Whatever Happened to Quality Control?

I was reading my latest Reader's Digest the other day, particularly the article that published funny anecdotes that teachers had sent in.  One struck my eye as being a sign of the times:  a middle school music teacher couldn't get her students to be enthused about the Mozart piece they were singing.  A frustrated student finally raised her hand and said, "We want to sing things from our generation, not yours!"

I was both amused and bothered by that.  The humor was obvious, but the implications not quite so clear.  My generation's music was good stuff.  We had folk music, protest songs, Elvis and rock and roll, the Beatles, the Doors, and a whole menage of music that is now classic, yet never once were we exposed to those things in music classes or church choirs.  Instead, we were required to recognize symphony classics, opera classics, and the like.  In singing, we sang things that weren't currently popular but represented real music from the past.  We focused on direction, pitch, precision, and blend.  It was all about diction and discipline and becoming performers in the strictest sense of the word.  I was blessed with vocal music teachers who never let us/me fall into what the high school choir director called "crooning".  On my own time, I could listen to whatever I liked--and did--but my formal education was formal.  To be honest, I would not have liked to sing songs of my generation in school because we could never have come close to the impact of the real songs as performed by the commercial artists.  But what a rich heritage of musical knowledge I received at the direction of those who held the standard high!!

On the same note, when I was very young, children's literature was inspired by adults who wrote about how good little boys and girls should be, but the stories had to be read to kids.  There was a moral to every story which was, perhaps, not a lot of fun to hear.  By the time my little brother came along in the early 50s, Dr. Seuss arrived with his "I Can Read" books that were whimsical and fun. Children learned to read on these books, but they were sometimes irreverent.  Unheard of!  Kiddie lit changed.  It gave way to new ways of connecting to children in print.

When I became a teacher, I was challenged by research in learning.  Things were changing from forcing children to read classics (as was my experience in school) to having them read contemporary works--and then, in time, to letting them read whatever they wanted just as long as they were reading.  The supposition was that avid readers would eventually be drawn to what society considers classic.  The problem with that is that it isn't true!  I never really directed my daughter's reading, although I think she had every Little Golden Book that was ever made over time.  She eventually graduated to The Babysitter's Club series, and later some teenage series that she loved, but she had a book going in almost every room of the house:  one in her bedroom, one in the bathroom, and yet another in the kitchen.  She DID gravitate to some classics as urged, but I always left it up to her.  I consider her one of the successes...but not because I was exposing her to what I thought was better reading.  I was remiss.  I don't think I kept a very high standard for her!

My granddaughter, by contrast, wasn't led.  We always sent money to school with her on the Scholastic's Book Sale day, in order to support the library, but she came home with books about fairies, etc.  There was a whole series of these fairy books published by Scholastic Books, many of which came home with Robin.  Megan and I read scores of chapters of these books to Robin at bedtime before Robbie could even read, but we all agreed--even Robin over time--that these were awful books.  No exciting plot.  No distinct characters.  No challenge to the developing mind about the lessons of life.

Robin is an avid reader now.  She has devoured all of the Harry Potter books, The Hunger Games trilogy, and most of John Green's books, like The Fault in Our Stars, etc.  I'm proud of her for that. But she has never read Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn or any of the other books that define life as we know it in America.  How will she understand the references from those books?  How will she know the origins of expressions she will run into every day of her life without having read them?  Is it enough that we let our boys only read books about sports stars or let our girls only read romance novels because that is what they like? What does that teach them about life?  Where is the quality control in that??

We have become a casual nation.  No need to be perfect in grammar.  People will understand what we write.  No need to dress up for church or funerals or weddings.  People will understand that we are what we are.  Or will they?  In our effort to be accepted for what we are, we forget that what we are is sometimes reflected by what we say and/or what we wear.  Once upon a time, I could tell my students to attend an outside function wearing their "Sunday Best".  That expression soon lost meaning when I came to realize that church attendance attire had relaxed in families just in order to get the kids to go.  Worship in good clothes or worship in jeans or shorts...but just worship.  There is merit in that.  I'm not sure that God cares what His faithful are wearing when they approach the altar, but there is a part of me that says that going into the House of God for worship should require something that indicates that we have respect for our surroundings and the others who are there with us.  What comes out of our mouths (or our keyboards) should also show enough respect for ourselves and others to make what we say worth hearing or reading.

I realize that I'm a dinosaur.  I still don't think passing gas in public is funny.  I hate belching loudly at the table.  I still feel that there are reasons for dressing appropriate to the circumstances and putting our best feet forward in written word.  I still feel that children need to be directed to read certain things and behave in certain ways.  I'm old school.  Many people would discount my feelings as being Politically Correct, and therefore not worthy of attention.  They may be right by current standards.  I just refuse to lower mine.  Quality control is still a part of my existence.  In the meantime, all I can do is express my opinion.  I try.  God knows, I try...    

Childhood Prayers

Don't ask why this comes to my brain now.  I have no clue!

As a child, I was always praying, almost superstitiously.  I thought if I just prayed to God, He would protect me from all of the evils of the world.  My night time prayer was the usual:

Now I lay me down to sleep;
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake;
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

How comforting is that to a child who is already afraid of the terrors of the night?  If I should die before I wake??  I'm sure that prayer was composed in a time when children died early in life, but I didn't find it particularly helpful in getting me to sleep.  Then someone turned me on to a new prayer:

Lord, keep me safe this night,
Secure from all my fears.
May angels guard me while I sleep,
Till morning light appears.

Yes...that's better! I recited that prayer for many years at bedtime with no one to witness it.  It was my secret plea to God to get me through the night.  I still say it, sometimes!

I came from a family of devoutly religious grandparents.  My grandfather recited his very own prayer at each meal while the rest of us bowed our heads in reverence.  One time when I was visiting them, I went to Vacation Bible School at the tiny little church they attended and asked one of the teachers if she could give me a dinner grace to say.  She gave me one on a little scrap of paper.  (There is an unhappy memory connected to this.  I was a good kid...a quiet kid...but other kids in VBS weren't so inclined.  Another teacher--Myra Sass by name--was cranky, and for some reason, ripped the scrap of paper out of my hand, asking "What's this??"  I explained and she saw, but she never apologized for being so harsh.)  Still, if I was ever asked to say grace before dinner, I could say:

Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest,

And may this food to us be blessed.

I'm a grown-up now.  We Protestants tend to pray extemporaneously.  I figure any prayer is better than no prayer at all, but I was given a leg up in my early years by memorizing a few that gave me comfort.  

And, of course:  Amen!   

If It Ain't Broke...

I am convinced that there are product manufacturers and politicians that don't have enough to do in order to achieve their fifteen minutes of fame, so they sit around in the dark at night thinking up ways to make "new and improved" products/laws designed to make themselves look good.  I'll be the first to admit that we have come a long way in this country as a result of fixing things that don't work for society, and I'll also be the first to complain when they hit the target but miss the bull's-eye.  Some things just "ain't broke", so why fix them?

I'm not usually a whiner.  Really.  I'm not--although you can't tell it by reading my blog.  Many of the things that come across as whining are really just my way of trying to put a humorous spin on my frustrations...which is what I am trying to do today.  If you are reading this and don't care to deal with a complaining old woman (just call me Maxine), move on!

Just for the sake of my blood pressure, I'll take politicians out of my rant today.  That's lucky for me AND my readers.  I'd hate to be found dead from a stroke sitting in front of my computer, and I'm sure people who actually read my mind ramblings will feel a sense of relief that I'm not rambling about politicians today.  Instead, I'm griping about product "improvements" that just don't cut it.

What started this?  I am constantly looking for ways to cut back on things that are unhealthy in my dietary must haves.  For years and years, I have used I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Light.  Butter (or margarine, as it were) is one of my failings.  I slather it on potatoes, toast, squash, and veggies of all kinds.  The more, the better.  I had tried all of the lighter-fat and fat-free spreads.  None of them hit the mark for me, until my daughter turned me on to ICBINB Light.  Good stuff!  I couldn't tell the difference from the full-fat margarines/butter.  It was just my little mind game that I could use almost as much as I wanted because it was lower in fat and calories but still excellent.  Until now. Someone(s) at the company decided to "improve" the product with a "simpler recipe".  HA!  It no longer melts properly, tastes like lard, doesn't have enough salt, and generally doesn't meet the previous products pluses.  Now, I am thrown into a hunt for another product to do what the old one used to do.  I can't tell you how disappointed I am about that.

This whole thing isn't just about buttery spreads.  Let's talk about low-flow toilets.  The powers-that-be decided sometime awhile back that toilets waste a lot of water every time they are flushed.  Bad for the environment.  They determined that the family toilet didn't need a bunch of water in it, nor did it need much for the flushing process.  Thus, we got a new generation of toilets that uses a fraction of the water that the old ones used.  As it happens, I replaced the main toilet in my house with a new one a number of years ago.  This new commode still uses more water than the even-newer ones do, but it isn't a good thing.  Consider that it frequently takes two flushes for the contents to go down properly...and then there is the fact that it takes two flushes when--how shall I put this nicely?--there are, shall I say, skid marks in the bowl because of the low water level.  Two-for-one flushes?  Are we still saving water with low-flow toilets?  Convince me!  Oh...and never before have I been in so many homes where the toilet plunger had to be housed in the bathroom because it has to be used so often. I'm not particularly pleased with the trade-off.

And what about toilet paper?  How does one improve on toilet paper?  I mean, TP is about as primitive as it gets, only a step up from leaves or the Sears catalog.  (My father was an officer on a troop transport ship during the Korean Conflict.  He told the story that they were transporting prisoners of war on board, with latrines on deck and TP next to each hole.  He told me, in awe and disgust, that the Korean prisoners used their fingers to wipe their bottoms, then used the TP to wipe their fingers!)  So how do we perfect something as basic as toilet paper--something that gets flushed when used, never to be seen again (unless you have a low-flow toilet)?  Well, over the years, the paper has been made softer, then stronger, then the rolls got bigger to the point at which some of them wouldn't fit in the bathroom holders.  Now, one brand has removed the core roll as being wasteful.  (Some may be too young to remember when "bath tissue"--the euphemism for toilet paper--came in colors to match the bathroom decor, but when it became known that the dye would cause irritation down there, it went back to basic white.)  My tissue of choice became Charmin because it was soft and strong and all of the other "new and improved" things.  Until my plumber, whom I was coming to know on a first-name basis, asked what I was using.  Apparently Charmin doesn't break up in the sewer system fast enough to keep things unplugged for long.  He recommended Angel Soft, which I have used exclusively ever since.  What my bottom loses in softness, my pocketbook gains in fewer calls to the plumber.  Softer and stronger isn't necessarily better, but tell that to the American consumer.

Years ago, I settled on a make-up foundation that really worked for me.  It was a product of one of the major cosmetic companies--L'Oreal or Revlon or some such--and was called "Moisture Wear".  It was the perfect color for my skin and spread/blended nicely on my face, and gave my skin a dewy look that I liked.  I used it for years.  And then, one day, when I went to buy more, it was nowhere to be found.  Gone.  The company had discontinued it, suggesting another new and improved product as a replacement.  Needless to say, the substitute just didn't work for me.  I was thrust into a search for something else that would.  I spent lots of money looking for just the right one, and finally ended up having to buy expensive Clinique foundation ($27 for a little bottle) because I couldn't find anything. Same thing with lipstick.  I had a lipstick that wouldn't rub off after a whole day in the classroom, but it disappeared too, replaced by some liquid stuff that makes my lips dry.  Ugh!

So now, we have curly light bulbs.  The new bulbs use less energy to create more light and supposedly last longer.  Good for the environment.  Regular incandescent bulbs are being replaced by these.  We are told that, sooner or later, incandescent bulbs will no longer be available.  The problem with this for me is that my house burns out bulbs on a regular/rapid basis--curly ones as fast as regular ones--yet the new bulbs are at least four times more expensive than regular.  I've put in inquiries about the bulb-burnout to places online, only to find out that the electricians just don't know why this happens.  And the upshot?  The curly bulbs are filled with mercury vapor so that, if one breaks, you are supposed to air out the house...and they have to be disposed of as toxic waste. What?? One night last summer, my grandson was here and fell asleep on the couch.  I left him there under a blanket.  Unfortunately, he throws his arms up over his head in his sleep, knocked over a lamp, which broke a curly bulb...and no one was awake to air out the house.  Are we all going to die of mercury poisoning????

My message is simple: if it ain't broke, don't fix it.  Let sleeping dogs lie.  No harm; no foul.  Don't poke the bear.  How many other cliches apply?  Do consumers actually control this country...or does big business have the reins?  I want my happy little products back!
            

Robert Frost Wisdom

"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." ~Robert Frost.

I never appreciated Robert Frost when I was forced to study his poetry in high school.  Still alive in my lifetime yet published in my American literature anthology for school, Robert Frost was a craggy-looking, white-haired old man, struggling to read a poem he had written for/at President Kennedy's inauguration ceremonies in the early 60s.  The sun was glaringly bright, and the wind was causing problems.  (They didn't have teleprompters in those days.)  What possible meaning could that ancient man's poetry impart to me?  I'd had to memorize one of his poems for class.  That was enough for me!

And now, all these many years later--dear God, how very many years--it all makes sense.  It makes enough sense that I forced my students to memorize two of his more familiar poems for class--poems that included lines I knew my kids would see over and over again in life.  I wanted them to know where they came from...what they meant.  The quote above didn't come from one of those.  So why am I writing about it?

When I first read the poem, "Death of the Hired Man" by Frost, it meant nothing to me.  Just another long poem that I had to endure for the sake of my English class.  But now?  Now, it is full of meaning!  "Home is the place where, when you HAVE to go there, they HAVE to take you in."  (Emphasis mine.)  Why would anyone HAVE to go there?  Nowhere else has the comfort and feelings of love as home.  Unless one lived a particularly traumatic childhood, home is home, even to criminals on the run.  Why would they HAVE to take you in?  Because at home, you are loved unconditionally.  It isn't so much about home as it is about relationships.

In my relatively nomadic life as a child in a military family, I learned to accept that home was wherever my parents were.  Or my grandparents.  When times got rough, I always sought home as a place for comfort.  And now that they are all gone, as is the farm that we all considered the home place, there is still home.  I have a niche carved at my sister's house, at my daughter's house...and, of course, in my house-on-a-slab.  I know that I have done my job because I think both my sister and my daughter know that they have a home here with me, too, if they need it.

I give thanks every day of my life that I have a home.  I give thanks every day of my life that I have a family that still cares about me.  I give thanks every day of my life for every day of my life!  I accept them for who/what they are.  They accept me, complete with all of my foibles and faults.  And that's what home is all about.  When I go there, they still take me in!        

I'm Back, With New Perspectives

I departed the home front for my sister's near Springfield, Illinois, in order to provide support during a stressful time.  My niece's husband was dying of lung cancer which he had battled for over a year, and I was needed.  I was needed in order to provide coverage for my sister's husband who has dementia.  I was needed to provide another vehicle in case we were called to go in different directions at the same time.  I was needed to just be there so my sister could do what she felt she wanted/needed to do for her daughter.  The circumstances are complicated and somewhat convoluted, but I/we did what families do for each other.  There was never any question about that.

When my daughter and husband were headed back from Florida in December, I had my grandchildren with me. We departed on December 28th to meet them at their house in far northern Illinois, although we were first to arrive.  Since I was expecting a call from my sister about the situation with my nephew-in-law at any time, I took enough clothes with me to leave, if needed to, to head south to Springfield for a funeral.  It didn't happen.

When I came home a couple of weeks later, I didn't even unpack my suitcase.  I had come back with all of my clothing clean, so I just waited for my sister's call.  Finally, she said, "Why don't you just come?  Ron isn't expected to live past the weekend."  I left for Springfield, IL, on Thursday, Jan. 22nd.  Ron not only survived the weekend, he lived an entire week beyond, leaving the rest of us to swarm like bees to do things that needed to be done in the meantime.

Lynn (my niece--the widow-to-be) needed new brakes on her vehicle.  Thus, her son and I (armed with my sister's money) drove to the hospital to pick up the car, take it to the repair dude--which was more complicated than it sounds because we had to purchase the auto parts, etc.--then pick it up when done to return it to the hospital for Lynn for when/if she decided to leave the hospital to get some rest.  The next day, her vehicle license would expire, so her son and I, once again armed with my sister's money, took care of that so she would not be driving on an expired plate.  We picked up the son's paycheck, went to the bank so he could deposit it, and ran whatever other errands were required, while my sister manned the phones at the home front with her husband.

God bless the man, Ron finally passed this life on January 31st.

My sister began to take charge.  She went to the funeral home the next day with her daughter.  I stayed home with my bro-in-law.  Later, she and I ran errands....to take money to the funeral home to cover the funeral expenses so they would proceed, plus open a memorial account at a bank for Ron.  Another day, we went to Sam's Club to purchase paper products for the funeral dinner and try to find a decent guest registry book for the funeral.  (The one from the funeral home would cost $150!!)

The funeral was complicated.  There was a viewing--visitation--at the funeral home.  Ron was to be cremated that night, but the viewing came first.  The funeral home was full to overflowing!  Who knew there would be so many people paying their respects?  The next morning, Ron's funeral would take place with full military honors at Camp Butler Cemetery in Springfield.  It was cold, but we were kept in the cold longer because the man who was supposed to deliver Ron's eulogy at the funeral home the night before had his days mixed up and didn't arrive.  He delivered it under the shelter at Camp Butler. Then we all departed for the Bereavement Dinner at the local VFW, complete with cash bar.  Can't say that I have ever been to a deal like that, but everyone was drinking and eating and celebrating Ron's life in casual attire.  We ate and visited and left because my demented bro-in-law was getting agitated and ready to leave.  It was time...

Dealing with a person with dementia--which my sister does every day of her life with her husband--is not an easy job.  By the time of Ron's funeral, I had been there with them for two weeks and had lost my patience/temper with Roger twice.  (I don't know how my sister does this.  I guess almost 54 years of marital devotion helps.)  The funeral was on Friday.  I agreed to stay through Saturday to watch their dog so my sis and husband could attend a charity function in Bloomington, IL, with their Corvette club.  On Sunday, I left for home in good weather.

What are my new perspectives?
1.  In death, there are no limits.  Those who mourn the most and who are in charge take the reins, and the rest of us have no choice but to accept.  My niece showed up at her husband's funeral dressed like a biker babe, complete with colors, black leather chaps, boots, and a do-rag on her head.  Her mother and I hated it, and no one else was dressed like that....but you know what?  Not a single soul batted an eye.  Who are we to judge?  Lynn did what she wanted to do for her husband's ceremonies.  That's all that mattered.
2.  Sometimes, we do things we would not normally do in support of our family members.  Deaths in the family create memories that are never, ever forgotten.  To do less than what is expected or needed will create problems that would take years to overcome.  Like it or not, we need to just be there...and keep our mouths shut if things don't seem proper.  We did that.
3.  People on the outside of the family circle might never understand what goes on inside the circle. Best just to let criticisms go...which is sometimes hard for those being attacked.
4.  Nothing should stand between a person and his/her family.  Focusing on one person's needs in a crisis is the same as focusing on everyone's needs.  Help one...help them all.

Life goes on.  Ron will be missed.  The aftermath of his death will go on for awhile, but we will all cover for him, as best we can.  God is good.  In the meantime, I'm glad to be home again.  Winter is such a cruel time to be out and about!