Holiday Hiatus

May you and your family have a peaceful Christmas season.

See you in the year 2012 with a fresh blogging perspective and a new pencil skirt.

Happy Holidays!

Monday Mimisms ~ The House That Breathes

My favorite antique store. A beautiful afternoon. A camera full of batteries and time on my hands. The family-owned business is small by mall strip comparison (who needs that? Really) but rich in ambiance and history. "Well look who's here. Our favorite customer. Come on in and bring your camera with you." This is what I hear once the creaky door is opened. Now that's more like it! Somebody FINALLY understands blogging.  She didn't have to ask twice. I always get butterflies in my stomach going in. Strolling around in that shop is like a mini soul vacation. I could (and do) stay for hours. After catching up with our lives since for a few minutes and oohing and ahhhing over the talented designer's new/old Christmas trees in each room, I got down to shopping business.
No. I'm not telling you everything. Some of you just might be on that list.
Come with me! Let's look around.

It has a Blue Room just like the White House.

And a black and white checkered floor to match the cornice board

and treasures

Why didn't I come home with this lamp? What was I thinking??!

I found big trees

and little trees

red trees where trees ought to be

Villages

 and villagers

in pudding cups

Stairs for climbing

 

Dolls in green rooms

naughty and nice

cruets and polka dots

 and light from windows of branches and trees

spilling into a house that breathes

 light on wood

where light ought to be

somebody is out of pudding it seems....

 red red chairs and carrot-nose stares

and Santa, oh Santa, he was there

sitting high on a shelf 
with his trusty elves

(even if they are on the plastic side)

But the room I love most isn't a room at all. It's not the biggest or the brightest. It doesn't have a tree or a chandelier. In a corner overlooking elm trees way up in the top of the top of the house, it sits just so.

Not much room and too many mirrors. 

Hats on the walls and stained glass church without Jesus. 

A tiny corner room overlooking the street. Secrets. Promises. Inspiration.

 The muse lives here.... I do believe.

It is the infamous Closet of Hats where I once met a mysterious lady.

who blogged a lot

  She's still around.

Monday Mimisms ~ I Just Want To Wash My Hair!

Here we go again.

Some time ago I wrote a post called One Banana, Please. It was a scathing review of the ridiculous invasion of privacy protocol in our local supermarkets. Namely, my refusal to give out my personal information just to buy a banana.
I know you've heard this conundrum from me before, but it bears repeating. And this time it wasn't even about lonely fruit!
It happened again this week. Call it one of my personal pet peeves. In fact, it should be yours too.

"That's $21.89. Phone number?"
I stopped shuffling in my wallet. "You need my phone number so that I can buy something in your store?"
Big cheesy smile. "It's our policy, ma'am!" with fingers still poised to type in the seven digits he ain't gettin' no way no how. Seriously. This bothers me to the core. It's the principle of the thing. The presumption that it's OK to ask people to supply their personal information OUT LOUD in the store with people all around as if they are entitled to it. Yes, that's it. The expectation of entitlement. The information he wants is private. People still have unlisted numbers in this country ya know.

**go get a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I need to rant**
WHO thinks it is acceptable to blindly hand over your personal personal personal information to buy a bottle of shampoo? WHOO? Does this make sense to you, bloggy people? Living in the digital age has torn loose our common sense.   WHY have we gotten so used to it that we just cave to these questions? WHAT would the world be like if more people refused to answer them?  Or started asking why they're being asked in the first place. We tell our children not to talk to strangers but we give all our worldly stats and tell the bad people where to find their bedroom windows.  Do you REALLY want your personal personal personal information riding on even more computer highways than it already is?  WHEN did it become more complicated to buy beauty products in a real-live store with a real-live salesclerk waiting on a real-live customer than it is to apply for a car loan?  WHEN did we start asking people for an oral report on the state of their demographics to purchase ordinary staples? I'm not ordering it online - in which case it is necessary for me to provide my shipping address and all other manner of information to get the product - I'm standing right there! I just want to take my little papoose home and wash my hair. I am going to carry the little bag in my own little hands and place it in my own little shower. Personally. The old-fashioned way.

I am not paying with a check. They are not taking a risk.

I'm standing there with Sacagawea's cash for Pete's sake.

And yet he wants my phone number.

Looking at me expectantly, he asked again. Again??

I've gotten used to this diatribe by now. I don't give my phone number ANYwhere. I'm stubborn that way.  So, I was prepared for this conversation. I said flatly,

"I'm not giving you my phone number."
"We have to have it for our system."
"If you have to have my phone number in order for me to buy this shampoo, then you can keep it."

I cannot believe I am going through this to buy a bottle of shampoo.

He loudly punches somebody's phone number into the computer, or perhaps a fictitious set of numbers. Maybe his. I wonder. If he used his number, does this mean he will now get telemarketing calls in my stead? Oh joy!

And then...."I'll do it THIS time but next time you'll be required to supply it. "
Required?
Required???

Oh surely, he did not say that. I gave the shampoo police my best 'says who?' look and asked (really. just for the sake of this blog post) "Wwhhhhyyyyyyy?"

"Our corporate office makes the policy, I don't."
So. He is personally typing in the personal personal information of every stranger he meets today and is responsible for it, but he can't tell me why.

"Then I will be forced to give you a fictitious phone number in order to buy my shampoo. But most likely, I won't be buying anything else in your store."

Another insincere and cheesy smile.  "And that's fine too!"

Here we go again.