Artful Dodgers

There is a personality type that could be called Artful Dodgers. This person has the gift of the gab or an ability to perform so well in speech that the birds just flit down from the trees right into their hands. You know the sort of whom I speak. Some are actually pros at it and do their charming from a dais, behind a business card or a microphone or even across a candle lit table. They are basically very good liars. Everything about these charmers is designed to engage your interest and your admiration. They dress impeccably, their manners are without fault, their appearance is flawless. With not a hair out of place, these sorts weave their spells and take in audiences and participants who can see nothing beyond the smooth exterior presented. They are excellent actors and are able to know exactly how to manoeuver and manipulate. In short, how to take you - and good. Products are also like that. You are attracted by the smart appearance of the item and what the advertising tells. And, say the testimonies, you are going to have the time of your life with this thing. Lots of people have bought one of these hard to believe bargains only to find that on arriving home with them, they're duds or lemons. But it's okay say the sellers, there is a money-back guarantee. All you have to do it pack it up again just like you found it and send it back. Lovely. First to get it out of the package was like extracting hens teeth. It was trapped inside its plastic so tightly you had to take a hammer and chisel to get the thing out. When you did, there was a floor full of little while bits that clung to the carpeting and defied even the vacuum cleaner. I was caught up by a charmer.  I went out to buy a sewing machine mainly because my old one had a broken needle threader and I knew that if I bought the part and had it installed, it would cost about as much as a new cheapie machine. I did diligence and went on line to see where I could purchase a new machine that had a few features that my old one had as well as a needle threader. Eureka! I did, and it was a very good brand name, one that had withstood the trials of time. I took it home, delighted with my bargain. I set it up and used the needle threader. It was wonderful. Threaded right off. When the thread broke some time later, with confidence, I used the needle threader again.  Alas, it did not work. I read the instruction book. Perhaps I was doing it incorrectly.  Not so. I tried it over and over again and the thread did not pop into the eye of the needle. I gave up and put my glasses on and hand-threaded it. Try as I might, squinting notwithstanding, I couldn't see the little hole to put the thread through without glasses. I should return the thing was my first thought. True, but I gave up. Why? First, the invoice said that I could not take it back to the store but must seek out the repair depot. That place was fifty miles away down a freeway that is like the Indy 500. Of course, even if I did so, I would have to go back down the freeway, to retrieve it after it was fixed. And who is to say that the threader wouldn't fail all over again? (History tells me such.) Furthermore, the cost of the repair plus gas plus stress made it less and less desirable. My great bargain rests now on my sewing desk, brand new and shiny with its useless needle threader, and right beside it, sits my pair of eye glasses. Even sewing machines can be charged with artful dodgery.

Double Dip

The other evening, I heard one of the group charge pensioners with "double dipping". When asked what he meant, he said that he knew a couple who each had a medical/dental plan and whose child received orthodontic work "free" as a result. That  statement set me to ponder. What the offender did not realize, is that these plans are insurance and are not "free". You pay into them just as you do your pension plan. The employer pays, or used to, part of the fees, too. Insurance means that even if you don't use the service, you still have to pay the fees just in case at some stage you do need it. That is the nature of insurance. When retired, you usually do need to use your insurance because aging causes all sorts of health situations naturally, that need attention. Pensioners are not hogs at the trough, they actually do need the insurance they paid into over decades of working life. Pensioners are also often charged by younger people who are just not thinking straight, as being "free-loaders". These kinds  simply forget that when they were in school, using public services and parks not to mention medical services and others, that the taxes of working people made them available to everyone. None of those benefits or services came free. Because in latter times, salaries and costs were lower, we should not forget about
inflation and how what sounds expensive now, was relative to salaries then.  A chocolate bar in those days cost 5 or 10 cents and now, is 2 or  3 dollars. That might bring the matter into perspective. It is all relative. I set out for a root canal the other day and it amounted to what would be a good down payment for a car.  I was shocked at first, but when I did a little research, I found that taking into consideration the training required for the professional dentist to do the job, not counting the expenses such as staff, office facilities, equipment and insurance, the price was likely worth it. Saving my tooth was another perk I had to consider. Next time you see the term "seniors' rate" think on it kindly. You are sure to be one of them one day and with rampant inflation, unless you have recently sold some old real estate to burgeon your coffers, know that you'll sorely need it.

Tough Love

Why is it so tough to say, I love you? We can say, I love that dress or I love that play or I love that restaurant, but to look another in the eye and say, I love you, is for some, like doing auto-root canals. Since we can love anything from filet mignon to chocolate drops, why is it we can't say the L word to someone without all of the angst occurring? I am no psychologist, but I think I have an answer. First, I-love-you has taken on a whole sweeping meaning likely brought about by poets and other people of symbol interest. To them, it means commitment to something permanent. It means a promise to cement one's very existence to another's. That's impossible. No wonder, it's hard to say. But, no. Love is a simple, small word with keen meaning but it is like very fine china: strong and breakable at the same time. Fine china is translucent and delicate but with care, you can make scalding hot tea in it and it will not break. You can wash it for hundreds of years and it retains its lustre and colour to serve, likely, until time ends. On the other hand, in a split second, it can shatter into a thousand pieces and be gone forever.  It can appear beautiful and seem lasting and for no apparent reason surprisingly, snuff out like a spent candle. It can last for a lifetime with no excuse, between the most unlikely folk. It can be brief and pretty like the violet, temporary and exquisite, then suddenly fade. It can joggle along unevenly and inexplicably continuing for decades, as though it were perfectly normal. It can be a solitary endeavor or shared by two - or more. There are no rules with love. Why, therefore, it is so feared to say? And then there are those who do love, but don't know it. They go on for years and years with another person and constantly say, but I don't know how to love, I can't say the word love.  They are already there. That is love. Love doesn't have to be anything but a small word that is re-recyclable.  Like rain, it can come and nourish and grow or, like fire,  burn intensely and go out like  a star whose light continues even after death.  It can happen in memory or imagination or in real life. There are no rules about love. But it is free and freely soars. All we have to do is reach out, grab it and let it  in. Love has nothing to fear.

New Improved

How many times have we searched for the "old" version of something and found only the "new and improved" one? Almost always, the manufacturer looks to  cheaping-up on the product by making it smaller while adding flash. You know the labels in bright primary colours that are designed to appeal to your slavish eye and the dashing shapes of the logo announcing a much better deal. It seldom is. A certain chocolate bar company divides its bar into two pieces, thus making the gullible one believe they are getting a two-for-one. The bar is smaller but looks wider because of the air space between sections. And who has not reached out for a favorite package  and found the label hyped up with  little words promising a better clean or taste or action - that doesn't happen unless in the consumer's imagination? The price is up, however, and we are told it is because of all the research that went into the improvements.  We also have to pay for new designs. Cars are a perfect example. To me they all look alike notwithstanding a cute and unique grill imitating a costly foreign model and with a hood ornament or symbol uncannily close to a luxury car's. But they are "smaller and easier to park" and therefore, take "less gas". Amusing. Inside you find every amenity, albeit mostly unnecessary, known to present-day man. Do we really need three computer outlets? How much computering does one do on the road? And the rear-view television? What happened to  using the cute little mirrors jutting out each side of the body? Or the mirror hanger for cutie's crystals or cool guy's dangling dice or mama's rosary?  Interestingly, car prices are up, sizes are down and the quality, questionable when you hear about frequent re-calls.  Something I worry about is new, improved food that lasts beyond its natural life. What is in there? Milk should not stay drinkable over two weeks, but there it is and we drink it down. Worse, we feed it to our kids. We love the quick and easy with two inches of additives that go down into little stomachs at lunch time. Apples last indefinitely and carrots are forever. Lettuce in a bag is immortal. New and improved? Too bad people don't come that way. When I enter a retail outlet, I want to find an experienced, trusted employee who cares about the stock. I want clerks who know what they are selling and can answer customer questions without having to run and find someone who might.  Mind you, most retail clerks are part-time and get paid starvation wages so what can we expect? No. New is not necessarily improved. Clothing for which you pay designer prices like the bargain model doesn't have buttons that stay where they should. If they did, why is there an extra in the little plastic envelope? I have a drawer full of single buttons pristine in their little packets, waiting to be used.  If a button dangles, I stitch it back on but why isn't the thread copious and knotted so that the button doesn't fall off? Planned obsolescence.  And while I am complaining, why are the sizes inhuman? The majority of us are not a size two or four. I don't like change. When I find the perfect purchase, I often buy two or three to hedge against improvement. I liked the old cereal without the sugar and cinnamon. I loved the dill pickles without the hot peppers. I want my laundry soap without the eternal care stuff in it. I want the old, tried and true. I want stability and permanence and quality that doesn't change.  The dollar itself makes change enough.

Yakkety Yak

You've heard the phrase "she/he talks too much". And yes, I have witnessed some of it myself over time. We had a dear lady on the job who, when we saw her coming, suddenly had something other to do. Most at work, greeted this woman with "Hi, just on my way to ...talk to you later." She was good-natured and carried on as though no insult had been dispensed. It had. I always wanted to take her aside and tell her that while she loved to visit, others had things to do and didn't have time to chat with her. They were on task, not being rude. I wasn't close enough to the lady to do this. A good friend would know how to broach the subject in a much gentler way, I thought. When she retired and died shortly after of the disease that caused her retirement,  we missed her friendly eagerness to talk to everyone and anyone. And perhaps it was fortunate that we had not hurt her feelings by quelling her habit. Not long ago, I was surprised when I was unusually cited for talking-too-much and it set me to thought. Try as I might, the designation of "talker" had not occurred to me previously and I found it interesting to be put on the other side. I am a story-teller type but hopefully I don't go on too long with my tales of this and that. Writers tend to be wordy out of habit. The more I thought about the matter of talking too much, the more I began to ask myself why other people think this a bad thing. Eureka! I had the answer. It is they who want to do the speaking and you take up their air space. Men are famous for saying such as "well, she is okay but she talks too much". Now, what does that mean? Does it mean that the guy wants to do the talking? Does it mean merely that he doesn't like or is not personally interested in what he hears? Does it mean that he has something to say but has no skills to get in there and do it? Women do talk more than men because testing has proven that women are better at language than males. But some of the world's most famous speeches are by men. If women are better at the spoken word, then why are they not the best speech-makers? Aha, you have the answer! Women are not permitted the "air time". Media announcers other than having to be young and beautiful for the most part, have lower pitched voices. It seems the human ear likes it that way. Women with female vocal chords are accused of being "shrill" while men of that nature are called "loud". Of course women are "shrill" - they are women and women have a higher range than males. Shrill likely means that it is the subject that riles and not the tone. Generally speaking, if I might speak, all is not lost ladies. The most famous sopranos capitalize on their female voice abilities. And who doesn't know Ella and her jazz. Talking too much is an accusation by those who don't listen enough. Next time, encourage your talk-too-much friend by asking questions on his/her subject. You might learn something. And your good manners will have improved on the spot.

Going, Going,Gone

The first time a friend dies, it's hard. There may be tears either copious or not, but what is worse, is the remembering. Pictures of what you and your friend did together or in company with others come into your mind for a very long time afterward. Those who have gone on ahead, take with them your memory, theirs, denied you. As, one by one, your friends leave the earth, you do also. You, then, are left with the job, the honour, of keeping sacred memories of "the way it was". Recently, a very fine lady out of my past, died. Her method of coping with difficulties was to laugh. Her unforgettable tinkling laughter  arose from of the middle of her being and came out in gleeful, melodious bars of delight. She used the same laughter for all occasions, even the bad ones that needed banishing. During our young days before our collection of children happened but university, jobs and weddings came in that order, we played cards or cooked our versions of gourmet dinners or just had evenings to sit, sip and chat, we exchanged all kinds of  intimate feelings. Later on, we women met with our babies in tow, to talk over ideas on Spock's book and to compare our childrens' developmental issues and successes. Then the complications of job related matters became tantamount as some of us were transferred to far away places and others rose or fell into various distant social spheres. When our kids went off to school, we kept up with letters and notes at Christmas time or called in while on holidays. Somehow most of our group of six or so, did stay in touch. We empathized when divorces, child illnesses and spousal difficulties ensued. Much later, there was retirement and travel and offspring successes to report. Grandchild excitement happened and pictures were sent. The photos caused "wow does she/he look old now" comment. Then came the sicknesses, deaths in the broader family and lastly, deaths of the people in our group itself. What we were really looking at was the highway of life. Sadly, a friend of long ago, just died. She struggled with the help of her family and medical team, for a number of weeks before she gave up her life to seek rest. Her path had been an ambitious course that resulted in giving joy not only to her family but to scores of strangers. Her  artistic talent rendered delightful, colourful vignettes of ordinary life but which were actually her own vision, her "take" on it. She took its humour and poignancy in her sights and let it flow through her paint brush. She made it a successful venture as well. Her life was an example of how everyone should make what is waiting just beyond our reach and all that is within it, precious, before we have to give it all up.  Farewell Vivian, dear old friend. Well done.