Poll Vaulting

I wish I could vault all polls. Just to jump over them would do. Most polls are ninety nine and a half percent unreliable, to use their terms. Think of it. Most polling companies have a stable of steadies. This is a control poll. Having applied and been denied by one for age reasons, I learned they are sort of "fixed", and as reliable as a ring on a string in predicting anything that really matters to the world at large.  A true general poll ought to be of a swath of  society randomly and widely taken, not chosen people tailored to respond a certain way. A poll I read the other day, said that our country is the eighteenth most "unhappy" one, after having been polled previously as "happy". First, I was sad. Later I laughed at the audacity of this "poll" on happiness. I began to think how wrong it is that some individuals consider polls to be absolute truth even with a bit of percentage "accuracy" tacked on.  This one made me feel only gloomy.  It's okay to poll some tangible matters if the opinions are needed, but to assume that a poll is what people will use as a life guide is ridiculous. The matter of being polled needs thought, but mostly by the companies who do them. To answer their phone poll questions with any degree of consideration, is impossible. The polls that might be  useful are those that allow time to answer on a longer term basis. Most of the quick polls ask questions on a phone. Unless they answer my questions first, all they get from me is a click. I want to know who is calling me and why and then I tell them that I will answer only what I think is safe. But polling to assess "happiness"? First, who can define what makes a person happy? Is it money, success, love, family, places? All people have a different "happiness", and most of the time, they aren't about to tell a complete stranger on a phone, what aspect of life represents their personal happiness. Those sorts of polls need to be vaulted off the media and its time spent doing  research into facts, not fanciful queries.  

Delivery Needs Updating

Online shopping has become the latest thing in convenient living. I find online shopping ideal because, since I gave up my carbon emitting car that I used to run around here and there shopping, I now sit at my computer. I view my item online, learn what's in the product. I can also cancel or change orders to meet my needs at most sites. The  stumbling block  is delivery companies. They promise to deliver and often all you get it a note telling you where to pick it up. I don't do that.  I quit shopping at certain online marketers because of their inconvenient delivery systems that appear to serve the delivery folk rather than me. Today I ordered a Canadian product but learned that the delivery, being an outside firm, not their own I can't change the delivery date. I need to change it, due to a building closure at that specific time. I wanted to have the product delivered the following day or in the near future.  When I called the large company and was told they were not permitted to change because the item came from another source, not their delivery service, I cancelled the order. I will look for a shopping location online that serves me, not the delivery trucker.  That's an example of why all these online sellers need to buck up their features if they want to continue to sell. I pay for delivery, not to go pick it up at a depot. All that fuss is on their shoulders. Reliable and straight delivery is  the responsibility of the seller, not the consumer. It's timely for online sellers to take charge and to fix this flaw if they want to retain their loyal customers. 

Ceiling Clompers

 Every apartment and condo building has ceiling clompers. These are folks who enjoy taking their daily concerns out on those who live below them. Some people yell at their spouses or their kids for this purpose, and others make finger signals at cars or honk their horns. These creatures do it with their feet. And may they achieve heel spurs. I have lived under such human animals. It is hopeless to complain to the management, because like mine, they choose to make you think, it's all in your head and not your ears. One such manager gave me a decibel reader and said that it was only at a certain level which she could do anything about. I tested the level and it was as deafening as the leaf blower that comes around every Wednesday. She has her needs, too. What to do, I have found, is to use another noise, one you can crank up so that your ears will think it's part of a symphonic sound and not the nuisance it really is. I have two speakers for music in my place. One is at each end of my place and the system aimed at the ceiling, has super bass when needed. After use, I found that my neighbours up there sold their cow.  Also, in my laundry room, I use little plastic balls in the washer and dryer. They beat the dirt out of your jeans but have their own special timbre while at it. I have a few, both in the washer and also in the dryer. I have to tell you that I abhor  washers and dryers with little round hobbit windows. My set is specifically and deliberately the OF flat sort. I like the folding space. The trouble with my upper noise festerers, is that I like these people. It's not all bad. At four thirty in the morning, with them, I don't need an alarm clock. I've got them going out to jog. At twelve in the dark of the night, as they shower, I use a headset designed for dynamite workers. Ah communal living!

Takin' It Easy

The wheel was invented to make our lives better. When you're my age, you ought to take that seriously. I abhor taking pills for pain and if there is another way, that's it for me. I don't need to do marathons or swim lengths or suffer pain to pretend I am "young" again. I use a cane and a walker and recently have decided to get a  wheeled chair that will allow me to scootch around the house. I don't need pain. It might make me cranky. We had Old Aunt Mabel in our family, and she was the most miserable woman ever. We loved her but being in constant pain she wasn't fun to be around. Then she discovered the wheel chair. Suddenly, she grew nicer. That proved to me, that people who insist upon punishing themselves with pain, have to give up the idiotic line, "no pain no gain". How silly.  Might be okay for Olympians, but that idea never tempted me to enjoy pain at any age. First, it causes face wrinkles. Second, when you are on the other side of That Age, you don't need pain for any reason. Get the hearing aids, get the bifocals, get the cane and walker and when even they don't do the trick why not get a nice "self-propelled" wheel chair. My mother had one and she continued into her nineties to boast that she did all her own housework and cooking. She did them with help. Wheeled help. Because you are smart enough at my stage, to use aids, you avoid accidents and pain. You also find that your mood is much brighter. Too many golden gens avoid aids because they fear being thought of as "old". What's the sin in that? No one is getting "young". It's time we humans stopped being ashamed of "old". It's a delightful time of not having to go to work. Of having lovely people help you. Of being offered better prices. And best of all, having time. Time is the most precious gift of all. Love it and treasure it. Take it easy because you earned it. 

My Junk, My Stuff

 It may be "junk" to someone, but to me, it's my junk and it has meaning and purpose. Its meaning is historical to my life only. I don't expect it to matter much to anyone else, but each piece reminds me of wonderful times, events and occasions. It doesn't matter what other people think of my things. It matters to me because this is my home, not theirs. The purpose of keeping my "junk" in my home is also my business because that is exactly what it is: My Business. In your home, you like your snazzy modern couch with no arms and no back support and is made of cardboard under the white fabric that you worry about too much. To me, that's "junk". If I sound defensive, it has nothing to do with my own family who are much more sensible. From adquaintances and friends and in the media I hear constantly, about "hoarding" which isn't such, but only  elders wanting to retain memories as long as possible. "Hoarding" is keeping garbage. It isn't the family duty to "get rid of all this junk" belonging to elders. My grandmother displayed a plaque in her entrance hallway. "This is my place, and in it, I'll do as I darn well please!". Yay, gramma! Having cleaned out my own mother's home when she passed on, I get it. As much work as it was, I learned who my mother really was. We became adult friends even though she had passed on. I came across so much that told me she was a true individual: clever, ambitious, adventurous and a learner. We all have things that mean something special to us alone, and it doesn't matter if it's worth money. Elders spent on such beauties as fine glass and china, gold and silver and gems. They believed in quality of craftsmanship and materials that were rare and in art that cost lots. Times change and that's fine, but younger folks must know that their tastes are theirs alone and elders feel the same, just as appropriately. Harping at them is mean and unnecessary. They don't need to get rid of anything. In the "grand plan" I think getting rid of inheritors' kin possessions is part of an education in one's own life history. Fortunately, there are companies, that for a cost will pack up and itemize all items before sending them off for sale or discard. They take a cut on the profits if any, but make everyone's life a little easier. For now, my stuff is  my company in a life alone with memories. I love both: my life and my adored junk. 

Motherhood: Career II

What's wrong with looking at motherhood (even if fathers decide this route) as a job. Being a parent isn't dropping a child off somewhere and going off to the "prime" career. At least, it's not that for a child. Their job as a child is to be with a mother person who is there most of the time and the two of them will see and hear and feel and need each other for the next intense six years until the child wants its peers. Can't afford it? That's a choice these days, but if you make it your "job", yes you should be paid. Our governments should do it. Instead of money flying off to babysitting, play schools, early ed factories, and medications for stressed working mothers, why not pay the moms to enjoy their wonderful opportunity as role models, care givers and lovers of children, their own creations. All the stress apparently associated with motherhood may then disappear. A woman doesn't have to prove herself to  do it all.  A mother taking a break from her profession to have a child, isn't on a break, and children aren't break fodder. They are a heritage, a future and a responsibility, not a "break". Nor are children simply  a side trip because your time clock thinks is time to do it. Children are a serious career. If you have that career as your work, it doesn't mean being a super muffin-decorating mom, but a woman who learns what her body is great for - other things too, but this one is the biggie.  When I left my career of six years, and made the decision to be at home and stay a mother for six years, it was a big decision but every second of that wonderful time was rewarding and so full of love it chokes me to think about how it felt to have a two year old little baby boy run to me and jump up to give me the biggest hug in the world. When I went back to work, my son and I were  two thirds of our family and that love and attachment we three had made together, lasted all of our lives. We supported ourselves and each other and our growing extended other loving people, without guilt or stress, regardless of what some other folks talked about. Now that I am alone with only memories, it remains and I believe it to be the greatest treasure there is in life.