Now, no judging! I freely admit we’re hooked on old Westerns. They’re short. There’s always a clear cut protagonist, with good versus evil blatantly discernible. We honestly don’t mind black and white television. At the inception of our nation we were blessed with colorful moral giants like Washington and Madison. Now heroes pale in comparison. Our world seems turned inside out.
And watching them, I can’t help but notice how spoiled we are as a nation, how spoiled I am. My grandparents and great grandparents all lived simple lives. And me? I live amid time-saving gadgets galore, with more furniture and comfort than any generation before me. Do I appreciate it or take it for granted? You know, since I happen to be writing this piece, that I favor counting my blessings. I love our comparatively simple home, deficient closets and pea-sized kitchen notwithstanding. But I’m a simple person. I mean, I go bananas over all the new Posh.
I’m addicted to the colorful packaging, the delightful scents, the cute verbiage. The re-emergence of the Beach Blanket BFYHC is something the Posh girls campaigned for, because we love that coco-nutty scent. The new snarky, packed with bits of loofah, tickles my fancy. And the new scrub! I’m in heaven!
My mom loved to tell the story of me running through the house, clamoring to see “Quiet Earth.” No one knew what I was talking about, until Hugh O’Brien appeared on the screen one day. Yeah, I love simpler times, and I love the idea of simplicity…but I live in the 21st century, and I need my Posh! You know what? Quiet Earth was something of a ladies’ man, and I think he’d have liked it too! You can find it on my site. Go to http://www.madaboutposh.com and click on hand creme.
One of the most charming things about France is their language. I speak none of it. Well, take that back. I came knowing bonjour, bonsoir, merci, and thanks to The Little Mermaid, la poisson. I now know how to ask for the check as well. I’m a slow learner.
We are staying at a hotel with only two English channels, one dedicated to sex and the other to violence. I prefer spending offering my own subtitles to French TV. I enjoy listening to the graceful, lilting phrases and find myself far more entertaining with my own interpretations.
Yet, despite the obvious language barriers, we thrive, we find our way around eventually, we order food, we enjoy Paris. We discovered the universal language of a smile speaks volumes. These lovely people stop and help and smile back. Countless ordinary people on their way to buy food or pick up dry cleaning took time to give us directions and part as friends. A delightful wait staff proved ever helpful. Of course, I gave away a lot of Posh as thank yous. They always smiled back.
I wonder how different our world would be if we started over at Babel, none of us speaking the same language, reduced to smiles as tokens of good will. Smiles seem a more valued commodity these days, and yet they also represent the cheapest way to communicate. We need toothy grins and genuine smiles. Every day. I plan to try communicating more that way when I get home. If I pretend not to understand you and simply smile, it may be I’m hard of hearing…but it may not!
Gentle reader, I know you crave my unsolicited advice, so I’m going to bless you with the tip of all tips. Is it the secret to making money? No, it’s bigger. Is it the secret to a rich and fuller life? Bigger. “What could possibly be bigger,” you ask? Listen up! In time buds of promise will enter your life. This begins many seasons of celebration and gifting, but under no circumstances should you make a quilt for this bundle of joy AND knit a baby afghan as well. Seven grandchildren later the tale unfolds to yet another chapter.
Never, no never, make a big boy quilt and a big boy afghan when the first grandchild graduates to his big boy bed. Yarn runs amok at our house because I failed to recognize the error of my ways. These older children’s adult-sized afghans require a lot more yarn, and their afghans take up to a year of sporadic effort. In the midst of each one eight or nine gnarled skeins require laborious unknotting, accompanied by the gnashing of teeth and a great deal of moaning. And when you delight in a rascally puppy who loves to play with yarn, well, I think you are right now imagining the ensuing chaos.
Yes, yarn runs amok at our house. Again. Afghan #8 is almost finished, and I am not, I repeat, NOT starting wedding afghans. I adore my grandchildren, but at long last I admit to the error of my ways. My next afghan remains undetermined. It just might be for Bill and I to snuggle under on movie night.
Oh, dear. Perhaps yarn is destined to run amok at the Rhoads house. I see symptoms of the madness in future tense in my brain. Help!