Sheet Fits

The fitted sheet is likely the most painful convenience since the iron maiden. It is a true form of torture, but with no purpose in mind. What was so bad about folding corners in the hospital manner ? Few of us did it, but we knew it could be done. Our nurse friends told us it could because that's how they earned the stripe on their caps. Or used to. When the fitted sheet came out, everyone thought it was a boon. We all ran out and bought them thinking that we were free of hospital corner guilt when we couldn't quite perfect the neat corners on the bed that no one other than nosy neighbours and mothers-in-law ever laid eyes on. Those were the days when your linen closet, if you are lucky enough to have one now, showed layers of nice flat linens. The advent of the fitted sheet, messed all that up. On line, you began to learn the art of folding the F sheet so that it almost appeared to lie flat when not in use. Even that exercise defeated me, and I am known for patience. I did try, but the effort was far too time consuming when after folding other laundry, I learned to merely flap the F sheet ends under and fake it, making do with the lumpy linen look and telling anyone interested, "they don't do flat any more".  Actually, "they" haven't done flat since the advent of goose down anyway. But how the linens store, is only point one. Point two or the "hard part", is how to fit the fitted sheet on the bed. I swear that having bought very good million count thread sheets from a very good source of bed linens, I felt that a sheet set should do what the label says. Fit. Perhaps it is the mattress or my lack of bed-making talent, but to get the fitted sheet on that fourth corner is dangerous. I try not to do it until I am ready to see my nail lady because many a nail has suffered and been lost in the effort to make the bed. I have had to run to her the same afternoon for a replacement. the nail, not the bed.  And now that arthritis has inflicted itself into my life, the effort needed to get that fourth corner of the fitted sheet on the fourth corner of the bed, is a painful process. I have tried getting sheets that are correctly measured for my bed's size and shape but I have ended up never getting the whole sheet to lie flat over the entire mattress. My secret solution is to do the other three corners where they show and that remote fourth corner that can't be seen even by mothers-in-law, is where I only partly fit the sheet on. There are wrinkles and ugly folds. Anyone else as sneaky as me? The real solution is for sheet providers to go back to two nice sheets, full size and the old tuck-it -in method of bed making. Down with the fitted sheet and up with two flat ones in a set! Please.

Farewell Cute

How many times do we say "cute" in a week. Cute applies to almost everything including shoes, babies, any part of the human body, old ladies, cars: you name it. It's fun describing anything as cute. Generally, it seems to mean something that catches our eyes in the most pleasing way. "Cute" is a kind of visual giggle. I had a friend who told me that she used the word "cute" as an insult. On further probing, I learned that she meant "cute" was her way of saying that something or someone was temporary and transitory in a kind of  humorous "here today and gone tomorrow" sort of way. And actually, that's not an entirely unfortunate way of looking at the descriptor, "cute".  Lots of situations come to mind.  I know a "cute" couple. They look kind of kinky. They're amusing and entertaining. But with time, their cuteness is wearing very thin. They are becoming a bit of a bore with their jabs and jibes and jiggling senses of humour that have finally lost their spontaneity. I know cute appearances that have faded sadly and the perky noses or smiles that have since tended to droop into more serious visages. The cute apartment décor, once in the latest mode, has become tired and outdated. The little house on the corner with its cute curb appeal needs a re-do. I have a closet full of cute items that are no longer cute. Even though I purchased them originally for their colour or shape or texture, they have lost their charm with time. I am tired of them just like the cute couple that is becoming more annoying than fun to be around or the face that has somehow fallen. It proves that cuteness wears off. Our cute babies are perhaps one of the most lasting "cutes". Because they change as they grow, a baby's cuteness is always appealing and delightful. Unfortunately, our babies, too, grow out of their cuteness and eventually are not cute any longer. They grow up on us. It all proves the element of cute rests on being charmingly fleeting. It brings to mind other things that are temporary and how that characteristic makes them all the more precious in our memories. Ice carvings, sand sculptures,wedding dresses, tea roses, bird song, sunsets, reunions, aged folk, holidays, girl and boyfriends, music:  all, all farewells to "cute" in the making. 

Shalt Not Kill

Today I saw an on-line article with a photograph showing an execution chair with sandbags, a leather helmet and restraints. It was one that holds a prisoner condemned to capital punishment by firing squad. The picture did more than disturb me and I began writing a blog to express my horror as a progressively minded human being. I wrote a rather embittered piece decrying the warped legal minds that could possibly consider this kind of thing in this kind of age of so-called enlightenment. The writing was acidic and horrified and made me feel worse just writing about it. And then I thought, whoa here! What is this photo and the accompanying article trying to do to me, the reader? It was doing exactly what the writer hoped it would. It got my attention and my blood up on something about which I could do absolutely nothing and about which I was left horrified and depressed by an image that would stay with me for some time. I deleted what I wrote and when I did, somehow I felt much more positive and even lighter, certainly more at peace. I don't know about you, but at the end of my day, I want to try and find some kind of goodness in our society, in these times of great scientific progress and profound humanity despite the media's constant onslaught presenting the worst events they can find. I want to believe that the vast majority of us love our families and find personal harmony in our daily lives. We want to be reminded of these things and there isn't enough of it in the news reports. I decided not to write about the horror I felt in that image, but about what is worth holding on to: truth, beauty and goodness. And there is plenty of it out there. Instead of going to the sites on television and in other forms of media and opting into the negativity, I wanted to search for the good things that people do: their creative works, their acts of mercy and kindness, their compassion for those who are ignored or spurned. There are such tales to be found even though most news reports are about wars and crime and hatred. You can find the rare ones that restore hope in our world. It's not easy and certainly many forms of the "social media" definitely cannot be considered uplifting. But we can do our own "reality shows" and look at those around us and take heart. And even if we are alone, we can get out the old family photos to enjoy. Others may turn off all the electronics and sit with family to play a game or just chat about what we did that day. We can ask our mate to take a walk with us or read something together such as poetry and discuss it. We can make every attempt to find positive topics and  tales to read and tell. Remembering the good times is pleasurable. There are so many of them and they don't cost a cent. What's a "cent", Mommy? 

Not Our Fault

Just read the most bitter, bad attitude article in a major Canadian news magazine that has my mind reeling from its acidic tone and prejudicial message. Hate the Baby Boomers who made our lives miserable and hopeless was the tone. Biased pf course. It was about how Baby Boomers are ruining the lives of Millennials. It dripped of self-pity and blame and yes, hatred for Boomers who are not retiring and letting them have their jobs and who dare to want home owner grants. Whoa there! The present economic situation is not the fault of previous generations my dear author of this vitriolic bit of tripe. It was caused in part by you, those of you who grew up in an era that gave you socialized medicine and better schools and living condition standards than any other previous generations if you'd care to examine more than your warped, rather spoiled outlook. It's not to say that life isn't tough when you can't use your expensive degree earned from the university of your choice. We tried to make your lives better than ours. It wasn't all a piece of cake in our day, but unfortunately we made it look that way. Without going into everything your indulgent little mind is railing about, with your sharp little straightened teeth and your immunizations and your teachers who had decent educations and your merchants who pay you a set minimum wage, a luxury that we former babysitters didn't have with our 50 cents an hour, or your fat little kid allowance or Mom's car to use that you stank up with cigarettes and purloined beer cans.  My answer to this kind of age discrimination is Get A Life Darlin'.  This is a different time, and you happen to live in it, unusable degree and all. Do you think life has ever been easy? Ask yourself why you didn't anticipate finding an education that would serve you, instead of thinking the world was going to provide you with something for nothing. Sure you work at a pizza parlour. You live in a studio apartment? Boo hoo. Who paid for your education, the big part of it? Of course you have to pay for the rest. At least you have credit which is more than the Boomers did. You have a job. In the day, not everyone got the dream job they hoped for. You have to wait and work for that to happen. You aren't the perfect person your parents told you were, not a princess or a prince. Wake up. You are just another Joe or Jane out there in the world trying to get by. Unfortunately, you believed it was all a "rose garden". Disneyland is over, reality is now. Life isn't easy and you are all grown up and your plight  isn't the fault of Boomer Mom and Dad. You fell out of the cosy nest. Now fly.

Mind Reading, An Art?

Mind reading isn't an art, but it is a talent that some people seem to have. They likely developed their abilities over time spent in watching, listening and putting the old two-and-two together to come up with  the useful ability to predict what is about to happen or not. The latter may not always be  correct, but at least, there is effort shown. In the event, the augury doesn't work, the teller can  plead that it may perhaps happen in the future. That's a safe bet.  The best "mind readers" aren't the ones who go about advertising it socially or professionally (if you can call it that), they simply luck into doing it right once or twice, and build on that reputation. When my mother took us, my sister and I, along on her weekly frequent tea visits (she didn't believe in babysitters), we learned early on,  that there was a special welcome for those like her, who could tell the future and guess at the past. With fascination, we saw, after the tea and cakes had been consumed, ladies turning their china tea cups upside down on their saucers to make wishes before setting them up again and waiting their turns for their tea leaves to be read. Incidentally, these women enjoyed at tea times, tea, the raw kind, no bags, thank you very much. They also made homemaking their careers, ones they took very seriously and did remarkably well at, all considered. The tea leaves revealed remarkable things including a few secrets best left unsaid. But the tiny tidbits that were exposed guaranteed the tea leaf reader's popularity from then on. Tiny items of gossip were more sought after than facts. It seemed to me, even as a child who was forced to sit quietly and juggle a tea cup full of mostly milk, that to learn the art of housewifery and divination was richly involved in the matter of tea parlour invitations. The expressions and body language as tea leaf seerage was imparted, told more than the mouth of the reader who peered above the cup closely regarding the effect of each of her words. The predictions or readings were suggested with subtle adjustments made along the way effectively, as any good mind reader knows. "I see here, a car, or is it a train or perhaps a plane?" "No? Oh, but I do see that a journey or visit is happening or has happened?" "Ah yes, you are going somewhere? Or you've been? Let me see now...". The listener actually feeds the predictor, her material. It's all in the close consideration and reception of responses and observations of body language. What lesson I learned, is that to pay  attention to the effect of our words while checking the expressions and movements of a listener's physical gestures, can glean the most remarkable and rewarding impressions. Truth truly, is found, not merely in what we say, but how we say it!