This will have to be quick. It's been a busy time. Our home is on the market, and must always be "show-ready" which is not a simple task when you are simultaneously actually living in said home. But, one must do what one must do. So, I continue to attempt to stem the ever-flowing tide of stuff.
I think that most of the time, I am not a sentimental person. I have a few possessions I like, but most objects I could jettison without a lot of thought or regret. I don't feel quite that flippant about our house, yet we have spent a number of years here, and many memories have been woven into the bricks and grass.
I was weeding in the garden today, spraying Round-up madly, pulling vile plants by roots, listening to birds, and it suddenly occurred to me that if we sell, this will be someone else's realm. Someone else might let the weeds take over; someone else might not step outside to hear the bird melodies, let alone to encourage them with seeds and suet. Someone else might not like the butter-yellow cabinets in the kitchen, and paint them a hideous shade; they might even do a poor job of it, eschewing painter's tape and drop cloths and ruining the lovely countertop and floor.
Someone else might not appreciate all the work we put into the yard, the pretty perennials we lovingly placed in what had been considered and deemed to be the perfect spot. Someone else might not keep a little throw rug inside the front door to catch muddy shoes.
It was a bit of a stab, to think of that intruder in my—I mean this house. I was flooded with melancholy.
When we sold the last house, it was with relief. Zoning issues and an uncooperative and crooked borough government made us eager to leave and begin again somewhere fresh and untainted. I have never missed that old place.
This one is different. I do want to sell, for various reasons—but not because this place has ever let me down or disappointed me, not because this place fell short or became associated with negative things that I'd rather avoid. This place has been good to me, to us. I know it's just a place, yet I still feel a little pang when I think of it changing hands.
I want it to. But I don't. It's exciting to move; it's scary to move. We may not go anywhere, because perhaps no one else will see the charm and easy coziness of this small dwelling like I do... or we could get an offer this weekend, and set the wheels turning to start over again somewhere slightly south of the city.
I don't know how to feel, really. It's much easier to be callous than it is to actually care. I know that I am growing a tad weary of uncertainty, of tidying, of the daily reminders that I control nothing and must simply wait and pray and see.
It is hard to completely trust in God, but I'm doing my best. When we've been in challenging, uncertain times before this, Jesus has always shown up, and I'm going to see how He shows up in these circumstances, too.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
Why a guy must buy
There have been so many posts swimming around in my head of late. Things are still rather hectic here, for us at least (our lives are still only a fraction as hectic as everyone else we know, but that is intentional because no one in my home handles chaos very well, IMHO...) Throughout the days, though, I am mentally composing blog post after post.
I won't lie: most of these posts are not fit to write, let alone to display anywhere that is public. Many are rants, mostly about the economy, the culture, money, idealism, unreal expectations, and men in general. Those are the posts that I think about, plan half-heartedly, and then toss out. Nothing good will come of putting those thoughts on virtual paper.
However, here's one that seems to be acceptable—men and the need to pay for food. Why is this? I know it's a performance thing for a young man and a special young lady. Fellows like to be able to pay, or at least that used to be the standard. (That's not to say they always did that or were able to do that...but it was a preference for many.) In this day and age, honestly, I can imagine that many young women have just as much if not more means to cover a meal eaten out.
But I'm not talking about dates; I'm talking about friends. Guy pals who happen to have lunch, or get together for coffee or a drink or something. The guy I know best seems to always feel it is his job to pay. It doesn't matter which one of them initiated the occasion. It doesn't matter who the other man is. The friend could be incredibly comfortable, not struggling in any way, a well-to-do co-worker who's comfortably ensconced in his second or even third decade of cushy employment, a person who co-owns a successful business, etc. The whole thing could have been the other party's idea... and yet my hus wants to get the check.
Why is this?
I get together with gal pals and we happily Dutch treat every time. There is no awkwardness, no real arguing about whose responsibility it is. The important part of the meeting is that we're together. We're talking, sharing, laughing. It does not matter who's paying.
Is it only my fellow who is like this? Are all men? And is this need to pay a pride thing? I realize more and more every day how much pride motivates us all, and I am seeing how it's a powerful (and frequently destructive) force especially in men. How they are perceived by everyone around them, especially other men, is hugely important to them. So is that what drives this need to pay for others? To prove success, to show without doubt that they can and will "take care of it"? It feels like more than just a kind gesture when the recipient of the meal originally suggested it, and/or is obviously in a good place and does not require the favor in any way, shape, or form. I understand that it's a nice thing to do at any time, for anyone... but does that mindset outweigh common sense even if money and finances are more of a concern for the person who insists on paying?
Thoughts? I'd honestly welcome other feedback here; I've been accused of being tight-fisted.
I won't lie: most of these posts are not fit to write, let alone to display anywhere that is public. Many are rants, mostly about the economy, the culture, money, idealism, unreal expectations, and men in general. Those are the posts that I think about, plan half-heartedly, and then toss out. Nothing good will come of putting those thoughts on virtual paper.
However, here's one that seems to be acceptable—men and the need to pay for food. Why is this? I know it's a performance thing for a young man and a special young lady. Fellows like to be able to pay, or at least that used to be the standard. (That's not to say they always did that or were able to do that...but it was a preference for many.) In this day and age, honestly, I can imagine that many young women have just as much if not more means to cover a meal eaten out.
But I'm not talking about dates; I'm talking about friends. Guy pals who happen to have lunch, or get together for coffee or a drink or something. The guy I know best seems to always feel it is his job to pay. It doesn't matter which one of them initiated the occasion. It doesn't matter who the other man is. The friend could be incredibly comfortable, not struggling in any way, a well-to-do co-worker who's comfortably ensconced in his second or even third decade of cushy employment, a person who co-owns a successful business, etc. The whole thing could have been the other party's idea... and yet my hus wants to get the check.
Why is this?
I get together with gal pals and we happily Dutch treat every time. There is no awkwardness, no real arguing about whose responsibility it is. The important part of the meeting is that we're together. We're talking, sharing, laughing. It does not matter who's paying.
Is it only my fellow who is like this? Are all men? And is this need to pay a pride thing? I realize more and more every day how much pride motivates us all, and I am seeing how it's a powerful (and frequently destructive) force especially in men. How they are perceived by everyone around them, especially other men, is hugely important to them. So is that what drives this need to pay for others? To prove success, to show without doubt that they can and will "take care of it"? It feels like more than just a kind gesture when the recipient of the meal originally suggested it, and/or is obviously in a good place and does not require the favor in any way, shape, or form. I understand that it's a nice thing to do at any time, for anyone... but does that mindset outweigh common sense even if money and finances are more of a concern for the person who insists on paying?
Thoughts? I'd honestly welcome other feedback here; I've been accused of being tight-fisted.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Popping in to "crow" a little
Hey, I miss this thing! I have already thought of several posts that I'd like to write.
When my little world stops swirling so much, I will be back. I don't have any real news yet, but I figured I'd share my pal Roostie with you. I just finished him today. I hope to paint more soon, but life has suddenly become busier and it's just not happening.
Enjoy the unbelievable, almost frighteningly warm and sunny weather with which we've been blessed. It's weird, but it's good—for now, at least.
Wonder what's coming down the pike for summer...
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The future of Melmoirs
Joining the world of social media was never my goal when I started Melmoirs.
What was the goal? I suppose it was a challenge to myself. Did I really have that much to say? Was it worthy of recording? of sharing with others? And could I be disciplined enough to do it on a regular basis even amidst life's sometimes hectic pace? The answer has turned out to be yes, on all fronts. Yet now, as I look back, I wonder if I could have written a single, cohesive work within the hours I spent on Melmoirs. I believe I could have done that, or could have at least crafted a draft of some larger work in that time. Which is not to say that the blog hasn't served as a great writing format, and an excellent way for me to record thoughts and experiences during the first few years of my son's life. I am so thankful that I've kept this journal of sorts, and filled it with precious moments and glimpses into these first few years with our sweet boy.
I'm just not sure what direction the blog should take at this point, if any. And we—my family and I—are entering what I suspect will be an unpredictable time of upheaval; the plan to look for new digs and sell our home is no longer just an idea, but an imminent event (Lord willin' and our house sells), an event that's likely not too far in the future.
So, I'll be taking a break from the blog for a few weeks. Now begins a waiting period, to see whether I miss the blog, or whether I feel slight relief for the hiatus. I'll also be trying to focus my attention on a "real book" attempt that I began some time ago and then laid aside, to be picked up again when I had time... and so it goes. I must make time. The time will not come to me, nor the will, unless I am deliberately committed to the goal.
If you're a recent reader, I urge you to visit older entries. If you're a follower, simply remain one and you'll know if/when a "Melmoirs comeback" happens. I'll certainly be back at some point soon with and update and hopefully exciting news. Thank you, sincerely, for ever stopping by and actually reading what I've had to say over the months and years. I hope you stick around. This isn't goodbye by any means; I'm far too verbose to promise that!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Plumbing, human and otherwise
It's been a tortuous (and torturous) week-and-a-half here in our land. Stomach virus #487 entered my son last week, and then cruelly and deliberately made its evil way first into my husband's and then my own innards. All I can say is thank goodness for indoor plumbing. I'll stop there.
It's times like we've had here lately, when I'm lying prone and nauseous, that I ponder frontiersmen and women fending off similar illnesses 175 years ago. How in the world did they do it? Can you imagine the foul situation? Especially in winter? And how about those Ingalls sisters, all FOUR of them? You ladies know what happens to monthly cycles when multiple women share close quarters... A long winter, indeed. Oh my. I cannot fathom it.
These are the things I think about while I study the strange, amoebic shapes that slide back and forth across my closed eyelids, constantly changing form (another phenomenon that only occurs when I am ill). Aren't you glad that I'm feeling better today, so I can move on to more positive, encouraging thoughts? Hurray! Happy Friday!
It's times like we've had here lately, when I'm lying prone and nauseous, that I ponder frontiersmen and women fending off similar illnesses 175 years ago. How in the world did they do it? Can you imagine the foul situation? Especially in winter? And how about those Ingalls sisters, all FOUR of them? You ladies know what happens to monthly cycles when multiple women share close quarters... A long winter, indeed. Oh my. I cannot fathom it.
These are the things I think about while I study the strange, amoebic shapes that slide back and forth across my closed eyelids, constantly changing form (another phenomenon that only occurs when I am ill). Aren't you glad that I'm feeling better today, so I can move on to more positive, encouraging thoughts? Hurray! Happy Friday!
Monday, February 13, 2012
Not all advertising is underhanded
I know I'm a Mel-come-lately, and most of you have already enjoyed this. Just in case you haven't, here is what I I suspect was the highlight of the Grammy Awards (which I confess I did not watch, but heard about today).
This is awesome. I'll be patronizing this place soon:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMfSGt6rHos
Friday, February 10, 2012
The underhanded world of advertising
About a year ago, a new vitamin supply shop moved in on McKnight Road. The location is honestly not good, at an intersection but not highly visible; to make it worse, the parking lot is not obvious, so there appears to be little to no parking available for the new store. I watched the building grow, and its tenant move in and become operational. Yet I couldn't help noticing that within weeks of its big grand opening, there were huge "sale" banners flying madly out front.
I told my son that I gave it a few months at most, and then I predicted the store would close. I was frankly surprised that any lender would have funded a new building on the site, when there are myriad empty storefronts all along both sides of McKnight Road. It seemed downright foolhardy—the building and the business—especially considering that right up the road was at least one GNC location.
Well, apparently, the new vitamin store has hung in there. It's still open. It still sports the same sale banners, but it remains in business. And GNC isn't happy about this. They began the war by beginning to advertise on the large electronic billboard that sits, conveniently, right next to their new competitor. Each time we passed, there was a new GNC ad flashing periodically at just the same level as the other store's main sign. At first, GNC kept it innocent; they made heavy use of the billboard location, but maintained some class with a November/December Santa-themed campaign, which was actually sort of cute and eye-catching.
But now? GNC has gotten ugly. The latest round of ads is aimed directly at the new vitamin supplier. The old standby has targeted its younger competitor by creating snide one-liners that poke fun at the name of the newer shop. You sit at the stoplight, and you look at the new shop, likely struggling yet surviving, and then you see the GNC ads that make no apology about ridiculing the newcomer right in front of its face.
And I think that's rude. It's common, though—and it bothers me. I won't shop at Walgreen's, either, because they practice really obnoxious business tactics like building new stores directly across the street from other big-box drug stores. Not to mention they show no regard for ousting unrelated businesses that are already profiting in locations that Walgreen's finds to be desirable...but that's another story.
I guess this is why I shy away from the world of sales, especially among big, recognized brand names. Even if you sell a product you believe in, it seems that simply offering a good quality, reasonably priced item isn't enough any more. Now, you must be cutthroat. Now, in order to survive, you must be enemies with the other businesses who bear a resemblance to you.
Has it always been this way? It seems that towns used to be big enough for two general stores. Maybe they each had a niche; perhaps one offered a specialty item that the other did not, or received shipments of like items at different times. Has that changed? In this ever-available, increasingly cruel marketing world that caters to fickle consumerism, is it possible that unkind backstabbing is the only way to survive?
No. I refuse to believe that. I'm going to keep on intentionally shopping small, local, American-made companies that have morals and class. And when I am able to say "No" to the jerks? I'm gonna. I urge you to do the same. Vote with your dollars, even if it's a bit more expensive or slightly less convenient. If you're anything like me, you'll feel better about your choices.
I told my son that I gave it a few months at most, and then I predicted the store would close. I was frankly surprised that any lender would have funded a new building on the site, when there are myriad empty storefronts all along both sides of McKnight Road. It seemed downright foolhardy—the building and the business—especially considering that right up the road was at least one GNC location.
Well, apparently, the new vitamin store has hung in there. It's still open. It still sports the same sale banners, but it remains in business. And GNC isn't happy about this. They began the war by beginning to advertise on the large electronic billboard that sits, conveniently, right next to their new competitor. Each time we passed, there was a new GNC ad flashing periodically at just the same level as the other store's main sign. At first, GNC kept it innocent; they made heavy use of the billboard location, but maintained some class with a November/December Santa-themed campaign, which was actually sort of cute and eye-catching.
But now? GNC has gotten ugly. The latest round of ads is aimed directly at the new vitamin supplier. The old standby has targeted its younger competitor by creating snide one-liners that poke fun at the name of the newer shop. You sit at the stoplight, and you look at the new shop, likely struggling yet surviving, and then you see the GNC ads that make no apology about ridiculing the newcomer right in front of its face.
And I think that's rude. It's common, though—and it bothers me. I won't shop at Walgreen's, either, because they practice really obnoxious business tactics like building new stores directly across the street from other big-box drug stores. Not to mention they show no regard for ousting unrelated businesses that are already profiting in locations that Walgreen's finds to be desirable...but that's another story.
I guess this is why I shy away from the world of sales, especially among big, recognized brand names. Even if you sell a product you believe in, it seems that simply offering a good quality, reasonably priced item isn't enough any more. Now, you must be cutthroat. Now, in order to survive, you must be enemies with the other businesses who bear a resemblance to you.
Has it always been this way? It seems that towns used to be big enough for two general stores. Maybe they each had a niche; perhaps one offered a specialty item that the other did not, or received shipments of like items at different times. Has that changed? In this ever-available, increasingly cruel marketing world that caters to fickle consumerism, is it possible that unkind backstabbing is the only way to survive?
No. I refuse to believe that. I'm going to keep on intentionally shopping small, local, American-made companies that have morals and class. And when I am able to say "No" to the jerks? I'm gonna. I urge you to do the same. Vote with your dollars, even if it's a bit more expensive or slightly less convenient. If you're anything like me, you'll feel better about your choices.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)