The Anorexic Economy

Everyone’s heard about how Marilyn Monroe’s size 14 of the 1950s would be considered plus size today. But you don’t have to go back that far. The perfect sizes of the 1980s and 90s are today’s portly sizes. 

 

Look at actress Courtney Thorne-Smith, today (left) and from the 1980s (right). Today she's a spokesperson for the Atkins weight loss plan. In the 1980s she played a Laker Girl named Kimberly on L.A. Law. Yesterday's chipmunk cheeks are today's chubby cheeks. 

When I drive my son Wyatt around, the car radio is tuned to the local pop music station. At one time, weight-loss products were advertised twice a year: after Christmas and before the beach season. Now, they’re advertised 365 days a year. 

One of the commercials made me do a double take. The announcer talked about how she was once a size nine. After taking this particular fat-burning protein powder, she is now a size three. Size three. 

The last time I tried to lose weight, size nine was my target size. And now it’s a plus size?

I can’t help but compare how the ideal body size and the ideal workforce size are both shrinking. Absolutely, shedding pounds can be good to a point. You feel better, you’re healthier, and you can accomplish more because you have more energy. But when you’ve shrunk so much that you start shedding muscle and your body can no longer function the way it should, it’s past time to rethink your plan. Ask anyone in the thinned workforce who’s trying to do the jobs of three or four people.

 Food for thought as our anorexic, schizophrenic economy lurches along.

Image sources: Courtney Thorne-Smith: sitcomsonline.com and article.wn.com. Marilyn Monroe: makems.com. Adele: last.fm/music/Adele

You're an Old Lady Now: Or, Drawing the Line on Bifocals

I found this image on Doris the Great's
delightful blog Aging Disgracefully.

I recently found out that my state-provided health insurance program, MinnesotaCare, doesn’t cover progressive-lens eyeglasses, otherwise known as lineless bifocals. If you’re over 50 you probably wear bifocals, or in my case trifocals, to combine near vision and distance vision in one pair of glasses.

It's not because of vanity that I refuse to wear lined bifocals. I refuse to wear them for reasons of effectiveness and safety.

Several years ago I wore my one and only pair of lined bifocals. I was amazed at the number of activities that involve near and far vision. Scanning an entire grocery aisle while locating a specific product. Wending your way through a berry patch while trying to find the ripest fruit. Even walking downstairs becomes hazardous. I’m surprised that lined bifocals are even made anymore. Lined bifocals, in my mind, are comparable to an old infant car seat that was taken off the market for safety reasons. I also compare lined bifocals to another item that women over 50 will remember.

You're a Young Lady Now

Back in the 1960s, each of the girls in my sixth-grade class received a plain white envelope from the school nurse. Inside was a mimeographed notice inviting us to view a very special filmstrip. Tommy Brooks asked me what was inside the envelope; I showed him. He never showed me his when the boys received their notice to view their own very special filmstrip. But I never thought to ask.

The cover from the 1960s-era booklet,
located at the "odd, funny and
well-researched Web site," www.mum.org.

Anyway, the filmstrip was about menstruation, the life-changing event that each of us pubescent girls would experience. When the film ended, each girl received a booklet called “You’re a Young Lady Now”  and a pink plastic pouch dotted with rosebuds. Inside the pouch, a sanitary belt and pad. That, I didn't show to Tommy Brooks.

According to the Museum of Menstruation and Women's Health (now, there's a name), the sanitary belt was first created in about 1945. From the museum's Web site:

Tabs from a disposable menstrual pad snaked through the buckles of this American menstrual napkin belt, worn around the waist; it's probably from the 1940s. Disposable pads gradually replaced washable pads in America in the 1920s and 1930s. Catalogs and stores of the time, and until the early 1970s, sold dozens of models. Adhesive pads appeared in the 1970s, almost killing the belt-and-tabbed-pad industry.

Like the archaic sanitary belt, lined bifocals are more primitive, more clunky, less effective, and less safe. (We're talking metal buckles.) I'm surprised the belt-and-tabbed-pad industry, as MUM puts it, exists at all.

People will say I shouldn’t complain about MinnesotaCare coverage. Their tax dollars pay for my healthcare, they’ll say. But nowhere in the Constitution are we guaranteed the freedom to pay only for things we agree with. Otherwise, there’d be 282 Republicans in the U.S. Congress whose healthcare payments I’d cut off. Their Gubernatorial counterpart, Jan Brewer of Arizona, recently signed the mother of all anti-abortion bills: Life Begins at Menstruation.

I'm an Old Lady Now

Who knows, perhaps lined bifocals will be the next "geek chic" fashion trend. But until then, I'm drawing the line. What has been your experience with lined bifocals? Old ladies and young, please share!

The Original Necco Wafers Are Back!

An unknown blogger who commented on an old post brought me the best news I’ve heard in a long time:

The original Necco Wafers are back!

The blogger's comment on this post reads:

"And the old packaging is back too!"

Oh man, Susan... I was TICKED when they changed the formula. Part of the 2009 change was to drop the green wafers. Horror! As a native New Englander, I grew up with all the Necco products (Gotta love the Skybar!) I still eat a half a roll of Necco's a day! I cut the roll in half and eat half one day; the other half the next. The GOOD news is that Necco has finally responded to customer pressure (and a sharp drop in sales) and has returned to the former recipe! And the old packaging is back too!

Making Necco Wafers healthier by eliminating artificial colors and flavors was a laudable goal. But chances are, if you’re an advocate of healthy eating, you’re not eating candy in the first place – not even a candy as benign as the 165-year-old rolled wafers.

Actually, the original-recipe Neccos have been back since October 2011: back when I was unpacking and sorting and hunting for lost stuff. I couldn’t find the identity of the blogger who commented on my Necco Wafers post, so I Googled “original Necco Wafers are back” and found this NPR article.  A boston.com article about the iconic New England product  was shared over 350 times.

Thank you, Unknown Blogger, for your comment -- and to typography designer Mark Simonson for being a font of knowledge about the Necco Wafers lettering. Natural-recipe Necco Wafers have joined the category of New Coke, McDonald’s Arch Deluxe, and Crystal Pepsi: ideas that seemed good at the time, but ultimately bombed. What others can you add to the list? 

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The Day the American Pickers Came

Mike Wolfe and three generations of Maricle Pickers.

When your in-laws have 30 years of acquisitions from garage and antique sales, and they treasure their privacy as much as their acquisitions, the last thing you’d expect them to agree to is a visit from the American Pickers.

But that's what happened back in May. And I couldn't let 2011 go by without writing about it.

Big News in a Small Town
A visit from a show this big in a town this small is huge news. American Pickers is the highest-rated show on The History Channel. Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz crisscross America in their Antique Archaeology van, seeing prized antiques where others might see junk. At least 1,200 people email American Pickers daily. Somehow, my email made it to the top of the heap. (Potential employers, take note.)

Thirty years of acquisitions, including these
1960 scale-model cars, were up for picking.

"You Should Have the Pickers Stop Over."
Our move into Mike’s parents’ house was preceded by clearing out the second story of stuff. Items were sorted into several categories: keepsakes, things to be sold at antique sales, things to be given away or disposed of, and things to be kept for our new household. 

“You should have the American Pickers stop over,” neighbors would tell Mike's parents. We offered to contact the show. To our surprise, his parents agreed. In December I emailed them about the picking potential and rich history of Dodge County, Minnesota. Weeks, then months went by.

Bottoms up: the Pickers paid $30 for these diver shotglasses.

In April we heard from a producer named Jeff. He had a long list of items they wanted in particular, and a request for us to send photos. I did a two-day photo shoot over the Easter weekend, with 120 items prepared, photographed, uploaded, catalogued, downloaded and sent. Thank God we had DSL Internet service instead of the satellite we have today. I’d still be downloading.

"Oh God, Now What Did I Get Us Into?"
What looks like a random pop-in on TV is actually the result of months of military-like planning. My husband Mike talked with producers, production assistants, and location scouts. An assistant wanted to know if there was a deli nearby where the crew could grab lunch.

"Why don't we just throw some brats on the grill?," Mike suggested, knowing how hard it would be for a TV crew to slip in and out of downtown Dodge Center at lunchtime.

“That’s a great idea!,” the assistant said.

Oh God, now what did I get us into, Mike wondered.

So not only was a national television crew stopping by, they were staying for lunch. I was amazed at the aplomb Mike's parents showed. Mike bought brats and buns and sides and plates and plasticware for 18 people. I made three kinds of bars.

At one point, Mike was told the storyline would be about three generations of Pickers in one family: Mike’s dad, Mike, and Wyatt. But in a last-minute call, Mike learned the storyline changed; he would be the only person on camera. Mike's a loquacious sort and has a good command of prices from watching Antiques Roadshow. But flying solo on national TV had him nervous.

Wyatt was disappointed because he wouldn’t be on TV. I was disappointed because I wouldn’t have a meatier blog. But you go with the flow, even if you're going with the flow from the green room.

"Your Mom Has a Good Eye."

Several times during the shoot, Mike would pop in when the Pickers made an offer that he wanted to double check with his mom. Frank Fritz was interested in a Fenton green glass basket. Mike's mom said she'd part with it for $60.

"Your mom has a good eye," Frank told my husband. "But that's what we'd get for it." Their offer of $30 was politely rebuffed.

Picnicking with the Pickers
The crew broke for lunch at about 1. Mike's dad grilled the brats. I helped set up and clear away paper plates and served dessert. I was curious about the Pickers’ experience in Minnesota but figured they needed down time, not to be Pickers but just two guys at a cookout, enjoying lemonade and potato salad and grilled brats that were crusty on the outside, juicy on the inside. One of the cameramen told Mike's dad they were the best brats he'd ever had.

The Pickers nixed the zeppelin photo,
but the producers overrode them. 

The Maricle house wasn't quite the "honey hole" the Pickers dream about, but they did buy a few things. A leather jacket owned by Mike's uncle Harlan, a set of 1960 scale-model cars from a Ford dealership, a pair of bizarre shot glasses with figures of divers sculpted into them,  a model T steering wheel, and a 1929 photo of a zeppelin taken over Davenport, Iowa. We figured the Pickers would pounce on the zeppelin photo since they’re from Iowa.

You see photos like this everywhere, Mike Wolfe said.

But the producers, who call the shots, said they wanted the photo picked.

The Magical Mystery Bus.

"Oh, You're Good."
The Pickers looked at a beat-up tour bus formerly owned by a country singer named Howie Gamber. The bus was crammed with boxes of stuff from the second floor. Mike offered the Pickers a price of $200 for the bus and its mystery contents.  Frank wasn't interested, but Picker Mike was and husband Mike ran with it. "Just think of how it would look with Antique Archaeology on the side," husband Mike said of the bus.

"Oh, you're good," Picker Mike said. 

Dog lover Mike Wolfe and a wary Jerry.

We were afraid our rescue dog Jerry would freak over the house full of people and bright lights, but he lay placidly on the couch, as usual. Mike Wolfe, a dog lover, flipped over him.

By the end of the day, Mike's parents were surprised by the scripted sense of the show. So was Mike, who realizes the final cut of any program is the result of heavy editing and scripting. “I’m a lot more jaded now,” he said.

A Post-Pickers Antique Sale 
We knew the Pickers' visit wouldn't stay a secret forever, not when a county sheriff stopped in front of the house during filming. Not with the school nurse living down the road and around the corner. The next step is to prepare for a spring antique sale. There's a peck of possibilities that the Pickers didn't pick, and you might discover the honey hole of your own dreams.

Follow me on Facebook so you'll know where and when the sale will be held, and what you'll find.

Want to be on American Pickers? Click here. 

The Worst-Kept Secret in Dodge County

Mike Wolfe and three generations of Maricle Pickers:
Wyatt, Darold and Mike.

The American Pickers were at the Maricle household this past May. It's the worst-kept secret in Dodge County, what with a county sheriff stopping by during filming and the school nurse living down the road.

"I heard the American Pickers were at your house," said our new mechanic Pete, whose shop is a few miles away in West Concord.

"We really don't know if or when we're going to be on," Mike and I would tell people with genuine cluelessness.

This past Monday was a new Pickers' episode on the back roads of Minnesota. We watched. And waited. And realized. We're not going to be on.

Who knows. Maybe we will be. But I'm doubtful. While Mike's parents have an amazing collection of antique farm implements and vintage kitsch, they're roadies in the world of junk rockstars who populate Season Four of American Pickers.

Dog lover Mike Wolfe and a wary Jerry.

So to confirm what everyone in Dodge County already knows: yes, the American Pickers were here.  The pictures prove it. (Mike Wolfe is a dog lover.) Interested in the entire story? I'll publish the post soon. And follow me on Facebook to find out when the mother of all antique sales is held next year.

Hey, Who Moved My Noxzema?

Something's been blowing in the wind and making me sneeze for the past few days. My husband Mike says it could be goldenrod, which is the only thing blooming around here. Or the wind from the south, which has prevailed for the past week, could be blowing in pollen from 1,000 miles away.

Yesterday I was on a quest for Noxzema skin cream. With all the moisturizers out there, I gravitate to Noxzema because my mom used it. The cobalt blue jar and eucalyptus scent are hard-wired into my brain. With my allergies raging, I could imagine the cool cream soothing my hot skin and the eucalyptus oil bringing breathing relief.

Photo from Tipnut.

I looked. And looked. And looked. And couldn't find it anywhere. Finally, I asked the woman behind the pharmacy counter. She directed me to an aisle that I'd scoured before. I returned to the aisle, looked again, and finally found a row of jars that were cobalt blue -- sort of -- but closer to metallic blue.

What the hell?

Once the Grand Old Cobalt Blue Lady, Noxzema had morphed into a dozen other products on the shelf: newer, pricier, sexier, and completely lost in the crowd.

They better not have messed with the formula, I muttered to myself.

Luckily, the cream was the same. Billowy. Eucalyptus-y. At home I spread Noxzema on my face and blissfully napped, enjoying a sneeze-free hour for the first time in a week. Noxzema even soothed the no-see-um bites on my arms. No-see-ums are those microscopic and maddening black gnats that I thought existed only on Survivor: Samoa. Climate change deniers will say no-see-ums are a plague sent to rid us of our wicked ways.

For those of us destined for fire and pitchforks, pack the Noxzema. It soothes burned skin.

Want more ideas? Check out Quirky Tips for Noxzema Skin Cream by Joey Green. Share your own memories and quirky ideas below. And check out how the fashionable set stayed cool in 1965:




Disclosure: I was not compensated by Unilever for writing this post, which was inspired by an iconic brand: a brand, like Scotch Tape and Jell-O, has become synonymous with the generic product.

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A Movie that Rockets Young Dreams to the Stars

It surprises me when I hear about movies being shown in school. I suppose it makes sense, considering how visually oriented kids and teens are. One movie that should be shown in every math and science class is the 1999 movie October Sky. The story takes place in a West Virginia coalmining town during America's space race with the Soviet Union. Eighteen-year-old Jake Gyllenhaal plays student Homer Hickam, with Laura Dern in a lovely role as his science teacher. Homer's imagination is fired by rockets and the space race, and wants to transcend the life of a coal miner that everyone says is his destiny.

October Sky is about breaking free from the gravitational pull of predestined limitations. It's about kids accepting other kids even if it isn't socially cool to do so. And it's about parents allowing their children to chart their own course. There are a couple of instances of non-PG language and one brief, disturbing scene of an alcoholic parent striking a child. But those moments are lost in the sheer joy of the overall story. Plus, students will love the many, many rockets that blow up before the Rocket Boys discover success.

Considering how the price of college has skyrocketed, and how space exploration is considered unnecessary in the face of a budget deficit, I don't know how possible the October Sky story is today. But it prompts parents to hold our kids, ourselves and our lawmakers to a higher standard -- and to shoot for the stars.

Which movie do you think should be shown in school, and why? Please share it below in a comment. 

Photo from HollywoodJesus.com: Pop Culture from a Spiritual Point of View.

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Oh, the Sweet Things Inside a Hand-Wrapped Chocolate

I've never seen an individually wrapped candy that wasn't a mass-produced confection like a Riesen's caramel or a Starburst.  My husband Mike and I recently discovered Costas Candies and Restaurant in the southeast Minnesota town of Owatonna. The individually wrapped bonbons reminded me of the conveyor-belt candies in the classic I Love Lucy episode, Job Switching.

In a storyline that was to be repeated by countless other shows, Lucy and Ethel bet husbands Ricky and Fred that earning money is easier than housework. The episode is pure comedy gold, with moments like Ricky's disastrous attempt to cook chicken and rice. When my mom and I first watched the show together, she told me she and Grandma "screamed with laughter" when they first watched Job Switching in 1952. So the show is an heirloom of sorts in our family, handed down and enjoyed from generation to generation.

Another sweet thing about Job Switching, it represented a time when America had a thriving manufacturing base -- when an unskilled housewife could waltz in off the street and land a job, even if for one day.

Back to Costas Candies and hand-wrapped chocolates. The family-owned business has been around since 1919. Every caramel, truffle, creme and turtle is hand-dipped, rolled, and wrapped. A hand-wrapped chocolate is a morsel of affordable decadence, enhanced by the "peel me a grape" hedonism of a waxed-paper wrapper. Presentation is everything, you know.

With holidays coming up, or if you simply want to treat yourself to a grown-up Halloween treat, check out Costas -- or discover the confectioner in your own neck of the woods.

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Brothers and Sisters, When Did We Become So Afraid?

One of my favorite fiction novels is Brothers and Sisters, written in 1994 by Bebe Moore Campbell. Set in Los Angeles after the Rodney King incident, the story follows men and women of different races and economic classes. The commonality they share: a personal past of slights and hurts that  keeps them from realizing success, happiness, or both. The main character, bank manager Esther Jackson, has success but not happiness. Her emotions roil at the mere sight of a white person. On her way to visit her friend Vanessa  -- an African American actress who is more sanguine about race relations -- Esther comes face to face with an elderly white woman, also a friend of Vanessa. The white woman looks at Esther fearfully until she learns that Esther too is Vanessa’s friend.

“Who did she think I was, Willie Horton in drag?,” Esther fumed to her friend later over a glass of wine.

Then Esther asks a question that has stayed on my mind:

“When did white people become so afraid? They used to go out discovering countries and shit.”

Some people will say we became afraid after 9-11. But the fear began long before then: when one man first realized that others were different from him.

Back in the nineties I attended a Bible study group at a Byzantine Catholic church in northeast Minneapolis. The topic of the end of the world came up. Father Bryan mentioned that he lived every day as if it were the end of the world. He said it calmly, almost pleasantly.

He didn’t mean that he lived every moment of his life in fear. He meant that if he met his maker that day, he would be ready with a clear conscience of how he lived his life on Earth.

If the end of the world is destined to happen, no color-coded terror alert or overzealous mall cop will prevent it. But not fearing our brothers and sisters will ease it.

Reblog: Remembering Jerry and His "Kids"

For once, a post about Jerry’s Kids that isn’t about a Weimaraner and his adopted puppies. This Labor Day post is a reblog of Downriver Diary by Dan Saad.

Dan’s posts resonate with me because he grew up about five minutes from me in the same industrial suburban area of Detroit. If you were a kid in the 1960s who remembers Jerry Lewis’s Labor Day telethon to cure muscular dystrophy, Dan’s post will resonate with you too.

Enjoy, and enjoy your Labor Day weekend!

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What Edith Bunker Can Teach Meabout Satellite Broadband

The first minute of the following All in the Family episode contains one of my favorite Edith Bunker "dingbat" moments. In a story that takes place during the 1974 energy crisis, Edith takes energy conservation to endearing ridiculousness. I'd do well to exercise Edith's prudence once our broadband satellite service begins.




I never dreamed that I'd open a browser window and not have endless bandwidth pour forth. With satellite broadband, you have a fixed allowance of uploads, downloads, and bandwidth. The allowance can be easily depleted unless you budget wisely. So every page opened, every browser refreshed, every event streamed and every attachment downloaded will have to be purposeful and economical.

We currently pay Frontier just over $150 a month for DSL, a landline and satellite TV. We want to stick as close as possible to that figure for satellite broadband, satellite TV and our cell phones. (I've long advocated for losing the TV, but that would be like asking Archie Bunker to give up his chair.)

For those reasons, our out-of-range location, and because so many other preparations are involved with moving, broadband satellite is our best choice for now. It's not an ideal situation, but it's not the end of the world. Edith's coping abilities and good cheer will serve me well.

Thank you to Mynjunkyard for directing me to this classic All in the Family episode on YouTube. Edith Bunker's energy conservation moment occurs in the first minute, but you'll want to watch the entire episode.

Unless you have satellite broadband. Then shut that window immediately!

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Small Kitchens with Fifties Flair

Every magazine article and blog about small-space decorating and decorating on the cheap is catching my eye these days. Especially this post by Donna Davis at The Apron Revolution. The fact that it's about vintage 1950s kitchens is the maraschino cherry on the sundae.

You'll discover ideas from the 1950s that can make a small kitchen of today functional and fun. There's also a fascinating chronology of how kitchens have changed over generations.

Smaller doesn't mean lesser. Small kitchens worked for our moms, and we turned out all right. (Didn't we?) So mix yourself a glass of Tang and enjoy this fun blog.

How to Sing in a Second Language

I'm in awe of people who can speak a second language, and even more, people who can write in a second language. The Internet has made translations more accessible through services like freetranslation.com and Google Translate. But it takes a human translator to take a second language and make it sing, a gift that apps don't have and bots ain't got.

As a marketing copywriter for the entertainment retailer Musicland, I often wrote ad copy that promoted CDs by Latino artists in markets such as New York, Los Angeles and Miami. I would create a basic copy treatment with a heading such as "Hot Latino Hits" (a heading that today still makes me cringe), and send it to a person who would translate the English to Spanish. The person I worked with was George Rabasa, who I'd known when he was creative director at Carlson Marketing Group. Today he's an acclaimed novelist and short story writer.

One Latino Size Doesn't Fit All

Starting with the basic marketing message, George would translate it into copy that culturally reflected and respected the diverse markets: the Cuban presence in Miami, the Dominican and Puerto Rican presence in New York, the Mexican and Chicano presence in Los Angeles. Having been raised in Mexico, George felt most at home in the latter market. But he knew how to infuse copy for New York and Miami markets with a Caribbean flavor.

Author George Rabasa.

"I wouldn't go crazy with the idioms," he explains. "I would be careful. I would use the rhythm of the language rather than specific words. By rhythm, I mean if you read Caribbean-inflected Spanish out loud or Chicano-inflected, they sound different, even if the words sound similar -- word placement, length of sentences. It's pretty subtle but it's there."

Tejano pop star Selena.

In 1995 Tejano pop star Selena was murdered at age 23 by her fan club president, and Musicland placed an ad of the star's CDs in Latino markets. The only thing I knew about Selena was that her fans had worshipped her. So, I asked George to write the ad in Spanish rather than translate an English copy treatment. I knew whatever I wrote couldn't begin to capture what her fans felt.

Second languages sing when spoken by human translators. There's a sense of judgment and nuance, an ear for rhythm, a respect of place and culture. Because I admire the ability to translate and I value service by a person, I've welcomed an affiliate partner, bewords.com, an online marketplace where you can meet and work with translators. Real ones. Check them out. Who knows, the translator you hire today may be the important novelist of tomorrow.

Listen to author George Rabasa discuss his newest novel, Miss Entropia and the Adam Bomb.


Author photo from georgerabasa.com. Flickr photo of Selena from hellboy_93.

Making the Best of Two Bad Choices

One of my favorite movies is Glory. It's based on the true story of the 54th Massachusetts Infantry, the first all African-American unit to serve in the Civil War. Even though I own a director's cut of Glory, which stars Matthew Broderick and Denzel Washington, I watch it whenever it's on TV because I always glean something new from it.

Regiment commander Robert Gould Shaw (Broderick) is the son of wealthy Boston abolitionists. He believes in freedom in theory, but in reality is uncomfortable among his men. How Gould comes to understand, respect and love his men is a compelling component of the story. Gould is determined to show the higher-ups that his men are battle ready, capable of more than digging latrines. The 54th is encouraged when they are assigned to action with another "colored" unit led by Colonel James Montgomery. The action, though, isn't on the battlefield but in a deserted Georgia town, foraging valuables  for a corrupt officer to ship North.

Montgomery sees his untrained soldiers as no more than "little monkey children," and allows the men to pillage freely. When one soldier strikes a white woman, Montgomery shoots him dead. Shaw is aghast. When Montgomery commands Shaw to order the 54th to set fire to the town, Shaw refuses, citing the immorality of the order.

Montgomery tells Shaw he can explain himself when he is court martialed, by which time Shaw's men will be placed under Montgomery's command.

Rather than subject his men to the rule of an irrational tyrant, Shaw dispiritedly obeys the order, and commands the 54th to fire the town.

Here in Minnesota, Governor Mark Dayton faced a similar choice: reject the Republican-led budget offer and temporarily shut down state government, or accept the offer and permanently enshrine damaging cuts and divisive social agenda items.

Dayton made the best of two bad decisions. Time will tell how history sees him.

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Gardening Tips from the Ford Frugalistas

Not many of us garden in a dress and high heels anymore. The fashions of the Ford Rouge housewives may not have stood the test of time, but their gardening tips still come in handy. More household hints from Cutting Corners: a 1950s-era book of household hints by wives (my mom was one), mothers, and sisters of those who worked at the Ford Rouge Plant on the banks of the Rouge River.

A helpful hint for prospective gardeners is offered by Mrs. Lawrence Janish. Her husband works in the Tool and Die plant. She says a garden rake, with two large empty thread spools attached to the teeth of the rake, makes an excellent marker for the rows.


To prevent garden tools from rusting, store them in a box in which lime has been placed, suggests Mrs. Edward Gottlin. Mrs. Gottlin's husband works in the Rolling Mill.


To keep flower pots on window sills from falling, simply place a curtain rod across the window. Paint the rod the same color as the window sill. This hint comes from Mrs. Edward Dwyer, whose husband works in the Gear and Axle plant.


A good brace for a tall-growing plant is a small extension curtain rod, writes Mrs. Elmer Boehr of Garden City. The rod can be pulled out as the plant grows. Mrs. Boehr's husband works in the Iron Foundry.


That odd cream pitcher, sugar bowl or tea pot will make an attractive flower pot and will add color to your kitchen or even your bedroom. Mrs. Lawrence Tucker, St. Clair Shores, says she has a couple around her house and they're attractive. Her husband works in the Casting Machine plant.

With all of the canning and jelly-making hints elsewhere in the book, I was surprised to see no hints for vegetable gardens. But I believe vegetable gardens were the man's domain in the fifties. At least they were at our house.

Other hints -- starting seedlings in eggshells, preserving cut flowers by adding salt to the water, using a salt shaker to sprinkle fine flower seeds -- aren't new today. But in the 1950s they were, and the Ford Frugalistas shared them generously. All hints appear here (except for the addresses) as they did in the Rouge News.

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Don't Make That Call!

I'm still thinking about an article that came my way last week via Jason Barnett. Don’t Call Me, I Won’t Call You talks about how in the past five years, adults have given up on the telephone: land line, voice mail, and mobile. It was eye-opening because it took me so long to get comfortable making cold calls to potential employers. Only to read that phone calls are not welcomed

I totally understand. I can be working feverishly on deadline at home. When the phone rings, my mind jolts to a halt like an emergency brake stopping a freight train. If the person calling is working at the same frenzied pace as I am, the conversation sounds like one of the old Joe Sedelmaier TV commercials for Federal Express.

It's unfortunate because the telephone was designed to establish a connection—which is what we all want in our communications. Both my mother and my husband’s mother were telephone operators, my mom in 1940s Detroit, Mike’s mom in rural southeastern Minnesota. One operator routed calls with romantic-sounding telephone exchanges, the other fielded calls on party lines. As a kid in the 1960s I remember owning a poster called The Telephone Story. I imagined owning a Princess phone or a trimline phone or one of those new touchtone phones. I’d choose aqua. Compared to our own phone—a standard-issue, beige desktop job with a rotary dial—they were jet-age and snazzy. 

When I call someone today, I email them and ask if we can set up a phone appointment. It’s premeditated but necessary. Today's employees have taken on an increased workload because of a reduced workforce, while employers test the winds to determine if they should staff up.

In college I bought an aqua touchtone phone for my efficiency apartment. And now that I have a Princess phone?  It's been deemed a pink purveyor of punishment.

So I use it as a desk accessory. And a reminder to watch out for jet lag in this jet age.

Do you fondly remember a particular phone? A Mickey Mouse phone? A red lips phone? Your first smart phone? Talk about it here. It's your dime.

The Telephone Story Image is courtesy of Coen Meeder and appears on www.porticus.org. ©1894-2011 Beatrice Companies, Inc. 


Related Posts:
My Pretty Pink Princess Phone
A Prepaid Smartphone Would Change the World

Don't Throw Away That Pickle Juice -- and Other Frugal Fifties Hints

“Mom, these berries taste iffy,” my teenage son Wyatt said of the strawberries softening in the fridge.

“That’s okay, I’ll make them into a smoothie,” I said.

“Mom!,” Wyatt admonished.

“What you are witnessing is a new generation of Depression parent,” I explained.

I grew up in a blue-collar family in a working-class suburb of Detroit. My mom was a Depression-era mom: saving string in a ball, reusing aluminum foil, recycling boxes Christmas after Christmas. My dad worked at the Ford Rouge plant, located at the confluence of the Rouge and Detroit Rivers. The weekly employee newspaper was the Rouge News, which in its heyday had a circulation of nearly 90,000. The women’s section had a column called “Cutting Corners,” which featured the household tips of wives, mothers, daughters, and sisters of Ford employees.

Eventually, the hints were collected in a book. My mom punched a hole in her copy and hung it from a string on a hook by the kitchen sink. I keep the book in the same place in my house today. The cover is gone and so is the copyright date, but it’s from the 1950s, judging by the artwork in the book. 

Don’t Throw Away That Pickle Juice

Cleaning a lampshade? Removing a stain from a felt hat? Fixing a cracked vase? The Ford housewives had a better idea. When something wore out, they couldn’t take the car and run out to Wal-Mart and buy another one. Even if they had a second car, or a Wal-Mart, their Depression-era sensibilities wouldn’t have permitted them the extravagance. 

Some hints from the cooking section:

• When you have emptied your catsup bottle, rinse it with a bit of vinegar and use this in your dressing for salad, This is especially good when added to French dressing, says Mrs. Gene Peron.

• Mrs. James Ward has a helpful hint concerning burnt toast. Instead of throwing it away or scraping it with a knife, try rubbing it on a grater. The burnt spots will disappear and so will the burnt flavor.

• Sandra Wenner suggests saving the waxed bags in which gelatin and puddings are packaged. She says they make handy leak-proof containers for lunch box pickles or other juicy foods.

• Mrs. Ralph Campbell says she never throws the sweet pickle juice away when the pickles have been eaten. She uses the vinegar juice in mayonnaise for potato and vegetable salads. It adds zest to the salads and also helps to save on mayonnaise.

Remnants of Gracious Living

The book publishes the household hints exactly as they appeared in the Rouge News, with the household address and the division in which the husband (or son or brother) worked. Today, some of those addresses are more than likely vacant. For that matter, entire neighborhoods of Detroit are gone. This book provides a glimpse of Detroit as a city of prosperity and gracious living, with marquisette curtains and embroidered dresser scarves and gleaming mahogany furniture. (Mrs. M.J. Polakowski cleaned hers with cold tea to keep it looking new.)

I realize that not all women in the 1950s lived the life of June Cleaver or Donna Reed. Abuse and addiction were closeted, abuse considered the husband’s prerogative, addiction stifled by stigma. Some women must have been bored silly, wanting to be the breadwinners instead of waxing book covers to make them easier to dust. But what these women did was important. They were the ultimate multitaskers, the first frugalistas, the forerunners of Martha Stewart.

Today the Ford Rouge plant is the Ford Rouge Center. It comprises 600 acres instead of 2,000 and employs about 6,000 people instead of its zenith of 100,000. Its eco-friendly architecture includes a green roof. The Ford housewives would undoubtedly approve of such thriftiness. They’d also agree that iffy strawberries make spiffy smoothies.

What frugalities do we practice today that will make our kids and grandkids say, “Can you BELIEVE they did that?”

"Am I the Cutest Canine Or What?"

Round 5 of the Star Tribune's Cutest Canine Contest begins at 10 am CT today, and Jerry's among the entrants. I entered my favorite photo of him; it's my favorite because of the spirit in his eyes that wasn't always there, and because he's chewing something that he's supposed to. Not a book, not my bifocals, not a sofa cushion.

Jerry turned one year old this month. My husband Mike and I are unsure of his exact date of birth, so we chose Groundhog Day. He saw his shadow that day, which meant six more weeks of laying on the couch.

Round 5 voting begins at 10am Friday and ends 9am Saturday. There are plenty of cuties, so I don't have any unrealistic expectations. But Jerry has sparked a connection with many of my readers, so you never know. If you'd like to vote for him, here's where you can do it. The voting system is kind of clunky, and you need to log in or create an account if you don't have one already. You also have to hit "save" after you vote.

Round 4 ends at 9am today. Watch made that round. If you search for the name "Watch," you'll get six entries. His photo is the sixth entry on the second page.

There's a #FF and or blog follow in it for you. Maybe even a guest blog. Jerry and I both thank you!

J.T.: a long-lost Christmas classic, found again

I gave up looking for J.T., starring a twelve-year-old Kevin Hooks, two years ago. I didn't believe it would ever resurface again. But in this world of newly discovered releases and remasters, I googled J.T. again, just for the heck of it. Hallelujah, there it was on YouTube, thanks to a soul named JTClarion.

J.T. first appeared in 1969 on the CBS Children's Hour. The story is about a boy growing up in Harlem, lonely and teetering on the verge of hoodlumhood. A glimmer of joy and a sense of purpose enters his life when he finds a mangy cat that has taken refuge in an abandoned stove left behind in a condemned building. 

J.T. shows a level of poverty is rarely, if ever, seen today–for example, one bathroom shared by several families in a tenement. J.T. also presents something else you don't see today: stark, spare, unvarnished emotion, wrenching grief as well as long-dormant hope.

The first time I watched J.T., in the middle of the program my dad insisted that I go shopping with him at Neisner's. I had just watched a heartbreaking scene. (If you've seen J.T. you know which scene I'm talking about.) I was too broken up to object so I reluctantly trudged along with Dad.  In 1969 there were no VCRs, no DVRs. If you missed a program, you were out of luck until next year. Amazingly, though, J.T. was reprised the following Monday evening, so large was its Saturday audience.

Besides its storyline, J.T. is noteworthy for its performers and the range of characters they went on to play in the 1970s and 1980s.

• Kevin Hooks became an acclaimed film producer, stopping along the way to play sly high-school student Morris Thorpe in The White Shadow.

• Jeannette Dubois, who played J.T.'s somber mother, changed her name to Ja'net and played gadfly Willona Woods in Good Times.

• J.T.'s earnest schoolteacheris played by Olga Fabian, who today plays the archetypical dysfunctional mother, Evelyn Harper,  on Two and a Half Men.  

The wonderful Helen Martin (from the broadway musical Purlie and the 1980s sitcom 227) plays a neighbor lady and Theresa Merritt, who plays J.T.'s grandmother,went on to star in That's My Mama. 

To JTClarion, a huge hat tip. A black leather hat with furry black earflaps and a transistor radio tucked underneath.

J.T., Part One

J.T., Part Two

J.T., Part Three

J.T., Part Four

J.T,, Part Five

 

 

 

 

Black Friday at the Bruno Thrift Store

In northern Pine County, Black Friday starts at 10 a.m.

That's when the Bruno Thrift Store opens.

The Bruno Thrift Store is like a Mall of America in the midst of a rural outpost, with many items priced at fifty cents apiece. I have found apparel by J.Jill, Lands End, Eddie Bauer, Coldwater Creek, and the Vermont Country Store. I once found a pair of wool blend slacks that was at least thirty years old, judging by the Sears Roebuck name and a yellowed tag that said  The Fashion Place. Price, fifty cents. In a vintage clothing shop in the Cities the slacks would have fetched at least ten times the price.

The day after Thanksgiving, traffic is light at the Bruno Thrift Store. Peggy, one of the volunteers who works there, says it's because people stop by after they're done shopping at Wal-Mart or Target. If they stopped there first, their Wal-Mart or Target run might be lighter. The beauty of the Bruno Thrift Store is, you never know what you'll find. The things you find aren't always top of mind.  A tree stand. A set of ornament hooks. Or maybe you'll find a set of dishes or a box of ornaments that will whisk you away to a fondly remembered Christmas past.

The Bruno Thrift Store doesn't have a phone number, doesn't have an address outside of "Main Street, past the railroad tracks in Bruno." It's the best-kept secret in northern Pine County. It is completely volunteer run, including the adjoining food shelf, which unfortunately has seen steadily increasing traffic. Customers come from as far away as Duluth and Minneapolis. If you're on state Highway 23 on the way to the cabin or to Duluth, turn right when you get to Bruno. Cross the railroad tracks and park in front of the yellow building on the right. You'll discover a store where every day is Black Friday. And on the real Black Friday, you get to sleep in!