Anyone home in New Jersey?

So, I'm driving south and east to North Carolina. I'm cruising along just above the speed limit. Heading down the main highway to the Outerbanks in general and Duck, North Carolina, in particular. I was listening to my CD-of-the-month on various management intelligence ideas and the latest in marketing psychology. Aside from that, this promised to be a fun "girls' weekend" filled with food, adventure and gossip.

So, as I'm driving along completely immersed in this captivating and informational material, I begin to notice that there are a lot of cars that are loaded down with stuff. I'm not talking about just full of people and their belongings--which they were--but literally loaded down. Think Clampetts here. That's what I was thinking. Tops of cars were packed with heaven knows what, covered by blue plastic tarps, clear plastic tarps and by nothing, but all secured with bungee cords. Loose corners of tarps flapped freely in the wind as suitcases threatened to break free and fly directly into the windshield of any vehicle brave enough to follow too closely.

I would not have been terribly surprised to see Granny strapped to the top in her rocking chair. However, there were bicycle racks hanging off the backs of many of these vehicles. Some had three or four bicycles suspended securely, but bouncing precariously.

Thinking of black gold and Texas tea, I did a double take when I saw a New Jersey license plate on one of these loaded SUVs. (Sorry, West Virginia, my first thoughts were of you!)

Then I began to notice that three out of five cars I passed were from New Jersey. What's with that? Why the mass exodus from New Jersey? "Its the beach," I thought. But these people had just driven--what?--four or five hundred miles down the coast past miles and miles of beach to get here. For heaven's sake! They have their own beaches! They call these sandy stretches of oceanfront "the shore," but they are beaches nonetheless.

Arriving at my friend's beautiful resort home, I walked back out to the highway just to verify my premise. "The girls" came out to see what I was doing and they concurred. Something was definitely going on. I don't mean to incite drama here, but what would YOU think?

Conducting an impromptu survey, I began to ask these New Jerseyites, "Why are so many of you here?" This was not the southern hospitality they expected. Obviously. "Ya gotta problem wid it?" "Whatcha lookin' at?" "You never seen anyone from Joisey before?" "Git outta m'face, lady!"

Welcoming them warmly to North Carolina, I suggested that IF I were so inclined, with so many from New Jersey visiting our beaches (Ok, I'm from Virgina, but close to North Carolina) this would be an opportune time for someone predisposed to burglary and larceny to score big time in New Jersey. Apparently few people remained at home there.

Admittedly, even I was surprised when a large group of these visitors looked around at each other and ran for their cars which were last seen heading north at excessive speeds.

I'm shocked I was the only one to think of that!

(FULL DISCLOSURE: Parts of this blog are true.)

Tomatoes and Wrinkles and Beggars, Oh My!

Part I - Tomatoes

Having paid $2.99 per pound for reddish tasteless tomatoes, I decided that this year I would grow my own. Memories of walking to the garden on a hot July day to pick a bright red juicy tomato came to mind. I know I was seven or eight years old because that's when we had a big garden. I would choose the most perfect tomato I could find, rinse it off with the garden hose--not to be sure it was clean, but rather so the salt would stick to the first bite. Then I sprinkled a little salt on it (ok, a lot of salt) and took a bite. It was better than biting into an apple. I then added more salt, took another bite, add more salt, another bite. When the fruit (vegetable? I was never sure) was gone, I'd rinse off my face and hands with the garden hose and quickly move on to the day's next distraction.

In buying those two tiny plants a couple of months ago, I had that picture in mind. Living in the city with a beautiful backyard, I chose as my garden plot a large planter. I filled my garden with enriched potting soil, added water, carefully bedded my two tomato plants and waited. I watered daily and within a very few days, my plants needed support.

It was suggested to me that I go to Ace Hardware and purchase tomato stakes. Are you kidding me?? My mother never purchased tomato stakes. She used what she had at hand--broomsticks, mop handles, whatever. What I have, that she did not, is an abundant supply of bamboo growing in my beautiful backyard. So I harvested some green bamboo as supports for my hearty and growing tomato plants.

Within a few short weeks (much sooner than I anticipated) I began to enjoy the fruits (vegetables?) of my labor. The plants became heavy-laden with tomatoes...much smaller than at first, but plentiful. I walked out one morning to find my tall, beautiful plants had fallen over into the nearby boxwood shrubs. The bamboo supporting my bounty had dried up and broken under the heavy load.

Lesson learned: Your venture may exceed your expectations. Invest in a good support system.

Tomatoes and Wrinkles and Beggars, Oh My!

Part II - Wrinkles

I remember my first wrinkle. I still have it, in fact. It appeared near my right eye. And it had a twin…near my left eye. Then came all the siblings. When you are 25, they are called “laugh lines” and no one is concerned too much about them. However, as the years pass and you realize that they are here to stay and they are increasing in number, depth and intensity, you begin to worry.

This worry, of course, along with fading vision, causes you to knit your brow in great concern as you look more closely in the magnifying mirror. You no longer see anything to laugh about as you examine the “worry lines” that have formed on your forehead and over the bridge of your nose.

What happens when you worry? You frown, of course, causing…you know where this going…frown lines around your mouth.

Now you’re not laughing. You would think, therefore, that the laugh lines would vanish. Not so. Now you are frowning because you are worried about not laughing. And you wish you had not laughed so much early in life. That’s what started all this!

Lesson learned: Forget that you once said, “I’ll never inject poison into my face.” Schedule a Botox party and bring laughter back into your life.

Tomatoes and Wrinkles and Beggars, Oh My!

Part III - Beggars

I was at a stoplight and in the median was a filthy beggar with one leg, a wheelchair and sign that said, “I love Jesus and I am hungry.”

Several years ago, I decided that if I had any cash or change with me (there are times I do not, and I’m not handing out credit cards) I would give something to every beggar I come across. I also determined to contribute something to every Salvation Army bell ringer I pass by during the holidays. I am sure there have been exceptions, but I try to make good on my commitment.

You must understand. I’ve never been accused of being a compassionate person. In general, I figure if I work for my money, you can work for yours. If I manage to provide for myself, so can you.

But beggars are different. They have no hope that tomorrow will be a better day. Perhaps they’ve “had their moments.” I can’t pretend to imagine what their life is like. Blind, crippled, mentally incompetent, hopeless. The latter, perhaps, being the most debilitating of all.

They most likely will waste my dollar on something I would prefer they not. They probably will not tithe to the church or put a part of it away for a rainy day. Chances are that they will not buy nourishing food. That’s their decision. My decision is to share a tiny bit of all that’s been given to me.

Lesson learned: I gave my dollar or two, not because he was hungry or even because he loved Jesus. I gave my dollar because I have hope of having more.

My Competition

I'm not one you would consider a competitor.

I don't enter contests I can't win. I don't pick fights. When I must, I choose my battles carefully. I'm not a good loser. My passion is to win! Therefore, for the most part, I choose not to compete.

However, there is one person in my life with whom I find myself in constant competition. This person is a very formidable foe. This competitor plays a shrewd game and does not always play fairly.

The game is ongoing and informal. Therefore, there are no ground rules. No rules of etiquette. No time-outs.

With a full bags of dirty tricks, she pulls them out at the most inopportune times. She knows my weak spots and plays to them at every juncture. She plays mind games with me. She talks trash. Just one discouraging word from the sidelines and she makes sure I hear it and she repeats it over and over--just in case I might forget. The slightest stumble and she is there to point it out.

Ah! But I am learning her tricks. I am learning to sidestep her daunting remarks.

Every competitor needs fans. I have mine. I hear my fans from the sidelines...Think positive thoughts. Don't even think those negative thoughts. You're winning. Keep running! So what if you stumbled? You're still on your feet.

I think she will always be there to remind me, to goad me on. In fact, as long as I stay ahead of her, she keeps me stronger. We're becoming pretty good friends, my competitor and I. I'm even learning to like her. She's eased up on me a bit, but keeps me humble, nonetheless.

My strongest competitor is..ME!

Mother of the Year

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yes. Today is my birthday. Don't bother calling or emailing or sending gifts and cards if you have not done so already. It's OK. Really. I just have a couple of things I need to get off my chest. (Not those things! What are you thinking??!!)

I'm completely confused by birthdays. Yes, its nice to have them and to have friends remember you. It's nice to receive gifts from your children after their father reminds and threatens them. But after you pass 21, birthdays somehow become insignificant. There are no landmark birthdays for many, many years after that. So why do we find it so important to keep count? So we can save 10% on a cup of McDonald's coffee? I think not.

Why do people think they need to know "how old you are?" Knowing that number will affect their lives how?

And yet, I don't want to stop having birthdays (i.e. stop living). I have known too many people who have done just that. It is not a good alternative.

I just want to quit counting them. I'm not as old as that awful number sounds. Seriously. I'm not. In fact, I did a body age test at the gym. My body is a full 10 years younger than my so-called chronological age. So when people ask, "how old are you?" are they asking how old is my body according to strength and agility? Or are they asking how long have I been alive? Should I count the nine months pre-birth? Or should I count only those years I remember?

How about asking how old do I feel? That's a good question and I can answer it truthfully without grimacing or stuttering. That would relieve me of the moral dilemma I face when I want so badly to lie.

I really don't care about senior discounts--not that I am old enough for them--but I see that time looming in the distant future. I resent some 12 year-old behind the counter asking if I want the senior discount. Money is not everything. I know people who lie to GET that discount. Give me a break!

Retirement sounds like a horrible idea. I'm just learning how to live! With all this accumulated experience, knowledge and wisdom, I am finally equipped to do something with my life. "In my end is my beginning."

I've never felt better about life, about myself and what I'm doing. So, don't ask me how old I am. Don't try to guess. (If you must guess, guess 'way low or duck when you say it.) Don't ask how old my children are or how long I've been married. Just let me enjoy today. Everyday. Quit counting.

Thank you. I'm glad to get that off my chest.

Seriously, you can send gifts. It's OK!!!

Terror!

I shivered as I curled up under my luxurious cashmere throw. I wore two sweatshirts, sweatpants and socks. And yet, I was cold. I got out a heating pad, turned it on high and put it on my feet.

I was reading "the Terror" by Dan Simmons. I am a historical novel junkie. I prefer novels based on medieval England or Biblical characters, so this one was a few centuries outside my favorite genre.

The basis for the book was the mid-nineteenth century Arctic expedition commanded by Sir John Franklin and Sir Francis Crozier. With two ships (the HMS Erebus and the HMS Terror) rigged for ice exploration and a crew of 125 souls, they set out to discover the elusive Northwest Passage. Suffice it to say, things did not go as planned. They were frozen solidly in place for two years without the expected summer thaws. They endured, not months, but years, of sub-zero weather, dwindling food, coal and rum supplies, mutinous uprisings, frostbite, long periods of 24 hours of darkness, followed by long periods of 24 hours with the brightest sunshine reflecting off the frozen tundra of ice and snow. They experienced the most harsh weather conditions Planet Earth has to offer. They succumbed to scurvy, overcrowded conditions, a horrendous lack of sanitation...you get the picture. And the "thing." The "thing" was ever watching, ever mindful of their presence; ever lurking to destroy every creature that breathed the cold desolate air.

Now, if this had been their first expedition, I might understand. (For some in the crew, it was indeed their first experience--and last, I might add.) But many of these men had been on numerous similarly dangerous adventures. I have to wonder, what drives humans beyond the expectation of a comfortable and safe life? What about the unknown inspires some to leave home and hearth, safety and comfort to risk their very lives to explore the frozen vacuity of Antarctica or the Arctic to search for the Northwest Passage? Why would one sail across an ocean with merely a hope that one will not drop off some far distant edge into never ending nothingness?

I am quite sure that, left up to me, we would all still be speaking some form of Hebrew and living on a very small parcel of overcrowded land somewhere between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. Not that I totally lack any sense of adventure or discovery. I am currently on a quest for the perfect white blouse. I will leave no store in the mall unexplored until I find it.

Economic Stimulus

Frankly, I'm a little weary of the phrase. There are others that are beginning to bore me as well.

Sluggish economy. Lagging sales figures. Retail sales continue to plummet.

Excuse me! I don't want to understate the catastrophic economy or minimize the doom and gloom that we currently thrive on, but do any of these researchers and pundits ever try going to the mall?

I went to the mall on Saturday, expecting to bop in and bop out quickly--given the gravity of our situation. I saw in the paper that Dillard's was having a shoe sale...50-70% off, no less! Since I recently cleaned my closet and passed 32 pairs of shoes to charity, I have empty spaces on my shoe racks...lots and lots of empty spaces...and feel a real need to fill the vacuum. Realizing that we are in dire straits in our country, I felt a little guilty about going out to spend money.

But face it, my friends, I'm an American. I can only control the urge to shop for so long.

I headed off to the mall with only a short amount of time before my next appointment. I literally drove around for twenty minutes trying to find a parking spot. I followed package bearing shoppers to their cars hoping for a spot. They were only dropping off the load so they could go back for more.

When I finally found a spot 'way out on the edge of nowhere, I was running short on time, but not determination. Not only were shoes on sale, but so were jewelry, clothing, bedspreads...everything!!

I'm thinking Dillard's, Macy's, Dick's, Kay Jewelers and others sparked their own Economic Stimulus package for a mere fraction of the cost of the Congressional version.

They did this for the price of a newspaper ad. What a concept!

Can You Help Me, Please?

I work hard to provide good customer service...even if I don't work at the place! I must have a friendly face (or look like I belong in the mall) because I often have people stop me and ask questions.

"Excuse me, where did you get that pretzel?"
"Auntie Anne's...and they've got amazing hot dogs there as well. Have you ever had one of them? They are located in the food court near Chic-fil-a."

"Where did you get that coat? It's beautiful!"
"I got it at Bebe. They're having a great sale now. You ought to check it out."

"Where is Victoria's Secret?"
I guess they figure I would know since I closely resemble the "Angels" they are accustomed to seeing on TV. So, I, of course, proceed to explain that I love the new line of bras that just came out. And, by the way, go left at the center court and it is the third store on the right.

On the other hand, when I ask a question, this is the more likely response:

"Can you tell me if you have.." "No."
"It's a little box that gift..." "No."
"They are about this size and... "No. We don't have them." End of discussion.
I go exploring on my own and, guess what...I find what I need within 25 feet of the 'salesperson.'

I was in Costco the other day and bought some shampoo and conditioner that indicated there was a $2 coupon I could use for each of them. That's 4 bucks! So I figured it was worth a little effort.

I left my half full cart where it was and went to the customer service desk. I quickly asked the customer service lady (just before she motioned for the next customer) if I could ask a quick question. She granted me permission. "Do you have a coupon brochure that I can have?" "Yes," she answered, "but you'll have to wait until I take care of this gentleman." So I stand calmly as as she takes literally 7 1/2 minutes (I timed it) to answer his question.

Then she turns to me. "May I help you?" "Yes. I need a coupon." "Oh, yeah." In one nano second, just one...she reached down and handed me the coupon book.

Hmmmmmm...

Wow!

Be honest. You've been tempted--as I have been. There is something fascinating about the fact that you could actually experience this. You find it titillating that others have tried it and you have not. How many times have I (and you, let's be honest here) seriously considered picking up the phone and dialing that number? I've had a great desire to do so, but just could never carry through. As a result of my reluctance, I've always felt that somehow I was missing out on one of life's great experiences.

Well, last week, I attended a trade show in Las Vegas. As I wandered aimlessly through the thousands of booths, overwhelmed and feeling lost, I was drawn to a particular booth where a live demonstration was being conducted. Right there in front of my very eyes, I witnessed the marvel take place. No trick photography. No slight of hand. I was in the second row of a growing crowd of gawkers. I'm not easily persuaded. I'm a skeptic. And I like to hang on to my money. But this was truly amazing.

I watched in awe as the young man poured a half liter of Sam's Cola on the counter and soaked it up with just one swipe of this amazing cloth. My jaw dropped when I saw this miracle product slurp up the cola from the patch of white carpet leaving no trace on the carpet or the surface beneath it.

Then came the time of reckoning. This young evangelist asked for a commitment. Explaining that by taking advantage of this outstanding opportunity, I would not have to pay shipping and handling because I would walk away with the amazing product. He had me. I'd always wanted one...and here it was less than five feet from my grasp.

But wait! That's not all! If I would put my hand inside my purse and bring out my money or credit card right now within the next 15 seconds, he would double the offer!! I was so excited! I could have one for every member of my family and still have enough to last me a lifetime. Look at what I would save in paper towels alone! Only seven of us out of the crowd of, say, fifteen or twenty potential proselytes made the cut. And I was one.

After signing my credit card receipt for just $25 plus tax, I walked away with four giant-sized (which I can cut into as many pieces as I want) and four handy kitchen-sized Sham-Wows! Well, except they weren't exactly Sham-Wows but a very convincing generic.

And, well, I had to carry these giant bright yellow and blue things with me throughout the show for the rest of the day. They did, however, spawn many interesting conversations.

People stopped to ask where the Sham-Wow booth was. (I could not have found my way back there if I tried.) They asked if the guy from TV was there. (No. But this guy was even better!) I was asked if they were giving the cloths away for free. (I wish!) They asked if I liked them. (Unfortunately, I hadn't spilled anything yet.) I was asked if the word across my forehead was really S-U-C-K-E-R. (Pretty sure that was the case.)

I can't wait to wash my car...but it's too cold. Oh, yeah. I pay someone to do that for me. I keep hoping to spill something major, but can't even remember the last time that happened. I'm trying to recall all those incredible things he said these Sham-Wow knockoffs were perfect for.

So here I sit with four giant-sized and four convenient kitchen-sized amazing towel-like shams and all I can think is, "Wow! He was good."

No Shoes This Week

It had been 38 hours since my last Diet Coke. I was a junkie desperate for a fix. I stopped at 7-11 for a Big Gulp. I inhaled deeply and eagerly on the straw. I felt a certain euphoria as the ice cold fix of caffeine coursed through my veins. My mood improved. My energy increased. I was ready to shop!

As I entered Hilton Village, I recognized the 25 MPH sign as my reminder to slow down...which I began to do immediately. Honest. I did. But not soon enough. At the same moment, I recognized the car sitting in the parking lot. Inside the car was one of my fair city's finest dressed in blue. My passing by seemed to activate the flashing blue lights on top of the vehicle. It pulled effortlessly in behind me.

I worked my way ever so slowly to the right lane then turned reluctantly onto the side street. Seeing the blonde ponytail hanging from the blue cap, I knew that no amount of tears was going to dissuade this public servant from her mission. Her voice was soft and very kind as she requested to see my license and registration. Then she calmly explained that I was traveling 41 in a 25 mile zone.

I began to explain. "I realized I was going too fast as soon as I saw the sign. I mean, I always forget to slow down when I pass through here. Never mind, I think I'll be quiet now."

I seem to remember blogging (See "Living Outside the Law" 9/16/08) about how we should be thankful when we see someone pulled over. I made some insane comment about "if not for them, it could have been me."

I just hope someone said a word of thanks as they passed by me on Saturday. I hope they understood and acknowledged that they were driving too quickly by, on their way to the mall, only because I was keeping Officer Cooper occupied. The sacrifices I make for you people!

That caffeine rush cost me two pairs of shoes!