Month: May 2020

When our daughter was a toddler, a friend of ours, a former kindergarten teacher, gave to us a bunch of books.  Thank you, again, Janice.

Among the books, the one that became one of our favorites was, “If You Give a Moose a Muffin,” by Laura Joffe Numeroff.  Sixteen additional books in the series, began with, “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.”  But the Moose/Muffin one remains our stalwart favorite.

Having read the Moose book a million times and simultaneously having embarked on one frustrating DIY project after another, on a budget, I wrote the ditty which follows in the Joffe, Moose/Muffin tumbling, compounding style of the slippery slope.  I take no credit for the style, but the experience was mine.

Rather than pulling my hair out in exasperation, and because bumps and ridges cover the entire real estate of my scalp, I felt sure I couldn’t pull off the bald look, so I wrote.  Have you heard of journaling to communicate with yourself about, and unearth, what’s happening in the depths of your psyche?  Perhaps this technique prevents baldness.  I don’t know, but it’s a theory.

Speaking of frustrating, how many of you, new to the homebody-corps have done some, maybe a lot of, redecorating or remodeling, DIY-style, in the 2020 weeks of quarantine?  Some call it sheltering in place.  Most of us, I dare say, have worked a bit on our shelters, or our place, whatever you call your abode.  Whether our work could be called home improvement, I can’t say.  I’m not here to judge.

Here goes, If You Get a New Vacuum Cleaner:

If you get a new vacuum cleaner,

You’ll need new floor coverings to go with it.

If you get new floor coverings,

You’ll need new furniture to compliment the floors.

If you get new furniture,

You’ll need to paint the walls.

 

If you paint the walls,

You’ll need new window treatments to go with it.

If you get new window treatments,

You’ll have to have new windows.

If you get new windows,

You’ll need a new heating and cooling system to finish the upgrade.

 

If you get a new heating and cooling system,

You’ll need to switch to a gas stove-top.

If you get that new stove-top you’ve always wanted,

You’ll need an electric wall oven to go with it.

If you get a new wall oven,

You’ll need a new subzero refrigerator to finish the trio.

 

If you get a new refrigerator,

You’ll need new plumbing to go with it.

If you get new plumbing,

You’ll need to move the laundry room.

If you move the laundry room,

You’ll need to remodel the entire kitchen.

 

If you remodel the kitchen,

You’ll need a new bathroom to go with it, if you’re a woman, that is.

Kitchens and bathrooms.  Kitchens and bathrooms.

If you get a new bathroom,

You’ll need a soaking tub with jets, bidet, and towel warmer to go with it.

 

After you’ve relaxed your overworked remodeling muscles in the jetted soaking tub, you’ll notice you need a new sun-room to go with it.

If you get a sun-room,

You’ll need a new roof to cover it.

If you get a new roof,

You’ll need a new porch to go with it because you’ve always wanted a porch.

 

If you get a new porch,

You’ll need a new garage to go with it.

If you get a new garage,

You’ll need a new lawn shed to clear out the mess and keep the garage tidy.

If you get a new lawn shed,

You’ll need a greenhouse with a rainwater recycling unit, attached to it.

 

If you get that greenhouse,

You’ll need the driveway regraded and repaved to go with it.

If you get the driveway regraded and repaved,

You’ll need a new car to go with it.

If you get a new car,

Drive away from that old house as fast as you can!

And take your new vacuum cleaner with you, to clean the car.

 

Once you’ve entered the slippery slope of DIY redecorating and/or remodeling, nothing is found to be as simple as the theory.  Always, at first thought, it seems like it will be a straightforward process.  Then, reality sets in and all of a sudden, you’re a whole mile and a half past simple. And, all plans of frugality – thus the whole concept of DIY – fly out the window, that you just installed last week.

 

By the way, I know a good Realtor if you just want to sell that old house.

“Say my name, say my name,” is the catchy chorus to a Destiny’s Child song (1999) about a cheatin’ boyfriend.  The remaining lyrics have nothing to do with this piece, but that chorus certainly does.  I could add a relevant lyric of my own: If you want to hand me fame, say my name, say my name.  Repeat, again and again as many times as possible.  A few famous first-name celebrities, whose names we’ve all heard a few million times, include:  Exhibit A: Beyoncé.  Exhibit B: Cher.  Exhibit C: Adele.  Exhibit D: Madonna.

Honestly, have you ever checked a box on a ballot, one of twenty choices running for office, lets’ say for judge in the 419^th district court, because you’ve heard or seen that particular name somewhere?  I’m truly and civically sorry, but I have.

His or her name rings a bell.  Factoid, I think this saying derives from Pavlov’s experiment with a salivating dog, behaviorally-trained to respond to the sound of a bell, with a hunger reaction.  Can we be manipulated as easily as Pavlov’s dog, to want what we’re told to want by a powerful media master?

I recognized the name and none of the others, so I checked that box.  Maybe it had a ring to it, that name.  Maybe it sounded sophisticated or ordinary or smart or the charming kind of ethnicity that tickles my fancy.

It didn’t matter that perhaps I saw the name in the Criminal Court column in the newspaper or I saw the name in a smear campaign from his or her opponent’s political commercial on television.  The name was familiar so I checked the box.

If your name is familiar enough to enough people, you might just be a celebrity.  I’m no Jeff Foxworthy, but when a name has been repeated three trillion times, I may feel like I know that person, in the familiar but not really, “I know you from…somewhere, but I don’t know where…” kind of way.

It’s a fact of social science that the more people who know your name, the more famous you are.  Thus, the “no publicity is bad publicity” mantra of the fame-machine; the get your name out there in public, campaign of every Hollywood publicist worth her salt (can you say Kris Kardashian?); and every person whose goal is more followers and more friends on social media, are all publicity techniques in the game of how many people can I get to know my name.

Yes, it’s a game that celebrities strive to win at all costs.  And, they pay.  Sometimes they pay with real dollars.  Other times they pay with their privacy.  But often they pay with their dignity, and a moral compass gone haywire.

Why?  Power?  Clout?  Ego?  An antidote to poor self-esteem?  Or, is it as base as mo’ money, mo’ money?

Do you know the name, Alissa Milano?  First there was a television career, back in the 80s-90s.  Lots of acting roles followed, including hosting a fashion-design show.  Then she emerged, quite vocally in the “me too movement,” paving the way to a visible stint in political activism.

Besides a name, who is she?  And, why should anyone listen to her political or social opinions  as opposed to those of my neighbor or yours, or a preacher, scientist, therapist, attorney, plumber, doctor, teacher, barber, or bartender?

Why would we listen to a celebrity about anything other than the substance from which their fame originated?  Certainly, if I want to know something about acting, I should consult Meryl Streep, or Robert De Niro, and hear them out.  If I’m pursuing a career in vocal music, the popular version, or need to know what it feels like to wear a meat-dress, Lady Gaga is the one to see.  If a professional quarterback is my goal in life, then it wouldn’t be a bad idea to consult with Terry Bradshaw or Tom Brady.

However, if I need help to decide who to vote for in the next election, should I seek the opinion of an actor, singer, or athlete?  Moreover, would I even consider their opinion as valid if they tell me in no uncertain terms, that I’m stupid, unfeeling, unchristian (or too Christian, whichever is more pejorative), deplorable, an unsophisticated degenerate hick, hateful of minorities, gays, women, illegal immigrants, and any number of others if I don’t vote the way they say I should?

On the other hand, might it be better before casting my vote, to consult an historian (or history book), a political scientist (or poly-sci journal), a retired lawmaker, with little to no vested interest in my decision?

I’ve seen memes (sayings) on Facebook, throughout the pandemic period, saying in essence, who’s essential now?  It’s not professional sports figures, actors, musicians, entertainers, artists and celebrities of every ilk (can you say celebrity-politician?), whose names we know without even tapping into our long-term memory.

It’s, guess who?  Retail workers, nurses, police officers, first-responders, doctors, and so many of us out there, with names unknown but to a handful of loved ones, friends, or maybe some hundreds of acquaintances we call Facebook friends.  We’re just going around doing our jobs, unsung, and not living in the realm of privilege, that celebrities call normal.

In the sociological literature, celebrity is boiled down to renown, literally the sum of all the people who have heard a person’s name.  “Herd dynamics,” and the “bandwagon effect,” perpetuate celebrity, upping the public discussion of certain individuals, exponentially.  Did you hear about…?

However, the “knowing your name” thing can backfire.  Like with most things, there are exceptions.  For example, Jesus is quoted in the Bible books of Matthew, Luke and John as saying, “no prophet is accepted in his home town” (paraphrased). 

Why? Maybe the thought goes something like this: “That’s JUST Jesus, the aimless, illegitimate, carpenter’s son who’d rather sit around outside the temple listening to esoteric meanderings of the priests than help his dad make a living.  Why would I listen to the stuff he’s spouting?”

It’s about HOW you know that person.  For example, when I say the name, Dolly, do you imagine Dolly Parton, Dolly Madison, or Dolly, the advertising animated-cow?  Could you readjust your imagination to elect Dolly, your president, when you knew her as the four year old kid that ate her boogers or the teenager that the popular kids called a slut, or the drunk college girl who streaked the coed dorm and would have been charged with a sex crime hadn’t her powerful mom made the charge disappear?

It begs the existential question, “can anybody ever really be ‘known’?” and William Shakespeare’s equally philosophical question, “What’s in a name?  that which we call a rose.  By any other name would smell as sweet.”

(stay “tuned” for part two…)

 

The raison d’ etre of my writing this piece was teased out of my dream-like memory-store, in the form of the theme song of The Jefferson’s, an old television show.  It went like this in my head: “we’re movin’ on up, to the East Side, to a de-luxe apartment in the sky…we’ve finally got a piece of the pie-ie-ie-ie.”  Then there were references to baseball, “Now we’re up in the big leagues…Gettin’ our turn at the bat…”.

Back in the day, the 1990s specifically, and before a certain friend called Pam Foor rocketed to the top, and deservedly monopolized the genre, I won the Hershey Cocoa baking contest at the Bedford County Fair.  I have the brown ribbon from Hershey and the Best of Show blue ribbon from the Fair, stuffed in a cupboard behind some old cookbooks, to prove my win.

My next-door neighbor deemed me Betty Crocker or Suzy Homemaker or some such moniker indicating my locally publicized baking prowess.  For five minutes, it was heady stuff being recognized for something I had baked.  I didn’t fare so well at the Farm Show in Harrisburg in January, searching high and low for fresh mint in the middle of winter, and failing, to garnish my mint chocolate cake. I knew nothing about nor cared one iota for “decoration.” My poor step-sister of a cake looked anemic and sad.  But those who love me assured their Cinderella, “I’ll bet it tasted better than those ‘show-pieces’ that probably tasted like cardboard.” 

It’s been twenty-five years and compared, I don’t bake much anymore.  I lost the verve.  Besides my specialty Christmas cookies, birthday cakes for my husband and daughter, dictated by tradition, and the odd enticing new recipe, baking is in my past.  Until this week.

My other next-door neighbor and I share a “waste not want not” philosophy about food.  Having to throw out food feels to us like we’ve squandered a resource.  So, we both have been known to get creative with our food stores and often bake or make meals with what’s on hand.

We have some apple trees.  Last year’s apple harvest was good and given my relative disinterest in baking, I had quite a bunch of apples stored.

This week, “quarantine boredom” hit me.  I’m ever so grateful to be healthy and safe.  However, the stay-at-home rule, for those of us who have abided by it, has made a few of us, the word for it in the common vernacular is, crazy!

So, yesterday I baked an apple tart, from a recipe found many years ago in a Gourmet Magazine.  It became a favorite apple recipe, first for my mother-in-law, then me.  I also tried an apple ginger upside down cake which sits firmly in the okay-but-will -toss-the-recipe, category.  Given my baking reluctance, recipes that don’t rate in the can’t-live-without-this, category, get binned, as the Brits say.

Tomorrow or as soon as I can muster the baking-energy, it will be an apple cake and an apple pie or two, for my husband.  He’s a “real American,” who loves apple pie.

“As American as apple pie,” originated in the 1860s.  The 1974 ad jingle touting apple pie along with baseball, hot dogs, and Chevrolet, personified this pie as American.

I don’t like apple pie.  Not even a slice, a piece, or a taste.  In fact, pies in general get a response from me of a neutral or disinterested “meh.”  Of all the dessert categories to choose from, pie is at the bottom of my list, unless we’re talking peanut butter pie.  But I would argue it is a parfait atop a graham cracker crust.

And, cutting a pie into pieces.  I can do precision but I’d rather not.  I’m not all that fond of rulers, and in my kitchen they just don’t belong.  I’m not even keen about the pie chart.  It’s too exact.  I want some leeway, wiggle room, space for creativity and imagination.

It comes down to temperament.  I’d rather write the explanatory essay than answer true or false; “well, if you mean this…, then it’s true; but if you mean, that…, then, it’s false.”  For me, there are too many ifs, or if you need to be scientific, variables, in the true or false and multiple-choice question-answer format.  I’d rather explain, sometimes in detail.

So, the American dream of upward mobility, with its baseball and apple pie were alive and well in the 1970s when The Jefferson’s aired.  I wonder if the American Dream, the concept coined by Writer and Historian, James Truslow Adams, in his 1931 book, Epic of America, remains relevant in today’s cultural landscape?

“That dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement.”  In 1931, the same year the Star-Spangled Banner was adopted as the United States national anthem, and the nation saw the Empire State Building completed, experienced the Dust Bowl and lived the Great Depression, those words outlining the American Dream were penned.

Notice that in 1931 the apple pie of opportunity was divided among each and every person who contributed to America via “ability or achievement.”  In a way, we were all relieved of the duty to contribute to the nation through our abilities or achievements, when President FDR, from 1933-1939 instituted The New Deal as a temporary umbrella to help America through the financial storm of the Great Depression that produced widespread financial hardship.

The Jefferson’s worked hard to climb the ladder to their de-luxe apartment in the sky and to get their turn at bat.  It “took a whole lotta tryin…Just to get up that hill.”  And, they were African-American.  No excuses.  Opportunity was limited.  However, those who were determined to accomplish the dream, worked, sacrificed, and persisted, until they achieved their goal, located some steps up the ladder.

Theoretically, those who could not work, via disability of any sort, were and are helped by the necessary New Deal programs that remain as an umbrella for the hard times.  Social security and Medicare, although part of the New Deal, were and are “insurance-like” programs that workers invested in through payroll deductions, to reap the benefits at retirement when working would no longer be an option. 

If nothing else, I believe perhaps today’s perceived path to the dream has put a kink into the dreaminess of the dream.  Are today’s American dreamers biding their time with hands out, hoping for pie in the sky?

Work was always built into the American way.  The predominant rule for getting a piece of the pie, which is to work hard, can be followed by anyone who wants a chance at the opportunity formerly known as the American Dream. 

Have some pie, and Bon appétit.