Bing Crosby dreamt of a white Christmas. I must admit that I'm guilty of this myself. Snow on Christmas completes the holiday. It's that elusive seasonal element that makes the day (which is normally pretty awesome to begin with) seem complete.
Snow is beautiful. When it's freshly fallen, it looks clean and soft. It muffles the noises that might otherwise become distractions to us. It makes things quiet. I have always thought snow was beautiful.
But what about after Christmas?
After traveling through the wintry weather, I understand why some people abhor the stuff. While it may seem innocent (and it's color might deceive us into thinking that it is), snow is nothing but a white nightmare (in some parts of the world, white is the color associated with insanity). It's nice enough when you are at home with electricity and heat and water. Then I suppose it's possible that snow might be enjoyable. But if you're stranded on an interstate or your electricity and heat are rendered useless by the weather or if you live in a place that is completely incapable of handling such weather-related extremities, the snow becomes unbearably oppressive.
I admit that I haven't seen as much of it as some people have this winter. And I am the first to admit that those are people of whom I am not jealous. But I don't think I would lament of not seeing this white affliction again any time soon. Luckily, I have the entire summer to recoup my appreciation for winter weather.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-From "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"
by Robert Frost
2.02.2011
Refried Reality
I live in a place where it is impossible to find diet ginger ale at the neighborhood Wal-Mart. But you can purchase refried beans in a sqeezable pouch from two different aisle end-caps.
1.31.2011
Lamentations on the State of Shopping Carts
Putting a blinker on a car was a brilliant idea. Truly a stroke of genius to include a flashing light indicating which direction a driver was going to turn. I fervently believe this same concept should apply to shopping carts.
Shopping carts should in fact be equipped with their own blinkers. This would eliminate that awkward moment when trying to determine which cart is going to go down which side of the grocery aisle. Instead of looking at the other cart driver with that sorry-about-this-whole-ridiculous-cart-situation look, we could flip a switch, and the other driver could react accordingly.
I have visions of a well-ordered grocery store with no emergency clean-ups in aisle four. I have visions of store patrons smiling as they happily collect their eggs and milk without incident. It could all be reality with the shopping cart blinker.
In a perfect world.
The reality is that people don't use the blinkers on their cars. In fact, I am inclined to think that people think a blinker is an option. You have to request it special; otherwise they don't put one in there. I am quite certain that people's inability to use a cart blinker would far surpass their inability to use one in an automobile, but I can dare to dream, and I am ever hopeful.
Shopping carts should in fact be equipped with their own blinkers. This would eliminate that awkward moment when trying to determine which cart is going to go down which side of the grocery aisle. Instead of looking at the other cart driver with that sorry-about-this-whole-ridiculous-cart-situation look, we could flip a switch, and the other driver could react accordingly.
I have visions of a well-ordered grocery store with no emergency clean-ups in aisle four. I have visions of store patrons smiling as they happily collect their eggs and milk without incident. It could all be reality with the shopping cart blinker.
In a perfect world.
The reality is that people don't use the blinkers on their cars. In fact, I am inclined to think that people think a blinker is an option. You have to request it special; otherwise they don't put one in there. I am quite certain that people's inability to use a cart blinker would far surpass their inability to use one in an automobile, but I can dare to dream, and I am ever hopeful.
1.30.2011
Notes from a Coffee Shop 2
Apparently this is going to become a recurring thing.
A coffee shop is rife with potential subjects. The people, the smells, and the noise all conspire to make wonderful topics for writing. But there is a certain sense of etiquette that I once thought everyone was aware of. Apparently not.
Going to the coffee shop during the week is one thing; there aren't very many people, and they mostly keep to themselves. On the weekend, however, the coffee shop becomes a free-for-all. It's every man, woman, and child for himself (or herself). I can hold my own in this kind of crowd. But I refuse to be rude.
I refuse to be a lone patron who occupies a table meant for six. I find myself judging the people who occupy a booth just because they are waiting for a bigger table to open up. Isn't there supposed to be a certain sense of decorum with which people conduct themselves in places like this? Isn't there some unspoken code that prevents minor injustices like these from happening?
If there aren't, perhaps there should be. Maybe I'll start a one-woman coffee shop revolution. I will be a vigilante of all fine java establishments. I will police the seating areas, making sure all tables are occupied by the appropriate number of patrons. I will make sure that people don't monopolize the drink station thus prohibiting the rest of us from doing the same.
Or I'll just sit and sip my coffee while I watch all of these things taking place, and I will complain to anyone who will listen (or read) before I gather my things and go home.
A coffee shop is rife with potential subjects. The people, the smells, and the noise all conspire to make wonderful topics for writing. But there is a certain sense of etiquette that I once thought everyone was aware of. Apparently not.
Going to the coffee shop during the week is one thing; there aren't very many people, and they mostly keep to themselves. On the weekend, however, the coffee shop becomes a free-for-all. It's every man, woman, and child for himself (or herself). I can hold my own in this kind of crowd. But I refuse to be rude.
I refuse to be a lone patron who occupies a table meant for six. I find myself judging the people who occupy a booth just because they are waiting for a bigger table to open up. Isn't there supposed to be a certain sense of decorum with which people conduct themselves in places like this? Isn't there some unspoken code that prevents minor injustices like these from happening?
If there aren't, perhaps there should be. Maybe I'll start a one-woman coffee shop revolution. I will be a vigilante of all fine java establishments. I will police the seating areas, making sure all tables are occupied by the appropriate number of patrons. I will make sure that people don't monopolize the drink station thus prohibiting the rest of us from doing the same.
Or I'll just sit and sip my coffee while I watch all of these things taking place, and I will complain to anyone who will listen (or read) before I gather my things and go home.
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