Ole’ Granny Slogs

Few understand the cultural heritage of Arnold. Burghers have a right to use servants for carnal pleasure. It’s a time honored tradition in Austria. It’s a part of him just like his accent.

Grapevine, Texas, 7 shot to death shortly after opening Xmas presents. A GUNMAN who shot dead six family members inside a Texas apartment on Christmas morning was reportedly dressed as Santa Claus as he carried out the suspected murder-suicide.

http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/breaking-news/gunman-wore-santa-costume-for-texas-murder-suicide/story-e6frf7jx-1226230915829

http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/headlines/2011/12/victim-of-hollywood-shooting-rampage-dies/

http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/headlines/2011/12/soldier-christopher-sullivan-shot-at-his-homecoming-party-in-california/

http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/breaking-news/gunman-wore-santa-costume-for-texas-murder-suicide/story-e6frf7jx-1226230915829

Who would have predicted it? Macy’s red star logo, so perfect for the times–everything made in China.

All I want for Christmas is an all terrain walker, so I can jog, play tennis, and maybe clean sidewalks for a few extra bucks. Bright, florescent colors optional, but wouldn’t mind.

I’m back in college for the fourth time. I’m so old now, it’s free which isn’t bad.

I decided to take “Intro. To Film.” Why? Because I know nothing about ‘film’ and I’ve already taken basket weaving, although it wasn’t underwater.
The first night, the university provides us with pizza, pop, and goody bags, filled with pencils, pens, sticky notes, and a clip. All are marked ‘CSU, so we will not forget our benefactor, I figure, and we will be eased gently into the grueling weeks ahead.
I look for the instructor. She is pregnant and sitting on a table, wearing jeans and a tee. Nothing wrong with that. She goes over the syllabus while we snap open pop cans and munch on pizza. She reassures us that we will make it through this class. Yes, we will have exams, but no, there will be no trick questions on them. As a matter of fact, she will give us all the questions in advance. If anyone is not able to figure out the answers she will be available to help. Check the hours posted on her website and if those are not convenient, other times can be arranged. I am waiting for the back rubs to start.

We stop chewing long enough to say our names. This, I see, must be done in a mumble, lest anyone perceive what could pass as a scintilla of enthusiasm to be here.  then it is over. Our first class took about twenty minutes. I suppose we need to go slowly, ease into the ordeal ahead: movies, followed by, as time permits, class discussion.
A young man who appeared to be dozing begins to stir.

“What if the movie goes longer than class time?” he asks. A hush falls over the room. Relief comes quickly: “We will end on time! I’ll continue the movie next class.”
Now, let’s return to my alma mater Kent State in ‘61. Film is not a course of study; it is a recreational pursuit, known as ‘going to the movies.’ Academics are not recreation; college is not fun. Professors do not give answers to tests. As a matter of fact they appear to have contests as to who can inflict the most suffering. You could argue, but most would say the math and science profs  The Education Department, meanwhile doles out tons of time consuming projects. (I pitied Education majors.)

Istruction is fear based. “No one gets 100%–not on my exams, a prof boasts. “That’s how I separate the men from the boys. (Gender equality was unknown.)
The welcoming address for freshman was held in the bleachers, there were so many of us. It started with: ‘Look to your left, then look to your right. Only one of you will graduate. Will it be you?’

That got our attention.

Classrooms were overcrowded, students were expendable, intro classes were taught in auditoriums.  Dorms were filled to capacity and girls  (yes, that’s what we were called) could get kicked out for anything. We had ‘dorm mothers’ who patrolled, spying for PDA, like drug sniffing dogs.
Then, as now, classes started with a review of the syllabus.

‘Let me tell you now, people fail my classes. If that bothers you, I suggest you drop it. And don’t bother raising your hand if you are going to ask the dumb question I get every semester.  Yes, tests will include questions not covered in class. Why do you think I included a reading list with the syllabus?  And don’t try to get your hands on an old exam. I prepare a new ones every term. Any questions?”
We weren’t allowed to chew gum. Some profs had a thing about it, like gum chewing symbolized the degradation of our country. “If I see you chewing your cud, I will ask you to leave! ”
Somehow in a full auditorium, they would find the chewer. They stopped lecturing. They pointed. You froze, hoping it was the guy next to you. Still pointing, you hear, “Yes, you!!

Everyone watches as you climb over an endless row of knees. “If you must chew your cud, stay out in the field.” This is followed by nervous laughter from people you hoped would become friends.

Now I get pizza and soda pop and movies, er, I mean film. All free. Live long and prosper!

True story. The new mother looks upset. She turns to the father, “I’m not having any luck getting a burp out of the baby.”
He shrugs.

Grandma sits listening quietly, expectantly.
‘I’ll Google,” says the father. “Must be others out there who’ve had this problem.”

Grandma begins to speak.

“Wait a minute, Mom. I’ve got to check something on the computer.”

One granny vs. a million bloggers–no contest.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m anxiously awaiting word from Pat Robertson. He can’t possibly let the disaster in Japan go by without comment. He has never missed an opportunity to go righteous on us when others suffer.  Could we be so blessed?

What a wonderful morning. Today I learned on Good Morning America that Arnold Schwartzeneger’s daughter has a book coming out. (Do the Kennedy’s need money or what?) And what an exciting concept! She wants girls to have a good self image! Wow. Clever. If I trolled that idea in front of an editor I’d have a book deal too.
A famous name means nothing of course. Good Night America.

A friend admits feeling a bit annoyed. She asked her grand-daughter what she would you like for breakfast?’”

The child’s response: “What are the choices?”

Nothing to get upset? Perhaps. But, watch out. You don’t want to alienate your offspring as I have. Eating has become a religion, I’ve realized. Not long ago I trampled on someone’s cherished belief about broccoli. I payed the price: righteous indignation.
Now I’m a believer! Broccoli is wonderful! So is kale, and cabbage, and kohlrabi. Yum
Many religions have rules about what to eat, that’s not new. But those rules were clear and simple. Now every food presents an ethical dilemma. What am I ingesting? Is it organic, vegan, wild, natural, unprocessed, local? Am I eating slowly and consciously? Or am I wolfing down any old garbage?

For me it’s likely to be the latter. That is until I had that inter-family fall-out.
I’m writing to apologize to all whom I have offended. Before enlightenment came I confess I made ignorant, flippant comments about your food religion.

So a little history is in order. Let me explain.

Back in Granny’s day there was a big war. Granny was a little child during the big war. People were starving-really. People were happy to have anything to eat, again really. Nothing was off the table, not even Bambi or Thumper.
Especially those two. They were especially desirable. My father said our rabbits got us through about half the war. Then things got worse, but that’s another story.
Food was sustenance then, plain and simple. As a child I had to express gratitude for any food, even if it was the dry, left-over meatloaf I hoped I’d never see again.

The rules were simple: Sit up, chew with your mouth closed, and clean your plate. ‘Make sunny weather’ I used to say to my own children. (Sweet, huh?)

Not eating something, anything, was called ‘being picky’. That was bad. We had pithy slogans to remind us: “Waste not, want not!’ and ‘Don’t let your eyes get bigger than your stomach.’ (Note to young readers, this means do not take more than you will really eat.) Wasting food was evil. Shame!

When I was a child not eating the chicken was bad, wasteful. We didn’t think about the quality of the chicken’s life. Caged or free-range? Who new? What did the chicken eat? Who cared?

“It’s all good. Eat!”
The other day I noticed a young woman at a restaurant in the mall leaving with her plate half full. She looked pleased with herself. She is virtuous person (and skinny).

Eat only until you start to feel full, we are told. Evidently we have lost our ability to figure this out without being told. We can’t trust our stomachs or our taste buds. We need constant reminders to keep us from gluttony, malnutrition, self imposed starvation.
Of course, (and you knew this was coming), when Ole Granny was a child meals were accompanied with reminders too. ‘Somewhere in the world people were starving.’ And not because they were dieting and hoping to squeeze into a new dress in time for prom.
Now I can’t imagine what my parents, Holocaust survivors, would say about a self-imposed, near-starvation diet for the sake of longevity. Meschuge! That’s all I can come up with.
We had other pithy sayings. “What comes out of a man’s mouth is more important than what goes in.” Try pitching that to Men’s Health. “Do you recommend going back to eating lard too?”
There was a time when talking about what you had for lunch was considered boorish–besides no one cared. Now we want to know. ‘What did you have? A Big Mac or an arugula salad?’ It says something about you.
Like everyone I’m giving what I eat more thought. I know there are still carnivores among us, but slowly I’m trying to go in the right direction. Right now I’m avoiding foi-gras. (Just in case I run into some).

I will make a greater effort to consider the well-being of animals everywhere. They deserve a happy and healthy life. Besides, I’m ready to give up on humans. They’ve gotten so obnoxious, so finicky, spoiled, and dare I say the F word?

Fat.