey, at least he learned to create something and he even made a fine living from it for a
while...)

The older I get, the more I get that life is incredibly precious and short.  None of us has any guarantees, so we may as well get over ourselves, scratch that creative itch, and see just how much we can accomplish before exiting this plane.  Good luck, and may the creative force be with you.

ps...feel free to share your creative efforts in the comments section.  A chance to inspire and get inspired.  Let's do this thing!

Disciplinary Action (aka: My Simple Summer Journal)

Due to the nature of my vocation, summertime means downtime and I couldn't be more pleased.  I've enough to keep me busy and financially sound throughout the season without grind grind grinding at that grindstone. I've time to relax, enjoy, and partake of hobbies (henceforth known as 'disciplines' simply because it sounds fancier and more efficient).  I've also got time to think, which isn't necessarily a good thing.  In order to keep track of myself and to determine if I'm actually accomplishing anything, I've decided to set up a journal.  I gladly share it with you in the hopes that you, too, will take time to work on your disciplines, to ponder, or to simply sit and be this season.

Monday:  Spent most of the day at the sewing machine, my new favorite discipline.  My master plan for 'custom' (ie: homemade) summer wear is actually coming to fruition.  It's quite enjoyable and fulfilling.  Not so fulfilling is the constant media coverage and peanut gallery comments involving the arrival of Caitlyn Jenner.  She's here, she's happy, she will serve as an inspiration and good role model for the transgender community, and quite frankly unless our last name is Jenner or Kardashian, we've no business mulling it over at the rate in which we're doing it.  Move along, people...

Tuesday:  Custom summer wardrobe complete.  Have also officially converted all jars into simple and friendly-looking storage containers.  Nothing fancy.  I repeat - simple.  I yearn for simplicity and have made the decision to distance myself even further from the clutter of 'the virtual world' in order to co-create something a little bit more meaningful.  Something that will cause Mother Earth to smile and my husband to mock.  Ingrate.  I'm saving him a fortune on canisters and have freed up quite a bit of space in the pantry.  That should and will count for something at some point. Mark my words.

        Make your counter space a simple work of usable art.  I've entitled this Why the Hell Did I Buy Mung Beans?   No need to buy Mason jars.  Just save the ones your mayo, spaghetti sauce, etc. come in. Once you've eaten the contents, wash thoroughly.   Place goods inside jars.  Viola!

Wednesday:  A brief scan of the headlines and catch an item about an egg shortage.  Seriously considering how I can raise chickens on the patio of my humble townhouse without the homeowners association on my case when it occurs to me that thanks to heavy petitioning and emotional board meetings, the evil regime has officially been overthrown and we can all breath a bit easier.  Let our plants grow the way God intended them to grow. Maybe place a cute doo-dad atop our brick fences. I double-check the association guidelines and nowhere does it state that chickens aren't allowed.  Now we're getting somewhere.

Thursday:  The previous night's viewing of The Last Waltz'on Netflix has me musically inspired and has also provided within me a new found appreciation of The Band.  I partake in another favorite discipline, the ukulele, and am happy to report that I've almost got Evangeline and The Weight down.  Well, maybe not down, but passable.  You can probably figure out what I'm attempting to do after a few bars. 

Am determined to actually write a song.  A love song:  Your Kisses are Better than the Empanada (But Not as Good as the Rice and Beans).  I got the idea from tonight's dining experience.  See, inspiration surrounds us; we merely need to remain alert.

Friday:  I feel incredibly simple (read into that what you will).  It occurs to me just how little time I've devoted to 'the virtual world' this week.  I, like so many others, have been guilty of scrolling in order to pass the time.  It feels good to work with one's hands (not just the index finger, or the middle finger depending on what's happening in your neck of the woods).  I make a conscious decision to plug in only a couple of times a day, if that much.   Too much mind clutter is not good for the soul.  Trying to create something is, I believe, and even if we're not good at it (see ukulele playing), it never hurts to try.  Perseverance, friends.  Perseverance.

Saturday:  My fabulous sister-in-law is downsizing, and brings me a cornucopia of goodies, including this:

I've dabbled in yarn disciplines, and am delighted to give it another go.  Thanks bunches, CK!  I sort through the tub while watching a documentary about The Eagles.  While there's no denying the impact of their monstrously catchy tunes, I've come to the conclusion that Glenn Fry is a complete and utter jackass.  That's another one of my disciplines:  passing judgement on art-eests who take themselves much too seriously, and it's one I've mastered beyond measure.  I'm so put off I throw a ream of yarn at the telly, and vow to myself that if I ever meet Mr. Fry, I will throw a ream of yarn in his face.  (Note to self:  keep yarn in purse just in case).  I pour myself a glass of wine (another favorite discipline), humming along to Take it Easy.  

And take it easy, I shall, Mr. Fry and company...indeed I shall.

Let Her Speak

I'm beyond the point of allowing 'the news' to get the better of me these days; however, one hot item that hit the press this week really fired me up:

Country Music Consultant Says Female Artists are Merely Tomatoes in the Country Music Salad.

In a nutshell, this man claims that female artists don't get as much airplay because, according to 'research',  they simply don't 'sell'.

I suppose this hit a nerve because back in my radio days/daze (late 1980's through mid-90's), a corporate program director for a country music station for which I worked essentially said the same thing:  'We don't play female artists back to back, and we usually don't play more than three female artists per hour.'

As a twenty-something with very little sense of self, I thought it was kind of dumb.  As a forty-something with perhaps an overly-inflated sense of self, I think it's  complete and utter hogwash.  

As a young child, I harbored what may have been a strange fascination with radio - who were these people, and how did they have access to all the tunes?  There was an element of mystery that appealed to my young soul.  Add to it my love affair with the TV show WKRP in Cincinnati and it's no wonder that I chose radio as my profession (for a while).  But real life was not WKRP (no program director I ever had wore his pants as tight as Andy Travis, and since none of them looked like Andy Travis, that was a very good thing.  That's a good example of me being sexist in radio, a fair turn-the-tables, if you will).  

By the time I hit the seen in a mid-size market, The Corporate Machine was already rearing it's ugly head.  We jocks didn't pick the music - a computer program did, and it typically generated a most generic, depressing, overly watered-down sound.  Throw in misogynistic managers and you've got yourself one troublesome situation.

Bah to that, says I.  I changed professions.  Teaching.  I did it for twelve years in a private school before The Corporate Machine bought it.  We teachers didn't pick our lesson plans - someone who'd never been in a classroom did, and it typically generated a most generic, depressing, and overly watered-down curriculum.  Throw in misogynistic managers and you've got yourself one troublesome situation.

Bah to that, says I.

Bah to all of it, says I.

I don't know about you, Sisters and Brothers, but I'm tired of Men in Suits telling us what to do, what to listen to, what to watch, what to eat, what to feel, and how to present ourselves.

I could go off a full-blown rant, but my focus today is that of radio and the nonsense spewed forth by this consultant.  Let me preface it by saying I don't listen to much country radio these days.  I like my country organic, which means no pitch-correction, no special collaboration with rappers, and no canned music. So with that being said, what might happen if:

Someone had the sense to switch to an all-female format.  All women, all the time.  The artists featured would preferably be singers/songwriters who play an instrument.  Vocalists are welcome provided they have never depended on electronic slight of hand when recording an album or performing live.  Artists who are also positive and empowering role models for young women.  All ages and ethnicities welcome.

And it wouldn't strictly have to be a music format.  Include current, women-centered events and inspiring women-centered stories.  Feature a Women in Business (with no corporate affiliation) segment.  In short, a venue for women to speak, to express, and to support one another, run by women for women.

Good Goddess Almighty - when did I become a feminist?

The F word has been bandied about much in recent years, and I still don't really understand its true definition or the tangents it has taken.  Equal pay for equal work?  Yes.  Equal radio air-play for all?  Yes.  An opportunity to prance around half-naked and express one's sexuality in front of a stadium full of strangers?  I don't think so.


All I know is this:  I'm officially sick of male domination (there, I said it).  Sisters, we owe it to ourselves and to our daughters to cry 'No Mas! We don't want what you're selling because we're smart enough to seek and think for ourselves.'

Now that I'm on a roll, I'd really like to get back into radio - on my terms (see 'all female format').  It must be commercial-free and a safe place for women to express themselves.  As much as I hate Go Fund Me, I'd take it just to get such a station on the air.  I wouldn't need anything fancy - a few watts of power, a couple of old-school turntables (because that's how I learned to run a board) and a microphone. KLHS (K (because all stations begin their call letters with a K down here) Let Her Speak).  I like it.

I'm too shy to start it myself, but I'm certainly not too proud to have someone else kick start it for me.  I'll do the all the grunt work gladly for those willing to pony up a few shekels.

And with that, Dear Hearts, I leave you with a number by Elizabeth Cook, who never gets any airplay on regular radio but hosts a dandy of a show on Sirius FM's Outlaw Country.  Something to think about....

Summertime Saviours

Nothing steals our elegance more, Dear Hearts, than poorly groomed, perspiration-infused attempts at looking and feeling chic.  With the unofficial start of summer upon us, I'd like to offer you my personal jack-pot, tried and true ways to stay cool - both literally and figuratively:

1.  Stay indoors

2.  Make moist towelettes your best friend.  Keep a few in your handbag, back pocket, or hidden away in your socks (which I hope to Heaven you're not wearing with your sandals).  Utilize them only in the most private of venues (powder room - yes, cafeteria - no)

3.  Some so-called experts suggest we go with a lighter touch when it comes to applying our make-up.  I disagree, especially if you're skin, like mine,  is not as vibrant as it used to be.  If you can get away with nothing more than a tinted moisturizer and a bit of lip gloss, I salute you.

4.  Lightly spray your feet with antiperspirant. Sure, aerosol cans full of harsh chemicals aren't good for the environment, but neither is foot odor.  Think about it.

5.  Forgo your heavier perfume for a body spray or lotion.  I bought this as a room spray, but the back of the label says it can be used on the body plus it's all about attracting good mojo and I'll take all the help I can get.

(Note:  not all room deodorizers double as a a body spray.  Most men aren't aroused by the smell of Lysol.  Don't ask me how I know this - I just do).

Now let's talk fashion:
-Remain super-mindful of the length of your shorts and skirts.  Use leg makeup for unsightly veins and blemishes.

-No cleavage at work, and double-check with HR to determine just how much arm you're allowed to reveal.  Ditto for open-toed shoes - some companies do not allow them.

-Don't spend a small fortune on basic t-shirts; most craft stores sell them for around $2 - $5.

-You can incorporate fall and winter accessories cleverly this time of year.  Watch this:

Remember, soaring temperatures do not mean we get a pass on looking our best.  Stay fabulous, Sweeties!

A Sensitive Issue

Feelings....nothing more than feelings....

I think the worst thing anyone could say to another human being is, "You shouldn't feel that way."  "You shouldn't act that way," "you shouldn't dress that way," and "you should get out of my way" are acceptable suggestions when the appropriate opportunity strikes; however, feelings are highly personal, and I think when you encourage someone to put the kibosh on hers, you could very well be contributing to her emotional downfall.  

It boils down to sensitivity - something our society seems to lack these days.

Think about it:  when we ask, "how are you?" we don't really expect a response. On the rare occasion we get one, we're caught off guard.  Personally, I never tell anyone how I'm really doing, mainly because I so seldom get the chance to do so, and besides I'm not one to open up too much.  They don't call me "Close to the Vest Newman" for nothing (nobody calls me that - I'm just making stuff up at this point).

Anyhow, I think the vast majority of us could do with some serious sensitivity training - all the 'do unto others' ideals we were taught in Sunday School yet have forgotten over time.  If we really paused before speaking and attempted to place ourselves in another's position, we'd a) avoid hurting someone, and b) avoid making a complete and utter ass out of ourselves.  Of course, with that being said, I think many of us have become highly sensitive to things that simply don't matter in the grand scheme of things.  They include but are not limited to:

-politics
-religion
-money
-celebrities
-sports
-music

As far as sensitivity goes, the only things we should be sensitive about are:
-family
-children in need
-the ill and the old
-animals
-insuring everyone gets an equal chance no matter his race, culture, gender, or sexual orientation

Put yourself in someone else's shoes, Brother - you've no idea what they may be going through.  Think before you speak.  Listen more than you speak.  And if you're one of the quiet, sensitive ones who feels as if you may absolutely lose your shit at some point, do it and do it in a big way. Get it out. Make it one of the epic events of your life.  Make it so that generations to follow will tell stories of 'The time Aunt Sheila lost it and went off on everyone at Christmas'. I personally can't wait to reach the point in which I'll actually throw a drink in someone's face.  


All kidding aside, if you are one of the highly sensitive in a world of blundering oblivions, seek an outlet.  I recommend some sort of spiritual counseling because it helps cover all the bases (at least it does for me).  Go with what works best for you, though, and remember - what goes around comes around.

The meek shall inherit the earth.

One of the Worst

I won't say she's the worst person I've ever met, but she definitely falls into my Top Three.

It was through my brief stint working in retail several years ago that we met.  Hired as a manager for the store, I naturally assumed she knew what she was doing.  If thievery and stirring up trouble were prerequisites for the job, it's no surprise the Powers That Be saw something special in her.

At first, I simply found her annoying:  she wouldn't stop talking.  I'm not much for chit chat, but her stories of her alleged past as a salon owner, security officer, and being the ex-wife of an NFL player she refused to name intrigued me.  I'm pretty good at spotting BS; little did I know the S would get even deeper.

Her sneaky S snuck up on us initially in the form of bullying.  A colleague with some serious personal issues was having difficulty doing her job effectively.  Rather than reach out, contact HR, cut her a little slack (you know, the things  managers are supposed to do) our subject opted to report this woman as 'completely incompetent' and drove her point home by keying the woman's car.

I S you not.

She mocked a wheel-chair bound customer behind said customer's back. She flirted with every man who entered the shop, except the gay ones.  She didn't like homosexuals, and made no secret of it.  She told a Muslim woman to 'take the curtain' off her head.   She forced junior associates to buy her sodas and never paid them back. She parked in front of a neighboring store and threatened legal action when they asked her to stop.   She was a horrible speller, and her grammar was no picnic, either. 

You can't make this S up, Gentle Reader.

Then merchandise went missing.  Small things at first - earrings, stuff like that. And the gossip!  She went out of her way to tell any and all about insults from other employees (supposedly) hurled against each of us. Needless to say, morale hit bottom.   Some of us were asked by the Powers That Be to keep an eye on her and report back any suspicious or unprofessional behavior.  That's not my style, but I did as I was told.  My only offering was a report of her spending three hours on the phone with her cable company when she should have been on the sales floor.  We were the only two employees working at the time, so she easily figure out that I was the rat.  She accused me of being a lying, racist, anti-Christan goody-two-shoes, and promised to make my life miserable. That night I went home, typed up my letter of resignation, and plotted all the different places I could park my car within a two-mile radius of the store.  I didn't resign immediately, but I kept the letter in my purse, just in case.  After all that, the worst she did was ignore me - a welcome respite from her constant chatter, to be honest.

We then began receiving surprise visits from the Head of Security for this particular store.  Big chain stores have those, you know, and they've got all this groovy equipment to not only track inventory but to track transactions as well.  I'd heard things about questionable sales and returns while under our subject's watch, but didn't think much about it until the day she broke her vow of silence against me.

"WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM THIS TIME, BETH?"  Typed in all caps because she yelled at me as the Security Head and another manager escorted her to the back room.  

They were in there for hours, and no one wanted to leave at the end of her shift. Too caught up in the drama, we made excuses to stick around.  

Finally, she emerged from the back, purse in hand, and yelling (again).  "I WILL OWN THIS COMPANY!  I'M CALLING MY LAWYER WHEN I GET HOME!  YOU ALL ARE TRYING TO CRUCIFY ME!  JUST BECAUSE I'M A WOMAN!" (that one didn't make any sense; the store was predominately female.) And with that, she left.

My shift was long over, so I went to the back to gather my things.  The Security Head asked me how to get to the nearest police department.  I told him, and he ran out the back door, violating store policy. No one was to enter or exit the back door. I'd learned my lesson about being a tattle-tale, though,  and I figured as Security Head he could come and go as he pleased.

We never heard nor saw from her again.  

I left the store a couple of months after the incident - nothing to do with her and everything to do with me not being cut out for retail.  God bless those who are.  It's a tough, thankless gig, and I admire anyone who can stick it out for longer than a few months.

Although it's been years since the incident, she still crosses my mind.  Curious, I did a little detective work recently and discovered that she had been punished accordingly for her misdeeds against the store. It's all a matter of public record.  Thank you, Internet, for showing me yet again that karma is real.

The Trip Back

1987 called and he wants his look back.

Now don't get me wrong:  I adore vintage, but a fine line exists between retro and wrong-tro.  Every decade gone by has brought her fair share of glorious fashions, from the Roaring 20's Flapper to the New Look of the late 1950's/early 1960's (my personal favorite) to the fun frivolity of the 1970's (think Studio 54 and Halston, NOT the Brady Bunch).  The Great Gatsby, Mad Men, and even Downton Abbey with its own fabric line, prove that period pieces still turn heads and inspire trends.  Yet as far as the 1980's go, the jury's still out.  

A number of teens, I've noticed, have adopted the skinny pant and neon colors I wore in my youth, but I don't see many adults following their lead.  There's a reason for it:  some of those styles, in hindsight, were downright hideous, and what works for youngsters does not translate well for those of us old enough remember Magnum PI and Alexis Carrington.

The inspiration for this little musing stems from a recent reception I attended in which another reveler, approximately my age, sported a full-blown Miami Vice tribute, complete with whisker stubble and sockless shoes.  I'll give him credit, though - the lavender t-shirt he wore under his cobalt blue suit worked nicely.  Had we been at my senior prom (class of 88), I would have stood in a corner using my Jedi mind-trick powers willing him to dance with me (side note:  that never worked on straight boys back in my day, but I didn't care - the best boyfriends were the ones more interested in my wardrobe than in a love connection.  The fun we had devouring Seventeen Magazine each month!). Anyhow, I spent the evening wondering what in God's name possessed him to go for it in such a rad and totally tubular way.


Over time, I've lightened up in my role as judge, jury, and executioner when it comes to fashion.  From what I've seen in restaurants, airports, and grocery stores, only a handful of people were listening to me anyway.  Yet occasions such as running smack dab into Crockett and/or Tubbs in 2015 have me falling back into my old stylish snarkiness.  So indulge me, Gentle Reader, for offering the following Gentle Reminders:

1.  If you are old enough to have worn a trend when it was trendy, don't wear it now.  Opt for modernized nods to your era of choice.  

2.  You can get away with an era that is older than you, but again, modernization is the key.

3.  If your children are wearing it, you really really really shouldn't.

4.  If you've never left a particular era, it's time.  Cyndi Lauper and Boy George have transitioned nicely into the modern age, and you can, too, Sweetie.

Fashion is a fabulous venue for self-expression.  If it feels good, do it, but proceed with caution when it comes to wearing vintage.  There's a difference between 'Hello, Darling!' to 'Hell No, Dummy!" so be careful.  Seek style gurus that resonate with YOU (loads of them on the Internet), and follow their lead.

And if you have specific questions (limit two per person, please, for I'm very busy and don't have much of an attention span these days), feel free to submit them via the comment box.  Cheers, Sweeties!