Month: February 2012

Be good to someone today. You don’t know what’s happening to them.

I’ve done it hundreds of times. Seen a couple, walking hand-in-hand through the park, the man leaning over to speak into the ear of the woman, enjoying each other’s company.


I’ve been jealous.


I’ve seen a woman in Needless-Markup (you know, that place with the butterfly logo and the wonderful aroma of priceless perfume), her arms filled with shopping bags, and a stunning leather-stud-encrusted handbag (pocket book for you East Coast folks) draped over her shoulder.


I’ve been jealous.


What’s the point?


The couple I saw walking hand-in-hand through the park, in conversation? The man has beaten this woman, she had run out of the apartment but he caught her, and now was leading her back to the house, whispering that if she ran away again, she would never see her daughter.


The woman shopping in Needless-Markup? Addicted to shopping and not paying for half of her items. She has all the money a person could wish for, riches galore, but her husband has three mistresses in Cannes and has consistently asked for a divorce.


I shall always be grateful that I do not have to power to switch places with someone I see who might be a bit richer, thinner, happier or more in love than I am.


Rather I am grateful for what I have inside that makes me, me.


I am grateful that I have the power to change myself.



I have to learn these things before September 5

I went to kindergarten orientation yesterday. For my granddaughter. I won’t mention the terrifying moment when I realized that she would be five in April, my daughter 40 in August and me, well, it’s all right for me to get old.

But not my children.

The principal explained that kindergarten was not like it used to be. Well, I knew that. I can remember Miss Buckley’s school in Beverly Hills, where the snooty daughter of a movie star stabbed the palm of my left hand, leaving the tip of a Ticonderoga #2 embedded forever. I certainly hope kindergarten isn’t like it used to be.

“It’s academic,” the principal said. “It’s February and you have until September to work on some skills with your little one, to get ready.”

Skills? She will have to list and sound out eight letters of the alphabet in 60 seconds. Write her name in initial cap Upper case, then lower case. Which means no more messing around with the magnetic letters on the refrigerator door. They must make sense. She must also focus on one task for 20 to 25 minutes. This will be fine as long as she stays away from email. I think II will  try that.

Scissors. Absolutely. Some of the mothers in the audience gasped. My guess is that the tools were verboten in their households. Not so here. Not one Barbie doll here has a full head of hair, or is wearing underwear.

Three-step directions. Oops. The child must be able to take on a three-part task. Go to the freezer. Get the box. Open it and eat it. then be quizzed about what was done.

Coloring inside the lines! Oh, no! My creative genius will have to abide by the laws of conformity, and use appropriate colored-crayons. Does it look real? I am supposed to ask? Real? What is real? However, in my aged wisdom, and a book I’m reading by Todd Henry, The Accidental Creative, It’s pointed out that a creative person needs lines. So we have something to rebel against! Absolutely.

She must learn that if two people are talking, she is not to interrupt. She doesn’t have to raise her hand to speak, but stand quietly and wait for the conversation to cease. Except of course, if there Is a HUGE DRAGON flying in through the French Doors and knocking over papa’s chess game in the living room.

Finally, she should learn how to lose gracefully. Wow. Things have changed! What! No more “we all win because we showed up.” What a relief. Maybe this generation will realize that it’s all right to be wrong, it’s all right to care for other people, and it’s all right to congratulate others on their fortunes and quietly contemplate how we can do better next time.

Kindergarten? I’d love to get the principal to visit the company I work for. That would be a hoot!

I wouldn’t even interrupt.

How to get rid of a squeaky . . .

Did you say “Door?”

Did you think “Hinge?”

Having thoughts that wake you up is exactly like having a door that shrieks when you open it. This is very annoying, especially if you are the first one up in the house.

You know how NOT to step on the places in the floor that creak, but there is nothing you can do about the door.


Except leave it open, which leaves the possibility of those things creeping in during the night.

So, you 3-in-1 Oil the door. DO NOT USE WD-40 (that’s what the handyman said).

So, a little 3-in-1-Oil in your head.

That would be meditation? How about making a list of things and people you are grateful for.

And wishing nothing but the best for those people whom you could very well do without.

There. Squeak fixed. Squawk too.

We’ve Been Framed

When did words get redefined?

Class warfare.

When did this cease to be associated with Junior HIgh? And become associated with the rich vs the poor? Speaking of that, look at the placement of the words. If it were poor vs rich, would that bring to mind pitchforks, tiki torches and barricades?

However, to keep it rich vs poor is preferable. At least that lets us know who the bullies are.

Job Creators.

This is sneaky. The push to replace the words ‘wealthy’ and ‘rich’ with ‘job creators’ is an exercise in the power of propaganda. It serves a dual purpose, too. Evangelicals can place a subliminal emphasis on ‘creators’ and most assuredly capitalize the ‘c’ making it an official link to that Guy, the Creator!

This is so chilling that I think it’s time to revive Tevye’s conversation with his Creator in Fiddler On The Roof: “If I Were A Rich Man.”

Let’s play with it, with apologies to Sheldon Harnick and Jerry Bock

“Dear Bush, you made many, many poor people.

I realize, of course, that it’s no shame to be poor.

But it’s no great honor either!

So, what would have been so terrible if I could pay the rent?”

If I were a job creator,

Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum.

All day long I’d biddy biddy bum.

If I were a job creator.

I wouldn’t have to work hard.

Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.

If I were my baddy baddy job,

Idle-diddle-daidle-daidle creator.

I’d buy that big fat House with Representatives by the dozen,

Right in the middle of the beltway.

A fine domed roof with real regressive brains below.

There would be one long loophole just going up,

And one even longer coming down,

And a gigantic earmark going nowhere, just for dough.

I’d fill my yard with chicks and turkeys and geese and ducks

To keep the Tea Party near.

(Insert)Squawking just as noisily as they can. (End Insert)

With each loud “cheep” “swaqwk” “honk” “quack”

Would land like a trumpet on the ear,

As if to say “Here lives the job creator.”

If I were a job creator,

Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum.

All day long I’d biddy biddy bum.

If I were a job creator.

I wouldn’t have to work hard.

Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.

If I were my baddy baddy job,

Idle-diddle-daidle-daidle creator.

I’d see my wives and mistresses, looking so fine

With proper botox’d chins.

Shopping to their hearts’ delight.

I see them, noses in the air and strutting like peacocks.

Oy, what a happy moods they’re in.

Screaming at undocumented workers, day and night.

The vulture capitalists in town would come to call on me!

They would ask me to advise them,

Like a Solomon or Goldman Saks.

“If you please, Mr. Creator…”

“Pardon me, Mr. Creator….”

Posing problems that would cross a banker’s eyes!

And it won’t make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong.

When you’re a job creator, they think you really know!

If I were a job creator, I’d have the time that I lack

To play on the golf course all day.

My club would be the Capitol mall.

I’d cook the books with the lawyered men, several hours every day.

That would be the sweetest thing of all.

If I were a job creator,

Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum.

All day long I’d biddy biddy bum.

If I were a job creator.

I wouldn’t have to work hard.

Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.

If I were my baddy baddy job,

Idle-diddle-daidle-daidle creator.

Aesop who wrote the Ass in the Lion’s Skin,

You decreed Fine clothes may disguise,

But silly words disclose the fools.

By the time they realize they’ve been wrong

That I’ve been stealing from them all along.

They’ll come knocking at my door

But alas, I’ve taken my job creations offshore

Conservative, libertarian and the lot

I’d rather see the people rot.

If I were a job creator. I’m glad I’m not.