By Invitation Only!

Emma's  -  Discover your dream

When I was a child, there was one TV in the family; my time watching it was limited and monitored by Wilfrida and Guido.  There was no afternoon TV viewing. Like cars in our family, televisions lasted as long as possible till they literally gave up the ghost and the shadowy snowy screen died.

As a small child, I would sneak out of bed and watch the same shows my parents were watching, race back to bed before being caught or falling asleep.   My simple fantasy - the cosmic TV creator would produce a miniature TV that could be watched under my covers.

Fast forward to the 1989 San Francisco earthquake where an old, sad, small black and white TV fell to its death.  I found a portable Sony combo TV and radio that, in total, was less than 10 inches, the screen taking up only 3 of the 10 inches.  My justification was that if another quake hit, the whole unit could run on batteries.  Friends were amazed and didn’t get it, “how can you see the screen. Barbie’s play house has a larger TV!”

It wasn’t size, it was about a childhood dream and I didn’t watch it, I listened to it.   Now it’s 2005, we move and cable is the only choice. Cable is new to me as a concept.  Living in San Francisco without cable, allowed a person to watch 4 channels, one, which inexplicably started coming in Spanish and 3 that needed consistent adjustments with rabbit ears.

 When friends asked if I was excited to graduate to the world of cable I could only tell them two things.  Going from 4 channels to a bazillion taught me one thing; Law and Order can be found somewhere 24 hours a day.  End of story!

Watching Law & Order

We are in the process of moving again and purchased a big screen from the former owners - our current TV is 23 inches, big living.  Visiting the new house we turned it on and to my horror I was creeped out.  All the characters from Law and Order seemed to be coming off the screen into the room.  I prefer everyone small and without detail so much better.  It’s just too much to have these folks joining us in the same room.

“Why Law and Order you ask?”  That is Emma, the Bernese wonder dog’s favorite show and she watches without us  - one episode a day.  If there is a marathon we don’t see her till mealtime.  I can just hear Wilfrida and Guido now.

All of this reminds me of a Ray Bradbury short story, where the children played in a holograph room all day and the parents finally told them no and locked the door.  The story ends in the room, floor to ceiling walls showing lions eating their prey.  Moral of the story, don’t let your children watch too much TV or it could be the death of you. Or don’t invite TV characters into your room?  Books anyone?

Remember to say, "Thank You!"

First, let me say thank you for reading my blog.  I know the connecting theme for my blogs is randomness.  Going from zombies to thank you notes is quite a stretch in connectivity.  A consistency does exist, though, like in my art cards the linking theme is quirkiness.  Not my first choice of a resume descriptor but kinder than totally strange.

I will be sending a constant contact  (email newsletter) this week suggesting it might be a good time to think about buying some of my “quirky” thank you cards because summer is full of social activities that call out to thank the hosts or in some cases perpetrators.

Several months ago I wrote a blog on thank you notes  (March 13 for several reasons.  First, I think we don’t stop and be thankful for the moment or the gesture.  Secondly, it was a thank you to Wilfrida, and thirdly lack of recognition and gratitude has become a cultural divide driving people to craziness.  Here I am again, but from a different angle… really!

If someone goes out their way for someone else; sends a present, does something special, has a fab party; are we too busy to acknowledge it?  If you are reading this I am preaching to the choir.  A choir loosing members at a rapid rate.

It is so easy to send a text saying, “hey great dinner.”  Especially considering their grand gesture was so much more than a text.  We are told that we should give for the sake of giving  - without expectations.  There are transactional relationships that survive on quid pro quo, like a political action group.

It is a wonderful practice; the intention never to loose sight of giving freely without expectations.  Unfortunately we receive without gratitude all too often.  There are those times where it feels that the edge of the world we live in could tip precariously to the other side of rudeness.  Not ponying up with a gesture of recognition, acknowledging someone’s kind action with a thank you could push the universe of our current residence over the edge! (Where will we fall?)

You dear readers, as the giver and recipients of kind acts, have the good grace to take the time to send a note of appreciation.  If it makes you feel better send this on to the family member, friend or acquaintance that need to receive the message -saying thank you is necessary. 

I say to all of you that mumble, complain and are consistently disappointed by hearing nothing from the same people (you know who you are) - stop doing what ever it is that you do for them.  We are not talking survival issues here just family and friend stuff.  Remember there is a difference between intentional rudeness and folks who are not socially aware.

The available options are to keep doing what you do because you think you have to, or because you choose to and let go of hearing or seeing the words, “thank you”.  So keep sending and saying thanks.  You never know, it may become contagious!

Dear journal – my life is a bad reality show!

For those of you that missed my last journal entry go back to my blog of June 5 for the first installment.

My last journal entry was a recap of my amazing year.  In a short New York minute my world changed.  (Note to self - why are minutes shorter in New York than the rest of the country?  And find out how many minutes ahead I should set my watch when in NYC).

We were signed up for a short test ride in a rocket ship, a real one, not a play one.  That’s what Rex, my husband, told me we were doing.  So a car picks the two of us up from an isolated hotel, and late at night we head into the California desert.  The car door opens, Rex steps out, and I hear shouting in a language I cannot understand.  These men can’t be extraterrestrial beings considering they were holding designer luggage or maybe ET’s like fashion bags, too.

I was shocked that there wasn’t a single space ship or anything resembling the picture from the brochure.  Instead I see men pointing guns at our car and two small planes parked next to us.  Rex, I said, “This is not what I signed up for,” and he stared coldly into my eyes and whispered, “me either.”

He shoved a laundry bag into my hands and breathed, “Now we are even.”   To add insult to injury, Rex abandoned me and then had the nerve to hand me his dirty clothes.  He slammed the card door telling the driver to, “Move it.”   From the car window I saw both planes leaving the ground.

 The ride back to the creepy hotel was silent.  Feeling lonely and scared I contacted the two men that visited me last month.  They encouraged me to call if anything seemed odd, and I think my trip to the desert should qualify as odd.  To my surprise I found that they work at the FBI.  Black suits, thin ties and shades made me think they were from a religious group, wrong again!

It seems the FBI has been watching Rex closely, something about laundering money.   I keep my house spotless and would never put money in my washing machine.  Considering how much a clean house means to me, the fact that Rex handed me money in a laundry bag really touched my heart.  Rex giving me clean money is a sign he loves me, so I never said a word to the FBI guys.

The men wanted to know if Rex had said anything more than goodbye.  A little voice told me not to mention the money I placed inside the frame of my favorite velvet Elvis painting for safekeeping.  A request was made to search the house and I agreed; confident no one would defile The King.  I am going to a spa for a week to recover.  Rex may come home.  I just know he was forced to do something bad.  Why else would he give me a bag of clean money?  I need to try and contact the twins but I will think about that tomorrow.

No Worries, Let Me Decide!

In the late eighties the song, “Don’t worry be happy,” was for a short time embedded in conversations and became a staple for comedians.  A lovely healthy thought given the choice between worrying about rogue meteors or giant spiders that could destroy earth.  Being happy is indeed a better option.  But we have now moved from a world of happiness to a world of, “no worries!”

The phrase, “no worries,” has been around for years.  I feel the words could have come to us from Australia, perhaps, on the soles of UGG’s.  Wearing UGG’s makes me feel less inclined to worry.  Wikipedia defines the phrase as, “do not worry about that, that’s alright, or sure thing.  In Australian speech it represents a feeling of friendliness, good humor and optimism.”

This repetitive and vacuous phrase has become a standard response for all age groups.  Failing grades, being rear-ended, getting bad service, late food, late guests, late planes; the stock response is always, “no worries.”  In such instances, “no worries,” does not represent, “a feeling of friendliness and good humor.”

Shift into reverse and find, “no worries,” is used to excuse bad behavior and is a way to block any further conversation.  “I said no worries” what more do you want from me?”  Say the two words to me and I immediately become worried.  Inquiring about a food order I placed 30 minutes ago that is lost or gone missing, watching the people behind me leave with their food, I am told, “no worries.”   

"Drink This Socrates - No worries."

Forced by need, not want, to visit a mall, I must find courage and call upon known survival skills… let the worrying begin.  The adventure starts with a plan, a map, a phone, and water.  Once the item is located, in hand, the hunt for life on the large remote retail planet commences. 

 Identifying another lonely adventurer, the question is always the same.  “Do you work here?  And have you seen anyone that works here today?”  Our last sightings of someone that might legitimately take our money and bag our items are shared as speculation replaces actual information.  In a corner, in a land far away are five - yes five humans passionately discussing who takes the next lunch.

I approach cautiously, not wanting to scare anyone off, and say, “I am sorry to interrupt you, but do you think you could take my money and let me leave this retail planet?”  Five smiling faces say in unison, “No worries,” and keep talking with each other while reaching for my credit card.

Perhaps mannequins are thin with unhappy faces because they were shoppers trying to escape and just gave up.  They became lost, hungry, and eventually dropped from exhaustion.  OMG let me list my worries; no food, no more water, my search for humankind has taken me though endless hidden places populated by former shoppers who turned into mannequins.

I am not alone in finding, “no worries,” irritating.  Much like the words, “calm down,” sound when one is on a rant.  It is used in situations where it makes no sense and has turned into a brush off, substituting for a real encounter.

The expression, “no worries,” causes me worry; it usually means worry on steroids, to borrow another beach watchword, “be afraid, be very afraid”.