Easy To Be Green

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My parents were very careful with our resources. Food was never wasted and leftovers would be cleverly made into another dish or two. I was scolded if I took a second helping of food then didn’t eat it. I’m sure many of us heard, “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach. Only take what you think you can finish. Just take a little then you can always have more.”

My grandmother would admonish me as she emptied my plate of scraps with comments like “there are starving children in China who would love this food.” Many parents said this to their children, which today is so much more meaningful to me. I never understood what our lives had to do with children in China. (My uncle served in China in WWII so perhaps he shared stories with my grandmother or maybe it was just something adults said. And China does not have a monopoly on starving children, then or now.)

I also remember being told to shut the refrigerator door, shut the front door, shut the back door, turn off the lights, turn off the water, don’t eat that now, you’ll spoil your dinner. That last comment was part of the “don’t waste food” soliloquy.  I think I have a vague memory of not filling the tub too full but that was probably because water would spill out all over the floor and make a mess and not because it was a water conservation measure.

Looking back on that exposure to careful living I realize they were saving their resources but probably did not realize it was also good for the environment. Today, unless we live in a cave, we all know it’s important to save our resources as a community and as individuals. The best we can do for our community is to keep a lookout for waste where we see it (park sprinklers on during a rain storm, broken water mains gushing down our city streets, smoke coming out of a tailpipe on a municipal vehicle, and a variety of other careful observations). Once we see something is wrong we simply report it to the authorities.

On a larger scale, we can tackle environmental issues when we vote making sure we are prudent readers of all materials provided in our voter pamphlets and that we study our politicians and vote for those we believe are genuinely concerned about our communities when it comes to preserving our land and resources. If we care. Amazingly, many of us do not care about the conservation of anything. Some of us do not believe we have environmental issues and blame the concerns on leftist political agendas. I guess my grandma with a fourth grade education was a commie.

For many years now I have placed a careful footprint on the earth with my lifestyle. Careful, not fanatical. There are countless things we can do in our every day lives to lessen the impact of our lifestyle choices on the rest of our community without diminishing the enjoyment of how we live. Sometimes careful living requires a little more effort but in the end it’s better for us individually and collectively. Waste not, want not.

Food and trash. My children are grown and on their own and I am unencumbered by a husband. Therefore, I use the smallest container provided by my trash company. Along with that service I get the large blue can for recycling and the large yard waste can, as do most homeowners. My collection day is Tuesday and each Monday I have a big decision to make. Do I have enough trash to roll out the can? The answer is almost always “no.” Why? Because I recycle everything. I consume all of my food with almost zero waste and the trash can simply has nothing to give to the truck when it arrives. Over time it will eventually but there are times when I only roll it out once a month. The trash contained therein is not smelly food-rotted slop. It’s unusual or weird items that can’t be placed in the recycling can. Of the food related items I place in the trash can I clean them up so that they aren’t smelly. Most food scraps are consumed by my dog, nature’s recycler. He does not get garbage because I eat a pristine diet of fresh foods. I rarely buy anything packaged. I do that for Type II Diabetes, not because I’m a saint. But it serves the environment well to eat the way I do.

Recycling. Recycling in my house is now pure perfection. I clean all containers and some are cleaned and saved to be used for leftover foods. Glass jars in particular are great for leftovers, safety pins, pencils, pens, paperclips, and the list goes on. In the first place I try to purchase only items that I think I can use again somehow or if I don’t need the item I make sure it is labeled as recyclable. That takes only a few seconds at the store and after you’ve done it a few times you know whether it is or is not going to make it to recycling.

I have a collection of reusable tote bags from many stores. I take them all with me when I shop and load them up. Grocery store plastic bags are great for picking up after our dogs on walks, but they are also an environmental issue. For quite some time I’ve used standard plastic grocery store bags for that purpose. However, I recently found biodegradable bags at the following link: http://www.biobagusa.com/biobag_dog.htm

I have not purchased them yet as this is a recent find. Think of the millions of dogs out there fertilizing their neighbor’s yards. If you’re in a forest perhaps that might be okay but it isn’t okay on your neighbor’s lawn. Pick it up, preferably in a bio bag.  Dog dropping removal is another way to be kind to your community. Though it may be natural, it’s a mess when it’s stepped on, it draws flies, and it is frustrating to your neighbors.

Peanut butter jars and mayonnaise jars seem to be a problem for many people and so they simply toss them. Instead, I place a little dish liquid in the empty jars and put water in them then zap them in the microwave for a minute. The gooey leftover mayo or peanut butter is much easier to remove at that point and with that small amount of effort they can be placed in recycling. Imagine if everyone took a few minutes to do that instead of tossing them in the trash. Think of the impact on landfills by that simple task.

Yard waste. I have a small property but it still requires maintenance. I diligently collect all my clippings and place them in my yard waste container. I do not maintain a compost pile because my yard is more of an extended patio than an actual yard. My house is a detached townhouse and my “yard” consists of a patio and a few border plants and trees. Still, they require pruning and clipping and there are always weeds. I have a number of potted plants that I hand-water (watering to a count of 60 per pot then transferring to the next pot with the hose nozzle in the off position as I make the transfer). This was a new home when I purchased it so I’ve planted everything. I selected trees that would be smaller in stature since it’s a small yard and after 14 years they have matured and provide me with shade and lots of birds. They no longer require hand-watering.

I took an environmental science class a few years ago and the instructor was a believer in planting as much as you can, drought free and/or resistant, inside and out. We all know that we need green growth in the world to provide us with fresh oxygen, especially trees, but he advised us to consider our indoor health as well as our outdoor health. I’ve always had a lot of houseplants but didn’t realize I was providing a cleaner environment for my family by keeping houseplants. Houseplants require clipping and maintenance as well which all goes in my yard waste can.

Water. Unless we have one of the new tankless hot water units most of us are stuck with running our hot water tap until it finally runs hot. In my house it takes close to a gallon of running water to get to the hot water. Therefore, I keep a gallon container next to my sink and I fill it up as the water turns from cold to hot. I keep that water aside and use it to replace evaporated water in my fish tank, water my indoor plants or heat it and use it to wash dishes or make tea, etc. In the morning there’s usually enough left that I can take the container to the bathroom and brush my teeth and wash my face with the heated water that remains from the runoff from the kitchen in the mornings. I’ve been doing that for so long that when I see or hear running water in someone else’s home it makes my teeth grind!

Because my county is in water conservation mode I have turned off my automatic sprinkler system. The system only waters my front yard and I do not have an automatic system for the back yard. As I mentioned above, I water my plants in the back yard by hand and by counting to 60 per plant. I also do not water all of the plants at the same time since they do not always require water all at the same time. This year I planted poppies all over the yard which require almost no water. However, I have a lawn in the front and we all know how thirsty they are. Instead of the system being set to automatic, I now go out and look at it and decide if it needs water. I do have to water the shrubs and plants but on a per-plant-basis. This process takes more time and time is a major factor in why many of us do not conserve as we should. It’s easier for me now because I work from home. For those of us hauling down the freeway for a couple of hours every day, standing in the front yard in the dark with a hose is not something to look forward to in the evening.

As I walk around the neighborhood with my dog I have noticed many homes are letting their lawns turn brown and they are hand-watering their shrubs. My lawn is very tiny so I’m not sure if I’ll do that yet. It will depend on the information provided in my water bill. Many neighbors are tearing out their water thirsty lawns and planting drought resistant plantings. I might do that if the current shortage continues. It probably will and even if it doesn’t I don’t feel right about all that water just so I can have a patch of lawn.

Not long ago I had part of my sprinkler system spring a leak. When it turned on it sprayed the STREET. I didn’t see it and a neighbor pointed it out. I fixed it immediately. I was very grateful she pointed it out though she was a little embarrassed. The leak faced a direction I would never see so I appreciated the information and fixed it. We mustn’t be embarrassed to tell our neighbors if they have a leak. I bet they would be happy we told them. (Or they might tell us to mind our own business, but we did our duty.)

I lived in Contra Costa County years ago when we experienced a severe drought. During that drought the kids had a cheerful refrain we heard over and over: If it’s yellow, then it’s mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down. I sure hope we don’t have to go back to that but having a low flow toilet will go a long way to prevent hearing that nasty thing again. But we all have to have the efficient toilets and I know there are thousands of homes that do not. Mine is considered an “efficient” toilet but that was 14 years ago. I suspect there are better toilets on the market so I might start investigating a change. I think there are rebates via your water and sewer provider from time to time if you make the switch.  

Electricity. I have been accused of living in the dark (metaphorically mostly), but I rarely turn on lights. I have light bulbs in my house that have never been changed and I’ve lived here 14 years. All of my bulbs are changed to energy efficient bulbs once the old styles burn out, but I just rarely turn my lights on. I do most of my computer work, reading, writing, and crafting during the daylight hours. I also have a small house with huge windows which means it’s bathed in sunlight or at least daylight all day. Even on a foggy day it’s quite bright in my house. I’m an early riser and I go to bed early so I just don’t need lights on. If I watch TV in bed I don’t turn on the lights because the TV is bright enough for me. In winter I do turn the lights on a bit more but even then I usually don’t have them on for long and only in the immediate area where I need light.

All of my appliances, and especially items here in my office, are on surge protectors and I switch them off whenever I going to be out for a while or for the day and always when I go to bed. I have them in my living room for my TV and stereo and they are off most of the time because I’m usually in my office working. Oh, I vacuum infrequently to save electricity. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

I’ve turned my hot water heater down to slightly above warm, my refrigerator is set just enough to keep food from spoiling, and I only use my dishwasher when I have company. I hand-wash my daily dishes with the runoff from the morning water and keep part of it for rinsing and part for washing. I zap it in the microwave so that it’s nice and hot.

It’s taken me a long time to get used to showering in a water friendly way. You know, rinse, turn off the shower, lather, rinse, get out. However, I’ve finally managed to do that and it’s very efficient. I have noticed a great difference in my water bill because of these conservation methods.

Drinking water. The water in my city tastes terrible. For many years I purchased plastic water bottles and killed my back lugging them into my house. I also lugged water in for my mom. Not only is it bad for our backs but also it is terrible for the landfill. So my mom, son, daughter, and I purchased water filters for our respective homes. It is my understanding that they may not provide perfect water but there was no guarantee with the plastic bottles of water either. However, they always tasted great.

The water filters we purchased make tasty water and save our backs and the landfill. That’s four people not buying thousands of plastic bottles per year. Let’s say we consumed 4 bottles per person per day, give or take. That’s 5,840 plastic bottles per year. And, again, yes, they are recycled, but think of the ones that are not and are just tossed. And think of the resources required to produce 5,840 plastic bottles.

Along with bottled drinking water I stopped purchasing soda. Soda has always been a favorite of mine, diet of course, and I usually had one or two a day. That’s not horrible and I have friends who consume much more than that a day. Still it adds up. My two sodas a day added up to 730 cans per year. True, we recycle aluminum. Yet, soda isn’t good for us so why bother? It’s expensive too. Now that I have tasty water I can live without the soda and the cans. I do order soda when I’m out and about so I still get my occasional treat.

Shopping. I’m fairly careful with what I purchase in general but I try very hard to buy American made products. Not because I’m a great patriot but because I know that foreign manufacturers do not have the same standards as we do. Still, some of the “made in America” products I look for purchase their bulk materials from foreign providers. It’s almost impossible to buy something that isn’t made at least partly in another country. It bothers me because of the cost of transport (fuel=environment), how the materials are gathered (deforestation=environment), how the materials are fashioned into a line of products (factory waste=environment), not to mention how the people are treated who manufacture goods in other countries.  There are countless “green websites” that give advice on where to buy items that are the least harmful to our environment. For quite some time I viewed these sites but it is depressing to learn that it’s impossible to buy anything that isn’t partially made in a harmful way to the environment. Yet, I continue to try.

And trying and being aware is what it’s all about. Just do the best we can. We know if we are being wasteful. Just little things like trip reduction (running all our errands in an orderly fashion in one trip and not running dozens of single trips or going to the store for a bag of potato chips), monitoring water usage inside and out (washing clothes with only full loads instead of running a full tub of water to wash our favorite jeans), buying things we know can be recycled (and then actually recycling it), and keeping informed about what is happening in our world. New information comes out almost daily on environmental disasters and sometimes environmental changes that are positive, ex-Governor Palin notwithstanding. 

So buy a pretty plant that doesn’t need a lot of water and sit by it and breathe. It’s good for you, good for me, and good for our mother (earth).

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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The Art of Sewing (Part 1 of 1)

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As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, in addition to writing I started a small craft business a couple of years ago as a way to supplement my retirement income. I knit, crochet, create hand-painted or stenciled greeting cards, make a variety of silk flower table/buffet decorations, and of course, I do quite a bit of sewing. I take the items I create to farmers markets, craft fairs, holiday fairs, etc. Stuffing it all in my car along with my bulky display tables and a canopy is an art form unto itself.

I recently had a long day at the sewing machine and my neck and shoulders were killing me. I looked at the clock and it was 7 p.m. I had started about 5:30 a.m. While putting my day’s work away and turning everything off here in my little office/craft room I started thinking about women all over the world doing the very same thing. In developing nations it’s for their actual survival, not like my supplement to a modest pension. Once this shared camaraderie crept into my mind I couldn’t shake it. I started thinking about those women and, in particular, my grandmother, who at times in her life used her skill at sewing to provide herself and her children with a living. I know men also sew but they can write their own blogs.

My son and I watch lots of foreign films, subtitled, not dubbed. Many are historical fiction, some substantially fact-based. Others are modern treatments of cultural issues confronting developing nations. Some are funny, some sad, and some take our breath away. For us, it’s our way of traveling and learning about other cultures, which is something we have always loved. In fact, we are in the process of planning a great trip to the land of some of our ancestors: Portugal.

Quite often when viewing foreign films, somewhere in the background or even on prominent display, we see a sewing machine. Sometimes it’s important to the story as a sole means of income for the mother of the home. In one film we watched a few years ago the single parent mom lived in government housing with her (disturbed) teen children. Though the fact that she sewed for a living was mentioned it was only part of the story to explore the circumstances of the family. In one scene she was excited that her social worker approved a voucher for a new machine. Her old machine required constant expensive repairs and she had waited for years to be eligible for a newer model.

In another movie the women sat around in the evenings after working in the fields all day, and after maintaining their homes, then began their hand sewing. Some of the sewing was for their own purposes which consisted of mending worn clothing. At one point one of the women said she would not be able to mend the shirt much longer. It was now primarily made of only mended sections and they all laughed.

Ever mend a sock? Probably not. You can buy a bag at Wal-Mart for a few dollars so why mend them. At one time, women mended socks. I tried to mend socks and learned very quickly that if you do not mend the sock very carefully and correctly, the mended portion brings great pain to the wearer. A bulky, poorly constructed mend will grind into the foot like a railroad spike after a while. These women knew that. They made painless mends. (Unless they had an issue with their husbands. Wonder how many men examined their socks after fighting with their wives.)

Mending clothing is an art. Women who did this, or are still doing this, have learned how to make the tiniest most unobtrusive stitches. Pride in workmanship is key to the maintenance of their family’s clothing longevity. However, there is often a basket in these films filled with new materials to be worked on for income, often ordered by the people in the village or town or perhaps for a larger and more complex enterprise based on a cottage industry.

In some cultures sewing is the only means of support for a family. Often sewn items are sold at souvenir stands and are crafted by indigenous people (quilts, shirts, decorative dresses and much more). We buy goods made by developing countries on industrial machines in factories (run by children and women for pennies a day) but cottage industry goods are gathered together by a distributor of sorts and sent to a packing company, a shipping method is contracted, and eventually the items are shipped around the world. Almost everyone makes a good chunk and when it finally gets to retail the prices are given a high profit margin and sold to customers in industrialized countries. The women who make the items typically make the least but they need the tiny sums to keep their families going.

There are many other handmade items created by millions of women throughout the world. In some areas without electricity sewing machines are driven by foot power. I’m sure we all remember those old foot treadle machines our grandmothers and great grandmothers used. My grandmother had one and I loved it. In one documentary I watched years ago a young boy pedaled a bike on a stand that was cleverly attached to his mother’s sewing machine. Pedal power! But the best part was that the bike was then taken off the stand and the boy loaded his back with his mother’s labor and pedaled off to town, miles away, where trucks were waiting for the local women and their items.

My grandmother had a fourth grade education. She left school early to help her mother care for their very large family. By the time my grandmother grew up she was an expert at food preparation, sewing, crocheting and managing life without help or a husband. She had a husband but it didn’t work out well, so she raised two kids by herself using her wits and talents. That was in the ‘20s, if you can imagine. Sometimes she worked as a cook for large affluent families. Sometimes she worked in a cannery processing foods. And quite often she was a professional seamstress. She was not, nor was my mother, a member of the June Cleaver Club. The women in my family worked. The term “stay at home mom” was unheard of in my socio-economic community.

My grandmother loved to look at fashion magazines. She would pick out two or three dresses she liked then simply make them! My youth wardrobe was probably 40% handcrafted by my grandmother. I would pick out the school clothes I wanted for the year from magazines and she would make them. When I was very young she thought it was important that I learned how to use a sewing machine. She once told me, “You never know when you might need to make a living if you have trouble with your husband.”  How prophetic.

I was an only child and a girl. My dad was one of those men who could build anything and knew everything about how things work. He had a love of machines and passed it on to me. He also taught me how to use tools and how to study the way things work. I therefore loved the sewing machine just as today I love the computer. I love my computer and I spend quite a bit of time on it every day creating amazing things. I use every single aspect of a computer and learn new things with great joy. I recently partitioned my hard drive. Not your typical every-day user.

So the sewing machine was all that to me way back then. And I became proficient at it. When I got married my grandmother bought me a Deluxe machine, a Kenmore.  When we bought it, for $25 including all the attachments and a snappy carrying case, it was already 30 years old. She examined many machines in a large sewing machine store in downtown Detroit where I was living at the time. It was her opinion that I was in danger because I did not have a sewing machine. As stated above, I was married and did not have a fall-back profession.

My grandmother was a world-class shopper. She could spend hours just looking at notions in Woolworth’s and never get tired. We used to beg her to take a break so we could have lunch. She would look at everything and touch everything and we’d be gone for hours. When we got home she would take her purchased item, usually a spool of thread, put it away, and start dinner. So our time at the sewing machine store was lengthy. She tried them all. Except the ugly ones. It had to be functional but it had to look nice. After all, she explained, it would be sitting out for everyone to see.

When she got to the 30-year-old Deluxe Kenmore, with attachments and carrying case, she commented that the previous owner had used it a lot and was very careful with it. She closely examined the case, the attachments, and when she lifted the metal top of the machine (they were made with metal attachments too) she noted there was no dust inside the unit. The machine was threaded and had cloth in place under the presser foot for sample sewing and she tried it out quite thoroughly. Finally, she announced it was “the one.” That was in 1967.

During the entire time I used this machine, which I used constantly, it required only one repair. However, in 2007 it finally gave out. [For the math impaired it was 30 years old when I bought it and I had it for 40 years. That’s 70 years. Do you have anything you are still using that is that old? If so, kiss it good night and make sure you keep it oiled.]

The demise of the Kenmore had been coming for a long time but I was told that it would be cheaper to buy a new one than repair it. It was not easy giving it up. (I still have it tucked safely away in a closet.) With that old Deluxe Kenmore machine I made dresses, pants, fancy jackets, prom dresses, curtains, draperies, slipcovers, placemats, napkins, quilts, clothing for over-sized pregnant friends, and clothes for the kids. When the kids were little I made Halloween costumes they wore each year. I was horrified when my pre-teen daughter wanted to make a costume of assorted items she and her friends found in their respective homes. They ended up looking like hookers. I hope that was unintentional but I just don’t know.

I once made Cinderella’s ballgown from the Disney film. My daughter had the matching Disney book and we studied the photo of Cinderella, as her birds and fairy godmother dressed her, and I made the dress. Exactly. I once made my son a gorilla suit from the neck down. We purchased a gorilla mask. I think he was King Kong, a family favorite. Sewing on thick fake fur is more difficult than ballgown material.

Though I was sad my beloved machine was on its way to oblivion, I knew computerized machines were out there and I admitted to myself I’d love one.  I was shocked at the cost of the machines then realized they were actually computers but with intricate moving parts. What did I expect? $25? So I bought a mid-ranged model, a Brother, and I’m very happy with it. It’s all plastic so I don’t know if it will go for 30 years, but I don’t know if I will go for 30 years.

It is not the machine of developing nations and I know it. I appreciate that I have it and that it is providing me with a little extra income. I admire those women out there in the world who use their machines for so much more than a supplement. And I know what machines they are using. Some women and children (and men and boys) are using heavy-duty industrial machines and some are not safe and do not have safety features. A quick review online the other day brought forth sad articles about nasty injuries and worse in sweatshops and factories. I presume this may also happen in the homes where sewing is also done for a living. Some machines are very powerful so that they can sew through thick materials such as leather, canvas, denim, and plastics. Even shoes and boots are sewn on machines.

Throughout my life I have rarely met other women who sew. Some do in my age group but younger women are not sewing as much. Those who do crafts or are in fashion of course learn to sew but the average woman I’ve met throughout my life never learned to sew.

Many people do not know how to knit or crochet or embroider or any of the old hand crafts. In some cases it’s the competition between activities that has taken women away from needle arts and crafts. Physical activities, long commutes, computer applications, TV, and a myriad of more things to do in our modern world. Sewing used to be an outlet for women to express their creativity but now there are countless ways for us to express ourselves.

I taught my daughter how to sew, crochet and knit. She knows her way around a sewing machine and can make a garment from scratch using a pattern. We made a glorious prom gown together. The theme of the prom was Phantom of the Opera and we made a spectacular ballgown complete with a hoop underskirt.

The point of all this is, it feels good to take a piece of formless fabric which is folded into a small, flat square when you leave the fabric store, and then turn it into a ballgown or a gorilla suit. It’s often overwhelming when the project is done and you see your child standing there in his or her glory parading around in something you made with a needle and thread, and an aging 30-year-old Deluxe Kenmore sewing machine with all the attachments and a snappy carrying case.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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The Professor & The Sergeant (Part 1 of 1)

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If you are returning from a trip and you are standing at your front door unlocking it with your key and you are suddenly challenged by a police officer, regardless of your respective ancestral lineage, it is likely to make you

1) Frightened knowing suspect shootings can happen (you can be shot by the officer);

2) Angry because it’s your house and the officer doesn’t believe you;

3) confused and disoriented;

4) Enraged by the officer’s behavior and your good judgment goes out the window.

If you are a police officer who finds himself standing in front of a home you believe is under assault by an intruder, regardless of your respective ancestral lineage, it is likely to make you

1) Frightened knowing suspect shootings can happen (you can be shot by the suspect);

2) Angry because the suspect says it’s his house and you don’t believe him;

3) confused and disoriented;

4) Enraged by the suspect’s behavior and your usual good judgment goes out the window.

And that’s exactly what happened. Both men, an honored professor at a university and an honored police officer at the local police department, participated in a pissing contest and everyone lost.

I am a 64-year-old white female, a little older than Professor Gates (58), and quite a bit older than Sergeant Crowley (42) and I’ve been profiled and so has my son. My daughter was involved in a profiling incident though she was not the target.

Incident #1: It was in southern California. You haven’t lived until you have driven in southern California. The density of the traffic is intense. You can be speeding down the freeway with cars so close to your rear bumper and so close to your front bumper that if anyone sneezed it would cause a twenty-car pile up. If you miss your turn, you have to drive miles before getting anywhere near your original destination.

I made an illegal left-hand turn in an old clunker car (apparent dead beat profile). I was in a long line of cars making a turn that would take us to a major freeway onramp, but some traffic went slightly to the right of the freeway onramp then continued south on the heavily traveled boulevard with freeway traffic entering and exiting the interchange by the hundreds.

While lining up to make the turn that I had made hundreds of times, a red light flashed in my rearview mirror. I turned around and made a motion and mouthed, “Who, me?” The police officer nodded his head. I was shocked because I knew that I surely had not committed a traffic faux pas. The clunker, I thought, must have had something hanging off of it and the officer wanted to bring it to my attention.

So when the line started slowly moving, instead of getting on the freeway, which is where I desperately needed to go, I obeyed the direction of the officer now pointing somewhat wildly to the curb area on the opposite side of the busy boulevard. It was difficult to get to the curb on the far right from where I was on the far left and since I was being followed by a police car I didn’t want to get a ticket and so I carefully edged over there, but it took some time.

I could see him waving and pointing from within his car wondering where I was going. Then I heard the “whirp whirp” of the siren and through a loud speaker, “Pull over to the side of the road.”  I pointed and gestured that I was TRYING to accommodate. I remember a shoulder shrug with my hands up as if to say, “What should I do?”

I made it safely over to the curb, turned off the engine, pulled out my driver’s license, and as I looked up smiling with a potential “hello” ready (but not delivered) he lit into me as though he had captured the hillside strangler. He started with, “When a police officer instructs you to get over, you must do so immediately. Were you evading my stop?” Evading his stop? On a huge boulevard with hundreds of cars trying to kill me? (I wanted to say that but I didn’t.) I was so confused and disoriented (like the professor and the sergeant) that I dared to say, “Huh?” This further enraged him and he demanded my driver’s license then whisked it away to his patrol car and investigated whether or not I was personified evil in a stolen car (my clunker).

Having no luck, thereby ruining his chances of cuffing me and hauling me off, he launched into a tirade about my illegal left-hand turn. Most of it I didn’t understand. When I tried to ask a question (opening my mouth) he became red-faced and began gesturing, again, with both hands. At one point, while trying to explain myself (like the professor and the sergeant) he stopped me and with great restraint said, and I’m paraphrasing because I truly have no idea what he actually said but this is what I’ve come to believe over the years, “You were not in the turn lane. You were in oncoming traffic. Every single day you people slide into position way too early because there’s too many of you and then you end up in oncoming traffic. The designated turn lane itself is way the hell up there and you were about five car lengths away from where it begins.”

I, of course, started crying. I wasn’t crying about the damn turn. I was crying because I knew I was dealing with a maniac and I was going to get shot no matter what I said. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. And so, I said nothing further (unlike the professor and the sergeant). For my family and friends, this came as a shock when I retold the story, but I was truly frightened of this giant man (I was still seated in my car).  The crying somehow defused the situation and instead he snarled, “Why are you crying?” I didn’t respond because I was crying too hard. I believe to this day it woke him up (unlike the professor and the sergeant where nothing woke either of them up).

Several days after the event I concluded he was extremely irritated about that turn lane problem, was probably powerless to change it, perhaps had witnessed terrible accidents, had no doubt complained about it for years, and probably had countless fights with countless people heading into oncoming traffic—FOR YEARS AND YEARS.

And I had no idea I was driving into oncoming traffic. It didn’t appear that way. As we all do when driving, especially repetitive driving we do every day, I never saw that the lane didn’t start where I joined in. I just followed the crowd. But, and this is very important, he did not stop any of the nice cars. He stopped me in my clunker with the windows down because it didn’t have air conditioning and my hair was a swirl of snarls making me look a little psycho.

There were cars BEHIND him too. They were more in violation than I was, being further into the oncoming traffic, because I was almost within the left turn painted lines or at least closer than they were. It was easier to deal with the ditzy blond in the clunker than the slick fella in the BMW who was in front of me. The BMW violated the law first. I was behind him. Why not him? There were even more cars in front of him. The officer had a dozen to choose from but he picked me. Perhaps I fit the profile of a careless wild looking young woman driver in a clunker car who probably wasn’t responsible otherwise she wouldn’t be driving such a car and she’d buy a comb. I was also the path of least resistance, another profile of who I was or might have been.

And so, because I shut up, this horrendous event concluded (with a ticket) and I left. I could barely drive.  We didn’t have cell phones then and I was far from home. As soon as I could make a right turn I pulled over and sat in the car for a while. At this point I had no idea how to return to my original position of attempting to get on the freeway. That lesson was so well learned that I told both children, many times, that no matter what happened in an encounter “with the law” to shut up.

Incident #2: My son and three friends were on the freeway and they were pulled over. They were told to get out of the car at gunpoint by a group of CHP officers. This is a little strong for speeding so being smart young men they knew something was seriously wrong. Sure enough, they fit the profile of men and a car known to have committed a crime involving a teenage girl with long dark hair. One of the boys with my son had long dark hair so he fit the description of the teen girl. There were other factors that made the officers believe these were the suspects and the girl. However, because my son and his friends kept their mouths closed, it didn’t take long for the entire nasty business to conclude with no one getting shot or arrested. It did take the breath out of the boys, but it ended.

Incident #3: My son and two friends met to attend a nightclub to see a particular band they enjoyed in a neighborhood not known for ice cream parlors. They decided to get there early to be first in line to buy tickets and find good seats. They went to the club, sat on the sidewalk, and leaned against the wall near the doorway (the club was not open), and awaited the arrival of the crowd and bouncers. I believe at the time they were dressed in the attire of whatever image they were emulating in that era and it wasn’t a suit and tie.

As they sat there chatting and smoking (cigarettes), police cars pulled up and told them to get up and do a variety of things (spread your legs, lean against the wall, be quiet, the usual TV stuff). They did this without question though I’m not sure why. I can see my son doing it because of my countless admonitions but maybe the others had parents with similar life experiences. Soon the officers left and it was NEVER clear why they were “examined.” Perhaps they fit the profile of loitering malcontents.

Incident #4: My daughter was in her friend’s cute little car out for an evening. My daughter looks like Cinderella (1/2 Danish ancestry) and her friend looks like Jasmine (Latina ancestry).  It’s a Disney thing. The two girls were adorable together and turned the heads of all races. At some point in the evening, they were pulled over by police officers and rudely grilled about the ownership of the car. The lead officer demanded ownership documentation, driver’s license, etc. At one point the officer bent down so he could see the passenger, my Cinderella daughter, and the words out of her sweet mouth were, “What is your name and what is your badge number and why are you pulling us over and we didn’t do anything wrong and why don’t you think this is her car and if I was driving would you have pulled me over” and so on. She also had a trump card. My employment was closely affiliated with the police department and she sort of let it roll off her tongue, “and my mom works for . . .” Within minutes it was over. I was horrified when she told me this story and explained how very badly it could have gone but she was infuriated and mortified for her friend to be treated that way.  And she never listens to me anyway so why was I surprised?

Had her friend been alone or with a Latina friend, how would it have ended? As the girls drove off they discussed the episode and her friend said it happened all the time. Not just to her but to her friends. All of her friends had good jobs and worked hard to buy nice clothes and cars. In the entire time my daughter has been driving she has never once been pulled over and had her vehicle ownership challenged. Nor have I. Nor has my son. Nor has any white person I have known. I had the good fortune to live in Detroit many years ago. I was in the minority and the population in the area where I lived and worked was primarily African-American. I’m white. I should have been pulled over for something but I never was.

So, yes, we have profiling. And the time to try to change our justice system is not at the front door of our home screaming at a cop unless we want to extend our trip and spend the night in jail. And a cop who supposedly teaches sensitivity courses on how to avoid profiling should not be arresting people who have just been profiled. He was angry and used his power.

The professor should have contained his anger, and then the next day contacted the press, his attorney, the ACLU, the president of the United States, and raised a giant fuss. With his prestige he should have taken this problem on in a vigorous intelligent way and gone on TV with his head held high as he fought the good fight.

And the officer should have done likewise explaining that he was only doing his duty and he was simply there to check out a possible robbery and should have offered information on how suspect investigation works. Both of these gentlemen have done this but not in a positive way. They are both defending their positions and not backing down (as of this writing). Someone should put the two of them in a room and lock the door and let them hash it out. Oh, wait. I think President Obama is trying that. In fact, their bad behavior is being rewarded with a private visit with our country’s leader along with a chilled adult beverage.  Maybe if I kick the mailman I can get a private visit with Hillary and a glass of wine.

I heard a legal analyst state on the radio this afternoon that had the professor stayed inside his house he could have continued screaming, but the officers told him to come outside which changed the legal dynamics as they relate to our civil rights. Your rights change somewhat if you are on your porch. The professor no doubt didn’t know about this crack in the system.

Now everyone is lining up and taking sides and it’s creating more divisiveness and distrust between us. Is there any wonder the world is in such conflict? When we watch TV and view programs that promote vicious and outrageous competition driving people to hate each other, for pleasure, why are we in a snit about this recent news event? We just flat out don’t get along very well and we don’t do a lot to try to do better.

And finally, the bottom line is, we have sanctioned law enforcement to have the power. If we want to change it, we must join the hundreds of watchdog groups that investigate these matters, communicate with our political leaders, but mostly, keep our mouths shut when stopped by the police, and be thankful we don’t live North Korea. And if you want to be a bully, move to North Korea. Their training is excellent.

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Saying Good-Bye (Part 1 of 1)

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The world has recently and collectively experienced the loss of several amazing celebrities. As we learned of each passing we were immediately hit with yet another death announcement and sometimes that person was of even greater popularity so that the previous person was left without a proper send-off. Or so it seemed. I don’t think we were being cruel but being a celebrity is a popularity game even in death. Karl Malden and Ed McMahon, for example, did not receive the proper send-off they would have had they not been overshadowed by Farrah and Michael. And it just kept coming, most recently as of this writing, Walter Cronkite.

During this same exact period three deaths occurred in my circle of friends. I know that is the case with hundreds of thousands of other people around the world. Our TVs were blaring with the loss bombardment of our great celebrities and at the same time many of us were dealing with the loss of our own family and friends.

Sometimes loss is handled well, as painful as it may be, by those left behind. If loved ones and friends have lived long, full lives, doing what they enjoyed doing, it is sad but manageable for family and friends when their loved ones die. We know that’s the way of life. Those of us with religious beliefs receive some comfort knowing our loved ones are going to a better place—depending on their behavior on the earthly plane (with a last minute request for forgiveness if time allows).

Humans are the only creatures on the planet that know they are going to die. Other animals instinctively try not to get injured but they do not know death is coming. They simply have an instinct to protect themselves. Humans are also a mostly cautious species and we try our best to drive safely, look around when we are out and about for signs of danger, and some of us avoid ladders and black cats. Whatever we do as we go through life, tucked away in the back of our brains is the “warning” light keeping us safe. That light doesn’t work well with terminal illness that creeps up on us, but we do have things we can do even then to prevent some of the nasty illnesses from stalking us like hungry tigers.

Wild animals go through life looking for food and seeking safe shelter. They are aware of death on a very primitive level either caused by them (predators) or they find themselves on the receiving end (prey). Sometimes they observe the death of members of their society. How they process that information is more of a warning about their own safety. Some are distressed at the loss of an offspring or mate because of their strong instinct to maintain the species, perhaps even sad according to some studies. Loss is a powerful emotion. Elephants come to mind as possibly one other species that may understand, to some extent, when it is time to die. I recall a few documentaries about whales as well. Sometimes a wounded or sick animal goes off to hide and die but some theories suggest they go off to recover and/or to be safe when vulnerable.

Over my 64 years I have experienced many deaths of family and friends and celebrities. That daunting experience increases as we age and with each loss we take pause to look at our own lives and wonder about our own mortality. I have always had a realistic and comfortable outlook on my eventual passing, but prefer to be in my 90s, in bed, with a Margarita in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Blissfully, I believe, a friend of mine recently did die in bed. My grandmother always said that’s what she wanted and at 91 she almost made it but instead she had to be hospitalized and spent an uncomfortable number of months dying and hating being there and begging to go home. This was very difficult for my grandmother and even more difficult for her daughter, my mother. I always hated that she couldn’t have had her wish to die in bed. Don’t we all. But my friend did just that a few weeks ago and we were all weirdly comforted. We thought he might die at work because he loved to be at work and we didn’t want that for him or for his coworkers. We wanted private peace and dignity for him because he was a man of peace and dignity and a great presence in the world.

Next, another friend, who was a dear companion to one of my childhood friends, died away from home and in fact, in another state. He became ill, was taken to a hospital, and died, all within a relatively short period of time, far away from his cozy home. He had a wonderful little place surrounded by trees and shrubs and winding paths here in California. Why couldn’t he have died there? How we end is more painful for our family and friends than the actual passing. A peaceful passing under the right circumstances and in the right place eases mourning to a great extent. My dad was only 38 when he died after a long, agonizing stay in a hospital like my grandmother. No one wants that. 

And finally, the third loss in my life at the very same time as the celebrities and two friends—the passing of a friend’s little dog of ten years. I knew this dog from the time she was a puppy when she joined my friend’s family. For those of us who love and lose pets, it is a painful ordeal. At the beginning, the expectation of fewer years to be with our beloved pets does help a little at the end. We know we will only have them for a few years when we sign on, but sometimes pets are taken too young, just like humans. Ten years wasn’t long enough for this little dog whose life expectancy for her breed is longer than that. However, she succumbed to cancer and it’s hard to beat cancer at any age--for humans too. She was lucky because she was able to die at home with her family and with the kind attention of a mobile veterinarian. Humans are not so lucky.

I’ve spent a lot of time these past few weeks thinking of all of those human and non-human family and friends who have gone before me and I’m sad for all of us. I’ll snap out of it because I have to and because these passings are inevitable. All we can do is live a good life, hug our family, friends, and pets, and when we one day leave them, know we made them happy.

“Let us endeavuor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.” Mark Twain

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The Fourth Fizzle (1 of 1)

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When I was a little girl the 4^th of July was magical. My dad always purchased a large quantity of explosives and dozens of sparklers, my personal favorite, and off we’d go into the middle of the street with all the other families. It was exciting to be outside in the dark but the thrill of the fireworks was magical.

My favorite recollection of those evenings was placing a sparkler between each of my fingers, clamping my hands into fists, and then running around the street with all the other kids. We were running with sharp objects pointed at other children of all ages (including toddlers), and these sharp objects were on fire. The little sparks themselves did not hurt but if we were careless, and we always were, we often came in contact with the burning end that produced the pretty sparks and there would be screaming and crying and racing mothers. Most kids only ran with one in each hand but I had figured out my clever finger crevice placement and so I was the sparkler girl of the neighborhood.

Throughout the evening the dads all took turns lighting their little displays. Some of the fireworks were “legal” and some were not. I do not recall the regulatory issues at that time but even then cherry bombs were illegal and I believe firecrackers were illegal. But we had them and many other amazing fireworks that were just beautiful. The older kids often helped their dads set them off and every year we would read in the paper about missing fingers, eyes, hands, and so forth. It never happened in our neighborhood except for the sparkler nubs and one small fire in the orchard across the street. One of the dads put it out quickly and the festivities resumed. We just moved further down the street. You know, away from the orchard but closer to the houses. Made sense at the time. I think.

As time went by that tradition slowly changed. Up until several years ago in my own adult neighborhood I could still see a few neighbors outside their homes with kids doing the “safe and sane” fireworks kits sold at charity booths, but for the last few years I haven’t seen that anywhere near where I live. It’s illegal here for any fireworks but it didn’t stop many families until the last few years. I do hear the occasional cherry bomb or bottle rocket or firecracker (and gun shots), but each year it’s less and less. My first year in this house, fourteen years ago, a few neighbors met outside for a very small display. That’s the last neighborhood display we’ve had.

This past 4^th of July was the most boring of any I have ever experienced. Most municipalities canceled their public fireworks celebrations held in fairgrounds or parking lots due to the expense because of our current economy. For many years with the decline in personal family neighborhood displays we at least had the wonderful fireworks put on by our towns and cities. This year we still had parades, but a few of those were canceled as well due to our sad economy. 

That said, I’m actually relieved. As an adult I have worried about fires from the careless handling of neighborhood displays. And we have all heard the horror stories of homes being destroyed and people being injured or even dying. I know we can’t protect every aspect of our lives and eliminate all things that are fun but as a society we do seem to grow up together and fire prevention is a wise public decision. 

It’s sort of like Halloween. What a joyous event that was as a child. But with the advent of commuting parents, weird people putting stuff in candy, and other activities families are involved in, I see Halloween, as I knew it, disappearing too. Many families have parties now and that seems a fun and sensible way to go. I think.

Yet, each year the week before Halloween I decorate my house and windows with flashing scary lights. Last Halloween I raced home, turned on my monster lights, set up my chair and bowl of candy by the front door, put on my aluminum fright wig, locked my dog and cats in my office, and waited. I didn’t get a single child. Trick-or-Treaters have been coming in smaller numbers for years now and last year not one child. In the past few years the number has gotten so low that I was eating way too much candy over the next few days after Halloween. Last year I wisely bought candy I don’t like and sure enough, no kids. Had I purchased chocolate I’d have gone into diabetic shock.

So Halloween has changed and the 4^th of July has changed. Neither change is necessarily bad. In fact, I look at these changes as evolving into something better. I think.

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MICHAEL JACKSON R.I.P. (1 of 1)

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Around the late ‘50s, early ‘60s, my grandmother learned that Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds were getting a divorce. She was used to celebrity divorces but she was sad because she liked the attractive couple. Soon after the news broke it was learned that the reason for the divorce was: Elizabeth Taylor. In that time period, and before, there was a substantial amount of celebrity gossip available if fans wanted to find it. There were “movie” magazines, newspaper columns by Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons, and the occasional mention on talk shows and newsreels at the movies before the cartoons. However, most publicists were paid huge sums to keep their clients out of the press when scandals erupted. Scandals of the magnitude of the Fisher/Reynolds/Taylor level could not be “handled.” How much was true and how much was fiction we will never know.

Publicists made up stories about their clients and staged events. Rock Hudson had a marriage forced on him to prevent the public from finding out he was gay. It’s hard to believe today but it worked. No one knew for years about Rock’s secret except Hollywood insiders and fans with tenacious methods for learning about their favorites. The average person didn’t know much except what they learned in the mainstream media. A controlled scandal was much better than an uncontrolled mess. There were certainly plenty of those but unless you were a hardcore fan the average person did not know too much about celebrity dirty laundry. Just the pretty stuff and fancy clothes.

So when my grandmother learned of this terrible divorce, in her opinion caused solely by Elizabeth Taylor, as though Eddie Fisher had nothing to do with it, she announced she hated Elizabeth Taylor. For the remainder of her 91 years she hated Elizabeth Taylor. While reading her morning paper if she came across an advertisement about a movie starring Ms. Taylor, my grandmother would make shocking and rude comments. Some of the comments contained Portuguese profanity so that I wouldn’t understand. Of course, I understood perfectly well having heard her bilingual and oddly endearing diatribes from birth.

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I try very hard to NOT learn about the personal lives of celebrities. Today, however, it’s almost impossible to totally avoid this gossip. We know so many things about them, true or not, that it’s as though we know them personally. We can literally find out the shoe size of our favorite movie star. We can go to eBay and purchase items they have used (ew). There are entire TV programs devoted to news about celebrities and some are absolutely horrific in detail. TMZ comes to mind as possibly the worst television celebrity “news” program I have ever watched. I had to watch it a few times recently because of research for a future blog on “reality television” I’m preparing. In fact, I’ve had to watch a number of programs that just made me stare into space in disbelief. I almost considered not doing the blog because of the appalling research I’ve had to endure but I’m too far into it now. I’m not sure when it will be ready for posting because the topic of reality (ugh) TV is disgusting. 

When it comes to super stardom, unless we never leave our homes and rid ourselves of our newspapers, magazines, computers, TVs, and radios, we WILL hear about celebrities. It is unavoidable. However, few celebrities ever reach the heights of a Michael Jackson. Some come close in gossip mongering like Jennifer/Brad/Angelina, O.J., Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, etc. But Michael was an entity unto himself.  

Our family was besotted with Michael from the time he was a little boy. Over the years he became more amazing with each new phase of his career. When he entered his Thriller period everyone was blown away with his talent and his continuing shy and sweet demeanor. Even Fred Astaire commented enthusiastically on the talented Michael Jackson.

Click on this wonderful link to see other famous admirers of Michael Jackson. 

http://floacist.wordpress.com/2007/10/11/quotes-on-michael-jackson/

Also take a peek at YouTube’s Smooth Criminal with Fred Astaire’s dancing incorporated into the music via clips from his movies. Fantastic.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKanPsUjP7w&annotation_id=annotation_211174&feature=iv

Michael went beyond charisma. I remember the first time I saw the Thriller video I immediately purchased a copy of it. It was one of the most remarkable things I had ever viewed. So when I heard of Michael’s passing, I pulled my VHS tape out of the cupboard, popped it in my old VCR player, and that feeling came back again in an emotionally strong way. He was just the most amazing artist of all times in all ways.

He was physically beautiful and flamboyant (until he met with unscrupulous plastic surgeons), a fabulous dancer, a wonderful singer, and a fantastic composer. He was also a generous philanthropist and he was truly loved by millions. My favorite piece by Michael is She’s Out of My Life. For some reason it touched me every time I heard it. I don’t know the story behind the song and I’ve never tried to find out. I love the mystery of it. Just like Michael, a true enigma.

After I watched Thriller a few times I remembered something else. Stuck in the back of a closet, untouched for years and years, was Michael’s red zippered jacket that I bought for my son when he was around 10 years old made by Andre de Leure. My son tried it on but I do not believe he ever wore it except for that one time because he didn’t want anything to happen to it. It’s in pristine condition and I just stood there gaping at it. (No, we are not going to sell it on eBay.) I have a vague recollection that the jacket cost $25. I can’t remember where I bought it. So after the discovery I asked my son what he would like me to do and of course I knew the answer: keep it forever. In fact, we’re going to place it in a special preservative bag or have it framed.

But my grandmother would be horrified by all of this adulation. (Not to mention his friendship with her old nemesis Elizabeth Taylor.) I don’t think Michael’s later eccentric life and change of appearance would have bothered my grandmother, though she would have made astute comments to be sure, but even the hint of child molestation would have actually done her in, true or not. I guess that’s why Congress has decided not to go forward with the resolution they considered honoring Michael’s life. Just the suggestion that Michael could have been involved in such behavior is enough to put Congress’ collective shorts/panties in a bunch. I think it’s because they are all so honorable and chaste and true to their wives and husbands. None of them have ever had relations with teens or young people under their tutelage. Congress, and politics generally, is filled with light and sunshine and there’s not a bigoted, narcissistic, dishonest, spouse-cheating, lying, deceptive, manipulative, pervert in the bunch. We are blessed.

But back to grandma. I remember trying to explain that the information we got on Elizabeth Taylor and her scandal could not be trusted. That “Hollywood” stories were often wrong. How were we to know, really, what happened between the three of them? How were we to know if Eddie and Debbie were separated or having marital trouble prior to Elizabeth entering the picture? It didn’t matter and my grandmother would have hated Michael for any connection with child molestation. She would have assumed that no adult in his right mind would surround himself with children in a bedroom for anything other than ulterior motives. Key words being “in his right mind.”

However, in our society we are innocent until proven guilty. O.J. is innocent, Robert Blake is innocent, and Michael is innocent too. For some reason that works for me with Michael and Robert Blake, but I haven’t been able to process that theory with O.J. even though he is also charming and handsome. [For some reason I sense a sinister creepy vibe with him. I did NOT watch the trial.] I guess I have some of my grandmother in me after all. Phil Spector is a lunatic so he got what he deserved I guess. Often it’s the person who is the most charming, has the most money, and has a clever attorney with great insight into jury selection who gets an innocent verdict, guilty or not. If you look and act like Phil Spector money doesn’t help. If I’m ever arrested I do not want a jury of my peers. I’m neither charming nor rich. It would be Chowchilla for me.

And so this is how I have justified my continued admiration for Michael. A jury of his peers found him innocent. He paid a large sum of nuisance money to the alleged victim, which is routinely done in legal matters with strict covenants to never speak of the matter again or risk losing the settlement. Because everyone lies about their personal lives, including our esteemed political leaders, we can only base our opinions on court decisions, not tabloids. 

Michael was an extraordinary child in a tough adult business. He later became a reclusive man who did not understand boundaries, did not understand that it wasn’t okay to play with young children in his bedroom, and that he would be judged harshly by that behavior. He had mental confusions and conflicts that were not being treated except, perhaps, with drugs. He had a loving but complicated family structure that was unable to direct his personal life (or theirs at times) in a healthy direction. He was also surrounded with friends and attendants who were also at a loss as to how to help him live an adult life with limits, and if he did seek the care of a mental health care provider, that person failed him. All the money and fame in the world could not keep him from his sad spiral into a bizarre death at the hands of more unscrupulous doctors. Everyone loved him and no one could help him. And now he’s out of our lives.

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Bette Davis Eyes & Farrah Fawcett Hair (Part 1 of 1)

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Farrah Fawcett’s incredible journey to the end of her life was reality TV of a courageous caliber. Normally, I avoid anything to do with reality TV because these creations focus on absurd confrontation, excessive and brutal competition, belittlement, demeaning behaviors, and are filled with embarrassing examples of humanity. In fact, when I learned she was video-chronicling her fight against cancer I cringed. However, I underestimated the impact of such a brave production. Farrah did not “go gentle into that good night.”[i]

When most of us first became aware of Farrah it was via the popular TV show, Charlie’s Angels.  As I remember, it was a simplistic format.  During the opening credits it was explained that Charlie’s “angels” were working for “Charlie” as private investigators. Though they had completed tough police academy training, they were given old fashioned, gender-based duties with the police department. Their only option to utilize their training and skills would be with Charlie, a mystery man we never saw. He assigned investigations to these women each week (Farrah Fawcett, Kate Jackson, Jaclyn Smith, and later, cast substitutions of Cheryl Ladd, Shelley Hack, and Tanya Roberts. John Forsythe was the voice of the invisible Charlie and David Doyle portrayed Charlie’s liaison with the lovely investigators). The formula was simple: solve a case, wear beautiful clothes, and set hair trends for millions of women (and a few men).

I recently watched (again) Of Human Bondage [1934] based on W. Somerset Maugham’s novel, with Leslie Howard and Bette Davis. In this wonderful movie Bette goes from a breathtaking beauty to a wretched fallen woman. Even though her appearance deteriorates horribly in the movie, there wasn’t a makeup artist in Hollywood who could change those beautiful eyes. If shown photos of several sets of eyes almost everyone would be able to pick out Bette’s expressive orbs without hesitation. Just like Farrah’s smile and signature hair.

Farrah somehow managed to smile at her doctors when they were inflicting more painful treatments on her ever-weakening body. In the last few months and weeks and days of Farrah’s life, though that smile was still there, we all know that cancer treatments are terribly hard on hair. It bothered her in a very brave way, but not her fans. We will always see her with her beautiful hair.  I know she was more than a smile and hair but what a sweet legacy.

And now I must confess, I had Farrah Fawcett Hair. Years ago I had varying degrees of thick, multi-colored shades of blond hair and with great good fortune was one of the few who could actually copy her magnificent mane. I never managed it as beautifully as she did but I came very close. Almost everyone I knew tried to get their hair to look that way but one needed a very specific type of hair and clever shaping by an expert in a salon. I loved my hair this way, but sadly, I wore this style longer than my stylist’s comfort level. Toward the waning of its popularity he told me it was time to move on because Farrah had!

Sometimes walking down the street one would see dozens of Farrah heads but in some cases what was meant to be a stunning replica was in reality thin and flat and without the proper shaping by a hair stylist. We could spot a “bad Farrah” a mile away. (I should point out that though I was successful in getting my hair to look like Farrah’s, all other similarities stopped there.)

At different times in my life I’ve loved and hated TV, often at the same time depending on the programming (I’m currently in hate mode which will be thoroughly blogged in a few weeks; see paragraph 1 herein). Charlie’s Angels was simple, light entertainment with the primary focus on the amazingly beautiful cast along with fascinating guest appearances as well. It was a pleasant and harmless way to spend an hour and an inexpensive way to pick up all sorts of fashion tips! Men loved this show for obvious reasons, but women were equally enamored. 

The actors were all unique. John Forsythe though never seen (at least I don’t think they ever saw his face though there were close calls) had a beautiful voice. Bosley (David Boyle) had a crusty, raspy, exotic voice and a fun semi-macho persona. Next, Kate, Jaclyn, and Farrah were each special in their individual beauty.  Scripts were designed to enhance their individual styles and personalities. Farrah, however, rose to spectacular popularity because of her smile, her hair, her perfect tan figure and sparkling personality. Posters and interviews and fan magazines went crazy over Farrah. She was electric.

Sometimes when a TV actor/actress is met with such huge success on the small screen they often find transitioning to films and other work difficult. Farrah did not stay long with the angels because she knew she was already typecast and she longed for a more well rounded career. I did a little research which helped me remember that Farrah later went on to do serious work tackling tough subjects. (My personal favorite: Extremities.)  One might never know she had been a somewhat fluffy angel for Charlie (unless a person came from another planet because who on earth did not know about Charlie’s Angels?)

I have always tried very hard to avoid all celebrity gossip. If I see a tabloid while standing in the checkout line at the store I immediately turn in the opposite direction (and end up buying candy). I don’t want to know anything about their personal lives. I’d rather gain two pounds. Sometimes celebrity gossip is unavoidable when mingling with friends and coworkers so I have overheard more than I want to about various celebrities.

Prior to her documentary I knew almost nothing about Farrah’s personal life except for the famous men in her life and that she had a son. I did happen to catch her famous (or infamous) appearance on the David Letterman show but was happily unaware of any particular reason for the unusual appearance. Most of what I know about her now I learned via her own video production of her final struggles with cancer. It was very difficult to watch. 

And so at the end of Farrah’s battle, for some reason, I thought of Bette Davis. Maybe because I had recently watched Of Human Bondage. I noticed the same power in Bette Davis the last time I saw her on The Tonight Show With Johnny Carson. It was 1988 and she died not too long after in 1989. She wasn’t well but was dressed to the nines and the epitome of class. Bette was terribly thin and frail that night and I knew the end was near. But she was feisty and strong-willed, and her eyes were exactly the same. Bette Davis Eyes and Farrah Fawcett Hair. Unforgettable.

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[i] Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[Excerpt; Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas]

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