Let's Facebook It

Four things jumped out at me from my Facebook page this week.

"Descent into Hell"

First, there was a story about how plastics, which are indestructible, are helping to destroy our planet, and what we can do to eliminate them from our daily lives.

Next, there was how the Japanese nuclear power plant that exploded in 2011 continues to wreak havoc on the Pacific Ocean.

Then we had the announcement of the discovery of seven Earth-like planets that are only 40 light years away. Let's all dance around the May Pole! We can make a toilet of the Earth, then just hop into a rocket ship and go trash a bunch of new planets. Hot diggety.

The fourth item was in my Facebook feed as a suggested site. It was for an office supply store, and the featured item was an "Eco-Bug Urinal Enzyme Tablet." It looks like a green, hockey puck-shaped piece of clay. It is sold as a one pack.

I've no idea what I did to make Facebook think that such an item would be on my shopping list, but I was intrigued. Was there something about this particular bit of paraphernalia that would tie it to my personal interests? I needed to investigate.

The Commercial Eco-Bug Urinal is a waterless system with touch-free operation. Apparently, you can slap this bad boy up on any wall anywhere, add your enzyme tablet, and away you go. Who knew?

In spite of my research, I was not able to find any link to my personal needs. It was just a random occurrence.

Much like my rant today, my Facebook page was a snapshot of our crazy world, how we are destroying it and how many of us are doing the little things we can to try and save it.

When do you suppose the rocket ship tickets will go on sale? Ironically, it will likely be the richest of the rich, those folks who have wrought the most destruction on our planet, who will be the first in line for their place in the new world.

Maybe it's time for me to pull the plug on my Facebook page.

Penny-Wise

So, here I am again, sorting through my coupon holder. Getting rid of the expired ones. Adding a few new varieties.

And it occurs to me, for like the thousandth time, that it's not the best use of my time. I mean, if I save twenty-five cents on a $15 package of toilet paper, am I really coming out ahead?

Granted, there are one or two coupons I actually use, and if I work it just right, I might save a few dollars at Target. But again, is the juice worth the squeeze, as they say?

I still have vivid memories of my mom putting her hard-earned Top Value and Eagle Stamps into books. She'd get out her spongy moistener and paste away until she had enough books put aside to buy something really great. A hassock comes to mind. Maybe a lamp. Both of which are arguably worth saving for.

At the other end of the spectrum, there are Chucky Cheese tickets which, after investing $30 in the games for your child, nets you a cup with a picture of the giant rat and his band of malevolent merry makers on it.

Everyone loves a bargain, of course, but let the buyer beware. Nothing works like it does in those "As Seen on TV" ads. E-Bay is hit or miss. I've gotten some great stuff there that I couldn't have gotten anywhere else. I've also gotten the wrong size shoes, the not-as-pictured edition of a book and a neck chain with a finish that wore off after two weeks.

But there is something cool about ordering online or through the mail and waiting for that special something to arrive. Who among us can resist the siren song of the sea monkeys? Or the most comfortable bra/slippers/bathrobe you will ever own? Or that one fabulous thing (fill in the blank) that will make you loved/beautiful/happy?

Ah, well.

As I always do, I will sort my coupons and stuff them back into the holder, which takes up an inordinate amount of space in my purse.

But I know, the next time I get to the store, I'll be singing a different tune when I pull out that $1.00 off coupon for toothpaste.

Until I realize it expired three days ago.

So Glad We Met

This week the Metropolitan Museum of Art announced that they have put 375,000 images online for use by the public.

Van Gogh's "Road in Etten"

These images have been deemed copyright-free, and may be used for either personal or commercial purposes. Here's where one can get started:

http://www.metmuseum.org/about-the-met/policies-and-documents/image-resources

I decided to toodle through the website and take a gander.

The collection hosts a wide array of art, including (but certainly not limited to) illuminati from the 12th century, works from major artists like Monet and Van Gogh and ancient Egyptian jewelry. Some of the works are on display in the museum, but many are not accessible to the public. 

The database is searchable by artist and theme. I tried "cats" and got 27,851 results. And 9,925 for "jewelry." Alas, a search for "gnomes" brought up just three -- and only one of them was legitimate. (Their search results seem a little wonky.)

18th Century Porcelain

I'm looking forward to taking an hour or two and exploring their catalogue. At first blush, it is by no means a comprehensive collection of any one artist or media, but rather, an eclectic assortment whose only common thread is the ability to live in the public domain.

See? The internet can be a wonderful place.

Of Boulders and Birds and Kumbaya

"It has been quite a week," said I to myself on Wednesday morning.

Monday we awoke to seven something inches of snow, binding us to the homestead. The following day, there was more of the white stuff, just enough to mess up the roads, not enough to keep us home.

Then I got to Wednesday. I peered cautiously out my window. Cool, no more snow. Relief. Just to be sure, I did a little Reiki, calling on the higher powers to protect us during the day. Feeling better, I headed out into the world to start my workday.

I got in the car, turned it on, looked up and groaned. It's my fault, really, for complaining that a snow plow had not done any serious work on our street all week. There, in my apron, were ice boulders. There was no way Ella (yes, I named my car) or Little Blue (yes, I named my son's car) were going to make it over that hurdle.

Time for Girl Power! I could do this, yes I could.

I turned off the car and went back into the house to get the shovel. Coming down the back steps for the second time, my feet flew out from under me, and I went down the stairs on my back.

At this point, I looked heavenward and said, "Really? This is how you help me?"

Gingerly, I got up, did an inventory of the parts of my body that sustained the blows, and decided no real harm had been done. Off to the apron to shovel boulders.

A few moments into the procedure, a gentleman who lives across and down the street from us (whom I'd never met) came over and asked if I needed a hand. And proceeded to do half the work for me. We shoveled in silence, and I thanked him profusely. He was not a big talker, but he was a huge help, and I was very grateful.

I looked heavenward again. "Okay," said I. "I get it. Thanks."

After I put the shovel back in the house and headed down the steps for the third time, I looked over to the tree behind our house and saw a large bird sitting there. Intrigued, I first navigated the stairs safely, then walked over and looked up. I had a difficult time photographing him because it was very cloudy and grey that morning, but I think it might have been a falcon. We don't live far from the MetroParks, so that's probably where he lives when he's not hanging out in our backyard.

I had a moment with the bird of prey, who ignored me and continued pecking at the tree branch.

I'm not sure if he was some kind of omen or just a happy diversion that morning, but I thought it was cool having him around.*

And it did get me to thinking. A lot of people have questioned the existence of a higher power, given all that has been happening lately.

Maybe, like a good parent, the powers that be are saying, "You made this mess, now you clean it up."

Ah, there's the rub. What can one person do to make a difference?

I voted responsibly, signed petitions, did the march and made contributions to organizations that I believed could help. Still, the madness continues.

What else is a person supposed to do?

Maybe help a neighbor shovel her apron.

I don't know what my neighbor's political affiliations are. All I know is he was there when I needed him.

And maybe that's all any of us can do -- be there and lend a hand to each other as needed.

No, I'm not going to break out in a chorus of Kumbaya.

Although it will probably be playing in my head all day. And now yours, too.

You're welcome.



*Mr. Ginley, of course, believes it's some sort of Super Bowl prediction.
 

The Diamond Man's Legacy

Once upon a time in a land long ago...

Well, actually, it was over 36 years ago in a locally owned chain of jewelry stores owned by Larry J.B. Robinson.

I was out of a job, having quit my prior position after only 8 days. My husband at the time was nervous about bills and such (with good reason), and I had poured through the want ads in search of gainful employment. My skill set at that time was secretarial/clerical.

I called and was granted an interview. The offices were located downtown in the Schofield Building. Up to the seventh floor I went to meet with the woman in Personnel.

Tests were taken, interviews conducted. Then I sat and waited. And waited. Eventually, my interviewer came out and told me that the position I had applied for was filled. But they really liked my credentials, and would I be interested in a different position?

Sure. So, I was interviewed by a pair of men from accounting. One was the comptroller (Rob), the other his boss (Don). It was clear to me that Rob didn't feel he needed a secretary, but Don did.

They made an interesting pair.

Don grilled me about my relatively short work history. Before my ill-fated 8-day job, I'd been a receptionist then secretary for three years for a construction company. Prior to that, I'd worked at the print shop at my high school. I pointed out that I was part of a program whereby I went to school half a day and worked half a day. Don's response was, "When I was in high school, I went to school all day and worked all night."

Okay...coming out of the interview, I had no idea if I was in or out.

The next day, I found out I was in. And so it began.

J.B. Robinson Jewelers provided me with an amazing work experience. Over the course of the six years I was there, I went from being a secretary in accounting to working in print production in Advertising. My co-workers were the best of the best. It was a true work family, complete with sibling rivalry and an "I've got your back" attitude. Not an easy place to work, but if you wanted to be challenged personally and professionally, JBR was your kind of place.

When I was burnt out in Accounting and considering leaving, my boss's boss called me into his office for a chat. He asked what I wanted to do.

"Advertising," said I.

So, off to the land of make-believe went I. To do whatever needed to be done. Including peppy newsletters about top sales achievers and collecting polling results from stores about what radio stations our customers listened to. I had my first experiences with writing copy. And working Managers Meetings, including creating catchy lyrics for songs that were sung during the events. I worked on the company newsletter, The Ringleader. Wrote radio copy for Larry Robinson. Managed special promotions while Judy was on maternity leave. And did whatever anyone needed me to do.

It was challenging and harrowing and amazing. The people I met influenced me in ways that would stick with me for always.

And leading the charge was Larry Robinson. A graduate of the Harvard Business School, Larry had not planned on running his father's jewelry store. But when his dad passed away, he stepped up and took it on. He built a single store into a chain of locations. He espoused the golden rule. He hid behind planters in malls and paid passers-by to shop in our store and come back and report to him on their experience. There were store people who left the company in tears because they didn't get it right. He was a hard ass. But when the dust settled, those who remained were some of the best salespeople around.

I've been thinking about all of this because yesterday one of the best from JBR retired from my current company. Paul was one of the few remaining who survived two acquisitions, landing at the home office as a vice president. His retirement party lasted two hours, with speaker after speaker sharing funny and touching stories about his achievements and his mentoring skills. There was a lot of laughter and an equal number of tears. Personally, I worked with Paul more in the last few years than I had for most of the time he was with the company. We had fallen into a comfortable pattern of information-sharing that worked well. And I will miss him. Selfishly, what I will miss, too, is that link to JBR.

During the proceedings yesterday, I could feel Larry Robinson's presence. His legacy. I felt like Paul passed on that torch to a number of people. It made me sad and happy all at once.

I still strive to live up to the JBR standards. I can't help it, I still really care about what I do. I want to get it right for our customers.

Someday, when it's my turn to walk away, I hope there are a few people who take up the torch. Who do it the right way. The JBR way.

In the meantime, I will do my best to keep the torch lit.

Girl Power

"We should go for a walk tomorrow," said Mr. Ginley.

"I know just the thing," said I.

And so, this morning, we shared a packed Rapid Transit car with a few dozen other marchers in the Cleveland contingent of the Women's March.

We reached Public Square in time to gather with thousands of other marchers and began the procession up Ontario Street, past City Hall, across Lakeside Avenue, down East 9th Street and back along Superior Avenue to the Square.

The crowd was friendly, focused and peaceful. But make no mistake, under the veneer of civility, these folks were frustrated as hell. Something we all shared.

And that, for me was the beauty of it.

Having witnessed the reprehensible behavior of this country's new president, I was dismayed and discouraged. Attending today's march made me feel that I'm not alone. That these thousands of other souls who showed up to put their feet to pavement shared my grief and determination to rise above the current quagmire.

As for my husband, how did he feel about all of this?

He said he was so moved, that for the first half hour he could barely speak. He stopped several women and asked if we could photograph their signs. He shook the hands of the police officers who lined the route, thanking them for being there. And he stood by my side and held my hand, as we walked the streets of Cleveland in support of women, minorities, the disabled, those who are new to our country, and in support of the land itself and the climate we all share.

It was exhilarating. I am still feeling the joy, the camaraderie, the peace, the love. Call me a feminist. Call me a hopeless liberal. Call me whatever you like.

Today I walked with giants. And felt 10 feet tall.

P.S. The weather was a balmy 60 degrees and sunny in the last half of January in northeastern Ohio. I take that as a nod from the highest powers that our cause was just and right.

Sickening

The ability to breathe is underrated.

In. Out. In. Out. Unless you have asthma or COPD or suchlike, no one thinks about breathing. There are no sonnets devoted to the constant work your body does to bring you oxygen. Oh sure, the heart and stomach get plenty of attention, but the respiratory system, not so much. Nobody gives breathing a second thought.

Until they get a sinus cold.

On the first day, when things were getting drippy but I didn't feel too crummy yet, I walked into the conference room with a box of tissues. I sat at one end of the table, the other attendees lined up on the other. "Unclean, unclean," I called, as the bible proscribes. No one was amused.

Yes, I realize you're not supposed to go to work when you're not feeling well. But half of the people there have either the respiratory thing or the stomach thing. The other half have already had one or both. And the creeping crud lasts a week or more. Plus, I took one day off to help with the recovery, but the process is slow.

And the worst part is, you have to breathe through your mouth. The nose is totally out of commission, first because it's a faucet, then because the sinus passages are swollen and nothing is getting in or out. Cold medicine might work for, like, five minutes. Vicks Vapo Rub helps a little. (This was my mom's go-to back in the day.) Halls cough drops are somewhat helpful. Tea soothes. But mostly, it's just a matter of time. In about a week, if one is lucky, one is once again able to smell the good, the bad and the ugly.

And you think, "Wow, I'll never take breathing for granted again." That's the stage where I am now. I walk into the brisk outdoor air, close my eyes, get a snootful and think it's grand.

I know it won't last. In another week, I'll be doing the air-in, air-out thing without a second thought.

But before I become blasé, I'd just like to send up a big "thank you" to the heavens above for the ability to breathe freely.

It's a real treat.

Hey, what's that smell, spray some Glade, would you?