Recently read on a comment feed regarding The Supremes: 

Odd person 1:  “Well, can we agree on one thing that Mary Wilson is a completely ungrateful BITCH?!?!” 

Odd person 2:  “No, actually we can’t.” 

Odd person 1:  “Well, I guess there’s just NO reasoning with YOU then!!!”

I chuckled for hours!

Just because it made me giggle . . .  

I actually published this last year, but am posting it again since my Gran's birthday is just around the corner.  

“Hurry up, Sweetie. Today’s the day!” I opened my sleepy eyes to find my Gran standing over the bed, hair still in curlers, smiling broadly.

“You’ll need to wash up and dress quickly. Your breakfast is ready and as soon as you’re finished, we’ll be on our way. Big day, today. Big day!”

It was to be a big day indeed. For today, my Gran would introduce her five year old grandson to a place that was filled with wonderment. Today was the day that I would first discover Lazarus Department Store on South High Street in Columbus, Ohio.

I fumbled with the buttons on my navy blue sweater as Gran fussed with my cowlick that wouldn’t behave. She made sure that the laces were tied on my Buster Brown corrective shoes and wrapped a flimsy scarf around her head to keep her freshly set hair in place. She finished a cup of black coffee drained from the stainless steel percolator on the kitchen counter, put on her jacket, and away we went. This was indeed to be a very big day. It was my birthday and I was spending the week in the city with my Gran – mostly to keep me out of trouble while the adults were getting the farm ready for spring.

Since neither of us drove a car, we walked hand in hand up Welch Avenue to the High Street intersect to catch the COTA bus that would take us uptown. My Gran plunked coins into the meter, found us a seat, gave me a piece of Dentine gum, and with a woosh, the bus belched a puff of grey diesel fume and roared its way into the city. I read the overhead ads for Wrigley’s, Gold Bond Powder, and Ultra Bright Toothpaste. After a few blocks, we found ourselves outside of the store. There were pretty ladies standing very still wearing nothing but fancy underwear in some of the big picture windows and well appointed living rooms in the others. I didn’t think it was polite to stare, so I kept my gaze steady only briefly peeking from the corner of my eyes. I figured they must get awfully tired standing all day and wondered why they just didn’t go and sit down on the sofa in the next window. Gran took hold of my hand and we walked through the art deco revolving doors that made a quiet swish as she pushed. I was filled with amazement at all of the organized chaos that was inside. Hushed voices, the squeak of hangers on metal, the click-click-clackety-clack of cash registers, and the heady mix of perfumes that filled the air. Gran’s stylish yet sensible low healed shoes softly padded the cool, rose colored marble floor and I knew right then that this was to become one of my favorite places in the whole world.

And it did. Once a week, Gran would make the trip to Lazarus to spend the day shopping. She occasionally would buy an item or two, get a watch fixed, or try on shoes; but for the most part she would simply wander the store, dreaming. When either me, my siblings, or my cousins would stay we’d be treated to a day at Lazarus, lunch in the Heritage room or perhaps the Woolworth’s lunch counter across the street, and once we reached the tenth floor, an endless ride down to the first floor in an elevator with glass doors finished off the day.

There wasn’t anything you couldn’t find at Lazarus. They had it all. The first floor was dedicated to the latest women’s fashion and cosmetics. On the second floor there was more women’s junk. The third floor was where the men would go to buy suits, ties, and underwear. On the fourth floor I would be outfitted in my school uniform, those stupid corrective shoes that made my feet clumsy, everyday clothing, and in later years my boy scout uniform and my first pair of sneakers. (They were red!) If you needed house wares, the fifth floor was where you wanted to be. They sold china there too. The Sixth floor housed linens and bath items. On seven, furniture galore arranged just like the pictures in Better Homes and Gardens Magazine. The eighth floor was by far my favorite because that’s where all the toys, televisions, and transistors were sold. It was the eighth floor that would, at Christmastime, be magically transformed into Santa Land where elves wearing red and green velveteen jumpers would escort you into Santa’s Cabin, sit you on his knee, and take your photograph. They even had the Secret Santa Workshop into which no parents were allowed to enter. It was here that I carefully chose Old Spice for my Dad, cheap earrings for my Mom, and gauzy headscarves or handkerchiefs for my Gran to wrap and place under the Christmas tree.

Let’s see, I think we are on nine now. Ah, this was the floor where you could buy jewelry, have a watch repaired, have a shoeshine, or check the bridal registry. The most important thing on the ninth floor, however, was The Chintz Room. Unlike the Heritage Room where you were served Salisbury Steak, green beans, and mashed potatoes under the watchful gaze of the patriotic portraiture of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Betsy Ross; The Chintz room was elegantly dressed in chintz (well yeah!) and fine ladies wearing big hats sipped tea and nibbled on petite sandwiches with the crusts cut off. It was in this room where, on my fifth birthday, my Gran and I split a chocolate éclair in celebration. A tradition we would keep twice a year on each of our birthdays.

The tenth floor was where all of the offices were and of course the gift wrapping center where you could watch the skilled wrappers truly make your purchase into a gift. I always thought I would grow up to be a gift wrapper at Lazarus. Sadly, no, that did not transpire.

As I grew up, Lazarus grew with me. They built more stores in each side of town and anchored all of the suburban shopping malls. But I always preferred to shop at the uptown home base, usually with Gran in tow. Time passed and I found myself living in a rented double just a few blocks from my Gran’s house which made it easier to take care of her. We made our weekly pilgrimages to buy sheet music, or a shirt, or socks, or a book, or just check out what was on sale; opting to let me drive down the circular exit from the parking garage rather than take the descent in the glass door elevators. We spent a lot of time together in that store but it took her much longer to get around than before and she tired out much more quickly.

When we found my Gran, she had been getting ready for Church. There was a Lazarus sales flyer on her bed with a couple of items marked in red ink. She was buried in a pink dress that she had bought there about a year before. Soon after, Lazarus was bought out by Macy’s and the home base uptown was closed. A fitting tribute to my Gran, I think.

But that’s not what I picture when I remember my Gran. I picture her at the perfume counter buying Estee Lauder, or trying on a pair of shoes, or perhaps I remember one of the last times I saw her. It was the afternoon of her eighty second birthday and we were in the Chintz Room, splitting a chocolate éclair.

Do you all collect the State quarters?  I’m into it big time.  In fact, in the bedside table, I have a giant cardboard folding holder that has a map of the US and a hole for each State quarter.  Of course the measly little East Coast States like Rhode Island and Delaware just have holes in the Atlantic with a line pointing to their spot on the continent.  I think we got it at Walmart or something.  I’m a passive collector in that eventually throughout the course of my business; I’ll run across a new one and add it to the collection. 

Some of the quarters are really pretty and quite elegant.

Nevada has wild horses,

Iowa has a quaint little school house,

Tennessee has a collection of musical instruments,

Rhode Island has a clipper ship,

and Connecticut has a sturdy old oak tree. 

Others, however, I just don’t get.

Louisiana, for example, just makes reference to the Louisiana Purchase, a rusty old trumpet, and a big bird.  Well, okay, but isn’t there anything else that your State should be remembered for?

Illinois has a picture of Lincoln.  Well, I think his image is already on currency, so could you have tried a bit harder?

Michigan has an outline of the Great Lakes.  Ho hum.

Wisconsin?  Cow, corn, cheese, forward? 

Missouri is kinda cool as it depicts the Lewis and Clark expedition, but I don't think the Arch was built quite yet as they floated down the Missouri River.   

And even my home state of Ohio which obviously has a self esteem complex when compared to the other States has Neil Armstrong and the Wright Brothers who were born here and promptly went to other states to fly.  It would have been more appropriate to just have an ear of corn, because if you leave the cities, that’s about all you see. 

So, today I picked up Montana.  Big Sky Country.

Well, it seems that in the “big sky” portion of the coin is the image of a steer skull.  Yes, of all possible images, Montanans have chosen a dead animal to represent their State.  I read that it holds symbolism for Native Americans, and I can appreciate trying to be inclusive with first nation people, but a dead cow?!?  Creepy.

Washington looks more promising as this year they will depict a giant salmon trying to jump Mt. Rainer.

Idaho has a creepy looking bird that makes me nervous.

Wyoming has a cowboy as it should,

and Utah sports two locomotives which is kinda cool since I half expected Mormons. 

My favorite quarter thus far, however, is Alabama.

It depicts Helen Keller sitting in a chair and reading.  It’s a nice image.  What makes if my favorite is that when Mark (who is not an American and therefore knows less about our history) asked if “that was the first State to electrocute a woman”.  I can’t help but giggle to imagine the Alabama quarter committee, “Yeah, we fried the bitch . . . hey let’s put her on the quarter!”

Our good friend, Adelyn, moved to another part of town recently.  Of course, her house hasn't sold yet and so Mark takes it upon himself to check up on it during the week.  He hasn't been asked to do this, mind you, but he does anyway.  He says to be a good neighbor — I say because he's meddlesome.  

Anyway.  Here's Mark.

My neighbor just shot two coyotes.  Point blank.  In the head.  The second one cried out right before.  He shot them because they were on his land. 

I’m saddened because of this.  They didn’t attack anyone.  They didn’t raid anything.  They were just being coyotes. 

I will wail and mourn with the other coyotes this night.  I will weep for senseless loss of life.  I will sing and howl for lost brethren who were killed because of what they were. 

It’s not right.  They didn’t DO anything to deserve this.  They just were in the wrong place at the wrong time and they paid with their lives. 

It’s not right.  If we can’t even respect nature, how can we ever think to respect each other? 

June bugs, fireflies

Conditioned air, iced sweet tea

Summertime living

You remember the rules?  5-7-5 syllables of silly bull.  What's your haiku for this Friday? 

Although too young to have watched the originals, I was inspired by the television reruns. 

Thanks Mr. Wizard!

Cancer Claims Don Herbert, TV's 'Mr. Wizard' 

Don Herbert and an unidentified boy conduct an experiment on the TV series Watch Mr. Wizard, circa 1955. NBC Television/Getty Images

NPR.org, June 13, 2007 · Television's "Mr. Wizard," Don Herbert, who taught generations of children about science, died at his Southern California home Tuesday. He was 89.

From 1951 through 1964, Watch Mr. Wizard delighted young viewers with the joys of science on a set built like a simple workshop. Herbert would demonstrate experiments using household items and encourage kids to "try this at home."

Herbert received a Peabody Award for the science show in 1954.

Watch Mr. Wizard was briefly revived in the 1970s and then again in the 1980s, after Herbert retooled the show with a faster pace for the Nickelodeon channel.

Herbert was a drama major in college, but his plans changed during World War II when he enlisted in the Army. As an Army Air Corps officer, Herbert flew 56 bomber missions and participated in the invasion of Italy.

On the official Mr. Wizard Web site, a posting from his family reads that Herbert had lost his battle with cancer and died surrounded by his family — just one month shy of his 90th birthday.

"He really taught kids how to use the thinking skills of a scientist," former colleague Steve Jacobs told the Associated Press.

Born in Waconia, Minn., Herbert was a 1940 graduate of LaCrosse State Teachers. After the war, he worked as an actor, model and radio writer before starting Watch Mr. Wizard in Chicago on NBC.

The show moved to New York after several years.

— NPR's Carrie Kahn, with reporting from the Associated Press.