I don’t need to read all those best-selling books about the joys of throwing stuff out. I’m skilled at that. More than one item has been given a last minute reprieve from the jaws of dumpster. I’ve watched my husband weep as I harshly sort his clothes into stay-or-go piles.

I like empty drawers. I open them and admire their emptiness, their zen-ness.  I’ve been accused of running a motel with no customers.

I don’t store stuff under beds. That space is reserved for dust bunnies and scared cats.

But…and this is a big but…yesterday I went to my really nice closet that holds miscellaneous stuff.  As I was organizing my ribbons, I saw IT.

IT was a tiny box. It wasn’t labeled but it was, nevertheless, a box of “string too short to use.”

Over the years, I’ve heard friends talk about cleaning out their parent’s houses and finding boxes marked with those very words. We’d be horrified and would vow never to do anything like that. We’d laugh and say: “ What were they thinking?  Surely this is the stuff of myth.  We would never do that to our children!”

Well, it’s NOT. Myth, that is. It happened. To me. Those little bits and pieces of ribbon found their way into their very own box in my special closet.

My wise and somewhat frugal mother-in-law had a box in her kitchen pantry. It was marked “Light Bulbs….New in front, Old in rear.” I was confused and a bit worried about that until one day, when I was alone in her house, I decided to take a peek.

Turns out, there was a simple answer. The “old” light bulbs were three-way bulbs. Each  had one element that had burned out. But they didn’t need to be pitched. They still had life and value. Just not as much as they started with.

Simple. Frugal. Wise.

I’m not going that far but I’m not about to toss out those little pieces of ribbons. They, too, still have life and value. They’re just not as long as they used to be.

And the children will just have to deal with it when the time comes.

Or maybe not.

There was an essay in the Sunday New York Times recently, called The Eye to Eye Challenge. It naturally caught my attention, and, my eye.   It was by Bruce Feiler who writes beautifully about life and especially family life.

Among other things, he has written a book titled “The Secrets of Happy Families” in which he encourages all of us to write down our “family stories….the good, the bad and the ugly” so that our children, and theirs, will see how we managed our lives, through thick and thin.

He has much to say about the digital age, has statistics to back up his troubling conclusions, and grabbed my attention with one particular statement: “We can’t become fully human until we learn to look into each others’ eyes.”

At a restaurant recently, we were seated next to a couple, near our age, I would say. They each had their iPhones, and iPads and not a word was spoken between them, to say nothing of eye contact. The table was quite close to ours so it was hard to ignore. I wondered if they had any “family stories.” If they do, they must not find them as compelling  as whoever was texting them at the moment.

It saddened me even though it was none of my business.   They lost an opportunity  to exchange thoughts, make plans, laugh, look into one another’s eyes. And they didn’t even have to cook dinner or wash dishes.

If you can’t take advantage of that, what else gets lost?

Thanks to Pixabay.com for the image

You have to be so careful these days. You’d think that taking your kid to a mall to have his picture taken with the Easter Bunny would be easy.

But such was not the case in Jersey City, N. J., as reported in our local newspaper on Tuesday of this week.

Apparently chaos erupted at a mall there when a little one-year-old slipped off the knee of the Easter Bunny, who was then physically attacked by the child’s father. The Easter Bunny saw fit to defend himself and subsequently both men were taken to the hospital.

Now, you’d think the Easter Bunny would have regained his composure and sweetness, his “bunniness” if you will, during his time in the ER but apparently that didn’t happen. No sooner did he leave the hospital than he ripped off his white bunny gloves and went after the distraught daddy. Again.

The whole incident is under investigation by the Jersey City police department. As well it should be.

Bad Bunnies are not acceptable role models. And so I found it comforting to learn that this particular bunny had been relieved of his costume and sent packing. The cynic in me, of course, wonders if he’ll reappear as Santa Claus next Christmas.

I’m happy to report that no such mischief took place at our neighborhood Easter Parade.

For one thing, our Bunny was the nephew of the lead Bunnette so he knew exactly how serious the consequences would be if he acted out. The assisting Bunnettes were equally cautious, well aware of their place in the pecking order and cheerfully handing out candy from their gaily painted bicycles.

Happily, a grand time was had by all.

And we all wish you a very Happy Easter.

Am I the only one who thinks that the stuff we buy continues to get harder and harder to open? It seems everything is wrapped up, tight as the paper on the wall, and nearly impossible to access.

The products instruct us to: “Hold here and pull.” “Pinch there.” Press down and twist.” “Lift ‘n Peel.”   It all sounds so simple.  Sometimes there are even nice little diagrams to guide us.

But, I’ve come to believe that those directions are the stuff of contemporary myth.  The product designers seduce us into thinking we can actually do those things. And with our bare hands, no less.

I know I’ll be grabbing the scissors and knives to get the job done. Perhaps resorting to a wrench or a screwdriver. I may be wising up but I’m still losing the battle.

On a trip to the grocery store recently, I purchased some new blush on the cosmetics aisle. A little treat for oneself amongst the (hard to open) canned goods and kitty litter.

A few days later, a little birthday party invitation arrived. “Aha,” one said to oneself: “What better time for one’s cheek bones to look sparkly and fresh. And we have a new product. Let’s use it! What fun this will be.”

But first, one needed to open it.

I’m not going to take the time here to tell you how poorly that went. I will only tell you that when it was time to go to the party, I was not sparkly, I forgot the birthday card, and the blush…..well, the blush is no longer useable.  Neither are my favorite scissors whose sharp little pointy ends are gone. Worn to a nubbin in endless attempts to open the hermitically sealed package.

Not to get on a soap box here, but the damage we’re doing to our environment with all that wrapping and packaging is incalculable. I am assuming that it’s the product maker’s intention to protect us from tampering, disease, contamination. Those are noble goals but surely there’s a better way.

We have a fairly large family, what with the grandchildren, one great-grandchild and another to be born soon. I’ve forgotten more than one birthday, I regret to say, but when the big 50 comes to one of your kids, it’s best to remember it.

The middle one got there last week so we’ve been putting on our thinking caps about what would be nice to give him and, frankly, we’ve been coming up empty. Birthday presents are hard.  What to do? What to give?

A stroll downtown to the art galleries for inspiration seemed like a good idea. We’ve given the children art before and with some degree of luck. We looked and looked and finally! The AHA! moment we’d been waiting for! There it was in all its glory. His 50^th birthday present. No question about it. A real statement-maker but a little larger than we’d planned on.

The problem was: how to get it to him in Missouri?   The gallery, The Filling Station, is just across the street from the iron-artist and together they determined that they could indeed “crate and freight” the gift, despite its size and weight.

But the cost! More than the item itself.

The gallery owner once again came to the rescue. Apparently there’s something called U-Ship. Very like the Uber concept, there are people out there, agreeable to taking large, clumsy items from one place to another for reasonable fees. One goes on line and waits for a U-Ship person to get in touch. You make a deal….or not….and voila.

Our U-Ship person arrived in a pick up truck and after much bubble-wrapping, taping and bolting-down, it was on its way.  I think it will be quite a surprise. We are hoping that there aren’t any neighborhood ordinances against “abnormal” yard art.

He doesn’t have it yet so here’s a picture of his present.

Happy 50^th Birthday, Scott!

And many happy returns.

(No, no, I’m not talking about returning the present. That is definitely not an option.)

I’m sorry you missed it. But don’t feel bad. The only people there anyway were the dancers. And they didn’t even know they were dancers. They were just doing their jobs. But a ballet it was, nevertheless.

The backdrop was a simple but beautiful room with inspirational wall hangings. The set was spare and functional.

The choreographer, all 5’2” of her, called us to attention and told us, in no uncertain terms, what the plan was, how the performance would start and …..if we knew what was good for us…..how it would end.

Then the props were delivered and we gasped at the enormity of what was being asked of us.

We’re a small troupe, normally sure of our steps and marks, but this was different. We were definitely out of our comfort zone. We even brought in an extra in case of a misstep or two…which seemed likely, given the task at hand.

But suddenly, and with little warning, we were on.  Lights, action and places, please!

Now, I’m sure that you’re nearly breathless with suspense. So, here’s the big reveal.

All of this took place on a Monday morning, two weeks ago, at the church-sponsored food bank.

The props were bags and bags and bags and bags and bags of canned goods, generously donated by parents and children of the church-affiliated school. An estimated 1500 (!) cans arrived, all at once. They were clearly in need of un-packing, sorting, boxing and shelving, in preparation for distribution to needy families. And there were only 10 of us to get the job done.

The dance got off to a rough start but within minutes everyone had picked up the pace and settled into their positions, their roles. We found our stride, quickly and quietly.

We moved like pros, pirouetting between the tables of canned soups, vegetables and fruits. We jete-ed and plié-ed our way across the floor. The occasional, if unplanned, arabesque was spotted.

Unbelievably, nothing was broken. No one got stepped on.   Oh sure, a couple of chicken noodles got mixed up with the cream of mushrooms but that didn’t diminish the performance.

When the work was done, the set was struck, high-fives were given and a feeling of accomplishment was shared by all.

We weren’t Balanchine or Baryshnikov but we were good. Really good.

It was all over in 45 minutes…exactly two minutes before the regular food truck delivery arrived and we were able to return to our regular and comfortable routines.

We didn’t need applause from an audience. The reward was simply in and of itself.

P.S. I don’t know if you missed me last week, but I missed you so I’m going to try for a weekly post. It’s more fun for me that way. And fun is what this is all about.

Thanks to vectorstock.com for the image

I was at the card table recently and the subject of New Year’s resolutions came up.

Having never made one, I tuned out. Resolutions tend to be so all or nothing at all.

But one of us had a different take on the subject and I perked up a bit.

She suggested that we take just one quality…an admirable one…and devote ourselves to attaining a healthy measure of that during the year. Things like Patience, Generosity, Kindness, Self-Control and Joy. There were other qualities on the list but the Joy thing grabbed me. I told myself that I’d take that one and work on it.

Well, the card game ended and, with it, my dedication to the resolution.

Worry, Grumpiness and Griping are essential to my being and I couldn’t really see an easy path toward Joy with all of them standing in the road. I knew they wouldn’t go away any time soon without putting up a fight.

But then I remembered something a friend told me years ago. At the time, I was working with some people who didn’t like me, wanted nothing to do with me and hoped I’d just go away. But I had to work with those people….every day. I was green to the work force and had no management skills. They did. The fight was on and it wasn’t an even match.

That good friend, who understood the situation, told me that what I needed to do was “neutralize” them. (No, not gangster-land “neutralize”….don’t even go there.)

Positively thinking that I could, just perhaps, gain and maintain a neutral relationship with them was the key. It made all the difference in my attitude.

I’ve decided to use that as a path for reaching my New Year’s resolution. I know I’m not going to get all the way to unbroken Joy. It’s just not in me. I’m hard wired to be half-glass-empty. But if I can “neutralize” the negativity, then that’s a start. Perhaps the goal will be attainable. Or, even better, sustainable.

We’ll see how it goes. I’m hopeful.

So there. Take that: Grumpy, Worry and Gripe!

Image thanks to @GrumpyCat/Twitter.com