Occasionally, I get a craving for grape juice or barbecue potato chips. This is a life long craving. It stems from my childhood of thrifty parents. These must have been expensive items to purchase when I was a child, because no amount of asking Dad (who did the shopping) to buy them was ever successful. I can count on the fingers of one hand the times that Dad brought home grape juice or barbecue potato chips. I had to satisfy my occasional cravings by eating with neighborhood children.
Dad sold meat for Swift & Company for 19 1/2 years prior to going into the insurance business. After he went into the insurance business, he had to get creative in purchasing inexpensive meat. He knew all the butchers from his days with Swift. He would talk to all of them and get the very best price on meat to be found. If he found a really good deal, he bought in quantity. I remember one summer he got a deal on chicken, and he filled the freezer. Mom cooked chicken at least 100 different ways. She was amazing! However, the next summer he got a deal on hotdogs -- and then the manager at the insurance company he worked for gave him the unused hot dogs from the company picnic -- that was a different story! There are only so many things you can do with a hot dog!
Dad bought mayonnaise, mustard, and catsup (ketchup, if you prefer) in gallon jars because it was cheaper that way. At some point in my childhood, "generic" food became the new grocery store fad. "Generic" food had a plain white label with black lettering so you didn't know what company put it out. Some "generic" food was okay, but some of it was just putrid! Dad found a sale on "generic" tuna fish one day and bought a ton of it. It tasted like cat food. Even Mom was shaking her head at him.
The grocery stores would put all the dented cans in a basket somewhere in the store. Dad called that the depression basket. He taught us that there is nothing wrong with buying dented cans. He showed us how to test the cans by pushing on the top and bottom of the cans at the same time. If there was no movement in the top or bottom, then the seal had not been broken. However, if you could make the top or bottom of the can move up and down, the seal had been broken, and it was spoiled. Dad delighted in shopping in the depression basket for bargains.
Occasionally, Dad would find unlabeled cans in the depression basket. He would save them in the pantry until he had several of them. Then we would have a "surprise" meal. He would open all the unlabeled cans, and Mom would try to make a meal from whatever we found.
Coupons were always clipped, and always analyzed to see if the item was really a good deal compared to other cheaper brands.
When my kids were small, we made crock pot macaroni & cheese occasionally. This happened because Dad would bring me ice chests full of depression basket cheese when they would come to visit from Reno. We would take a potato peeler, peel the small areas of mold from the cheese, wrap it in plastic wrap, and freeze it. We loved that cheese supply, because cheese was over our budget limit at the time. Frozen cheese doesn't slice well, but the crumbly cheese still tastes the same on a sandwich.
I'm sipping on the last little bit of grape juice from the three bottles Danny brought home for my craving this week, and I'm thinking about Dad. Somewhere in heaven there is a depression basket with grape juice and barbecue potato chips. I hope Dad finds it so that he knows what he missed. We never went hungry; Dad always could find the bargains. I hope he now can eat a full Milky Way all by himself without cutting it in pieces and sharing it on a plate.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Looking Back
Reflection can be a good thing, and lately I've been doing a lot of looking back. There are a lot of things I would have liked to do in this life, but my life sort of threw itself at me, and I took it as it came. Looking back, it is actually more interesting than I realized.
Prior to marriage, I worked for a Workers' Compensation attorney (who later became a Workers' Compensation judge). I also worked for an attorney who really pioneered products liability in California. In that capacity, we worked with Ralph Nadar on a case or two, and I met him. Little did I know the impact products liability would have in this country. (I'm sure George Littlefield is rolling over in his grave at how it is being abused.) I remember working on the Pinto case when we had an entire vehicle dismantled in the conference room. We worked on getting manufacturers of children's pajamas to make them out of nonflammable material. We got safety trip switches installed on space heaters. I worked on the DES cases, which was a drug that was given to prevent miscarriage that caused the children to get cancer.
When my first child was born, I wanted to quit and be a stay-at-home mom. George Littlefield was adamant that I take work home with me. He sent me home with his books, and I kept his books for a couple of years. Later, he told me to bring a playpen in the office, and do some "overload" typing. When that no longer worked, he loaned me a typewriter and a transcriber, and told his favorite private investigator to hire me to transcribe reports. I didn't realize until after George died what a great favor he did for me to keep my skills current.
As the kids grew older, I worked nights in law offices all over Sacramento doing overload typing and transcription. I worked on a lot of very interesting cases. The most long-term part-time job I had was for Gallawa, Brown & Kroesch. I learned a lot about insurance defense there, and it was a good flexible job. I worked 2 or 3 nights a week by myself after closing time.
The most fascinating job I had when the kids were growing up was transcribing parole hearings for life prisoners from my home. My son was about nine years old, and he was mesmerized. He would sit on my water bed and read over my shoulder. Occasionally, I would let him listen with the headphones. He was really too young to be reading some of this stuff, but I'm quite sure that's why he never joined a gang or took drugs.
One of the most memorable parole hearings was a woman who shot her husband execution style as he slept in bed. The she rolled him off the bed onto a quilt, wrapped him in it, and dragged him to a cellar door in their closet where she dumped the body. She left the house "on vacation" for six or eight weeks to let the smell dissipate, came home, and reported him missing. Eventually, he was declared dead, and she remarried and had children. At some point, her second husband discovered the body in the cellar, and the party was over.
There was a gang member who stabbed an 80-year-old woman 18 times as an "initiation" into the gang. My son listened on the headphones to the victim's family testify at the parole hearing.
I also transcribed California Energy Commission hearings, California Building Standards Commission hearings, bankruptcy court hearings from Los Angeles, and some district court hearings from Hawaii.
When it came time to go back to work full time, I worked for Bill Kochenderfer. At that time he was doing civil litigation and unlawful detainers. He also managed six apartment complexes in the Fairfield and Suisun area. He taught me how to take an unlawful detainer pretty much from start to finish -- except I never quite got down the final judgment. I would try and try and finally put it in what he called my "too hard pile," until he could help me. I also helped him with the quarterly reports to the property owners on the apartment complexes. I LOVED that job!
The worst two years of my career were spent in a family law office. I hated family law, and the working conditions were less than desirable. 'Nuff said. That job did teach me never to take my marriage for granted, however. I believe that's why I fell into that job.
Then came my stint as George Murphy's appellate secretary at Farmer, Murphy, et al., which later split into Murphy, Campbell, et al. I loved that job, as well, and I learned so many things. Each attorney in that office sort of had his/her own specialty, and as my responsibilities changed, I learned about construction law, real estate law, and typed coverage opinions for school districts and community college districts in California -- in addition to doing appellate briefs.
The last 3 1/2 years, I've worked at Pacific Legal Foundation, which is a nonprofit. This has been a very exciting job for me. I've worked on briefs for many courts in many different states. There have been briefs in federal courts, state courts, and even the United States Supreme Court. We fight for liberty and freedom, and defend the Constitution. We fight for individual rights, property rights, and basically protect the little guy from big government. Of all the jobs I've had, I feel this one is the most important -- and the job for which I'm most proud.
Well, I didn't start out to be a legal secretary. I wanted to be a writer. My Dad told me that writing was not a dignified enough profession for a lady. Yes, I'm that old. Times have changed. Dad actually did me a favor, I think. I've been able to help support my family quite well as a legal secretary. Hopefully, along the way, I learned a few things that will help me later if I ever get around to writing the great American novel. Who knows? I'm not dead yet.
Prior to marriage, I worked for a Workers' Compensation attorney (who later became a Workers' Compensation judge). I also worked for an attorney who really pioneered products liability in California. In that capacity, we worked with Ralph Nadar on a case or two, and I met him. Little did I know the impact products liability would have in this country. (I'm sure George Littlefield is rolling over in his grave at how it is being abused.) I remember working on the Pinto case when we had an entire vehicle dismantled in the conference room. We worked on getting manufacturers of children's pajamas to make them out of nonflammable material. We got safety trip switches installed on space heaters. I worked on the DES cases, which was a drug that was given to prevent miscarriage that caused the children to get cancer.
When my first child was born, I wanted to quit and be a stay-at-home mom. George Littlefield was adamant that I take work home with me. He sent me home with his books, and I kept his books for a couple of years. Later, he told me to bring a playpen in the office, and do some "overload" typing. When that no longer worked, he loaned me a typewriter and a transcriber, and told his favorite private investigator to hire me to transcribe reports. I didn't realize until after George died what a great favor he did for me to keep my skills current.
As the kids grew older, I worked nights in law offices all over Sacramento doing overload typing and transcription. I worked on a lot of very interesting cases. The most long-term part-time job I had was for Gallawa, Brown & Kroesch. I learned a lot about insurance defense there, and it was a good flexible job. I worked 2 or 3 nights a week by myself after closing time.
The most fascinating job I had when the kids were growing up was transcribing parole hearings for life prisoners from my home. My son was about nine years old, and he was mesmerized. He would sit on my water bed and read over my shoulder. Occasionally, I would let him listen with the headphones. He was really too young to be reading some of this stuff, but I'm quite sure that's why he never joined a gang or took drugs.
One of the most memorable parole hearings was a woman who shot her husband execution style as he slept in bed. The she rolled him off the bed onto a quilt, wrapped him in it, and dragged him to a cellar door in their closet where she dumped the body. She left the house "on vacation" for six or eight weeks to let the smell dissipate, came home, and reported him missing. Eventually, he was declared dead, and she remarried and had children. At some point, her second husband discovered the body in the cellar, and the party was over.
There was a gang member who stabbed an 80-year-old woman 18 times as an "initiation" into the gang. My son listened on the headphones to the victim's family testify at the parole hearing.
I also transcribed California Energy Commission hearings, California Building Standards Commission hearings, bankruptcy court hearings from Los Angeles, and some district court hearings from Hawaii.
When it came time to go back to work full time, I worked for Bill Kochenderfer. At that time he was doing civil litigation and unlawful detainers. He also managed six apartment complexes in the Fairfield and Suisun area. He taught me how to take an unlawful detainer pretty much from start to finish -- except I never quite got down the final judgment. I would try and try and finally put it in what he called my "too hard pile," until he could help me. I also helped him with the quarterly reports to the property owners on the apartment complexes. I LOVED that job!
The worst two years of my career were spent in a family law office. I hated family law, and the working conditions were less than desirable. 'Nuff said. That job did teach me never to take my marriage for granted, however. I believe that's why I fell into that job.
Then came my stint as George Murphy's appellate secretary at Farmer, Murphy, et al., which later split into Murphy, Campbell, et al. I loved that job, as well, and I learned so many things. Each attorney in that office sort of had his/her own specialty, and as my responsibilities changed, I learned about construction law, real estate law, and typed coverage opinions for school districts and community college districts in California -- in addition to doing appellate briefs.
The last 3 1/2 years, I've worked at Pacific Legal Foundation, which is a nonprofit. This has been a very exciting job for me. I've worked on briefs for many courts in many different states. There have been briefs in federal courts, state courts, and even the United States Supreme Court. We fight for liberty and freedom, and defend the Constitution. We fight for individual rights, property rights, and basically protect the little guy from big government. Of all the jobs I've had, I feel this one is the most important -- and the job for which I'm most proud.
Well, I didn't start out to be a legal secretary. I wanted to be a writer. My Dad told me that writing was not a dignified enough profession for a lady. Yes, I'm that old. Times have changed. Dad actually did me a favor, I think. I've been able to help support my family quite well as a legal secretary. Hopefully, along the way, I learned a few things that will help me later if I ever get around to writing the great American novel. Who knows? I'm not dead yet.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Time Changes How I Do Things
There was a time when I could answer the phone at work and upon hearing the voice on the other end, say, "Hello, Mr. 'X,' I'm sure you're looking for Mr. 'Y'; I'll connect you." I would be able to recognize a voice after hearing it just once before. Thank goodness, in my current position, I'm not forced to speak to people on the phone very much. It's fortunate because I can only hear part of what people say on the phone. If the person is calling from a cell phone, I catch about every third word and try to piece it together.
Attorneys used to say, "Do you remember a couple of years ago when you did such and such? Do you remember what case that was?" I'd be able to tell them, "Sure that was ABC, Inc.. v. DEF, LLC." Today an attorney sent me and another legal secretary the following e-mail: "I remember a while back, one of you transcribed something off of an audio, declared that it was true and correct, and we submitted it with a brief. Do you call the case?" My response: "It was me. I'll think about it a minute and get back to you." After a few minutes, I narrowed it down to two cases in my mind, and then I did some hunting on the hard drive and found it. In all fairness, "a while back," turned out to be 11 months ago. Okay, so that's not that long ago, but I'm 56 years old. I came up with it eventually, so I guess the old girl still has a few brain cells left. It does get a little frightening, however, that it takes me so long to be useful.
While time has changed how I do things, it hasn't changed my ability to actually do them. I'm learning to adapt. Since the piece of steel was placed in my ankle, I no longer run from my desk to the copy room when I'm copying and binding a brief on a deadline. I've come to realize that it's my responsibility to do the best I can; but it is not my responsibility to make up for attorney procrastination. It's taken me a 35-year career to be able to say that. I can actually say it with no feelings of guilt, no feelings that I'm not reliable, and no feelings that I'm not a "team player." Aren't you proud of me?
Attorneys used to say, "Do you remember a couple of years ago when you did such and such? Do you remember what case that was?" I'd be able to tell them, "Sure that was ABC, Inc.. v. DEF, LLC." Today an attorney sent me and another legal secretary the following e-mail: "I remember a while back, one of you transcribed something off of an audio, declared that it was true and correct, and we submitted it with a brief. Do you call the case?" My response: "It was me. I'll think about it a minute and get back to you." After a few minutes, I narrowed it down to two cases in my mind, and then I did some hunting on the hard drive and found it. In all fairness, "a while back," turned out to be 11 months ago. Okay, so that's not that long ago, but I'm 56 years old. I came up with it eventually, so I guess the old girl still has a few brain cells left. It does get a little frightening, however, that it takes me so long to be useful.
The trick is learning how to do things a little differently. I was able to remember the case because I stalled for a few minutes to collect my thoughts. I didn't allow myself to get rattled. On those rare occasions when I do have to speak to someone on the phone, I make a point of speaking slowly. I do that because most people will follow my lead and speak slowly in response, which gives me better odds at hearing each word as the person speaks. If I have trouble, I just explain that my hearing is not what it used to be. Almost everyone is understanding and makes a point to slow down and speak more clearly.
While time has changed how I do things, it hasn't changed my ability to actually do them. I'm learning to adapt. Since the piece of steel was placed in my ankle, I no longer run from my desk to the copy room when I'm copying and binding a brief on a deadline. I've come to realize that it's my responsibility to do the best I can; but it is not my responsibility to make up for attorney procrastination. It's taken me a 35-year career to be able to say that. I can actually say it with no feelings of guilt, no feelings that I'm not reliable, and no feelings that I'm not a "team player." Aren't you proud of me?
Sunday, February 6, 2011
He Took Pity On Me
I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with my first child. I was miserable. My feet were swollen twice their normal size. My back hurt so bad I thought I was going to die. I was HUGE, and I felt like a baby elephant. I was determined to work as long as possible because we needed the money, and because I didn't want to sit in the non-air conditioned home we had just purchased and stare at the many projects I needed to do, but was too pregnant to begin.
At the time, I was working in a 4-attorney office, and George Littlefield was the senior partner. One day during a quiet lunch hour, I was so exhausted that I decided to take a 10-minute nap. There was a couch in George's private office, and I curled up and went to sleep. Unfortunately, I slept hard and woke up an hour and a half later. To my horror, I discovered that George had tiptoed into his office, grabbed the project he was working on, and taken it to the conference room to work so that I could continue to sleep. Obviously, I thanked him profusely through my embarrassment, but I was (and still am) quite touched that he took pity on me and was so compassionate.
We never know how long our little acts of kindness will be remembered. I'm sure that in the hot summer of 1977, George wasn't thinking that I would still be touched in 2011, long after his death, from that little act of kindness. As I go through this week, I'm going to think about George each day. I'm going to seek to do little acts of kindness each day.
At the time, I was working in a 4-attorney office, and George Littlefield was the senior partner. One day during a quiet lunch hour, I was so exhausted that I decided to take a 10-minute nap. There was a couch in George's private office, and I curled up and went to sleep. Unfortunately, I slept hard and woke up an hour and a half later. To my horror, I discovered that George had tiptoed into his office, grabbed the project he was working on, and taken it to the conference room to work so that I could continue to sleep. Obviously, I thanked him profusely through my embarrassment, but I was (and still am) quite touched that he took pity on me and was so compassionate.
We never know how long our little acts of kindness will be remembered. I'm sure that in the hot summer of 1977, George wasn't thinking that I would still be touched in 2011, long after his death, from that little act of kindness. As I go through this week, I'm going to think about George each day. I'm going to seek to do little acts of kindness each day.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Moving Away From Home
Upon graduation from high school, I worked for a year in the offce at Breuner's Furniture in Reno, Nevada. At the end of one year, I planned to go to Heald Business College in Sacramento. It was a tough year for my folks. Dad was sick, and the doctors were running endless tests to figure out what was wrong with him. This was complicated by the fact that Dad was a Christian Scientist at heart (even though he'd joined the Mormon church years earlier), and when the doctors asked him how he was doing, he always said, "Fine." Since Dad worked only on commissions, things were a little tight, and they borrowed money from me that year to make the house payment.
I assumed that I would be working a second year in order to be able to move to Sacramento, but that assumption was wrong. Mom insisted that I pack my stuff and go register at Heald's. Every time I asked her where the money was coming from, she just said, "Everything always comes out in the wash."
My hope chest (my kids called theirs "independence chests") was pretty complete by that time. Mom told me I could have my bed. The problem was that I could only fit so much in the car for the move. I had a choice of my stereo and LARGE bean bag chair, or my mattress (bed to come later). I wasn't leaving my stereo home, and I figured I could sleep in the bean bag chair until Dad's next business meeting in Sacramento when they could bring the mattress.
We had the trunk of Dad's car open a long time loading it, and we didn't realize the light bulb in the trunk was burning a hole in my brand new bed spread (that I could have left since I didn't have a bed). Mom mended it before we left. The trip to Sacramento was quite an experience, as I shared the back seat with the bean bag chair. With every curve of the Sierra's, the beans shifted. By the time we reached Sacramento, I was being smothered in a bean bag chair that refused to stay within the designated space.
My new roommate was from Susanville, California, and we had not met each other prior to the move. We shared a one-bedroom apartment on I Street, just across the street from the back parking lot of Heald's Business College (which has since moved).
After I was all moved in, Mom went home and put the house up for sale. If I had known that was how she was going to come up with the money for Heald's, I would not have gone. I felt really horrible. However, Mom always knew best. They bought a double-wide mobile home out near Stead Airforce Base, and they loved living out there. The mobile home had more cupboard and closet space than the house had! After Heald's was paid for, Mom and Dad still owed me a little bit of money. They paid me back after Danny and I were married. It was just enough to buy our first couch (so we could get rid of the awful hide-a-bed someone had given us).
Mom did me a favor selling the house because I couldn't go "home." I could go "visit," but my "home" had been sold. I'm not sure if I would have had the gumption to stand on my own two feet if it hadn't been for that. I worked very hard at Heald's. I would not have been able to stomach disappointing Mom and Dad after they sold the house.
I know that Mom and Dad sold the house because it was the right thing for them too. I know that now. Dad was too ill for the upkeep on the house and yard. At the mobile home, they landscaped with rocks, shrubs, and easy maintenance trees. It was a good place for them to be until Dad passed away. I'm glad I didn't figure that out until later, however. I might not have worked so hard at Heald's, and I might not have stuck out the loneliness and homesickness that first year in Sacramento. I'm also glad my mother knew it was time to kick me out of the nest. My life would be very different now if she hadn't.
I assumed that I would be working a second year in order to be able to move to Sacramento, but that assumption was wrong. Mom insisted that I pack my stuff and go register at Heald's. Every time I asked her where the money was coming from, she just said, "Everything always comes out in the wash."
My hope chest (my kids called theirs "independence chests") was pretty complete by that time. Mom told me I could have my bed. The problem was that I could only fit so much in the car for the move. I had a choice of my stereo and LARGE bean bag chair, or my mattress (bed to come later). I wasn't leaving my stereo home, and I figured I could sleep in the bean bag chair until Dad's next business meeting in Sacramento when they could bring the mattress.
We had the trunk of Dad's car open a long time loading it, and we didn't realize the light bulb in the trunk was burning a hole in my brand new bed spread (that I could have left since I didn't have a bed). Mom mended it before we left. The trip to Sacramento was quite an experience, as I shared the back seat with the bean bag chair. With every curve of the Sierra's, the beans shifted. By the time we reached Sacramento, I was being smothered in a bean bag chair that refused to stay within the designated space.
My new roommate was from Susanville, California, and we had not met each other prior to the move. We shared a one-bedroom apartment on I Street, just across the street from the back parking lot of Heald's Business College (which has since moved).
After I was all moved in, Mom went home and put the house up for sale. If I had known that was how she was going to come up with the money for Heald's, I would not have gone. I felt really horrible. However, Mom always knew best. They bought a double-wide mobile home out near Stead Airforce Base, and they loved living out there. The mobile home had more cupboard and closet space than the house had! After Heald's was paid for, Mom and Dad still owed me a little bit of money. They paid me back after Danny and I were married. It was just enough to buy our first couch (so we could get rid of the awful hide-a-bed someone had given us).
Mom did me a favor selling the house because I couldn't go "home." I could go "visit," but my "home" had been sold. I'm not sure if I would have had the gumption to stand on my own two feet if it hadn't been for that. I worked very hard at Heald's. I would not have been able to stomach disappointing Mom and Dad after they sold the house.
I know that Mom and Dad sold the house because it was the right thing for them too. I know that now. Dad was too ill for the upkeep on the house and yard. At the mobile home, they landscaped with rocks, shrubs, and easy maintenance trees. It was a good place for them to be until Dad passed away. I'm glad I didn't figure that out until later, however. I might not have worked so hard at Heald's, and I might not have stuck out the loneliness and homesickness that first year in Sacramento. I'm also glad my mother knew it was time to kick me out of the nest. My life would be very different now if she hadn't.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
I Can Dream, Can't I?
Everyone has to have a dream -- even if it is a crazy dream. My Dad always wanted a yellow convertible. I always thought that was a little crazy.
I never collected anything in my life until I hit my 50's, but now I collect milk glass, and I have quite a collection. There is a budget involved, and I only buy things that have a useful purpose. Unfortunately, there is one piece of milk glass that I have admired for a couple of years now, that is way over budget and has no useful purpose in my home whatsoever. It's called a lavabo. It's my understanding that a lavabo is used by priests to wash their hands prior to administering communion. The owner of the lavabo below has made a planter out of it -- which wouldn't work for me -- one more thing to get dusty.
The going rate for a lavabo appears to be between $110 and $150. Now, really, why do I want this silly thing?! It makes no sense whatsoever! I'm not usually a person who buys useless "things." It's not in my makeup. As a matter of fact, I'm known for my thrifty nature. Okay, so I'm cheap. Normally. So why on earth does it drive me crazy that I don't have one of these?! I wouldn't even have a place to put it! Dad always said that if he had a yellow convertible that it would spoil the dream. Sounds logical to me. I'm going with that.
Picture from here: http://cgi.ebay.com/FENTON-MILK-GLASS-HOBNAIL-LAVABO-THREE-PIECE-S-/250759161050?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item3a626924da
I never collected anything in my life until I hit my 50's, but now I collect milk glass, and I have quite a collection. There is a budget involved, and I only buy things that have a useful purpose. Unfortunately, there is one piece of milk glass that I have admired for a couple of years now, that is way over budget and has no useful purpose in my home whatsoever. It's called a lavabo. It's my understanding that a lavabo is used by priests to wash their hands prior to administering communion. The owner of the lavabo below has made a planter out of it -- which wouldn't work for me -- one more thing to get dusty.
The going rate for a lavabo appears to be between $110 and $150. Now, really, why do I want this silly thing?! It makes no sense whatsoever! I'm not usually a person who buys useless "things." It's not in my makeup. As a matter of fact, I'm known for my thrifty nature. Okay, so I'm cheap. Normally. So why on earth does it drive me crazy that I don't have one of these?! I wouldn't even have a place to put it! Dad always said that if he had a yellow convertible that it would spoil the dream. Sounds logical to me. I'm going with that.
Picture from here: http://cgi.ebay.com/FENTON-MILK-GLASS-HOBNAIL-LAVABO-THREE-PIECE-S-/250759161050?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item3a626924da
Monday, January 24, 2011
Teach The Children
I went into my local fabric store this weekend to purchase three things: fabric for new kitchen curtains, a curtain rod, and a spool of thread. After standing in a rather long line to have the fabric cut, I found myself standing in a second long line at the checkout stand. When it was finally my turn at the cash register, I placed my items on the counter and paid for them. I wheeled my basket to the basket return, put on my coat, picked up my purchases and my purse, and walked out the first set of double doors to leave the store.
As I was standing in the alcove facing the second set of doors to the outside, a gentleman behind me asked me if I had left a spool of thread in the basket, and he handed me the thread. I thanked him, and then said, "Oh, I'll bet that didn't get on the ticket." He looked at me and said, "Well, you're home free now." His wife gave a little giggle. I stopped cold, and looked at him in amazement. The man stood there with his wife, and a child in a stroller. I was shocked at his attitude. What is he teaching his child? I turned around, went back in the store, and paid for the spool of thread.
This little family at the fabric store was what I would call an average American family. They were clean, well dressed, and looked like the perfect little family. Yet, something was obviously missing. We seem to have a generation of parents who have no scruples. This doesn't bode well for good parenting. What are we teaching the children?!
When we purchased our home almost 34 years ago, there was an orange tree in the front yard. We did not remove it, but have always been concerned about the liability of a child climbing the tree for an orange. Our answer to keeping the tree was to train all the neighborhood children that if they waited until Thanksgiving weekend (when the oranges were marginally ripe), they could knock on our door, and we would give them all the oranges they wanted. This kept them from climbing the tree, as well as teaching them to be honest and not steal the oranges. As new families moved into the neighborhood, we found ourselves constantly "training."
One day my husband and I pulled the car out of our driveway and headed down the street. In my rear view mirror, I noticed a young mother picking an orange off the tree for her son, who looked to be about 8 or 9 years old. I put the car in reverse, and upon reaching my home, asked her not to pick the oranges. The woman told me it was none of my business. I told her it certainly was my business, since it was my tree. Then I told her that she was teaching her child to steal. I told her that we had always shared the oranges, but that the children needed to wait until at least Thanksgiving weekend so the oranges were somewhat ripe, and then knock on the door. I explained that children needed to be taught honesty. She looked somewhat chagrined. I don't think she had even considered the fact that she was teaching her child to steal.
I hope that as my grandchildren watch the things that I do, they'll never see me do anything that is dishonest or shows bad character. Sometimes we all need a reminder to live "in the world, but not of the world." Just because everyone else appears to be doing something, doesn't mean that it is right. As morals continue to decay, I hope we can stand up for what is right and continue to make good choices.
As I was standing in the alcove facing the second set of doors to the outside, a gentleman behind me asked me if I had left a spool of thread in the basket, and he handed me the thread. I thanked him, and then said, "Oh, I'll bet that didn't get on the ticket." He looked at me and said, "Well, you're home free now." His wife gave a little giggle. I stopped cold, and looked at him in amazement. The man stood there with his wife, and a child in a stroller. I was shocked at his attitude. What is he teaching his child? I turned around, went back in the store, and paid for the spool of thread.
This little family at the fabric store was what I would call an average American family. They were clean, well dressed, and looked like the perfect little family. Yet, something was obviously missing. We seem to have a generation of parents who have no scruples. This doesn't bode well for good parenting. What are we teaching the children?!
When we purchased our home almost 34 years ago, there was an orange tree in the front yard. We did not remove it, but have always been concerned about the liability of a child climbing the tree for an orange. Our answer to keeping the tree was to train all the neighborhood children that if they waited until Thanksgiving weekend (when the oranges were marginally ripe), they could knock on our door, and we would give them all the oranges they wanted. This kept them from climbing the tree, as well as teaching them to be honest and not steal the oranges. As new families moved into the neighborhood, we found ourselves constantly "training."
One day my husband and I pulled the car out of our driveway and headed down the street. In my rear view mirror, I noticed a young mother picking an orange off the tree for her son, who looked to be about 8 or 9 years old. I put the car in reverse, and upon reaching my home, asked her not to pick the oranges. The woman told me it was none of my business. I told her it certainly was my business, since it was my tree. Then I told her that she was teaching her child to steal. I told her that we had always shared the oranges, but that the children needed to wait until at least Thanksgiving weekend so the oranges were somewhat ripe, and then knock on the door. I explained that children needed to be taught honesty. She looked somewhat chagrined. I don't think she had even considered the fact that she was teaching her child to steal.
I hope that as my grandchildren watch the things that I do, they'll never see me do anything that is dishonest or shows bad character. Sometimes we all need a reminder to live "in the world, but not of the world." Just because everyone else appears to be doing something, doesn't mean that it is right. As morals continue to decay, I hope we can stand up for what is right and continue to make good choices.
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