Along with millions of Americans, I was out among the crowds at the mall yesterday, celebrating the nation's obsession with shopping on what is one of the biggest spending days of the year, the so called Black Friday. This is not in commemoration of the Black Widow Spider, who mates then kills off the evidence before he can kiss and tell. Black Friday refers to the legend that most retailers finally become solvent for the year on that day.
Although, come to think of it, the voracious appetite of consumers may have some similarities.... Thankfully, there were no reported deaths this year. I guess that's something, anyway.
While it may not be true that this is the first time they are solvent, there is no doubt that most retailers depend on the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas to pump their profits. They certainly depend on the sales from the holiday season to provide them with enough working capital to make it through the early months of the next year when shoppers, having gorged themselves on mostly superfluous merchandise, refuse to buy much more of it.
If you, like me, have no money, it makes the whole day a lot easier, since you do not have to rush out at 3 a.m. to get to the store to stand in line for the two items that you are looking for which are only available in the moments between 5:42 and 6:01 a.m. For which, it should be noted, you will then have to stand in line for an hour to pay.
I pretty much walked from store to store, looking at everything I not only cannot afford, but actually do not need, either, which is sort of an interesting realization. Being poor is, among other things, very clarifying, as you are forced to recognize the difference between needs and wants. That divide is crystal clear when the bank account is approaching zero.
I did notice this year that more shoppers were carrying bags and boxes, which should put a smile on the faces of stockholders receiving their dividend checks from the retailers who have survived this past year of belt tightening. Of course, the discounts were already deep, and the sales in full swing. Makes me wonder what will be left for the Saturday before Christmas, which is, in fact, the actual biggest shopping day of the year.
I have noticed the sales techniques have gotten a lot more innovative [mercenary] this year, as retailers work hard to induce customers to part with a little more of their precious cash. I saw a lot of sales tied to making a bigger purchase than originally intended; for example, buy one, get one for half price. It encourages you to buy two to get the sale price, the promise of savings working your subconscious like the massage therapists suddenly lining the mall hallways.
[Is it just me, or is it a little weird to be sitting in the mall getting your back rubbed and your teeth whitened in full view of the whole world? If I wanted people to see my gums, I would smile more.]
This is very creative marketing. The retailer has just gotten 150% on the sale, instead of simply marking each item down to 75% of the usual cost, which would land you in the same place if you bought two, but no one ever does.
Survival of the fittest, indeed. It is a jungle out there, and I am watching out for the teeth hidden behind the smiles of the cute little sales "associates" who are hawking the wares of their employers for $7.50 an hour. [Have you noticed how no one employs clerks any more? They are associates, partners, cast members - anything but sales clerks. Do they really think that, whatever you are calling them, sales people don't know a minimum wage job does not earn your name on the left side of the letterhead?]
One retailer I visited took that tactic a step further, requiring a purchase of two same priced items to get two free. I thought about it, because I really wanted one, but realized, ultimately, that I didn't need four, and didn't have the money to pay for two, either. [Actually, as it is a fairly spendy item to begin with, I didn't even really need one, so two was pretty much out of the question.]
Call it my little strike for the consumer, as I refused to play by the increasingly hardball rules of mega-corporations who want to part me from my money for baubles and trinkets no one, especially me, really needs. If only I had my own flag, we could start a facebook group and you could all be my fans. Of course, that assumes that you agree with me that it is a slippery slope, this whole buy one/get one trend.
Ultimately, I did come home with a few things that I really needed, including new shoes for work. (Buy one, get one 50% off, so naturally I bought two pair. Hey, they were on sale, so it was a real bargain, second pair almost free.) You have to look professional for these meetings, and I realized when dressing for the last one, that I am sorely in need. Seriously.
I bought a Christmas gift for my mom, which was at reduced price [once I renewed my discount card for the annual fee.]
I bought stamps for my Christmas cards. No sales there at all. On the contrary, I am surprised they didn't raise some extra funds by charging more for them. I guess they haven't thought of that yet. Rats. I should keep my mouth shut and not give them any ideas.
I bought a very expensive bag of dog food at the pet store, along with yet another cheap $2 toy that my Jack Russel Terrier will have fun destroying, just as soon as he gets his teeth on it. Call me Mommy Warbucks.
The best part of the day, for me, was spending the time with my lovely daughter, without whom life would be bleak indeed. Any day that includes spending time with her is a day that my life account is in the black with the only kind of capital that really matters.
I think spending time with your female relatives is the most compelling reason for Black Friday, and a lot of other people must agree, if the matching faces I saw walking the mall were any indication. It is always entertaining to see the same faces, youthful and maturing, and to know that the generations continue to find ways to connect, even if it's hunting for just the right pair of shoes, instead of hunting for food or shelter.
By the victorious smiles on many of the faces, and the bags swinging from arms on all sides, I think Black Friday was, indeed, a success this year. Whether you are shopping for presents, or groceries, or just spending time with your family doing traditional activities, I wish you the remaining holiday weekend hours to be spent in the joy of your family, doing whatever your own traditions lead you to do.
Happy holidays to each one of my faithful readers. I am thankful for each one who encourages me in my pursuit of perfect prose - it is very important to me, and has often propelled me to write my weekly post when I otherwise would not have done so. For each one who has asked me to publish my better offerings in a book, I thank you for the delicious compliment. However, unless my blog goes viral, there is a pretty limited audience for my collected wisdom, such as it is, so don't be looking for it on a store shelf near you any time soon! [Dollar Tree, anyone?!]
Happy Black Weekend, and here's hoping that whatever bleak things you are holding in your heart will be washed away with the joy of the holiday season now underway. I will leave you with one of my favorite verses from the Word of the Lord and Saviour I celebrate in the Holy Season of Christmas: " The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace." Numbers 6:24-26. NIV
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Happy birthday, Mother of all Mothers....
Do you remember a few years ago, when the phrase, "Mother of all [fill in the blank with your own grandiose phrase,]" was so popular? We had the Mother of all wars. We had the Mother of all battles. We had the Mother of all bombs. Personally, speaking on behalf of mothers everywhere, I resent the association of motherhood with violence and destruction, since most of us spend our lives trying to achieve the opposite, at least within our own homes. However, today I find I must resurrect the phrase on behalf of my own mother, who is the Mother of all Mothers.
Today is her birthday, and I am celebrating with her, albeit from 425 miles away, the anniversary of the day that she graced the world with her presence. I don't know how you feel about your mom, but I love mine more than I can express, and I celebrate this day with great joy, because my mom is the best mom on earth.
Of course, as the offspring of child number five in her family of six, I have also had the opportunity to hear a few humorous stories that knock her right off that pedestal my brother has her on. [He always was her favorite, the suck up.]
My mother's family lived a relatively poor farming life, as most of the population did back in the days of The Great Depression, and they learned to make do or do without. They didn't starve, but they didn't have much spare change, either, so they were not awash in useless gewgaws like children today.
My mother learned to share from her earliest days, because she and her younger sister, child number six, were only 18 months apart. They shared a bed, they shared their toys, they shared their clothes, and they shared their friends. They even shared the family looks, as people have often mixed them up over the years.
My particular favorite sharing story is that they each had one "good" dress, which they would trade off wearing, so they would both feel like they had two. Given the closet full of clothes that most teenagers have now, it is hard to imagine only having two good dresses to wear. But I suspect they were happier to have their one apiece than most girls today are to have all their finery.
Another shared item that has given me some amusement over the years are the shared roller skates. They had one pair of skates between them, so they would either have to go one at a time, or, as I have heard it told, they would each wear one, hold hands, and skate together. I have a feeling that is why my aunt can always finish my mother's thoughts, even when Mom hasn't said a word.
My mom and my aunt also shared that most precious of toys in a little girl's world, a baby doll. When I was growing up, I got a doll almost every Christmas, which must have seemed like an embarrassment of riches to someone who only had half a doll to her name for a whole childhood.
Although money was tight, she made me a whole wardrobe of clothes for my dolls; little knitted Barbie dresses and ski outfits and long gowns with hand stitching, and baby doll capes and blouses and little skirts with adorable suspenders. The poverty of her youth inspired the creativity of her adulthood, and I was the fortunate recipient of her largess.
I didn't fully appreciate any of it at the time, of course, but I now cherish and hold every piece dear to my heart. Every stitch was filled with the love of giving her daughter something she never had, and I feel her love for me just holding the pieces in my hand. They are heirlooms to me, something that I will look forward to passing down to my grandchildren someday. I hope they will be a tangible reminder of the wealth of love that is to be found within their family circle, even if the woman who made them is no longer here to enjoy their delight.
My mom is perhaps the quietest of her siblings, some of whom are pretty chatty. Even now, in their 80's and 90's, I will occasionally see frustration written on her face as she tries to get a word in edgewise, usually without much success. I have been told by several aunts and uncles that my mom was daddy's girl, her father's favorite, and that she used to sit in his lap after supper almost every evening. I suspect that her talkative father appreciated the child who never had anything to say, and she was rewarded for always letting him have the last word with his special favor.
My mother was, and still is, a beautiful woman. It is sort of disconcerting to see pictures of her when she was young, and realize just how striking she was. Her black hair and red lipstick always remind me of a hard scrabble Snow White, a farm house for her castle, and a farmer her Prince Charming. She didn't have the money to dress to the height of fashion, but she always made whatever she wore look stylish and fashionable, just by putting it on.
My mother put the capital T in thrifty, and she worked hard to instill that same quality in her children. Apparently my brother was a better student, which might have something to do with that whole favorite thing, although my recent crash course may make her proud of me, yet.
She saves pretty much everything worth saving, and a whole lot of stuff that most people wouldn't, just in case. After all, you never know what you are going to need until you need it. I am sure this proclivity is partly from growing up on a farm in rural America, where you did for yourself or you did without, and partly from being a child of The Great Depression, where everyone did without, and they never want to do so again.
I have giggled more than once over the years about walking into her kitchen and seeing plastic bread bags hanging over the faucet to dry. She has the world's largest collection of twist ties, and more paper clips than she will use in a lifetime. She has every single pen that has ever come into her possession, whether they work or not. Some of those pens are probably collector's items by now, come to think of it, so perhaps she was not so silly after all!
My mother was born many years before John F. Kennedy was assassinated, but for most people, this day, November 22, will forever be the day that the world stopped and mourned the death of an American president. But for me, this is one of the happiest days of the year, because it is the day to celebrate a woman without whom my life would not be.
Her lasting legacy to me will not be riches or fame or material goods. [Although there is a certain rocking chair that has my name on it, whenever she is ready to give it up.] Instead, she will leave me with the extravagant love of a mother who has walked hand in hand with me when I wanted to quit, knows my mistakes and loves me anyway, and who unfailingly supports me, encourages me, and believes in me, even when I have given up on myself. She has given me the road map to be the best mother I can be, a gift I hope I have passed on to my children, as well.
Happy birthday, Mom of moms. You are, and will always be, the Mother of all mothers. I am thankful to call you my own, and I wish you many more to come. <3
Today is her birthday, and I am celebrating with her, albeit from 425 miles away, the anniversary of the day that she graced the world with her presence. I don't know how you feel about your mom, but I love mine more than I can express, and I celebrate this day with great joy, because my mom is the best mom on earth.
Of course, as the offspring of child number five in her family of six, I have also had the opportunity to hear a few humorous stories that knock her right off that pedestal my brother has her on. [He always was her favorite, the suck up.]
My mother's family lived a relatively poor farming life, as most of the population did back in the days of The Great Depression, and they learned to make do or do without. They didn't starve, but they didn't have much spare change, either, so they were not awash in useless gewgaws like children today.
My mother learned to share from her earliest days, because she and her younger sister, child number six, were only 18 months apart. They shared a bed, they shared their toys, they shared their clothes, and they shared their friends. They even shared the family looks, as people have often mixed them up over the years.
My particular favorite sharing story is that they each had one "good" dress, which they would trade off wearing, so they would both feel like they had two. Given the closet full of clothes that most teenagers have now, it is hard to imagine only having two good dresses to wear. But I suspect they were happier to have their one apiece than most girls today are to have all their finery.
Another shared item that has given me some amusement over the years are the shared roller skates. They had one pair of skates between them, so they would either have to go one at a time, or, as I have heard it told, they would each wear one, hold hands, and skate together. I have a feeling that is why my aunt can always finish my mother's thoughts, even when Mom hasn't said a word.
My mom and my aunt also shared that most precious of toys in a little girl's world, a baby doll. When I was growing up, I got a doll almost every Christmas, which must have seemed like an embarrassment of riches to someone who only had half a doll to her name for a whole childhood.
Although money was tight, she made me a whole wardrobe of clothes for my dolls; little knitted Barbie dresses and ski outfits and long gowns with hand stitching, and baby doll capes and blouses and little skirts with adorable suspenders. The poverty of her youth inspired the creativity of her adulthood, and I was the fortunate recipient of her largess.
I didn't fully appreciate any of it at the time, of course, but I now cherish and hold every piece dear to my heart. Every stitch was filled with the love of giving her daughter something she never had, and I feel her love for me just holding the pieces in my hand. They are heirlooms to me, something that I will look forward to passing down to my grandchildren someday. I hope they will be a tangible reminder of the wealth of love that is to be found within their family circle, even if the woman who made them is no longer here to enjoy their delight.
My mom is perhaps the quietest of her siblings, some of whom are pretty chatty. Even now, in their 80's and 90's, I will occasionally see frustration written on her face as she tries to get a word in edgewise, usually without much success. I have been told by several aunts and uncles that my mom was daddy's girl, her father's favorite, and that she used to sit in his lap after supper almost every evening. I suspect that her talkative father appreciated the child who never had anything to say, and she was rewarded for always letting him have the last word with his special favor.
My mother was, and still is, a beautiful woman. It is sort of disconcerting to see pictures of her when she was young, and realize just how striking she was. Her black hair and red lipstick always remind me of a hard scrabble Snow White, a farm house for her castle, and a farmer her Prince Charming. She didn't have the money to dress to the height of fashion, but she always made whatever she wore look stylish and fashionable, just by putting it on.
My mother put the capital T in thrifty, and she worked hard to instill that same quality in her children. Apparently my brother was a better student, which might have something to do with that whole favorite thing, although my recent crash course may make her proud of me, yet.
She saves pretty much everything worth saving, and a whole lot of stuff that most people wouldn't, just in case. After all, you never know what you are going to need until you need it. I am sure this proclivity is partly from growing up on a farm in rural America, where you did for yourself or you did without, and partly from being a child of The Great Depression, where everyone did without, and they never want to do so again.
I have giggled more than once over the years about walking into her kitchen and seeing plastic bread bags hanging over the faucet to dry. She has the world's largest collection of twist ties, and more paper clips than she will use in a lifetime. She has every single pen that has ever come into her possession, whether they work or not. Some of those pens are probably collector's items by now, come to think of it, so perhaps she was not so silly after all!
My mother was born many years before John F. Kennedy was assassinated, but for most people, this day, November 22, will forever be the day that the world stopped and mourned the death of an American president. But for me, this is one of the happiest days of the year, because it is the day to celebrate a woman without whom my life would not be.
Her lasting legacy to me will not be riches or fame or material goods. [Although there is a certain rocking chair that has my name on it, whenever she is ready to give it up.] Instead, she will leave me with the extravagant love of a mother who has walked hand in hand with me when I wanted to quit, knows my mistakes and loves me anyway, and who unfailingly supports me, encourages me, and believes in me, even when I have given up on myself. She has given me the road map to be the best mother I can be, a gift I hope I have passed on to my children, as well.
Happy birthday, Mom of moms. You are, and will always be, the Mother of all mothers. I am thankful to call you my own, and I wish you many more to come. <3
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