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Sincerity, Thy Name is Pumpkin

Michael Leave a comment

Yesterday was Halloween.  You can’t tell it from where we live.  We’re in the vast portion of the country between the Mid-Atlantic and the Northeast.  More recently known as Superstorm Sandy’s Playground.  The local officials aren’t eliminating Halloween but they are postponing it.

A lot of postponing went on the past few days here and probably across most of the country.  If you mess around with plane and train schedules on one half of the country, the other half is pretty much going to be in disarray also.  When most retailers have their headquarters in the storm zone, distribution is slowed, sales strategies stay buried on someone’s computer, and ads don’t get approved.   Almost all of our coal is brought to or carried over that eastern U.S. surface, some of which is 14 to 20 feet underwater.  Let’s not even think of how it is below the surface.

Yep, lots is delayed, lots has to be rebuilt, lots is going to be different. 

But what isn’t going to be different is a child’s awe at a pumpkin’s smile glowing from within.  What isn’t different is how many children get their first taste of independence when they pick up their treat bag and get to walk up and down the street on their own.  With an older brother or sister.  And don’t cross the street.  And be back by 6:30.  But still they are on their own.  What can’t be different is a child’s look of amazement as the treat bag is tipped onto the dining room table revealing the kid equivalent of a pirate’s booty and worth even more.  What won’t ever be different is a child’s first laugh when Charlie Brown looks into his bag and says, “I got a rock.”

Yep. Lots is still the same.

Charles Schulz’s little gang is always there to teach us something.  Who else can teach us how to duck a baseball batted back over the pitcher’s mound, how to make a feast out of toast and popcorn, how to decorate a Christmas tree, and how to turn a rock into a Halloween treat?  Those little guys have a lifetime of wisdom to pass on to us youngsters.

Yep, lots is going to be different. 

Here’s hoping that the only thing different for you is that when you went looking for your own Great Pumpkin this morning is that your pumpkin patch was sincere enough last night.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

 

Open Sesame

Michael Leave a comment

We’re not even certain how we got onto the discussion of passwords but sometime, somewhere over the past week we ended up asking ourselves did Ali Baba really say “Open Sesame?”

It would certainly be an easier phrase to remember than some of the strange concoctions we’ve concocted to satisfy our computer password requirements.  At He of We’s workplace, passwords must be at least 8 characters, no longer than 26 characters (really, 26) must contain at least two upper case characters, two lower case characters, one number and one symbol, must not contain any 4 letter portion of his user name or any 4 letter portion of his real name, must not have been used in the last 36 months, and must not spell out the company name.

Sometime last week somebody published some list somewhere about passwords.  Yes, we can be more specific but we don’t want to.  Partly because we aren’t sure who these people are.  They are so and so research, such and such consultants, or somebody or other institute.  They have to stay somewhat cloaked if not daggered because passwords are supposed to be secret.  How does one publish an opinion of others’ secret information? 

But we digress.  This list included the worst passwords you could use and the number one worst password of them all, Password.  Apologies to Allen Ludden.  Other bad choices include 12345 etc, iloveyou, and letmein.  Our favorite of the worst is letmein (let me in) because it sounds so plaintive and assumes computers have all the power.

Another point in favor of letmein is its historical significance.  Literarily speaking that is.  When Ali Baba followed the forty thieves to their lair he heard the leader say Open Sesame to open the door to their cave.  Open Sesame did not make it on to the list of bad passwords so either nobody is using it or it’s not such a bad password.  Maybe it’s ok because nobody understands it any better than He of We’s workplace password rules.  Why sesame?  Why not caraway? Or poppy seed?  What about basil or parsley?

One explanation is that Sesame dialectically translates with different pronunciations to differentiate friend from foe and etymologically grew up to become the Hebrew word sisma, meaning password. (Or so we’re told.  On a good day we can be confused with proper English used grammatically correct.)  And everybody knows from the mysterious institute that the last word you want to use for a password is password.

Soon you’ll be able to use a picture for your password.  Imagine those rules.  No smirking, left profile only, colors present in nature during spring in Scandinavia.  Come on now.  Are we really hiding secrets that important in our files anyway?  Open Oregano!

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

And if you order now…

Michael Leave a comment

This is the worst time of year.  No, we aren’t talking about the fall foliage.  That’s beautiful.  And we don’t mean the World Series.  That’s a Fall Classic!  We don’t mean the start of hockey season.  That’s usually happening about now.  We don’t mean fall craft shows.  That’s a great way to get ready for Christmas.  We don’t even mean high school football.  That’s almost a religion.  But it is just the worst time of year.  If you watch television between 1 and 6 am.

In the summer you get the local lawn guys and pool guys and remodeling guys.  In the winter you get the Christmas sales and the restaurants and the shipping companies.  In the spring you get the nurseries and garden centers.  But now, between major marketing moments, all you get are the 2 minute versions of the infomercial filling in the late night and weekend commercial time slots.

Have you seen the latest?  An ear vacuum.  Everybody knows you can’t clean your ears with a cotton swab.  We learned that right after we learned how to hit a curve ball.  (Sorry, World Series time you know.)  Now you don’t have to worry about puncturing your ear drum with a cotton ball on a stick.  Now there’s an ear vacuum.  We aren’t making this up.  And with it you get 8 color coded tips for each member of the family.  But wait.  If you order now, they’ll double it!  Two ear vacuums and 16 individual tips for each member of your really big family!

This is a very disturbing trend that we have noticed.  Everything is doubled.   Warehouses worldwide must be overloaded and this is the method by which inventories will be reduced.  Buy one, get two.  Do we really need two doggy steps, two abdominal binders, or two bug zappers?  Is life twice as good with double the shoe stretchers or skin tag removers or water sealers?  Do we really have to act now to maximize our quantities of vegetable choppers, never need sharpened knives, or knife sharpeners?  The way things are being sold in pairs we’re pretty sure Noah is behind the marketing decisions.

Clearly somebody bought too much of a good(?) thing and wants to move that product now.  Shelf space is expensive and nobody is making any money with stuff sitting on them.  (The shelves, not the bodies.)  But doubling everything?  Can’t they get together and share the purchasers? 

“Act now” deals are nothing new.  Years ago when every other commercial was for every record every recorded there was always a premium for those who would “act now.”  If you bought every love song of the 60’s, 70’s, and 80‘s they sent you a rolodex to keep track of which album and track you’d find “Love Me Do.”  Spring for the complete set of national anthems as played by Harry and his Harmonica and you’d also get a lifetime supply of never run pantyhose.  Or score it big with Latin language records and they threw in an electric ice crusher that chunked, chipped, or shaved at the touch of a button. 

Yes, those guys knew marketing. They didn’t just toss in a second set of something.  They made it irresistible.  And who needs two cheese graters anyway?  They only thing we can think of that we’d want two of are two llamas.  That’s some soft warm fur there.  Ear muffs for everyone.  Sixteen color coded, warm and fuzzy, individually wrapped muffs for every member of your family!

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

 

Leaf Me Alone

Michael Leave a comment

“I remember raking leaves and then getting hot cocoa,” She of We said.  “I remember raking leaves and getting chest pains,” He of We countered.  They were discussing why leaf clearing had become such an ordeal around here.

Here is the Northeast where the fall foliage can be quite striking.  It is the thing that sometimes makes one yearn for days of real SLR cameras and big panoramic prints on the wall over the sofa stretching from end to end.  But as leaves turn color, so do they fall. 

He or We’s mini-estate holds 3 fifty-foot maples, a half-dozen somewhat larger oaks, a red-bud, a crab apple, a locust, and a couple of “just trees” on a space smaller than most fast food restaurants’ parking lots.  There are lots of leaves that fall into that tiny space.  But over the course of a few weeks they get raked or blown or sucked up into the lawn tractor’s grass catchers and tossed over the hill waiting to become the next generation’s compost.  She of We’s lands boast a similar variety of foliage droppers on another parking lot.  Her tree droppings are likewise dealt with and before the first snow falls to put the grass to bed, the grass is freed of the trees’ former dressings and able to breathe through the winter.

As Norman Rockwell like as we’d seem to be doing our job, we’ve noticed that for many, leaf-clearing is not the pleasant pastime it once was.  Just over the past few days we’ve seen neighbors blowing leaves into the streets we suppose in the hopes that the wind of the passing cars will pull the offensive vegetation to the corner where it will board the local bus into town and perhaps get lost and never find its way back.  We’ve also noticed another routinely blowing his leaves into the neighbor’s yard.  You almost could hear him thinking “they came off your trees, they’re your leaves!”

There was once a time when raking leaves into a big pile for the kids to jump into was a passing rite of fall.  Then we would drag them to the burn barrel (the leaves, not the kids) where the sweet smell of burning maple leaves would compete with the warming scent of that hot cocoa and maybe of a toasted marshmallow or a hot dog on a stick.  We remember those crisp autumn afternoons pulling the rakes through the yards, the bright sunshine never seen any other time of year dappling through the remains of the trees’ summer wear.  There may not be any cocoa each time some leaf clearing is done, and thanks to either asthmatic bleeding hearts or safety-conscious volunteer fire companies, leaf burning is a thing of the past.  Still, Both of We get our lawns free of the former colorful flora without much whining.

Now we wait for the news article about two neighbors coming to blows over one blowing his leaves into the other’s yard.  And there will be some story about someone receiving a ticket for raking debris into a city street in violation of some or another ordinance while the offender stands at the curb in front of the TV camera asking where he was supposed to rake them.  Somebody at work will question why he even bothered to plant any trees and will be looking up numbers for tree removal services so he won’t have to go through “that” any more. 

We don’t know.  The leaves aren’t that hard to deal with.  And after the whining we’ll have a glass of wine and a plate of fresh fruit and cheese.  Cocoa and marshmallows?  Next you’ll be expecting us to use the leaves to fill a plastic bag that looks like a pumpkin.  Sheesh!  Make that a bottle of wine.  Each.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

 

Joe for President

Michael Leave a comment

We were talking the morning after the most recent Presidential Debate and came up with this question.  What would it be like if somebody ran for President who really wanted the job for the sake of the job.  Just a regular folk who decided to run for office.  No party affiliation, no special interest backing, no family legacy, no cultural impetus.  Just somebody who wants to be President.

You’d have to go back to the Washington/Adams election of 1788 to find someone who had to be talked into running for the office.  You certainly have to go back that far to find an election not controlled by political parties.  And then it was only one of the candidates, one G. Washington, who did not declare allegiance with a party.  That would be one out of 12 candidates.  All eleven others were affiliated with a political party.    

Back to our question though, what would it be like if the people who were running for President were just regular folks who decided to run for office?  Even back in 1788 you could hardly have called any of the candidates “just regular folk.”  Of the twelve there were 3 governors, 2 former governors, the U. S. Secretary of War, the U. S. Secretary of Foreign Affairs, the former Minister to Great Britain (Adams) and the former Commander in Chief of the Continental Army (Washington). 

Perhaps our backyards will give us a taste of what it would be like.  Although the United States is home to some of the largest cities in the world, there are many, many much smaller municipalities, all with municipal governments.  Some of the smallest might have only a single elected official, a mayor or an executive.  Some of the larger but still small communities have 3, 5, or 9 member boards of supervisors or commissioners.  Most of these officials serve for 4 or 6 year terms and if paid at all might consider their pay handsome if it makes it into three digits.  That’s for the entire year.  They decided to run because a road was bad, a sewer didn’t exist, a street light was ill-placed, or a developer was going to chop down a tree.  Their plights were real, their concerns legitimate, their opposition often fierce, and their recognition often absent.  But week after week, after working their 40 hours at a full time job they spend another 12 or 20 hours balancing the decision to buy the new police car against bargaining the new municipal tax service contract.  They have to appoint neighbors to the planning commission while explaining to other neighbors that they appointed someone else.  They spend hours deciphering the language to the ordinance restricting on-street parking during the winter so the snow plow can get through sufficient to explain it in 5 words or less on a too small and still too expensive sign.  They are just regular folks.  Working an irregular job. 

Perhaps if these men and women would ever want to run for President we might be able to elect a Chief Executive who understands taxes both from paying and spending.  Perhaps we can send someone to Washington whose new salary would mean a pay raise.  Instead these fine people want to stay local and help local issues.  The regular folks want to stay home.  With the folks.  Instead we get the people whose idea of an entry level political job is a term or two in the Senate or having been appointed Secretary of Something Useless by the President from two terms ago.

In 1788 George Washington agreed to run for President but would declare no party affiliation.  In fact, he hoped there would not be the formation of, or influence by political parties because it would lead to another thing to divide the people.  He took an office that came with the very large for the eighteenth century salary of $25,000.  Washington was already a very rich man and was going to refuse the salary.  He was convinced by members of Congress to take his pay so there would not be a precedent set that only the rich could become President.  It’s a shame that neither his hope that there would not be battling political parties nor that those other than the very rich could become President ever came true.

If just regular folks were to become President maybe we’d have a Leader who understands the difference between surplus food sent to countries who support violence against Americans and surplus food sent to schools for breakfast and lunch so the schools can still afford gym and music classes.  Maybe they would understand that you can’t appoint your brother in law the Secretary of Everything Outdoors when somebody else really understands that preservation, conservation, and recreation are more than words that rhyme.  Maybe we would have a President who isn’t afraid to tell the people when we’re in some pretty big financial trouble and all of us have to tighten our belts and include people whose work address ends in Washington, DC among the belt tighteners.

If just regular folks were to become President maybe we’d have a leader who knows you can’t be loyal to the people who voted for you and still answer to the party who picked you to be voted for.  If just regular folks were to become President we’d not have to legislate term limits.  They would be satisfied with the job they did after one or two rounds and would know it’s time to go back home with the other folks and get back to being just regular.

Maybe we did have a Just Regular Folk become President.  It was a while ago but the more we read about George Washington the more we’d like to have dinner with him.  And isn’t that the best judge of who’s just a regular Joe?  We mean George.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

 

Cleanliness is next to the scrambled eggs

Michael Leave a comment

Regular readers know we like to go out to eat.  We’ve mentioned it in more than a few posts.  Usually we also mention our likes and dislikes and usually there are more likes than dislikes.  Usually.

Recently we were at a national chain family restaurant.  To hear them say it, they are the ones who invented wholesome long before your great-grandmother thought of it.  They also invented hearty, healthy, hunger-satisfying, and home-style.  Unfortunately, they didn’t invent the dishwasher.

It was a Sunday morning, late enough that most of the after church crowd had already been through but early enough that the mid-day crowd hadn’t.  We didn’t even have to wait for a seat, and once we were seated behind the faux barn rails it didn’t take much time for us to make our choices.  And although it took a bit longer than it really needed for our choices to be turned into food, they should have taken a bit longer and washed the plates.  Yep, dirty plates.  Two of them.  Both served to She of We. 

She beckoned to the waitress and expressed concern over having to eat from a dirty plate.  At this point she had only been given one of the dirty dishes.  Waitress Lady told us that we shouldn’t be too concerned.  “They’re working back there with lots of grease you know.”  The rim of the plate was clearly soiled and She of We let Waitress Lady clearly know she’d wait for a clearly clean one.  So off it went – plate 1 of 2.  (Why is it that breakfast combinations always come on two plates?)   While waiting for a new Plate #1, Plate #2 came out and Waitress Lady hustled back to the back and was soon back again with replacement Plate #1.  Back she came just as She of We was scraping along the rim of Plate #2.  More former food residue.  “Can I have this redone also please?” and off it went back to the back.

Soon, much too soon, Waitress Lady was back again with Plate #2.  “I lifted up the pancakes and it looked clean under there so I put them on a new plate for you,” and she beamed the smile of one who had discovered penicillin.  As perhaps she had.

“Thank you,” said She of We, “but I’ll wait for new pancakes.”  (Which were remarkably tasty and fluffy when finally they did appear but that’s a whole different post.)

To make a long story even longer, after more excuses about all the grease they’re cooking with back there (there was nothing about lard on the menu but Waitress Lady has us wondering), we finally got clean plates, full meals, and a check.  The check was for the table next to ours but it was a start.

As we were on our way out the young lady working the cash register asked those ominous words, how was everything, and got to hear everything.  She of We was very polite and said the food was very good but she had to wait for all of her selections because they kept coming out on dirty plates.  And everything was a bit cold.  And we got the wrong check.  And the young lady asked us to wait and the manager was soon out and expressed his concern over our concerns with an immediate discount.

And even though it was a remarkably unremarkable meal, we’ll probably go back because we’re pretty sure that the manager was on his way to see the dishwashers.  Whether they deserved it or not, he probably gave them another chance.

And so will we.  

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Dressed for Success

Michael 1 Comment

Tomorrow there will be new meaning to Casual Friday in at least 30 U. S. cities.  Pittsburgh and Nashville get their turn today.  That would be Football Gear Friday in the 32 NFL home cities plus wherever rabid fans live.

The whole Casual Friday phenomenon which began in earnest at the tail end of the twentieth century was to embrace the beginning of the weekend with a more relaxed approach to office dress.  True casual dress such as shorts and t-shirts never made the grade beyond some uber-casual businesses mostly ending in dot-com.  But a more relaxed look took hold and spawned the whole concept of business casual.  Something you wouldn’t mind meeting clients in during the week day and then heading out for a couple after work without stopping at home for a wardrobe adjustment.  And life went on.  Until…

Until the football fanatics took over.  And football is the perfect sport to stretch the rules with.  Baseball plays every day of the week.  Hockey plays every day of the week.  NASCAR is already as casual as you can get.  But football is ideal.  What a better event to look forward to on a Friday afternoon than the culminating event of Sunday afternoon.  It is the weekend. 

It probably started innocently enough.  A lapel pin in the sport coat, a bracelet festooned with the local team logo, an earring here, a pendant there.  Rivals within the same building would look for the bigger cheering device.  Coffee cups, lunch bags, even briefcases.  Flags were hung outside office windows and banners were draped across reception desks.  The momentum was on and there was no going back!

Accessories soon gave way to golf shirts with team logos replacing the breast pocket.  Team hats would be seen topping tall heads in the elevators.  Scarves and sweaters with patterns embracing the home team came next.   Then it went where Casual Friday had resisted all those years.  T-shirts and sweatshirts with logos, inspirational team sayings, and pictures of favorite players cracked the casual barrier.  Then it was only a matter of the playoffs coming to town that brought replica jerseys into boardrooms where the morning meetings were led by replica mascots.

And so, every Friday in 32 cities plus the outlier cities with the out-placed rabid fans the commuter trains and busses, the freeways and parkways, the offices and factories, the coffee shops and emergency rooms turn into seas of Black and Gold, of flocks of angry birds, of packs of Lions and Panthers and Bears (oh my).  And the day marches by and it might seem a little odd, responsible adults dressing like high schoolers at a pep rally.  But the morning chats are lighter, the desks clear of clutter a little faster, and the trip for a couple after work a little shorter.

Monday will come soon enough.  Have a little fun before the weekend.  Go ahead and take the casual way to work tomorrow.  Or today if you’re in Pittsburgh or Nashville.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

 

Outscored, Not Outclassed

Michael Leave a comment

This week is high school football week number 7 in our part of the world.  Yes, we know.  If you check your calendar that means they started playing football before they started classes.  It’s ok.  Here, high school football (which should be capitalized but we have to draw the line somewhere) is a cross between a religion (please don’t tell the atheists) and life’s greatest lesson learned (please don’t tell the religious).  We suspect “here” is a lot of places across the country.  It’s a strange, strange thing.

We have nothing against organized competitions for high school and younger children.  As long as one can tear oneself away from that crazy notion of “everyone’s a winner” that we try to foist on the youngest ones, any kind of competition is healthy and a necessary part of growing up.  Here they not only tear away the football players from the idea that “everyone’s a winner,” they rip it apart, crush it, stomp on it, burn it, then bury the remains.

Last Friday night we were watching the 11:00 news.  She of We watches so she can be attuned to the happenings of the world.  He of We watches so he can read the football scores across the bottom scroll.  “There’s another, 41-9!  That’s the third 41 to something in single digits this week!  Woah, look at that, 50 to 2!  I bet the coach is going to have something to say about allowing a safety!  17-14? What kind of score is that?  That’s better?  Did you see that one?  64-12!”

Maybe that sounded a little more exuberant than it actually plays out.  What amazes us about scores like that is not that there are so many of them but that there are any of them.  School sports is a place to teach the children about competition and that indeed the world is a place where everyone is not a winner.  But what happened to sportsmanship?  What happened to “win with class, lose with grace?”  For the winning team it’s just another version of “everyone’s a winner” only this version is “you’re always the winner.”  It has the same end results.  We’re creating a world where these young children when they become young adults are unprepared for conflict, discipline, and getting things right because they never had to. (See Your Turn to Keep Score, Jan. 16, 2012.)

In a sound bite world He of We heard the ultimate sound bite about all of this.  In that same news cast with the scroll filled with winning scores in the 40’s and 50’s and the losing scores in single digits was one of 14-3.  The two teams are “perennial powerhouses,” one a twice in a row district champion and on a 23 game winning streak, the other the runner-up for those two years.  The winning coach was interviewed and asked what it was like after five weeks to finally have to make a decision in the fourth quarter? (Arrogance alert #1)  He responded that he knew it would come back to him “when they got to play a good team.” (Arrogance alert #2) 

We hope the players in the five teams previously beat by that “perennial powerhouse” go on to learn that not always being a winner doesn’t always make you a loser.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

 

Party Planning

Michael Leave a comment

Now that the conventions are over, the tickets are official, the platforms are assembled, the debates have begun, the candidates have spoken, the has-beens have spoken, the wannabes have spoken, the wives have spoken, the television pundits have spoken, — not much has been said.  We’re still sure we don’t like either of these unwise men.  And we’re still convinced our best choice is not between them (see None of the Above, August 13, 2012).  But we have a bit more clarity of the why we don’t like either of these party-ites.

It’s because they are party-ites.  They are the stereotypes of what we’ve come to imagine the parties are actually about. 

Willard Mitt Romney is the ultimate rich man.  Named for the family friend Willard Marriott of “The” Marriotts  and the famous don’t-tell-me-you-didn’t-know-him relative Milton Romney who played quarterback for the Chicago Bears in the 1920’s, is undoubtedly a rich man.  With or without tax returns this is a guy who bought entire companies like normal people buy entire kitchen knife sets.  He owns multiple houses, is alternately referred to as a “consultant” and a “venture capitalist,” and went to Harvard.  Even Republicans can’t identify with him because most Republicans aren’t rich.  He may have come off winning the debate but mostly because he was debating a real loser.

Barrack Hussain Obama, II is the quintessential Democrat mostly because the Democrats told us so. He is African American born of a Kenyan father and a white lady from Kansas (ok, so part African American), he has one house other than the White House, his religion is simply Christian, and he began his law career as a civil rights lawyer.  They don’t always mention that he received his undergraduate degree from Columbia and his law degree also from Harvard and if they do, then it’s in the context of isn’t it great that a black man can go to Ivy League Universities too.  He has also worked as a consultant, and is a published author.  In fact, he’s made about $6 million from his and his wife’s book sales and that one house they live in (other than the White House) is worth $1.65 million.  His performance at the debate was more of one being forced to a book signing rather than one who understood what he wrote.

Neither of these puppies is what the politicos want you to think of them.  The Republicans have got to stop nominating people who flaunt their millions of dollars in the public’s face.  The Democrats have got to stop nominating people who have so many millions they can’t hide them all and often meet the Republican stereotype better than most of the Republicans. 

Less than an hour after the conclusion of the debate, as close to what we have as “legitimate news outlets” were pointing out the misleading statements, almost-truths, half-truths, and “just plain not right” uttered between the banter and the mockery.  Neither of these party-ites resembles Lincoln or Jackson.  It’s a sad fact that probably some of those who call themselves Democrat or Republican can’t identify which is which nor which side either was on during the debate.  

If they should figure out their true directions then we may consider what the major parties’ candidates have to say about some of the important issues going on in the country.  Until then, we’ll stick with “none of the above” and find someone who will.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Do You Smell What I Smell

Michael Leave a comment

It all started innocently enough.  All we did was go shopping.  It was then that we wandered into the fragrance aisle.  Not fragrances as in perfumes and colognes but fragrances as in room deodorizers and air fresheners.

Do you know what they’ve done with air fresheners lately?  They look like rocks, they have cunning sniffer inlets, they take oils and liquids, and they’ve turned some into mini-sprayers that plug in or work on batteries.  Electric powered air fresheners, imagine that.

We made our choices and continued our shopping, barely able to contain our anticipation over our new air fresheners.  Well, perhaps not that unable to contain it, but we were looking forward to them.  She of We selected a battery operated one that promised to neutralize bad smells whenever they were detected.  He of We went for esthetics over utility and chose a unit that would go with the décor of his bathroom.  Unfortunately the scent was not the one he really wanted.  He wanted the scent that came with the aforementioned “rock” but looks won out.  Besides, he figured he could correct that when it came time to purchase the refill.

Ah, the refills.  We were so intent on exploring these crafty little units that we didn’t start looking for refills until we had made our selections.  We searched the shelves but couldn’t locate refills for either of our units.  He of We recalled that Child of He had a plug in unit and a refill for that style also eluded them.  There seemed to be no refills at all; that could be why Child’s unit was sitting on her bathroom counter, empty and unplugged.  She of We remembered seeing lots of them in another store and there would be plenty of time to worry about refills.  First we had to get them home and get them freshening! 

And eventually home is where we got them.  First to She of We’s where we finally extricated her new bad smell controller from the hermetically sealed plastic packaging.  Why is everything is now packaged in those devious plastic boxes that only open with the aid of a very sharp pair of scissors?   It wasn’t too many years ago that manufacturers were taken to task because they had too many layers of packaging.  Cellophane wrappers inside cardboard boxes inside plastic over-wraps.  We can see where packaging like that was the absolute antithesis of being green.  But is this new wave of sealed from all evil really the way to go?  Are there that many people wanting to steal a $4.00 air freshener out of its box off a store’s shelf that the shopkeepers have put up the challenge to the manufacturers to make it impossible to get to without first stealing a pocket knife?

But we digress.  Eventually we got them home and eventually we got them out of their packages.  She of We read through the 12 page user guide to her unit while He of We fiddled with the battery case cover and slipped in the required 3 AAA cells.  Within minutes it was perched on the table waiting for a bad smell to counter.  That might not have been when we first thought of it but it was when She of We first put it out there in spoken words.  How does it tell?

Equally eventually He of We got his new freshener unpackaged, loaded with his not so favorite fragrance and settled it onto a bathroom shelf, looking quite like it belong there, part of the ensemble in black.  And not smelling at all like the printed description.  But that was ok since He of We liked that better than what it was supposed to smell like.

And so, Both of We are battling bad smells with the new high tech gadgetry that has become room air fresheners.  And to them we say bring back the Lysol in a spray can.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?