Susan's Scribblings the Blog

As a late generation Boomer, my education milestones were measured the old-fashioned way. You went through kindergarten and twelve years of elementary school and high school, and then you received a diploma. Afterwards, you went to college and received a two- or four-year degree, so depending on when you stopped your secondary education, you received one or two more diplomas.

Today children graduate pre-school, Kindergarten, elementary school, possibly middle school, high school, and finally college.

The youngsters under the age of five or six have no real idea what is going on. The pomp and circumstance mostly satisfies the adults, who aim their cameras and cell phones at the little darlings with pride. The kids are going to all-day schooling at last, but the relieved parents don’t get any reward for their hard work.

I’m not certain who invented the concept of middle school, but it seems to be a variety of purgatory meant to show the sixth through eighth graders that they are not young children anymore, but neither are they full-fledged teenagers. My school system adapted a middle school well after I had left. Apparently, they have a full ritual introducing the incoming ninth graders to the rest of the building when they are ready to leave the middle school behind. How do the fifth and ninth grade students perceive these transitional folks? Are they in a–dare I say it–class of their own? Are they the subject of awe or disdain?

I remember our junior high school choir visited my old elementary school for an event of some kind, and when we walked through the doors leading to the auditorium, I felt like a giant entering Lilliput. When did the hallways, chairs and common room shrink? Or maybe when did I sprout so tall? The walls closed around me as if to say I should not have returned, that I no longer belonged.

Graduation means more than just a commencement and diploma. In each phase of our younger lives, we are transitioning from one incarnation into a new one. We may not look the same in one 24-hour period. Or act the same. We are constantly entering a new room with new people and learning different things about the world and about ourselves. So, is it vital to offer a ceremony for each of those milestones? Are we overindulging the reward over the patience needed to earn it?

I waited thirteen years to get my high school diploma (counting kindergarten). I got the cap and gown and “Pomp and Circumstance” and a baccalaureate just one time. After the hoopla was over and I went home with my family, the next day I started a job and have been working ever since. I did complete my bachelor’s degree but didn’t attend commencement except online. The diploma came in the mail.

So much for tradition.

June is Pride Month, meaning that like any other period of the calendar year devoted to awareness, time is taken for 30 days to recognize the existence of those human beings we see every day who are part of a more diverse (and before present day, unacknowledged) population.

These are people who take public transit, or a bike or motorized scooter, to a job every day, or they drive a vehicle on our roads. They work several hours providing their talents and services, whether it’s in the labor, retail, executive or medical fields. They then collect a paycheck, and return to wherever they call home.

Some of them walk through the door to a partner of the same gender as they, and get a kiss and hug and a “How was your day?”

No different, really. Don’t we all deserve somebody to go home to, and what difference should it make to anybody else?

But even among the many religious groups in the world who stress honoring each human being for who they are individually, there are those who would rather wag their fingers and invoke shameful words to members of the LGBTQ+ group.

Our town held a parade this past week, and a group of Christian adherents with an extreme conservative lean were there to make their voices heard. Words about committing sin were sent into the air over a private microphone as parade participants marched down the main street and celebrated just being alive.

There was, however, another noise being heard. Several musicians provided a counterpoint of equal volume or louder to take some of the negativity out of the protestors’ hi-fi rhetoric. Large Pride rainbow flags were hoisted nearby. Nobody got angry and told the protestors to take a hike. They were allowed to remain, though it’s doubtful anybody was truly paying attention to anything but the music from the small instrumental group and the applause from the appreciative crowd at the fun being displayed in the center of town on an early pre-Summer night. It was an evening for inclusion, and include they did.

The definition of “pride” is twofold. There is being arrogant about who you are, or there is being humble and self-respecting. Many faiths stress that one should not be boastful, and that we should regard each person by their individual worth while also honoring that within us.

If we were to remove every person who was LGBTQ+ in our history out of memory, we would lose classic movies from actors such as Rock Hudson, Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo and Cary Grant. We would also not have inventors such as Leonardo da Vinci and Sir Francis Bacon (the “Father of Modern Science” without whom our observational methods would not exist), not to mention Florence Nightingale and George Washington Carver.

Yet we only want our talent to come from what we consider “normal” or “safe.”

News flash. None is us is completely normal or safe, yet we contribute.

Pride Month is not so much about what is unusual about human behavior as it is about realizing that the behavior comes from a variety of souls with stories enough to fill Earth with a library in which no two books are the same.

Would we reject a cure for cancer if it came from an LGBTQ+ person, just because somebody who is not an opposite gender companion is waiting at home for them after their research is done?

I’m glad our town’s parade was a success, and that everybody got a chance to say their piece in their own way. And I hope the protestors came away with some well-grounded afterthoughts about what happened to them. Which was nothing. Because “Pride Month” is not a threat to them or anybody, but a call to reason and a reminder that we all have something to offer in life.

Let us all live to the fullest.

Before beginning, let’s talk about the concept of “collecting.”

The term “collectible” is easily used in many types of non-essential purchases, with decorative items and toys being the most common to receive the moniker. You could take two autumn leaves home, press them into a book and call them a collection. The term “collectible” on a product means you can buy one or more than one, and the value is left to chance either way. Our older generations found fun in collecting plates, or if they traveled they might stop at the gift shop and buy a thimble or a set of salt and pepper shakers with the name of the tourist attraction printed on them.

Many people indulge in collections for the fun of having interesting visual displays. These collections can range from rocks and minerals (or leaves in autumn) to expensive purses or a closet filled with shoes. Figurines are also among the most well-known indulgences.

In the past, a common collectible was Precious Moments(R), which today can cost upward of $40. The production numbers and interest may have diminished slightly over the years. Today the toy collectible many have heard about is Labubu, which is a plush monster that overtook stores and children’s demands, and is still a popular item.

I have come to enjoy the challenge of what is called blind box collecting. If you ever bought bubblegum cards and sifted through countless doubles to find those few numbers lacking in your stack, you know how this concept operates. There is no guarantee you will obtain a complete set unless you buy a guaranteed curated collection at one time. People will shake and attempt to judge the weight of blind boxes to determine the figure inside. It isn’t an exact science. The thrill is of getting one of each–finally–and possibly obtaining a rare mystery or “chaser” item.

My concentration has been on Chinese collectible series from Pop Mart. These are priced in the $20 range, which is much more wallet-friendly than those $40 and up porcelain versions (and less likely to break). The figurines are beautifully crafted, with quality detailing, and more multi-dimensional or gravity-defying than figures of old, which were usually relegated to people depicted sitting or standing on a base of natural spaces such as a lawn or beach. The colors are vivid, and the themes are intriguing. One set features a flower theme based on Shakespeare, and the figures are posed with vivid red flocked rose outfits or reclining among broad petals. I have not yet bought a full boxed set, but that is my next goal, to ensure I get one dozen separate figures (and possibly a mystery 1:144 find). The odds of not getting two of one type are not always in my favor, but neither is finding just one four-leaf clover.

Also, a small collectible is easier to display or store, and you don’t need to put shelves in your closet for them. Naturally the figures are not the same as a designer handbag, but you would use neither of them. The purse must remain in pristine condition, after all. You can take a figurine out and admire it, but hands off the Prada bag at $6700 (yes, there is one: I looked it up).

The figures were designed by an artist wishing to create an atmosphere of wonder, joy, and relaxation. These seem to fill that expectation. They provide a pleasant distraction on display, and a fun experience finding the full set.

So this is what I’ve been doing with my spare change when I visit the coin counter. It isn’t expensive or fattening, and that makes it harmless fun. How many things can you say that about these days?

Few that I can recollect.

It’s the Memorial Day weekend, but instead of sunny hours at the beach or stuffing our faces with cookout food, a front of rain and wind is covering a large part of the East coast. Not the best start to the official summer season, but we Americans are resilient. We make the most of nasty weather by substituting other things.

For me, I decided to blow some of my paycheck money at the mall. Having found a new store in which to indulge in collectibles, I entered through the department store. While I worked my way around the handbags, a woman with a cartlet (my term for those shorter versions of the typical shopping cart) was backing up and apologized out of fearing she had run into me (which she hadn’t). We talked briefly before she headed off for pizza at the food court, and one of the first things she mentioned in our conversation was how nice it was to interact with somebody. I couldn’t agree more.

After walking around and depleting my spending cash for the week, I was on my way back to the department store and passed a family about to experience a minor incident. Two women of the party of four had taken the escalator down to the lower mall level, and the father and son, who appeared to be somewhere approaching a double digit age, were coming to the boarding point when the son balked and stepped back, leaving his dad taking the ride down alone.

The young man was showing signs of distress and stepped away from the escalator to duck behind a pillar and review his predicament. From his negative replies to his companions below, I assume he either had a prior issue with escalators (possible), had never encountered one before (highly unlikely), or had a sudden mental meltdown which was taking away his ability to perform what for most is a simple task (a result of anxiety or anything else in the general annals of mental health).

Now, other than a tiny handful of encounters, in spite of my years, I have never had the experience of being a parent, relative or adult confidant to a child, so what happened next I still can’t explain. I spoke out loud to the young man and said, “You can do this.” After a moment of hemming and hawing, he returned to the top of the escalator and stared down at the moving vertical ribbed risers appearing magically in front of him. I continued talking, encouraging him and pointing out that he simply needed to look for the yellow horizontal stripe leading the first riser emerging at the top and stepping on it. He held the railing himself and then took the plunge, stepping onto the riser to applause and thanks sent up to me by the two women as the dad headed back via the up escalator. Didn’t know I had it in me, but now a young man is out there who no longer knows fear of trying, and I’m humbly glad to have helped in that effort on his behalf.

On the way home with my new purchases and a strange feeling of awe at what I had done, a vehicle in the opposing lane blinked his high beams at me. After checking my daytime running lights and finding nothing amiss, I drove a few hundred feet more and suddenly realized the blinks were a warning of Canada geese crossing the road ahead (but now far behind the other motorist). Two mated pairs with a half dozen pre-teen goslings were striding or toddling across the lanes, so I needed to stop completely. As the traffic began to grow behind me, the family of geese bringing up the rear decided to double back. Those of you who have read my blog for years know that once I accidentally un-alived a squirrel who tripled back on a major highway before I could take evasive action, so I definitely didn’t want to add baby geese to my list of deceased creatures. One of the adults gave me a glare that could melt bricks, and I gave a light beep on my horn to discourage the creature from further actions, then backed up a few feet to make sure no goslings were in my path as we were finally clear to continue.

When I finally got home with my hoagie (purchased from the local Knights of Columbus fundraising event) and my new collectibles, I took the time to identify a bird that appeared at my feeder earlier in the morning and I had never seen before. The new food I had just installed attracted some new diners, and this black and white creature was apparently a Warbler. He joins some woodpeckers and flickers and sparrows at the feeders which I try to keep restocked, but they are hungry little guys.

So was I. The hoagie was a great way to end a busy morning. And we still have two days of holiday weekend to go. Who knows what may happen next.

One of the biggest switchovers in our culture in the 21st century has been how we handle the subject of transparency. As Tom Cruise’s lawyer character in A Few Good Men aptly put it, we want the truth, even if it’s a bit unsightly. To not reveal everything is considered a major issue for many people.

Earlier today, I found myself shocked by a social media post about a popular charity with a somewhat annoying jingle. If you have watched the commercials for Kars4Kids, you know what I’m talking about. The ad features some youngsters faking their way as a band with guitars and drums, as a lead singer urges viewers to contribute (link to video of ad with commentary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hW0bgiYdH0U).

This ad airs nationwide, so unless a person takes the additional time to research further, one might be under the impression that donating your vehicle would provide funding to area children. That’s a fraction of the truth. The organization is part of a larger one known as Oorah, which is an Orthodox Jewish hub based in New Jersey to provide educational financial aid and youth programs, as well as faith-based activities such as sleepaway camps in the Catskills. They have sponsored coat and backpack drives as well. Its main focus expands to Israel and Canada as well as the US.

The estimates indicate that a majority of their money intake is applied to overhead and costs outside the actual distribution of charitable goods, and its reputation is questionable because of the commercial’s lack of revelatory verbiage. Nowhere in the TV or radio ads is it mentioned that Oorah is the benefitting organization, or even that it’s a Jewish charity (not that the latter truly should affect any donor except those with, shall we say, a negative view of some populations). The news was released to say that the (Orange County) California Superior Court Judge Gassia Apkarian ruled the ad can no longer appear on CA television unless alterations identified more about the actual charity. Apparently a donor found out after the fact that his car might not be turned into local cash (about a quarter of the funding is from the state).

Naturally the TV ad has been parodied and picked apart by a variety of shows and radio personalities (including Howard Stern) because of the jingle’s cringey ability to infiltrate the mind and cause distraction. Makes you feel sorry for the poor young actors, who probably got paid peanuts and can’t count on the proceeds becoming a sizeable college fund.

To end on a brighter note, I learned that some places do strictly adhere to truth in advertising. In pictures of packaged foods in Japan, the photo must match the product inside. This means that a candy is shown actual size and in the correct color, and placement of decorations like frosting and fillings must also be the same as pictured. For foods you must prepare, such as ramen, the finished recipe must look like the illustrative example on the package. There is actually an oversight organization for that.

The Frito-Lay company has been trying to move their packaging toward this goal by producing a line of snacks free of dyes, and calling attention to the natural beauty of their potato chips. Of course, potato slices in a vat won’t come out the exact same every time, but the new packaging sports a real potato on the front, along with other decorative shots of sliced spuds and crispy chips. It’s a step in the right direction.

I’m a Boomer (late-era, but still), so I’m used to the “good old days” when life was relatively stable when it came to transportation. We had cars, taxis, busses, trains and airlines to get us from point A to point B easily when I was growing up. Bus and train travel seem to have lessened in favor of simply having a car or flying these days.

Since the deregulation of airlines in October 1978 (when then-president Carter signed an act allowing for free commerce and removing government control), the first large carrier to succumb to financial problems was Eastern Airlines in 1981. They had been one of the most-recognized ways to fly since the 1920s. Others such as Southeast and Aloha later shut down as well.

Now a more recent competitor, Spirit Airlines, abruptly ceased operations within 24 hours, including all scheduled flights and customer service. They were attempting to finalize a merger with JetBlue, another modern carrier, but talks stalled and the company ended up needing a bailout of $500 million (against $8 billion in debt) which the government failed to approve. They had already filed Chapter 11 bankruptcy in August 2025.

17,000 employees are officially out of work, and people depending on their services have been scrambling to find alternate flights and log into a website for information on refunds for purchases the airline will no longer honor. It’s the first major shutdown of an airline in 25 years. The current fuel crisis during the Mideast conflict with the US has not helped matters for planes which require large quantities to fill tanks.

When deregulation lowered ticket prices by as much as forty percent over the old system of price-setting, it opened the door for price wars over the years. Competitors found it easy to take advantage of Spirit’s bankruptcy problems by offering deep discounted economy seats to fit the income needs of most travelers, and Spirit could not keep up with the demand for more services for lower costs against a growing negative balance.

In terms of customer satisfaction data, Spirit and JetBlue (which, as we said, failed to merge) ranked among the worst carriers in terms of flights being canceled. American and Frontier are on the high-end tier of passenger on-time services. On the better customer experience, Delta and Southwest remain the best.

I never flew on Spirit or JetBlue, but I have flown American and Southwest. What truly matters is reliability and safety when one needs to use air travel. By the way, the last major airline accident was in 2009, and Spirit never crashed (neither has Quantas, if I may throw a movie trope in here).

So our modern world has seen another shutdown of a business most of us know. Airlines may not rank in the same category as department stores or restaurant chains, but they are a recognized part of daily life, making their absence keenly felt.

With good fortune and cool-headed diplomacy, the international conflict can be ended and normalcy restored, but nobody is holding out hope. The modern way of life seems more filled with the sounds of “hail and farewell” than of dependable legacy. Another airline is gone, and somehow we will move on to the next bankruptcy crisis while paying more at the pump.

The planes are grounded, but the spirit lingers on.

*(Quantas also ran propeller planes before the era of jets, and among those flights were some fatalities, all before 1951 and several occurring during WWII action, so their record of modern era crash-free status remains valid.)