Vacatis - the condition of overwhelming confusion when planning vacation. Often followed by Vacapathy, when you just don't care any more
That's where I am now. Having spent at least 3 hours a day in the past 2 weeks or more online, on Pinterest, on my friends' last nerve, I now know how everyone else would spend their 14 day Orlando vacation. No idea, still, how I want to spend mine.
Groupon is usually more help, and hasn't entirely failed me this time. I have day fishing, night fishing, The Improv, painting pottery, and mini golf covered. A few meals planned using Restaurants.com discounts. However, Groupon is stumbling a bit and they aren't offering the sparkling activities I've enjoyed in the past. In fact last year I used Groupons to receive 4 different massage or body wrap sessions, and this year none appeal to me. And no matter how deep the discount, I'm not sky-diving, learning to pole dance, or swimming with manatees.
But this is Orlando and the past 3 visits we managed to ignore the Big Mouse and other attractions that have sprung up in his shadow. Water park? Dinner show? Epcot? Sea World? Aaarrggggg! I don't know! What if I pick the wrong one and waste all that time and money being somewhere when I should have been somewhere else?
It should be noted that, being from SoCal, I've been to them all at least once.
But one thing my travel companion and I have, strangely, agreed on. AMC has a Dine-In Theater at Downtown Disney. You order your meal from a full menu and eat it at the table in front of your theater seat! Now, true, we don't usually go to movies at home. The experience sounds a lot like watching television in the BarcaLounger with dinner on a TV tray. But it still sounds unique enough (or maybe, familiar enough) to appeal to us both. And I think we can still see "42", the Jackie Robinson movie
So there you go. Back to Vacapathy. I'm past looking at one more website, brochure, or Pin. Pack me up and ship me to Florida. I hear sun and palm trees are the antidote to my condition
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Thursday, April 25, 2013
Saturday, April 13, 2013
The Sweetness of Caterwauling
The other night I was reminded that my heart child's orchestra recital was coming up. I used to attend every performance, hanging on every flat note and missed cue and loving the experience for all it's imperfections
This was different. I have been working so much more than when I was Working (the difference between having my own business versus having a "job job") and most evenings collapse in a puddle of inertia. Please don't make me go anywhere...Please! And if you do, please pick me up and don't make me go look for this place in an unfamiliar neighborhood. But mostly don't make me go
So the day of, Willow (my TTF) texted to say she couldn't go - Food Poisoning! I took this to mean I was off the hook too and was starting to imagine myself solving the Final Jeopardy question from the comfort of my couch
Not so fast. I soon received Text Part The Second...Heart Child is SOOOO excited that I'm coming! Yeah, she brought out the big artillery...the little performer WANTS ME. So off we go.
She has been playing Clarinet for about 6 months. Rumor is, she hates it. But when we walked into the auditorium (having paid $3 each - who charges for kids' recitals?) there she was, barely containing herself, watching for us and leading us to our seats with her, her Daddy, and little sis. Notice anyone missing? Yup, Mom got to stay home. I wonder what the Final Jeopardy question was...
Several classes were performing. First, Beginning Orchestra grinded their way through Bach and an ancient hymn or two. Major stage shuffle and there she was, my little clarinetist, joining Beginning Band in their three pieces. iPhone raised and steadied, I captured every note and squeak for posterity.
Again, major stage shuffling. There must have been a smoother way to segue from group to group, but suffice it to say moving chairs and music stands is apparently best accomplished by young men in suits who would rather be anywhere else. Next...Intermediate Orchestra
They were pretty good! I could see the light at the end of the tunnel! But wait! Why are they moving chairs again?
It turned out we were less than halfway through the evening's entertainment. And there was no sneaking out early, as Heart Child had told me she would appear twice more, including in the finale. Wow! I leaned over to her Dad and let him in on the fact that we had much, much more to enjoy. He frowned and sent a tense text back to Willow...probably something like "having a great time! Hope you are resting,"...
Then magic happened. The next call up was for Chorus, and Heart Child was right there, far end of the third tier. This teacher seemed to sparkle, explaining what "scatting" is and that the next song would be done in that style. Da dum, da dum! Da dum da dum da dum da da da da dum....did you recognize the theme from Pink Panther? The performance was contained (hands at sides, eyes front) except for the little girl on the end of the third tier. As the teachers arms flew, coaxing blended voiced from the choir, Heart Child's hands acted out the music that was all bottled up in her and SCRAMBLING TO GET OUT! She absolutely rocked it and her love for the fun of this song was palpable even 50 rows back. Besides the scatting, there was finger snapping and jazz hands...this was a song to be sung with the whole body, and that's just how Heart Child did it.
Rejoining us after their third number, she was still glowing and when I asked if she loves singing, she said "Oh, Yes!" After her clarinet piece, she said "at least THAT'S over" but in song, she had found herself
There was another 90 minutes of music and I found myself enjoying it more ( and resenting it less). When we first got there Heart Child sincerely told me she was so glad we came, and thanked us each for being there. I presented her with red tulips. She thanked us again as we left. And I learned, or re-learned, a big lesson. These moments go so fast. A busy life is plain vanilla without spicing it up with the things that have import to those we love. And being an invited guest of a twelve year old is mean so much when they become a shared memory
This was different. I have been working so much more than when I was Working (the difference between having my own business versus having a "job job") and most evenings collapse in a puddle of inertia. Please don't make me go anywhere...Please! And if you do, please pick me up and don't make me go look for this place in an unfamiliar neighborhood. But mostly don't make me go
So the day of, Willow (my TTF) texted to say she couldn't go - Food Poisoning! I took this to mean I was off the hook too and was starting to imagine myself solving the Final Jeopardy question from the comfort of my couch
Not so fast. I soon received Text Part The Second...Heart Child is SOOOO excited that I'm coming! Yeah, she brought out the big artillery...the little performer WANTS ME. So off we go.
She has been playing Clarinet for about 6 months. Rumor is, she hates it. But when we walked into the auditorium (having paid $3 each - who charges for kids' recitals?) there she was, barely containing herself, watching for us and leading us to our seats with her, her Daddy, and little sis. Notice anyone missing? Yup, Mom got to stay home. I wonder what the Final Jeopardy question was...
Several classes were performing. First, Beginning Orchestra grinded their way through Bach and an ancient hymn or two. Major stage shuffle and there she was, my little clarinetist, joining Beginning Band in their three pieces. iPhone raised and steadied, I captured every note and squeak for posterity.
Again, major stage shuffling. There must have been a smoother way to segue from group to group, but suffice it to say moving chairs and music stands is apparently best accomplished by young men in suits who would rather be anywhere else. Next...Intermediate Orchestra
They were pretty good! I could see the light at the end of the tunnel! But wait! Why are they moving chairs again?
It turned out we were less than halfway through the evening's entertainment. And there was no sneaking out early, as Heart Child had told me she would appear twice more, including in the finale. Wow! I leaned over to her Dad and let him in on the fact that we had much, much more to enjoy. He frowned and sent a tense text back to Willow...probably something like "having a great time! Hope you are resting,"...
Then magic happened. The next call up was for Chorus, and Heart Child was right there, far end of the third tier. This teacher seemed to sparkle, explaining what "scatting" is and that the next song would be done in that style. Da dum, da dum! Da dum da dum da dum da da da da dum....did you recognize the theme from Pink Panther? The performance was contained (hands at sides, eyes front) except for the little girl on the end of the third tier. As the teachers arms flew, coaxing blended voiced from the choir, Heart Child's hands acted out the music that was all bottled up in her and SCRAMBLING TO GET OUT! She absolutely rocked it and her love for the fun of this song was palpable even 50 rows back. Besides the scatting, there was finger snapping and jazz hands...this was a song to be sung with the whole body, and that's just how Heart Child did it.
Rejoining us after their third number, she was still glowing and when I asked if she loves singing, she said "Oh, Yes!" After her clarinet piece, she said "at least THAT'S over" but in song, she had found herself
There was another 90 minutes of music and I found myself enjoying it more ( and resenting it less). When we first got there Heart Child sincerely told me she was so glad we came, and thanked us each for being there. I presented her with red tulips. She thanked us again as we left. And I learned, or re-learned, a big lesson. These moments go so fast. A busy life is plain vanilla without spicing it up with the things that have import to those we love. And being an invited guest of a twelve year old is mean so much when they become a shared memory
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Becoming a Traditionalist
I had always thought of a 'tradition' as something that just always existed, among your family, in your town, at school. Picking a Christmas tree...usually a family tradition. Lighting a tree in the center of a park...town tradition. Hoping you got at least as many Christmas gifts or remembrances as your sworn enemy...school tradition.
But 2 years ago I learned that you can CREATE tradition. On purpose. And call it tradition, right away, even if you've only done it once. Apparently when you're only 5, something happening once has the patina of events that are often repeated. And when you're 10, if the new tradition holds benefits that you can see multiply in years to come...well, you'd just have to embrace that, wouldn't you?
It started with teaching the girls to blow eggs. Tiny hole in one end, slightly larger hole in the other, hold it over a cup and BLOW. I think I learned it in Brownies, where I also learned not to suggest breaking up the yolk with a toothpick until someone makes really funny faces trying to get all that egg out of that little hole. But these girls, going me one better, said "it's hard. You do it" and left me to go lightheaded creating 12 empty egg shells
In theory you now have eggs for an omelet. In reality there's an awful lot of spit in them. I toss the eggs
Next...color them ***another step will be inserted here. You'll see why. Dye and decorate just like any egg, just being careful not to squeeze or crack them. With my crew, we lost a couple. Year Two I brought 18, increasing our output by 50% and insuring against misfortune during the handling process
We did these Easter Eve. I then took the colorful empty eggs home and, carefully rolling up dollar bills, inserted a bill in each egg. Nestled the eggs in beautifully made baskets. Delivered them on Easter.
I was met with hugs, kisses and confusion. Weren't those the eggs we just dyed yesterday? The EMPTY eggs? The ones we can't hide, or even eat? Well yes, I said...but you can SMASH them!
Being refined ladies, the first 2 were softly cracked and still not much fun, so I said "SMASH that EGG!" Two small hands came down upon fragile shell and...money! Cool! Believe me when I say the rest didn't stand a chance. They gathered up the dollars about 5 each, I think - I'm not into spoiling - and my heart child said "we should do this EVERY YEAR!"
So we do. But there are a few things I have learned...
1. Buy the biggest eggs you can find. Dollars are hard to roll into toothpick-sized bits
2. After blowing the eggs, RINSE THEM OUT. We didn't, and I stuffed them that same night. We had to wash the funky egg stuff off the dollars with antibiotic soap before the kids could have them
3. Blow and dye several days before Easter and wait to stuff them until the shell in dry, inside and out.
4. Fold the dollars in half longways then roll as tight as you can. Be patient. The eggs will resist and you'll risk cracking your precious artwork. It's not a task for the weak willed
This will be year 3 and there's a 2 year old brother joining the now 7 and 12 year old girls. And I already look into the future and see them laugh and smash their beautifully decorated eggs well into their 20s (and my 70s) The joys of being the fun friend
Happy Easter!
But 2 years ago I learned that you can CREATE tradition. On purpose. And call it tradition, right away, even if you've only done it once. Apparently when you're only 5, something happening once has the patina of events that are often repeated. And when you're 10, if the new tradition holds benefits that you can see multiply in years to come...well, you'd just have to embrace that, wouldn't you?
It started with teaching the girls to blow eggs. Tiny hole in one end, slightly larger hole in the other, hold it over a cup and BLOW. I think I learned it in Brownies, where I also learned not to suggest breaking up the yolk with a toothpick until someone makes really funny faces trying to get all that egg out of that little hole. But these girls, going me one better, said "it's hard. You do it" and left me to go lightheaded creating 12 empty egg shells
In theory you now have eggs for an omelet. In reality there's an awful lot of spit in them. I toss the eggs
Next...color them ***another step will be inserted here. You'll see why. Dye and decorate just like any egg, just being careful not to squeeze or crack them. With my crew, we lost a couple. Year Two I brought 18, increasing our output by 50% and insuring against misfortune during the handling process
We did these Easter Eve. I then took the colorful empty eggs home and, carefully rolling up dollar bills, inserted a bill in each egg. Nestled the eggs in beautifully made baskets. Delivered them on Easter.
I was met with hugs, kisses and confusion. Weren't those the eggs we just dyed yesterday? The EMPTY eggs? The ones we can't hide, or even eat? Well yes, I said...but you can SMASH them!
Being refined ladies, the first 2 were softly cracked and still not much fun, so I said "SMASH that EGG!" Two small hands came down upon fragile shell and...money! Cool! Believe me when I say the rest didn't stand a chance. They gathered up the dollars about 5 each, I think - I'm not into spoiling - and my heart child said "we should do this EVERY YEAR!"
So we do. But there are a few things I have learned...
1. Buy the biggest eggs you can find. Dollars are hard to roll into toothpick-sized bits
2. After blowing the eggs, RINSE THEM OUT. We didn't, and I stuffed them that same night. We had to wash the funky egg stuff off the dollars with antibiotic soap before the kids could have them
3. Blow and dye several days before Easter and wait to stuff them until the shell in dry, inside and out.
4. Fold the dollars in half longways then roll as tight as you can. Be patient. The eggs will resist and you'll risk cracking your precious artwork. It's not a task for the weak willed
This will be year 3 and there's a 2 year old brother joining the now 7 and 12 year old girls. And I already look into the future and see them laugh and smash their beautifully decorated eggs well into their 20s (and my 70s) The joys of being the fun friend
Happy Easter!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
The Bucket List
Well, to start with, I don't have one. Not really.
That's not to say there aren't things I occasionally revisit, measuring their attainability against my current reality. I have wanted to spend a long weekend in Iceland for years, and a few years ago might have made it happen, but Joe HATES cold weather, and part of the draw to me would be seeing the Northern Lights, which seem to turn up in winter. In winter, we seem to turn up in Florida. I haven't given up on this, but it goes on the back burner to steep a bit more.
But last week I had an experience that can only be described as a Bucket List item by just about anyone's standard.
I got to ride a Zamboni.
Now, first I'm compelled to correct myself. I actually rode an Ice Resurfacing Machine, and the brand wasn't Zamboni, it was an Olympic. Zamboni is neither a verb nor a noun, but a brand name, like Kleenex and BandAid, that has become synonymous with the machine itself. They were developed in Paramount, CA and replaced a manual process that took over an hour to resurface ice between races, or periods in hockey. Now, thanks to this lumbering behemoth, the surface can be smoothed and sparkling in less than 10 minutes. I won't bore you with the details, but the new surface is created by scraping the old one up and laying down a coat of clear hot water, which seems to freeze faster. I love things that simply do what couldn't be simply done before. Thus my love of the Zam.
Being a red hot fan of our local Kalamazoo Wings Hockey Club, I noticed a request for donations for an upcoming auction benefitting Susan G Koman Foundation, and asking for survivors to be part of the ceremonies at the February 15 Pink Ice game. I may have been the first to respond, pledging a gift certificate and offering to help in any way I could. I flippantly mentioned "I'll be happy to ride the Zamboni" and later said..."just kidding". Typical Zam passengers are about 4 or 5 years old and ride around backwards, peering out from under the mandatory helmet, trying out a little wave when they passed the 3 people in the stands who know them. Haha! How funny to say I'd do that! Have you met my friends? Anyone I mentioned it to said "Oh, You Have To, and wear your tiaras and boas and...". I think these people live vicariously through me. So, by game day, I've gotten tickets for my besties, draped myself in fluffy pink feathers and a pink flower headband, and found myself strapped (unhelmeted) to the rumble seat of my new ride.
Observations...it's bumpy, and it moves faster than it looks. I was lapbelted in, but my feet dangled precariously over the newly resurfaced pink ice, and I was waving with one hand and taking pictures with the other. I thought it would be silly and campy but it was a royal HOOT! Many fans had their pink tshirts on and those sections roared and waved when I went by...and went by...and went by again (you kind of circle th rink several times). 2 Tweens in the stands realized I was singing along to "Baby, Baby, Baby Oh" so they sang it back at me on each go-around. But the most fun was my own fan section of 5 who crowded down to the glass to wave like mad and yell my name. Joe was up there too, having moved up to our seats after getting to watch practice from ice level with me (cool!). It was over too soon, but as I debarked, I knew...this was a Bucket List Item. Even if there is no list, this was a chance to do something unique and do it for a good reason (they announced each survivors story in our separate parts of the program) and I gotta say...if loosing a boob isn't at least worth a Zamboni ride, something is not quite right in the world And yes, I know I didn't ride a "Zamboni". I rode an Olympia Ice Resurfacing Machine. But my feathers flew, glitter sparkled, and I had the time of my life. Wishing all my readers the wisdom to seize the next opportunity that presents itself, even if it's a bit off the beaten path. You might just discover YOU have an undiscovered Bucket List, too
I got to ride a Zamboni.
Now, first I'm compelled to correct myself. I actually rode an Ice Resurfacing Machine, and the brand wasn't Zamboni, it was an Olympic. Zamboni is neither a verb nor a noun, but a brand name, like Kleenex and BandAid, that has become synonymous with the machine itself. They were developed in Paramount, CA and replaced a manual process that took over an hour to resurface ice between races, or periods in hockey. Now, thanks to this lumbering behemoth, the surface can be smoothed and sparkling in less than 10 minutes. I won't bore you with the details, but the new surface is created by scraping the old one up and laying down a coat of clear hot water, which seems to freeze faster. I love things that simply do what couldn't be simply done before. Thus my love of the Zam.
Being a red hot fan of our local Kalamazoo Wings Hockey Club, I noticed a request for donations for an upcoming auction benefitting Susan G Koman Foundation, and asking for survivors to be part of the ceremonies at the February 15 Pink Ice game. I may have been the first to respond, pledging a gift certificate and offering to help in any way I could. I flippantly mentioned "I'll be happy to ride the Zamboni" and later said..."just kidding". Typical Zam passengers are about 4 or 5 years old and ride around backwards, peering out from under the mandatory helmet, trying out a little wave when they passed the 3 people in the stands who know them. Haha! How funny to say I'd do that! Have you met my friends? Anyone I mentioned it to said "Oh, You Have To, and wear your tiaras and boas and...". I think these people live vicariously through me. So, by game day, I've gotten tickets for my besties, draped myself in fluffy pink feathers and a pink flower headband, and found myself strapped (unhelmeted) to the rumble seat of my new ride.
Observations...it's bumpy, and it moves faster than it looks. I was lapbelted in, but my feet dangled precariously over the newly resurfaced pink ice, and I was waving with one hand and taking pictures with the other. I thought it would be silly and campy but it was a royal HOOT! Many fans had their pink tshirts on and those sections roared and waved when I went by...and went by...and went by again (you kind of circle th rink several times). 2 Tweens in the stands realized I was singing along to "Baby, Baby, Baby Oh" so they sang it back at me on each go-around. But the most fun was my own fan section of 5 who crowded down to the glass to wave like mad and yell my name. Joe was up there too, having moved up to our seats after getting to watch practice from ice level with me (cool!). It was over too soon, but as I debarked, I knew...this was a Bucket List Item. Even if there is no list, this was a chance to do something unique and do it for a good reason (they announced each survivors story in our separate parts of the program) and I gotta say...if loosing a boob isn't at least worth a Zamboni ride, something is not quite right in the world And yes, I know I didn't ride a "Zamboni". I rode an Olympia Ice Resurfacing Machine. But my feathers flew, glitter sparkled, and I had the time of my life. Wishing all my readers the wisdom to seize the next opportunity that presents itself, even if it's a bit off the beaten path. You might just discover YOU have an undiscovered Bucket List, too
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Living Shy in a Sociable World
Yes, it's true. I have battled shyness all my life. Did I have you fooled? Well, I have many years of practice. I remember that a few years ago my sister mentioned my mom's crippling shyness, and I was so surprised to hear that...mainly because she was home with me, nurturing my socialization, and rarely had to step out of her comfort zone and into the bigger world. When she did, she was dressed to the nines in clothes she designed and made, hair and makeup perfect. That gene seems to have skipped a generation, so when I'm out in the world, I don't have that armor.
So what reminded me of that? Just a party. A neighborhood block party, next door, with dear sweet, welcoming people, name tags (I can NEVER remember a name...and even froze on my business name when asked tonight...duh!), my BF and even my dog...and I could not get out of there fast enough.
But...it was fun. I met the couple who have been my backyard neighbors for almost 11 years. Yes, just now met and visited with them. Ditto a couple from across the street. I truly enjoy the one on one conversations. I do intend to keep those aqaintanships going and feel good about that. But once our little clique dissolved as those dinner time conversations do, it was all I could do to not bolt for home. And I learned this is not how everyone feels (remember, my role model was even more shy than me, so I had no idea people actually LIKE parties. Who knew?)
My new role model? Katie. Yes, the Shih Tzu was the life of the party. She was completely charming, fluffing her tail plume, doling out doggie smiles and measured licks, minding when I called for her but working the crowd as if the party was her debut. When I lost track of her and looked around, there would be a table with 7 people and Katie (she jumped up on the vacant chair so as to be included in the goings-on), grinning her most toothfull grin, wagging her pleasure at being out and about. The resident Lab was shooed away for barking, and a little terrier had a few snarling fits, but Katie made her rounds, trailing "oh, she's so cute" and "how well-behaved!" in her wake.
I won't even go into my boyfriend's socializing. He loves being around people, doesn't share my awkwardness in large gatherings, and was also "well-behaved" (and picked up after Katie when she oopsed in the middle of a bocce game). He's human. He's supposed to know how to be around people.
But I learned something from Katie. Being social can't rely on being glued to the first seat I encounter and hoping 1) nobody notices or 2) someone gentle comes to visit. Next time the situation presents itself, I will do my best to channel my inner Shih Tzu and table-hop, smile, and have fun.
Let's see. That will probably be next month in Jamaica, where I understand a lively entertainment staff will arrange frequent schmoozing opportunities. I don't drink alcohol so I can't rely on liquid courage. But maybe I'll keep one of Katie's photos with me...a big smiley one...reminding me it's all about fun
And what the heck. I'll never see those people again...
So what reminded me of that? Just a party. A neighborhood block party, next door, with dear sweet, welcoming people, name tags (I can NEVER remember a name...and even froze on my business name when asked tonight...duh!), my BF and even my dog...and I could not get out of there fast enough.
But...it was fun. I met the couple who have been my backyard neighbors for almost 11 years. Yes, just now met and visited with them. Ditto a couple from across the street. I truly enjoy the one on one conversations. I do intend to keep those aqaintanships going and feel good about that. But once our little clique dissolved as those dinner time conversations do, it was all I could do to not bolt for home. And I learned this is not how everyone feels (remember, my role model was even more shy than me, so I had no idea people actually LIKE parties. Who knew?)
My new role model? Katie. Yes, the Shih Tzu was the life of the party. She was completely charming, fluffing her tail plume, doling out doggie smiles and measured licks, minding when I called for her but working the crowd as if the party was her debut. When I lost track of her and looked around, there would be a table with 7 people and Katie (she jumped up on the vacant chair so as to be included in the goings-on), grinning her most toothfull grin, wagging her pleasure at being out and about. The resident Lab was shooed away for barking, and a little terrier had a few snarling fits, but Katie made her rounds, trailing "oh, she's so cute" and "how well-behaved!" in her wake.
I won't even go into my boyfriend's socializing. He loves being around people, doesn't share my awkwardness in large gatherings, and was also "well-behaved" (and picked up after Katie when she oopsed in the middle of a bocce game). He's human. He's supposed to know how to be around people.
But I learned something from Katie. Being social can't rely on being glued to the first seat I encounter and hoping 1) nobody notices or 2) someone gentle comes to visit. Next time the situation presents itself, I will do my best to channel my inner Shih Tzu and table-hop, smile, and have fun.
Let's see. That will probably be next month in Jamaica, where I understand a lively entertainment staff will arrange frequent schmoozing opportunities. I don't drink alcohol so I can't rely on liquid courage. But maybe I'll keep one of Katie's photos with me...a big smiley one...reminding me it's all about fun
And what the heck. I'll never see those people again...
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Becomming UN with the e-Universe
I receive hundreds of emails every day, and am always amazed when there's one from a real person; I'm not even ounting the sneaky ones that appear to be from a person but which are really from some company I'd probably have no interest in. So, like ridding a garden of weeds, I have been culling my inbox, brashly unsubscribing to everything I haven't intentionally planted there myself
I buy online a lot, and am aware now of the trail I leave in my wake and how it multiplies without my consent. I recently ordered flowers for a funeral from ProFlowers. I was vastly unhappy with several elements of the ordering process, and replied to their follow up "rate us" email with vigor, outlining all The reasons I would NEVER order from them again. Their response was an apologetic email offering 30% off my next order (as if I send flowers with wild abandon). When I didn't immediately respond with an order, the next day they offered 40% and also emailed me from their sibling company, ProPlants. Aargh! They have a bunch of subsidiaries. I anticipate 50% off at ProSeedlings tomorrow and Free! Free! Free! at ProManure by the end of the week.
I have just Unsubscribed to all future emails, but as I am finding, some companies claim it takes up to 8 days to take me off the list. Hmmmm. I have my doubts about that. I also have clients who subscribe to my auto newsletter for Massage Kalamazoo and every addition and deletion is immediate.
Continuing in my quest to be unknown, uncontacted, and unsolicited, I stumbled across the most annoying process, whereby I click on unsubscribe and am directed to a special website where I am asked to enter my email address -TWICE - in order not to receive emails. Really? That feels like eating 2 meals in order to be allowed to diet. It makes me mad, Cybercompany. It makes me far less likely to ever buy from you again. Ticking me off is not a good sales strategy.
So for 2 afternoons, I have listened to Dr Phil solve his guests' issues while trying to eliminate mine. I have found the "unsubscribe" button on virtually every email, no matter how cleverly they try to hide it. I have typed and retyped the information I am asking them to forget. I have sighed when I realized I'm cutting off one branch of a company tree with no guarantee their subsidiaries won't still pop up like so many Whack-A-Moles. I am waiting breathlessly for the mysterious 8 day waiting period to pass. Dr Phil's guests have nothing on the angst I feel as I try to become UN with the e-Universe.
And, if you happen to be an over-extended subscriber to my own business emails, you have my blessing to unsubscribe. No hard feelings. I know your pain.
So for 2 afternoons, I have listened to Dr Phil solve his guests' issues while trying to eliminate mine. I have found the "unsubscribe" button on virtually every email, no matter how cleverly they try to hide it. I have typed and retyped the information I am asking them to forget. I have sighed when I realized I'm cutting off one branch of a company tree with no guarantee their subsidiaries won't still pop up like so many Whack-A-Moles. I am waiting breathlessly for the mysterious 8 day waiting period to pass. Dr Phil's guests have nothing on the angst I feel as I try to become UN with the e-Universe.
And, if you happen to be an over-extended subscriber to my own business emails, you have my blessing to unsubscribe. No hard feelings. I know your pain.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Funeral Cookies
Apparently there is a whole category of confections dedicated to funerals. Entire menus, recipes and even books give you way more information than I needed to find a simple but impressive cookie to duplicate about 150 times and transport to a funeral luncheon. I volunteered for cookies because there was a danger of cake on the horizon, a bad idea in my mind in feeding over 100 people who will hopefully fill a plate and move on to mingle. Not tie someone up cutting and serving, needing more tableware, napkins, plates...yes, I'm as conservative as possible when it comes to party accoutrement...since you won't keep your fork and another plate isn't in the budget, please have a cookie and be on your way.
There's something to be said for the church ladies who usually prepare these things. Everyone falls into formation like a well-trained pack of Green Berets and perfectly browned casseroles appears as if by magic, soothing the bereft and fortifying the shirttail relatives. But, for some reason, no church ladies have appeared, one man then another said they'd handle it, and it finally landed in the capable hands of my LadyBug.
Now, I have planned similar events many times with my Sisty Midler and I knew how to make this happen, but felt my opinion will be sought if needed. Assignments continued to be given and I sat quietly (until the mention of cake, which I squashed gently) and at the end was able to ask what's still needed? LadyBug looked wistfully at "cake" which had been crossed from the list, so I whispered "cookies. We'll bring cookies. All the cookies". She hesitated, thinking perhaps to make one more campaign for cake, but I sternly smiled...cookies it is
Success! I have solved the dessert dilemma but...yikers...I have just volunteered to provide 150+ homemade cookies in 2 days!
I have some ideas. Not turning to the Funeral Cookbooks except for inspiration. My time to shine and I can only turn to one source for help
PINTEREST!
Recipes never actually made by real people, themed by color, or farm animal, or Disney Princess. Yes, there is a lot of chaff to look through for the golden needle I need. But somewhere, amidst the recipes for make-your-own-dish washing-soap, patterns for crocheted pot scrubbers, and designs of dream kitchens...somewhere I will find that perfect melt in your mouth, non-crumbling, fabulous cookie recipe
Or I'll dip Oreos in white chocolate and call it a day
There's something to be said for the church ladies who usually prepare these things. Everyone falls into formation like a well-trained pack of Green Berets and perfectly browned casseroles appears as if by magic, soothing the bereft and fortifying the shirttail relatives. But, for some reason, no church ladies have appeared, one man then another said they'd handle it, and it finally landed in the capable hands of my LadyBug.
Now, I have planned similar events many times with my Sisty Midler and I knew how to make this happen, but felt my opinion will be sought if needed. Assignments continued to be given and I sat quietly (until the mention of cake, which I squashed gently) and at the end was able to ask what's still needed? LadyBug looked wistfully at "cake" which had been crossed from the list, so I whispered "cookies. We'll bring cookies. All the cookies". She hesitated, thinking perhaps to make one more campaign for cake, but I sternly smiled...cookies it is
Success! I have solved the dessert dilemma but...yikers...I have just volunteered to provide 150+ homemade cookies in 2 days!
I have some ideas. Not turning to the Funeral Cookbooks except for inspiration. My time to shine and I can only turn to one source for help
PINTEREST!
Recipes never actually made by real people, themed by color, or farm animal, or Disney Princess. Yes, there is a lot of chaff to look through for the golden needle I need. But somewhere, amidst the recipes for make-your-own-dish washing-soap, patterns for crocheted pot scrubbers, and designs of dream kitchens...somewhere I will find that perfect melt in your mouth, non-crumbling, fabulous cookie recipe
Or I'll dip Oreos in white chocolate and call it a day
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