Groped At The Airport

[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.

Flying today has become a pain. I now think twice about trips with air travel as part of my vacation planning. For years I trotted off to the airport with not a care in the world and the flight would take me somewhere exotic. Now it’s a pain in the derriere. Pun intended.

It’s not just the current news reports about excessive body searches. It’s the entire experience that has gone from a feeling of luxury and high-end travel to feeling like a porn star on a budget. Many years ago it was an absolute treat to go off on a trip with the airport as my first stop on the way to a fabulous vacation. Vacations are usually planned for quite some time and I’ve always found the time leading up to a vacation almost the best part.

I once traveled with two friends and for weeks we had meetings at coffee shops to discuss our trip and our plans and we brought maps to our meetings and practiced our destination language and by the time we were ready to go we could barely contain ourselves. Rather than take the airport shuttle my son volunteered to drive us to the airport and he spent over an hour listening to three giggling teens. We were all well over 40 (and a couple of us over 50) but we were giggling teens.

But we live in a dangerous world so air travel isn’t what it used to be. In fact, recently I dropped my daughter and her boyfriend off at the airport and as we arrived at the drop off location I barely had time to pull over, open the hatch for their luggage, and shove them off on the pavement before the security officer marched to my window and barked at me to move‑‑‑now. I started to explain we just got there but she had turned from me and had started barking at the kids. They had barely unbuckled their seatbelts. I didn’t even get to hug them. As I pulled away I looked in my rearview mirror hoping for a little wave and they were still in the street gathering their belongings with the security officer looming over them. They couldn’t even stop to look at me and wave.

When they came back two weeks later I arrived at the airport a bit early but didn’t park (we stopped parking years ago) and had to circle the arrival zone three times before they appeared. I had hoped to slow down and stall a bit since we were communicating by cell phone and they were almost at the pick-up point but each time I cruised by the area I was scooted away by a security guard. Finally, they were outside as I drove by and they literally threw their things in the back and jumped in the car and as a security guard approached I sped off. I was tempted to stick out my tongue but I knew that would land me in prison for engaging in an act of terrorism. We mostly use airport shuttles but sometimes they don't work out so we drive.

Check-in is not much better. We used to arrive at the airport an hour before our flight and sometimes we would see others arriving much later than that but still they managed to get on the plane. I remember thinking it was silly to arrive so early since those that arrived late didn’t have any problems. Those days are gone and will never return. I have friends who now spend the night at airport hotels even though they live fairly close because they are terrified of being late.

As to the “mystery” of the airplane’s operation, I had never had a fear of flying (my apologies to Erica Jong and her wonderful book of the same title, albeit a somewhat different topic) in the early years and I always marched along to my plane without a care in the world. In those years we could smoke on planes and I was a smoker and I smoked my way across the planet with not a worry in the world while sipping cocktails! I had great faith in the airplane mechanics, the pilots, the flight attendants, and air traffic control. My smoking habit was much more dangerous than flying.

So without a true fear of flying I just had an occasional annoyance with certain passengers and sometimes on long flights I got a little stir crazy and had to walk around a bit but I never considered these issues a problem. Today I am slightly fearful. It isn’t the thought of what it takes to get those things up in the air, which is absolutely astounding if we think about it too long and it’s not a good idea to do that, but I have that tiny seed of worry about someone on the plane intending to do harm to the passengers and/or the country of origin and/or destination. It’s tiny so far and won’t keep me from flying but I hate that my carefree ride to the airport is now not as carefree. I do feel that little bit of fear. Could be my age? No, it’s terrorism. There. I’ve said it. It’s not the flying I fear, it’s the suddenly not flying caused by an evil entity.

Yet, the security measures that are set in place currently are bizarre. If I have a choice I guess I’d choose the scanner instead of the touching. Some day we’ll have pat downs done by a robot and if it detects a suspicious item it will simply detonate the passenger. Robots will be perfect and never make mistakes. You know, just like our computers.

Recently we’ve all heard that security personnel have gotten a bit heavy handed on the pat downs. In fact, it has now reached the level of out and out groping. And these folks are feeling stress because they believe they are simply doing their job as trained to protect the public then we gripe at them for doing it. There are also sniffing dogs and sometimes they can be a bit exuberant and depending on one’s stature it is akin to pointy nose rape. As to the scanners, I think we now all go to the airport wishing we had lost a few pounds and wondering if we remembered to wear our new underwear. The scanners show all body deficiencies (and holding our stomachs in doesn’t help).

All of it is worrisome but not as worrisome as a plane exploding in mid air so we endure. We gripe and we hate it but we endure. The irony is that all the passenger screenings in the world are not protecting the passengers from disaster because the planes carry cargo that is often unscreened. Is anyone groping the cargo?

Cargo is shipped by the tons every day in the cargo sections of commercial flights for revenue purposes, according to the National Transportation Safety Board. Passengers might undergo invasive crotch groping but the cargo beneath their seats may never have been touched by human hands or by x-rays or sniffing dogs. I just did a few searches and found dozens of articles on the topic of cargo on passenger planes. I’m not a terrorist so that information is safe with me. But I know about it so I think terrorists know about it too and it’s only a matter of time before something happens. It’s a ticking time bomb. Pun intended, again.

Some “officials” claim that every piece of cargo shipped on a U.S. passenger flight has been screened for bombs. Really? Given the number and type of bombs available, especially when the bomb-maker doesn’t need to fear detection since he/she isn’t there, that would mean screening processes of enormous proportions. Can they really claim they have the capability to screen for all possible explosive devices known to exist at every single airport in the world? And through various packaging designs and types that are sealed? I think not. Even in the passenger screenings we missed the shoe bomber and the underwear bomber.

Some of the cargo that makes its way onto passenger flights is loaded in places that don't screen every piece—or screen at all. There are all types and sizes of airports. And things can happen to cargo in hundreds of places on the way to its destination. It could leave clean from its factory and arrive at one airport having been tainted along the way, or land in another airport and something can be attached to it at that location, and then it leaves without screening. Do we really think that every time a plane lands it’s re-screened? An entire planeload of cargo? Nope, I don't think so. Yet the passengers have had close, personal, and invasive encounters with security without so much as a dinner date before boarding. I’m missing the logic there. Is it window dressing to make us feel secure by annoying us with groping so we assume we’re safe? Irritated but secure? Doesn’t work for me.

Years ago there were no security checks per se. Luggage had to be appropriately closed with nothing hanging out and locked securely. Today we can’t lock anything. Carry on items were looked at externally to make sure they were not too big or too unmanageable but were not examined internally. Maybe an occasional peek inside. I used to knit on airplanes. I’d be in big trouble arriving with knitting needles today. There are actually people who fly today who have never flown without walking through a metal detector or guards checking them out. There were no surveillance cameras of the type we have today. If they had them they were looking at traffic flow and thievery not for terrorists and bombs. And our family and friends walked to the departure gates to wave us off and met us at the arrival gates to receive their gifts and hug us.

I don't mind someone groping my body while I’m waiting to board a plane, but I’d like to be handed an affidavit declaring that the cargo was just completely and thoroughly groped as well by the personnel loading the plane. If I could have that piece of paper I think I’d feel better about a body search, with x-rays or hands. Without that guarantee, we’re all being molested for nothing. It probably isn’t a huge surprise to learn the reason the cargo isn’t THOROUGHLY screened is cost. Airlines complain the cost would be exorbitant and would be passed on to the customers who would not like that one bit. So if airlines make that statement (here’s the fun part) how can the aforementioned “officials” say it’s all screened? The airlines say it isn’t, the officials say it is. I hate to be a logical person. It can screw up my day when I hear things like that. There’s a concept problem there. I bet some of us would prefer better cargo screening. Knowing the cargo was cleared might make the passenger groping more tolerable. Then there are x-rays from equipment with questionable safety checks because checking those machines routinely is‑‑expensive.

I still don't fear the flying process itself. Just the bomb part. For those that have never liked to be thrust in the air in a thin metal tube thousands of miles up in the sky, having security reminding them that mad bombers are everywhere, cannot be pleasant for those fearful fliers. I have an aunt who will never fly or take a train. This started years before bombs on planes and trains. We tried to change her mind but we gave up.

So I think I’ll just drive to Yosemite. But wait. There are bears at Yosemite. Maybe snakes. Rabid animals. The beach? No! Sharks! (And hypodermic needles in the sand.) To fly or not to fly. That is the question. (Yeah, my apologies to Shakespeare too.)

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

Bully Basics 101

[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]

Bullies come in many forms because bullying is an equal opportunity behavior. The primary function of a bully’s life is to pick on those deemed to provide the least resistance. The kid who pushes another kid into a locker and takes his lunch money is a bully. The teen who taunts and mentally tortures a classmate driving her to suicide is a bully. There have been tragic headlines about cyber bullies as well. There are many ways to create a bully: negligent parenting, school failure, peer rejection, gang affiliation, and sometimes bullies are the victims of mental issues beyond their control requiring intense mental health attention.

I had one bully experience in my life. It was in the third grade. (Early elementary school is often where bullies hone their skills.) We were all on the playground and one of our regular bullies started picking on a small, quiet boy. They were different races but I don't think race mattered to this bully. Race was simply an opportunistic tool he selected from his bag of tricks. A racial slur was spit out at the smaller boy. A few kids gathered around the two boys, the bully spitting and cussing, and the small boy whimpering. I stood in the circle too but I looked around for a teacher. I would not have snitched but I secretly hoped a teacher was out there. I think I was using mental telepathy to get the teachers to look my way. Off in the distance I saw two teachers chatting while watching kids play on the playground equipment and I stared intently at them. We weren’t a large circle of kids and they probably couldn’t see what was happening. We might have been playing marbles for all they knew.

Some of the older kids started urging the two boys on to a fight. Mob rule. I was very young but knew that if the big boy started a fight with the smaller boy, the smaller boy would disappear into dust. I knew both boys but did not play with them because at that age girls and boys didn’t play together much. Part of me wanted to leave but part of me kept dashing desperate looks towards the chatting teachers. About the third time I turned around from glaring at the teachers I heard a “smack” and saw the small boy go down.

I was tall for my age. Taller than most of my classmates. I felt somewhat clumsy and awkward. We all feel that way at times in our development. By seventh grade others caught up with me and I eventually topped off at 5”7’ and I’ve been comfortable with that height. (I’m 5’6” now. Weird.) It gave me then, and it gives me now, a small sense of physical security. I can also produce a nasty “don't bug me” demeanor when necessary. I carry a fondue fork when I walk my dogs and I’m prepared to use it. It’s for off-leash dogs coming after us but there are off-leash humans out there too.

The boy on the ground was no longer whimpering. He was full on crying. The bully started toward him with fists clenched in preparation for a pummeling. I screamed, “Leave him alone!” I do not recall a thought process. I don't remember if I was afraid. To this day I just remember acting and I don't remember thinking. (A character trait in all areas of my life.) The bully turned and came at me like an out of control locomotive. He started calling me names and his face was bright red and he was very sweaty. He was a sturdy fleshy kid about my height. That I do remember—vividly.

The kids had stopped chanting “fight, fight, fight” and stood staring at this new turn of events. He got to about three inches from my face, with his clenched fists, and I knew he was not going to respect the time honored “never hit a girl” code. So I took the heel of my hand and slammed him in the chest with all my might propelling him quite some distance. The combination of his locomotion against my thrust was the end of him. My hand placement was slightly off-center so that he did a rather graceful twirl before he hit the gravel on the side of his face. I heard air escaping when he landed then he skid to a stop. Ouch. The small boy was now on his feet and had stopped crying. He edged himself over in my direction and stood slightly behind me. His savior. Everyone cheered and laughed. The bully cried. I had hurt him. Did my pre‑emptive strike make ME a bully? After all, another popular code in my age group was never hit someone first. It was only acceptable, with limitations, to hit someone after being hit first. I hit the bully first. Oh, crud. I was in trouble.

As it happened this event took place close to my classroom. My teacher must have heard the chanting and came outside just in time to see me slam the bully. She had not been outside to see the entire disaster from the beginning. She was a tall elegant woman and I adored her. She broke through the circle and went immediately to the smaller boy. She looked at his tear-streaked face and checked out his limbs and turned his head left and right looking for injuries then gently told him to go to the nurse’s office. Next, she looked at the now-standing bully and told him in a less than gentle tone (as he picked gravel out of his cheek) to go immediately to the principal’s office and she would be there in a minute. No nurse. She then turned to the crowd and told everyone to disburse and go play a while before the bell rang. I quickly ran off with them attempting to lose myself in the crowd but she caught me. “Sharon! Come back here!” Oh, crap. I was never a fast runner. More of a gymnast.

She put her hand on my shoulder and walked me back to the classroom. She asked if I was okay and did I need to see the nurse. I said I was fine. She looked at me for a few seconds and I noticed a faint smile. She told me to go back outside to get some air while patting me on the shoulder. And that was it.

I’ve thought about that event many times throughout my life when I’ve encountered nasty people. I eventually figured out that the bully had a reputation and the teachers all knew who he was and how he behaved. They also knew the small quiet boy and knew he was not a fighter. And they knew me. I was a fun-loving child, lots of friends, and never created a problem. I lived to play (to the detriment of my academics) and it was probably a miracle I stopped at that circle of kids because usually I was hanging upside down on the jungle gym on the other side of the playground. Or at the top of the large walnut tree obscured from adult eyes. Unfortunately for the bully, I was very strong because of those activities.

I’m sure it was easy for the principal, the teacher, and the bully, in their subsequent meeting, to ferret out what had happened that day and I wasn’t needed. I don't remember seeing the bully again but I do remember seeing the small boy all the way through half of the 8^th grade before my family moved. His name was Bob.

The sad research I did to prepare for this blog didn’t tell me anything new. We all know bullies. And it’s a behavior not restricted to children. We have bullies everywhere. And the term “bully” is very broad and there are defined sub groups for the various types of bullies such as verbal, physical, psychological, and so on. It was also not a surprise to learn that bullies are often mistreated at home. Sometimes it’s by parents but sometimes by older siblings or neighborhood kids (or entire neighborhood dynamics) and the parents/authorities don't or won’t control it. Some parents think kids need to toughen up. That thinking works. It creates little monsters. It also creates victims.

Workplace bullying is alive and well. Sometimes it’s by superiors to subordinates but very often it’s peer abuse. Some literally do fight to get to the top using all manner of behaviors to attain their goals. Believe it or not, the physical abusers are somewhat easier to deal with in society because it’s a clear violation of the law to assault someone. Psychological and verbal bullying is harder to deal with but no less traumatizing to the victim. I was stunned to learn that suicide related to bullying is on the increase. Partly because it’s being reported more accurately and investigated more thoroughly but in the past, even long ago in human history, subordination by bullying has been part of our human evolution. Remember Clan of the Cave Bear? (Reality TV comes to mind as assisting the evolution of bullying by exploiting human degradation, honoring the bully, and feeding it all to the masses.)

Many schools have developed ways to deal with bullies when they are able to spot them. Because we have a strong anti-snitch rule amongst youngsters it isn’t always easy to find the bully and deal with him. I say “him” but certainly girls bully too. Boys just do it physically more often than girls. In statistically larger numbers. Girls are now using more mental forms of bullying via social networking and texting: tech bullies. Malicious little malcontents.

The bully all too often crosses the line from common bully to criminal. If left unchecked a bully learns they can have almost everything they want (cell phone, sneakers, lunch money--attention) by pushing kids around. That loot will not suffice when they reach young adulthood so they graduate to weapons and the general prison population gets new friends. It is not surprising to note that many bullies have image and self-esteem issues. Like the bully in my childhood.

He was a flabby kid, poorly dressed, not terribly healthy looking, not very clean, squinty eyes (I’m not kidding) and I do not recall a single pleasant thing about his appearance or personality. I suspect he was one of those boys who made it through puberty with a diet of snack foods and a body to match. I do not recall whether or not he had a group of kids he hung out with. I, on the other hand, was a curly-haired blond with cute dresses my grandma made for me and a nice fresh one was taken from my closet each morning and I went off to school quite the little princess after having a breakfast of hot chocolate and cinnamon toast usually with my mom and grandma but sometimes my dad too. (Did I mention I was an only child?) What did the little bully have and did his grandma make his clothes? Did he have hot chocolate and cinnamon toast? No. I’m sure he lived a sour life with a sour family. It didn’t make me sad then but it does now.

Though the authorities have come up with hundreds of plans to thwart bullies, the best plan is good parenting. It’s amazing what simple parenting can do. No fancy equipment is needed. Just a loving parent/adult or two (though one works very well) spending as many hours a day as possible with their kids explaining how much they love them, going to all their plays, concerts, and games, and teacher meetings, cooking dinner every night, watching movies with them, talking to them, taking them places even if it’s only to the grocery store (so many leave their kids at home when they grocery shop because they don't want the hassle but it’s a wonderful missed opportunity to communicate and argue about food purchases and whether or not a 14-year-old can go out with his or her older friends who have cars while other shoppers are critiquing our parenting skills), and working hard to provide for them by going to a job every day of the week (which is also a role model thing).

Parents don't have to be rich, they don't have to be educated, and they don't have to be particularly clever or smart. They just have to love their kids and be with them as much as they possibly can every day and treat them kindly and lovingly and firmly and get on them when they screw up. Those homes do not produce bullies. Oh, throw a nice dog or two into the mix, maybe a cat, stir, and instead of bullies you get sweethearts. I did.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

Relieving Shopping Stress at Christmas

[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]

The week before last I posted a blog about the mechanics of a stress-filled Christmas. I had planned on posting a follow-up on the stress of Christmas shopping, specifically, but instead posted a celebratory piece on the World Series Champions, the San Francisco Giants! (I do have my priorities.) But back on topic, along with other elements that can create stress at Christmas the part I dislike most about Christmas is the shopping. There are many reasons why. Here they are.

I don't like to shop generally. I know that’s anti-American and definitely not female, but I am indeed an American and I am a female. I was not born with the shopping gene. My grandmother was, my mother was not, I was not, and my daughter was. It’s skipping around our generations somewhat sporadically. My son doesn’t like to shop either but he actually shops more than I do because he cooks more than I do.

I only shop once a month for food and basics. If I run out of something, I do without. I’m good at planning so I usually don’t run out of really important items. Fresh foods go first but I cook the aging fresh foods for future meals and freeze them. The exception to this rule is if I know company is coming then I will go out and shop. If they drop by unannounced, they will starve to death.

But it isn’t just food. It’s everything. I never shop for clothes. I have clothes in my closet that could bring a tidy sum at the Antiques Roadshow. In the past if I needed, say, a white blouse, I used to go shopping for a white blouse. Nothing else. I used to go to three or four stores and if I couldn’t find what I liked I left and came home and practiced deep breathing. I may not have shopped for the blouse again for weeks. I needed to gather my strength to go back out there. I am not agoraphobic. I go many places. Just not shopping.

Many years ago I discovered shopping online. Since that time the only physical store shopping I’ve done for anything, including the holidays, is for food and basics or maybe if I’m driving by I’ll stop and pick up a box of gift candy somewhere but only if the store has an outdoor entrance and I do not have to go through the mall to get to them. I help my mom with her basic shopping and her Christmas shopping online too. I also make a few gifts each year, however, family and friends can only take so many homemade gifts, even though I am now a quasi-professional in the world of crafts having had a small business making and selling a variety of crafts.

About two Sundays before Christmas I pour a large cup of freshly ground coffee splashed with eggnog, set my iPod and Bose to my Christmas playlist, and begin. I’m usually wearing Christmas pajamas, gifts from the previous year. I start with a recipient list sitting next to me along with my debit card. I never shop on credit. I budget small amounts all year. I have no idea whatsoever what I’m going to buy or look for. Sometimes I do have an idea for a gift based on a conversation with a family member in passing but usually I fly blind. I stick to the budget and sometimes it’s a slim budget.

I’m a cautious Internet shopper and I avoid all the ads for “fantastic savings” and “one day only” sales that appear as I snoop around. Instead I shop at the major stores I trust and use often and check out their offerings. I also click on links embedded on websites I trust. Those websites do the investigative work for me. Because I’m usually a returning customer I often get even deeper savings than a newish customer. It’s amazing to me what is to be found two weeks away from Christmas. I have learned that the discounts do not get much deeper any closer to Christmas. There will be a bargain or two if there’s a certain something a shopper is looking for but the best discounts are about two weeks prior to Christmas or even a week-and-a-half before. And there are usually great shipping bargains at that time. And did I mention I’m in my pajamas while Christmas shopping?

My goal each year now that I’m experienced at this method of shopping is to only purchase items with free shipping and deep discounts. If I find something I love and the shipping isn’t there or the price is a bit high I shop for the same item at other online stores and have never been disappointed. One year I bought beautiful cashmere sweaters for the men and women in my family for almost nothing as well as many other great gifts. I find I can give more gifts and nicer quality gifts by shopping online.

As the gifts are delivered to my door, I wrap them immediately and place them under the tree. I have a nice wrapping paper storage unit that sits unobtrusively by the garage door so that in just a short time the gifts are wrapped and the wrapping mess is put away awaiting the next delivery. The entire online shopping process takes about two hours and the subsequent wrapping about 15 minutes per delivery. (This will change some when there are grandchildren of course.) Last year I purchased an item for $50 that sold for $100 at most stores I visited online. A little diligent searching can produce amazing results. It included free shipping. Sometimes I need more coffee to finish. When I’m done I take a celebratory bubble bath with candles and more Christmas music.

I started this process while still working full time. I ordered the gifts on the weekend then had them all sent to the office. Now they come to my house and I’m here to greet the delivery person since I’ve retired. My last few years on the job were significantly less stressful around Christmas thanks to online shopping.

I believe the reason for the amazing discounts and free shipping is simple. If I visit my local physical department store their display items are limited in floor space. If I shop online at the same store I’m shopping their huge warehouses loaded with goods. Their goal is to reduce inventory by discounting to thousands or millions of customers during a short seasonal period. My local stores try to unload their floor items and whatever is delivered by truck during these days and stored locally. Last year I learned that retailers did not re-stock their mall stores because they were stuck with inventory from the year before. Of course they offer discounts but they have overhead so the discounts can’t compete with what I find online. 

Many years ago when my kids were little (before my online shopping) I did all of my Christmas shopping in October and November and sometimes part of December, wrapped it all, and hid the items “from Santa.” It was a huge undertaking. It took many trips to malls and stores and lugging everything in and out of the car. I hated that part but was desperate to avoid the Christmas rush at the shops. Then a few days before Christmas I took the kids to a large mall to visit Santa. While there we would walk around and look at all the decorations and the strolling minstrels and occasionally go inside a store but we didn’t buy anything. We also would stop somewhere in the mall and have lunch and then head home with our house all decorated and presents from the family under the tree. (Santa’s presents were always hidden and wrapped in bright distinctive foil paper that was completely different from the regular paper under the tree.)

While at these malls with the kids on our Santa visits I received a perverse pleasure out of watching people screaming at their kids while pulling them around by their armpits. I witnessed countless arguments between couples over gift items and spending amounts. Everyone was on the run, exhausted, spending what they shouldn’t just to get out of there while we happily strolled and listened to Christmas music. No bags and no stressful baggage.

The thought of going to a mall or store the day after Thanksgiving practically makes me break out in hives. And besides, that’s the day I start decorating my house while snacking on Thanksgiving leftovers with my family. Participating in “early bird saver” deals at any store never coerced me to shop in the cold wee hours of the morning. Do we really need items so desperately that we would go shopping at 4 a.m. or midnight? If so, why do we feel we need those items? One item last year that was promoted at one of the stores as an early bird special was online the same day, cheaper, with free shipping. It wasn’t an item I needed but I wanted to see what the online competition had to offer.

Each year I hear about cars being broken into, people being mugged in the parking lots, people having their credit cards mishandled at stores, horrible storms, spending too much because they are out shopping after work in the dark and they start impulse shopping just to get out of there and so on. So many people get sick at Christmas and it’s because they are exposed to hoards of sick shoppers. I have never once had any difficulty with shopping online and I’ve never caught the flu shopping online. If I have to return something it’s always credited to my account and/or a replacement has been sent. I shop at the stores I trust and have never had a single problem. I receive emails from them with very large discounts prior to the holidays. My car is happy as she sits in her dry garage with a tummy full of gas. Did I mention I’m in my pajamas when I shop?

I have never liked shopping. I pretended to like it when I was younger because that’s what girls and women are supposed to like. My friends all loved shopping so I’d go along. Now that I’m older I don’t pretend behaviors anymore. I don’t like shopping and I do my best to avoid it. When friends want to do lunch and go shopping I go to the lunch portion of the outing then excuse myself and come home and walk my dogs.

Of course, I have to shop for some things. I do need food and items for my home; I do occasionally need clothing (but not often) and other things. However, I usually keep a list in my kitchen of things I need and when it gets fairly full I go online or plan my trip and hit the stores in one outing. And how much does a person need? Some people like to hop in the car and head to a mall and just shop. Without a list. For no reason. Just an outing. Something to do. Mind-boggling.

As of this writing I don’t believe I’ve stepped inside a shopping mall for three years. Maybe longer. Oh, and when I do occasionally stop by a mall to purchase a box of gift candy I do not buy a lawnmower. My attitude is not popular with our local municipalities because of the sales tax they don't receive from my purchases but some online companies do charge tax computed on my area code. However, a great many still don't. I want to support my community but I have to watch my pocketbook. No one else does these days.

[Update: I had to visit a mall before this posting. Karma. However, it was a popular computer store and a tech helped me with a computer issue. I was in and out in 30 minutes and I did not visit another store while there. It was a free visit by the way. I didn’t break out in hives. Alas, I couldn’t wear my pajamas but that’s okay because I wasn’t technically shopping.]

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]

I left my heart in San Francisco--with the World Series Champions—the San Francisco Giants!

[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]

Paris, London, Tokyo, New York, Rome, Mumbai, San Francisco, and the list goes on. Pick a favorite international city. Those of us living near major international cities are lucky beyond belief. Those of us born and raised in and around San Francisco, as do those born and raised near all top cities, may take these amazing cities for granted. The cities are there and we visit, we have fun, we go home. When we actually live in an amazing world city, we work, we go out, we buy groceries, we do our chores, we do our laundry after work, we do all the mundane things people do all over the world in every community. Sometimes we don’t stop and think, “Wow. I live in [or near] San Francisco [or Paris or London and so on].”

This past week, those of us living in or near San Francisco were treated to a major life experience. We came together as a cohesive, over the top happy group from every race, ethnicity, religion, gender orientation, color, creed, intelligence level, socio economic status, etc., and we celebrated (together) for many days culminating in the parade of the century because: The San Francisco Giants won the World Series. Ah, but it’s so much more than that. That was the icing on the cake, but it goes so much deeper.

Though I’m not generally a sports fan (and will post a blog on my perverted view of competitive sports one day) I appreciated this event because I’m alive. That’s all it takes. I’m alive and aware of what’s going on. How could I not be happy when everyone around me was happy including folks on TV and the radio and at the grocery store and the dentist and the gas station and the book store and the dry cleaners and the car repair shop and my family and my neighbors and all of my friends? We’ve all been genuinely happy for weeks, possibly months for the hardcore fans.

Speaking of the hardcore Giants fans, some are a bit miffed because so many of us Johnny come latelys jumped on the Giants’ bandwagon and watched all the playoff games and the series having not watched any of the previous games that led up to it. I felt a tinge of guilt when some of them scolded people like me--for a few seconds.

So I admit I’m one of those. I suppose with that logic we would have to live in San Francisco to celebrate because they are the San Francisco Giants, not the California Giants or the Bay Area Giants. Or we can only share in it if we were born in San Francisco, native San Franciscans. Go back far enough and that would only leave Latinos and Native Americans who were here first as true celebrants. But it can’t be that narrowly defined.

When 911 exploded the entire world suffered. Yes, the people who lived there and lost family and friends suffered more but because we are members of the human race we are connected. We all cried. We all watched the news unfold for days and weeks. Some never set foot in New York City. Anything that happens to segments of society, good or bad, brings us together and thankfully it does. We need a lot more togetherness because we have little of it.

I follow the news and current events and somewhere it entered my stream of consciousness that something amazing was happening with the Giants. Well, of course I wanted part of it! Millions of us did. When something good happens it’s human nature to want part of it. Likewise when things go bad it’s hard to walk out the door in the mornings--and we’re crabby. Sometimes for days and weeks and months and years. So this was a good thing. (Excuse me, Martha.) In fact, it was one of those wonderful things that sports should be about and often is not. Not just the winning part because that comes and goes. It’s the intangible feeling this team managed to create. I’ve experienced other World Series events in my 65 years but I do not recall the excitement level of this particular event. This was just fly to the moon excitement. This was it.

My son was born in San Francisco, currently lives in Sacramento, took a day off from work, drove an hour to the Vallejo ferry, cruised to San Francisco on a clear sunlit bay with a boatload of delirious fans, was met at the Embarcadero by the wild parrots of Telegraph Hill (see documentary of the same name) and spent the entire day reveling in the glory that is the Giants—and his beloved birth city, San Francisco. The grainy photo I’ve posted with this blog is due to his Blackberry’s limitations and the lighting and the pulsating crowd. But it’s a keeper! He’ll tell his great grandkids that years ago when he was a young man . . .

This event touched everyone. People who never watch baseball or couldn’t name a single player on the Giants roster roared and danced and cheered and screamed then participated in a huge outdoor event that produced almost zero violence or trouble and instead brought close to a million strangers together in a way no one could have imagined. It came at a time when we needed it so desperately. A time when people are out of work, losing their homes, filing bankruptcy, divorcing due to economic stresses, election atrocities the likes of which we have never seen in this country including voting booth “accidents,” wacky candidates who are totally out of touch with the average person and what real life is about, corporations screwing us at every turn of the road in our every day lives, court systems failing, businesses failing and closing and tossing out their employees, crime everywhere we turn, endless wars and death and sadness of horrific dimensions, lousy customer service, even lousier goods being produced ELSEWHERE in the world and not here, drugs, gangs, nukes poised to strike if we look sideways at certain countries, and the list is endless. Then San Francisco went and produced a team that made us ALL world champions.

I can say that because we proved it at the celebration. We are all world champions because we didn’t riot or behave like Neanderthals or out of control freaks. We were simply and completely a sea of black and orange. I watched most of it on TV and could not distinguish race or even gender or size or any other factor we generally judge our fellow humans by. It was just a blur of gyrating images. And for a few hours we all loved each other. And California and perhaps the country as a whole shared in our local collective glee and pride and happiness.

Well, Texas not so much. [heh heh heh]


When I come hooooooommmmme to youuuuuuuuu, San Franciscooooooooo,
Your golden suuunnnnnnnnnn will shiiiiinnnne for meeeeeeeee.

Written by George Cory, with lyrics by Douglass Cross

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]