bargain hunting

The Costco magazine often offers a recipe so before I recycle it, I flip through the pages. 

This month my eyes wandered to an article featuring an interview with Clark Howard related to his most recent publication Living Large in Lean Times.  I'd never heard of him before and thought, 

 {hey, he might reveal a useful tip or two...}

 I didn't make it past the first question.

The interviewer asks: 

What do you say to the person who says, "I don't have time to go bargain hunting?

Clark Howard says:

I would say, 

"Are you occupying every hour of your day every day of the week?"  

If you look at time as productive hours, the hours we're awake, we're truly not productive all of them.  

There's downtime, there's leisure time...that's time that we can productively put to work saving money.

{um, are you for real?!?}

Listen, I am all for saving money.  

I am all for finding ways to incorporate bargain hunting strategies into my lifestyle.  

However, Howard's glib response to the valid feeling an average person has about life's time constraints leaves a great deal to be desired.  

His response is unbounded and out of balance.  

It is not reasonable for one to spend every awake minute accomplishing the essential tasks for daily living AND bargain hunting.  

Play is important.

Relationships are important.

Relaxation, recuperation, and recreation are important.

{Peanut gallery, any thoughts?}

a case against the (aging) man

www.smurf.com

Have you ever noticed that many popular cartoons cast an aging man as antagonist?

{kind of like feature-length Disney films cast witch-y women...}

When I started thinking about it this morning, I realized this has been the case for cartoons over a number of decades, not just the cartoons made since my kiddo has been watching television.  

Just off the top of my head I can think of:

The Smurfs

Dennis the Menace

Fairly Odd Parents

Sponge Bob Squarepants

Phineas and Ferb

Looney Tunes (think: Elmer Fudd)

This particular antagonist characterization serves well for plot advancement and humor, meeting general appeal across generations but I begin to wonder about the impact {if any} it has on our kiddos as cartoon consumption increases.  Consumption in overall screen time, as well as show quantity. 

Before the hyper-cable options, DVR, Netflix, DVD box sets, and streaming videos on the internet, we had to wait for weekly installments of our favorite shows and the number of overall choices was definitely more limited.  One might argue the former rate of exposure allowed for a more distinct line between real-life and fantasy.  I wonder, on the other hand, if increased screen time combined with the present ability to watch shows in a marathon fashion,  impacts a child's {or adult's, for that matter} ability to delineate between fact and fiction. 

I wonder if it impacts one's expectations for the people in their lives and the roles those people play?

I am sure numerous cartoons provide a counterpoint to my observation but this morning, as my kiddo watched Phineas and Ferb, I started thinking about the meta-message(s) hiding in the belly of this casting choice.  In a time when we are trying to encourage children to identify adults as allies, we have numerous media examples where adults, especially adult men, are not to be trusted.  

What do you think?

i told you so

This morning I had a date to the bagel store with our eldest.

"Ooooh, a marble bagel," he exclaims, "that looks delicious!"

 {Bud, the brown in a marble bagel is pumpernickel, not chocolate, I say.}

 "I don't care. I really really want one."

The bagel guy stood shaking his head but the boy's resolve remained undeterred.

{Okay, but you will need to eat it in its entirety...even if you don't like it.}

"No problem!" he declares.

Within one nibble, he discovered that marble bagels look better than they taste.

That was three hours ago.

One self-prescribed 90-minute rest, two errands, 30 minutes of pleading, and the resolution of "a tummy ache" later, he has problem solved a way to hold true to his end of the bargain: 

toasted, buttered, and loaded with cream cheese.

Now we sit at the dining room table. 

He is staring at his choice and I am trying really hard not to say:

{I told you so}

the economic value of sentiment

When my Oma died, I acquired her off-white writing cabinet.

It's a bit ugly, the knobs are a bit stripped, and the drawers are a bit wonky.

But Oma used to use it.

In fact, I can still envision her sitting at its open mouth, writing letters, paying her bills, and watching the news out of the corner of her eye.

After Oma died, a gaggle of us gathered at her house and sorted through her things.

Decades of accumulation.  A record of mental decline.  Secrets and family history.

Anyone who has gone through this process knows that "emotional" doesn't even begin to describe the experience.

An inevitable byproduct of this sorting process was a divvying up of Oma's belongings.

We each had our things: the items that held memories and little pieces of our hearts. Our souls.

The items that held our wish for life to remain as it was.  

Unchanged.

It's how I came to own this cabinet and the dusty bouquet of silk flowers sitting in the dining room; 

her paintings adorn our apartment's walls.

Looking at these items now, I recall the intensity of feelings I had when we were all together.

Sorting.  Remembering.  Claiming.

The intensity of feeling competitive and jealous and vulnerable.  Of feeling loss and grief and fear.

To lay claim to take something having belonged to her meant having to put into words the value it maintained...for me.  

Could my words be adequate enough to convey its value?  

Could my words be eloquent enough to trump the value maintained by another?

What currency are words?  Feelings?  Memories?

A while back some friends and I joked that we should write a manual for how to navigate the process of sorting and divvying belongings after a loved one's death.  We talked about how awesome it would be if we could develop a rubric for determining the economic value of sentiment and market it

as a tool for use in these complex family situations.  

We laughed about it over the remnants of brunch but I think about it often when I look at the cabinet.

Whose value to me is:

Priceless.