I'll Need It One Day...

          What makes a person hang on to stuff?  I mean stuff that is patently ugly or useless or needs major reconstructive work?

          I recently read a newspaper article on one such hoarder.  The lady in question, it seems, had no idea that one of her bedrooms had become, over the course of some years, a rubbish tip.  One would have thought the overflowing boxes stacked from floor to ceiling would have been a clue, but apparently not.

          Now I know from time to time I’ve been guilty of hanging on to stuff because I might need it one day.  But these bouts of sentimentality usually don’t last long and the offending article has been removed with the next trash pickup day.

          The only time I’ve regretted not keeping something, usually an item of clothing, is when that same fashion has again become the ‘in’ thing and is available at my local store for a small fortune.

          Take for example, dresses.  Has anyone noticed they’re back?

          For years we, the female of the species, have been wearing pants and tops of all types and styles.  Short pants, mid calf pants, long pants.  Pants with flared bottoms, pants that sat at the waist, below the waist and even under the armpits (or so it seemed); and the tops to go with them were equally varied.  Everything from starched collars to low cut necklines; from short sleeves to long sleeves to no sleeves.

          We were finally able to understand why men don’t wear skirts or dresses.  Pants are far more comfortable!

          But after years of pants and more pants, the desire to once again wear a pretty dress started to blossom in feminine hearts.  At least it blossomed in this feminine heart and I started searching the clothing store racks for anything that didn’t have two legs attached to a waist band. 

          Then with each passing season more and more designers presented ladies with their lovely dress offerings.  Except in so many cases the dresses of the 21^st century looked suspiciously like the stuff I was wearing back in the 80’s.

          Even the splashes of rainbow hues on some styles reminded me of the tie dyed jobs I sported back in my 30’s.  These days of course they’re called ‘pops of color,’ and a dress doesn’t have the right amount of oomph without its pops.

          I now regret all those days spent cleaning out my closet of rarely worn skirts and dresses.  I should have stuck with the hoarder’s mantra of, ‘who knows I might need it one day.’

          On the other hand, perhaps I might still find them at the Goodwill store and can buy them back?  Anyone know if poodle skirts are likely to return for a second go round?

         

To Vote Or Not...What's The Question?

          I’ve often been amazed at the number of people who whine about our government officials, yet those same people rarely, if ever, can be bothered to get off their bums to actually cast a vote. 

          In Australia, voting is compulsory.  Of course there are still countless numbers who whinge about their elected officials, but in my mind, they have a better right to do so.  At least they tried to get someone else elected.

          Last week we had primary elections here and I discovered some of the reasons Americans prefer to stay home on polling day.  I believe it’s called stink and frustration!

          For years my polling place has been across the street from my house in the local middle school cafeteria.  A leisurely stroll on a lovely morning.  But not this year.   This year some brilliant bureaucrat decided that was all too easy and I should now drive several miles to a further school.  This particular establishment of learning has very limited parking so it was necessary to line up, cool my heels and wait for a parking stall to become vacant.

          Ah, but why quibble?  I was there to do my civic duty.  After all wasn’t this one of the reasons I became a US citizen?  So, by golly, not even a huge inconvenience was going to stop me! 

          As I entered the actual polling room decorated with twenty or so privacy cubicles I was nearly knocked over by the pong.  It was apparent the last time the canvas material used to create these cubicles had seen the light of day was at least four years ago.  And no one had thought to give them a bit of an airing or at least given them a squirt of Febreeze before erecting them for our use now.

          I was given the choice of voting manually or electronically.  I chose manually mainly because there was a short line in front of the electronic gadget and I didn’t know how long I’d be able to continue to hold my breath.

But my decision was a mistake.  The pong of mildew was nearly overwhelming inside the cubicle. 

          Then I discovered how the government was going to save us all tons of loot.  Pens and string!  Attached to the shelf by a string was one of these el cheapo plastic biros.  The kind you can buy for about $1 for a packet of 100.  I’m ambidextrous but I usually prefer to fill out forms with my left hand.  Unfortunately this was not to be that day.  The string was so short that I could barely stretch it toward the form with my right hand and try to fill in all the little squares.  What an exercise in futility.  Did the bureaucrats really believe that we poor dingbat voters were going to abscond with their crummy little pens if they didn’t tie them securely to the cubicle frames?

          But, I did my duty.  And I do applaud all the volunteers who manned the various polling stations around the state.  I’m sure it’s a fairly thankless job, not to mention a real stinky one around my way.  I just hope someone has the good sense to give those canvas squares a good whip through the washing machines before November comes.

          Let’s face it.  It’s hard enough to get voters off their bums under perfect conditions, why give them the excuse of pongy polling places to add to their list of reasons why they can’t/won’t vote?

Happy Birthday, Sweet Natasha

          Twenty years ago next week, I was present at the birth of my daughter’s first child, my adorable granddaughter, Natasha.  It’s hard for me to grasp that two decades have passed since she first entered this world; I am still as awed now as I was then.

Natasha at two weeks with her Mum, my beautiful daughter

 

           From the moment I first held her, moments after her birth, to watching her grow up over these years, she has fascinated me.  As a toddler she made me laugh with her antics; as a preteen and in grade school she seemed to me wise beyond her years. 

          When upon entering eighth grade she was advised that everyone had to study a foreign language…the choice of language from a selection of about five, being up to the student, she chose Mandarin.  Her reasoning was that there are more Chinese people in the world than any other, so it made sense to study Mandarin as opposed to say, Italian.  Natasha was twelve at the time.

          But, since I am the world’s greatest Francophile, I told her if she studied French instead, I’d take her to Paris as a high school graduation present.  She did and I did.

          Tasha has always had such a gentle spirit and kind heart.  While still at grade school, a child was knocked down and hurt in the playground. Instead of running around with everyone else yelling for help and ‘where’s the teacher, where’s the teacher?’  Tasha knelt by the little boy’s side and began to pray for him. 

          She’s always had this penchant for helping others.  Her many, many friends gravitate to her side when they need a shoulder to cry on or just someone who understands them when they want to chat.  So, it was not at all surprising when she was accepted into University of Newcastle as a psychology major. 

Natasha outside the Louvre, Paris

          With her wonderful nature, her love of God, her family and her friends, Natasha will brighten the life of all who come to know her.  I’m so looking forward to many more years enjoying my beautiful granddaughter’s company.

          So, happy birthday, my darling girl!

                  

         

         

Gold, Silver, Bronze and Blah!

         

          The NBC affiliate in Hawaii sure is messing up the broadcasts of the London Olympics – big time!

          At 2:30 pm on a given day last week, I found out from my sister in Australia, that their swimming gold hope had, some hours before, been pipped at the post.  He had lost by a fingernail to an American. 

          What was I watching on my TV screen at that particular time? Half a dozen bums bouncing around the seats of their bicycles.  The swimming final my sister was referring to didn’t hit my TV screen until much, much later that evening.  A bit of an anticlimax?  You betcha!

          The TV station’s response to angry questions about delayed broadcasting is that they like to provide Hawaii workers with the same excitement that attendees to the Games are experiencing.  Apparently they’ve never heard of international telephone capabilities nor thought that viewers might have access to computers…even at work!  Additionally, there are quite a number of people who don’t actually work nine to five…and in this economy they’re increasing each week…who would like to see their favorites winning or even losing in real time.

          Of course, the announcers at the actual venues don’t do a great job either.  What is it with commentators who can only see their own country’s participants and are completely blind to the excellence of others?  This, slightly paraphrased, was broadcast during a 200m freestyle swimming heat:

          ‘What a nice entry into the water…yes, lovely kick as he surfaces.’  The swimmer in question soon started to fade, but not according to the commentators.

          ‘He certainly does have a lovely even stroke.  Look at him slicing through the water, lovely arm action.’  By this stage the swimmer was nearly a full pool length behind everyone else. 

          ‘What a superb turn…yes, you can see he’s put in his time practicing can’t you?  You know these swimmers spend months and months perfecting their skills.  We certainly wouldn’t be able to cope with the hours they put in.’

          Now the swimmer was barely dog paddling trying to catch up to the three swimmers in front of him who were ready to touch the wall.

          ‘And there he is…looks like he’ll come in fourth.  Don’t think he’ll make it into the finals this time…but what an effort.  Well done.’

          About this time I thought the commentators were going to go into raptures about the poor guy’s swim suit.  The color, the cut, the style! Thankfully the cheering crowd distracted them from further joy about their competitor and grudging acknowledgments about the three place getters were offered.

          Now that the track and field part of the Games is in progress, I wonder what rapturous accolades I’ll be listening to?  Whatever they might be, I’ll be hearing them hours and hours after everyone else.  Ah, so lucky I live Hawaii!