#8-This week I set my hair on fire.

As a result, in 2012, I am resolving to try to think about myself less, and others more.

I didn’t go directly from the fire incident to that resolution.  Humor me and try to follow.

On Tuesday morning, like every morning, I showered.  Then I added a new mousse to my wet hair, and tried to turn on the hair dryer.   It didn’t turn on, so I hit that little red “reset” button, not uncommon.  It didn’t turn on “low” then, which I thought was a little odd, so I put it on “high” and it turned on and I aimed it at the top of my head.

Sparks and flames shot out!  I screamed, patted my head, and turned it off.  To be honest, images of Michael Jackson and his Pepsi commercial fire flashed through my mind.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=oAC4VwRIZpE&feature=endscreen

Then I irrationally thought, “wow, that new cheap mousse is really flammable – I wish I’d spent a little more and gotten stuff that doesn’t catch on fire!” 

I ran my fingers through my hair, and large gobs of it came out.  And the smell…eww.  Burned hair is icky.  The hairdryer went in the garbage.



New meaning to "meathead"



Nothing serious, really.  I got a bag of frozen pepperoni from the freezer, placed it on top of my head, and went about my routine.  My hairdresser later reported no discernible bald spot or scorched scalp.

OK, stay with me!

Yesterday, on Friday, my 90-something mother called with the “issue” du jour.  I must explain that this is a woman who never, in my opinion, was very busy or challenged.  And for the last 10 years or so, if she drove a half mile to the Hallmark card shop and back, that was enough of an activity schedule for the day.  Often there is an issue du jour, and it is very, very rarely anything very severe or unsolvable.

After she finished describing her issue, I reported on my week, which was in stark contrast, at least to me.  For starters, my kid had his wisdom teeth out, and now that he’s not high on drugs anymore and has quit blathering nonsense, and the bleeding has stopped, I’m dispensing meds and making mashed potatoes.  I went to the grocery store while his brother sat with him, and I’m cooking a big dinner because said brother arrived home for Christmas and presumably appreciates something other than ramen noodles.  I wrapped the remaining presents, and got a gift of homemade cookies and candy together for a friend to pick up.  Another friend came over and snaked the kitchen sink and removed the trap, because it was draining oh-so-slowly.  That was today, I told her.

Yesterday, I continued, I attended the holiday party my Rotary club puts on at a youth center for 60+ kids age 14-20 who are homeless.   I happen to have been in charge of it for the second year in a row.  Rotarians afterwards helped me load the decorations in the van, and they are now in my basement awaiting storage elsewhere for another year.

And I did a little business this week, straightened out my own IRA investments, and, by the way, my hair caught on fire.  With the exception of the hair thing, not really an unusual week.

Still with me?



The four offenders



This morning, teen with the wisdom teeth removed woke to find himself swollen. 

Duh.  Not black-and-blue, mind you, or yellow, like I was after mine were extracted (in a two-step process removing two teeth at a time and involving only Novocaine, but we won’t go into details now…yes, I’m still bitter.)  He’s just swollen a bit.  Not really bad at all, I said.

You would think he was the Elephant Man.  “I look AWFUL!” he wailed.  “OMG, I’m so glad I did this on Christmas vacation and no one has to SEE ME!”

This went on off-and-on for the better part of a morning, and at one point he proclaimed, “This is how ugly I would look if I was OBESE!”  It is now 3 p.m., and he just announced, “It is still so HUGE!  I can’t believe it!”

So, to get to my point:

That is when it occurred to me I am, indeed, caught in the Sandwich Generation.  Not just sandwiched between two generations who both need care and attention, but between two generations who are narcissistic.  Everything has to do with them, and it is blown way out of proportion.

Of course, it’s all relative. 

When even a car drive to the Hallmark store is no longer possible, then even littler things are a big deal.  When you are sure you are “sexy and I know it, I work out!” as the popular LMFAO song goes (LMFAO is a musical group, in case you aren’t hip enough to know), then being a little swollen is a tragedy of immeasurable proportions.

I didn’t tell him why I was doing it, but I made the youngest go on the web and make a $25 microloan at www.kiva.org to anyone he chose.  Elshad in Azerbaijan is on his way to buying more wholesale goods for his retail market, in part because of our $25 loan.  Maybe someday this will have an impact on the youngest’s view of how he fits into the world’s scheme of things, and it’s not at the bottom because of a little swelling.  Or whatever is his issue du jour.

The oldest isn’t going to change (for the better) at this stage of the game.

All I can do is change what I can control, right?  So I am resolving in 2012 to pay less attention to myself.  My issue du jour is nothing compared to a homeless teen parent or to Elshad and his family.

Maybe that way, somehow, somewhere in the ethernet, it all balances out and there will be harmony and peace and everyone’s needs will be met.

Happy New Year!

#7-Have myself a Merry LITTLE Christmas this year

WARNING:  Christmas season confessions to follow may disturb those who are highly religious in a Christian way or who have a Norman Rockwell/Ward Clever-picture perfect family life!

Presents not under a tree

The word LITTLE in “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” is on what I am focusing this year.  So many pressures and expectations exist this time of year, to make others happy, to feel generous and charitable and spiritual and serene ourselves.  How about we just ramp that down a little?

Here is my first confession:  No Christmas tree this year.  My son and I are not dragging out the three heavy boxes of fake Christmas tree in the garage, nor are we venturing into the spider-laden crawl space under the steps to get the three boxes of ornaments and several wrapping-paper cardboard rolls that hold mini-lights.

At first I was horrified.  What kind of mom am I?  What kind of PERSON not to put the tree up?

We put up a couple strings of lights in the front window, added a wreath to the front door, plugged in the lighted garland on the banister, put the presents on the coffee table, and called it done.

Confession number two:  What a relief!

This “season” is way, way too big.  It’s not just the shopping emphasis.  The child mentioned above is, at this very moment, seeking seasonal fulfillment, or at least feeling the pressure of seasonal obligations, at a couple big box stores.

It’s that all the “trimmings” have gotten too large.  Decorating, parties, cards, volunteer projects …

OOPS!  Let me take that back.  It’s the volunteer projects that have brought me satisfaction.  I do a couple of those for homeless teens and for women incarcerated at the county jail, and I make a donation or two I normally might not make.  I have, in the past, rung bells, picked a family for whom to purchase gifts, and other typical charity efforts.

And I do enjoy shopping for a few special things for friends and family, finding things I believe they will enjoy – or laugh at!

Confession number three:  But when it comes to my family – small nuclear family that it is, two sons, one 20 and one 16 – I am stopping the “must dos” that I used to do when they were little.

I asked The Youngest this morning what family Christmas memories he had. 

“I remember one year,” he replied right away, “you and (The Oldest) and I were decorating the tree, dancing to N Sync.  And then I tripped and fell and I cried and ran to my room because I thought I ruined it.”

Oh, Joy.  I, of course, don’t remember that at all.



He also remembers some good things, including one of my personal favorites, which was driving the boys Christmas Eve along Duluth’s scenic Skyline Parkway, over to a neighborhood that has an impressive light display, and back along the Parkway, where we stop at a pull-out and look at the lights below in the Duluth harbor, on the bridge, and in the town.

One year, The Oldest told the Youngest, “Look!  There’s Santa out there!” and directed him to the black expanse that is Lake Superior in the dark.

“No,” I said, “I think that’s a freighter in the lake.”  The shipping season goes until mid-January here, and the ore and grain and coal carriers often park in the harbor, deck lights twinkling.

“MOM!” The Oldest shouted, and I quickly back-tracked.  “Wait!  He is RIGHT!  It’s NOT a freighter!”  The moment was saved.

The Youngest claims he remembers this, too. 



But what is up with the tendency to remember the bad stuff first?

I can remember the year The Oldest was about four, and I had carefully selected two Santa gifts:  a fairly pricey giant plastic crane that actually lifted plastic pipes, and a rubber Mamenchisaurus, an impressive long-necked dinosaur about which we had read.  Over and over and over.

After he had seen the two Santa gifts, which took maybe three minutes, at the most, he looked up and asked, “Is that it?”

Apparently Santa should not cheap out, even a 4-year-old. 

I still recall the year I was about 10 or 12 and my cousin broke a family-china dinner plate at dinner.  She cried.  So did my mother.  Over china, for goodness sake.  (I now use the 40-piece set I got on sale for $20.)

Christmas trees often bring out the worst in family gatherings.  In our house, trekking out in the cold and cutting and bringing in a fresh tree just wasn’t in the cards for this single mom with two young boys.  We’ve used the fake tree for 10 of 11 Christmases so far, so its global footprint and purchase price have been amortized.

Bella in front of last year's tree

But more years than not, there was a fight over who was helping the most, or who was not putting the ornaments on “right.”

One friend recently confessed that putting up the tree ignited a huge fight between him and his wife early in their marriage.  Each had an idea of how it should be, and the other one wasn’t right.

We laughed about this.  Now, decades later.

In couples I knew, especially those with little kids, “doing” Christmas with in-laws who didn’t celebrate the way one partner’s biological family did caused huge amounts of stress, as did dragging excited children through blizzards or along icy highways to get to the relatives, where the wound-up kids had major temper tantrums.  And maybe even broke the family china.

In divorced families, Christmas often is a rotten time.  You “share” the children and deal with ex-spouses in order to do so, when it’s so much easier when you don’t.  This often leaves one spouse alone.

Aloneness seems to be the worst punishment for a life apparently poorly lived or failure in character.  I am flying Christmas day to be with my elderly mother, so she “won’t be alone on Christmas.”  A good friend’s family has always had me, with or without the boys, to their house for a wonderful Christmas day dinner.  When I lived in the Twin Cities, I used to organize “orphan” holidays for people without families nearby.

Confession number four:  It is just one day, and it’s OK if it isn’t spiritually or otherwise fulfilling.  Whether you and your family go to church or not, whether you are Christian or not, whether you are alone or not, it is just one day.

If it’s a wonderful experience this year for you, please be tactful and remember that Christmas can be downright miserable for some.  For people who have had someone they loved die this year, or who have been divorced, or who have lost a job or have reduced income, or who have moved to a new community, or who are not in that picture-perfect blissfully happy family situation, or who are not practicing Christians, it is important to remember that Christmas isn’t fun.  When you think about it, that fits an awfully lot of people.

It is Just One Day.  You will get through it.  You are not required to have a merry Christmas every year.  Some years you will not.  If you are not Christian, you are “out” every year.  Always.

Confession number five:  The gifts are irrelevant.  (Blasphemy!)  Most people won’t remember the gifts they get.  Or give.  In my 54 Christmases, I honestly remember very few.  It truly is “the thought that counts.”

So I will try to do the things I have tried to create traditions:  a special Christmas Eve dinner and homemade cinnamon rolls for Christmas breakfast.   And a couple personal ones I won’t list here.

I still make the homemade toffee and a few types of cookies people seem to appreciate.  (Decorating cut-out cookies with the boys stopped after the year they started putting private parts on the gingerbread people.)

In a country where I have heard the “overweight or obese” percent of our population is 68, no one really needs this.  Instead, we should all go to the gym and work out together, or take a brisk walk.

But we take huge sensual satisfaction in eating.  For generations, women showed their love for family by nourishing them with good food.  Now, with international tastes and access to exotic spices and condiments and meat cuts, and it’s OK for men to cook, too, we have elevated it to a higher level.

King Arthur Flour, a 220-year-old company based in Vermont, says on TV ads that its mission is “bringing the joy of baking to the world.”  Comfort and joy, indeed.

The motto of Penzey’s, the spice store people, is:  “Love people.  Cook them tasty food.”



Grandma Mary's cinnamon roll recipe



In that spirit, I will press into service my mother’s cinnamon roll recipe again.  Hopefully, the aroma of cinnamon rolls baking will carry a message to my boys that their mom went out of her way to do something that took a little more work, because she loved them. 

More than the annual flannel shirt, more than the decorated tree, more than the Mamenchisaurus have said.

Because my love for them isn’t limited to Just One Day, I believe they will know that.  Even when Christmases change.  Or when the cinnamon rolls go away.



#6 – Internal Farmer’s Almanac predicts long, cold winter!

It’s only mid-December and not only is it beginning to look a lot like Christmas, it’s already been seriously cold.  Last week morning temps were below zero.  I have already worn my long underwear once, the window at the head of my bed is shut and locked, and the ultra-warm sheepskin boots have been pressed into service.



Sam, left, and Jay Miller at Trunk Bay, USVI, February '09

But that’s not the reason I’m predicting a long, cold winter.  It’s my internal Farmer’s Almanac:  my dreams.  I’ve already dreamt once of swimming and kayaking in the tropical waters off the U.S. Virgin Islands. 

Every winter, I have tropical swimming dreams.  They are lovely…warm, turquoise water…white sand beaches….then I wake up!

This year, the dreams are a couple months early.  This is not a good sign.

I have swum in the USVI – three times (highly recommend camping and snorkeling on St. John).  Never kayaked, though.  Not sure what that means.

I would like to blame early swimming dreams on the fact that I have begun swimming laps again.  Not turning into Michael Phelps, just trying to do what I did in my early 20s for exercise.  Exercise is torture for me if I’m on machines.  It has to be a game (racquetball, anyone?), a project (extreme gardening in zone 3-4 or hiking a trail) or something that does not make me feel like I am going to die (with lap swimming, you’re not too thirsty or hot).



Yes, I swam in Lake Superior in 2011!



I love to swim.  Don’t necessarily love laps, but love floating and diving on a sunny day.  It is one of the cheap pleasures of growing up in Michigan, where the glaciers dumped sandy-beached spring-fed lakes in every county but the one in which I grew up – a good reason to move away.  I met three high school friends in the UP last July, and in the hot seven hour drive home to Duluth, I stopped to swim three times – once in Lake Superior.  





Lake Superior in November is too cold even for labs!

Yes, I can and do swim in Lake Superior!  Here in Duluth, we have a lovely five-mile sand spit (can’t say “isthmus” without sounding either obscene or like I have a lisp).  After work, in the long daylight hours, the black lab and I go to the beach.  This year, we could swim together for three or four weeks.  Seemed just like Lake Michigan or Huron. 

Previous summers it has been only two weeks.  One year, Lucy, my border collie springer mix, and I swam for six weeks – heaven!  (That dog was the only dog I’ve had who just loved to swim for pleasure, not to retrieve, just to be buoyant and moving.  We were soul mates in that regard.)  A previous lab was so obsessed she would go in even if it was icy and would swim and fetch sticks ‘til she was shaking and  her lab lips turned blue.

Just for the record, there are spots on Superior that warm up, i.e. the surface water does, and the waves turn it over to make it swimmable.  The boys and I found one spot, Hurkett Cove outside Thunder Bay, that was so shallow and warm it had weeds and actually was icky swimming.  (More like a eutrophic lake than oligotrophic, look that up in your Funk ‘N Wagnalls!)  Hurkett Cove is best left for birding.

Next year will mark my 30^th in Minnesota.  I have never lived in southern climes.  I moved here from Alaska, where my friends said, “Minnesota?  That’s COLD!”

Southeast Alaska – Juneau, Ketchikan, Sitka, et al – is not cold.  It is a temperate rain forest, much like western Washington, only wetter.  Highs in the 70s, lows in the 20s.  Juneau had a ski hill.  I thought it was a great climate, though a little gray.  Rarely did anyone’s pipes freeze, and you didn’t have to plug your car in to get it to start, like you do in Fairbanks, where the McDonald’s had plug-ins in the parking lot.  (Now it’s just a sign of electric hybrid cars.)

Minnesota gets the cold arctic blasts, and it makes for a seriously cold winter.  Twenty above is fine, twenty, thirty or forty below is not.  People can and do die in that weather. 

My body is seriously attuned to the change of seasons.  It knows I should swim to cool off in the summer.  In the fall, I don’t care to eat salads and watermelon.  I am craving beef stew and chicken pot pies.  Like the squirrels, it’s time to bulk up.

The appetite difference is apparent in the summer when the air conditioning is on (yes, I do use it in Duluth…for a couple weeks only).  It gets above 80, I’m not that hungry.  The AC cools the house down, and I’m ravenous.

You might think that junk food and video games is the main reason for obesity in this country.  True, but the third reason is air conditioning.  People don’t eat as much or as heavily when they are hot (duh).  Congress used to complete its work and go home before AC was invented.  Now it is there year ‘round and look at what a mess we have!

So here I am, swimming indoors in the winter to work off what I would lose naturally in the summer if it wasn’t for AC.

“Go out in it!” people say about enjoying winter here.  That’s fine when it’s 20 above.  I enjoy a good snowshoe hike.  I don’t own snowmobiles or ice fishing gear, just not interested.  My kids downhill ski and love it, and we have a wonderful ski hill.  I don’t choose to hurl myself down a hill; falling on ice in the parking lot or coming out of the door is enough of a fear.

So I survive with sheepskin boots (generic brands work), polar fleece, microplush throws, several types of gloves, and flannel sheets topped by an electric blanket.  Oh, a sauna doesn’t hurt.  It can really soak the cold out of your bones.

My first pair of Uggs I bought about 25 years ago at a Nordstrom’s in Phoenix.  They were on sale for $29.  Can’t imagine why they didn’t sell well there, but I was sure glad they didn’t.  (At that point, they were functional, not fashionable.)  They changed my life during Minnesota winters.

Nearly three years ago, we saw a young woman in the St. Thomas, USVI, airport wearing them.  Really?  I came here to get away from them.

Polar fleece is the miracle fabric.  I look at historic pictures of inhabitants of Michigan’s Copper Country, where 200 inches of snow was plowed by horses and men during the copper rush in the late 1800s.  Scores of photos show people standing on top of huge snowpiles and of kids being taken to school in sleighs.  (http://digarch.lib.mtu.edu/showbib.aspx?bib_id=598018#)

“How did they do it without polar fleece?” I always find myself asking.  They had wool.  And no sheepskin boots.  Miserable.

Local tourism folks will hate me for this, but the winters here are oh so much more bearable if you can get out for a week and go way south.  Someplace where you can put the boots, hat, mittens, coat and scarf, sweaters and long pants and heavy socks away.  Where you can swim, lounge and live in a swimsuit for a few days.

Some years, I’ve been lucky enough to do it. 

But if that’s not possible, at least I will have my dreams.

#5-Travelers needed Santa on Concourse C

‘Twas a few weeks before Christmas, and airports are just a vortex of unhappiness these days.  Perhaps lack of customer service is one reason why.

I should say that in something like 40 years of travelling, I sadly have come to expect weather delays and screw-ups as the norm, not the exception.  Only once do I recall an airline making the inevitable inconvenience more than bearable, actually fun, playing trivia games at the gate, giving away door prizes, and joking with customers (Southwest Airlines, good job).

This morning I turned in a rental car at a regional airport to a key box, no human.  Then I went to rebook for a later trip at a counter with a real person.  I waited for her to get off the phone.  Then I asked, could she tell me how much I might have to pay to rent a car on these particular dates?

“Our computer usually pulls up higher prices.  Your best bet is to call the 800 number,” she told me.  “OK,” I said, “I will do that,” and I walked away toward her competitor.

“You’re welcome,” she said loudly.

I did not challenge her.  A “thank you,” of course, implied that she had done something for which I should thank her.  What I thought she did was tell me she didn’t really want my business.  What she should/could have said was, “Thank you for thinking of us – we would love to earn your business.  But the way to get the lowest rate is really…and I would love to do that for you here, but I can’t.” And so on.  Clearly, this car rental company should try harder.

The human at the next counter actually tried to pull up the quotes, but said no cars were available, and could I check the web?  “Thank you,” I said, like my mother had taught me.

Then at check-in for the airline, I asked why a boarding pass for the first leg of the trip only printed out, not passes for both legs.

“That’s not the (insert name of airline here, you can tell it’s not Southwest) Way,” she told me, and that I should ask at the gate check-in.

Interesting.  I did not know there was a Kool-aid type culture associated with this particular airline in terms of boarding pass policy, which I had experienced differently just three days ago.  Also, answers like this do not satisfy my inquiring mind.  However, because this was helpful information for the future, I said, “thank you.”

At the gate waiting to board the second leg, I observed a wiry man waiting in a seat near a woman in a wheelchair, behind whom her wheelchair attendant/pusher stood.  They woman and wiry man must have just gotten off the deplaning plane to be met by the attendant.

The wiry guy, a bit agitated, went up to the airline gate agent and asked if the second wheelchair was coming for him.  “I’m going to miss my flight.” 

The gate agent said, “We don’t do that, that’s the wheelchair people.”

He asked the wheelchair guy, who said that he knew one was ordered.  The attendant walked a few steps out to the hall and looked both ways to see if it was coming, and his hand made a gesture toward his walkie talkie, but at no time did he use it to call to see where the wheelchair was.  The man said they’d better start walking, he didn’t dare wait.  Neither the airline nor the wheelchair person apologized. 

The ordered wheelchair did show up several minutes later.

Is there no one who is happy, enthusiastic and interested in actually helping their customers?

Just as I am pondering this, to what should my wondering eyes should appear walking down Concourse C?

Santa Claus, carrying a camouflage pack!  I smiled when I saw him, in spite of myself!

Away to the hallway I made a mad dash, pulled out my cell phone and opened the camera flash.

“Santa!” I called him by name.  He paused for a photo.  Clearly, his handlers/elves were not present, as I caught him right in front of the Martini Lounge, not the best backdrop for his non-alcoholically jolly image. 

“Where are you going?”  He looked like a traveler, just lugging his pack.

“I’m going to meet some older people who need some help,” Santa replied, merrily.  I forgot to ask why he was flying commercial airlines, rather than the traditional sleigh thing.

Yes, misguided car rental worker, sanctimonious airline check in person, disinterested airline gate attendant and unempowered wheelchair pusher, there is a Santa Claus!  Right there on Concourse C, in front of the Martini Lounge!

We in the airport need him, too, not just the older people.

I was returning from a trip to help my 91-year-old mother adjust to an unwanted move to assisted living.  The woman in line in front of me at the first leg check-in was returning from her father’s funeral.  My seat-mate on the last leg was flying in to assist her sister, who is dying from pancreatic cancer.

Or…maybe we WERE the older people who needed him…just a glimpse, a reminder ?

Perhaps unhappy people performing jobs they do not like and are not good at are having to stay in them because there are so few other jobs.  Perhaps the travelling public expects more for their dollar, with less patience.  And we are squeezed in like sardines to planes whose smoke detectors go off by mistake, causing planes to return to the gate and screwing up your entire day’s schedule, making you arrive 10 hours late, with no apology from the airlines (which happened on my in-bound trip).

But somewhere in the North Pole, Concourse C or coming to a chimney near you, someone is still doing something nice for people who need help. 

Santa cares.  All is not lost.  He gave me to know I have nothing to dread. 

Merry Christmas, Airport Santa!  Carry on with your important work.

#4 – Line up Black Friday for a $1000 savings account?

If you thought the Black Monday stock market crash on October 19, 1987, got a lot of publicity, it paled in comparison to Black Friday – the annual day after Thanksgiving shopping frenzy.

“Black” doesn’t mean bleak or dark, in this case.  It’s supposedly a good thing.  It means the day when retailers go “into the black” -- or profitability -- for the year.  If sales are good.  (Note that means they are running at a loss for nearly 11 full months of the year…what’s wrong with THAT picture?)

I am drawn to this phenom like road kill.  It is fascinating yet repulsive at the same time.  I don’t seem to be able to stop myself and look away.

For days and even weeks, it seems, news interviewers (I hesitate to call them journalists) are featuring Black Friday specials and strategy tips.  Duluth-born Comedienne Maria Bamford is pumping herself up for a two-day shopping work-out at Target, in quirky ads (love them or hate them) where she is sporting sweats and high heels and doing sit ups on the red cement ball outside a Target store.  Kohl’s ad folks unwisely chose to remake Rebecca Stone’s insipid “Friday” song into a “Black Friday” ad.

2008 Black Friday should be remembered as the year an obedient Walmart employee unlocked the doors at 5 a.m. and was promptly trampled to death.

2011 Black Friday should be remembered as the year it was actually Black Thursday --  Thanksgiving itself -- when some stores opened at 9 p.m. Thanksgiving night.  Others waited til midnight, rather than 4 or 5 a.m. on Friday.

Even if Thanksgiving isn’t your favorite holiday, or your family can’t stand the sight of each other or turkey, it still is so crass to start the mad rush to shopping on the actual holiday that it could only happen in America.  This is what we fought for freedom and independence, to have the right to be crass in the face of a national holiday, tripping off a mad, crass rush to the next national holiday, without which retailers across the country simply could not exist.  If everyone was a Grinch and did not shop, the U.S. economy would simply dry up.

So, in our best patriotic effort to boost the economy, we are trampling minimum-wage employees at 5 a.m. to get to a cheap TV.

And never has Black Friday been so “successful.”  Sales were up almost 7% nationwide.  Some stores were up by 24% or more.

News reports said 15,000 people lined up early to get into the massive Mall of America in the Twin Cities at midnight.  A total of 210,000 people shopped the mall that day.  That’s up from 200,000, meaning 10,000 MORE people showed up this year.  The increase alone is a little less than three times the population of a town in which I have an office.

Same number (10,000) waited for the flagship Macy’s store in NYC to open its doors at midnight, the earliest time ever (how they had time to clean up after the Thanksgiving Day parade I will never know).  While some were heading for the $199 white gold diamond stud earrings, others waited for hours for the privilege to buy Justin Beiber’s fragrance set, which came with a holiday CD featuring a very, very special bonus track.

Electronics are always the most popular and heavily discounted items.  Best Buy had people in milder climates camping for weeks to get a $199.99 42-inch Sharp LCD TV.  This takes a great deal of planning because, to my knowledge, Best Buy does not provide portable toilets in the parking lot.  It should. 

It should also remind customers that not everyone in the line will get a $199.99 42-inch TV, because there are limited numbers of the featured “doorbuster” item.  No rain checks, either.

Even though nearly every large retailer does this, it seems a little bait-and-switchy, if not cruel and unusual, to me.  People are incited to come out for the right to buy something dirt cheap that they may not have the chance to get.  This leads to rudeness at best and danger at worst.

This competition, in turn, incites violence, albeit most of it at Walmart, which apparently attracts a higher proportion of shoppers with abysmally bad manners.  This year at various Walmarts around the country, all kinds of nasty things happened, even though no one gave his life for the right to shop cheap.

This year, pepper spray was used on shoppers in two Walmarts.  In California, a woman wanted an X-Box 360 gaming system so badly that she pepper-sprayed her fellow customers so they’d get out of the way (they did – she paid for her items and walked out of the store, though she later surrendered to police).  In North Carolina, a Walmart security guard thought that there was a fight at the cell phone display – into which someone had fallen during the rush – so he pepper-sprayed the customers.

Also in California, a man who got his Black Friday shopping done and was taking his treasures to the parking lot, was shot and robbed.

Lovely.

I know of only two times otherwise reasonable people typically showcase downright animalistic bad behavior that they would never display otherwise:  during divorce proceedings and on Black Friday.

At least in divorce, presumably you could blame jealousy, anger, hurt or the welfare of the children as making you temporarily insane.  On Black Friday, there’s only one motivation:  greed.

Irony of irony, the holiday for which this greed is unleashed is about giving, not getting. 

If small businesses really are the powerhouse that energizes this country’s economy, I’ve never heard of small businesses being able to offer incredibly low-low-low doorbusting values!  (Their wholesale buying power isn’t that strong.)

I know, I know, it’s not all bad.  Not everyone is a rude pig.  Some families or friends make an outing of it.  Now starting the shopping season this day is a beloved tradition.

But we should quit using over-shopping as recreation, just as we have to stop over-eating for entertainment or emotional fulfillment. 

As bad as this sounds, this country ought to be incented to SAVE, not spend.  (Blasphemy!) 

Savings rates typically go up during and after a recession – because people are scared and know it’s not smart to spend more than you earn. 

According to the US Department of Commerce Bureau of Economic Analysis, the savings rate went up after the Great Recession of 2008-09 to the highest it had been since the mid-1990s. 

Not anymore.  It’s way down -- again.  I’m guessing it will be even lower come next month when the credit card bills arrive. 

I kind of liked the analogies during the Great Financial Bailout to where we could have given taxpayers x number of dollars (lots!) rather than bail out, say, Bank of America or AIG. 

So I’d like to Black Savings Friday:  every bank in the country can deposit, say, $1000 per person bailout dollars to anyone old and literate enough to sign their name and open a savings account. You’d have to agree to spend only half of it in the first year, and add to it the second, something like that…

Save time!  Open the account on line – Cyber Savings Friday!

Got a kid or two or five?  Open them for them as well – Happy Holidays!

Lines around the block for your free $1000 savings account???  Can’t play a video game in it.  Can’t sparkle with diamonds in your ears.  Can’t smell like Justin Beiber.

OK, maybe not.

In fact, next year, let’s get stores to stay open til, say, noon on Christmas Day.  You can still buy presents for people you won’t see until Christmas afternoon or evening.

Say, help me out here:  where do you buy pepper spray, anyway?

#3-Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Skiiers

Snow is now on the ground where I live in beautiful Duluth, Minnesota.

And the 16-year-old needs new ski gear this year.  Lots of it. 

He does not ski competitively, just for fun on weekends and vacations, sometimes after school.  Duluth has a very nice, very picturesque ski hill, where local kids spend school breaks and hang out.  It’s good for him to get out from behind the video games, good to have real social skills, and good for him physically, to learn a lifetime sport. 

I just wish it didn’t cost so much.

I know, the local hill is a bargain.  And it’s not as expensive as, say, hockey, where you need skates and pads and pucks and sticks and, probably worst of all, ice time, which must be rented.  But downhill skiing is an expensive sport.

I am not inherently cheap.  I was trained that way.  I had two Depression-era parents who, as long as I could tell, never had a fun day in their lives if they had to spend a nickel.  When I grew up, they vacationed at my grandparents’ cabin.  This probably didn’t cost anything except the time and gas to go up and rake the leaves in the fall -- about which they complained.  We didn’t go anywhere else.

So, it’s not that I don’t want my child to have fun, and have friends.  Both are essential to a fulfilling, well-balanced life.  I’m much more balanced in that regard than my parents.  I thank my lucky stars for friends and recreation that has made my life rich.

But enriching experiences don’t have to be enjoyed only by the rich…or those with plastic.

Here’s his estimate of the cost of outfitting himself this year:
Skis - $250 (“A really good pair would cost $400 or so.”)

Bindings - $80

Poles - $40

Boots - $40

Snowpants - $80 (I checked, and was told the kind that is necessary to have NEVER shows up at the Thrift Store, “oh, pleeeeease!”)

Jacket - $160 (he would have preferred the $220 one; “this will last forever.” Sure.)

Hat - $20

Gloves - $25 (not including the heat packets to go in the little pocket that holds them)

Helmet - $40 (no complaints here, don’t want him ending up like Sonny Bono)
Goggles - $40

Layers - $60 (I have no idea what that is, unless it is that “wicking away” underwear)

That, plus gas money, just gets you outdoors at the top of the hill.  If you want to go down the hill, then back up, then down again, over and over, it costs $160 for a ski pass (and that’s very, very reasonable; imagine if we lived in Colorado!).

Total (he did the math, I’m trusting it to be): $995.

Mind you, my teen is not a fashion plate who requires designer name brands.  But apparently there are certain basic minimum standards so you don’t get laughed off the mountain and the Target or JC Penney house brand doesn’t cut it.  They don’t even make the type of specialized gear that is necessary, he assures me.

I’m thinking he could have chosen a relatively cheap sport, such as swimming laps! 

Not very social, maybe, but the cost of a day pass at the local fitness center is $6.50.  Add in a man’s swimsuit ($30 tops, a lot less if you pick up a used one at the thrift store, which males can do, or $70 if you are female), a couple of bottles of shampoo, a lock, and you’ve got miles of lap swimming fun, fun, fun for about $50, tops.  That even includes a clean towel, a nice, hot complimentary sauna and as much hot water as you want in the shower at the end.

In addition, you don’t have to stay all day and pay for lunch.  But, I suppose that is part of the fun…

But he needs fresh air, needs to be out with friends in the winter?  So, I suggested, then how about snowshoeing?  Even less expensive than cross-country skiing!  You can get a really decent pair of snow shoes for less than $100, and you can wear the same outside gear you need every day to go to school or wherever anyway!

(Personally, I think it’s a great activity.  You don’t need a groomed trail or hill, you can get way into the woods no matter how deep the snow, and it can be a huge workout.  Last winter I worked up a sweat and even tired out the two-year-old black lab, who gave up breaking trail after not too long and was happy to follow, rather than lead.)

“Oh, yeah right, Mom, that’d be great.  ‘Come on, you guys, let’s get a Snowshoe Team going!’  Right.  Uh-huh.  Yep.”

Why not?  You could take some really nice day-trips, that might cost a little in gas, see some beautiful country…

“Yeah, we could do ‘Extreme Snowshoeing,’” he mocked.

Yes, they could.  If they had the $40 helmet.

But first, it’s going to take a whole lot of mommies and daddies to create little snowshoers out there, starting before they can walk, committed to getting them outside and snowshoeing with them…and a whole group of friends growing up snowshoeing together to make it cool.  A lot of Tweets and Facebook pages and YouTube videos, for sure.

Then, it’s going to have to be a winter Olympic sport.

Finally, it’ll take a red-headed long-haired dude to be a star snowshoer. 

Too late for me and my child.

But two things are working in our favor:  he’s got a job – at the ski hill!  -- and I’ve got plastic.

#2-Where on Southwest Airlines (for $59) is Matt Lauer?

Matt Lauer, NBC Today Show’s germophobe host, just returned from his 10^th annual “Where in the world is Matt Lauer?” week of globetrotting.  Every day for a week, he anchored live from some exotic surprise locale.

This year, Matt went from New York to Namibia, Africa, then to Madrid, on to Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia, then halfway across the world to the Swiss Alps, then across the Pacific to Barbados.  There he met the Food Network Star Chef Giada De Laurentis, who is pleasant but disturbingly thin for a foodie.   Her skinniness must be the cause of the root word for her name, Giardia, which the CDC defines as “Giardia (also known as Giardia intestinalis, Giardia lamblia, or Giardia duodenalis) is found on surfaces or in soil, food, or water that has been contaminated with feces (poop) from infected humans or animals.”  (Imagine, the word “poop” actually shows up on the CDC website!)

I like this week on the Today Show because I have always loved to travel, and the affable Lauer makes it look simple and fun. 

In the midst of the worst economic conditions since the Great Depression, however, this is in bad taste.  The Today Show should be setting an example on budget travel, not flying Matt and his crew all over the world (wasting air plane fuel) in the private NBC jet.

So here’s my proposal on how to save NBC, oh, approximately $20 million a year.

Hire me! 

Matt Lauer makes $17 million A YEAR.  He’s got to go, too expensive for the times.  Put in Lester Holt, whom I adore.  He supposedly makes about $1.5 million.  I bet he’d be glad to do it for no raise, just to get off the grind of the weekend MORNING Today Show and the weekend EVENING news.  Poor guy, hasn’t had a decent weekend’s sleep in years.  And when’s he going to go to church, if he so chooses?

Then replace Ann Curry with ME!  Ann supposedly makes $2 million a year, maybe more.  I’d be happy with 1 percent of Matt’s salary, $170,000.  But New York is an expensive place to live, so I’m going to ask for $200,000, or 10% of Ann’s.

So far, Lester and I will have saved NBC $17,300,000.  Not including the travel and wardrobe budget (I’m going to shop cheaper than Ann, I can guarantee you.)

Then, we are going to do “Where in the World is Laura Zahn?” but we are going to do it on Southwest Airline’s $59 one-way fare sale.

As might be expected, cutting the budget is not without some necessary modifications to the usual Lauer stint (which, by the way, Matt has ended after 10 years...I’m sure because of the cost, though he hasn’t said that).

First, we are going to have call it, “Where in the U.S. is Laura Zahn?” because Southwest, nice as they are, can’t get me overseas for $59. 

This is fine, actually, and what NBC SHOULD be doing because we need economic stimulus AT HOME.  We could stay in local B&Bs and eat at local cafés and still save a boatload of money for the network, stimulating the local economies first.  Jobs for Americans.

Secondly, I can’t quite get to five places and back to New York for $59 per leg, at least not in the research I did.  So the last leg is going to cost more -- $89 – and it’s going to get me to Newark.  So NBC is going to have to call up subway fare to get me and crew home.

Thirdly, I can’t do it in a week.  Most of these fares are available on Tuesdays and Thursdays, maybe Fridays.  So it’s actually going to take four or five WEEKS.  No sweat, though, we’re still saving big bucks!  And Lester can hold down the fort without me.

These are tough times.  We are going to have to suck it up and make some sacrifices.

Where can Laura go for $59 from New York flying Southwest’s sale deal?

First stop:  Baltimore, Maryland.

Not bad.  You also have to know something about Laura Zahn that Matt Lauer probably doesn’t share:  I love little off-beat attractions.  So we’re not profiling the usual tourist traps.  No way. 

So in Baltimore, we’re going to visit National Great Blacks in Wax Museum.   I have never been to a wax museum, and this one has an exhibit that all Americans should see on the Middle Passage – the slave trade where 3 million captives of the 15 million stolen did not survive the trip.  (Note that the Caribbean…BARBADOS, Matt…participated in this, which would have been more educational than seeing Giardia paddleboarding in a little swimsuit.)

Week 2 - From Baltimore we are going to…wait for it…Greenville/Spartanburg!  North Carolina!

Yea!  Here we are going to visit the BMW plant for $7 tours.  Didn’t know they were made in the USA, did you?  Then we are going to explore the incredible hiking and river kayaking North Carolina has to offer.

Week 3 – Birmingham, Alabama!  Of course, we’re going to do the Freedom Land civil rights tour, including the 16^th Street Baptist Church where four little girls died in 1963 when the KKK bombed their church.  Important stuff. 

On a lighter note, we are also going to stop at the Peanut Depot, which has historic peanut roasters used for 100 years, and the Ave Maria Grotto, where a Benedictine Monk worked for 50 years using concrete, bricks, “marbles, tile, pipe, shells and coconuts, to craft…reproductions of the major religious sites and famous buildings around the world,” the visitors bureau website said.  Now that is something to see.

Week 4 – St. Louis!  Yes!  My sister lives here, so we’re going to save a bundle by bunking with her in her condo.  She’s a good cook, too.  Retired now so lots of time to feed me and crew.

We will go out for Ted Drewes custard, however.  And we will be filming at Crown Candy Kitchen (candy AND ice cream AND sandwiches!) in Old North St. Louis and having something wonderful to eat in the Italian Hill District, probably a sandwich at Amighettis (whole one runs $7.89). 

Then we are off to the St. Louis Zoo, where the naked mole rat display is one of the best zoo displays anywhere.  I know, because I dragged my kids to zoos in Denver, Seattle, Washington, D.C. and more, and this exhibit was among the most fascinating.  It held our attention for a long, long time.  The little critters are fascinating, alone, and then they have tubes to run through.  And the Zoo admission is FREE (are you listening, NBC)?

#5 – NEWARK.  I’m exhausted.  But we’re almost done.

We might see a concert at the Prudential Center.  Or attend the symphony.  Mostly we are going to spend time in the Ironbound District along Ferry Street.  The website lists more than 30 Portuguese restaurants, as well as a long list of other ethnic restaurants, and about a dozen bakeries! 

I’ve never eaten at a Portuguese restaurant, and it’s about time.  I’m betting we can find a nice chef who will do as well or better than Giardia in cooking live, minus the gratuitous swimsuit shot.  (Come on!  Matt didn’t invite Paula Deen to Barbados…)

So there you go.  We took a little more time, but we stimulated the American economy, learned a lot and had some fun – all on a budget.  Matt can enjoy a comfortable retirement, as can Ann, and Lester and I clearly are the wave of the future.

30 Rock, I await your call.