The following is my final column for the Westfield Republican newspaper. The editor has decided that my services are no longer required as a reporter, and has decided to eliminate my column as well. I'm sure this won't be the end of my writing ventures, but it will be some time before I appear in print. Thanks everybody for your interest and really nice comments.
Time Has Run Out
Remember that article I wrote a couple weeks ago about Time in a Bottle? Seems my time has run out with the Westfield Republican. The paper is moving in a different direction and my reminisces and ruminations are no longer part of the larger picture.
I will miss sharing news and views with you. Your feedback has been very gratifying and I want to thank each one of you who took the time to stop and tell me how much you enjoyed my columns. It’s been a fun run for almost three years – not nearly the longevity of some of the other columnists, but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every minute.
My goal has always been to highlight the good in our town. The things I have written have largely had a positive slant. Several organizations and groups in Ripley have asked me over the years to write articles for them, or have cooperated greatly when I wanted to write something about the work they do. I have some special thanks to hand out. To the Ripley Veterans’ Roll of Honor, I wish you continued success in honoring our military here in Ripley. The Ripley volunteer fire department has been most kind in their cooperation regarding articles I’ve done about them, and they are a god-send in this small community.
Noah’s Ark from the Presbyterian Church, the anniversary celebration committee of the Methodist Church and the Ripley Senior Citizens have all asked me to help them out. Thank you for your confidence.
I’ve have covered events and stories from Ripley Central School as well as for the Town of Ripley. The Ripley Library and its support group, the Friends of the Library have provided me with ample opportunity to extol what’s good about this town.
To the many other organizations and people who have encouraged me, thank you as well.
For awhile I brought the Ripley Review back to life with reprints of the old articles. I had hoped to continue with that, but it’s not to be. But the Ripley bi-centennial is coming, and I’m sure I’ll have an opportunity to contribute to whatever is in the offing for the celebration. Ripley has a rich and interesting history, and we should be reminded from whence we came. We have a lot of which we can be proud.
I never intended to be a reporter, but rather just a columnist, writing whatever pleased me. You, the people, businesses and organizations of Ripley, allowed me the chance to stretch my writing skills. I am truly thankful to have talked and worked with each of you. Thank you for a great run. I’ll see you at Meeder’s.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Time in a Bottle
The words of the Jim Croce song, “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do, is to save every day until Eternity passes away, just to spend them with you,” resonate a great deal with me lately. It’s a love song, but it applies to many people in my life.
Time goes too quickly, and the older we get it seems the faster time goes by. Saying goodbye seems to be a big part of life. I’ve said goodbye to my children when they left home and again when I left them in Minnesota. I’ve said goodbye to dear friends who have visited, not knowing if I’d ever seen them again; and I’ve said goodbye to friends and relations who have gone on to a better life.
Every one of these goodbyes has been difficult and at times heart-wrenching. But with each goodbye I’ve come to realize how precious and short life is, and consequently, how important it is to live every day as if it were my last. Life is too short to hang onto real or imagined hurts or slights. It’s too short to hold grudges or not speak to people who were once friends. We don’t know if the last thing we said to a friend or loved one will be the last thing we ever say to them. Tomorrow is not guaranteed to any of us.
If I could have saved time in a bottle, I’d spend more time with people I love and make sure they knew they were loved. I’d spend more time listening and less time talking. I’d give more hugs and fewer frowns. I’d take the time to really get to know the people in my life, not just who they are on the surface or what they can do for me. I would make more time for living life and spend less time on the sidelines as a spectator.
If I could save time in a bottle, I’d certainly use it more wisely than I did many times in the past.
The words of the Jim Croce song, “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do, is to save every day until Eternity passes away, just to spend them with you,” resonate a great deal with me lately. It’s a love song, but it applies to many people in my life.
Time goes too quickly, and the older we get it seems the faster time goes by. Saying goodbye seems to be a big part of life. I’ve said goodbye to my children when they left home and again when I left them in Minnesota. I’ve said goodbye to dear friends who have visited, not knowing if I’d ever seen them again; and I’ve said goodbye to friends and relations who have gone on to a better life.
Every one of these goodbyes has been difficult and at times heart-wrenching. But with each goodbye I’ve come to realize how precious and short life is, and consequently, how important it is to live every day as if it were my last. Life is too short to hang onto real or imagined hurts or slights. It’s too short to hold grudges or not speak to people who were once friends. We don’t know if the last thing we said to a friend or loved one will be the last thing we ever say to them. Tomorrow is not guaranteed to any of us.
If I could have saved time in a bottle, I’d spend more time with people I love and make sure they knew they were loved. I’d spend more time listening and less time talking. I’d give more hugs and fewer frowns. I’d take the time to really get to know the people in my life, not just who they are on the surface or what they can do for me. I would make more time for living life and spend less time on the sidelines as a spectator.
If I could save time in a bottle, I’d certainly use it more wisely than I did many times in the past.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Attack Cat
You’ve all seen those cute signs that say Attack Cat! on them, haven’t you? I have my very own attack cat! I hadn’t realized that until I took him to be groomed. My apologies to the groomer.
I have four cats, two of whom are fairly long haired. Not wanting my summertime guests to see my scruffy looking cats, I took the two long hairs to a groomer to be brushed out and mats removed. Now Sadie, my senior citizen of eight years old, is usually quite content to be brushed; we do it quite often out on the deck and she just lies there and lets us detangle her. Pippin, our one year old kitten, whom we’ve only had for about five months, has never been groomed to my knowledge. Any time we’ve tried to brush him he thinks it’s a game and wiggles and squirms and tries to catch our hands with his claws and then tries to bite the brush.
Let me start at the beginning. I loaded both cats and carriers into the car for the trip to a grooming place in a not-to-be-mentioned city about 30 miles from here. (I’m trying to protect the groomers by withholding their name and location.) Sadie is a seasoned traveler and when let out of her carrier, curls up on the console beside me and sits there for the duration of the trip. Pippin’s only experience with a car is his two trips to the vet in Westfield. Pippin cries the entire trip. So with the sounds of meow, meooow, meOOOOW in my ears we took off on our adventure. To Pippin’s credit, he has a range of about seven miles for his crying; then he slacks off to an occasional whimper.
Upon reaching the groomers, I informed her that Sadie would be a sweetheart and that Pippin would likely try to bite her so an Elizabethan collar would be advisable. And I left them.
Two hours later a slightly frantic voice called me on my cell phone to inform me that my “little darlings” were done.
When I got there, the groomer who had worked on the cats was not there. In retrospect, I suspect she may have quit. I asked the other employee how they’d done. “They were awful,” she spat at me, to which I chuckled to myself and asked what had happened.
It seems Sadie did not like the environment or the groomer, not sure which. She hissed and spit and when that didn’t work, she growled and batted at the groomer. Because she was afraid of being bitten, the groomer brushed out Sadie’s side and back, but not her tummy.
Pippin, sitting in his carrier all this time, and listening to Sadie and the other animals, went ballistic when they removed him from his cage. He escaped the hold on him, raced around the room looking for escape, and according to the report, “bounced off the walls, all over the room.” The poor thing ran frantically back and forth the room, jumping up on counters and window sills, under tables and over people.
He was attracting a crowd outside the window of the room. As more people gathered to watch and laugh at the spectacle, one of the groomers said, “Get those people out of here! He’s ruining our reputation!”
During the mayhem of trying to catch the cat, we discovered something else about Pippin. He HATES dogs. There was a dog in the room, minding his own business, getting brushed out, and Pippin jumped onto his grooming table and attacked him! Well, he didn’t really attack him, just hissed and yowled and batted at him. But it sure scared the dog – and the groomers as well.
I’m not sure how they caught and restrained Pippin; they never said. But somehow he got most of the mats taken out of his coat. They didn’t say so, but I think my cats are not welcome there again. I quickly paid the bill and got my little darlings out of there.
I never heard a peep out of Pippin the whole way home. Poor Pip.
You’ve all seen those cute signs that say Attack Cat! on them, haven’t you? I have my very own attack cat! I hadn’t realized that until I took him to be groomed. My apologies to the groomer.
I have four cats, two of whom are fairly long haired. Not wanting my summertime guests to see my scruffy looking cats, I took the two long hairs to a groomer to be brushed out and mats removed. Now Sadie, my senior citizen of eight years old, is usually quite content to be brushed; we do it quite often out on the deck and she just lies there and lets us detangle her. Pippin, our one year old kitten, whom we’ve only had for about five months, has never been groomed to my knowledge. Any time we’ve tried to brush him he thinks it’s a game and wiggles and squirms and tries to catch our hands with his claws and then tries to bite the brush.
Let me start at the beginning. I loaded both cats and carriers into the car for the trip to a grooming place in a not-to-be-mentioned city about 30 miles from here. (I’m trying to protect the groomers by withholding their name and location.) Sadie is a seasoned traveler and when let out of her carrier, curls up on the console beside me and sits there for the duration of the trip. Pippin’s only experience with a car is his two trips to the vet in Westfield. Pippin cries the entire trip. So with the sounds of meow, meooow, meOOOOW in my ears we took off on our adventure. To Pippin’s credit, he has a range of about seven miles for his crying; then he slacks off to an occasional whimper.
Upon reaching the groomers, I informed her that Sadie would be a sweetheart and that Pippin would likely try to bite her so an Elizabethan collar would be advisable. And I left them.
Two hours later a slightly frantic voice called me on my cell phone to inform me that my “little darlings” were done.
When I got there, the groomer who had worked on the cats was not there. In retrospect, I suspect she may have quit. I asked the other employee how they’d done. “They were awful,” she spat at me, to which I chuckled to myself and asked what had happened.
It seems Sadie did not like the environment or the groomer, not sure which. She hissed and spit and when that didn’t work, she growled and batted at the groomer. Because she was afraid of being bitten, the groomer brushed out Sadie’s side and back, but not her tummy.
Pippin, sitting in his carrier all this time, and listening to Sadie and the other animals, went ballistic when they removed him from his cage. He escaped the hold on him, raced around the room looking for escape, and according to the report, “bounced off the walls, all over the room.” The poor thing ran frantically back and forth the room, jumping up on counters and window sills, under tables and over people.
He was attracting a crowd outside the window of the room. As more people gathered to watch and laugh at the spectacle, one of the groomers said, “Get those people out of here! He’s ruining our reputation!”
During the mayhem of trying to catch the cat, we discovered something else about Pippin. He HATES dogs. There was a dog in the room, minding his own business, getting brushed out, and Pippin jumped onto his grooming table and attacked him! Well, he didn’t really attack him, just hissed and yowled and batted at him. But it sure scared the dog – and the groomers as well.
I’m not sure how they caught and restrained Pippin; they never said. But somehow he got most of the mats taken out of his coat. They didn’t say so, but I think my cats are not welcome there again. I quickly paid the bill and got my little darlings out of there.
I never heard a peep out of Pippin the whole way home. Poor Pip.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Honesty? Honestly!
While shopping at Wal-Mart the other day (evil mega-conglomerate that it is) we picked up several items, both big and small. In the process of checking out, Bob turned the two larger items so the clerk could scan them without removing them from the cart. Items bagged and paid for, we proceeded to the car, whereupon we realized that one small bottle of Calamine lotion had been hiding under the bathroom tissue and hadn’t been scanned. Without much comment, Bob turned around and took the item back into the store to tell the clerk we hadn’t paid for it. After laughing and saying she couldn’t believe he came back for that, he paid for it and left.
What kind of sad commentary is this on our sense of honesty? Not only do some of the customers think it is okay to walk out with unpaid items, even the store employees now see it as no big deal.
Shopping lifting, or an honest mistake like ours, gone unrectified, costs businesses money; they in turn, raise prices to cover the cost of lost revenue. According to some experts, the average family spends $300 a year more to subsidize the cost of what shoplifters steal. Higher prices mean customers may not support that business, impacting the store’s ability to stay in business.
It’s easy to say Wal-Mart, and similar large chain stores, can afford it when an item is stolen. Suppose their profit margin is 10%, only an example on my part. For every $2 that is shoplifted or slips through the check-out, they have to sell $20 in merchandise to make up for that loss. “Grocery stores typically operate with only a 1% profit margin. If someone steals a $7 steak, the store must sell goods worth $700 to recover the loss,” according to an article from Rutgers University. Seven hundred dollars is perhaps two or more week’s pay for a store employee. How long before stores start laying off workers to help defray the cost of these unpaid items?
When did we become so complacent about stealing? Back when the “mom and pop” stores were the norm it was just common sense that you didn’t shoplift from them. You knew these owners. They were your neighbors or belonged to your church, and you knew they would suffer from the lost income. How many of us as kids took something from the store and when our parents found out, were made to return it with full apology? Honesty was a part of our upbringing. Has that really gone by the wayside?
Shoplifting has become a cost of doing business. Stores plan for a certain percentage of loss. That should disturb all of us. It costs the stores and it costs us as consumers not only in higher prices, but in loss of integrity, and loss of credibility to our children. So in answer to the young lady at the checkout: yes, we returned for just that small item. Your job could depend on it.
While shopping at Wal-Mart the other day (evil mega-conglomerate that it is) we picked up several items, both big and small. In the process of checking out, Bob turned the two larger items so the clerk could scan them without removing them from the cart. Items bagged and paid for, we proceeded to the car, whereupon we realized that one small bottle of Calamine lotion had been hiding under the bathroom tissue and hadn’t been scanned. Without much comment, Bob turned around and took the item back into the store to tell the clerk we hadn’t paid for it. After laughing and saying she couldn’t believe he came back for that, he paid for it and left.
What kind of sad commentary is this on our sense of honesty? Not only do some of the customers think it is okay to walk out with unpaid items, even the store employees now see it as no big deal.
Shopping lifting, or an honest mistake like ours, gone unrectified, costs businesses money; they in turn, raise prices to cover the cost of lost revenue. According to some experts, the average family spends $300 a year more to subsidize the cost of what shoplifters steal. Higher prices mean customers may not support that business, impacting the store’s ability to stay in business.
It’s easy to say Wal-Mart, and similar large chain stores, can afford it when an item is stolen. Suppose their profit margin is 10%, only an example on my part. For every $2 that is shoplifted or slips through the check-out, they have to sell $20 in merchandise to make up for that loss. “Grocery stores typically operate with only a 1% profit margin. If someone steals a $7 steak, the store must sell goods worth $700 to recover the loss,” according to an article from Rutgers University. Seven hundred dollars is perhaps two or more week’s pay for a store employee. How long before stores start laying off workers to help defray the cost of these unpaid items?
When did we become so complacent about stealing? Back when the “mom and pop” stores were the norm it was just common sense that you didn’t shoplift from them. You knew these owners. They were your neighbors or belonged to your church, and you knew they would suffer from the lost income. How many of us as kids took something from the store and when our parents found out, were made to return it with full apology? Honesty was a part of our upbringing. Has that really gone by the wayside?
Shoplifting has become a cost of doing business. Stores plan for a certain percentage of loss. That should disturb all of us. It costs the stores and it costs us as consumers not only in higher prices, but in loss of integrity, and loss of credibility to our children. So in answer to the young lady at the checkout: yes, we returned for just that small item. Your job could depend on it.
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