George Bailey, Bedford Falls and CLARENCE

"Look Daddy, 'Teacher says every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings'".  Little Zuzu Bailey said it best. Or maybe it was young George Bailey, holding up two fingers, closing his eyes and wishing, "I wish I had a million dollars."  Either way, "It's a Wonderful Life" was just about one of the finest films ever made.

A dear friend of mine, Julie Colwell, knows me all too well.  A few years ago - well, at least 12 year ago, I was going through one of my notorious holiday depressions.  During this particular pity party for one, I was missing my recently departed Daddy, who had succumbed to cancer in 1995.  As far as I was concerned, life would never be the same since he was gone.  He had a way of making everyone he came across feel as though they were one of the most important people in the world.

At any rate, back to Julie.  Here I was, in a state of feeling sad, and walking out to the mail box to get the mail.  There in my wagon wheel mailbox was a little package from my angel, Julie.  A nicely wrapped gift, "It's A Wonderful Life", just in time for Christmas.  The gift made all  the difference in what might have been a really crappy holiday.  Julie is just one in a million. Some years later, I would again open my mail box and find a real, genuine, personally autographed black & white still from the movie "Its A Wonderful Life", penned by little Zuzu Bailey, herself.  I treasure that picture, almost as much as the movie, and Julie.

Not just during this time of year, but all the other 11 months, I feel blessed to have a CLARENCE.  An angel who watches over me, cares about me, and loves me, depression, rants, Republicanism and all.  Julie can pay a compliment to anyone. It doesn't matter what you have done, where you have been, who you may or may not have got into trouble with.  Julie is there.

The same could be said about my best friend Kris.  She comes through like a shining star when you least expect it. She can be gruff, stand-offish and somewhat aloof, but personally she hasn't fooled me.  That tough outside shell just hides what is one helluva a great human being.  Ssshh, I don't want her secret to get out. One year I was down in the dumps about some trivial thing - so trivial that at this very  moment I can't even recollect what it was.  At any rate, once again the post office delivered a little ray of sunshine.  See's chocolates - Bordeaux chocolates to be exact.   Kris knows me all too well.  My favorite See's candies on a crummy day.  Yet, another CLARENCE in my life.

Then you have people like George.  George Bailey.  What a great Hollywood creation.  Jimmy Stewart was the perfect man for the great task of bringing George Bailey to life.  Bedford Falls could be Anytown, USA.  And any person such as a George could bring a no-name spot on a map to life with the belief that there are truly genuine, decent people in this world.

During this time of year, when people are spraying the competing shopper in the face with pepper spray, all over an XBox360, or someone crazy dame has gone completely overboard with the tinsel on her festivus pole, or someone has flocked their tree just a little TOO much,  it's nice to know that there are still George Bailey's in the world, Bedford Falls can be where ever you call home, and out there in the great vastness of the heavens...

A bell is ringing, and another CLARENCE has earned their wings.

The Christmas List - A Waste of Paper?

It's that time of year again - the time where we list our naughties and niceness, in hopes of the illusive Santa Claus making deliveries via a chimney.  I guess Santa is not coming down any chimneys at our house this year, as the magic man Big Wind, blew our chimney stack to Arizona on December 1st massive windstorm.  Oh well.  If I close my eyes and really, really wish upon a star, maybe I will wake up in Arizona as well.

When I was younger, the anticipation of Christmas was something else.  Our parents had routines.  On December 6th, the Feast Day of St. Nicholas, we would get a tree.  Decorating was a family activity, although I believe my daddy got more out of it then the rest of the family.  By the time the house was done being adorned by Christmas spirit, picture frames would have little sprigs of pine tucked behind them and the tree gave the house a fragrant aroma of mystery for the season.  Daddy decked the 2 story suburban house with lights.  Some blinking, some burned out, but it was magical, mysterious time on Yolanda Avenue. 

I vaguely recall the Christmas wish list.  Some of the items on it were probably absurd.  A new car, a stereo system, a trip to Europe. skis, trips to ski resorts. Classic.  What the hell did we think our parents were made of - money?  As I got older, and realized that money did not grow on trees, the list became shorter, and far more realistic.  Maybe a bottle of perfume, or warm slippers.  Items that actually could be used over and over again.  And the gifts were far more enjoyable.

Now, as a grandmother to Christopher Corry, and his very first Christmas I am left with the realization that I can't give him the world.  I wish I could.  World peace, an end to world wars,  economic stability for his future. It all boils down to "wants" vs "needs".  Just how much stuff does a 2 month old baby "need".  Just what is enough?  Christmas is really for kids.  Its about imagination.  Dreaming.  Fantasy.  As kids get older, it is far more about "wants".  Most commercial, costly, and soon forgotten once the AAA batteries wear out, and the family pet gets a hold of the toy.

What I can do for our grandson is plan for his future.  I can start today by putting aside money in order to build a college fund for him.  Maybe he will be the President that solves all the world's crisis.  (My wish ... a Republican President)  Maybe he will be the man who finds a cure for AIDS, cancer, and world hunger.  I suppose every grandparent holds the highest of hopes for their grandchildren.  I received 2 wonderful gifts in the lives of my children, Eryn and Bryan.  They are healthy, beautiful young adults, with their lives in front of them.  Knowing that,  is a gift that any mother would be proud to receive.  As for the next generation - our grandson Christopher Corry, the greatest gift is that he was born.  He will be able to carry on the Corry family name.  What I can do for him is pray that he makes a difference in this world of uncertainty, that he grows up to be the kind of human being that thinks of others' needs before his, gives to those who have nothing, and that Christopher Corry can one day say... "I made a difference in some one's life today". 

For a grandmother - that's the best gift on earth.

Mother Nature, Snowmen and Al Gore

Gotta wonder what these 3 things have in common.  Well, I suppose you can tie them together.  Actually, you CAN see the similarities. 

This past week, Steamboat Springs, CO was whipped into a frenzy by winds that topped 123 m.p.h.  In case you weather bugs are listening - that's right - 123 m.p.h.  Pasadena, CA and the Santa Ana winds have nothing on the Yampa Valley.  I suspect the mighty Ute Indians were delivering some type of ominous warning to this valley.  Mother Nature got together with the indian spirits, huffed and puffed, and almost blew our house down. 

The high winds started in the middle of the night on December 1st.  Our overly paranoid, nervous dog Casey crawled on the bed and quivered in fear over what sounded like a freight train bearing down the mountain.  At 0710, while I was staring out the living room window, pondering why the trees in the courtyard had not blown their roots, and headed for Arizona, a large portion of the roof took flight from its anchors and landed smack-dab in the yard.  Unreal.  The sound was deafening.  I stood there, in shock, trying to take hold of what had just happened.  2 hours later, with another gust, the next portion of roof literally peeled off the building.   If ever I had any curiosity in what hurricane winds feel like, Mother Nature answered that question on December 1st.

Al Gore came out with a over-hyped movie a few years ago.  He claimed that we were in some horrendous global warming spiral, and that in some way, the GOP, George Bush and corporate America were in cahoots to heat the globe right out of existence.  It would appear that since that movie made headlines, America has seen more cold then triple digit numbers.  Everything comes and goes in cycles.  I doubt that Mother Nature has some alliance with any political movement.  Weather patterns are just part of the scheme of things.  I tend to get a real giggle out of alarmists who run crazy, like the 3 little piggies, squealing about global weather patterns and imaginary conspiracy theories.  Neither the Dems or the GOP had anything to do with my roof taking flight on December 1st.

One of the oddities of that horrendous winter/wind storm was the sturdy, son of a gun, snowman who withstood the hurricane force winds of December 1st.  He is still in the front yard.  Sure, he has lost a little weight with the sun shine, but he is one tough gun.  I have to wonder that if America, the economy, and all things relevant, were built with such determination and spunk, we'd be in a far better place.  The Occupy Movement, the self absorbed entitlement generation, the "I deserve everything for free"  group could take a lesson from the 6 foot snowman in my front yard. 

There are no guarantees in life. 

XBox360, Pepper Spray and Insanity

Really?  I mean, REALLY?

Tis the season to be stupid.  Fa-la-la-la.  I suppose I can plead some level of ignorance as to why XBox360 is even worth standing in line for, at night, with other morons.  It's not as though some person is handing out free $100 bills - It's standing in line for a video game.


What's wrong with society?  Well, I can tell you the possible root for some of the major dysfunction which seems to be taking over the United States. GREED,  a sense of ENTITLEMENT, and people who spend worthless hours in front of a television playing video games.  When you see the major news stories of the evening, several things seem to fill the first 10 minutes.  The Occupy Goons are camped out in city parks, picking up lice, communicable diseases and stinking up the joint.  They are refusing to go out and get jobs.  Sure, I can appreciate the irritation at bankers and corporations that we, the American tax payers bailed out, and who are now are receiving bonuses.  So, I will give the protesters that.  But, what may have started as a novel idea, has run its course, and is now nothing more than an excuse to sit around, chant silly statements, and go without a bath.  Sorry, your time is up.

Next item on the agenda - look at the silly parents across the country, willing to stand in lines, occupying the sidewalk all in hopes of snagging some video game for their kid.  We talk, and talk, and talk about the economy dwindling and the failure of an American made product.  Yet, at Christmas time we flock in hoards to stores so we can buy foreign made toys. We buy products from China.  Yep, that's right, CHINA.  Last time I checked, America was up to its credit card ASS in debt to China.  Has anyone seen the Target commercial of some bipolar looking manic red suited lady, "training" for her big day of shopping?  That's enough to give anyone nightmares.

I purchased some pepper spray a few months ago as a means of personal protection.  I had some psychopath who made some threats towards me, and so I felt the need for personal protection.  Pepper Spray seems to be the answer for me, although packing a gun is a little more comforting.  But, the pepper spray can put down an assailant pretty fast.  Bad men beware that if you intend to hurt me, I will have no regrets in giving you a face full of pepper.

Thankfully there are a few things I will not be doing any time soon.  I will not be in any occupy movements in the near future.   I do not want cooties from some fool who thinks sitting in a park, living in a tent, chanting about how "We" owe him something is the end all experience of a lifetime.  I can attest to the fact that I will never, ever, wake up at midnight to go out and stand in a line with a bunch of greedy consumers, looking for the perfect deal.  There is nothing I "need" nor "want" that bad.  CORRECTION - I will stand in a line to vote Obama OUT OF OFFICE,  I am more content in drifting off to a turkey coma on Thanksgiving night.  I do not understand, nor do I have any interest in learning how to play XBOX360.  I have a hard enough time trying to figure out how to get the little smile face icon to appear on my Skype screen.

And thankfully,  my pepper spray is safe in my purse, only to be discharged if a bad man tries to hurt me.

Thanksgiving & The Kids' Table

The time of year where the United States reflects and remember the pilgrims.  At least that's how I recall the holiday...as a little girl, a long time ago.  There were the arts and crafts that children made prior to the big day, plays involving Indians and pilgrims sitting down to a holiday meal and giving thanks for all things good.  I suspect that today's feast of gluttony is a far cry from what actually was served on the plates 200 years ago.

The items on my child hood plate were always tasty.  I loved my mother's turkey gravy, homemade dinner rolls, peas, pumpkin pie and of course turkey.  Mother was once, a long time ago, a home economist, and so we were treated to well balanced meals, always vibrant in color.  There were the perfect amounts of salt and pepper on the dishes, and it was a time to be able to set the dining room table with fine china, silver, and Waterford glasses and goblets.  There was one small butter plate and another plate with margarine.  My Dad would sit at one end of the table and my mother at the other; although mother was constantly running around to make sure the dinner ran smoothly.

There was always a "Kids table".  For a while there we actually had 2 kids' tables.  If memory serves me correctly, there was a small, orange folding table, with 4 smart little chairs that my siblings and I were assigned to.  It would be stationed in the marble foyer.  Then there was the bridge table for teens.  They were in the living room.  Then there was the large, expansive dining room table where grown-ups sat.  The location of all three tables allowed for all to be part of the big feast, and yet be entities in and of themselves.  The layout of my parents' house allowed the layout, as each room was not separated by a wall, but rather some funky 60s style lattice work.  Only the kitchen had a door way...thus food was brought out from the kitchen, in to the dining room, and then funneled out to the other tables.

The kids' table is a real slice of  Americana.  Who actually started the habit of casting off the kids to a small table?  And why does this tradition continue still?  Were we being punished for being small, or was it because kids have a natural tendency to spill, or because we finish eating more quickly than adults?  I really could never figure it out.  I do remember that at our kids' table, the china was the every day plate, and we did not have the luxury of 3 forks, 2 spoons, knives, tea cups, etc.  We got the dull, blade-less knives, or even worse, our plate was delivered to us with everything already cut up.  I made it a point to mix everything together, into one large potato, pea, dark meat ball.  Things just had more of a culinary appeal if they were together.

As you got older, maybe even passed the puberty threshold, you were then graduated, like a commencement exercise, into the living room, where there was carpet, a real linen table cloth, knives that cut meat, and even 3 forks.  You still had to go into the dining room, or kitchen to get your food, but you were  a step closer to the grown-up table.  While still within earshot of the adult table, you and the fellow teens were able to discuss more heady topics, like trying not to get caught sipping wine, or ditching school, or how we would sneak out of the house after dinner and visit other teens.  One step up from the innocence of the kids' table, but half way to the adults table, where no doubt major topics were being discussed.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, you graduated to the ADULT TABLE.  The table with candles, 3 forks, 3 spoons, 2 knives, 2 goblets, 3 plates, and not enough elbow room.  You were either lucky enough to sit next to one of the dinner guests, wedged in the middle and out of arm shot of a parent, or drew the short straw and were sitting on an end.  Being a left handed person, I drew only 2 spots on a dining room rectangle. I'd get the right of my Mom or Dad.  I search my memory to even remember if there was another left handed person in our group, but I think I was solo.

We had dinner with the same group of "family" every year.  Jim and Ruth Dolan, who were like our auntie and uncle.  Some years there were more Dolans.  As those Dolans got married, moved, etc. there might be more Gartlans.  Periodically my Mother would have other people for supper.  Then, after a few more years, more Dolans would come; with new kids to fill the almost vacant kids' table.  It was like a rites of passage.  Kids' table, to teen table to adult table.   

By the time I got to the adults' table, I began to come to the realization that grown-ups did not really discuss anything of great importance, nor was it especially entertaining.  Our family dynamic does not allow us the luxury of getting together any longer during the holidays, as we live in different states, and really, if truth be told, we do not get along very well. 

Somehow the kids' table was really the best place to be after all.

Have You Thanked A Veteran Today?

11-11-11

Day by day, we are able to speak our minds, share our opinions and banter back and forth without fear of  persecution for only ONE reason - The Veteran.

The Vet is a person who thought of something greater than themselves.  They fought in battles, far and wide.  Some came home, bruised and injured.  Some still wage a silent war within themselves, suffering from PTSD.  Some never came home.  Their lives were lost on a foreign shore in France, or a muddy trench in Germany.  Some took their last breath along side their fellow soldiers on the frozen Chosin in Korea.  Some bled out in a jungle in Vietnam, alone.  Others were responsible for the end of the reign of terror from Saddam Hussein.  Some young men and women died in the heavy sands and bleak mountainsides of Afghanistan, while searching for the evil one, Osama bin Laden. 

War is a necessary price for the cost of freedom.  Do the protesters involved in the Occupy Movement even realize that?  Do they stop and give pause that someones son or daughter gave their life so that someone like "Joe Blow"  can lay in a hammock, between two trees, in a city park, protesting that they feel slighted because they don't have a job?  News flash here - you'll never get a job if you don't clean up your act, get out of the hammock and go look.  Some brave soldier gave the protester the finest gift of all - freedom.

Somewhere in Little Town, USA are parents who waved goodbye to the child at a bus depot, and watched as that child headed out to boot camp; never knowing if they would return.  Hugs and tears abundant, these parents said "until we see you again" and "god's speed".  Suddenly yellow ribbons appeared on the oak lined street, and so began the prayers of hope and determination that the soldier would come home.  For some parents, such prayers were answered, but for others there was a knock on the door and 2 military representatives in full dress blues with heavy hearts. 

When you look at the Stars and Stripes, what do you think of?  Do you feel the pain of a little boy or girl who will never know what their Mommy or Daddy endured so that freedom would live on?  What about the soldier who returns home and faces the demons of post war traumas, whether physical or mental?  Do you show disdain or contempt at someone who stops and pauses for a moment when they hear the National Anthem, while you hurriedly pass by, too busy to recognize the patriot in front of you?

All over this country's graveyards today, little American Flags decorate headstones.  The VFW and others who realize the sacrifice of the soldiers, will take time to stop and show respect for those no longer here.  Some citizens of this great nation will take a moment to stop and say thank you to a soldier.

I feel honored and blessed to have a family full of veterans.  Men who thought of something greater than themselves, put on a uniform and proclaimed, "Yes, I will make the sacrifice so that you can enjoy the fruits of freedom"....

Thank you. 

60 minutes and the End of an Era

Well, with shock and disbelief,  I write on the passing of Andy Rooney.  At age 92, I suspect he had lived a complete and full life.  I wonder if he had regrets?  I wonder how much more insight he could have brought to those of us who relished in the last 10 minutes of 60 Minutes, every Sunday.

If you really think about it - Andy Rooney was the epitome of a consummate blogger.  He blogged in visual strides.  Where some might create the written blog for pointing out the oddities of life, or the irony of some event, or the creative way in which small consumer products are packaged in very LARGE containers (That was my favorite of Andy's segments), Mr. Rooney put his stoic face to the camera lens, and started to speak.

I am a pretty devoted Conservative.  I hope we will unseat the current disaster of a President in the very near future.  However, growing up in the Gartlan house meant CBS News.  I grew up listening to "Uncle" Walter.  Of course, Walter Cronkite was the staple of our house.  My Dad was a Democrat and so CBS news was what was on the television.  We watched the resignation of Richard Nixon, the man on the moon, the assassination of Bobby, JFK, and Martin.  We heard about Medgar Evans, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the nightly summaries from Vietnam.  The troubles at Penn State, the Kent University shootings,  the civil rights era of the 60s unfolded in our  shag green carpeted amphitheatre there on Yolanda Avenue.

After Sundays in the backyard, watching my Dad mow the lawn in his plaid golf shorts, black dress shoes, white t-shirt and golf cap, and eating burgers, we were then relegated to the den to watch 60 minutes.  We were not permitted to watch much television as children; my parents felt that reading was more beneficial.  However, 60 minutes was allowed.  And sure enough, 60 minutes would never be the same without the 10 minutes of entertainment and parody from Mr. Rooney.

He was a gruff looking character.  Stern and always appearing hunched over.  I often wondered if he intentionally puffed himself up to appear that way; perhaps so that we might take him more seriously.  He would cover the topics of ridicule.  I loved the way he pointed out things that needed some line of explanation.


Later, after I grew up, moved out, had my own children, and formed my own opinions, I still was able to appreciate what Mr. Rooney was speaking of.  I never really got a sense of where he stood on things on the partisan lines, but I knew he had a fine appreciation of pointing out the ridiculousness of life.  You think about people like Jerry Seinfeld, or Dave Letterman, Johnny Carson, Jay Leno, Dennis Miller, and even my favorite of the night time talk/news guys, Bill O'Reilly, and they all seem to have benefited from Mr. Rooney's fine repertoire.  Whether or not a hard core conservative wants to admit it or not, there are some people in life who just break the barriers of all that, and get to the heart of the matter.

I consider myself lucky to have turned in for Mr. Rooney's last segment on 60 Minutes just a mere 5 weeks ago.  How sad that, after all that time as a news journalist, and with a much earned retirement, Mr. Rooney was not able to enjoy his time away from the camera.  But, perhaps that is what he intended all along.

Thanks for the memories, as they say.  You were great!