Make a Smilebox greeting

Christmas Shopping Is Over (Part 1 of 1)

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

Everyone take a deep breath. It’s over. Another shopping frenzy is behind us. For me, it never reached the level of frenzy because about six years ago I started doing all of my Christmas shopping online. Since that time the only physical store shopping I’ve done for the holidays is for holiday food or maybe if I’m driving by I’ll stop and pick up a box of See’s Candies somewhere but only if the See’s store has an outdoor entrance and I do not have to go through the mall to get to them. I’ve gotten quite proficient at holiday shopping. I also make a few gifts each year but I mostly purchase gifts. Family and friends can only take so many homemade gifts, even though I am now a quasi-professional in the world of crafts.

About two Sundays before Christmas I pour a large cup of coffee splashed with eggnog, set my iPod and Bose to my Christmas playlist, and begin. I’m usually wearing Christmas pajamas from the previous year. My daughter often buys Christmas PJs for me. I start with a recipient list sitting next to me. 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’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 companies/stores I trust and use often and check out their offerings. Because I’m 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.

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 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. I recently 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.

I believe the reason for the amazing discounts and free shipping is simple. If I visit my local Macy’s their display items are limited in floor space. If I shop online at Macy’s 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 Macy’s tries to unload their floor items and whatever is delivered by truck during these days and stored locally. I read yesterday that retailers this year did not overstock their mall stores because they were stuck with inventory last year. 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 then hid it. 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 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 got a perverse pleasure out of watching people screaming at their kids and pulling them around by the armpit. 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 the hell out of there while we 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 boils. Or participating in any other “early bird saver” deals at any store. Do we really needs 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.

On the noon news a few minutes ago (Wednesday, 12/23) a reporter interviewed a long line of shoppers who had been in line since the previous evening to buy sneakers. One young man said the sneakers were for him, not a gift for anyone. They were over $200. The store had a strict one-per-person policy so he had enlisted family members to stand in line for him as well. I believe there were three family members eager to do this for him. He didn’t look like he was related to Paris Hilton so I’m wondering how he managed to come up with over $800 for four pairs of sneakers, but perhaps he has a large paper route. At any rate, he will probably sell them on eBay or something similar. But many of the people in line were actually interested in the sneakers for themselves. I wouldn’t stand in a freezing line for hours for a blood transfusion.

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 plan my trip and hit the stores in one outing. I probably shop once a month unless I run out of something I truly need. 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.

If I do go to a physical store (if I need it today and can’t wait for it to be shipped) for a pink blouse, I visit the stores and go directly to the women’s section and look at blouses. I will know instantly whether or not there’s a pink blouse and if I don’t see one I don’t look at purple pants or cookware. I leave the store and go to another one in search of the pink blouse. This drives friends nuts if they are with me. It drives me nuts to shop with friends because they want to look at everything. I’m always amazed when we finish an outing and I have one bag with a pink blouse and the trunk is filled with their purchases. And they were just coming along with me to help me find a pink blouse.

The shopping gene may have skipped a couple of generations in my family. My mother feels as I do about shopping but her mother, my grandmother, loved to shop and my daughter loves to shop. I have memories of going shopping with my grandmother for a full day coming home with a small bag of thread. My daughter has always whined about the fact that we rarely have done the mother-daughter shopping ritual. I have gone shopping with her but usually after an hour I’m ready to come home. She can see “the look” and she starts getting nervous. She usually succeeds in getting me to continue by offering to buy lunch when she’s done. It only works if I’m very hungry.

My son and I once went shopping for important things we needed to set up his apartment when he went off to college. We had a huge list and a full shopping cart. I think we were at Wal-Mart getting the typical things one needs when setting up a first apartment. There were three things left on the list and we were having a tough time finding them. We had been in the store about an hour. Exasperated we looked at each other and almost simultaneously said, “Let’s get out of here.” We left our shopping cart and went to lunch and had Margaritas. Now that’s shopping. (Of course, we did eventually have to go shopping and get those items.)

My daughter and I went to Europe a few years ago and at the beginning of each day our tour group selected the day’s activities. A few of us always chose places of historical interest while the majority always looked for the equivalent of a CostCo. And when we were near large cities there were indeed large discount stores similar to Costco and the stores contained the same items.

We all split into touring preference groups. After our tiny group finished visiting a site such as Versailles, we would head back to the meeting point and eventually all the others from our group would arrive with bags full of stupid things. Not clever souvenirs made by local artisans. Oh, no. They would have bags of jeans, tops made in China, bedding made in China, and toys made in, well, you guessed it, China. I bought a cowbell in Switzerland. It was actually made by a cowbell person and the bells were actually worn by Swiss cows. We actually observed cows wearing these bells. They were beautiful. And the bells were pretty too.

Part of me wants to now delve into my opinion of excessive consumerism and sloth and gluttony and I’ve decided not to. I like things, I need things, but not as much as most people I know. Shopping for me is a necessity and nothing more. Walking the dogs or gardening or lunching with friends or watching a good movie are all things I’d rather do than visit a mall. In fact, I’d rather scrub out my trashcan than go to a mall. As of this writing I don’t believe I’ve stepped inside a shopping mall for three years. Maybe longer. When I do occasionally stop by a mall to purchase a box of See’s Candies I do not buy a lawnmower.

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.]

White Christmas – 1940 Version/2009 Version

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

1940 Version:

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,

Just like the ones I used to know.

Where the treetops glisten,

And children listen,

To hear reindeer in the snow.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.

With every Christmas card I write.

May your days be merry and bright,

And may all your Christmases be white.

2009 Version:

[With apologies to Irving Berlin.]

I’m bracing for a light Christmas,

And trying not to have a fit.

All my dollars have lessened,

Ole’ Bernie’s imprisoned,

A crook who piled on the ________.

I’m bracing for a light Christmas,

No pricey Christmas cards to write.

May your days be wary, no blight,

And may future Christmases not bite.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

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.]

Rock Hudson (Part 1 of 1)

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

I adored Rock Hudson. I’ve watched all of his movies, many times, and the entire television series, McMillan and Wife. In fact, the series is available on Netflix for “instant play.” I especially enjoy the Doris Day-Rock Hudson pairings. I have Pillow Talk and when I’m tired and need a boost I pop it in my DVD player and I’m taken away. I have no idea how many times I’ve watched Giant. In particular, I have an all time favorite movie scene from Giant, which I will share a bit later. I suspect there are some readers who already know the scene I’m talking about.

During most of his career no one knew he was gay. Perhaps the Hollywood insiders knew, and perhaps his intense die hard fans knew, possibly the gay community knew, but run of the mill fans did not. I was in the latter group. I’m here to say that when I found out, I was stunned. Yet, that knowledge, which meant I would never marry him and live in New York in a glorious penthouse and go to fancy restaurants and concerts and skiing in the winter and the Bahamas and have two kids, a boy and a girl, never diminished my adoration of this fabulous man. [Of the items on that wish list I did indeed eventually have a boy and a girl, but not by Rock Hudson. Sigh.]

Rock Hudson possessed an unusual talent. He was a tall, dark, and handsome guy with a booming voice and a strong male presence, yet he was tremendously comedic. It worked well because of his beauty. It was the same combination Lucille Ball exhibited. She was a beautiful woman with a sweet innocence in most of her films and on TV but in the blink of an eye could turn into a silly pile of goofiness. Seeing beautiful people switch effortlessly from stunning to hilarious works well. There are certainly funnier performers but they do not posses the combination that makes the attractive actor with comedy talents so unique. Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, Doris Day, Rosalind Russell, Eve Arden. Hmm. I’m showing my age.

The world learned of Rock Hudson’s secret by the press release that he was dying of AIDS. AIDS was somewhat new to most of us though it was certainly popping up more frequently until Rock Hudson’s astonishing announcement when it then exploded upon our collective awareness. I recall discussions in the work place when we all learned of his pending doom and not all people felt sympathetic or empathetic. I’m afraid at that time knowledge of the disease was considered a “gay” disease when we now all know that it has no boundaries. Babies, women, children, the elderly, everyone can be candidates for the disease. Thanks to air travel the ground zero patient that brought it to this country happened to be gay. It could have come here via a hot college student who whored his or her way through travel on a summer vacation and spread it to college kids everywhere making it a college student disease. In fact, during that time there were secondary infections flying around the world but the flight attendant credited with its primary spread to this country was gay. It travels with promiscuity regardless of sexual preference. It infects accidentally with shared needles among addicts, sometimes blood transfusions, and sometimes simple accidents such as medical providers being pricked by a needle while assisting an AIDS patient. It’s a disease, not a doctrine.

Rock Hudson, being the major star he was, brought it out for the world to see. I’m sad to say that most people were more astonished that he was gay than that he was dying of AIDS. The fact he was gay, however, did not diminish my adoration of the man and his work nor has it ever. Actors play parts in films and plays. Their personal lives rarely reflect the parts they play. The better they are at their craft the more likely fans will lose themselves in the stories.

I understand he was close friends with his costars Doris Day, Susan Saint James, Elizabeth Taylor, and others. In fact, many women he worked with loved him not only as a strong romantic leading co-actor but because he was a tremendously fun and sincere person. He certainly appeared that way on talk shows and variety shows. Remember his appearances on The Carol Burnett Show? Unforgettable.

Today it’s hard, initially, to watch one of his movies without remembering the painful news of his pending doom. For those of us who loved him and knew so little about the horrific disease we were inconsolable. As the news grew in strength via the celebrity “news” mongers in the press, unlike the bunch we have today which make those earlier beasts pale by comparison, more was reported on the fact he was gay than was reported about HIV AIDS. With poor information and untrue beliefs being spread about AIDS it was nothing short of panic. For those of us who do not believe everything we see or read we waited for the storm to calm and over time we found the truth about Rock Hudson and about HIV AIDS. Calmer heads prevailed and today we are doing rather well with both issues. [We can do better.]

As I mentioned in last week’s blog on Tiger Woods, more than an estimated 33.2 million people live with the disease worldwide, and it has killed over an estimated 2.1 million people, including more than 330,000 children. Over three-quarters of these deaths occurred in sub-Saharan Africa. Worldwide, heterosexuals have the most cases of AIDS with homosexuals next and the remainder a combination of drug users, blood transfusion recipients, and miscellaneous transfers of the disease via accidental needle prick, etc. The reason it spreads and spreads is because people continue to engage in promiscuous and unprotected sex and other unsafe behaviors (drug paraphernalia sharing) then often bring it home to their wives and/or husbands and/or significant others.

Rock Hudson bravely provided the world with a wake up call. Nothing like a major hunk movie star coming out of the closet AND announcing he was dying of AIDS to get our attention. And we needed it. Many of us paid attention and began behaving more safely in our personal intimate contacts. Had we not learned of his illness, and had the news not been about a man such as Rock Hudson, we might be years behind our necessary awareness level and behind in research dollars. Elizabeth Taylor’s deep friendship with Rock Hudson turned her into a courageous advocate for research. Her fame brought many dollars to that cause in an effort to discover ways to identify and stall the advancement of HIV into full-blown AIDS.

And now I’ll close by sharing one of my favorite movie scenes of all time, as referenced in the first paragraph, with Rock Hudson and Elizabeth Taylor in Giant. In this scene Elizabeth Taylor and Rock Hudson, a married couple living on his huge ranch in Texas, have quarreled. She returns to her family’s elegant home in the east to be at her sister’s beautiful and refined wedding. Quite a departure from the rough and tumble ranch life she married into. Though his ranch is huge and he is wealthy, the differences in lifestyles are daunting. In the special scene I love he comes to the wedding to bring her back home to Texas and arrives just as the ceremony is taking place. He quietly stands behind Elizabeth Taylor just a few feet away but does not let her know he’s there. He’s edgy and in pain. She is sad watching her sister repeating the wedding vows that she herself had spoken not too long before. Slowly, she senses something. All Rock Hudson is doing in this scene is standing a few feet behind her, looking breathtakingly gorgeous. Elizabeth Taylor’s face, her fabulous face, changes as she becomes aware of his presence. She turns, seemingly in slow motion, and there he is. It was really difficult deciding who was more beautiful in that scene. A powerful heart stopping moment in movie history. Tremendous beauty, unforgettable magic, and in real life, a very brave pair of dear friends.

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.]

Another One Bites The Dust (Part 1 of 1)

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

Another celebrity bites the moral dust. Is it me or does this seem to happen more frequently? Maybe it’s that the reporting predators are on high alert for fresh meat. Whatever the case, not a week goes by that we don’t read or hear about a celebrity who either kills dogs, has affairs with coworkers or interns, flirts with potential sex partners in bathrooms, or in the extreme, murders his girlfriend/lover/wife, or significant other.

Squeaky-clean Tiger Woods is a sad one for me. I’m not a golf fan but I’ve always liked the handsome young man. He seemed to stand out as one of the good guys with a lovely family and a fabulous career. Golf (on the surface) is a high-class sport. Crisp clean clothes, beautifully manicured lawns, gorgeous club houses, a genteel audience that carefully follows the famous players around the golf course, and strict behavior rules. I don’t care for sports and I don’t follow sports or celebrity athletes, but how can I not know about Tiger Woods? How can anyone not like him? What’s not to like?

When the news broke that he had a car accident at 2:30 in the morning my Spidey sense immediately made me tingle. I don’t watch “entertainment” gossip shows or read about celebrity gossip online or in any other form. I simply don’t care. But a celebrity of the caliber of a Tiger Woods hits every method of mass “news” dissemination so it was unavoidable. Because I’m a participating member of society and don’t have my head in a hole I heard about it. Even though I have tried to avoid follow-up details I have found that almost impossible. I know about the sex text(s) and the cocktail waitress and possible “others.” Yikes.

So now it’s all out there in the world and I am sad about it. Another hero folds under the pressure of his greatness. Now he’s plunged right back down to earth with us ordinary folk. Just another man who can’t keep his pants zipped. Another man with a lovely family. Another man who was too stupid to think he wouldn’t get caught. Another man with an over inflated sense of entitlement. Another man with a giant ego who thought he could do anything and get away with it. After all, it’s happened before and even worse things have happened than an affair with a cocktail waitress. How about a murderer (O.J.), a president who liked blue dresses (Clinton), a senator who tried to pick up a “date” in a public bathroom (Craig) and the list goes on. Those gentlemen DID get away with their bad behavior and for all intents and purposes, except for embarrassment, a pesky criminal trial, and a few days or months of public scrutiny, are happily living their lives much as before. And Tiger will too. This time next year it will be forgotten and replaced by breaking news that the Pope fathered a child who’s living in the San Fernando Valley with his mother, a stripper from Encino.

I had planned on posting a little piece on Rock Hudson and have been working on it for a couple of weeks. When the story about Tiger Woods broke I stopped and thought about it for a while. Rock Hudson also suffered a major hit to his fame and fortune when it was learned (a) he was gay, and (b) he was dying of AIDS. The fact that he announced he was gay was a surprise to most of his fans and at that time considered a fate worse than death. [Actually, he did have a fate worse than death, AIDS.] It took years for everyone to calm down and (a) accept the fact that gays walk among us and have from the beginning of time, and (b) AIDS is not a “gay” disease. AIDS is a worldwide disease that affects humans in a variety of ways. But the real issue was the fact that he was gay. It outraged our self-righteous world and filled the news for weeks.

To this day I don’t really know if Rock Hudson hid the illness (as speculated for years) to prevent the world from learning he was gay or he just preferred a little privacy while he decided what to do about dying. I do know that in the days of Rock Hudson and others of his fame and stature it was necessary to hide many things about their personal lives for their careers to remain strong. Celebrities, for all the glamour, are not allowed to be normal. I’m glad I’m not famous and can go to dinner and visit with my friends and be goofy and make mistakes and that it won’t appear on the evening news or in the newspaper or online.

It’s hard when the celebrities we love fall from grace. Rock Hudson’s news was heartbreaking because he was going to die, but everyone blamed it on the fact he was gay. The unenlightened among us decided to hate him. Just a quick Google turned up the following: More than an estimated 33.2 million people live with the disease worldwide, and it has killed over an estimated 2.1 million people, including more than 330,000 children. Over three-quarters of these deaths occurred in sub-Saharan Africa. Worldwide, heterosexuals have the most cases of AIDS with homosexuals next and the remainder a combination of drug users, blood transfusion recipients, and miscellaneous transfers of the disease via accidental needle prick, etc. The biggest reason it spreads and spreads is because people continue to engage in promiscuous and unprotected sex and other unsafe behaviors (drug paraphernalia sharing) then often bring it home to their wives and/or husbands and/or significant others.

I wonder if anyone will hate Tiger? Having sex with a cocktail waitress when you are married with a family and a pristine career is just about as shocking as Rock’s news. I bet Tiger’s life will normalize and he will go on to be a hero once more. Casual sex for Rock was more deadly than Tiger’s. So far. People who play around often end up just like Rock. Or Magic Johnson. Magic Johnson’s wife was tested shortly after his doctor gave him the news and she was cleared. She punched him.

I don’t know if this is true but Magic was rumored to have had hundreds or even over a thousand sexual encounters before and during his marriage. It is also unknown but he has stated he became infected via sex with a woman. I looked around the Internet to see if there were any rumors he may have had sex with a man but I didn’t find any. So for all those who still believe you can only get HIV AIDS if you’re gay, good luck to you in your sexual behaviors.

It only takes one encounter to bring home death and destruction. So far, Tiger is lucky. So far. Wonder if he ever thought about that as he played. Do they ever?

[I’ll post my blog on Rock Hudson next week.]

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.]

Thankful (Part 1 of 1)

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

Because it’s Thanksgiving today, I’m posting my usual Sunday blog a bit early to celebrate today’s event. Each year at this time we Americans give thanks for our bounty. Our bounty has gotten shaky over recent years but we still have more than most of the world. I’m not qualified to give a collective thanks but I can give thanks for what I personally am fortunate to have.

I’m thankful for early Native Americans and their assistance and guidance to my ancestors as they arrived on the shores of this beautiful country and struggled to survive.

I’m thankful that I have a brain because I pay attention to what I see and hear and know when something is not right and that I do not fall victim to the ways of our political leaders and challenge them frequently.

I’m thankful I’m not married.

I’m thankful that I’m a hard worker because I managed to take care of myself and my kids through challenging times.

I’m thankful for early California’s Native Americans and what was then Mexico inhabited by Mexican citizens who paved the way for development of the greatest state in the union.

I’m thankful I no longer have to hear George Bush’s voice every day.

I’m thankful I have a cute little house and a decent car.

I’m thankful that after 64 Thanksgivings I have never ever gone shopping the day after Thanksgiving choosing instead to spend the entire holiday weekend with my family.

I’m thankful I’m not married.

I’m thankful I have my health and physical vigor to lead an active life.

I’m thankful I have a pension so that I can do things I like rather than things I have to do.

I’m thankful I live in a beautiful part of the world with moderate weather and lots of sunshine.

I’m thankful for Martin Luther King, Jr., and though he was only here for a short time he enriched our lives forever.

I’m thankful my grandmother lived long enough to get to know my kids and that they still remember her.

I’m thankful I’m not married.

I’m thankful I share my cute little house with dogs and cats.

I’m thankful I don’t have knee problems.

I’m thankful I’ve lived in 25 different places in my life.

I’m thankful my mom is doing well and able to live in her own house surrounded by loving neighbors and that my dad is safe and well cared for in a wonderful nursing home.

I’m thankful I’m not married.

I’m thankful for email and Facebook and Twitter to keep in touch with everyone I love.

I’m thankful I have stepsiblings and an entire stepfamily though we never use the word “step” and it’s only used here for clarification.

I’m thankful fanaticism is still under control in our country and that many people are fighting to keep it that way.

I’m thankful my dad liked to go camping and boating and fishing and skiing.

I’m thankful I’m not married.

I’m thankful I care about the planet and its inhabitants and that I make considerate decisions in the way I live my daily life.

I’m thankful I have friends from childhood I still communicate with regularly, friends from all the places I’ve lived throughout my life that I still communicate with regularly, and friends here in Santa Rosa, Arizona, Florida, Visalia, Pollock Pines (and elsewhere) that started as coworkers but became very special friends during that period we were together eight hours a day, five days a week, for many years.

I’m thankful for the efforts and toil of slaves that were stolen and sold and shipped to America because they made our country flourish and helped it grow and develop albeit on the backs of their forced labor.

I’m thankful they were subsequently freed and began to enrich their own lives and the lives of all of us because of their shared strength and tireless devotion to equality for all.

I’m thankful for Cott Hobart for introducing me to the world of Joseph Campbell.

I’m thankful for Rose Boche for introducing me to writing and literature.

I’m thankful for Lyle Thunen for forcing me to learn how to type.

I’m thankful I’m not married.

I’m thankful I do not have addictive harmful habits.

I’m thankful I just completed year three in my craft business and plan on a fourth year.

I’m thankful I wrote and published a book.

I’m thankful Mayor Newsom is not running for Governor.

I’m thankful I’m not married.

I’m thankful my hair is not turning too gray and thankful for Nice & Easy for the few strands that appear over night.

I’m thankful for this video (provided by Sherry Nolan): http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=norcsii#p/

I’m thankful I have two wonderful grown children who are the basis of my thankful life.

I’m thankful I’m not married.

I’m thankful I’m not a turkey.

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.]

Pure Evil (Part 1 of 1)

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

I prepare my weekly blogs in a haphazard fashion. Sometimes I work on two or three at once. Sometimes I work on one and put it aside to work on it at a later time. I’ve been working on a blog entitled Reality TV for months. It’s a loathsome topic for me and I can’t seem to get it done. There’s no rhyme or reason for the processing and posting of these blogs. Sometimes it’s a news event that gets me typing away, and other times it’s a song or a mood. Writing is all about mood. I have never experienced writer’s block either during the blog creations nor when I wrote my novel. My problem is stopping. Once I start I’m at it for hours. This particular blog was pumped out in 20 minutes though I started it a few weeks ago. It’s a record. It isn’t the best blog I’ve written but it’s one that got my blood boiling. I thoroughly enjoyed its creation.

My political leanings fall slightly to the right of Jesus. He was a passionate human rights activist and a dedicated socialist believing everyone should be loved and cared for regardless of ethnicity or socioeconomic status. He loved the leper and the prostitute and the average person equally. Because of his birth (and our subsequent belief in his existence) the world is forever absolved of sin. He even loved those who would--and did--betray him. The man loved everyone and believed everyone was worthy. I’m with him most of the way but he was, after all, Jesus. I am not. I have intense hatred for many groups of people. And here they are:

I turned on the news late this afternoon [this part was written a few weeks ago] and immediately heard a report about a young teen girl who was gang raped and robbed after being drugged. This occurred in front of a large group of young people. Some were teens and some were in their early twenties. In the age of cell phones where each person there probably had one, the police were not called for quite some time. They all watched. I went to the kitchen to warm my dinner and while waiting for the microwave to beep I heard that someone attacked a 19-year-old girl on her way home from school (college?) but she got away. This was the first five minutes of the news. I understand that the alleged culprits in the first case have now been captured. I hate them. I’m not fond of the onlookers either, but I monitor my hate and I’m disgusted with them but I am reserving hate for where it truly belongs, with the vicious thugs and malcontents who brutally attacked a 15-year-old girl. At a teen dance.

Over the last few days as I came back to this blog [now it’s Wednesday 11/18] I heard about a man who killed his girlfriend and her baby. A few years ago he killed his previous girlfriend’s baby. After killing that child he went to prison for six years and was released for good behavior. I repeat: after killing his previous girlfriend’s baby he went to prison and was released after six years for good behavior. (Don’t touch your computer screen. Your fingers will burn.) I hate him.

Not a single day goes by where I don’t read or hear a story about a kidnapped, murdered child, sometimes at the hands of his or her parents. I hate those parents. Then there are the stories of young people, often children, imprisoned and tortured for years. (Jaycee Duggard is one of countless others.) I hate those kidnappers and rapists and molesters of children. Children all over the world are enslaved for labor and the pedophile sex trade. It’s actually a popular tourist attraction in many nations. These children rarely make it to adulthood. Young men and women are often kidnapped and sold into the sex slave trade and shipped all over the world as well. Or kidnapped and raped and tortured and murdered. I hate the people who hurt these children and young men and women. There’s plenty of evil in the world, but when it is directed at children, I’m about as far away from Jesus as a person could be.

If someone robs a liquor store and in the process injures (not kills) the clerk, it is terribly sad. The suspect, however, might be a candidate for rehabilitation. Robbers do not have an overwhelming desire to rob liquor stores. I suspect it’s usually for money to buy drugs or just money for whatever purpose they feel they need it for. If they are captured and prosecuted and have even an ounce of brain tissue it is absolutely possible for them to be rehabilitated. It is not possible for a pedophile to be rehabilitated.

I desire George Clooney. It’s never going to go away because it’s how I’m wired. If, however, we are born with a desire to molest children, that’s who we are forever. Likewise, if we have it in us to kill a baby, it is unlikely that six years in prison will rehabilitate us. We will remain murdering pieces of crap and should remain in prison forever. The death penalty is too good for those people. I hate those people.

Parents who murder their children so they can go to a party or have a social life are high on my list of people I hate. We hear about them all the time. Cassey Anthony in Florida is awaiting trial for allegedly (what crap) killing her daughter Calley. Susan Smith drove her car into a lake to get rid of her kids so she could have the man of her dreams. Scott Peterson murdered his wife and unborn baby so he could play with his girlfriend. I hate Susan Smith. I hate Cassey Anthony. I hate Scott Peterson. By the way, our justice system is broken so Cassey may or may not be found guilty. If she does go to prison maybe she’ll get off in six years. Maybe she could start dating Curtis Martin. (See paragraph four.) She no longer has a child for him to murder. She took care of that herself, allegedly. (Right.)

Here’s something else I hate and it’s part of the problem and why monsters are among us. I listened to a woman, a bureaucrat, discussing neglected and abused children that are sometimes discovered in our social services system. Many are not discovered but when they are it’s usually horrific. This woman, well intentioned but inept, stated that the continuing deterioration of the system to protect these children was, and this kills me, unacceptable.

Having our mail placed inadvertently in our neighbor’s mailbox is unacceptable. Coming home from the grocery store to discover they forgot to put our milk in the grocery bag is unacceptable. Having our car serviced for an estimate of $250 and then being told when we pick it up that it’s $350 is unacceptable. Children living in filth, being tortured by their caregivers, molested and raped by their caregivers, being starved by their caregivers, being forced to live in cages, and closets, and tents, is not unacceptable. It’s a gross horrific disgusting incredulous and foul failure of our justice and social services systems and we should be collectively horrified and ashamed. It’s so far beyond the overused and ridiculous “unacceptable” as to be absurd beyond belief.

The bureaucrats who find these children and say they are living in “unacceptable” conditions should all go to prison with the guy in paragraph four and rot there forever. I find that highly acceptable. In fact, it’s delightful. I’m giddy at the thought. If more of those social services employees that we all pay for with our tax dollars were sent to prison for failing those children we would have fewer neglected and abused children. Their supervisors should go with them. The employees have limited time and resources because our tax money is spread rather thin because government is loaded with top-heavy managers and no accountability. How much does the prosecutor earn for sending the bum in paragraph four to prison for six years? I hope someone sues the system that let that monster out of his cage.

We are not supposed to hate anyone. I, however, loath, despise, detest, abhor and hate the people above and all their kind. I hate them. I hear about them every day and every day I hate them more. And let me just throw in the abuse of animals. Yes, I mean you, Michael Vick, as you play football and make a ton of money on the backs of all the tortured animals you are responsible for. It’s said you paid your debt to society. No, you did not. And neither did that creep in paragraph four who has now killed two children even though he “paid his debt to society” after killing his first girlfriend’s baby. You can never repay the debt of torture and murder. It’s who you are, Michael Vick and Curtis Martin.

Hate should be carefully monitored but not suppressed. It’s the same with love. Both are strong human emotions, both are often used too freely. We don’t “love lettuce.” We “like” lettuce. We thoroughly “enjoy” lettuce. Often we say “I hate spinach” or “I hate wrestling” or I hate “Angelina Jolie.” We may not “like” the taste of spinach, or perhaps we don’t “enjoy” wrestling, or we may feel “disappointed” that Brad left Jennifer for Angelina (who cares), but none of those situations rise to the level of murdering a child. Hate should be reserved and brought out only in the most outrageous and despicable circumstances. When we save hate for the proper occasion then bring it out in full force, it’s an awakening. It can set us free. But hating indiscriminately, and loving indiscriminately, can be harmful. Caution must be used with both emotions but both serve us well.

There’s really no outlet for us to release the hate legally other than venting (which is what I’m doing). There’s nothing I can do about the child murderer in paragraph four nor is it my individual responsibility to do anything about him. That’s why we have a criminal justice system, poor, deplorable, and deteriorating as it is. We can vote for the appropriate propositions and measures and politicians (good luck) to improve our society but that’s the extent of our actions in a civilized nation. It’s also helpful to keep an eye out for each other, those of us who are not monsters. Our emotions keep us alive. We need to listen to our feelings and work with them and make decisions based on our enormous capacity to do good in the world.

It’s important to experience the full spectrum of human emotions. It enhances our ability to function in the world, to carefully select people we want in our lives, to make responsible decisions. Suppressing emotions can damage how we react to a myriad of opportunities to make a difference in our personal lives and in the lives we touch. Holding down hate desensitizes us and makes us believe bad things are “unacceptable” rather than outrageous and horrific and sick and depraved and evil. Pure evil.

I feel great. Best 20 minutes I’ve spent in a long time.

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.]

The Neighbor (Part 1 of 1)

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

Not long ago I had a weekend routine that I loved. It was during the period when I worked in an office from Monday through Friday, longing for Saturday and Sunday.

Back then, each Saturday morning I would usually wake up about the same time I did during the workweek but ignored the fact it was 5:00 a.m. or 5:30 a.m. and would perform a long stretch, pull the covers up around my neck, and deliciously stay in bed. There was smiling. I often got up about 30 minutes later but the point was: I didn’t have to. It was Saturday morning. Snuggling under the covers with my dog and cats was a major treat after a long week.

After the stretching and resting concluded I would move to the kitchen and prepare animal breakfasts and my coffee. Once they were fed, and it had to be done immediately if I was to retain my peaceful morning, I would pour a glorious cup of coffee and stare out the kitchen window. This particular kitchen, where I still live, faces the street and the southeast. The sun, the lawns, trees, flowers, all of it, was a pleasure to take in. If the weather was dry I would find my gardening gloves, clippers, and clippings basket, slip on my super thick sweats and a hat, and I’d tiptoe to the front yard and quietly pull weeds. I was careful not to make noise because I knew other neighbors were still sleeping. I was blissfully at peace and happy.

Being outside by myself, before the neighborhood kids came out to play, before the lawn mowing started, before the cars started moving for weekend errands, was ethereal. Just the birds and me. I had been performing this weekend ritual for a long time. One morning as I knelt on my kneepad destroying weeds surrounding a rose bush I was scared out of my wits and screamed at the top of my lungs. A neighbor, a fairly new neighbor, crept up behind me and said, “Hi.”

I jumped to my feet and she started apologizing profusely. I sort of laughed (sort of) and explained that I was deep in concentration and had not heard her approach. At this point she started chatting. I was stunned. I was polite and chatted a moment or two and each time I thought we had concluded our conversation I would turn to my task and kneel and she would start again. After a time I realized she was not going to stop so I gathered up my tools and basket and kneepad and said something about having to get back inside and we parted.

The next weekend I performed the same morning ritual and as I pulled weeds surrounding an agapanthus I heard, “Good morning.” It was she. I didn’t scream this time but I was startled so once again she apologized. She didn’t just apologize. She went on and on and on. I told her that I would appreciate it if she would cough or make some kind of sound when approaching me at 6 am in a stone quiet neighborhood because I wasn’t accustomed to visiting at that time of day. I was moderately polite but she left quickly after a few more words of apology.

Over the next few weeks she continued coming to see me. I saw a pattern. I tried coming outside earlier, later, then not at all to break the routine. So I skipped a few weekends but on the weekend I finally came back outside, she appeared. So I stood up and told her that this was my special quiet time and that I really enjoyed being outside all alone after spending a week with so many people. Also, I explained, it was important to me to not make any noise for neighbors who were still sleeping. I was very nice and she understood. So I thought.

After that she appeared whenever I went outside to the front of my house. If I got the mail, she got hers. When I pulled my car in or out, she came out to see me. Once I was pulling out of my driveway when I thought to check to see if I brought my shopping list with me. As I sat in my driveway digging through my purse with the car running, she knocked on my driver’s side window. I let out a blood-curdling scream. I rolled down the window and gave her a nasty piece of my mind. There was swearing.

Another time I was sorting boxes in my garage and throwing some things away so I had the garage door open. I was on the floor in the back of the garage and as I stood up to turn toward the trashcans with my arms full of debris, there she was. Again, I screamed, and dropped a huge collection of junk on the garage floor. This happened a few more times when working in the garage with the door open. Now, I keep the door closed unless I absolutely must raise it for some reason during a project.

I live alone with pets. Not even my pets creep up on me. When my kids were home I was used to them coming and going and they were always noisy enough that I wasn’t surprised by their presence, ever. I explained that to her but I saw the fog of “I don’t get it” in her expression.

Over time I tried to do my morning weed pulling on Sundays instead of Saturdays but it didn’t work. She eventually was better at announcing her presence but it was still an interruption in what I loved to do. I gave up and hired a gardener. To this day he comes to do my front yard area and now I only do the back yard. He does a great job but he doesn’t do the roses the way I like them nor a few other little things I always enjoyed doing. Eventually she came into my back yard while I was pulling weeds because I had [stupidly] left the gate open to make trips to the yard waste can. I’ve since padlocked my fence.

There are many people in the world that we encounter in life. I have tried to get to know the people I meet and see regularly and for the most part have been very happy with the people around me. In this situation it’s not so much the neighbor but rather it’s just that I want my alone time. My quiet time. I worked in an office for years and got all the people time I need for a lifetime. I also raised two kids and everyone who has done that knows there is nothing quiet about kids. Now I like to live quietly, meet friends for coffee, lunch or dinner, visit with folks at my craft fairs and exhibits, visit with the family, and socialize, but for the large block of time that I’m awake each day and in my little house I prefer to live in quiet and peace.

And with the one exception of that particular neighbor, the one who doesn’t understand boundaries or social signals or space, my other neighbors live as I do and we all enjoy each other’s infrequent company. I know they would be there for me if I had trouble and I would be there for them. But we aren’t buddies and we respect our mutual privacy.

I don’t believe this particular neighbor is “lonely” because she often has boyfriends for periods of time and she has family she sees regularly. I suspect she just wants a friendship with a neighbor, a woman living alone like herself. She may also be a neighbor who enjoys close relationships with her neighborhood families. I’m not one of those. One neighbor I had long ago was particularly special and we shared many moments. There are exceptions to all rules. We clicked and even though he no longer lives here he stops by from time to time to say hi and show me baby pictures of his growing family. He’s about my son’s age and is just a delight. He became a friend. That’s a transition from cordial neighbor to a member of my friendship group. Yet, even though we became friends we still respected neighborhood quiet times.

I have actually been a good neighbor to this woman and have helped her with minor difficulties and I’ve given her a ride or two when she’s needed one. But over the course of our “relationship” she has repeatedly knocked on my door, sometimes when I’m in bed, especially when I was still working and got up early, and asks incredulous questions. Once she told me at almost 9 p.m. at night that a delivery would be coming in the next few days and might interfere with our connected driveways. I thanked her and made a mental note of it but she continued to tell me about the delivery several more times over the next few days. She reminded me again when I was sitting in my car with the motor running. Another scream. Sometimes as I sit here in my home office I can see her peripherally as she scoots about outside heading to neighborhood houses. She makes rounds. If I know she’s out and about I stay inside, shades drawn.

A new neighbor moved in and after they were settled she appeared at their open garage, which was loaded with boxes, as the family ran around discussing things they were doing, things they had to do, things they needed to do, etc. I’m sure she was welcoming them to the neighborhood but her visit was too long and I could tell they were eager to continue their work but they didn’t want to be rude. But from that point on she continued to go to their garage if it was open and ask questions. I’ve noticed they rarely open their garage anymore and when she knocks on their front door they no longer answer it.

Years ago I had a neighbor with a similar need to visit me on a constant basis. Once while gardening I saw her out of the corner of my eye heading down the walk on the side of my house. I figured she was looking for me so I just let her find out I wasn’t in my back yard. I finished my work and gathered my things and put them away in the garage. I removed my gardening shoes and entered the house through my garage door. There sitting at my kitchen table was the The Neighbor. I didn’t realize at first it was she so of course I screamed. (I guess I’m a screamer.) She apologized and said that she knew I didn’t like to be disturbed while gardening so she decided to just wait for me in the kitchen. She was drinking coffee and eating toast. I could barely speak but when I did it wasn’t neighborly. I learned from that experience so that when I work outside I always carry my house key with me and lock my door as I head outside. This outrageous infiltration hasn’t happened at this house, but the potential is there.

If not for the crappy housing market . . .

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.]

My Three Loves (Part 1 of 1)

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

The last two blogs were all about addiction, primarily alcohol addiction, but some mention was made of other substance abuse choices. I have little experience with other brain altering substance abuse choices, but I do have lots of experience with alcohol addiction, though only peripherally since I didn’t fall victim to its power. Over the past two weeks I realized that I do have experience with other addictions but they are not harmful to others when driving or operating heavy equipment. They are primarily harmful to the person addicted with some associated harm to those nearby in one instance. They are: coffee, chocolate, and cigarettes. The latter is a former addiction, but I still consider myself a smoker even though I haven’t had one in 34 years.

In an episode of Sherlock Holmes I watched not long ago, part of a wonderful series with the late Jeremy Brett portraying Holmes, a character offered Holmes a cigarette. Holmes stated it was one of his few vices and took the cigarette. The host explained that the cigarette was a special blend he ordered from a tobacconist and said, “I have them sent a thousand at a time and I grieve to say that I must arrange a shipment every fortnight.” That’s 14 days. The man smokes a thousand cigarettes in 14 days. There are 20 cigarettes in our modern cigarette packs. He smoked over three packs of cigarettes a day. Though Sherlock Holmes is fiction, the comment by the addicted character is all too real.

I have not smoked for 34 years, give or take. If I have even one, I’ll start again and I know it. The final year of my smoking passion was hit or miss but it stuck and I’m cigarette free now. I still miss it. There are many addictions. Some are horrendously harmful to the user and often harmful to those around the user (alcohol, pot, meth, cocaine, etc.). Some are harmful to society in a more insidious way (addiction to porn, addiction to sex, addiction to pedophilia, etc.). Other addictions are harmful to the waistline (addiction to fast food, high calorie foods, sweets, etc.) and other addictions are harmful to the development of the mind (addiction to video games, addiction to TV, addiction to cell phones, etc.)

I’ve had a few harmless addictions but addictions nonetheless. For a time when my kids were babies I became addicted to TV. It’s strikes me as very funny now because I rarely watch TV and can’t believe I became so besotted with it. I think when one is at home with babies and small children passive entertainment is about all we can muster. Once nap time came I was too tired to read, too tired to clean, too tired to do almost anything but flip from channel to channel in the hopes of landing on an old episode of Perry Mason. Actually finding him was often the highlight of my day. I wouldn’t change those special years I had with my children for anything but the fact of the matter is, there were times when my brain didn’t function at full steam and TV is great for that type of brain. It also provided an escape mechanism for some areas in my life that weren’t working.

I started smoking in my early teens. I think I was about 13 or 14. For some reason I liked it immediately. I often ask non-smokers in my age group how they managed to make it this far without having smoked and they unilaterally respond they didn’t like it when they tried it. I believe it’s the same for me when I first sampled beer. I just didn’t like it. So I guess some of us find our addiction with a simple taste or use. For me it was cigarettes. I liked them immediately. I didn’t love them at first puff or crave them, but I enjoyed them and I thought I looked sophisticated. Just like all the advertisements of the era.

With smoking most people increase their consumption over time. By the time I was in my 20s I had gone from a few cigarettes a day to a full pack a day. I had started buying them by the carton when I was around 18. When I stopped at about age 30 I was up to two packs a day and more on weekends. I had started experiencing pain in my chest in the mornings and could not stand up straight for the first few steps. Usually by the time the coffee was made I could finally stand up straight and was ready for my coffee, newspaper, and cigarette.

When I got pregnant with my son at age 27 the doctor did not tell me to stop smoking though I asked. By the time I got pregnant with my second child the doctor “recommended” I stop. Times have certainly changed since the ‘70s. I don’t believe women are allowed even an aspirin these days. I didn’t stop right away when I discovered I was pregnant with my second child, but soon after learning of the pregnancy I decided to stop since I still couldn’t stand up straight in the mornings and it started lasting longer and now the pain came with a cough. The telltale smoker’s cough. Sometimes I was hunched over until well after the coffee was made. I had a suspicion that wasn’t good for the baby.

The pleasure received from smoking is multi-faceted. First, there’s the incredible taste of a cigarette after a good meal. Once the smoker is firmly established in the addiction, food plays an important role. So important in fact that when the smoker stops smoking eating becomes unbearable. To complete a meal without a cigarette is gnawing, twitching, agony. For the first year or so after I stopped smoking I could barely stand to eat. Eating for me at that time was to simply stuff food in my mouth to get it over with. When a person does that weight gain is on its way. I knew I had to eat but I didn’t want to sit down to a nice meal. Not without a cigarette for dessert. So I would quickly stuff my face and move on with life all the while craving my cigarette. Chocolate and large quantities of coffee and soda filled the aching hole left in my blood stream.

Another favorite time to smoke for me was my morning cup of coffee, especially on weekends. I absolutely loved having a great cup of coffee while reading the paper and having two or three cigarettes. It was many YEARS before I could drink coffee and not crave a cigarette. For quite some time I gave up coffee and the morning paper because I couldn’t stand the agony. It is my understanding that cocktails and smoking also go hand in hand. Though I did smoke while drinking an occasional cocktail, imbibing was not something I did often so no craving for that combination was established.

Over the years of my smoking addiction I went to extreme measures to find a cigarette if I stupidly ran out. Sometimes late at night I would discover I had miscalculated and did not have a cigarette for my pre-bedtime puffing nor for the morning coffee and cigarette. I would first check all the ashtrays in the house for butts, then the trash (and that includes the garbage can that contained actual, true garbage), then the car ashtray. Sometimes the car ashtray contained just what I needed because often while driving I would get to my destination before finishing a cigarette and I’d put it out, run my errand, then when I returned to the car I’d light a fresh cigarette. Sometimes there were three or four fairly long butts in the car’s ashtray. A bonanza.

A coworker of mine often darted outside to have a quick few puffs after smoking was banished from public buildings and he’d leave lengthy cigarette butts in the outdoor ashtrays. A string of homeless people knew this and made regular rounds. This was years after I had stopped smoking so his butts were of no benefit to me. Had I still been smoking that would have been a treasure chest. There may have been a standoff with the homeless people had I still had the habit.

I recall once finding a long cigarette butt in the trash that I needed at home and it was wet. I had no idea what the liquid was but I knew I could dry it off and so I did. I held it over the gas stove flame carefully with hot dog tongs and it dried quickly. When I smoked it I discovered the liquid was coffee. Not my favorite way of having my beloved coffee and a cigarette.

I had a roommate who had a nightly routine. She would circle our apartment and dump all the ashtrays. She didn’t like the smell coming from dead cigarettes and ashes and certainly didn’t want that smell first thing in the morning. We were both smokers. Her tidiness was often my salvation when I ran out of cigarettes. She usually dumped all the ashtrays on top of the trash so they were not soiled. You would think smokers would not run out of cigarettes but they do because some days they smoke more than other days. Smoking is also a stress releaser and having a cigarette after a bad incident usually helps a great deal.

Long after the craving for nicotine ceases, the smoking addict still desires a cigarette. With me it was quite a few years, possibly three or more. It wasn’t the same skin crawling craving to smoke but the desire was still strong. There were countless triggers throughout each day that brought the desire full on to me: running into a friend I used to smoke with; going to a restaurant where I used to love to eat and then sit and smoke while visiting with friends, (remember, years ago smoking was allowed everywhere including restaurants, theaters, and airplanes); hopping in the car to go anywhere always started with lighting a cigarette so that hopping in the car without smoking was always painful; going on vacation without smoking was horrible. Even today when I travel I recall the pleasant times sitting around a picnic table or beach BBQ fire or sitting in a snow lodge and drinking hot chocolate with a shot of espresso and a cigarette. Seeing someone light up and passing by and catching a whiff of that delicious and satisfying scent would make me crazy.

Smokers often gave each other beautiful gifts of lighters with matching cigarette cases and sometimes a carton of their favorite brand of cigarette. I still have my dad’s beautiful cigarette lighter. He died when he was 38 from kidney disease complications, but cigarettes played a part in his early death. He was a heavy smoker, hard worker, overweight, and a significant beer drinker. Youth does not always protect us from ourselves.

Several years ago I went on a trip with two friends to Costa Rica. We had busy days of walking and sightseeing and at night we would have wine and dinner and I desperately wanted a cigarette. This was then about 30 years since I had stopped smoking. I contemplated buying a pack with the promise of tossing them upon departure. One of my friends was also a former smoker and I suspected she wanted to also but I didn’t mention it to her nor did she mention it to me. Our third travel friend had never smoked and that’s the only thing that stopped me. It would have meant I would have had to leave my little group of three and go elsewhere to smoke and my desire to stay with my friends was stronger than my desire to smoke.

After we all returned a few weeks went by when I mentioned my temptation to the companion who was a former smoker. Her look puzzled me. I thought at first it was disgust at even the suggestion that we would have smoked, but then she said she too was tempted. We concluded that without our third companion who had never smoked, and would have hated it if we had started smoking on our trip, we would have both started smoking on that trip. We were very thankful for our friend.

I still have a few friends who smoke and they always ask if it’s okay if they smoke in my presence and I always say yes. I say that because I know the isolation they feel surrounded by a world of non-smokers. I would rather visit with them than remove myself from their company while they have a cigarette or two. I also know that if they don’t smoke while we chat they will spend the entire conversation thinking and twitching about when they can get away from me to light up. And I still like the smell of a freshly lit cigarette, especially if it’s lit by a match instead of a lighter. A fresh cigarette and sulfur. Ahhhhhh.

I have a similar problem with chocolate. I like sweets but can do without them for weight control and general over all health. But if I have chocolate I crave it for days. Sometimes I have chocolate then purchase more over a period of a few weeks. Quite a bit more. Giant, large quantities. Finally, I realize I’m in the chocolate trap and I give it up. I will then think about it all day for about a week and finally the craving subsides. Nowhere near as strong as my former desire for a cigarette but it’s still a craving. Just writing about it now makes me crave it.

In fact, I suddenly would like a nice café mocha and a cigarette. Pathetic.

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.]