Things I have learned in the past week

1.  It really sucks when you have a black eye and an allergy attack which makes your eyes itch.

2.   I stink at typing with a cold pack held to one eye.

3.   There is a line between "summer casual" and "escaped from the ER before they got the restraints on you" and some people are not afraid to cross it and then come to court.

4.  Our local hospital chain thinks prohibiting any personal expression in hair color or tattoos is unprofessional, yet dressing medical staff in all black is professional and so is making fun of Walmart shoppers.

5.  My new-ish co-worker loves makeup as much or more than I do, but she's not a big fan of horror novels.

6.  Hoicking boxes filled with books around the living room two days after a major fall is Not A Good Idea.

7.  I am not a complete loser when it comes to nail art.

Well, it's getting even weirder over here...

My last entry was partially about the fact that Akron's former mayor, who served for 27 years, took his toys and went home suddenly.  

The new mayor was sworn in by my boss, and on Monday, we had arguments in City Council that resulted in the cops being called.

Now, the interim mayor announces that he had "inappropriate contact" with a co-worker on his last day at City Council.

Meanwhile, the city in which I live has had some upscale development and a new mayor.  I'm wondering if there's only so much civilization to go around, and if it's all migrating to Cuyahoga Falls from Akron...

In the Living Years

I've been thinking about my dad a lot this week.

He taught me to use the internet, which I used to look up the correct tire pressure for my car.

I used the 12-volt compressor he gave me to inflate my tires to the proper pressure.

I saw someone stick an arm out of the driver's-side window and squirt their windshield with Windex, something my dad had to do a few times on his Oldsmobile.

And my friend Jay posted the two songs which make him think of his dad, who he lost 24 years ago.

My dad frequently makes me crazy, but I love him, and I listen to him and I learn from him, and I have told him so and will tell him so.

In 1989, I bought the cassette single of this song for Dad for Father's Day, and he really liked it, so here it is once more for him:

Hmmm

My city has decided to go with fabric recycling.  On the one hand, I am delighted to have an outlet for the pillows which are too manky to give to Goodwill, along with single socks and bras which have quit fighting the good fight.  On the other hand, it's a for-profit company called Simple Recycling doing this, and I don't know how many of my fellow citizens will go to their website and read the details.  

I hope that some, if not all, will, and that Goodwill, the Salvation Army and other charitable organizations will not be hurt.  I know that the scam drop-boxes have cut into donations to those same organizations.  And yes, the drop-boxes for used clothing are almost completely for-profit despite the misleading labeling. 

The one that ticks me off the most, of course, is the book "recycling" boxes.  When I saw a box in the local shopping center, I almost plowed into it with the car when I recognized the name of an online "store" from which I had purchased used books.  I still have not completely discarded the idea of tacking up a sign reading "THESE PEOPLE SELL BOOKS.  YOU'RE NOT DONATING TO ANYTHING BUT THEIR BOTTOM LINE."

I guess in regard to the fabrics, I will give the city the aforementioned manky pillows and donate clothes to Goodwill, but if you're reading this, please, please investigate before you give anything to anyone.  These days, almost anything can be turned for a profit, and that's fine if you know that's what's going to happen.  If that's not what you want, find a reputable charity which will take it.

Sometimes I forget...

that MS is a killer.  Then I go to the calling hours of a man only three years my senior, who only in the last few years has re-connected with his grown sons and met his grandchildren, and I remember.

I have been so lucky that MS has only lightly touched me, and overall has not diminished my quality of life.  But the flip side of that coin is that I have a responsibility to be mindful of my luck.  I don't always know what is right, but I know that I can always try harder.

So as I wish healing to the family of a man too young to die, I resolve once more to think about who I am and how I treat others.

Black Friday disgusts me

Thirty-plus years ago, my mom and my aunt used to go shopping the morning after Thanksgiving, because that was when the Christmas stuff was first sold and because it was a little time alone for them, with their families sleeping off turkey hangovers.  Now, we have people camping out for a week, with generators, to buy things that will wind up in a landfill; retailers making their staff work on Thanksgiving night, and herds of people who need nothing and want everything trampling each other for the latest plastic crap.

My mother taught consumer education for thirty years, so I grew up with Maslow's Heirarchy.  I may spend like a drunken monkey sometimes, but at least I always know that I'm buying stuff I want rather than stuff I need.  I don't have a problem with people out there buying Christmas presents that would otherwise be smaller or non-existent, and I don't have a problem with people out there buying clothing or home goods that they need.

But people like the jackass with the generator?  They're disgusting and they tarnish what Thanksgiving is supposed to mean.

Tomorrow...

will be the three year anniversary of Stormdog's death. This morning, on the way into work, I heard about a couple who paid $155,000 to have their dog cloned. I said three years ago, that if cloning ever became inexpensive, maybe I'd do it. But now I know that I wouldn't, even if it was only $155 instead of a hundred times that. I miss Stormy, I miss him every single day. But he was the dog he was not only because of his genetic makeup, but because of the experiences he had in his life and where I was in my life and the roads we traveled together. I could not be the same person I was eighteen years ago when a half-grown, all-legs, sweet-natured and much too smart puppy came into my life, and I don't want to be that person. Stormy will never be equaled in my life or in my heart, but I cherish his memory and try to be the person he thought I was. Until such time as Stormy and I are reunited, if such time ever comes, I will give the dogs in my life all the love and care they deserve, and honor his memory that way. I would not cheapen what Stormy and I had by buying a replica.