An Antidote to What's-His-Name

I have an antidote to the Imuses and Sharptons and Coulters and other sewage-spewers of the world. For every spotlight seeker going for the cheap quick headline, there are dozens of beautiful examples of writers and speakers who caress words into glowing images.

I commend to you Julie Zickefoose. With an 80-acre back yard in the Appalachians, and an encyclopedic knowledge of nature, she writes about her world and paints it with appreciation for the company of birds and bullfrogs. Her lyrical style first caught me in a brief article in the Nature Conservancy magazine, and that same day her new book went on my Amazon wish list. Fortunately, my birthday was just weeks away. As my day arrived, so did Zickefoose's Letters from Eden: A Year at Home, in the Woods.

It's clear from the Preface that a treat awaits. She talks about her "…neighbors: coyotes, copperheads, gnatcatchers, and bluebirds. I walk through their woods, and I'm lucky enough to come to know some of them." She sees the goings on in her bit of forest as nothing much extraordinary. Creatures go about their affairs. "Bullfrogs leap from the water to snap up birds. Bluebirds and Carolina wrens sometimes have threesomes. These things are extraordinary only if we know they happen. My work is to notice them."

She is a master of her craft. Enjoy.

She May Know Fashion, But ...

In today's Baltimore Sun there's an article that got my goat. First of all, they are running a series called "The Middle Ages." This is not about that dark period just before the brilliance of thought and art that flowered in the Rennaisance. No, they are talking about the booming generation of people that the rest of society doesn't quite know what to do about. Boomers. Middle aged. Semi-senior. No one has come up with a good name yet - for there is none - but plenty of people have advice.

Now there's a fashion manual for the boomers from someone who, by age at least, is one of their own. But if you believe the Sun article, mostly she has disdain for the clothes choices of her group. She focuses on "unflattering, frumpy and dated looks" and offers advice on transforming them into hip, with it styles.

Some of her advice is good but obvious and unrelated to age: tennis shoes with a skirt suit for women never look good. Frumpy is rarely flattering.

What I take issue with is her handed-down-from-on-high statements. Teal is a nursing-home color. White shoes say old. Pastel jogging suits are out. A colorful pullover sweater for a man is a no-no.

What if you have spent your working life in black or navy suits, looking forward to the day when you could live in pastel jogging suits? What if you happen to love teal and look especially good in it (says she with the red hair)? Where is comfort in her plan? Where is the familiarity and ease of a favorite sweater or less-than-hip jean skirt - another item on her "don't" list?

Early in the article the author points out that boomers are spending billions on clothing. Somehow, all I got from this article was another "expert" doing what "experts" have done all our lives...tell us what we are doing wrong and how we can fix it by simply buying something else, including their books.

I suspect a lot of boomers are too busy writing their own books to worry about whether a "style expert" approves.

How To Get Rid Of a Customer

What's the fastest way to get rid of a customer? Without saying a word?

You got it. The answer is not saying a word. Being unresponsive. Showing that you really don't care what their experience was, even if they go to the trouble of pointing out - politely - that there might be a problem with your quality or service.

Two big names in women's apparel have recently provided me with an up close and personal example. Delta Burke - the clothing line that bears her name - has some nice designs. A few months ago I started swimming in the local indoor therapy pool (great for creaky knees!), and I bought a Delta Burke bathing suit at Lord & Taylor. Between the two I expect good quality and excellent service.

Right. My dismay quickly turned to ire when, after barely a dozen wearings, the suit began to disintegrate. The fabric lost all its oomph. Tiny gray ends of broken elastic fibers covered the surface. When wet, the skirt hung below my knees! Now my knees are not a great sight, but I don't want to have to fight with fabric when I'm swimming.

Yes, I rinsed the suit carefully and repeatedly after each wearing. The pool is state of the art and uses salts and very little - if any - chlorine. Clearly, there was a quality problem with the fabric.

So I wrote to Delta Burke Fashions describing the problem and my suggestion that they have a problem with quality, and I sent a copy to the Women's Buyer at Lord & Taylor at their headquarters store. (I would have written to a specific person, but the very helpful department manager at the local L&T couldn't give me a name.)

The result? Resounding silence.
My response? Two new swimsuits purchased - neither of them a Delta Burke, neither of them from Lord & Taylor. And one blog article.

In a dentist's office once I saw a sign: Ignore your teeth and they'll go away. The same goes for customers. The fact that I won't buy anything else from Delta Burke or L&T probably won't even register on their radar. Or maybe it will.

Addendum: Thanks to Alex for reminding me of the Demotivators to be found at Despair.com. Herewith a pertinent example: http://despair.com/disservice.html

Thanks For the Other 364

Friends and family know that I have a bad habit of believing I can do more in less time than is actually possible. It's not intentional. I can "see" the thing done, and so it seems a short hop from vision to reality. Reality, however, has its own timetable, and we are rarely in sync.

So for those who've noticed that my intention of a weekly "thank you" profile beginning on Thanksgiving – accompanied by a Heifer International donation - also ended on the same day, here's the mea culpa makeup. On Christmas Day there is finally time to consider the people I'm grateful are in my life on the other 364 days.

Phil – my best friend, soul mate, husband. Every day I am delighted by the love and laughter we share; you empower me to be and do everything. You were worth the wait. For you – trees - because you care about the world and its future, locally and globally. And because we all know there really is global warming.

Dick and Kathleen – my siblings. We share knowledge, history, and family stories that no one else can understand. On the rare occasions we are together, conversations and banter pick up where they left off. Having you in my life is knowing that I have a built-in, guaranteed cheering section, and a refuge if I ever need it. You are the basics in my life. So for you – sheep – for they provide food and warmth.

My Extended Family – Stepdaughter, stepson and daughter-in-law, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, nieces, nephews, aunt, uncle, cousins, great-nieces and great-nephews. We are very lucky in this family. Minimum strife, maximum caring. We're scattered around the country but any of us could say "I need help" and we would all respond. For you – geese – because they are adaptable and efficient and great at raising a ruckus when need be.

Friends – like Paula who writes for children and is one of the most caring, giving people I know. And new friend Jay, who I have not met in person, but I know that when we do we will not shake hands but will go straight for the hug. And Lee, Margaret's husband, who is courageous and huggable and loves flying as I do. For all of you – a goat – a very giving animal.

Future Friends and Family – two young people who will marry into the clan in 2007, and those who will join us in years ahead. You enrich an already fortunate group. And people I meet through blogs and online communities – talented writers, artists, and professionals – you all expand my world by giving me someone knew to meet, something new to learn. For you – rabbits – whose legendary ability to multiply mirrors the enrichment of my life you will bring.

Hmmm – that's a lot of feathers, fur, and new growth. What we need now is something to round them all up. Yes, a llama will be just right.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a shady, warm, cackling, munching, hopping good night.

Breathtaking

Look at this and tell me you don't say "Aaah" and feel the cool, calm infuse your mind.

Mother Nature is glad to provide for your well being with the help of the intrepid folks atop Mount Washington.

What Do You Get When You Cross the Energizer Bunny with….

• A nurse
• An artist
• A Realtor®
• And a TypeE visionary…all in one person?

You get my friend, Margaret.

Anyone who already knows this extraordinary woman understands. The rest of this is for people who haven't yet met Margaret Rome. You are in for a treat.

We met almost 20 years ago when she was a ceramic artist just beginning her transformation into a highly successful real estate professional, and I was an accountant/computer consultant. In our first phone conversation she invited me to her studio, and I was struck by her openness and desire to share. What I didn't realize then was that the givingness of this woman is her hallmark.

A few months later I needed help selling my condo but didn't think I could afford to use a Realtor – it was not a happy time financially for me. Margaret stepped in declaring "you can't afford not to use me," and proved it by selling my home for more than I expected. I'm pleased that years later my story became an article on her blog, a blog that exists because she saw the potential of the "I Blog For You" idea.

There isn't enough space on Blogger's server for me to talk about the many ways she has had a positive effect on my life, often just by being who she is. If I sent out a call for anyone Margaret has helped to meet in Baltimore, I believe we could fill Ravens Stadium. And so for every one of them – and myself – I say "Thank you for being my friend."

The Best Gift Guide

Putting My Money Where My Mouth Is

Back in September I wrote an article on this and my other blog about philanthropy. It was triggered by the generous givings of Richard Branson and Warren Buffett. And now, with the seasons of giving bearing down on us, my mailbox overflows with desperate pleas from charitable organizations. "Please help the… [insert category of needy – two-footed, four-footed, winged, finned, environmental, or service.]" From the very local to the intergalactic, I'm on their list. And so my recycling bin overflows, too.

Had I Gates' billions they might all get checks. But I don't, and so I choose those causes that seem to me to make the kind of difference I believe in, and where most of my dollars go to the purpose of the charity rather than its administration. On New Year's Eve I will write checks and make online donations to a number of such nonprofits.

But what about the rest of the year? OK, today is a memorable day for me, so I've decided to commemorate it with more than a celebratory lunch. I want to also honor some of the people who have reached out their hands and thoughts to me, and helped me take those steps that have changed my life for the better.

Here's the deal. Each time I profile one of these special people on this blog, I will make a donation to Heifer International in their honor. I choose Heifer because they also help people improve their lives. Recipients of animals from Heifer receive training and support, but also agree to pass on the gift by sharing the animals' offspring with others in need in their community. Thus, the gift of self-reliance and self-esteem multiplies and spreads through the village, whether it's in Albania or Appalachia.

When you go to Heifer's website, click on "The most important gift catalog in the world." There you'll see all the animals – and trees and bees – you can select. Personally, I'm partial to llamas and sheep because of the wonderful fibers that come from their fleece. So today, to kick this off, I'm giving a share of a llama in honor of all my friends and family. Here's the gift card I chose for you all....

And starting on Thanksgiving Day, I will profile one special person a week for the rest of the year. To honor each one I will choose something from the Heifer catalog that seems to suit them and what they've done for me and others. I sure hope they like their "gifts"!

Who will you honor today?

Note: All photos are copyright Heifer International, and come from either their online media resources or, in the case of the gift card image, from the electronic card I selected.

Autumn...Incomplete

Crystalline sky the color of "Dutchman's breeches" as my mother would say. Just enough breeze to tease the remaining gold and bronze leaves from the tree out front. It's a glorious fall morning in Maryland. And so I spent some time raking semi-dry leaves, lifting rakefulls into a black plastic bag, and thinking about this corner season.

Winter is dark and crackly cold at best, leaden gray at worst. Summer brings the heat and humidity that make breathing difficult and turn car interiors into people-cooking ovens. But at the corners we find the cycle of life, the birth/rebirth of spring and the languorous death of autumn.

Come March and April the trees spring to life, and birds hold multi-lingual morning convocations. October sets the landscape ablaze until November's snap colds and brisk winds tear the landscape clean. The air now has the musty scent of dead leaves. Kira the cat finds it irresistible; leaves we've tracked in become skittering prey for her games.

How can this ancient cycle be incomplete? My nose knows. Missing from the mix is the one smell that means fall is almost over. Before air pollution regulation, the reward for raking leaves into the street was the sight and smell of an oak/maple funeral pyre. There was an art to it passed through the generations, father to son, son to daughter.

You needed good dry material so that flames would leap from the top of your leaf cone. A few damp leaves were OK, but too many would produce a slow, smoky, and unsatisfying burn. A little breeze to keep the fire going, but not so much that half-burned leaves would fly off the pile and start mini-burns in the neighborhood. When you got it right, you felt connected to nature and the unending cycle.

I agree with the rule about no open burning. But on days like this, my nostalgia takes over and I yearn for one more perfect fall afternoon spiced with the scent of leaves returning to the dust we all share.

Skewed Perceptions

Take a moment and watch this video on the Dove "Campaign for Real Beauty" site. Is it any wonder our perceptions are skewed when a naturally attractive young woman is primped and powdered into a gorgeous creature, only to be further "enhanced" into an advertising man's (gender designation intentional) ideal?

Advertisers and fashion pushers say they only give us what we want. We (women) like to see the ideal, what we strive for. But that's not what they are showing us, is it? The "ideal" is in fact a digitally created, unattainable level of perfection. Those of us who have stopped comparing ourselves to supermodels shake our heads sadly at the disdain they have for us, those advertisers who would make us feel inadequate in order to gain our business. We can't stop them from creating false beauty, but we can let younger women know the truth. And we can make our voices heard in the one way that advertisers understand – by withholding our money from those who dismiss, disdain, and denigrate any woman, any age, any size.

Do We Really Need This Kind of Help?

First, a disclaimer. I am far from petite and could even charitably be called Rubenesque. Fat fighting has been a fact of life for me since I was 10. And sure, if a pill appeared that was safe and that would melt away unsightly pounds overnight as I slept, or during the daytime for that matter, I'd be first in line. But I've never kidded myself about the basic truth that what I eat affects my weight. Some people are blessed with faster burning metabolic engines while I'm equipped to survive famine. So it goes.

The idea of stomach-stapling surgery to lose weight has always made me a bit squeamish, but I'm not a candidate so I can't judge what it's like for those who choose this option. Such a drastic solution – and the need for it – are at once scary and discouraging. But what got me going on this was an article on CNN announcing that soon it will be easier and cheaper to get this kind of surgery, making it an accessible option for more people. Instead of the longer healing time of incisions, doctors can now use the natural orifices of the digestive tract (the mouth and the other end) to insert tubes through which they perform laparoscopic surgery. It's lower risk and lower cost, and may open up a whole new group of candidates for this bariatric surgery. That means that people who now are not obese enough might be able to "take advantage" of this medical breakthrough.

Sorry, but to me his concept is vaguely reminiscent of Roman banquets with people eating to excess and then vomiting to make room for more. Let me eat everything I want – who cares? Supersize me, sure. I can always get my stomach stapled and lose weight that way. Now if only I could silence the old refrain that keeps playing in my brain: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

Don't Have a Cow...Give One

Last week Richard Branson pledged $3 billion to fight the global warming that certain people in Washington are pretending doesn't exist. It does, it's a problem, and Branson is doing something about it.

Not long ago Warren Buffett gave billions to the Gates Foundation to fight a variety of diseases including HIV and AIDS. Some in Africa and Asia still try to pretend that AIDS is not a problem. It is, and Buffett and Gates will make a difference.

I can spell "billionaire" but that's as close as I'll ever get to the likes of Branson, Buffett, and Gates. Ah, but I can make a difference just as they can. My choice is a solution to hunger that brings with it self-esteem, economic self-relieance, and the essential concept of giving back in recognition of the gifts you've been given.

My choice is Heifer International. I first learned about them several years ago, and thought it was one of the best ideas ever. Don't just give people food, give them the means to feed themselves. Don't just hand them a month's worth of cheese, give them the cow so they can feed their children, make their own butter and cheese, sell the extra milk, and work toward self-sufficiency. People around the world – including right here in the United States – receive not only an animal but also training on how to care for it.

But the best idea – the one that makes Heifer unique and so effective – is the idea of "passing on the gift." People who receive a cow, or chickens, or rabbits, or a llama, or any gift from Heifer, agree to pass on the gift by sharing the animals' offspring with others in need in their community. Thus, the gift of self-reliance and self-esteem multiplies and spreads through the community.

So every year the largest contribution I make is to Heifer. As my business grows, so will my donation. I can't think of a better way to express my gratitude for gifts I've received than to pass them on to where they can make a permanent and positive difference for people who only want to care for themselves and their families.

If you have a favorite cause, start setting aside something every month to give. If you don't have a favorite of your own, consider Heifer. And pass on the gift.

Traffic Snarl

I make that sound on days like this when I try to get from one place to another in the D.C. morning slow. A "felony traffic stop" – whatever that is – had caused the closure of all lanes on the Washington Beltway. So even though I was going nowhere near the Beltway, that "police activity" brought everything within miles to a crawl.

I had a meeting scheduled but still plenty of time to get there. I watched, first annoyed and then snarling, as time marked by the unemotional numbers on my dashboard evaporated. At first, it was just that I would be a little late. Then I would be late enough to miss out on any of the convenient parking places. And then I would be schlepping all the way from the garage with briefcase and laptop. Grrr.

I sought comfort and calm on the radio. NPR offered more senseless death in Iraq and the recognition that we are trapped in a game of Whack-a-Mole as we shift too few troops from place to place. As the stench of the political campaign season filled my car I switched to music – classical is my choice for stress reduction.

Except that this morning WBJC was playing a harpsichord piece that could not have been Bach – it was getting nowhere except on my nerves. So I switched to WGMS and they had something that sounded like the Saber Dance on speed.

The numbers blinked at me with cat-like inscrutability. Now once I had trekked from the garage I would have to choose between checking email and reviewing my notes for the meeting.

The pace of traffic picked up slightly then lost momentum as quickly. I looked around and saw people on phones, others beating time to their own music choices, putting on makeup, and sipping coffee…all the usual driving-to-work activities. I wondered why people buy every possible derivative variation of white oval stickers for their cars. OBX was original. The next few for beach resorts were OK. But does every little town and activity need one? On the van next to me was a white oval sticker that said "Kensington" and under it "MD." Kensington, Maryland needs a sticker? They couldn't even come up with a clever abbreviation but had to spell it all out?

And now I could forget the email and might not even have a chance to review those notes – I would have to run in, grab the folder, and go.

Ah, Beethoven's 7th. Glorious and familiar, rollicking, powerful, and purposeful. Presented in its "splendid 40 minute entirety." The good news is that it is uplifting music that made me feel better. The bad news is that I should not even have been hearing it because I should already have arrived.

Finally, the last turn and clear road ahead. My 45-minute trip has taken an hour and a half. My cell phone barely intruded on Ludwig. I caught it as the last notes of my fugue ring tone died. I didn't want to talk to him anyway, and I could see the entrance up ahead…just beyond the long line of cars waiting at that traffic light that just turned red. A glance in the mirror showed it matched my face very well.

Comeuppance is Sweet

This one did my heart good. AuthorHouse, a subsidy publisher of ill-repute, has been ordered to pay damages in a defamation lawsuit. The short version of the tale is that they published a book that libeled a romance writer, Rebecca Brandywyne. The book in question was written by her vindictive ex-husband, Gary Brock. AuthorHouse claims they can’t read every book before they publish it, but they had ample warning of trouble ahead. iUniverse, another POD (print on demand) publisher had rejected the manuscript because of possible libelous content, and Brock advised AuthorHouse of this during contract negotiations. And now AuthorHouse has been ordered to pay damages of over $200,000. That will put a crimp in their bottom line.

There are far too many scam artists in publishing. They play on the desires of authors – talented and otherwise – to see their names in print. Dishonest agents, phony poetry contests, and publishers who will print anything no matter how badly written and edited it may be – they wait in the seamy backstreets of the world wide web to snare the unwary and naïve. And I just love to see them get their comeuppance!

There are many reputable agents and publishers. If you want to see your name on the cover of a book, do your research. Start with Miss Snark, PubRants, and BookEnds. These are literary agent blogs with loads of good information and links that will take you to help of every kind. They’ll also steer you away from the scams, frauds, and snake-oil publishers. Even if you decide to self-publish, do your homework. And when you hold that book with your name on it, you’ll be glad you did.

Not In My Refrigerator, You Don't!

I thought I’d heard the ne plus ultra in bad taste advertising a couple of years ago. It had to do with ads placed in public rest rooms so that gentlemen taking care of business could also be encouraged to buy more of what sent them there. Music, flashing lights, and an electronic voice would pitch to that briefly captive audience. Worse, they threatened that a version for women’s bathrooms would be next. Talk about tacky.

Now some equally warped genius has come up with a way to pay for his product development costs by forcing me (he thinks) to read an ad before my eyes are even open in the morning. A company called EggFusion uses finely tuned lasers to etch freshness and traceability information right on the shells of eggs as they are processed and packed. All well and good; it’s not a bad thing to know how old those eggs are in the back of the refrigerator. It might even be interesting to know where they came from. Stop there and I have no argument. Any bets on whether they did?

Of course not. All those square centimeters of blank shell canvas cannot be allowed to go unembellished. And so this September and October, CBS television is buying exclusive advertising space on some 35 million eggs to promote their fall lineup. Eggs will be transformed into mini-billboards with the CBS eye and show logos lasered on the shells. Puns will be rampant, from “Crack the Case on CBS” (“CSI”) to “Funny Side Up” for a Monday night comedy show.

The President of CBS’ marketing group, George Schweitzer, said he wanted to bring laughter to American kitchens. That’s fine. What I take issue with – what makes me dead set against buying any lasered eggs – is Mr. Schweitzer’s delight in the intrusiveness of the concept. “You can’t avoid it,” he said.

Wanna bet?

One Giant Leap

Do you know where you were 37 years ago today? If you’re forty-something or older, you bet you do. You were glued to the television – any television you could find – as a never-before drama unfolded a quarter of a million miles away. For us on the East coast it meant staying awake so late we were guaranteed to have brain fog the next day. So what? We were watching history.

Back then, every rocket launch had full, many hours long network TV coverage. We were mesmerized by space travel. It was so new, so Twilight Zone. That night we saw John Kennedy’s challenge met – our men walked on the moon – and Americans were proud again. We were still stinging from Russia’s Sputnik success in the 50’s, but Neil Armstrong’s and Buzz Aldrin's footprints in moon dust stomped that Red Bear.

Today a space shuttle launch or landing barely rates 20 seconds on the evening news, sandwiched between eternal strife in the Middle East and equally eternal strife in Washington. I’m glad I’ve lived to see space travel become so common place. I hope I live long enough to see peace.

How to REALLY Get Away From It All

Ever wished you could fly up to the International Space Station and get a whole new perspective on the world? For now it’s a vain hope unless you are an astronaut or obscenely wealthy. Most of us have to stare at the moon and be content to wonder what the earth looks like from up there.

Ah, but not for long. An enterprising hotel tycoon is thinking way out side the box – or the earth – and planning hotels in space. Robert Bigelow already has a prototype in orbit and plans to perfect his inflatable capsules over the next few years. What now looks like an overgrown watermelon will eventually be replaced by a three-story space habitat.

Bigelow Aerospace picked up on a cancelled NASA program for inflatable space station crew quarters. Congress pulled the plug on the program, but the technology didn’t die. So when you hop a rocket to the Bigelow Space Resort, you can take some pride in the fact that your tax dollars helped make it all possible.

Ain't Love - and Technology - Grand?

Here’s a story about good old-fashioned love in the heartland. And I do mean literally, hearts on the land.

Brian loves Stacy, but it was not enough for him to just buy her a nice dinner or go down on one knee to pop the question. He took her up – several hundred feet – to view his carefully planned proposal. Using Global Positioning System data and geographical software, Brian plotted the coordinates and then tilled his plea in a Wisconsin cornfield.

Stacy said “Yes”.

Of Silk Purses and Sows' Ears

This is in the category of “Truisms That Aren’t”. We’ve all heard them:

• “You can’t get blood from a turnip.”
  
• “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink.”
  
• “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

Well, it turns out you can. It takes innovation and creative thinking and a lot of time and money. But you can do it. Not only can you…but determined people did…back in 1921! And here’s the proof.

Next time you hear a truism, remember that there’s a “but….” at the end. And think of all those inventors and innovators who didn’t believe what they were told.

Planning for a Perilous Future

What a wonderful concept – creating a seed bank to store samples of all the crops that nourish us on earth. I love it when human beings go beyond their own immediate needs and think of future generations. Beyond their children, their grandchildren, or great-great-great-grandchildren; thinking of the generations of humankind a thousand or more years in the future, and doing something today to provide for a potentially perilous future.

It’s a terrible prospect, that there might come a day when “…plant epidemics, nuclear war, natural disasters or climate change….” will have killed most crops on earth. What would it be like to be sent back to the early days of agriculture when we first learned to grow food? All the knowledge we’ve gained over centuries – and all our advanced technology – will be worthless without the seeds to start again.

Thanks to Norway and other Scandinavian countries, humans will have a second chance to get it right. Life will wait patiently until then in the Svalbard Global Seed Vault.