three pet peeves

You know, this would be a great conversation starter. Anyone could think of three with very little effort. We're faced with all kinds of annoyances throughout the day. But which am I willing to reveal in a public domain?

Pet Peeve #1: Rudeness to service personnel. There is nothing more revealing than how a person treats other humans in the service industry. As William H. Swanson wrote in his 33 Unwritten Rules of Management, "If someone is nice to you but rude to the waiter, they are not a nice person." I must concur. It happens most frequently in restaurants, I suspect, but I've watched people behave badly in all sorts of settings. Certainly I've seen it at the library and at every college and university where I was employed. Some people just seem determined to be nasty, even if nothing about the situation warrants a war-like stance.

Pet Peeve #2: Rudeness from service personnel. This behavior always amazes me. Front-line customer service people can make or break a for-profit business. How does the business not have systems in place to drastically reduce the odds that there's a horrible person serving their customers? Then there's the government employee, that stereotypically cold, uncaring bureaucrat who relishes each roadblock between the customer and the customer's satisfaction. These people are so ubiquitous that people GUSH any time a government employee provides great customer service. I've been a government employee most of my life and I hear this from customers all the time. They're surprised that I'm kind to them! That's just sad.

Pet Peeve #3: My neighbors who celebrate happy moments by coming outside to shoot their guns in the air. Idiots.

What are your pet peeves?

my life in seven years

I'll be 64. So, of course, I'm hoping I'll have grandchildren named Vera, Chuck, and Dave. Who could ask for more?

Must I really think about this now? Oh, all right. Fine.

I'll be a little more relaxed because I'll have some retirement income. I hope I'll be traveling more. The end.

my commute, to and from work

My driving commute to work is fairly stress-free. I'm fourteen miles from work. It's a twenty-minute commute, mostly on multi-lane highways. It helps that I'm rarely driving to work during rush hour. And it also helps that I love to drive.

My real dilemma is that the light rail has extended close enough that I can take advantage of the well-lit park-n-ride and take the train in. It's a straight shot and there's a stop right in front of the library where I work. Why is this a dilemma, you might be wondering? I hate mass transit. I always have.

It takes longer. And sometimes there are delays. And I'm an absolute magnet for unwanted attention. But I should do it more often. I could reduce my carbon footprint and save money too. We even get a transit pass as a benefit! When I don't use it I feel like a whiny, spendthrift, Earth-hater. There's just no winning.

Coming home is a different story. I'm often in rush hour, bumper to bumper traffic. It's not horrible, but even I have to admit that coming home on the train beats driving! So ideally, I'd like to drive TO work and take the train home. But that would only work for one day, right?

two words/phrases that make me laugh

Language really turns me on. Fitting words together to paint a picture, or to express an emotion, really satisfies a need for me. Most of the time, I get the rush from some other writer’s words. But on rare occasions, I manage to put something on paper that pleases me. But what makes me laugh?

Indubitably. That word cracks me up. I can’t say it in a non-theatrical way. It always exits my mouth with a weird, Katharine Hepburn-like voice. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word seriously. It’s just a funny word to me.

Then there are hundreds of Southern words and phrases that make me laugh. Although I was born in North Carolina, the family returned to Japan before my first birthday. Five years later, we moved to Massachusetts. So I was just entering the fifth grade when we returned to the South. And there I stayed, more or less, for the next thirty-something years. I consider myself a Southerner, though I’ve lived in Yankee territory on four occasions and visited many more times. And I’ve been in Arizona for almost fifteen years. But I’m a Southern woman. And I’m proud to say that.

My all-time favorite Southern saying is “Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit.” It’s an expression of surprise and it never fails to crack me up when I hear it. I’ve never used it myself, verbally or in written form. But when I hear it (or read it), I know I’m communicating with a certain kind of Southerner – my favorite kind. Because you don’t hear this phrase from well-to-do, upper crust folk. No, only salt-of-the-earth, regular folk use this magical phrase. And I love them for it.

japanese soul food

Morning finds me looking at Japanese restaurants on Yelp. A friend is in Tokyo, posting photos of food and suddenly, I have to have some. It's the food of my childhood. My soul wants it as much as, if not more than, my stomach. I need Agedashi Tofu, my favorite.

The smell, the taste, the texture on my tongue, and the way it feels on my hashi (chopsticks) all combine to take me home to the tiny, warm space where I spent my days with Yamada-San while my parents taught English and Christian Studies at Kwansei Gakuin University in Nishinomiya.

Just entering the restaurant feels right. The smiles, the bows and the decor touch me in ways I can't explain. I'm not Japanese, but you can't tell my soul that! I feel a happy cry when I smell miso soup or see a bowl of sticky rice or taste a fresh slice of ginger. Today, I'm in search of something to feed my soul.

In addition to the tofu fried in tempura batter, I'll have Oyaka Donburi, green tea and ginger ice cream for desert. Yes. That should do it!

relationships

"Your current relationship; if single, discuss that too"

Nope. Not gonna do it. He doesn’t like it when I write about us. Instead, I’ll tell you about relationships, both fictional and real, that I am amazed by, amused by, or inspired by.

I favor relationships in which there is a balance of power. I have never seen a thriving, healthy relationship in which this was lacking. When one person has no power or significantly less power, they’re almost always unhappy in the relationship. They may stay with it, but the unhappiness shows, no matter how hard they try to hide it.

I know religious couples who insist that they’ve chosen a dominant husband dynamic because the Bible told them to do it that way. I see that playing out three ways:

• The husband is aggressive and selfish. The wife and children are miserable and are helpless to make any sort of change. I see this in varying degrees. In some cases, the husband is a bit oblivious and the wife is passively resigned to her fate. Either way, ugh.
• The husband is meek and is following the wife’s lead. Both agree to pretend he’s in charge. It’s obvious to all but the most unobservant that the wife is in charge. And the husband is secretly miserable. 
• The husband is careful to consider the needs and desires of all family members and would never move forward knowing his decision would leave his wife bitter or miserable. The wife speaks clearly about her needs and desires and truly supports her husband in every decision he makes because she knows her happiness is of critical importance to her husband. Husband and wife are actually partners.

Regardless of religious beliefs, I think strong partners are those who are a close match in intelligence, wit, and heart. It helps if they have similar morals and ideas about behavior. But mostly I think they need to have a strong desire to work towards mutual happiness. Jealousy and bitterness are a death knell to happiness, so trust and trustworthiness are absolutely necessary if a couple is going to thrive.

So, here are the healthiest relationships I’ve observed:

• My cousin Becky and her husband, Bob. I first became aware of the beauty of their partnership when I watched them parent together. They are, to me, the most evenly yoked couple I’ve ever seen. They each invest energy in making sure the other is thriving. I’m sure they’ve had challenges along the way. But I believe their commitment to each other is absolute.
• My friends, John & Claudia. They each had previous unsuccessful marriages. They spent a lot of time working through their own issues. I attended their wedding when I was very young – 19 or 20. They walked down the aisle together, holding hands. I loved the symbolism of that bold choice. This was 1977, I think. Then they had written their own vows, which were full of raw truth. I was so impressed with their partnership. 
• My father and stepmother. I’ve spent a lot of time with these two. Their partnership is solid. It’s built on the expectation that each will speak up – clearly and unashamedly – about their own thoughts and desires. Each takes ownership of their own feelings. Each is quick to apologize for any wrong-doing. Each supports the other without reservation.

Fictional relationships I’ve loved, healthy or not:

"Sister" Husband and Mr. Sprock in Where the Heart Is. They’re not married, but they’re clearly strong partners. “Dear Lord, we ask that you bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. And we ask forgiveness, Lord, for the fornication that Mr. Sprock and me committed this morning on this very table.” These two have settled into life and are relaxed and happy.

Armand Goldman (Robin Williams) and Albert (Nathan Lane) in The Birdcage. Each partner is a mess, but they love and support each other through thick and thin. Albert: “Oh yes, another jibe, another joke at my expense. You were probably laughing at me with Katherine, too. Well, why not? I'm not young, I'm not new, and everyone laughs at me. I'm quite aware of how ridiculous I am. I've been thinking that the only solution is to go where no one is ridiculous and everyone is equal.” Armand: “What a pain in the ass you are. And it's true: you're not young, you're not new, and you do make people laugh. And me? I'm still with you because you make me laugh.”

Denys Finch Hatton (Robert Redford) and Karen Blixen (Meryl Street) in Out of Africa. These two handled some difficult circumstances. Each character was fierce and their romance was once-in-a-lifetime passionate. Had he not died, I think they might have grown old together.

Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn) and C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant) in The Philadelphia Story. Humor is important in any relationship. This quirky pair proves it. 

Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) in Brokeback Mountain. I had to have one ill-fated couple. They could have been an amazing couple, had they found each other under different circumstances. 

Shoot. That makes me think of my other favorite ill-fated couple - Francesca Johnson and Robert Kincaid in Bridges of Madison County. Again, under different circumstances, they would have grown old together. Francesca's hand on the door handle as she contemplates running away with Robert, is one of the most emotional movie moments I've ever seen.

John Dunbar and Stands With a Fist in Dances With Wolves. Watching their love story from their first meeting to the film’s final frames is a wonderful experience. I confess I’ve watched this movie dozens of times. It never gets old. 

My favorite movie couple will always be Norman and Ethel Thayer (Henry Fonda and Katharine Hepburn) in On Golden Pond. They are completely devoted to each other and each is terrified of losing the other. But it’s their sweet humor that tells me of their love. Norman: “There’s someone at the door.” Ethel: “It’s me, you old poop!” I love Ethel and Norman.

Well, that’s it. As soon as I publish this, I’ll think of ten more movie couples. And at least one real life couple. I’d love to hear from you. What fictional or real life couples did you think of while you were reading this?

a fruit I dislike and why

I can’t think of one. Hold on a sec while I Google “list of fruits.”

Okay, I can safely say that I like all fruit I’ve ever tried. So this post will not be very exciting. Unless I change it to memorable fruit depictions in film. Let me Google that.

Can I just say that my plan was to cycle through a bunch of crazy fruit ideas, each of which would reach a dead end, so I could close this post with “I give up"? I was thinking that would be funny. But I underestimated my first crazy idea. OF COURSE there are bunches of fruit depictions in film! (Bunches. Tee hee. Snort.) Why wouldn’t there be? Heck, there’s a whole list with just apples!

There’s that warm apple pie in American Pie. There’s the poisoned apple in Snow White. And Hollywood loves to have cocky dudes chomp down on an apple while they’re saying something cocky. Did one of these guys just pop into your head? Malvoy in Harry Potter. Jack Sparrow (Captain Jack Sparrow) in Pirates of the Caribbean. Or James T. Kirk (as a young man) in J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek? And how many hogs on a platter have you seen with apples in their mouths?

But what about the orange? In The Godfather, Marlon Brando has a piece of orange peel in his mouth as he chases his grandson around the garden, just before his demise. Apparently, the appearance of an orange is often a presage of impending death. The Godfather movies are littered with oranges. And other directors have paid homage to director Francis Ford Coppola by using oranges in their films, usually just prior to something awful happening: Requiem For a Dream; Point Break; and Children of Men. Even television directors use the orange=death/disaster trope. Breaking Bad; Big Love and The Wire. Even Family Guy gets the orange treatment. All I can say is if you’re watching a movie or TV and somebody breaks out an orange, hold on to your hats!

Other fruits are not as ubiquitous. Dates almost poison Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Arc. A banana is plugged into a car’s exhaust pipe in Beverly Hills Cop. Charles Bronson gets pretty darn mad when someone messes with his watermelons in Mr. Majestyc.

Even movie titles are full of fruit. Clockwork Orange. (That’s one of the few movies I wish I’d never seen. Aha! We found a fruit I don’t like!) Under the Cherry Moon. The Grapes of Wrath. Bananas. James and the Giant Peach. The Lemon Sisters. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit. Pineapple Express. What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? The Apple Dumpling Gang.

Some of those were adapted from books. How about other fruity books? The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. (Yesterday, a coworker at the library showed me a book entitled Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim, another classic being given a zombie twist. I suppose it was inevitable after the success of the Jane Austen zombie mashups.) Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café. (Towanda!!!!) A Raisin in the Sun. And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake.

Well, I think that’s enough about fruit. Just remember this quote by I don’t know who: Knowledge is knowing that tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.

ageism

When I was in my early thirties, a fiftyish co-worker offered me a ride back to my building, as a light rain had begun to fall as we emerged from a meeting. I gratefully accepted, then followed her up and down multiple aisles of the closest parking lot as the rain gradually increased in volume. Finally, she remembered her car was in the next lot over. Already soaked, I cut my losses and walked to my building. As I walked, I promised myself that I would not allow myself to be so ditzy when I got old. My 57-year-old self laughs at that younger me.

I don’t remember things as well as I once did. There are daily reminders that I’m no spring chicken. But I’m still perfectly capable of working hard, completing projects, and producing high-quality results. There are moments, however, when a younger colleague will either patiently explain something I already know or simply take over because I’m not moving fast enough for them. There is an expectation of ignorance and a degree of impatience that I don’t think would be there if my hair wasn’t gray.

Ageism sucks. Preconceived notions are dangerous in any form. But finding an appropriate response is tricky. In a setting where group cohesiveness is important, setting yourself apart by calling attention to something that only you will understand is a problem, could have the opposite effect from your intent.

Job-hunting can be fraught with peril. I suspect my resume has been tossed several times because reviewers did a quick calculation in their heads. I can’t prove that. But I know it happens. Do you alter your resume? Some say yes. Others say no, because if they’re going to discriminate, they’ll do it at the interview.

There was a time in history when older adults were revered. But in our youth-worshipping culture, replete with facelifts, boob jobs, Juvederm, Botox and a sick obsession with skinny, how can one hope to be taken seriously? The answer is dogged determination. One must stick around long enough to gain clout. And if that seems like a lost cause, one must uproot and look for better soil conditions.

“You have no idea how tenacious I can be,” a mentor once taught me to say in situations where I knew my cause was just. Instead of saying it, I must now demonstrate it. That I can do. Even if I get rained on.

a book I love and one I don’t

I first read The Women’s Room by Marilyn French when I was in my twenties. It’s a wonderful novel about Mira, a 1950’s housewife who experiences the enlightenment of the early Women’s movement. The absolute best part of the book is the detailed descriptions of the mechanics of keeping house and raising children in those days. I was born in 1958, but most of what she described was foreign to me.

Unfortunately, the horrible treatment of women depicted in this work of fiction is not foreign to me as it still goes on today. Until patriarchy gives way to a more just societal framework, it will continue. I believe this novel should be required reading for all young people.

A book I don’t love? You know what? I enjoy writing challenges. They give me ideas. And sometimes the forced topic leads me to think about things I otherwise wouldn’t have. So I’ll stick with it, even if I don’t want to. But the rebel in me just doesn’t care to revisit books I didn’t love. So I’m listing a few more I loved instead. Ha!

Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle. All of them. These chapter books were my favorites when I was a child. The madcap cures to wonderfully exaggerated problem children tickled my funny bone. I desperately wanted to meet Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle. My favorite cures included The Slow-Eater-Tiny-Bite-Taker Cure, The Fraidy-Cat Cure and The Whisperer. I saw one of the books at the library recently. Still magical!

Sue Grafton‘s alphabet mystery series, which starts with A is for Alibi. I adore her passionate, plucky private detective Kinsey Millhone. The first twenty-three in the series (A through W) are fabulous. X is really odd. I’m hoping Y will be a return to her best.

Bettyville is a wonderful novel I just finished recently. It tells the story of a man who has returned home to care for an aging parent. He can’t seem to make himself leave. The story will resonate for those who have experienced aging parents.

Ntozake Shange's poetry is amazing. Go read some. Now. Start with Nappy Edges.

Gods and Generals, and the two companion pieces The Killer Angels and The Last Full Measure may be the best Civil War books I’ve ever read. Michael Shaara is the author of the second book (which was actually written first.) His son, Jeff wrote the first and third books. Just spectacular.

Another female mystery solver, Kate Shugak, is featured in the Alaska-themed series by Dana Stabenow. All of them are excellent.

ANYTHING by Anne Tyler. That isn’t a book title. I mean, read any book written by Anne Tyler. You’ll thank me later, just as I thank Dr. J. Griffin Campbell for telling me about this amazing author. Her character development skills cannot be overstated.

ANYTHING by Toni Morrison. Her words sing.

I’ll stop there. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.

Nope. One more. Susan Faludi's Backlash:The Undeclared War Against American Women is a must read for progressives.

my tattoos

Janis Joplin died in 1970, just a few weeks before my 12th birthday. To say that I adored her is to immeasurably understate my feelings. Just as I had, a few years earlier, imagined that I would grow up to marry Davy Jones of the Monkees, I now had an elaborate plan for becoming a member of Janis Joplin's band. Her death was devastating to me.

But I knew how I could permanently commemorate Janis Joplin's life. I'd seen a picture of her wearing a choker necklace with a red, wooden, heart-shaped bead at the center. I would have that red heart tattooed on my upper chest, just where that bead touched her throat. I visited a tattoo parlor in Gainesville, Georgia, our home at the time. There were two obstacles. I needed $25 and because I admitted my age, I needed a parent or guardian to sign a release form. I felt this would be the perfect birthday gift from Mom to me. Surprisingly, she did not agree!

My poor mother tolerated my hounding, cajoling, crying, begging and what I can only call HISSY FITS for the next six months. But on the subject of a red, heart-shaped tattoo on her daughter's throat, she was firm. The answer was no. And it stayed no. In fact, after a while, she refused to engage with me on the subject. I remember following her around the house asking, "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" as she pretended I was invisible. I was relentless. She was unyielding.

Eventually, I gave up.

I have no tattoos. And I'm so very glad that I don't have a heart-shaped tattoo on my throat.