Recession indeed....

This morning I read the news that tells me we really and truly are in a whole different kind of recession. What news, you ask? Total lottery sales were down in the state of Kansas for 2008.

This may not seem like big news to anyone. On the surface, it seems obvious that if you have less money for bread and gas, you will not spend it buying lottery tickets. But on the contrary, that is often not the way it goes. The majority of lottery sales go to those who can least afford it, with the desperate placing their hopes on a windfall, real life being what it is.

I do not play the lottery. I am not one of those people who is likely to ever benefit from anything that involves good luck, my luck being mostly of the other variety. But I understand why people hopefully throw down a dollar or two or ten, on the off chance - after all, someone does eventually have to win the money - that this will be their moment to grab the brass ring in life.

My brass ring has turned out to be fool's gold, and I am not hopeful that will change any time soon. I don't waste my time or money hoping for something that will never happen - I don't have that kind of time, nor do I have the mental energy. But, like I said, I understand the hopefulness that leads a person to participate.

And that is why I was surprised this morning to learn, quite unexpectedly, that lottery sales are down in the state of Kansas for 2008. As the economy tanked, I would have expected that sales would have spiked, and that more people would have looked for the barely possible to occur. [This is as opposed to the impossibility of becoming rich under your own power, which will not occur for most people who don't start out that way, no matter how hard they work.]

I don't know the reasons behind it, nor do I understand the sales trends or dynamics that are involved. I have not given sufficient time, or any time, really, to the study of lottery sales, to have even the slightest idea of the economics of it all.

But I do have an understanding of human nature. I understand how irrepressible hope can be, how optimism can drive you to make decisions that don't make sense, and how dreams can distort reality until it seems possible that a person could actually hit the jackpot and suddenly find themselves on the other side of a financial divide that separates the comfortable from the fearful in our society.

It has been said that you are more likely to be struck by lightning than to win the lottery, and yet, while people assume, usually correctly, that they will never be hit by lightning, they also believe they can win the lottery. It is that very inconsistency which leads human beings to climb mountains, to cross canyons, to strike out as pioneers for unknown, and unforgiving, new lands. It has led us into space, and under the ocean, and to new, or at least new-to-them, continents, where we wrestle with the unfamiliar until we have imposed our own sort of order upon it.

So, back to the lottery. What would lead people, in this troubled time, to suddenly abandon the belief that this could be their moment in time? What would make people who usually dream to suddenly awaken and realize it won't happen for them after all? What is it that leads them to say, it's not going to happen for me, instead of the usual hope that it can, indeed, happen, and happen now?

When I step back and look objectively at it all, it seems to me that we are now seeing the incidental evidence that this nation is going through the hardest time in my lifetime. This is not an isolated event, and it's not a short term problem. Barack Obama has made many promises, and for all our sakes, I hope he will be successful, because his failure will be our collective failure as well. Those who, in their short term anger and spite, hope that he fails are wishing disaster upon us all.

But the evidence I see tells me that we are in for a whole different period in the life of our nation, a period of true malaise in the population. The optimism that usually drives us to bigger and better things seems to be absent right now, and in it's place, we have anxiety and caution. We are not going to shop our way to prosperity this time, I fear, no matter how many stimulus checks we can cash.

The very people who have driven the economy previously, the paycheck-to-paycheck crowd, who spent money they barely had, in the hopes that tomorrow would be more lucrative and their windfall would hit, are out of work, or out of money, or possibly both, and they are not spending any more. Those who have the money are cutting back from the fear of what may come, and they want to be sure that they don't run out of money, because it's easier to keep what you have than to make new.

The lottery spending is a reflection, not of the economy, but of the change in mindset that has been driving the economy. American optimism has been replaced with fear, and suddenly, what seemed possible just a few short months ago now looks distant and out of reach.

And yet, in my humble and uneducated opinion, I think we are at a turning point to becoming a better nation. In shedding the trappings of the national acquisition obsession, perhaps we will find the simplicity that has been lacking over the last 50 years.

I see picnics and board games and reading on the horizon. I think libraries will see a renewal, and coffee shops will be forced to justify their existence. I think the days of buying a house you cannot afford to furnish may be gone, and in their place, we will see a return to smaller, more compact, but higher quality homes that will last longer than your child's adolescence.

We will still have those among us who can go to Paris for spring break without giving it much thought, but I think we will see more driving trips and renewal in interest in national parks and local landmarks. Chicago and St. Louis may become destinations once again, while Disney World could be forced to lower prices and raise service in order to compete for the increasingly limited tourist dollars no longer so available. [And as much as I love Disney World, it's my favorite vacation place on earth as anyone who knows me will tell you, the level of service, especially in their hotels, is abysmal, while the prices are exorbitant.]

I read the other day that Abercrombie and Fitch, [a store of which my children can tell you I most definitely do not approve,] is in financial trouble, with Christmas sales down by double digits this year. I hope that their troubles spell a resurgence for stores like Target, which sell very fine merchandise [truth be told, the quality is probably higher at Target, at least in my experience,] at a fraction of the cost.

I know there are many people out there who believe they have the answer for why this recession has occurred, and what is at the bottom of it. I have my opinion as well, based not upon science or theory, but upon casual observation.

When your only focus is on maximum short term profits for shareholders, often overseas, with no real investment in our nation, at the expense of the long term viability of the majority of your major companies, you are going to have a problem somewhere along the line.

When you add to that the offshoring of most of the manufacturing jobs, lowering the quality of the merchandise, while paying your remaining employees less to do more, you have priced out the remaining consumers in an ever increasing cycle that can only have one direction and one outcome.

What is my solution? Bring back the jobs. Raise the minimum wage to a living wage once again, so that the people who have jobs can afford to pay for what they need, driving a genuine surge in buying, rather than the artificial one that has been ongoing for some time now.

I know there are many who will cry that raising wages will dry up jobs. To them, my response is easy. Look around you. The jobs are drying up anyway, and they are not just the lower wage employees in that unemployment line these days. The middle managers are the ones who are really struggling, because they didn't make enough to save up much, and they spent too much to save what little they could. [Yes, I would be the classic example.]

I believe our economy needs to be rebuilt from the bottom up, providing a living wage to everyone who is employed. I believe this will push job creation in the long run, because those who have the money will require more goods and services, and the result will be more jobs. If the wage is mandated, the playing field will be more level, and you will fuel an economic rise for everyone.

Alan Greenspan has acknowledged that his long held beliefs were, quite simply, in error. It is time for us as a country to admit we were wrong, as well, to try and right the ship, and to pay a little attention to those in the steerage class once again. Henry Ford had the right idea, I believe. He funded the lower class, to provide consumers for their own products, driving up prices, and demand.

I know I will have many who disagree vehemently with me, and I know I am not an economist, so the criticism that I don't know what I'm talking about is fair. But that is how it looks from the merry-go-round I'm riding, and from what I can see, the geniuses in charge haven't got the answers, either.

I think this recession is not only real, and more severe than any since the Great Depression, I think it is going to be with us for a long time. I believe now is the time to correct the road map, while we are in pain, anyway, and to set a new course, one which will increase prosperity for all. Real prosperity will raise hopes and increase optimism, and that will bring out the American spirit once again.

I will leave it to the brain trusts to figure out how to get it done. In the meantime, go ahead, spend a dollar or two. Get your ticket, if you feel lucky. After all, there are less players now than there were before, and someone has to win. You never know, it might just be you!

The world is my oyster....

Most people who know me well will probably, out of my earshot, tell you that I am a cynic. Some of them will tell you that right in front of my face, of course, particularly if they call themselves blood relatives. [Being adopted, it narrows the field considerably, so they know who they are.] I admit I tend to look at the glass as half empty, because, at least in my experience, that IS being optimistic. The bad stuff in life is life - the good stuff is a pleasant surprise.

But there is a larger life viewpoint, a perspective from which you can only see yourself as the small cog in the celestial wheel that is life on earth. We are, each of us, but a drop in the bucket of life, important to our own family and friends, possibly even important to our employers or our own town or city. If you are Bill Gates or the President of the United States, you might even be important to people world wide in an impersonal sort of way - you impact lives on a daily basis without even knowing the people whom your decisions affect. But still, in the end, when viewed through the lens of the whole cosmos, we are small cogs at most.

Awhile back, I came across a picture taken from space at night. It was, in reality, a series of time lapsed pictures, stitched together. Ultimately, you could see the entire world from the bird's eyed, or space ship eyed, perspective.

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap001127.html

If you want to know where the developed world ends and the developing world begins, you need only look at our continents from space at night. Europe, the United States, and small parts of the Pacific Rim are lit up brilliantly, clearly defining where you will find most of the life that is being lived within those boundaries. Hawaii is easily found in the middle of the dark Pacific, while Mongolia and Siberia and Tibet and most of the continent of Africa are completely shrouded in darkness.

It is difficult to understand how a continent such as Africa, with its wealth of natural resources, can be so dark, so lonely, so forgotten, while all of Europe glows like a beacon in the night. It would seem that a continent such as Africa would have every opportunity to convert the vast resources they have into a thriving world leadership position, but it has never been so, since trade routes were first established. It has always been a continent which sold its soul, it seems, for a few pieces of silver or some shiny beads, but in the end, they are left with nothing but dictators and poverty.

And yet, for many people in the United States, they are detached from those issues, because it is something on the news - they don't have to confront the reality of the problems in person, face to face. Darfur is the same old story, the Congo is something of a legend, Pakistan and Afghanistan are pictures on television, and Gaza is someone else's problem. We think of these places as a news brief and forget that the people suffering and dying there are still doing so right this minute.

As we enter this new year of 2009, I cannot help but wonder what is ahead for all of us - as a person, a family, a country, and a world.

We in our family are embarking on new adventures on many levels - a new pet, still finding my way in a new job, college graduation and decisions that must be made, deciding where to go after high school - all are personal decisions being made just in our family.

As a country, we are looking at a new presidency, and new people in charge, amidst the current crisis in our economy and an ongoing war. Will they fulfill the many promises they have made on the campaign trail (or even any of them?) Will they be able to bring new enthusiasm to old problems, and perhaps, even if only psychologically, move us in a new direction? What solutions are available that haven't already been tried? How do we put our nation on track - not back on the old track, but on a new track, that will be even more successful and bring us greater satisfaction, both individually and collectively?

Our place in the world is on shaky footing right now, as we battle with both allies and enemies. The political climate both at home and abroad is not satisfied with where we currently find ourselves - will we be able to work together to solve some of the world's problems, or will we continue to be splintered into a million different pieces, each piece with its own agenda?

We are still seeking Osama bin Laden, who, even though functionally irrelevant, is still tactically dangerous for his symbolic successes. We are seeking an end to tyranny on more than one continent. Israel and the Palestinians continue to battle for supremacy in a part of the world where war is the norm, and peace is a long forgotten dream. We are facing poverty in the Sudan and other places in Africa on a level that is unimaginable - 40,000 people a day are dying on the continent of Africa right now, most of them children. The problems we face are not small, and not insignificant. And we will not be exonerated from our failure to address and solve them simply because an ocean separates us.

As you view the world from space, and you see us, not as individuals, but as a whole, we are inextricably linked together in space and time, as inseparable from each other as drops of water in a glass.

Where our economy goes, so too do the economies of the developing world, who are dependent upon our consumption for their success. A dread disease in Africa is but a single plane flight away from a world wide pandemic. War in Gaza threatens the stability of every nation on earth, as Jew is pitted against Muslim, and every country chooses up sides. The children dying in Darfur are cheapening life for all of us, and we will never know how much has been lost to us because of it.

So then, is the point of this post to depress and criticize? No, on the contrary, for the first time in a very long time, I feel like we, as a nation of hard-working compassionate people, are finally ready to face the realities of life, and to dig in and solve the problems we are facing. We are looking at 2009 as a time of retrenching, a time to renew and cut back and start over. Our new year's resolution as a nation may well be that change has come, and it's not fun, but we are ready, and we are going to see this one through.

So, to all the believers out there who join me in hoping for a brighter tomorrow, even in the midst of the hard today, happy new year! I hope, one year from now, I will be able to look back at this moment and know it was the turning point for us as a nation, as well as for me as a person.

I don't usually make new year's resolutions, because it is, in my opinion, a set-up for failure. However, I do like to assess my situation at the beginning of the year, and try to see where I am, and where I wish I would be by the time this year comes to it's close.

At the beginning of 2009, I look ahead with hope and anticipation of what may come, both personally and financially. I am resolved to take the best each day has to offer and to do the most I can with it. I have learned from as many of my past failures and mistakes as I can, and I will try to take that knowledge and use it to do better in the days to come. I will appreciate more and complain less, I will recognize the gifts of each day, and stop worrying about tomorrow so much. Finally, I will try harder to be a better me, so that those who know me will be enriched by my presence on this earth in new ways. I want to be the pearl in the oyster of life, instead of the grain of sand.

I am wishing you and yours all the best that life can offer in the coming year.

My Kindgom for a shoe....

Obviously, this is a weekend for me to have footwear on the mind, since I am still gloating about my new boots. Therefore, my thoughts have turned to other, somewhat less well shod folks in this world, who not only don't have new boots, but have been throwing around what footwear they do have in the interests of advancing their own personal agendas. Which seems pretty counter-productive to me. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Recently, our current President, George Bush, made a surprise visit to Baghdad, Iraq, and Afghanistan to visit the troops a final time before leaving office. The trip itself wasn't all that newsworthy - outgoing Presidents typically make these kinds of visits to the troops as they prepare to leave office.

Just for the record, I think it's the right thing to do. It's a way for the President to personally thank those people whom he has put into harm's way for making the sacrifice, a sort of rousing farewell so they know their efforts have been appreciated, and not taken for granted. It's a common action for leaders to visit and rally the troops that are fighting at their behest, and on their behalf, and it's a very effective motivator, as well as a nice personal gesture.

I am certain that seeing the President on their field of battle is a way to feel solidarity with the folks at home, who are largely unaware, even in the age of the 24/7 news cycle, of exactly what those sacrifices consist. So, in short, I'm for him making the trip, I think it was the right thing to do. And, in addition, I have respect for him that would be willing to go into one of the most dangerous places in the world, where there is without question a price on his head, in order to bring his message to the troops personally.

But this trip was a little different. I've often read that the journalism world is a jungle, but you don't expect it to be genuinely dangerous, a threat to someone's physical safety. At most, you occasionally wonder about the safety of the reporters themselves, as they cover the news from some of the most dangerous locations on earth. [The recent death rate of reporters in war zones is truly appalling, as they have become easy targets for whatever wacko fringe group want to make an easy hit.] But in a press conference, the only barbed objects that one should fear are the sharp comments being made by skeptical reporters who don't quite buy what is being sold at the podium.

Which brings us back to this brief surprise visit to the war zone, where we find George Bush standing at the podium at a news conference on a sunny Baghdad afternoon, answering questions about the war to an audience of mostly Middle Eastern reporters.

Now, let me just say, I am a firm believer that our President, whether I support him politically or not, is our international representative, sort of an everyman American, speaking and acting on our behalf when he is making state visits abroad. As such, we have a right to demand that the respect due his office be shown, wherever he may be in the world. Apparently, however, not everyone agrees with me. And I take umbrage.

On this occasion, a reporter, it's unclear to me where, exactly, he is from, although he works for an Egyptian news agency (ya, THAT Egypt, the one that is theoretically sort of our ally,) actually threw both his shoes and a series of verbal assaults at our president, a sign of intense disrespect in an area of the world not exactly known for reasonable behavior, anyway.

I have to give George credit, really. He showed an interesting ability to dodge the verbal (and footwear) bullet. I was impressed by his ability to see it coming and avoid being hit by the unexpected shoe assault. You have to wonder if he spent time on the field while he owned the Rangers, because he looked just like a kid taking batting practice eying up the ball.

I was also impressed at his ability to remain gracious and keep the situation light hearted and not take himself too seriously. It was, in my opinion, a presidential moment, in which he represented both himself, and our nation, in the best possible light. It could have been a critical international incident.

Instead, it was a humorous sound bite, because he was able to take himself out of it for a moment and see it for what it was - a moment of protest against a policy that someone disagreed with. I think part of the appeal of George Bush is exactly that, in fact - he never has appeared to take himself too seriously. That's an attractive quality in the most important leader on the face of the earth, I think.

But that is where the story goes seriously awry, in my opinion. The President himself was spot on in words and deeds, and I am proud of him for how he responded. But there is a dark side to this story, one that needs to be examined and dissected, so that it never happens again.

The errant reporter was quickly subdued, thanks not to the US Secret Service, a group of people paid very well by you and me, the taxpayers, to protect the President of the United States even at the cost of their own lives. In this case, the thanks goes to another reporter, who slammed this guy to the ground and waited for the Secret Service to pile on, acting like they had done something when, in fact, they did nothing at all.

I don't know about anyone else, but I have to say, I am not exactly impressed with the Secret Service in the situation. Things happen, and I suppose I can see how it's possible to get off one shoe and throw it without attracting attention beforehand. You can't really anticipate someone taking off their own footwear and throwing it, especially in the circumstance.

Objectively considered, from the reporter's perspective, he didn't really have much in the way of weapons at hand, so his shoes probably seemed like the best choice, despite the obvious reality that he was never going to get away from there unscathed. The fact that he wasn't wearing his shoe was going to come up on the way out, seeing as how a shoe got thrown, so it's assumed he knew he was going to be apprehended and beaten to a pulp. It's still Iraq, after all.

Although, come to think of it, I am forced to observe that Muslim adherents seem to have a fondness for footwear as weapons recently, an interesting trend that I find noteworthy, and apparently, so should the Secret Service. Perhaps footwear should always be as suspect in press conferences as it seems to be for the regular citizens at the airport. Still, all in all, I can't really blame anyone for not stopping the first shoe assault. But I am appalled that the reporter was able to throw both of them.

If this is an example of Secret Service protection, for which the American public is paying a premium price, it is inadequate, to say the least. If I were Laura, I wouldn't be letting George out of the White House again until he was out of office. And if I were Michelle, I'd be a nervous wreck. Four years of that kind of worry and you would have to pack me off to the rubber room for sure. (I will admit, I have one foot in the door at all times anyway. But that would put me right over the edge.) Given the lunatic fringes that exist right here in our own country, you would think the Secret Service would have been prepared for anything, and instead, it seems they were caught, dare I say it? flat footed.

I understand they were in a foreign country. I understand that you have to give latitude to that country and their own police force. But this is not just another tourist hitting the beach in Cancun. This is the President of the United States, and he was visiting the country whose cause you can fairly say he has championed non-stop since entering office. Say what you will about him, he has been consistent on Iraq, and his belief that this is a just war, and that we have freed them from tyranny.

So I think it's fair to ask, where were the Secret Service? Where were his police and military protection? What were they thinking in not keeping a sharp eye on every single person in that crowd? While they were all accredited journalists, and the weapon of choice was a shoe instead of a gun, for which we can all be eternally grateful, this is an incident which should never have occurred. We cannot screen for every eventuality, and it could have been a bomb hidden in his shoe instead of just a shoe. It is clear that in that part of the world, life has a different value, and the value of martyrdom is far higher than the value of remaining on this earth to many people.

Human aspects aside, I shudder to think what would have happened had something catastrophic occurred, and President Bush have been severely injured, or God forbid, assassinated over there. Our country is already in crisis. That would probably throw us over the edge. We do not need that interruption in the national process of transferring power from one president to the next. While I am, obviously, glad for his family and personal friends that he is okay, I am glad for us as a country as well, because I think we are too fragile, too strung out, too vulnerable, to risk something that damaging happening right now.

Benjamin Franklin told the cautionary tale from history about how for wont of a horseshoe nail the kingdom was lost. While the origins of that little proverb are likely found in the story of Richard the Third and Henry VII and The Battle of Bosworth, [a moment in time which literally changed the course of Western history, and paved the way for the Tudor dynasty and the English Reformation,] the meaning of the ditty is still crystal clear. If you don't pay attention to the small stuff, you will lose the bigger battles as well. We are at war with the zealots in this world, and we cannot afford to let down our guard, either at home or away, for even a moment.

So, to the Secret Service, SHAPE UP. Intensify your training. NEVER forget that the very future of our nation, and even the future course of the world, could be in your apparently incapable hands. You have one of the most serious jobs on earth. Perhaps you should put your walkie talkies down, and just open your eyes and look around you. The threat is not only from the great. Sometimes, it's the little stuff that brings you down.

And to everyone else, keep your shoes on. Unless you're at the airport, of course.

Booting up....

Into each life some snow [so I'm paraphrasing, give me a break,] must fall. And if it does, you should be wearing boots, I think. So, with that in mind, last week I went to buy myself some new boots.

I am, if you didn't realize, a very delicate hot-house flower of a girl. I need tender loving care, and I wilt easily. Well, my feet do, anyway. In short, I have the world's most sensitive feet. The Princess who got black and blue from the pea? She has nothing on me. If I have a speck of lint under my foot, I will be sore for weeks. Thus, the proper fit is paramount in my shoe shopping expeditions.

I bought myself a pair of Bear Paw boots some years back. They are amazing boots - lined in sheepskin, warm and cozy suede exterior, just the right amount of chic, but still practical. Unfortunately, they are so comfort filled and attractive that my even more attractive adolescent swiped them out from under me, and now I no longer have the booted options available to me that I once did.

Thus, I headed off to procure another pair for myself, in a size that would make it uncomfortable for any other resident of my household to permanently borrow them.

I spied the coveted item at the store called Wild Pair, a trendy little boutique in my local mall. They are not inexpensive boots, but I will spare no expense to be certain that my tender feet walk unmolested by faulty footwear.

I should just say that I have never been to Wild Pair before. That is not a name that really shouts out to me that I belong there, seeing as how I could never be confused for something that belongs in a zoo. However, they had, in a bold display, the very boots I desired right in front of the door, and they drew me in like a rebel Starship caught in a tractor beam.

I tried on the perfect pair, excited to contemplate my newly booted appendages, and with great haste wrote my check and high tailed it out of there. I sped home to waterproof the sueded surfaces, so that I would be able to don them in the snow soon to arrive. The spray requires a substantial dry time, so I was going to be prepared for the upcoming onslaught.

I awaited the dawn with the kind of anticipation usually reserved for Santa related holidays. [I am trying to be seasonal here, otherwise I would obviously have mentioned my birthday.] I rushed to the kitchen to slide my feet into the cushy cloud that I knew would envelope my feet, and sat back to admire.

But no. It can't be. A flaw in the ointment. Or the boot top, really. I looked closer, well, really my neck briefly resembled a trombone slide as I maneuvered my eyes into the perfect range to take in the outrage now presenting itself to me, and saw that indeed, the eyes were not deceiving me. There was a slice, as from an errant knife, right across the top of the new boot.

I was desolate.

I attempted to rally from the blow, arguing with myself that I could live with it, it wasn't really a big deal, it wouldn't be a problem, REALLY. Then I took a step. The whole thing suddenly separated, like an earthquake in miniature, and there was a now a gaping gash across the top of my new boot.

I immediately called the store, girded for battle, anticipating an argument, expecting to have to defend myself from accusations of inappropriate knife usage at the very least. But no. The manager kindly said, "Bring them right in, and we'll get you a new pair immediately." Well, that certainly did take the edge off the anger, I must say.

I headed on up to the mall again, not a small trek, but since gas is back down out of the stratosphere, I can just barely afford to drive around again. I parked, I walked in with my box, I entered the door of the store, and they were... gone. I stood there looking at the display boot, thinking that it was a size smaller, but that's my small foot, and maybe I could make it work - when suddenly, here was the clerk. She apologized for taking so much time. Her boss was on the phone, and in this economy, if I had to choose between my boss and my customer, I'd pick the boss, too. So I told her no problem, showed her the boot, and she was rather surprised.

But she said, let me get you a new pair. So we got the new pair out of the box, checked them over carefully, you can be sure, and I even got a 25% discount. Which I promptly spent on a new waterproofing spray which is so high tech it only needs 30 minutes to dry.

I raced home, sprayed and sprayed again, and I was all excited to pull on my new boots and break them in. Snow was still on the ground, it was still icy cold outside, I had not missed prime boot wearing weather after all, and all was well in my world.

Except, of course, it's me. So naturally, there was a problem. When I pulled on my new boots the next morning, and I stood admiring their pristine loveliness, I suddenly realized that my foot hurt. It was a soft hurt, sort of an annoyance more than actual pain, and I told myself that I was dreaming. I was just having sympathy pains for the poor boot that would now never have a foot to hold. It couldn't possibly be that I would get another defective boot.

I barrelled forth into my day, wearing my boots, but becoming increasingly tense with each step, as I gradually lost all ability to deny, even to myself, that there was a problem with my new boot. Finally, I broke down and pulled off the boot, to find a toe so raw it was aching, and the nerves were jangling all the way up my leg. I knew it was not going to be a joyful moment, but shoved my hand down to the bottom, where the toe meets the top, and sure enough, there was the problem.

The lining of the brand new boot was bunched up and folded over, creating a riffle in the bottom of my shoe that was roughly equivalent to the Great Wall of China. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I sighed. I said rats. I said uff da, the strongest epithet I can muster under stress. I got out the receipt and called the store, again, certain that this time they would have no more to do with me. I was going to be labeled a chronic whiner, and they would shut the gate and refuse me entrance.

But no. They said, bring it back in. Well, first the manager said, "Are you sure it isn't the toe box?" Well, ya, I'm pretty sure, since the lining is bunched up and folded over in one boot, creating a wall the size of the Great Wall.

So off I head to the mall once again, miserable that I will now have to emerge from the warm cocoon of my home into the cold, shod only in boots with holes in them. This is what I get for trying to be prepared, I was whining miserably to myself, as I drove my truck up to the mall once again, resentment etching a furrow into my brow. (Well, not really. I just wanted to use the word etch, and this seemed like a good time.) Mostly, I was just bummed to be making the drive for the third time in three days, which is more than I have been to the mall in the past three months. Or year. Or two.

I arrive at Wild Pair, expecting to at least have to explain myself, or to face a gauntlet of tough questions about what I did to their boot to make it defective, but no. Once again, they could not have been nicer to me. Honestly, its rather hard to be a curmudgeon when people are nice to you.

She felt the ridge, gave her opinion that it was certainly not going to be acceptable to have a boot with that kind of flaw, and went and got me a new box, apologizing for my inconvenience. In gratitude, I bought another item, this time boot cleaner for the long lost pair that seem to have shown up rather surprisingly often on the feet of one of my nearest and dearest, but a little worse for the wear.

Rest assured, I looked these boots over outside and IN, and just to be sure, I also wore them for about ten minutes in the store. When I had declared myself fully satisfied, I happily left with new boots in hand, a fully satisfied customer.

I recommend Wild Pair highly to anyone who wants to shop in a store that stands behind what they sell. I am impressed, to say the least, that they accepted my complaints without an excuse, simply exchanged them as requested, and even gave me a discount for my troubles. There are not many places where you can get that kind of customer service any more, and if it's important to you, then Wild Pair is your kind of place.

I brought my new boots home, sprayed them, waited overnight, and with slightly deflated expectations, pulled them onto my waiting extremities the following morning, wondering what might go wrong next. But no. I was once again surprised, this time to find that nothing at all was wrong. All is well in my booted world, and I am fully satisfied and walking on a cloud even now.

Leave it to me to find the two pair of defective boots that Bear Paw has ever made. Wild Pair has never had a pair returned before, they told me in amusement. I guess they just haven't dealt with a princess quite like me.

Decorating madness....

There is a time honored tradition amongst those who celebrate the holiday of Christmas, [as opposed to the "Winter Holiday" observed by popular culture these days.] The house is torn apart, and every single item on display is replaced with something red, green and festive, exhausting the women of the family before the holiday itself even arrives. This is an undertaking of hours and days and weeks duration, involving billions of dollars collectively, requiring ridiculous amounts of hard work, only to take it all apart again in just a few short weeks, reversing the work so recently accomplished.

I wonder if men have even a small idea of the exhaustion experienced by the women of the household as they prepare for the greatest show on earth. Apologies to Barnum and Bailey, but the circus has nothing on the three ring spectacular known as the Christmas holiday season, written and directed by women of the family, and merchants, everywhere.

From Thanksgiving to Christmas, it's a non-stop whirlwind of decorating, shopping, baking and twinkling lights, and the entire production is generally written, directed, produced and acted out by the legions of women running the family show the world over, with dads playing a minor supporting role. (Ah, those twinkling lights. Which, I am happy to report, are, in fact, still twinkling, at least in my case. I wish you luck with yours.)

I suppose that could be construed as a sexist remark, but in all honesty, who does the Christmas preparation in your household? When you think of your growing up years, who do you associate with all the sights and sounds of Christmas in your house? That's what I thought.

In my household, there is no "Father" figure any more. Actually, if you asked any of us, we would have to acknowledge that there never was, but that's another story. I do all the preparation work by default, just as I always have. From Thanksgiving to Christmas, it has always been my arena, and now that I am broke and have no time, it is more challenging than ever. Santa Claus, where are you? I don't want my two front teeth for Christmas, I want more hours in the day. Or perhaps two extra hands. And if you wanted to pad my bank account, I wouldn't object to that, either.

Not to digress, but my lovely teen aged daughter has a fetish for outside lights on houses. And I do mean ON the houses. It is not enough for her to throw some strings of lights on the bushes and call it a [cold] day. She would prefer to have the Griswald's come to life in our own household, and to light up the neighborhood with the results of our hard effort. To make a long story short, that isn't going to happen. Ever.

I have patiently explained to her many times that while women can, indeed, do anything they set their minds to, putting up lights on the house is a "dad" job. I don't want to discourage her from thinking that she can do anything interesting that she wants to do in her own life, I just want her to understand that if you want lights on your house, you need to marry wisely. A lesson I really wish I had learned earlier rather than later, so hopefully she will benefit by my abysmal example.

I am not sexist, you understand, I am parentist. I believe there are certain roles for which one parent or the other is simply better suited by nature. Lights on a house falls under the father category, as does trimming the tree trunk before sticking it into the stand. (Since we are short one father, we simply use the circular saw, which is cheaper and more efficient than my ex, Mr. Handy, and the crow bar and hand saw routine he used to employ.)

One of the sweetest things my daughter has ever said to me is that she wishes for me that someday I would have a man in my life that would put lights on my house. It was a wistful statement, and held a lot more than the simple words on their surface, of course. I knew exactly what she meant, and it makes me melt even now, just to think about it.

You may well be wondering what falls under the mother category. In the case of Christmas, the answer would be pretty much everything else. Which brings me to yesterday.

I spent all day, when I would rather have been writing on my blog, [obviously, keeping in touch with the many fans family wide who read my meanderings assiduously,] redecorating my living room to bring the festive nature of the season to the heart of our little abode. I worked my fingers to the bone, went up and down the ladder, and up and down the stairs, approximately 5,000 times, in order to make the house seasonal and celebratory.

I decorated the family room first to make it fun for the onslaught of teens rapidly heading in my direction. I strung the garland, hung the paper snowflakes, cleared and dusted and redecorated the entire room, making it a veritable festivity central. Which must have been appreciated, since they were here until the wee hours, long after Santa would have gotten bored and gone home, leaving stockings unfilled, if it were Christmas Eve.

Then I moved on the living room. More hauling, more climbing, more decorating. You never really know how much stuff you have until you start pulling it all out to decorate for Christmas. I recall when I was little looking into the boxes that came down from the cold upstairs, filled with the treasures of Christmas. It was always so exciting to see them appear, you knew good things were in store sooner rather than later. But there would still be things in the bottom of the box, and I couldn't understand why my mother didn't put up every last thing she owned.

Now that I have grown up, I find that I, too, leave things in the bottom of the box. There are simply too many things to put them all out. I have lighting and other things that there is just no place for any more, but I can't bear to discard it, either. So instead, I hang on to it, just in case the day arrives when it will once again be appropriate in my home. I am learning from my mother, it seems, to the detriment of my basement space.

Thus I find myself this morning, sitting in my newly redecorated space, happily enjoying the beauty of the surroundings, and feeling more festive just to look around. I put another number on my advent calendar, bringing me one day closer to the magical day of Christmas. I am reminded, through the nativity sets that I have set up in the middle of my room, what the real reason for the season is, whose advent we are celebrating. I see a few small gifts under the tree, offerings of love to my family to let them know that I care about them, and cherish their joy more than anything.

And I realize, once again, that I am lucky to be the mom, the purveyor of the family dreams and traditions, the one around whom the outward, secular celebration of Christmas, at least in my household, swirls. My family's joy and fun and happiness in this season are augmented by the hours of work and effort that I put into it, and that is my reward. Parentist though it may be, my children will never be without the memories of my hard work and extra efforts, even when I am long gone. Sometimes it is good to be the mom.

Most times, really. Except at 2:30 in the morning when some goofy boy shows up unannounced to throw wood chips at the window of your teenaged daughter, like some love struck Cyrano de Bergerac on a hormone high. That is a dad thing to handle, and since we are one short, I have to fill in, and it's not my deal AT ALL. But anyway....

Like most women, when I sit back on Christmas Day and think about how everything went for us this year, I can feel the satisfaction of a holiday season well done. The cards got written and mailed, the baking will get done [thanks, Mom,] the decorations were put up, the tree was acquired, the stockings were filled, the gifts which betoken our love for one another were duly appreciated, pictures will have been snapped, and at the bottom of it all, the hard work will have been worth it, because the people I love most will have had one more Christmas to add to their storehouse of memories.