He looks like my friend” is how my grandson described his new friend as I quizzed him on his new school and how he was adapting socially. He was telling me that he had made quite a few new buddies; so I asked if he wanted to have one over to play with him; somehow I asked him what his new friend looked like; I don’t know why; it came out of my mouth. He stared back at me and gave me his response; I was amazed; and taken back at how this four year old had but me in my place……. in the simplest of terms he told me; no more, no less, he had not judged him by appearance; but by the ultimate fact that they found a common bond, whether it be legos or Star Wars, they were friends.
As adults, we tend to be much more defined in our friendships, we judge by looks, clothes, cars and just about anything else that defines what we want to portray ourselves to the public eye. Of course we are not always what we dress ourselves as; many people are way deep into MasterCard and ready for debtor’s prison but on the outside; they look like Donald Trump with better hair.
Unfortunately people perceive that all races and/or religions are the same; they group people together with their heritage as a common denominator. Much amazed I am that in this day and age there remains so many preconceived notions regarding people of various races or creeds. Tying together ethnic origins drives me crazy. Expressions which characterized certain nationally are just wrong; true each nationality has their own set of quirks; but so many generations have passed from the origin of birth and most have been so Americanized it just does not make any sense to lump them all together. What startles me most is the acceptance of these racial/religious
slurs and jokes; it is just not right; funny maybe; but not nice.
Yes, we seek comfort in people who are similar to ourselves in likes and dislikes but we learn from others not in our realm of our security if we learn to branch out.
From the looks of it; my grandson won’t have any difficulty accepting people for what they are; not how they look; I hope people accept him for just what he is; a kind young man; with the ability to read people and accept them for what they mean to him as an individual.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Winter is way too hard
Winter is hard. Everything is more difficult. I realize we live in New England where some folks call snow pretty; so we should either stop complaining or move south. I hear many complaints in my job about the day to day problems of snow, sleet and rain, so I spend a lot of time talking about the problems of snow during those long cold months.
Start with getting up in the morning. It is dark, which makes even getting out of bed easier said than done. It is cold; and to keep warm you have to have some artificial heating device blow warm air out of a small grated hole in the wall. Instead of waking up to the sound of birds; the first noise of the day is ice scraping or plow related noises, not comforting, but hostile like a nail against the blackboard. Getting in the shower is cold; in and out no dallying; get out, stand there stark naked shivering. Skin goes to hell in the winter; we moisturize the hell out of my bodies, only to cover it up with itchy fibers. While examining a mole on my leg with a magnifying glass; my normally tan well oiled leg looked remarkably like the other side of mars. I screamed out loud, not wanting to believe this skin was attached to my body. Time to blow dry the hair which will stand on end from the static produced by the fake warm air. Then apply make up in fake lighting, so the remainder of the day you look like the walking dead or some overage actress.
Getting dressed. too many damn layers; socks, two shirts, long pants, nylons, way too much clothing for me. As I put on my boots, which I have to maneuver into as opposed to just slipping them on; I try to bend down to tie them; which did not work; so I tried sitting on the bed, to perform this feat. The socks were causing some friction, and they started to “blow out” at the big toe. Boots are made to protect from weather, so they have to be sturdy; with sturdy you get heavy and the very last thing I need is an extra five pounds on the each leg.
On to the outer gear. First I search for a match pair of gloves to cover the moisturizer soaked hands. One of each was what I found, five black gloves, all of them different shapes. Wrap the scarf around my neck and look down to see it hanging down next to my heavy boots. Obviously this was meant for one on the UConn Woman’s basketball team players, not for a 5’3’’ spectator. So I tried to make it fashionable any try some new-fangled scarf procedure. Now I have no neck, but I will not trip over my accessory. On to the traditional black coat, which added another eight pounds to my anatomy. Topped it off my wool hat which will create
hat hair combined with static cling and I am out the door.
Once out the door, I walk to the car, portraying Katarina Witt, famous ice skater, slipping and sliding out to the car. Boots acting like tires, keeping me from crashing into obstacles and other moving vehicles. When I make it to the cute little VW bug car, it doesn’t look so precious under inches of snow and packed ice, it looks cold and ugly. Hoping the locks are not frozen, I get in, start it up and engage in hand to scraper combat with the Suzio/York Hill commemorative ice scrapper and broom. Then my relative starts her car, parked right next to mine, from deep within the warm house and scares me half to death. I am now freezing and just filled with angst. On my way to work (I don’t go out to play much in winter) I get behind “Joe SUV” who obviously has a garage because there is not a speck of white stuff on the vehicle; he drives with reckless abandon, caring less that the very small car in back of him is just trying to get somewhere, not looking for a race or combat, just a smooth ride to work.
Children have it rough in the winter; babies are wrapped up to resemble mummies; carriers are covered with aunt Edna’s hand crafted blankets, the child has no clue of why he can no longer see the light of day. Toddlers swathed in outfits created by the Michelin man himself, arms extended, scarfs wrapped around the mouth, silly hats with pompoms on them and boots made of rubber all this to “play outside” for ten minutes until they will inevitably will have to use the bathroom facilities and elect to play indoor games or watch a video.
Many other situations traditionally correlate with winter time. All Bob Maxon has to do is say “snow” and all the bread and milk in a 100 mile radius is off the shelf. I can’t remember the last time a storm kept anyone in the house longer than a day or two at the most. So what’s this relationship to bread, milk and snow? I just don’t get it and frankly no one else I know does either. I don’t understand why people worry about ‘getting out of the house” when it snows on weekends? Why do they shovel their walkways while it is still snowing? Why does beautiful snow turn into the ugly brown slush?
All this, makes me question my move back from the Southwest, but I did and will try not to complain too very much, I will just think of summer, the beach and count the days until I wake up to the sun, get out of bed, jump into my shorts and tee shirts slip on my docksiders, and head out the door. Summer is soft and so much easier on the soul.
Start with getting up in the morning. It is dark, which makes even getting out of bed easier said than done. It is cold; and to keep warm you have to have some artificial heating device blow warm air out of a small grated hole in the wall. Instead of waking up to the sound of birds; the first noise of the day is ice scraping or plow related noises, not comforting, but hostile like a nail against the blackboard. Getting in the shower is cold; in and out no dallying; get out, stand there stark naked shivering. Skin goes to hell in the winter; we moisturize the hell out of my bodies, only to cover it up with itchy fibers. While examining a mole on my leg with a magnifying glass; my normally tan well oiled leg looked remarkably like the other side of mars. I screamed out loud, not wanting to believe this skin was attached to my body. Time to blow dry the hair which will stand on end from the static produced by the fake warm air. Then apply make up in fake lighting, so the remainder of the day you look like the walking dead or some overage actress.
Getting dressed. too many damn layers; socks, two shirts, long pants, nylons, way too much clothing for me. As I put on my boots, which I have to maneuver into as opposed to just slipping them on; I try to bend down to tie them; which did not work; so I tried sitting on the bed, to perform this feat. The socks were causing some friction, and they started to “blow out” at the big toe. Boots are made to protect from weather, so they have to be sturdy; with sturdy you get heavy and the very last thing I need is an extra five pounds on the each leg.
On to the outer gear. First I search for a match pair of gloves to cover the moisturizer soaked hands. One of each was what I found, five black gloves, all of them different shapes. Wrap the scarf around my neck and look down to see it hanging down next to my heavy boots. Obviously this was meant for one on the UConn Woman’s basketball team players, not for a 5’3’’ spectator. So I tried to make it fashionable any try some new-fangled scarf procedure. Now I have no neck, but I will not trip over my accessory. On to the traditional black coat, which added another eight pounds to my anatomy. Topped it off my wool hat which will create
hat hair combined with static cling and I am out the door.
Once out the door, I walk to the car, portraying Katarina Witt, famous ice skater, slipping and sliding out to the car. Boots acting like tires, keeping me from crashing into obstacles and other moving vehicles. When I make it to the cute little VW bug car, it doesn’t look so precious under inches of snow and packed ice, it looks cold and ugly. Hoping the locks are not frozen, I get in, start it up and engage in hand to scraper combat with the Suzio/York Hill commemorative ice scrapper and broom. Then my relative starts her car, parked right next to mine, from deep within the warm house and scares me half to death. I am now freezing and just filled with angst. On my way to work (I don’t go out to play much in winter) I get behind “Joe SUV” who obviously has a garage because there is not a speck of white stuff on the vehicle; he drives with reckless abandon, caring less that the very small car in back of him is just trying to get somewhere, not looking for a race or combat, just a smooth ride to work.
Children have it rough in the winter; babies are wrapped up to resemble mummies; carriers are covered with aunt Edna’s hand crafted blankets, the child has no clue of why he can no longer see the light of day. Toddlers swathed in outfits created by the Michelin man himself, arms extended, scarfs wrapped around the mouth, silly hats with pompoms on them and boots made of rubber all this to “play outside” for ten minutes until they will inevitably will have to use the bathroom facilities and elect to play indoor games or watch a video.
Many other situations traditionally correlate with winter time. All Bob Maxon has to do is say “snow” and all the bread and milk in a 100 mile radius is off the shelf. I can’t remember the last time a storm kept anyone in the house longer than a day or two at the most. So what’s this relationship to bread, milk and snow? I just don’t get it and frankly no one else I know does either. I don’t understand why people worry about ‘getting out of the house” when it snows on weekends? Why do they shovel their walkways while it is still snowing? Why does beautiful snow turn into the ugly brown slush?
All this, makes me question my move back from the Southwest, but I did and will try not to complain too very much, I will just think of summer, the beach and count the days until I wake up to the sun, get out of bed, jump into my shorts and tee shirts slip on my docksiders, and head out the door. Summer is soft and so much easier on the soul.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The call for Adventure and change
It defies everything that is logical; all that is practical; the mere thought would throw most my age over the edge; but here it is straight from the thoughts and wants of my inner most being on this cold January day; where the earth is brown underneath a covering of grey like snow.
I want out; I like my job well enough; love my family and friends, but the urge to live the remainder of my life on a beach front is taking over once again.
I am fully aware of the good common sense of having a pension; it has been drummed into my head for many years; I know I should have a good amount of money socked away just in case; should make sure I have medical coverage and all that stuff; but I don’t want to; I want to live out the rest of my life with ex-patriot Americans who threw caution to the balmy winds of the Caribbean; dropped the pretense of “the good life” and actually LIVED. Each day being an experience unlike the day before; lots of new friends and hopefully my old friends would come to visit.
When I left the east coast last time thirty three years ago; I had little baggage physically or mentally; I was young and very employable; I had family; but no first line responsibilities. Several years ago; I moved into a small place; pared down my material goods; so the physical move would be easy; it is the mental move that might be difficult; now my I have a daughter, grandson and a granddaughter on the way in May; could I leave them? I would miss their youth; it would be tough not to talk to them and see them more than once a year. But this urge to go is so strong today; (it isn’t helping that I am listening to Buffett music while I write) and I don’t want to look back and say “ I should have”……………………
I need an adventure.
I want out; I like my job well enough; love my family and friends, but the urge to live the remainder of my life on a beach front is taking over once again.
I am fully aware of the good common sense of having a pension; it has been drummed into my head for many years; I know I should have a good amount of money socked away just in case; should make sure I have medical coverage and all that stuff; but I don’t want to; I want to live out the rest of my life with ex-patriot Americans who threw caution to the balmy winds of the Caribbean; dropped the pretense of “the good life” and actually LIVED. Each day being an experience unlike the day before; lots of new friends and hopefully my old friends would come to visit.
When I left the east coast last time thirty three years ago; I had little baggage physically or mentally; I was young and very employable; I had family; but no first line responsibilities. Several years ago; I moved into a small place; pared down my material goods; so the physical move would be easy; it is the mental move that might be difficult; now my I have a daughter, grandson and a granddaughter on the way in May; could I leave them? I would miss their youth; it would be tough not to talk to them and see them more than once a year. But this urge to go is so strong today; (it isn’t helping that I am listening to Buffett music while I write) and I don’t want to look back and say “ I should have”……………………
I need an adventure.
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