Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
  • Author Archives: kayewer

    • Vicious Girls

      Posted at 6:18 pm by kayewer, on January 20, 2024

      Before computers took over our world, our children were victimized by advertisements on television a few times an hour during commercial breaks, or they saw promotions and photos in magazines once a month. Usually the products were toys. Now, they are bombarded several times each minute. The advertisers and influencers putting their opinions and promoting their products are ruthless, and their targets are getting younger. So are the products, like cosmetics. Yes, cosmetics are becoming the must-have for children.

      A recent article detailed a phenemon not unlike the Stanley pink cup craze I mentioned recently (folks stood in line at 3:00 AM for the privilege of purchasing a limited edition vessel from a legacy thermal cup company). The mad crowd in this case were youngsters at ten years old.

      A product line with the questionable name Drunk Elephant (as one example) is offered at cosmetic mega-retailers Sephora and Ulta. The youngsters are visiting the stores in groups, and come armed with their parents’ credit cards and no regard for respect. They have been reported to open products, touch and then not purchase them (leaving them contaminated and unsellable, and damaged samplers), steal items other shoppers have selected out of their baskets if the item has been depleted at the sale tables, harass and assault store employees and even argue with their mothers about spending $900 for such items as retinol creams.

      Ten years old, and they suddenly woke up thinking that they need these things at any cost.

      When I was ten years old, I was happy to have a wonderful, light complexion. In a year or so, acne did a job on me (and back then there was little that helped), but never once did I consider using aging products. Those are for people who are showing signs of breaking down skin elasticity. At around the thirties or so. Not at ten years old. In fact, doctors and beauticians are chiming in about how bad for children’s health these products are. There is no research about whether the chemicals that deter skin aging interfere with the normal growth processes in pre-pubescent youngsters.

      Ten is a wonderful age; two digits at every birthday from now on, a few years of basic schooling under the belt and a world ahead. This is not the time to spread tinted grease on faces or stop a process that hasn’t even kicked into gear yet. Besides, why do ten-year-olds want to buy a third Porsche for some male executive (Tim Warner for Drunk Elephant, and who, by the way, likely doesn’t wear any of his own products) when they could buy something useful or enjoyable for themselves.

      I look at these articles from about forty-some-odd years of using products on my skin, and I realize that a ten-year-old would look at me and declare I am an ancient crone who should just curl up and die so they can glamorize themselves and forget that old people exist. These ten-year-olds feel falsely empowered without earning the years of learning that parents and grandparents are breaking their backs to instill in them. They respect nothing, not even the very products they’re scrambling with $900 to buy though they don’t need them. The destruction they leave behind in Sephora is evidence of their immaturity and callousness. If you look up “Sephora Kids,” you will see and read about the chaos.

      Just what we always wanted: ten-year-old Karens.

      Those Drunk Elephant products are, essentially, tinted science projects of blended animal and chemical elements, packaged in eye-catching containers and marketed to make you believe that they make your appearance better. The blending and swiping you do to apply the products tug on your young skin, and you may not see it today, but before you turn 30, you will notice those tugs in the form of WRINKLES, for which you really will need to either firm up with a cream or see your local cosmetic surgeon.

      I have watched influencers apply layers of foundation, blush, highlighters and contours to their faces while talking about a totally unrelated subject. This has become an element of video production, and it’s one reason why I don’t do video podcasts. I learned to apply makeup in private, not to use what isn’t needed, not to keep anything on longer than necessary and to try not to look like a cartoon or a hooker. If I have to do a tutorial while vocalizing my blog post, I would feel like the former, and I respect myself too much to do anything that would come off as the latter.

      The idea of spending $900 on stuff that soaks in or gets wiped off hours later has never entered my mind. No wonder these folks are growing into adulthood without any idea of how to budget; it’s going on their faces, and not into their college fund. Drunk Elephant appears to be focused on aging products rather than makeup, since their most popular items are masks and serums. I find great benefits from the products in the pharmacy, such as Olay and L’Oreal, to moisturize my skin after working outside or evenings after spending time in the sun at the beach.

      I wonder if these same ten-year-olds use sunscreen as religiously as Drunk Elephant anti-aging creams? Do they value youth or avoiding skin cancer more? Only time and maturity will tell.

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    • Tossing My Cookies

      Posted at 7:00 pm by kayewer, on January 13, 2024

      A popular phrase attributed to several renowned chefs says that their best crafted culinary dishes are flushed down the toilet as poo tomorrow. This is a humble effort to bring the realities of food and cooking down to their basics; the right ingredients, skills and a bit of luck can bring delightful joys to your table. Food is still a basic of life functionality.

      Why, then, is there a $160 box of a dozen cookies out there?

      A place called Last Crumb is offering what they call their Platinum Collection; a dozen large cookies baked with quality ingredients and shipped individually wrapped in a huge box to your door.

      What would you do if you were porch pirated of that extravagance? Break out the Dom Perignon and get yourself wasted, I would guess.

      There is a full description of the cookies you receive; each one unique. There’s a cookie called “What’s Up, Doc?” which is carrot cake, the “Florida Man” (key lime pie), the “Sack Lunch” (PB&J), and of course, Chocolate Chip XXX (a typical cookie touted as a 2.0 upgrade).

      Milk is not included.

      The last social media post said there were 48 boxes left of this limited edition special collection. Box #49 or so went to the home of one of my workplace managers, who gave a thumbs-up to the huge baked cardiac event inducers. They didn’t mention which they tried first, but my guess is the first choice favorite, which was then thoroughly devoured, leaving them with eleven others to sort through.

      And I consider one Crumbl cookie a month a treat if I can decide on one flavor. I still consider Girl Scout cookies a wonderful purchase. I must have poor taste.

      Sure, there’s nothing wrong with a little indulgence now and again, but is the world really a better place for a $13.33 cookie? Marie Antoinette wouldn’t bat an eye, but somebody who doesn’t have a slice of bread for a PB&J, let alone the PB or J, would shake their heads.

      But I shouldn’t be on this rant anyway. Just the other day, word got out that people were standing in line at Target stores in the early morning hours to buy the Stanley Cup. I immediately thought of the hockey trophy and was confused; turns out the OG thermal products company Stanley (a corporation since 1913) had produced a pink tumbler which was in high demand; as in fistfights at the display counter and run over grandma to get there high demand.

      I haven’t been in a Target store since they don’t seem to care so much about their employees as they tolerate misbehavior from customers; two recent incidents include an employee fired for asking kids to remove their bikes–which they were openly riding indoors–for which he was beaten and suffered injuries they didn’t need to pay for since they fired him, and a suit alleging that young people were riding store-provided mobility carts at high speed and injuring shopping pedestrians.

      It seems we will do anything for a thrill. Buy a $13.33 cookie, or stand in line for a thermal mug.

      So it’s back to consumerism in all its ugliness, after about four years of a stagnant world forced into a peaceful lull.

      Pass me a Girl Scout Thin Mint, please.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged 160-cookie, baking, cookies, dessert, food, last-crumb, stanley-thermal-cup
    • My Awards Show Has a First Name

      Posted at 2:55 pm by kayewer, on January 6, 2024

      This morning I cracked open my Sunday supplement copy of the New York Times (yes, I read an actual hard copy newspaper: three, in fact) to find the first section devoted to the biggest award of the season, the Academy Awards. Naturally I began to look, and I was disappointed but not surprised by the articles and ads begging the members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences (AMPAS) to consider certain productions for nomination.

      When the movie industry began, it seems that every motion picture was simply produced to entertain the general public. It was a baby industry learning to walk before it needed to talk, and even when “talkies” came to the theatres people were aghast at the concept of adding sound. Which is what parents have also complained about since time immemorial.

      Eventually movies found themselves being categorized into romance, drama, horror and musical and such, but still anybody who had a few coins in their pockets could enjoy a movie (and often receive a free snack). Those were the days of news reels and travelogues, when information was sent out in any way possible. The filming of events overseas were duplicated and sent to what must have been hundreds or even thousands of screening houses. A visit to the movies was an experience for everybody. Children were exposed to general grammar, and foreigners could even learn English as a second language.

      When the turnaround happened, I’m not certain, but sometime after the 1970s and the dawn of summer blockbusters, the films considered for awards began to shift from movies everybody could watch to art house productions produced by a certain class of people and which only selected people saw. The feel of the events shifted from the general public to the micro percentage of the population.

      Two of the Times’ staff–Manohla Dargis and Alissa Wilkinson–provided a comparison of who and what they considered the best films for consideration. The only films I recognized in the listings are Oppenheimer and Killers of the Flower Moon. The former was released in the summer and enjoyed the distinction of popularity with a film apparently released for the general public: Barbie. Nowhere did Barbie get a suggested best picture nomination. The latter film came out in the last half of the year. Which seems to be the norm for this new ritual: the films nobody got to see are released at the end of the year to be fresh in the minds of those who did see them, and the rest of the year be damned.

      The other films listed for a hopeful place in history have never appeared on a movie screen in my area (except perhaps one AMC with the reputation for art house fare from its past incarnations which it cannot abandon). Movies with tiles such as May December, Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros, The Taste of Things and Asteroid City left me scratching my head. One is based on a true story about an older woman’s affair with a tween boy. One is a documentary film in French (English subtitles) about a renowned Michelin star restaurant, so why it would be considered for Best Picture rather than Best Documentary or Foreign Film is beyond me. Another is a romantic story about food (again), this time a cook and her gourmet employer, and the last is a dramedy about UFOs.

      These are movies that most people would not see. The “general public” has become the recipients of mass market pabulum, while the few percent attend the art houses and generally have the biggest say in anything to do with awards. Barbie is meaningless as a film to be memorialized, but it is possible that its director, Greta Gerwig, may be honored for her work on the project. The exclusivity of it all takes away from what the movie industry was designed for; not just entertainment, but enlightening the general public. We no longer need newsreels in the cinema, but we do need something to stimulate our brains.

      Of course I realize that the ordinary people out there wouldn’t want to see a film with subtitles, but I would consider seeing anything if I knew it existed first. The isolated publicity behind these films are keeping them away from even the curious. That isn’t fair if they also have some money in their pockets.

      A friend asked me if I would be willing to watch the Golden Globes, which tends to be a precursor to what pictures and persons win at the Academy Awards. Sure, I said. I’ll watch.

      But I will still be scratching my head.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged academy awards, barbie, film, movie, movie reviews, movies, oscars
    • Last-Minute Greeting

      Posted at 3:03 pm by kayewer, on December 30, 2023

      My mail for the past two weeks has been predictable and dull. I did get some Christmas cards, but the deliveries were mostly from catalogs. I also got notes from charities who have not figured out yet that I give from January to November and take this month off. Everybody gives in December, because it’s the month for remembering the less fortunate (if you’ve ever wondered what Boxing Day is, it’s said to be about the alms box at church, and has evolved to include other events such as department store sales). I didn’t order from any catalogs because I’m at a stage in life where I have everything I need, and it is time to start cutting back as I shift into my senior years of minimalist existence.

      I did get one rather extraordinary piece of mail. If I didn’t look at the front of it right away to see where it came from, I would have guessed it was something to be concerned about. It was square and comprised mostly of blue lined notebook paper carefully assembled with tape. When I saw the return address, I was relieved to see it was from an old neighbor of mine we’ll call Gabriella.

      Until the 80s, she lived with her mother and grandmother, brothers and sisters in a quaint house near the corner of the block. The family lived and breathed their faith above all else. They spent a lot of time doing regular activities and attending services at the large church/school complex nearby, run by a well known religious leader whose broadcasts on radio were part of the old-time tradition of strict Sunday adherence. I attended bible school and occasional events there, but the times I spent at their home were nearly always filled with messages, lessons and such thrown into every subject of conversation. Being one attuned to learning how to better regulate my life, I hope I was perceived as somebody who made a good effort. I was frowned upon for taking up ballet and reading young women’s magazines such as Glamour, but overall our relationship was good, and I did get an attendance award at the vacation bible school my final summer.

      Gabriella got married, and I was a bridesmaid. The ceremony was held at the church, of course, and the reverend himself officiated. It was the second of two weddings I attended in my lifetime, and the only one I was an active part of. I have a videotape of the event which needs transcribing onto DVD for future reference; though the announcer at the reception called me a friend of the groom instead of the bride by mistake, I still cherish that recording.

      Back to the letter. It wasn’t a long correspondence by any means. Gabriella apparently thought of me and wrote a line on the notepaper saying I was weighing heavy on her heart. No mention of Merry Christmas, how she or her family was doing, or anything. The letter was part of an envelope she could have used, which carried a tract, several pages of which were included.

      Why she went to such pains to surround a true envelope with note paper is a mystery. The few words in its contents makes me suspect that my friend is not doing as well as she could be. Normally her occasional letters would have more content and show some precision at corresponding. This is concerning. She is up there in years, like me, but younger and certainly able to nourish her body as well as her spirit unless charity has not added enough to her household. I don’t dare ask. She wouldn’t tell me, only that she has what she needs.

      My regular stationery is out of reach while I’m resorting, repairing and decluttering (I think my letterhead disappeared into a storage bin). I will reach into my piles of letter-writing materials that are still available, and send off a reply to let her know I’m thinking of her and not to worry, because I’m doing well.

      I suspect I may never see her in person again, as she lives in the far reaches of PA with her husband and as many children as divine chemistry has placed with them. I saw her firstborn son, but there have been more beyond him whom I have never met.

      I’m glad to be blessed with the ability to write physical letters when texts just won’t do the trick. She probably does not own a cell phone. If she had a phone or computer, I could at least see a picture of her. I’m not one to judge, but it would be nice to see her and at least know what the present day has brought her either way. Maybe that’s never going to happen, but she is still part of my history, and I would do anything for her within my power. Even send her some stationery.

      God bless Gabriella.

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    • The Year That Was 2023

      Posted at 3:17 pm by kayewer, on December 23, 2023

      The past is a polarizing topic, as evidenced by the old sayings for and against exploring what has gone before. It can’t be changed, but it provides insight we can learn from. The successes and mistakes are tools by which we can improve our future, so I decided to look back at the blogs from the past months.

      The year began with a mini-purge which unearthed a copy of Playgirl magazine from the 70s that was not mine (and how it got into the home remains an eternal mystery). The nostalgia value alone made me keep that as my “one-in-ten rule” save from that declutter mission. During the year I was given the opportunity to have hot guy posts in my social media feed, and being a single lady, I decided to take advantage of that. I now have guys in towels, cowboys, construction hunks, wet dudes in pools, tattooed dudes who barely hold their trousers up, and all varieties of testosterone in poses for my entertainment. And I don’t need to weed out porn.

      During the year I encountered a parking lot Karen, and a domestic abuse dispute (I spoke to the cops). The bus stop for Greyhound, which I was used to for nearly two years, changed locations without any prior notification. I don’t have any bus trips scheduled for 2024 until the company decides how they are going to treat their ridership (which should improve). Also, I won’t go to New York until the Metropolitan Opera has a season which does not include environmental protestors interrupting the program (I did not post about it, but a performance of Wagner’s Tannhauser in late November was ruined by paying audience members who chose to unfurl banners and shout at the performers).

      I assembled a curio cabinet and a bookshelf, with another to be assembled soon. I may do that to ring in the New Year. I also have two other shelving units and a desk to put together. During the summer I replaced a full set of curtains and got windows installed. The sun porch is still cold, so I needed to purchase a space heater so I can use that area for office space sometime soon. The landscaping continues to thrive as I keep it watered, but winter will soon make watering impossible until spring.

      My bullet journal project was put on hold, but I still have it, and I kept a different one to track my daily life without being a whiny diary. One of my new year goals is to spend more time doing quiet crafting.

      My food delivery service says I saved hundreds of hours in cooking time, but I haven’t lost a pound. I did posts about the joys of bananas, egg salad, ginger ale and Taco Bell, along with the concept of virtual awards luncheons via Brady Bunch group meetings in the workplace (which is home).

      During the year, Great Britain gained a new monarchy, our town pulled off an LGBTQ+ event, the malls struggled to exist in an online shopping world, and people continued to make waiting one’s turn a discomforting event.

      I spent most of my time working from home and after hours without television. I turned it off during a TV-free week and didn’t turn it on again except for things I like. This meant a few Marvel, Harry Potter, fantasy and sci-fi marathons on the weekends, occasional series such as “What We Do in the Shadows,” “Shark Tank,” or anything featuring Gordon Ramsay. My Sunday evenings are spent with a friend watching Food Network. My television is from 2013, has an extended warranty and may be the third longest-lasting appliance to the fridge (in first place was a clock radio).

      Other posts have dealt with the wisdom of Socrates, the craziness of makeup tutorials as part of cheating boyfriend videos, and the occasional notes about the craft of writing from my point of view as a blogger.

      My self-improvement journey is ongoing. Some of the posts I did this year were trying on my spirit, especially when my post about a promising young woman’s loss to the world by her own hand due to bullying was actually read by her mother, who messaged me within hours of the post going live (I am doing my best to follow the pending lawsuit against the school district).

      I let my 45th high school reunion go without my presence, for complex reasons only a therapist would likely understand. I do my best not to gripe about myself in these posts, but readers may find something like an association between their daily lives and mine on occasion. My idea behind these posts has always been to discuss and try to make sense of it all. If you find something satisfying in reading what I post, my job has been done well.

      My first post of 2024 will come in two weeks, and I’m leaving next week’s post open for whatever may come over the next few days. This is the toughest week, between the hectic Christmas weekend and the curtain coming down on the old year next weekend. The year will kick off on a Tuesday with all the messiness of a concert orchestra bowing and blarping out their first notes before the conductor waves his baton and realigns them into a cohesive assembly.

      I will be blarping along with the rest of you through the end of one year and into the start of the next.

      Let’s have plenty of nice things to write about.

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    • Merry Christmas Anyway

      Posted at 3:59 pm by kayewer, on December 16, 2023

      I don’t know why we wait until the end of the year to impose so many holidays on the world. December is cold and the start of the winter season, and some places get their worst weather between December and March. Blizzards with their snow and ice affect holiday travel, bring down most inflatables (poor twelve-foot Rudolph), and sometimes the snow is even the wrong consistency to build a decent snowman.

      Merry Christmas anyway.

      Malls are suffering from a problem; nobody wants to actually make the physical effort to walk in them, visit department stores or little independent pop-up shops, examine real merchandise and purchase it in real time. This is particularly tough on businesses in New Jersey (and some other places) where plastic bags have been banned, but many of the retailers have come out with nice handled paper bags (I have a bag that tucks away in a corner of my purse, and I’ll link the product manufacturer for you below if you would like to try them).

      Santa sometimes sits in the main courts of malls for ages without a single child stopping by to sit on his lap. Part of it is that parents don’t want to dress up their children, or the kids can’t be bothered. But folks, you can’t visit Santa on Amazon. Though you can also buy my favorite reusable shopping bags there.

      Merry Christmas anyway.

      We are having the same problems with factional wars in parts of the world. In fact, a group of protestors decided to hoist “Cease Fire Now” signs in my little town, outside the local Krispy Kreme this very afternoon. Somebody posted that it was an anti-Semitic protest, which seems perplexing. To add to the confusion, I saw a social media post this week from a Jewish woman who escaped a homicidal husband after being forced to submit to sexual and psychological abuse, and was encouraged to yield to some extremist tenets which degraded her as a human being. Not being familiar with the whole story behind some of these twigs on the tree of the Jewish faith, I can’t judge, but the descriptions sounded like the poor woman was not in the community as a whole as we may know it, but in a cult. Now that she is free–at the cost of her extended family and most friends who have denounced her–she went public with her story to bring some of the cruelties of sectarian life into the exposing light of knowledge.

      Happy Hanukkah, anyway, my friend.

      Many of the themed foodstuffs you find on shelves this holiday were produced in August or earlier. But then we are used to preservatives in our food here in America, which other countries ban because they know better.

      Merry Christmas anyway.

      Those folks who put out signage saying, “Keep Christ in Christmas” are not saying anything in reality, because Christmas pretty much translates to “Christ’s Holy Day.” So, Christ is in Christmas. What they mean is to keep the day of December 25 holy. Yet they still go out and buy Uncle Theodore a new shirt.

      Not everybody celebrates a December holiday on the 25th. Some have theirs earlier or later.

      Merry Christmas anyway.

      A lot of people spend December 25 alone. The estimate is that nineteen percent of Americans go solo on Christmas. Even though 88% of those surveyed said they would invite a solo person to celebrate with them, it looks like some slip through the cracks.

      Merry Christmas anyway.

      In the popular movie A Christmas Story, the holiday turkey is ruined when the neighbor’s dogs raid the kitchen and make off with the roast fresh out of the oven, so the family goes to the only place open on the holiday–the local Chinese joint–and enjoy Peking duck (hilariously beheaded by the restaurant owner after Darren McGavin’s character of the “old man” notes it seems to be smiling at him). People are bound to get stuck at airports or train or bus stations, felled by colds, flu or early arrival newborns. Time waits for nobody, and holidays are no exception. Whatever happens on December 25, the day after will come just the same and bring its own burdens and joys.

      No matter what your story is, have a Merry Christmas anyway.

      (For the shopping bags mentioned in this article, go to https://www.chicobag.com/)

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    • Party Time

      Posted at 2:41 pm by kayewer, on December 9, 2023

      I had the privilege of having dinner out twice this week because of the holidays. This is one of the best times of the year to enjoy food prepared by somebody else, whether it’s in the form of a group meal at a restaurant or just at another home of friends or relatives. My meals are prepared by a ghost kitchen for my delivery plan, but that doesn’t count.

      My first dinner was with a friend whose family has a past in the restaurant business, and we have eaten together a few times. I knew I was in for some good home cooking. Our plan was to enjoy the meal and then decorate the brand new–and deeply discounted from last year’s post-holiday sale–Christmas tree. It was a joy to work on the replacement for last year’s version, which had lost its sturdiness too late to replace. The ornaments, a collection years in the making, came out of storage and were lovingly placed individually on the branches, along with some plotting for branch adjustments and gap widening. I brought along a new ornament to add to the collection, in a matching color scheme. The end result was posted to social media, and I headed home with the vision of a lovely tree and lingering memories of a fine roast. I bought two roasts for the holidays for my own meals, but I don’t think they’ll measure up to having somebody else cook for you.

      The second dinner was a group affair at a restaurant in it’s third or fourth rebirth; the most memorable version was devoted to French cuisine, and that was the last time I had visited. For another group luncheon, for which I have forgotten my place in it. I chalk my poor memory up to it being a different decade and long enough ago that it, like the French decor, has passed into distant history.

      Like so many other eateries, this establishment set up an enclosed outdoor dining experience for groups and catered events, well heated by overhead warmers instead of posts. The place was cozy and inviting. We dined on bread by the basket, dunked in quality olive oil. We indulged in multiple appetizers of antipasti and salad. The place was determined to leave no belly unstuffed before the main course arrived.

      Many of us, being of an age where health at dinner is a must, dined on the salmon from among the selections available. Plates of it arrived at the tables, perfectly coordinated. And enjoyed immensely.

      Along with the water, coffee and tea, we had the option to BYOB, so I “B’d” and came with a bottle of California chardonnay. I should stress that I am not a regular drinker, but I have learned over the years that wine is a great part of visitor culture, and a good bottle is welcome nearly everywhere, so I am in the habit of bringing some when the suggestion is made. To me, BYOB means, “But You Outta Bring.” Once the bottles available were uncorked, I got hold of a glass and slipped a small amount into it for my own knowledge of how good a choice I had made. The bottle was empty by the end of the evening. I also learned that chardonnay pairs nicely with salmon. Good call.

      The best part of visiting somebody (or someplace) else for a holiday meal is the variety of it all; the different place, the new outfits, the occasional new person, food you would not otherwise get to try, and the joy and camaraderie of togetherness we indulge in once a year.

      I don’t have any other meal plans for the rest of the month, except to jog around my deliveries so I can cook my own roast and indulge in leftovers for a few days. One must eat, but one must also have choices which fuel the need for something different. That’s where the scheduling comes in. Even if you need to cram it into the last weeks of the year.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged christmas, christmas-decorations, sale
    • My Sick Assembly Skills

      Posted at 6:08 pm by kayewer, on December 2, 2023

      The past week was a roller coaster. A week ago, I got a last-minute notification that I had a show in town, so I put all my other plans on hold and went, which meant I moved my Saturday plans to Sunday. Monday at work was stressful, because even though we work seven days a week, everybody waited until then to call or email and complain. Still, I kept up my diet regimen and took my vitamins, and since I have been working from home since 2020, my lucky stars have been keeping me fit.

      That luck ended on Tuesday. I awoke with a dry throat, which I attributed to the changes in the weather from 50 degrees one day to just above 30 the next. The discomfort continued into Wednesday and Thursday, but no other symptoms presented themselves.

      They made their debut on Friday. I called a friend of mine, to whose house I was supposed to go for holiday festivities that evening, and informed her that I felt I was not fit to go out, so we rescheduled. That added to what was already becoming a rough start to a December weekend.

      Though my nose was acting as if only allergies were affecting me, nothing prepared me for what I’m calling a stealth cold. Every time I’ve gotten a cold, I have had Niagara Falls for a nose for the first two to three days. This rendition of the virus apparently likes to present symptoms in reverse order. I had two appointments on Friday, so I found myself masking up (which my doctor thanked me for when I explained why I was doing so). My nose began to run, and the sensation of a creature clawing its way up my throat began to dog the entire afternoon.

      To add insult to injury, it started raining. Heavily.

      I headed home and, after some deliberation, decided to run out to the pharmacy five minutes away to grab some cold medication. There was none at home; I hadn’t needed so much as a cough drop for over three years.

      The morning came, and my normal Saturday afternoon plans were canceled (by somebody else), so I was stuck at home sneezing, running and feeling a bit dragged down. Most people would probably snuggle up to some hot beverages and cheesy television fare.

      I decided to assemble a book shelf.

      This is one of those Sauder DIY projects in a flat box with alphabetized parts, a manual and a bag of hardware. Having just finished National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) on Thursday with over 51,000 words in spite of feeling less than optimal, I figured doing something constructive surely beat sitting around letting calories permanently attach themselves like barnacles to my frame.

      The instructions included a QR code and URL for a website to watch the assembly of the product. Like most determinedly dense Americans, I went old school and used just the manual. Also, the last time I assembled a piece of furniture, the people in the visual examples missed steps, and I nearly broke two glass doors which I fought World War III to get fitted.

      The tools I needed to bring to this project were a measuring tape, a Phillips screwdriver (the x-shaped type), and a hammer. The instructions specified to leave power tools out of the picture, thank goodness. They don’t know that, even if I did need one, all of them are from the year zero because my father owned them, and darned if I know how to use them.

      I have never seen screws and bolts like the ones in this project; they’re extraordinary inventions from the obviously brilliant minds of those whom Mensa grants a special knowledge test for admission. The stuff was incredibly easy to work with, and I managed to construct the frame and fascia with no difficulty. I slid items together and screwed prong A’s into slot B’s easily.

      The back of the shelf included a folded fake woodgrain panel which needed to be unfolded and tacked down with nails. I broke out the tape measure (also my father’s) to find that it had become jammed and only extended to about sixteen inches and had torn. The adhesive he had used to reattach the tape after it had broken, dried out and snapped. Being determined to make lemonade from the lemon of a gadget, I took the partial stub of what must have been several feet of lost measuring tape and worked out the placement of the nails to hold the back onto the piece.

      This is where my mother’s kitchen hammer came into the picture. It’s metal and has a handle which unscrews to reveal additional tools. She used that hammer for many little disasters in the absence of my father, and now I tapped firmly away at evenly-spaced nails, measured lovingly twice.

      I ended up with four extra nails. Either the instructions were missing something, or my math sucks worse than I originally thought. However, the back is securely nailed, and with the placement of the shelf inside, I ended up with a finished project.

      The day didn’t go to waste, and I have a place for more books (in the future, maybe one of mine). Meanwhile, the stealth cold seems to be powering down, and I’ll see by the morning whether the whole weekend is shot or not.

      I did buy two of those shelves. . . .

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    • Surplus Population

      Posted at 8:13 pm by kayewer, on November 25, 2023

      It amazes me starting every Thanksgiving week that, suddenly and predictably, the population everyplace seems to explode and multiply by hundreds. Where do all these people come from, and where do they hide between January and the Monday before the turkey goes in the oven?

      Starting on Black Friday, it isn’t even safe to try and find a nice parking space anyplace you frequent, because every spot is taken by an SUV, many of them from other states. I never realized so many people from Pennsylvania loved Sprouts enough to cross the bridge and visit the one that just opened in my neighborhood. All I wanted to do was buy a bunch of bananas, some mandarins and a loaf of bread, and I had to navigate around folks desperately looking to shop at Target or the liquor store. Today, I had to make my way through traffic on side streets which are normally empty but served as detours as cars were being diverted for parades, and the number of vehicles was staggering. Every car had at least two people and as many as six, including children and anxious dogs.

      Fortunately I looked at my wall calendar yesterday, or I would have forgotten that I had a Saturday matinee stage show in Philadelphia. Normally I wouldn’t be out and about on Thanksgiving weekend, because it’s too hectic. The streets are crowded, and a lot of people are outside their comfort zones and have no idea where they are going, making everyday tasks more complex. Still, I managed to park and get to the theatre in good time. The house was packed, because it was the family holiday musical selection, and parents brought their kids. I was pleased to see the children in nice holiday outfits, proving that some traditions have not changed yet. And yes, the traffic in Center City was also extreme, which is why I took public transit.

      The sudden surge in population clogs the airports and train stations, ties up roads and highways, spills into the outer rims of mall parking lots and snugs tightly nose to tail on small town streets in which the parking meters have been replaced by cell phone fee activation or covered in little cozy covers to make parking free and bring small business, well, business.

      The first holiday weekend of the winter, blessedly, is nearly over, and the Sunday airport delays and highway traffic will go in the other direction. Soon, the kazillion people who have appeared magically in our midst will disappear again into wherever they came from until it gets closer to the four December holidays (the big ones being Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah and New Year’s, with all due respect to the other ones celebrated around the world).

      Funny thing is, the day after Christmas, there is no surge in traffic; every shopping establishment is a ghost town, and their hours are back to pre-holiday early closures. It’s a complex mystery that occurs every year, and I get the chance to watch the parade of humanity rise and fall like waves in a storm.

      My vehicle will stay parked in the driveway.

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    • Thankful

      Posted at 6:15 pm by kayewer, on November 18, 2023

      This Thursday, I will be preparing my first boneless roast turkey, with mashed potatoes and vegetables, and possibly a dessert. On Black Friday I will be working from home, and the schedule should be light because of the anticipated four-day weekend most people will have.

      I’m lucky to be able to sit down to a nice Thanksgiving dinner. Some people won’t be able to put as much on their tables (if they own tables). So even though I have issues that go unresolved year after year, I still count myself as being fortunate.

      Even though I have not had a date in ages, I’m glad I don’t have to sit at a table and pretend to be happy when children are crying and Daddy is swinging his fists at us.

      Even if nobody ever glances my way because of how I look, at least I am healthy for my age, I’m clean and have all my own teeth. Some of the most outwardly beautiful people I’ve known have died young or suffer quite a few maladies on the inside where they don’t show.

      Even if people don’t think I’m any fun because I don’t drink or smoke and never touched illicit drugs, at least I can find ways to be happy without any of those things.

      Even if people make fun of how I live my life, at least I can close my doors and live my own way inside my own four walls. Since I’m doing nothing wrong, it has no effect on anybody but myself.

      Even if people think it’s old-fashioned to be polite and say “please” and “thank you,” at least people to whom I say them seem to appreciate the gesture.

      Even when I look in the mirror and think about how I was never able to coordinate everything so that I would be perfect for just one moment in time when everybody could appreciate it, at least I know I always made the effort with what I had at the time.

      Many people will be lonely over the coming holidays. Even with those they have around them. A date on the calendar doesn’t make everything right for everybody. When the feast is laid out, take a moment, and remember that the least you have may be the most others can ever wish for. And be thankful for that.

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