Category: A View from the Soapbox

Kangaroo babies live in pockets. Many politicians live in pockets. Mother kangaroos are very protective of the babies in their pockets. Special interest groups are very protective of the politicians in their pockets. In either case, the owner of the pocket will likely eviscerate whomever messes with the pocket dweller.  Hmmm…maybe it’s the special interests that live in the pockets of the politicians?  Overall, I think kangaroos are the best bet!

I actually think that some of our modern childcare devices may contribute to the reported increase in children “on the spectrum”. Years ago most babies were in mom’s arms, on mom’s hip, or in her lap. Mom’s warmth, breathing, and heartbeat were readily felt. Plastic baby carriers, while convenient for parents, create a disconnect. After 9 months of being and feeling part of the mother, today’s babies are deprived of that level of maternal closeness that once followed babies out of the womb and into the world.

The hour rapidly approaches wherein we will snuggle in our beds and pretend we will actually get that extra hour somehow. (Daylight Savings Time or not, we will still have the exact amount of daylight tomorrow that we did today. That is just how it works!)
Daylight Savings Time was implemented in the U.S. back in 1966. People have since complained about how it gets dark so early in the evening during winter. But I remember as a child, before the big change, that nighttime was magical. Streetlights and store lights would glitter, houses would glow with the warmth of electric lights streaming from the windows. And the best part of all was that, no matter what the weather, it was never dreary in the evening after dark. It was just night! The bleak gray of winter days would be replaced by the gaiety of those lights. And the moon would cast a romantic spell over snow that may have appeared gray and dingy in daylight.
How I miss that childhood wonderment which so simply provided beauty!

My mom’s stepmom was a feisty, colorful woman who made it quite clear to me, when I was very young, not to call her “grandma” since she had never given birth to anyone. After my grandpa’s death, she moved back into the foothills of Appalachia in central Ohio and lived a country life complete with sheep in the yard, ducks incubating on the pot-belly stove, and chickens in and out of the kitchen when the door was open. Because I was an only child and a spoiled brat (although it only really worked with my softie mom), my step grandmother would aim to stop my tantrums by saying, “The more you cry, the less you pee.” This was NOT a viable threat to a five-year old city kid who was terrified of spiders and outhouses!!
On visits “down home”, decisions about which relative we would stay with were largely influenced by whose home had the most modern bathroom facilities (as I said, the tantrums were fairly effective with my mom). In earlier years, I wanted to stay with the uncle and aunt who had a bathroom in the basement. Despite the fact that a variety of spiders lurked in that bathroom, at least they were visible due to the electric lights. My other uncle’s home still had an outhouse at that time where the spiders could lurk in the dark. When we visited there, my mom would take me outdoors after dark to go in the grass (never once bothering to tell me about the fact that insects — including spiders — lurked in the grass). Chamber pots (anyone familiar with those?) were actually a preferable alternative for a small child. But when that uncle installed an indoor bathroom on the first floor, guess which home suddenly became the visit spot of choice?!
Navigating barnyards was another challenge for a wimpy city girl. One aunt would send me out to gather vegetables from the garden, which was largely unsuccessful due to tomato worms (ever seen one of those? — Yikes!!) The next task was to gather eggs from the hen house, so I would trot off with my little basket. Chickens, by the way, are not tidy. Thus, crossing the floor of the chicken coop was not high on the list of fun things to do on your summer vacation. About an hour later, I would return and hand the basket to my aunt. She would shake her head and ask, “Where are the rest of the eggs?” (as I would have brought about half the expected number). “Under the chickens,” I would reply. “Why didn’t you reach under the chickens?” “Chickens wouldn’t move,” I’d say. “Why didn’t you move them?” My wide-eyed response, “Those things have beaks!!” Another failed venture. What I did like was pumping water from the old hand pump on the cistern in the yard. Few insects were involved, and I was met with satisfaction when the pump would prime and water would begin to sputter and spurt. And slopping the hogs with the daily garbage was okay. Tossing egg shells, potato peelings, and so forth over the fence was met with joyous appreciation from the porcine group.
And … I had several other important learning experiences. For example, do not assume that a glossy round rock in the creek is really a rock (unless you don’t care about your shoes). Also, if the grownups would say “stay inside the house for awhile”, followed by a lot of chicken-screeching, it was probably best not to try to see what was going on out there. And I learned the quick way to distinguish ducks from geese. Geese are the ones that chase you back.

Thoughts today triggered by a lovely cousins’ catch-up day.

With Halloween rapidly approaching, my thoughts wander (as oft they do, rather untethered!) to superstition regarding bad luck. First of all, how does one even determine what constitutes “bad luck”? As a child (and a bit of a klutz), I broke enough mirrors that, if each was multiplied by the designated “7 years of bad luck”, I was doomed for life. And what if a person breaks a mirror while walking under a ladder with a black cat crossing his/her path? Does that person get exponential bad luck? Or can it be served concurrently?

And, in light of the season, I have to address the issue of black cats, those beautiful creatures who are attributed with bringing bad luck. In defense of the poor cats, do people realize that, since we live on a globe, if we stand in one spot and rotate our body 360 degrees, every black cat on the planet has just crossed our paths? So they are either responsible for all bad luck (a bit unfair, methinks!) or no bad luck. I prefer to think that bad luck is rather random….or, just maybe, that “bad luck” is the result of bad choices…????