never too late, “good manners”

Posted on March 15, 2011 by hugmamma

The age of technology seems to have signaled an era where good manners have become extinct. Cell phone calls interrupt romantic dinners, cat naps on public transport, silence in a library. Text messaging is a never-ending, voiceless conversation. E-books and lap tops are all the companions some folks need. The latest gadgets and gizmos make it unnecessary for us to interact with one another.

Perhaps Mother Nature is encouraging us to get back to basics. Because in the final analysis, when all material things are washed away in a tsunami, or demolished in an earthquake, or engulfed in wildfires, people have to turn to each other for answers. We may do well to take a refresher course on good manners, on doing unto others as we would have them do unto us…before we find ourselves in need of their help.

The Complete Life’s Little Instruction Book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr., offers some good advice on being neighborly. Our memories just need a little jogging, and dusting off, to get us back on track toward being more human in an environment that’s becoming less and less so.

Don’t allow the phone to interrupt important moments. It’s there for your convenience, not the caller’s.
Don’t burn bridges.You’ll be surprised how many times you have to cross the same river.
Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per

Image via Wikipedia

day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.
Rekindle old friendships.
Get your priorities straight. No one ever said on his death-bed, “Gee, if I’d only spent more time at the office.”
Don’t be afraid to say: “I don’t know,” “I made a mistake,” I need help,” “I’m sorry.”
Don’t use time or words carelessly. Neither can be retrieved.
Don’t rain on other people’s parades.
Don’t interrupt.
Never underestimate the power of words to heal and reconcile relationships.
Be as friendly to the janitor as you are to the chairman of the board.
Treat your employees with the same respect you give your clients.
Remove your sunglasses when you talk to someone.
Show extra respect for people whose jobs put dirt under their fingernails.
Surprise an old friend with a phone call.
Don’t be so concerned with your rights that you forget your manners.
Act with courtesy and fairness regardless of how others treat you. Don’t let them determine your response.
Spend your life lifting people up, not putting people down.
Remember that everyone you meet wears an invisible sign. It reads, “Notice me. Make me feel important.”
Encourage anyone who is trying to improve mentally, physically, or spiritually.
Be especially courteous and patient with older people.
Let your handshake be as binding as a signed contract.
Love someone who doesn’t deserve it.
Regardless of the situation, react with class.
Become the kind of person who brightens a room just by entering it.
Remember that a kind word goes a long way.
Spend twice as much time praising as you do criticizing.
Offer hope.
When you need to apologize to someone, do it in person.
When a friend is in need, help him without his having to ask
Never be too busy to meet someone new.
If it’s not a beautiful morning, let your cheerfulness make it one.
Remember that cruel words hurt deeply, and loving words quickly heal.
Before criticizing a new employee, remember your first days at work.
Never call anybody stupid, even if you’re kidding.
Offer your place in line at the grocery checkout if the person behind you has only two or three items.
This year, buy an extra box of Girl Scout cookies.

Image via Wikipedia
After someone apologizes to you, don’t lecture them.
Carry a couple of inexpensive umbrellas in your car that you can give to people caught in the rain.
When you really like someone, tell them. Sometimes you only get one chance.
Take more pictures of people than of places.
Never make fun of people who speak broken English. It means they know another language.
If you ask someone to do something for you, let them do it their way.
Remember it’s not your job to get people to like you, it’s your job to like people.
Write a thank-you note to your children’s teacher when you see your child learning new things.
Never intentionally embarrass anyone.
Don’t forget that your attitude is just as important as the facts.
Remember that much truth is spoken in jest.
Never resist a generous impulse.
When in doubt, smile.

This list should keep us all busy for some time. In fact, just pondering them will probably occupy more than a few minutes. But we can take our time, for we’ve lots of time. Or have we?

practicing just one a day…will get us somewhere better than where we already are…hugmamma.

magical, and musical!!! but how???

Posted on January 24, 2011 by hugmamma

Besides “guardian angels” who hover to assist when necessary, I’ve got “elves” scouring the internet day and night in search of “magic moments,” be they that, or something humorous, ghastly, eerie, or whatever. Sharing them with you depends upon the impression they make on me. Some may hit the “bull’s-eye,” others may not. Everyone has their own tastes after all, including me.

I am very grateful that my “elves” filter through tons of possibilities, and forward on only those they think might captivate me. The following is one such. You’ll have to click on the website to enjoy it. I think it’s worth the extra seconds. Make certain your volume’s on, to hear the accompanying music.

What the message wishes for you…I do too, wholeheartedly!!! Oh, and it’s not a virus. Trust me.

http://www.elion.ee/docs/joulukaart/eng/

technological wizardry…at its best…hugmamma.

“stuffed” full of food, memories, and feeling old

Posted on November 26, 2010 by hugmamma

Had a fantastic Thanksgiving celebration! Hope you did as well. Am sure we had a lot in common, turkey and all the fixings, family and friends gathered around the table, laughter, small talk, and oh-so- full bellies. What we may, or may not, have shared in experience was feeling, for the very first time, like senior citizens.

Original plans were that my husband and I would have been the middle-aged folk since friends, a couple in their early and mid-70’s, were set to join us for our holiday meal. Of course our daughter was always to be the young chickadee, at 24 years. A call from our nephew who lives and works in Seattle, altered the dynamics. Because of the snowstorm that blew our way, his plan to spend Thanksgiving with his mom’s relatives were canceled due to icy roads. We expected that Kanoa and his girlfriend Erica would dine with us, but were pleasantly surprised to learn that his brother, Sam, would be in town as well. We’d not seen this nephew since he was 11 or so. Now he’s an aerospace engineer, with a degree in aeronautics. Another welcome addition to our cozy home was Kanoa’s roommate, Darnelle. As it turned out, our first guests, Sylvia and Jim, cancelled because of icy weather conditions between their town and ours. So my husband and I quickly moved up, or down, depending on your viewpoint, the age ladder.

My gourmet feast was a hit! Conversation was lively! After some expected “hiccups,” that is. I mean, 30+ years difference in age does require some fancy footwork. I love dancing, and talking, but even my brain was working overtime trying to “connect the dots” in our conversation. I did miss a couple, “dots” that is, like the time Sam told a joke about an antelope in rut who ran into a stopped SUV. The animal was chasing potential mates, who’d smartly sidestepped the vehicle. I got that part because it’s a known fact that females are smarter. Ahem. What I didn’t get, is that the story was a joke. I thought the anecdote was a true story about a friend whose car was hit by a stupid animal. So what began as laughter at the joke, evolved into hysteria when I asked in disbelief, “Was that a joke?” Thank God they thought I was a cute, little, old aunty. Hey, I don’t deny it. I embrace it, especially when I ponder the alternative.

Decades old memories with a Long Island friend and her family, is one that remains with me. Even many years after having lost touch, I can still picture sitting around the dinner table with as many as 10 guests. The food was the best Italian fare I’ve ever tasted, all homemade and exquisitely delicious. The manicotti with delicately, thin pasta shells and the large, flavorful meatballs topping handmade spaghetti drenched in Carmella’s mom’s marinara sauce, were two of my favorite dishes. Even more memorable was to be enveloped into the loving warmth of an Italian family. So like Hawaiians who embrace one and all. I loved them dearly, Carmella, Vito and mom and pop Adamo. Still do, though the parents have long since gone to Heaven, and we’ve lost touch with sister and brother who moved to other states. Even Christmas cards have stopped arriving. But no matter, I will always remember them with fondness and love.

As I sat listening to our young dinner guests last night, I was reminded of pop Adamo. When we first met, he was virile, engaging, witty, and “in command.” Though small in stature, pop was the “man of the house,” though his daughter and son hovered above him like giants, and even his wife stood a half-a-head taller. It’s true, Italian men rule the roost. They might be small, like pop, but his “presence” was large. Vito was taller than 6 feet, but “shrank” when pop barked. When they wanted to convince pop of something, son, daughter and wife would have to cajole him, sometimes for days or weeks. It usually endured for some amount of time, so I can’t remember if they succeeded more times, than not. I do know that I always tried to remain on pop’s good side. He did have a small, soft spot in his heart for this island girl.

I’m not certain when I first noticed that pop was no longer “himself.” Was it before, or after Carmela told us he had Alzheimer’s? Or was it when his voice no longer reverberated through the house, or when he sat in silence after we said our first hellos. But the image foremost in my mind is of pop sitting in his usual chair at the head of the dining table, looking “lost.” It saddened me that he was unable to participate in conversations, where before his witticisms were part of the social gatherings. While his body sat, his spirit seemed elsewhere, perhaps floating overhead, disengaged. In time, pop became permanently wedded to the dreaded disease.

Alzheimer’s assumed a stranglehold on the Adamos, and their home was never the same again. Somehow the family evolved, as we all do, moving forward to become newer, updated versions of their former selves. Carmela married a wonderful man, Steve, and they were blest with an only child, daughter Christine. Last we heard Vito had moved to Las Vegas where he enjoyed the many pleasures of “sin city.” I’m sure pop rolled over in his grave. Mom grew more frail as the years passed, finally succumbing to eternal peace. I’ll always remember her charitableness, especially for those who sat at her bountiful table. We celebrated Thanksgiving every time we sat down to dinner with this loving family.

Last night I caught a glimpse of my own “evolution.” Aging is inevitable, as is change. Resisting either, or both, is probably unwise, and unhealthy. Granted, I am who I am because of 61 years of accumulated experiences, memories, and “self-diagnosis.” There’ve certainly been “detours” along the way, which meant tweaking my life, here and there. But true happiness, I think, is the “thread” that courses through our lives as we evolve, from birth to death. Standing still, inflexible and unchanging, would probably cut, or at least thin, the flow of happiness. Though I may be goofy at times, acting “abynormal,” as my daughter and I label my zany behavior, I am normal in wanting, like others, to know happiness in my daily life.

So I owe much to the young folk who sat around our dinner table on Thanksgiving Day. They “stretched” my brain cells with their chatter about X-Box games, reasons for disliking Windows 7, multi-tasking on 3 computers simultaneously, all while checking their cellphones intermittently. I did hold my own, however, when relating stories about life experiences. They seemed to enjoy my fear of bear anecdotes, and my general “c’est la vie” attitude.

Thanks Kanoa, Sam, Erica and Darlene! You added to the cozy evening, with your youthful gaiety, “geeky” conversation, and contribution of “ono” food, the lomi salmon, poki tako, kalua pig and pumpkin cheesecake. More than anything, you added to our family’s Thanksgiving memories, about which we’ll be reminiscing for a long time.

are you as “stuffed?’…hugmamma..

gray skies above, warm hearts below

Posted on October 25, 2010 by hugmamma

Our “signature” weather here in the Pacific Northwest never goes out of style. So it’s with little fanfare that we welcome the return of menacing gray skies, upon whose heels arrive the downpour of “angels’ tears.” Our family has learned to take it all in stride.

The dismal weather gives us a chance to burrow under blankets, read a mountain of books, piled high magazines and Wall Street Journals, sup on homemade soups, play endless rounds of Bananagrams, and just recently, cribbage.

Once-in-awhile, my daughter and I settle in to watch old films on DVD, like “Anna and the King of Siam,” starring Rex Harrison and Irene Dunn. Totally different from “The King and I,” the colorized version with Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr, my daughter was enthralled with the more serious story told in the older version. Unlike its successor, it was a drama, not a musical. In it the king does not dance with the teacher, nor does Tuptim stage the story of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”

After Mass yesterday we decided to drive out to Snohomish, where antique stores abound. Enroute we stopped at a favorite haunt, Maltby Cafe. It’s not a restaurant we frequent because of its distance, and because the meals taste like mom’s cooking, which means lo-cal is not a high priority. The few times we’ve driven to partake of this gastronomical feast, there has always been a lineup of hungry customers. But everyone minds their manners. We put our names on a list, and wait patiently, the cafe’s “monster” cinnamon roll making me salivate at the thought of biting into it, melted icing escaping out the corners of my grinning lips.

The Cafe is cozily ensconced in the basement of a building. After 20 minutes or so of eager anticipation, we were comfortably seated at a table. We took our time looking through the menu, deciding what to eat. My husband is always the first to make a selection. His pick was some gigantic omelet, whose name escapes me. Meanwhile, my daughter and I read the menu as though it were a novel, poring over each page from top to bottom.

I started with “desserts” on the back of the menu. The “melted caramel sundae” sounded divine, and loaded with calories! Coming to my senses, I chose French toast with marionberries and creme fraiche on the side. With it I ordered a dish of red, fried potatoes, onions, mushrooms and diced ham. Of course, half of it came home in a “doggie bag.” The same was true of my daughter’s meal, homemade Italian sausages with scrambled eggs, and biscuits with gravy.

While awaiting our main courses, we began with an appetizer. We sliced the long-awaited cinnamon roll 4 ways. We still brought home half of it. As we “oohed and aahed” and hungrily devoured morsels of the heavenly pastry, our eyes wandered around the spacious dining room. Devotees of HGTV, we agreed that the Cafe could easily be transformed into a basement apartment. The long breakfast bar along one side of the room could serve as informal family dining, while the main room could easily house a living space, office space, dining space, and perhaps spare sleeping area. Through a door towards the back would probably be a bedroom. At the very back of the restaurant were a men’s and women’s restroom. And, of course, there was a kitchen through a door behind the breakfast bar. Beams running the length of the ceiling added to the warmth and charm of the room. I think our family qualifies for its own designer show on HGTV. My husband and daughter would probably say “Yeah, right.” They’re not as full of ideas as I am. Or am I… just full of it? Hmmm. Whatever…

Tummies full, we drove on to our final destination. Hunting for bargains in antique shops is a “high” for me. Most dealers, if not all, thrive on finding treasures for unbelievably fabulous prices, in other words, cheap. Once upon a time it was possible, and it may be again, given the current economy. But the difficulty now is that while something may be a bargain, how much of a markup can the market bear? Where nearly 2 decades ago I could double the price of what I paid for an item, I’m no longer able to do so in most cases. So the profit margin has shrunk considerably. Why remain in the business?

All antique dealers are passionate about “old” stuff, their history, their craftsmanship, and the idea that these items are very much relics of the past. Walking through aisles of artifacts usually stirs up memories of bygone days, before all the modern conveniences like dishwashers, clothes dryers, refrigerators, computers. Instead, my eyes linger over dishracks and colorful dish towels, vintage clothes drying racks or clothes lines that unwind from a green or blue tin box, pie safes that use to store perishable foods from pesky flies, and typewriters, Royals and Underwoods.

With the holidays approaching, I opted to purchase several silver plated serving platters of various shapes and sizes. The prices were reasonable, most $12, a couple $16. They’re not in mint condition, but for the right price, customers will purchase them as beautiful accents for festive celebrations. Shabby chic is in these days, especially at stores like Crate and Barrel. Why pay their exorbitant prices for “knock-offs,” when the real thing can be bought for half the price or less? “Used” means it’s been loved in its former life.

Meandering the back roads under a threatening, gray sky in verdant Washington State, is as special as lazing under the tropical sun, on a white sand beach in Maui.

found anywhere, blessings…hugmamma.

for book afficionados

Posted on September 7, 2010 by hugmamma

My reservations about e-books relegating printed books to archival history were temporarily sidelined, when I read a Wall Street Journal article touting that “Fast Digital Printers Can Provide Out-of-stock Volumes to Customers in Minutes.” While more and more readers are turning to Kindles, small bookstores are offering digitally printed books to its customers. “Oscar’s Art Books in Vancouver says it has sold about 1,500 digitally printed books since it bought a special printer in March. The machine, which cost about $118,000, accesses an online library of titles and then prints, trims and binds paperbacks on demand.” Prices depend upon the number of pages printed. Oscar’s recently printed a copy of “Dr. Art Hister’s Guide to Living a Long & Healthy Life” for $19.95. Harvard Bookstore in Cambridge, Massachusetts (not affiliated with the University), has printed approximately 1,000 books a month on an Espresso machine with Xerox’s printer. “For the most part, books printed on the Espresso Book Machine look like regular paperbacks, although it can only print color covers, not inside pages. It costs the bookstore under a penny a page to print, plus a licensing fee.” While Harvard Bookstore sees little profit in printing and licensing books since it’s costlier than purchasing already printed books, print-on-demand manager Bronwen Blaney explains that it’s worth it because the store is getting a sale it otherwise wouldn’t.” A UK bookstore chain, Blackwell, has an Espresso machine in its London flagship store and plans to install 6 more in some of its other 40 stores. Barnes & Noble partners with “Lightning Source to custom print books it doesn’t have in stock online or in stores. …does about $20 million in annual sales for on demand printing, a figure that has been rising each year, says a spokeswoman.” Meanwhile Borders Group Inc. is still contemplating a move in that direction.

Why my interest in digitally printed books on demand? A year or so ago, I had read an article in an issue of Vanity Fair Magazine about author William Manchester, written by him or another journalist, I don’t remember which. It was intriguing in that he had been asked by Jackie Kennedy to write the definitive story about her husband’s assassination from her perspective. She would offer facts, historical and personal, never before reported. Manchester agonized over the request feeling it would be grueling and time-consuming, uncertain he would want to commit a couple of years of his life to the project. He succumbed under pressure from Jackie and Robert Kennedy, whose help she enlisted in convincing the author to do as she asked. With their blessing, Manchester proceeded “leaving no stone unturned.” As time passed and insiders became aware of what was being revealed, several warned Jackie that she was mistaken in having such a book printed. While she and her brother-in-law may not have paid heed at first, upon reading its final version they insisted Manchester edit out certain things. He refused to whitewash his work and so it was published without the Kennedy’s blessing. It was said, however, that when she finished reading The Death of a President, copyrighted in 1967, she commented that it was “Interesting.” Reprinting of the book was disallowed some time thereafter. Of course, I went in search of a copy and found one on Amazon.com for $89. I’ve yet to read the somber book, but am excited at the prospect.

Another book which is out of print is Dr. Wright’s Guide to Healing with Nutrition by Jonathan Wright, copyrighted in 1984. This book was a God-send when my daughter was a fledgling, student ballerina. At 12 or 13 years of age she suffered what was diagnosed as possible Osgood-Schlatter disease, knee pain associated with growth spurts. Because this was deleterious to continuing with dance, I went in search of whatever information might be helpful in resolving the problem. I can’t remember how I found Dr. Wright’s book, but his recommendation based upon anecdotal findings, convinced me to have my daughter follow his regimen of selenium and vitamin E. Lo and behold, it worked! Her knee pain ended, never to return again. I shared the doctor’s prescription with anyone who would listen. I was later thanked by a mother who’d overheard me and had her son, also a dancer, take the vitamin supplements. He too found permanent relief from Osgood-Schlatter symptoms.

If these books can be digitally reprinted so that they’re not lost to readers forever, then I’m already a fan of the technology. I may be putting it to the test sometime. Hopefully I’ll be successful in retrieving another “gem” from oblivion.

hugs for technology, at least in this case…hugmamma.