Mother's Day

T's* View
Not long ago I heard a feminist refer to God as "She," and I thought the person was being a little sacrilegious, or facetious. But as Mother's Day approaches and I think of the goodness of mothers I've known or heard about, I got to thinking that while we can't actually classify God as to gender, mothers are probably as close an image of Him as anything we'll ever find on this earth.
To begin with, mothers are our co-creators, nurturing us with their own flesh and blood until we take on our independent form. And even after the umbilical cord is cut, there are invisible bonds that bind us to them forever. From the moment of birth, they love us not for any special reason, but just because we are. They watch over us, worry about us, see that we're fed and clothed, and never completely sever their ties with us. Whenever we need them, they're there for us, regardless of how good or bad we've been. We can abuse them, neglect them or ignore them but they still go on loving us and forgiving us, over and over again. (They may scream and holler a little in between, but their better nature usually comes through.)
Do something a little special for them and they think you're the best person in the world. Regardless of what you give them, they always try to give you more. They want only what's best for you—your happiness is their happiness, your success their fulfillment; and your pain is their pain.
A mother is the one you can turn to when the rest of the world lets you down. Often she knows what you need even without your telling her. You might not always take the advice she gives you, but deep down in your heart you know she has your best interests at heart. She'll take you in when you have no place to stay and she'll do without for herself if she has to, so that there's enough for you. If she has to nag, or scold, or punish you, a mother is only trying to steer you in the right direction or teach you something that will make life easier for you in the long run. She does it out of love and concern for your well being, which is always uppermost in her mind.
Someone once said that God couldn't be everyplace, so He invented mothers. I'll venture to go a step further and say that God put a special part of Himself into all those good women called Mothers, and knowing them is like getting a glimpse of Him.
Happy Mother's Day and God Bless You, Mothers.
*Terri the Typesetter
 Week of May 13, 1984

A Visit to the doctor"s office

June 19, 1998 The New Milford Times
By Terri Andersen
So many times, when we’re faced with a medical dilemma, we’re advised to get a second opinion. But what happens when the second opinion is completely different from the first one? Is the second necessarily better? Suppose you went to the second doctor first? How is a patient supposed to know which doctor is right? (Which one graduated the head of his class and which one at the bottom?) If two opinions are different, do you look for a third doctor to match either opinion number one or opinion number two? And what if your number three's opinion is completely opposed to numbers one and two? Will the insurance company cover all these opinions? frankly, the word “opinion” makes me a little uncomfortable. Is that an “educated guess?”) I’ve been to doctors who told me they didn’t know what it was that I had, yet they charged me for an office visit anyway. Is that fair? One the doctors I visited (how do you like that word? We go for a  "visit” and we get charged for it. My friends never charged me to visit them. When I visit a department store and they don’t have what I want, they don’t charge me for coming for a visit. Maybe doctors ought to call it something else.) To get back to my unfinished sentence, one of the doctors I “visited” asked me if I ever had the problem I came to him with before. When I said yes I did but it went away before I could get an appointment (like six weeks down the line), he told me to wait a few days and if the problem persisted, to come back and see him again. (Was he going to know something in a few days that he didn’t know then?)
I figured I’d solve the dilemma by getting a medical self-help book and educating myself. Hah! Either my complaints can turn out to be symptoms of a dozen different ailments, or I’m a lot sicker than I thought. (Read a few medical books and you’ve got only six months to live.) And almost all the remedies in the medical books end their last paragraph with “if problem persists, see your physician.”
Terri Andersen is a contributing writer for The New Milford Times.

The Good Old Days?

GOLDEN
Υ Ε Α R S
The New Milford Times June 5, 1998
The Good Old Days?
 BY TERRI ANDERSEN Contributing Writer
Were the “good old days” really so good? I can think of a few things that are much better today. For instance, buying a chicken to cook for dinner. In the good old days, my family lived across the street from a live chicken market, where the cackling could be heard all over town. Sure, when you went in for a chicken, you knew you were getting a real fresh one because you saw it strutting around just a few minutes ago. But after the butcher caught it and cut off its head (yuk, I can remember my stomach turn squeamish whenever I witnessed that), the housewife had to pluck all the feathers and take out all the innards when she got the chicken home. As I watched my mother do those messy jobs in our kitchen, I remember telling her, “I’m never going to do that when I grow up.” “If you want to eat chicken, you will,” she answered. But I insisted that’s one job I'd never do, and thanks to the industry’s progress, I never had to. (Guess you figured out by now that I was not brought up on a farm.) How about permanent waves in the good old days? The first perm I ever got was so traumatizing I swore I’d never get another one. They wrapped my hair around tiny curlers that were attached to a bunch of wires connected to a big domed electrical contraption. As I sat under it for what seemed like an awfully long time, I was sure I could smell my hair burning to a crisp. Of course, you couldn’t move while all the beautifying was going on, and when I looked in the mirror after it was over, all I could think of was steel wool pads. (Thank goodness for today’s lotions and conditioners.) Another memory I don’t cherish is the cold-water flat we lived in in Brooklyn, N.Y. The only heat came from a double duty stove in the kitchen (the bedrooms were ice cold in the winter), and to get hot water for washing dishes, clothes or ourselves, we had to heat big pots of water on the stove. The bathtub was also in the kitchen, disguised under a hinged wooden board that doubled as a seating area next to the kitchen table. One time someone knocked on the kitchen door when I happened to be taking a bath and my mother opened the door, not realizing I was still in the tub. I sank as low as I could and pulled the cover down to an almost closed position, hoping whoever the caller was wouldn’t come into the kitchen and try to sit on it. (Luckily, it was just the Fuller Brush man and my mom wasn’t buying anything that day.) I can think of lots of things that are better today than they were in the old days, but there is one thing I have to admit was a little better: I was younger then.

T'ai Chi or Hai Ti, the Seniors have it all

May 15, 1998
The New Milford Times
G O L D E N YEARS
T’ai Chi or Hai Ti, the Seniors have it all
BY TERRI ANDERSEN Contributing Writer
To prove to myself that I wasn’t going to vegetate once I retired, I decided to try some things I never tried before. After I finished the line dance class at the senior center awhile ago, I decided to enroll in the T’ai Chi class to see what that was all about. The first thing the instructor told us was that we had to breathe properly (from the stomach). Hmmm, I said to myself, this should be interesting. After breathing for over 60 years, I thought I was pretty good at that already, but I found that I had a few things to learn after all. As we did our first move, the instructor intoned “Inhale,” and just as I finished exhaling, he said, “Ex-hale.” I hurried up and took a quick inhale to catch up with everybody else’s exhale, but the instructor said that wasn’t necessary. It took a few tries for me to get the hang of it, but I did manage to breathe naturally when I did my movements. I think it was that “from your stomach” bit that threw me off in the beginning. The next thing to learn was balance and how to move gracefully. I thought I already knew that, too, considering how much dancing I did in my lifetime. Well, you guessed it, I had another surprise in store. When the instructor balanced on his left leg to do the “over the fence” move with his right leg, he was gracefulness personified. When I lifted my right leg the few inches necessary to do the move and tried to balance on the other leg, I was like a tightrope walker about to topple. And while the instructor's foot came down without a sound, mine came down with a loud thud, just quick enough to keep me from falling. After I went home the first week, determined to practice what I learned in class, I couldn’t remember a single thing other than “raise hands, lower hands,” and I was so disgusted with myself. But when I went back the following week, it turned out that everybody else in the class had forgotten, too, so our very patient instructor just went over it again until we “got it” (such a nice young man). One day after class, when a fellow student asked me if I was going to the high tea the senior center had scheduled for later in the week, with a dazed look I asked if that was another form of Chinese discipline. (After spending an hour on T’ai Chi, my mind automatically spelled High Tea as Hai Ti.) I guess I was disoriented (forgive me). Seriously, though, T'ai Chi is a beautiful experience when done correctly. Like everything else in life, it takes practice to get it right, and the teacher at the New Milford Senior Center is excellent. If you want to learn how to relax and benefit your mind as well as your body, you might want to look into T'ai Chi. (We even got some acupressure tips along the way.)

She enjoyed thought-provoking article? (On Forgetfulness-in case you forgot - ha ha)
To the Editor:
I enjoyed the thought-provoking article by Terri Andersen [in last week’s New Milford Times]. I do
hope she will appear in your paper often.
– T. Virginia Johnson New Milford

Don't be hard on yourself if forgetful

GOLDEN YEARS
May 8, 1998. The New Milford Times
Senior: Don’t be hard on yourself if forgetful
BY TERRI ANDERSEN Contributing Writer
I was visiting with some friends the other day, and the subject of age and memory came up. Everyone seemed to think that the mind just naturally deteriorates with age, and that memory loss is inevitable. Granted, age does take some toll on brain cells, but nowhere near what the average person thinks. Take the simple memory lapse of walking into a room to get something and then forgetting what it was you came into the room for. Do you think that’s age-related? There are a lot of people who do, but I think they’re wrong. I think that after a certain age, we’re just harder on ourselves than we ought to be. Watching my own children grow up, I’ve seen plenty of times when they forgot what they came into a room for, but did they even give it a second thought? Nope. They just went back to where they came from and realized right away what it was they needed if they wanted to continue whatever they interrupted themselves from doing. As we get older, if that happens to us, right away we think, “Uh-oh, I must be losing it. Sometimes I look at my brain as a computer that must be pretty fully loaded from all those years of storing information, and I wonder how much room there is for new data. But that doesn’t stop me from trying to squeeze more in, because I honestly think the brain is superior to any man-made device. - And I’m always amazed how that old information in the brain can be retrieved. When I can’t think of the name of someone or something, I go through the alphabet, and wouldn’t you know? My mind stops at the letter that triggers the name that’s been buried there someplace. Sometimes I wish I had a delete key to press when information I no longer need is using up valuable space. Take all the lyrics for songs like “Mairzy Doats and Dozy Doats” or “Three Little Fishies.” I really could use that space in my brain for more short-term memory. But speaking of short term memory, I think sometimes the reason we don’t remember something we heard recently is because we weren’t paying enough attention in the first place. (We didn’t input the data and put it on Save.) There are times when I still find myself saying, “I must be losing it” when I goof up, but then I remind myself that everybody goofs now and then, and  it’s not that big a deal. I guess what I want to say to “veterans of life” like myself is: Don't be so hard on yourselves. See the things you do well, take comfort in the fact that you know a lot more about life than those “youngsters” do, and take time out to do whatever it is you find enjoyment in. (And don’t lose the capacity to laugh at yourself every now and then.)

Is retirement the time to catch up on one's fun-to-do-list?

B10 The New Milford Times, New Milford, Conn., Friday April 25, 1997
GOLDEN YEARS
By Terri Andersen CONTRIBUTING WRITER
So, what’s it like to be a senior citizen? And how did I get to be one already? I remember the first time my husband and I were regarded as “seniors.” We were still in our 50s and had stopped at a chain restaurant for breakfast while we were on vacation. When the young (very young) waitress asked us if we’d like to see the senior citizen menu, we looked at each other in horror. Senior citizens? Us? But then we experienced what I guess you could call “mixed emotions.” We didn’t like the world acknowledging that we were getting old, but hey, we could get a discount on our meal. So we politely said, “Yes, please.” That was our first experience of this latest stage in our life, and by now we’ve come to terms with it. After all, graying hair and wrinkles are just as much a part of the living process as baby teeth, first steps, adolescence, and all those other steps that are a part of aging, which, if you think about it, really starts the minute we’re born into this world. We go from baby to toddler to student to employee, possibly to marriage, to parenthood and grand parenthood, and before we know it, we’ve become a senior citizen. Where did all the time go? How come that face in the mirror got so old: Where did all those wrinkles come from: How come that hair got so gray and lifeless? That’s not the real me. The real me is still young and full of life, still full of plans for things to do and places to see. Having just recently come into the stage of Social Security and retirement, I think senior citizenship takes a little adjustment. Being a mother and a working woman was a full-time job; there was very little time to spend on traveling, learning French, writing stories, painting pictures, playing the piano, reading books, sewing, etc., so all that was mostly relegated to “the future.” A few years ago I remember telling a friend that hopefully I’d get to do all those things in my next life, and her remark was, “I’ve heard of people putting things off but never that long!” So now I have the time to do all the things I want to do. Do I get to do them? As I said, I think retirement takes a little adjustment. Sometimes I don’t know where to begin. One day I say I’ll paint a picture today, but then I see the oven needs cleaning. So what wins out? The oven! We’re having company this weekend, and I don’t want to catch fire from some baked-on grease from the last time I used the oven. The next day I say I’ll read the book I got for a gift, but then my daughter comes to visit with my granddaughter and I figure the book can wait a little longer. Babies grow so fast, and they’re so cute! Tomorrow, I’m definitely going to start that exercise routine I got a video for. And try that new recipe a friend gave me. And call that old friend I promised to write to last year. Then there’s the New Milford Senior Center. They have so many things on the agenda. I want to take them all in. Classes in art, ceramics, line dancing; exercise sessions, bingo and scrabble, holiday parties, guest speakers on subjects I’d really like to know more about, etc. How does one get to fit it all in? I guess I have to learn to prioritize better and not procrastinate so much. From the looks of it, a lot of things I want to do may still have to wait for the next stage of life in the great beyond.
Terri Andersen is a New Milford resident who worked at The New Milford
Times in the 1970s.

Hubby and I just came back from a sailing tour...

Hi, folks! Hubby and I just came back from a sailing tour of the Caribbean to celebrate our wedding anniversary and we got to see some lush tropical islands like St. Maarten, St. Barthelemy, Nevis, Saba & Montserrat during the day and  partied every night on board--doesn't that sound glamorous? Well, now let me tell you the other side of the story. Originally, when we were talking “cruise” to celebrate the big event, I was picturing a luxury ship like the Love Boat, where the wind never blows your hair, everyone is romantic, and the Captain is just waiting for you to honor him with your presence at his table. The cabins, of course, are spacious and luxurious, with all the amenities on board that one can imagine. But as in any two-people relationship, what one has in mind is not necessarily what the other has in mind, and while I was thinking luxury, good old hubby was thinking “barefoot cruise,” which is why we found ourselves on a reconstructed sailing ship, where the wind plays havoc with your hair, everyone is wild, and the Captain is even wilder. As for the accommodations, they were not exactly what one would call “luxurious”--two bunks nailed to a wall, in a room that sloped, swayed, and had a few shelves for a closet. To give you an idea of what it felt like to sleep aboard a Sailing ship, when one of the passengers was asked “How did you sleep last night?” his answer was “Smack against the wall,” and we all knew exactly what he meant. Another “luxury” I kind of missed was a faucet that stays on when turned, and hot water. You see, in our tiny cubicle called a bathroom/shower there were only two faucets: one over the miniscule sink and one on the wall for the shower, both of which had to be held to keep the water running, and both of which ran only cold water. Ever try to take a shower with one hand on the faucet and one on the Soap, on a floor that slopes to the middle so the water can drain? Quite an experience! Now I know why someone who had taken the same cruise before us told me we'll probably want to shower together. I thought that was an indication of how romantic it would be, but I quickly found out the real reason--it's so one person can hold the water on while the other one screams and tries to find a corner to run to when those first cold drops hit the body. On the plus side, though, I really think the camaraderie that takes place on a ship like the one we were on can't possibly be matched on a “regular” cruise (unless hubby has me brainwashed by now). With the informality aboard and everyone sharing the same “roughing it” experience, you can't help but feel a unity with your fellow passengers. Hoisting sales together, then quenching your thirst together afterwards, makes for a lot of bosom buddies among previous strangers. As for myself, just watching the sails go up (to the music of “Amazing Grace,” mind you) made for a very touching experience. Add to that the constant party mood and hilarity and I know this is one trip we won't soon forget. - One last remark and I'll shut up about this trip already. Today I got to figuring that dear old hubby was no dummy when he suggested this trip. The bathroom at home that I've been complaining about for the last year because the remodeling is taking too long, and the paper is crooked, and the molding is not right, has suddenly become the most beautiful bathroom in the world to me, simply because it has level floors, space to turn around in, hot and cold running water and, best of all, it doesn't rock! Even to sit on a couch is a pleasure to me now, compared to a hard deck. What strikes us funniest now that we're back, though, is how we both are still swaying when we walk, so if you happen to see a middle-aged couple walking down the street who look like they've just come out of the neighborhood bar, don't be too hard on us; we're still just wobbly from our sailing expedition.
*Terri the Typesetter
November 9, 1984

I think there ought to be an 11th Commandment...

T's* View
I think there ought to be an 11th commandment -- "Thou shalt not humiliate.” I’ve seen so many feelings hurt and so many relationships damaged by a violation of that rule that it makes me wonder why more attention isn't given to it. The worst part of it is that often the hurt is not intentional, yet if only people would stop and think before they say something that might humiliate the other, so much pain could be avoided. If only people would put themselves in the other person's shoes and think how they would feel if what they're about to say would be said about them (especially in front of others), maybe they'd see what they're doing. I don't know when we reach that age of self consciousness where what others think of us matters, but it seems to surface somewhere in adolescence, and the taunting by classmates gives us our first taste of humiliation. I’ve even seen teachers who could cut a student down something terrible in front of a whole class and not give it a thought, then it's left for the poor mother to figure out why Susie hates to go to school. And parents are not exempt from the malady of putting down their kids, either, how many times have you seen a mother berate one of her children in public place or in front of his peers and think nothing of it? Yet when someone can't fight back, the wound can cause deep scars and it doesn't surprise me to hear that a lot of the violent crimes committed are in retaliation for pent-up anger or humiliation. Once we pass the adolescent stage and get into the dating years, you'd think we'd be on our best behavior to attract a potential mate, yet from what I've observed, that's when the act of humiliation seems to be practiced most! I've seen young fellas flirt with every girl passing by while they're with a date and never stop to think that it might be humiliating to the girl they're with (especially if they land up flirting with the girl's worst enemy). And the remarks they make to put the girl herself down makes you wonder if they're trying to court her or chase her away. Is that supposed to be macho, or are they fighting within themselves, on the one hand wanting a relationship, yet on the other hand fearful of getting involved and losing their freedom? But then I've seen girls pointing out to their date how terrific some other guy is, presumably to show that the present date isn't all that he could be, and then they wonder why he doesn't call anymore. The worst violators of the “11th commandment”, though, seem to be husbands and wives. In a relationship that's so close, feelings are bound to be closer to the surface and humiliation in that partnership can be devastating. I wonder how many divorces are caused by some cutting words being used once too often, yet it's so easy to start a relationship off on the wrong foot. Putting each other down can so easily become a way of life; it might start off with “only kidding" but then each one has to “get even" with the other and the “kidding" isn't really funny anymore. Everyone likes to have his or her ego boosted, not deflated, so why do people put each other down rather than boost them up? Do we think it takes something away from us to give the other person a boost? Do we fear the other person will feel too good about himself and look down on us if we build him up too much? I remember when I was getting married, my mother's advice to me and my husband was “Be kind to each other", and I think that about sums it up, because if we're kind to each other, we'll think twice before we humiliate.
* Terri the Typesetter
T-Views
Week of October 28, 1984

Have you seen the new touch lamps...

T’s* View
Have you seen the new "touch" lamps, which at the touch of a finger on certain parts of the lamp the light goes from dim to bright to brighter, and then off? Well, we got one a month or two ago and I'm curious to know if ours is a one-of-a-kind or if they all behave like ours does. The first time I plugged the lamp in, it was a real hot day so we had a fan on as well as the lamp, and every time the fan moved, the lamp got brighter or went off. Even a slight touch of the table it was on, made the lamp change from low to medium to high and then off. A wind blowing in the window or the slamming of a door also activated the lamp. Finally we disconnected the lamp and called the store we bought it from to ask for a replacement. The owner said he'd order another lamp for us and we could bring in the lamp we have now when the new one arrived. Not having heard from the store yet, I decided to give the lamp another try when the weather wasn't so hot and no fan was on and no wind was coming in from a window. (No one can say I didn't give The Lamp a chance.) This time the lamp stayed on all evening and seemed to be working fine - that is, until I tried to "touch" it off. I must have touched every inch of the lamp, to no avail, and figured the only way I'd be able to shut it off would be to unplug it. But rather than be in the dark, I turned on a lamp on another table first, and, lo and behold, the touch lamp went off! I figured it was just a fluke, but now I'm beginning to think The Lamp has a mind of its own. When I tried to show my husband the strange way the lamp acted, it decided to behave properly and made me sound like I was imagining things. But the next day when I tried to shut the light off, again it refused to go off. I told my husband to put the lamp on by his chair, and sure enough, my lamp went off. At least that showed him that I wasn't imagining things, but I should have known better than to let him in on the quirks of The Lamp - now he gets his jollies by turning his light on and off every time he wants to tease me, by turning my light on and off when I least expect it. When we tried to show the kids the "strange" actions of The Lamp, it again refused to cooperate and they thought we were both getting senile. But later in the evening, when one of the kids turned another light on in the room, The Lamp went off just like we said it did and they could see it for themselves. Of course, every time someone new came into the room, they put The Lamp through its paces, and everyone got a good laugh. - Now if I take The Lamp back to the store, how do I know if it will behave properly or act strangely? If I fell the store owner my story, will he think I'm off my rocker or will he believe me? Although, with all the fun we're having with our "new toy". I'm not sure I want to take The Lamp back after all. It's becoming like part of the family and I may just decide to keep it, if for nothing else than a conversation piece. - (Just as I finished writing this, The Lamp went off all by itself. That was a little eerie. I may be returning it to the store after all.)
 *Terri the Typesetter
October 7, 1984

Ever notice how easy something is after you've learned how to do it...

 T’s* View
 Ever notice how easy something is after you've learned how to do it, and how impossible it seemed before you learned it?  I remember the first time I was put at a desk with a phone that handled more than one line. Now that I know how to put someone on Hold, it seems impossible that I had so much trouble with the contraption back then, but at the time, I managed to cut someone off the line at least ten times a day. Then there was my first typesetting job. I started on a machine we called "the old klunker," which sounded like a machine gun in use and showed no typed material but punched holes on a yellow tape to signify which letters were used. I swore the first day I worked on it that I'd never last more than one day on the job, only to stay with that company ten years and go on to more and more advanced machines. Today it's the computer. The first time I saw the one I work on now, I was sure I'd never, never learn how to use it. Every time I pushed another button I was afraid I'd erase a whole week's work or foul up the whole mechanism. (And when a computer gets fouled up, it's FOULED UP! That's something it certainly can do better than any human can, as any of you who have been billed incorrectly by a computer must know.) Yet you can't stop progress and I figured if I wanted to hold a job I'd just have to conquer my fears. After all, there are millions of computers all over the world now and everyone seems to be using them, so they must be conquerable I told myself. And I have to admit that the procedures I learned seem very easy to me now, although there's still so much more to learn, I don't feel completely out of the woods yet. - Another item that gained popularity in these modern times is the microwave oven, although that, too, scares some people half to death. I have a friend who's had one in her home for almost a year now and has yet to use it for fear of blowing up the house or getting herself filled with radiation. - Then there's the computer codes used on groceries these days. I'm sure the system saves time and avoids human error, but every time I shop at a market that uses the codes, I can't help but feel that some of the sale items are being charged at the regular price because someone didn't program the sale price into the computer. And everything goes by so fast, I can't get the groceries on the counter and watch the register at the same time. And how about watches these days? You can get one that tells you the time all over the world (in digital, of course), as well as the date and temperature (some even have built-in calculators) but your eyesight better be good to be able to see it all. Personally, I'll stick to my watch with the good old hands that point to numbers I can see without using a magnifying glass. I guess what I'm trying to say is that progress is fine but it's all happening too fast and by the time I'm ready to get used to the newest invention, it becomes obsolete and there's something new to learn to live with. I remember reading Alvin Toffler's "Future Shock" a few years ago and thinking that he must be exaggerating, but from the looks of things, he knew what he was talking about. Guess I'll just have to speed up my system to keep up with the times, but don't say I didn't go down fighting! -
 *Terri the Typesetter
September 23, 1984

Ya can't win...

T’s* View
Ya can't win. Nope, you just can't. I finally got one of my teenagers to figure out how to turn a water faucet on in a sink full of dirty dishes (they know how to turn it on in the shower, all right — there they don't know how to turn it off) but when it comes to washing dishes, it seems they think the kitchen sink is just a place for dishes to accumulate and that somehow they get clean there all by themselves. Rather than go through the hassle of trying to get someone else to do dishes, I always did them myself, until one day I just rebelled and figured I didn't dirty them all so why should I have to wash them all. (I got that philosophy straight from the kids themselves. Make them eat their words, I told myself.) But as I watched one of them pour dishwashing detergent on one plate at a time and then run the water full force five minutes for each plate, the economical side of me went berserk seeing all that water go to waste. As I tried to demonstrate how to wash with less water running, I found myself back where I started —doing it myself, my way. Now if I could just let the kids do it their way I might get some help, but the water bill would be astronomical. So who lands up getting the job right back in her hands? You got it— good ole Mama. ---, Then there's the case of trying to get the kids to clean up their rooms, which usually look like a disaster just struck. If I do the laundry for them, I fold everything neatly and put it in the proper drawers, only to go into the room the next day and see everything strewn all over. Why? Evidently the first shirt picked wasn't suitable for that day, so out came another and another until the right shirt is found to suit the mood that day; but do the rejected shirts get folded and put back in the drawers? Of course not. They just join the rumpled pile of clothes left on the floor from the night before! And socks! You wouldn't believe where I've found dirty socks ... under the bed, in a closet, behind the dresser; I even found one once on top of a lamp. I think when they take their socks off at night they must just kick them into the air and let them fall where they may. Although I nag them and nag them to straighten up their rooms, my requests(?) go unheeded. Then they can't figure why I'll say no when they ask if a friend can stay overnight. If I tell them they could have someone over if they straighten their room first, they tell me not to worry, their friends' rooms look the same as theirs. It doesn't even embarrass them, while I want to hide my head in shame. What really kills me, though, is when they bring the friend over first and ask me right in front of him if he can sleep over. Of course this is usually late enough at night for it to be an inconvenience for the friend's parents to pick him up and besides they were already informed that he'd be sleeping over our house. So what's a mother to do? Run upstairs, try to straighten up real quick and make the best of it, it seems. After all, they're only my values, certainly not theirs, so what's to get uptight about (another of the kids' philosophies.) But someday they'll be grown up and out of the house and I'll be wishing to find a dirty sock in some forsaken corner, so they tell me. As I said, ya can't win!
*Terri the Typesetter
September 16, 1984

A grandmother of mine always carried an umbrella...

 T's * View
A grandmother of mine always carried an umbrella, no matter what the weather, and when I was a little girl I thought she was just a strange old lady. When I got a little older (and probably a little brasher) dared to ask her: "Grandma, why do you always carry an umbrella? It makes people laugh at you," to which she replied: "It makes people laugh? Good!" like to make people laugh. But do you really want to know why I always carry an umbrella?" Of course I nodded in the affirmative, curious to know what made Grandma such an eccentric, but as I think back on her answer I realize that her "eccentricity" was really a pretty good philosophy. "I carry an umbrella," she said, "so that I'll always be prepared for rain, but if it doesn't rain, then each day the sun shines is a special delight and I am grateful for it isn't is always nicer to see the sunshine when you were expecting rain? And it doesn't bother me if I carry the umbrella for nothing" she continued. "Actually, it makes a good cane if I'm unsure of my footing" (her umbrella wasn't one of those little fold-up jobs, it was a man's big black umbrella with a cane-type handle) "and if anybody thinks they're gonna get fresh with me, my bumbleshoot here makes a pretty good weapon" (Grandma lived on the lower east side of New York City and I guess even in those days there were unsavory characters around)
So that was the story of Grandma's umbrella, but what impressed me most was her appreciation of every sunny day that most people would probably have taken for granted. And it makes me think of the different kinds of people there are in the world. For instance, there are those who, if they carried an umbrella and it didn't rain, instead of being grateful for the sunshine, they'd grumble that they had to carry an umbrella for nothing, which when you think of it isn't such a bad price to pay for a beautiful day. Perhaps they'd even bemoan the fact that nature played a trick on them and nothing ever goes their way. Then there are those who might see dark clouds in the sky in the morning, know they ought to take an umbrella with them just in case, but will complain bitterly that it had the nerve to rain when they were without any protection. Personally, I like the kind of person who will see a rainy day and say, "So what, so I'll get a little wet and the world won't come to an end," and from there he or she will go on to Plan B for the rest of the day's activities.
But to get back to Grandma, her motto seemed to be be prepared for the worst but appreciate the good; or another way she put it was expect nothing, appreciate everything, which I'm sure is not an easy philosophy to live by but Grandma sure seemed to be a happy person. Another thing she used to say is: "Don't ever think the Good Lord has left us orphans. He's up there taking care of us all the time." This morning when I caught my heel on a step and could have taken a nasty fall but didn't because I grabbed the railing just in time, or last night when my husband and I were driving back from visiting his parents in the city and cars were all zigzagging all around us without any of them bumping us, I could almost hear Grandma saying "See, you are being watched over." Poor God, He never seems to get credit for the good He does, only the blame for when something goes wrong.
 皺 *Terri the Typesetter
T-Views Week of August 12, 1984

Boy, I feel crummy today.

T’s” View
Monday, July 23 - 7:00 AM – Boy, I feel crummy today. It's hot and humid, my hair is straight, the kids want rides and I haven't got a car, my knee hurts, and I have no idea what I'm going to write for today's column. Why don't I just quit my job. And who cares about what I have to say in that dumb column. I wish I could just go back to bed and get up on some other planet. Growl, Growl! Usually I consider myself an “up” person and thought I had all the answers for why people get “down” – self pity, not enough interest in things outside themselves, poor thinking habits, etc., etc.— but now that the “downs” have come upon me, I'm realizing it's not so easy to just “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” and change the downs to ups. Maybe I'm still tired from my vacation, maybe I'm just coming down with something, maybe it's just old age, but this past week I feel like I haven't been myself and it made me realize how painful it is not to be able to be the person you'd like to be. I thought of all the cranky people I've known over the years, whom I've tried to avoid as much as possible because they had such gloomy outlooks, and now that I'm finding myself in their shoes, I see it's not so easy to dispel the blues. All the advice I thought others should take to cheer up now sounds like just words and I feel helpless in getting rid of the blahs. My strongest advice to others when they were in the dumps was for them to forget about themselves and do something for someone else. While I still feel that's useful advice, I'm realizing that it takes some spirit to do that and when you're in the dumps it's probably because that spirit just isn't there. Right now I feel that maybe better advice would be to tell them to forget about everybody else and do something for themselves. What I'd really like to do today is, first of all, take a nap, then maybe sit in the sun for a few hours with a good book and escape from the hectic world of reality. They say we modern women have it easy, with all our time-saving devices in the home, but I don't think women ever had it tougher than today. We have all the jobs we had before plus the added responsibility of taking on outside jobs as well to make ends meet. No wonder we're worn out! How much are we supposed to be able to do in 24 hours? Grumble, Grumble. I'm sorry, really I am. I'm just having a bad day and it would have made more sense to just skip this column today, I'm sure. But then people would want to know why I skipped and I'd only have to tell them the whole sordid story anyway, so here it is in print for all the world to know that I have my share of bad days and good days. If I'm to follow my own advice, though (I always say there's some good in everything, all you have to do is look for it) I guess what I do have to admit is that this miserable mood will teach me at least not to judge those who are cranky and irritable, because it's probably just as painful for them to be what they are as it is for others to tolerate them, and I hope that next time I come across such a person I'll try to see the pain underneath the grouchy exterior. (If you don't see my column next week it either will mean that I still didn't get over the blues, or that I got fired for writing this particular column.)
*Terri the Typesetter
T-Views

What complex beings we humans are.

T’s.” View
What complex beings we humans are. Last week I wrote about people seeing only what they do for others and often not seeing what others do for them. This week I'd like to qualify that. What we don't see is what the other person is doing RIGHT, but we sure do see what the other person is doing WRONG. And the funny (not really) part is how we don't see what we're doing wrong ourselves. How often we criticize a person for doing what we perceive as "wrong" and then we turn around and do the same thing ourselves without thinking anything of it. Somebody once said that what bothers us most about other people is something we're usually guilty of ourselves. I remember introducing two ladies who I thought were so much alike and figured they'd like each other because they had so much in common—both prided themselves on being good cooks and having only the best in clothes and furniture. It turned out they couldn't stand each other, each saying the other was a braggart about her cooking and possessions. Someone else once said, "What bothers us most about other people is that they're not just like us: Most people would probably deny that last quote (forgive me for never knowing the sources of my quotes) but when you think about it, that does seem to be true. (Am I getting too confusing? Too preachy? Actually I wasn't prepared to write a column today because I didn't realize Monday was a holiday and the deadline was pushed back to Saturday, so forgive me if I'm rambling.) - I guess that's where the complexity of the human being comes in, because while we'd really like the other person to be like us, what bothers us is that the other person is often just like us but it's a side of ourselves we choose not to acknowledge. It seems we all set our own code of ethics and then expect everyone but ourselves to follow the rules. Anyway, I find this whole business of being human a fascinating subject and it never ceases to amaze me how complex we are. Someday I'd like to take a bunch of psychology courses and really learn about what makes us tick. For now, all I have to go on is gut feelings and simplistic observations. I'd also like to study that great computer in our heads, the human brain. We marvel at the latest technology and what a computer can do, when actually it's still got a long way to go before it can even come close to the capacity of the human brain. And you know what they say—a computer is only as good as its program. Since we have the power to program those computers in our heads, every choice we make has an effect on our programs. It's an awesome thought.
 *Terri the Typesetter
T-Views - Week of June, 3,1984

Expectations

 T’s* View
 I think that most of our hurts and disappointments come from our own expectations of what we think another person should do or say, and most of the time that other person has no idea what our expectations are. We could save ourselves a lot of heartache if we could either let the other person know what we expect or, if we choose not to make that known, at least not blame people for something they're not aware of. Another thing that often causes heartache is the resentment we feel because of what we do for another person who seems ungrateful, while he or she may be totally unaware of what we're actually doing for them (and if they did know, it's just possible that they might not even want you to do what you're doing for them.) While visiting an older couple recently, I spent some time in the kitchen with the wife, who went on and on about how much she does for her husband, who is ailing and can't get around as well as he used to. A little later I sat in the living room with the husband, who went on and on telling me how much he had to do for his wife, now that she's getting on in years and doesn't remember things as well as she used to. As I listened to each of them I couldn't help thinking how sad it was that each one saw only what he or she did for the other but didn't see what the other was doing for them. Just think what a difference it would have made if the husband saw all that the wife was doing for him and the wife saw what her husband was doing for her. The aging and helpless situation itself wouldn't be changed, but wouldn't the love between them be so much greater if they could see how wonderful their spouse is to them. - - It made me realize how most of us tend to see only what we do and not what the other person does. I thought of all the husbands and wives, children and parents, employers and employees, who are so often unaware of what is being done for them. When all they see is what they do, they can't really be blamed for being unappreciative or not knowing what the other person is doing. I mulled over the situation for a while and wondered how it could be remedied but couldn't really come up with a good answer. It seems what we need is some way that we could communicate what we do for someone else without it looking like we were bragging or looking for praise. I tried to get my husband to make a list of things he feels he does for me that I might not be aware of, but he wouldn't buy the idea. (he hates to write.) Then a few days later, when we were discussing one of the kids and how he didn't seem to know what we were doing for him, only what he felt he was doing for us, said husband piped up with, "Maybe we ought to make a list and show it to him." - In any event, what we need is some form of communication to let us know what is expected of us and what is being done. I can't help but feel that it would eliminate a lot of hard feelings and misunderstandings between people. If only we could be more open with each other about our feelings and thoughts, without taking offense too easily, I think we'd be so much better off.
*Terri the Typesetter
 T-Views Week of May 27,1984

What is your secret desire?

T's* View
 What's your secret desire? I have a brother who says that you can have anything you want in life, if you want it strongly enough. Well! I argued with him that I couldn't see how that could always be possible, but he was adamant that it could be done, as long as you wanted it badly enough and believed it could be achieved. "Okay," I told him, "my secret desire is to live in a luxurious home with lavish furnishings!" How was he going to manage that, I asked. He wasn't. It was entirely up to me, he said. Couldn't he at least give me a few hints, I pleaded. "Well," he countered, "what's holding you back from having the house of your dreams?" Silly question. 'Money, of course. What else?" I replied, a little condescendingly. "So," he countered, "train yourself for a job that pays a lot of money or divorce your husband and find a man who has a lot of money." - - "Are you kidding!?" I asked incredulously. "I can't do that! Even if I could train myself for a high-paying job, at my age I wouldn't have enough time to amass a fortune; and divorcing my husband is out of the question. I love the guy!" "Well," my brother replied, "then you don't want to live in a luxury house badly enough. You want to live with your husband more, and that negates the house as top priority." "Okay," I said. "I'll revise my first answer. My secret desire is to live in a luxury house with the husband I have and also with our kids." "Is that what you really want? You're sure now?" he persisted. Without hesitation, I affirmed my decision that that was truly my secret desire. "Fine," he said. "Now fix it in your mind that that's what you really want, imagine it as real, work toward that goal, and then just wait for it to happen." "That's it?" Okay, here I go. I'm picturing myself in this fabulous house with a circular driveway in front, enough parking for all our family and guests, plush carpeting throughout the house, elegant furniture and decorating, a fireplace in a cozy family room, luxurious bedrooms with adjoining baths (more than one bath would be a luxury in itself, I told myself), a sauna or jacuzzi, swimming pool, music room, game room and, while I'm at it, a cook and a maid thrown in for good measure. According to my brother, the mind can't distinguish between an imagined fact and the real thing and all it takes is a little time for reality to catch up to fantasy. "How much time?" I asked him. "It depends," he said. "On what?" I wanted to know. "On the strength of your imagination and on your determination," he answered. And that's where the rub comes in—the determination. The desire could be there, all right, but unless the determination is there also, the dream could fly right out the window, my brother says. Why does there always have to be a catch someplace? (Maybe I could win a sweepstakes?) But, who knows, by next week I may have a completely different secret desire.
 *Terri the Typesetter
T-Views - Week of May 20, 1984

Getting Organized

T’s* View
 This morning I promised myself that I'm definitely going to get my act together and get organized. I'm tired of looking at all the little collections of clippings and other things I keep saving, that are waiting to be put into some kind of order when I finally get around to it. - This morning I was looking for a recipe that I wanted to use for tonight's dinner and I realized that my plastic bag full of recipes clipped out of magazines and newspapers is getting completely out of hand. Every month or so I tell myself I'll sort all those pieces of paper info categories of least, so that it'll be easier to find what I'm looking for but instead I just keep adding to the pile and never get to the sorting. On days when I really feel ambitious I even tell myself I'll put them into a scrapbook, cookbook fashion, or copy them down on 3x5 cards and make a neat file for them, but of course first I have to buy some 3x5 cards and I'm sure that even if I did, they'd just land up in another pile next to the recipes. ...Or next to the pile of photos I keep meaning to put into the family album. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother taking pictures anymore. When we first got married and after the first child came along, every little occasion was dutifully recorded in the photo album. With each successive birth, however, the number of photographs lessened, until the last kid is lucky to have a picture in the album at all. I must be about five years behind now in putting pictures into albums and probably the only way I'll ever get around to organizing the albums is if I'm laid up in bed and am looking for something to do. Another thing I keep meaning to do is cover the kitchen shelves with shelf paper. It's 15 years since we moved into this house, and I haven't gotten around to it yet. Then there's the box of patterns and unfinished sewing projects that I keep meaning to get to, although it probably wouldn't do me any good to finish some of the dresses I started five years ago, since they'd be out of style and wouldn't fit me anyway. And if only I'd start some of those diets and exercises that I constantly clip out of magazines ... or straighten out the drawers and closets. There just never seems to be enough time to get everything done that needs to be done. I was telling a friend of mine how I hoped that in my eternal life after this one I'll have enough time to do all the things I wanted to do on this earth but never had time for, to which she replied: "I've heard of people putting things off, but never THAT long!" - Another friend of mine, though — a very organized friend, I might add — thought there was no excuse for my procrastination. All it takes is discipline, she said (there's that nasty word again!). She then proceeded to tell me her secret of being organized. Rather than wait until she has a whole day to work on a project, every time she has 10 or 15 minutes free, she takes one drawer or one project that needs organizing and does a little at a time. And before you know it, she says, little by little it all gets done — just like that! Well, I promise — tomorrow I'm definitely going to get organized!
 *Terri the Typesetter
TViews Week of April 29, 1984

The Lottery

T’s* View
ls there anyone who didn't buy a lottery ticket last week? With the winnings up to $7 million, it seems everyone and his brother wanted a chance at that grand prize. Until then, I myself had no interest in the Lotto games, but it was like a raging fever when the prize went up so high, and everyone I know caught the Lotto bug, including me. And, of course, with a chance on the big winnings came the speculation of how the money would be spent if won. "What's the first thing that you would buy if you had seven million dollars?" is a question I asked a lot of people last week, and it was interesting to note that the answers varied according to the age of those questioned. The younger people's "vision of sugar plums" usually included a showy, expensive car, a lot of good times and finally, maybe save some of it. The slightly older group, or young marrieds, thought first of a house, then a car, then of saving for their children's education, and financial security. The next age group, not quite newlyweds but not senior citizens yet either, seemed to put travel first on their list, then possibly a new home, and a good chunk would go into savings. The oldest person questioned, a 76-year-old grandmother, said she'd buy some extravagant things for her children and grandchildren, and put the rest of the money away in trust for them. - There were a few of the younger people who said they'd give money to their relatives or friends, or people in need, but they were in the minority. However, I think that's only because the question was hypothetical and the emphasis was on "what would you buy for yourself" or "what's your dream desire if money were no object." If fantasy came to reality, I'm sure lots of people would share with their families or donate to charity (if for no other reason than to save on their income tax.) But while all of us can dream about how easy life would be if only we had more money, someone who did win a big sum wrote to Ann Landers not long ago, telling her how miserable her life was ever since she won all that money. Requests came from people she knew and people she didn't know, who thought it only fair that she share her good fortune with them. I was telling the sad story to a friend of mine who was buying a dozen lottery tickets, but she just came back with "That's okay. I know it would just be a new set of problems for me, but I'm ready for a different set now anyway. If nothing else, it'll be a change and I'm willing to risk it." So what do you think? Is winning a bundle worth all the problems it could bring on? I guess I think like my friend does—I'm perfectly willing to try it. Just think...a house that doesn't constantly need fixing, a professional decorating job with gorgeous furnishings, (more than one bathroom), a car that doesn't stall every time the weather is rainy, cold or damp, a garage to put the car in, nice clothes, no worries about bills of any kind, a chance to travel with the whole family, etc., etc., etc. Yes, I think I'd be willing to give it a try.
 *Terri the Typesetter
 T-Views ~ Week Of April 1, 1984

To diet or not to diet

T’s* View
 To diet or not to diet, that's the infernal question. Do I do something about getting into those clothes which are getting snugger and snugger-fitting, or do I go out and buy a whole new wardrobe? At 15 years of age (and 5'4") I was 115 lbs. Since then I seem to have gained a pound for every year of my life. Either I have to stop adding pounds or stop adding years, but it's getting out of hand. When I was 125 lbs. at 25 years of age I vowed that I would never let myself go beyond 130, but the pounds kept adding up as automatically as the years. At times I would tell myself: "So what? How many 50 year olds have 25 year old figures? Why not just let it happen and enjoy the delights of food, fattening or not?" Then the other half of me would answer: "Oh, yeah? Look how out-of-shape you are. And look at Joan Collins and Nancy Reagan. They hung on to their figures, so it's not impossible!" Of course the first part of me has an answer for that one: "Sure, they probably spend all kinds of money at health spas and have somebody prepare non-fattening foods for them. Or else they're just two of those lucky people who never have to watch what they eat. They probably drink a milkshake and LOSE a pound!" And the battle within goes on and on. Of course, there are all kinds of diet books on the market, and almost every magazine you pick up has some kind of diet in it. (Then two pages later there are all kinds of delicious recipes for fattening things to tempt you to put back whatever pounds you may lose on the diet.) They make every diet printed sound so easy and so satisfying: "You need never feel hungry again," or "you'll never even know you're on a diet," but I've yet to find a reducing diet that didn't leave me feeling cheated. I've tried the diets that consist of a can of dried powder (supposedly nutritionally good for you, but after a few days I actually felt sick on one of those); I've tried a diet that consisted of pills that contained all the herbs and vitamins your body needs (the pills were so big, I choked every time I took them); and I've tried the caramel candy diet (people would run in the other direction when I told them I was carrying Ayds...they didn't bother to hear the rest of the sentence, namely, ...in my purse.) Then there are friends who say stick to carbohydrates only (or is that "avoid" carbohydrates?) Others say stay away from potatoes and bread and then I'll read somewhere that potatoes and bread are NOT fattening (only what you put on them is). Everyone wants to help, I guess, but it only adds to a lot of confusion. As for the people who try to make me feel better by saying things like: "But I like you fat" or "a full face hides the wrinkles," I want to scream "I'm not THAT fat! Oh, well, they all mean well...but to get those pounds off I guess there's no substitute for willpower and discipline—something I seem to be in short supply of when it comes to dieting. I watch my skinny friends eat a salad simply because they like ił; when I eat a salad, my mind automatically hollers "where's the beef?!" If only someone could come up with a low-calorie diet that tastes like fattening food, and an exercise program that works while you sleep, there might be a chance for me.

*Terri the Typesetter
March 28, 1984 --- ------ Page 34

Cleaning House

 T's* View
 I like a clean house just as much as anyone else does, and even though I try to keep mine at least "surface clean" all the time, there's always that nagging feeling that I'm not doing a thorough enough job with the little time I have to devote to it. The windows, the drapes, the floors, the rugs—cleaning them always seems to be put on hold. Likewise for closets, drawers, attic and cellar, under the couch and behind the piano. As for "things that accumulate," keeping up with that is a 24-hour a day job in itself. Anyway, with spring coming, I had just about decided to do a thorough cleaning job real soon—you know, the whole "spring cleaning" bit—when I saw something in the paper which said that research has found FALL is actually the best time to do your housecleaning. Well! Should I disregard the modern findings or should I be an old fuddy-duddy and insist on "the old way." - As it is, I've always been trying to figure out when was the best time of year to clean house. It can't be winter, when everyone comes in with snow on their boots and the kids come in with wet clothes about six times a day, allowing for changes into dry clothes every hour or so. I don't know how other families cope with the problem, but it seems I always have wet boots, gloves, hats and scarves piled around the heating units. Newspaper under the wet things only leaves its ink marks on the linoleum, and I'll be darned if I scrub the kitchen floor every time there's snow on the ground. Then there's mud season in the spring, when instead of tracking snow into the house it's mud that's brought in on the soles of shoes. (Yes, we have a doormat—two, in fact—but I think everyone skips right over them.) And it's not really warm enough yet to wash windows. Then I figure if I can't do the windows, what's the point of cleaning the curtains and drapes? Once summertime comes, it will be the perfect time to do a thorough housecleaning. On second thought, though, once summertime comes it's awfully hot—and besides, you can't really open the windows long enough to wash them because all the insects will come flying into the house. And if you wash the floors and clean the rugs, they'll only be covered with sand when the kids get home from the beach. So I guess they know what they're talking about when they say fall is the best time for house-cleaning. The kids are back in school, the insects are dying off, so you can have the windows open without screens, and the ground isn't muddy or snow covered. (But what about all those dead leaves that stick to the shoes after a heavy rain?) Could it be that there really is no best time to house-clean and that the job really wasn't meant to be done at all? I mean, after all, if God meant us to clean house, wouldn't He have made a season appropriate for it?
*Terri the Typesetter
T–Views Week of March 18, 1984

Shopping

T's* Views
Boy, they don't know how easy they had it when they went shopping in the old days. When they needed supplies, they just went to the General Store once a month or so and picked up 5 lbs. of flour, 5 lbs. of sugar, lot quantities of whatever else they needed and that was it.
Nowadays, with all the new packaging and the variety of supermarkets available, a shopper has much more choice but also has so many more decisions to make...Should I shop at the market near home for convenience or should I go a little farther down the road for the sale on paper towels and toilet paper? Which store has the most items on sale this week? Should I buy half of the groceries in this store and half in that one to take advantage of their respective coupon offers? Should I buy the name brand the family is used to or try a generic brand to save money? If the family doesn't like it, was it worth the savings? How much more gas do I use shopping in the store that's a little farther away? (add up the gas used, subtract the cents saved, and try to figure if it's a savings or not.)
And then there's the manufacturers' coupons! Oh, those coupons! They're in the magazines, on the packages, in the mail—and because I feel like I'm throwing away a dime or a quarter if I don't hold on to every coupon I see, I have a collection that's about to take over my kitchen. (Did I mention that my aunts and my mother-in-law also save their coupons for me?) Now I have the added burden and the guilt of always meaning to sort out all those little pieces of paper and file them in some kind of system so that when I'm about to go shopping I'll know just where to put my finger on the ones I'll need that day. But how many times I stop at the supermarket on my way home from work and don't have the coupons with me! It kills me to buy a product I know I have a coupon for at home. When the cashier asks "any coupons?" I want to tell her to "hold on, I'll run home and get them."
When I do plan my shopping carefully and make sure I have all the coupons I might need with me, then the fun begins. Each time I come to another department I have to check my coupons to see which product I'm going to buy. And say I have a 25¢ coupon for Tootsy Wootsy cereal and it so happens that a cereal the kids like equally well is on sale that day but I don't have a coupon for it. That's when my brain goes into calculator arrest. "Let me see...if I get 50¢ off the $1.89 cereal, that's $1.39 for 12 oz. If the cereal on sale is $1.49 for 13 oz., which one is a better buy?" And so on and so on. By the time I'm on my way out of the store, I'm completely drained! Never mind serving me free coffee to make me feel at home. By the end of my shopping trip I could use something much stronger than coffee!
*Terri the Typesetter
 T–Views Week of March 11, 1984.

I am amazed at how much power I have.

T's* VIEW
I am amazed at how much power I have. As a wife and mother, I find I can set the tone for the entire household. If I'm grouchy, everyone seems to pick up on it and become grouchy, too...whereas if I'm calm and loving, all the ruffled feathers are smoothed and peace reigns. So many times one harsh word is enough to start an avalanche of disgruntled feelings. In reverse, it's surprising what one loving word can do. So what does that mean? That I'm never allowed a harsh word? (You got it!) Not really, but knowing how much impact I have on the tone of the household, it does make me consider before I let that harsh word out. And, not being exactly a saint (yet), I have been known to unleash some anger or resentment, but as I get older (there ARE some advantages to aging, thank goodness), I'm finding you can vent your angry feelings in an unangry way. Paradox? Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you can let someone know you're not thrilled with what they did, without belittling the person who did it, and that seems to contribute so much to more peaceful relations. - And admitting you're wrong now and then is not the end of the world either. It surprises me how much it pleases my husband or kids to hear me admit I might have been mistaken and be willing to take another course of action. (That doesn't happen too often, of course.) And I'm even finding that sometimes other people know more than I do! Including my kids! How do you like that for a frank admission? (The kids love it, but then I remind them that they must have gotten their "smarts" from their father or me.) It also helps to look at things with a sense of humor, and there, too, we have a choice. When one of the kids spills a pitcher of milk at the dinner table, do you laugh, scream, or cry? Screaming only adds to the confusion, everyone knows it does no good to cry over spilled milk, so why not turn the situation into a joke and relieve the pressure on everyone. After all, accidents are just that...accidents. Would you turn on a guest who did the same thing one of the kids did? So it was time for the yearly shampooing of the rug anyway, and the tablecloth is washable (thank God for polyester). Oh, it was the lace heirloom? What the heck, it was going out of style anyway. No THING is ever more important than people, and the people who travel along life's highway with us are the most important in the world, so why not make the journey as enjoyable as possible? Over the years I know there were times when I have found myself being a witch with a capital B, and while it may have gotten annoyances out of my system, the havoc it created around me wasn't worth it. You know, of course, that you have the power, too. We all have the power to create our own environment. Isn't that a mind-boggler?
* Terri the Typesetter
T–Views - Week Of March 4, 1984

Confidence

T's VIEW
For a number of years now, I've been watching the way people walk, and I love to imitate the walk of one of our office beauties as she sashays across the room here at T-Views—the girl with so much oomph, all people have to say to describe her is "the very pretty one" and you know who they're talking about. Now, there are many pretty girls at T-Views, but none of them has the same confident, lilting walk that "the very pretty one" has, and it got me thinking—does the walk contribute to the "prettiness" or does the prettiness contribute to the walk? I've seen people who could be knock-outs but weren't because of the way they carried themselves; and I've seen people who would be considered average except that they carried themselves so regally, they convinced the rest of the world that they were better than average. Try it yourself—walk like a schlep and see if you don't feel like one; then throw your shoulders back, hold your head up high and walk tall, with a little chutzpah — see if you don't feel the difference. Sometimes even the shoes you wear make a difference. I notice when I wear the flat, bulky boots I bought in a discount store, I feel flat and bulky; but when I wear the more stylish boots I bought in one of the better shoe stores in town (on sale, of course) I feel like a different person. It's surprising how much your "step" has to do with your general outlook and the image you present to the world. Take the Rock star, Michael Jackson, for instance. His phenomenal success has a lot to do with the way he moves; "nobody moves like Jackson" is how he's described. If you tried putting any other young person in "highwaters" (pants that don't quite reach the shoe, allowing the socks to show, for those of you who don't have teenagers around), what you'd have is one very unhappy youngster, yet Jackson can carry it off flamboyantly because of the motion he puts into his every step. If I tried to put my kids in anything but long-enough jeans and the right brand of sneakers, they'd swear I was out to humiliate them in front of their peers.(If only I could make them understand that it's not so much what's on your frame but your frame of mind that makes the difference.) - Another example of what a difference a walk can make was made pretty obvious on a TV show I saw not long ago. A member of the audience was chosen to model a dress worn by Linda Evans of the TV series "Dynasty." They purposely picked someone approximately the size and coloring of the famous TV star, but even though the gown fit the girl picked from the audience perfectly, which was an accomplishment in itself, when she walked across the stage, in no way did she do for the dress what Linda Evans did, mainly because she had a whole different way of carrying herself. I guess what I conclude from these observations is that if you want to FEEL confident, you have to WALK confident! (Purists may substitute the word "confidently.")
*Terri the Typesetter
T-Views Week of February 26, 1984

I made muffins two days in a row last month. So what, you say

T’s’ VIEW
I made muffins two days in a row last month. So what, you say? So that means l exposed my family twice to the dangers of EDB without being aware of it. In fact, we had just finished the second batch of muffins when the announcement came on the news about EDB, and what do you think accompanied the warning about this latest health hazard we have to worry about? The announcement was coupled with a picture of muffins! If the EDB wasn't going to kill us, the shock was . So now they're thinking of taking most of the cake mixes off the shelf. And what about other forms of grain? What about flour? What about cereals? What about bread? Where does it end? And where were these harbingers of bad news when the pesticide was allowed for use in the first place? Sometimes I wonder about the system we have of checks and balances. We always find out about the dangers of certain chemicals after it's too late to do anything about it. Remember the cranberry scare some years back? It was right around holiday time and everyone was warned not to eat canned cranberries. So my father went out and bought fresh cranberries and splattered the whole kitchen with popping cranberries. Then, all of a sudden, the danger was not a topic of conversation anymore and everyone went back to eating canned cranberries, and as far as I know, no one seems to be the worse for it. - And how about the saccharin scare? And the nitrates and nitrites? Of course, cigarette warnings have been with us for a long time and they seem legitimate, but I see one of the major tobacco companies is starting a campaign of rebuttal against the findings of the Surgeon General. So where does it all leave us, the innocent but vulnerable public? If stress is the biggest killer of them all, then what's really going to do us in is listening to all these warnings and trying to figure out what's going to be hazardous for us next, How do we develop foresight instead of hindsight? And if they take all the food items off the shelves, what do we do then? Starve? Living in a modern technology is wonderful—we have so much more than our fore bearers had, but with new technology comes new problems and it seems we have to develop a new technique for survival. (I told you we only exchange one kind of problem for another). - I guess the answer is moderation. When they give us warnings of any kind, it's usually accompanied by statistics that show a rat or some other laboratory animal was subjected to dosages most humans wouldn't live long enough to ingest, and it does make me wonder who's behind all these get-it off-the-shelf shenanigans. Is somebody out there really concerned about our well-being or is it a vendetta of some kind to ruin certain businesses? Will we ever really know? EDB, PCB, DDT, QRST... watch out for the alphabet —it could be hazardous to your health !
- *Terri the Typesetter
 *T-Views Week Of February 19, 1984

What is this thing called Love?

T’s” View
What is this thing called Love? Everyone craves it, yet no one seems to know exactly how to explain it. There's brotherly love, sisterly love, mother love, father love, puppy love, romantic love, passionate love, love of God, love of country—all classified as love, yet not quite the same in character. When we're very little we don't have to worry about giving love; we're just interested in getting it and are allowed to be very vocal and very demanding. You're a baby left alone too long in a crib? Just give a good yell and Mommy or Daddy will come running to satisfy your need for love and attention. In a few years, we change our tactics a little, but giving is not yet a part of the act. Take the very young girl with a crush on a very young boy. She may tell her best friend how much she likes him, but he comes along and she teases and insults him to hide the fact that she has tender feelings for him. She may get his attention, but that's about all. Unless, of course, he happens to like her, too; then he may very well demonstrate it by hitting her over the head with his books. A little later there's the tongue-tied teenage period, where a normally very vocal girl or boy can't find a thing to say to the object of their affections, and if they do think of something to say, they agonize over it later, wondering how they could be so dumb. As we get older, we risk a little bit of our vulnerability and dare to let our love show in gradual doses. We learn that you get more flies with honey than with vinegar, and the same little girl who insulted the little boy, now turns coquetish and learns to build up his ego if she wants his attention. Once we get married and have children, the giving part of love dominates out of necessity and we start to learn what love is really all about. Our love becomes centered more on ‘other' than on 'self' and our joy comes from loving relationships with spouse and family. Unfortunately, some people never get past the baby stage or little-boy or girl stage of love, and miss out on so much. Then, too, people have different ways of expressing love. Some express it with poetry and flowers, while others prefer the silent treatment and presume you know they love you. If you get desperate enough to ask them, “Do you love me?” they'll give you an answer like: “I married you, didn't I?" regardless of the fact that the marriage may have taken place 20 or 30 years ago. For some, saying “I love you” comes easy, but for others those are the hardest three words to say. Maybe they're afraid of commitment, maybe they're afraid of rejection, but they'll do anything to avoid saying those words. In my mother and father's case, I think they were afraid of spoiling us. My father thought strict discipline was the way to show love, whereas my mother, who was afraid of appearing “mushy,” would give us back rubs and food to show her love. It took me a long time to realize that those back rubs were her way of making body contact, which I guess took the place of hugs. Today, I give my kids back rubs AND hugs, just to make sure they know I love them. - And so, on this Valentine's Day, my wish for all of you is that Love comes into your life and stays there forever.
*Terri the Typesetter
week of February 12, 1984

Career Workshop

T's”. View
Just out of curiosity, I went to the Career Workshop at the high school a few years ago to see what I could be "when I grow up." After a battery of tests, the results pointed to Writer and/or Philosopher. "Writer" I liked, since I've been interested in writing for as long as I can remember. But "Philosopher"? How much demand is there for THAT in the want ads these days? About as much as for a Shepherdess, I'd say. But as I got to thinking about it, I figured we're all Philosophers, in a way. We all have a certain philosophy that carries us through from day to day, and I came to realize that the way we think has a lot to do with the way we cope with life's problems. That's one thing you can always be sure of, no matter where you live, where you work, or who you are— you'll always have some kind of problem. "What!," you say, is that lady telling us there really is no 'silver lining"? Not really...all I'm trying to say is that in this imperfect world of ours, total problem-free living is non-existent and if we can get that into our heads and go on from there, when problems do arrive we won't be floored by them. For some, not having a mate is a problem; for others, the mate IS the problem. For some, their job is what makes them miserable, so they switch jobs and often take on a job that someone else left because it made him or her miserable. For many, the lack of money is a big problem; for those who have it, there's a whole new set of problems—how to invest it, how to hold on to some of it without having to give most of it to Uncle Sam, how to keep the thieves and the greedy at bay. I'm convinced that we can never get rid of problems completely—all we can do is exchange one kind of problem for another. The good news, though, is that we don't have to let them get us down. Trying to drown a problem in drugs or alcohol only gives you a whole new problem to cope with. So what's a person to do? First of all, you can accept the inevitable and not waste time and energy bemoaning the fact that there are problems. Let it become a challenge and dig deep into your inner resources to find a way to solve it. How many "great" men and women came to their greatness precisely because they overcame a serious problem? Also, while things could always be better, we have to remember, too, that they could always be worse Instead of seeing only what's wrong, why not look for what's still right. Someone with a broken arm will most likely not think about all the other body parts that are still working...the other arm, legs, heart, brain, liver, kidneys, eyes, ears, etc. In other words, whether we realize it or not, there's always more that's right than wrong. It's like the picture of a white canvas with a black dot painted in the middle. If you ask people what they see, almost invariably they'll say "a black dot," whereas all the white background is overlooked. Think about that when you're faced with a black dot in your life. - Okay, I got to play philosopher for today. Next week I promise to keep it light.
*Terri the Typesetter T–Views -
 Week of February 5, 1984

The beginning of a new year...

Thoughts From A T-Views Staffer
The beginning of a new year always reminds me of a brand new notebook. I don't know about you, but I always found a new notebook so clean and inviting, like a new beginning, a new start in life, one that was going to be organized and orderly. Of course, after the first few pages, the resolve to keep that notebook neat all the way to the end wore a little thin and the pages took on that lived-in look that all things used seem to take on. But after a while, it was time for a new notebook again, and the whole resolve to do better this time was given a second chance.
When you stop to think of it, life is full of new beginnings. We come into this world with a mind full of blank pages just waiting for input. By the time we're four or five years old and feel we've adjusted to this new world of ours, we're put into the school situation, where we have to begin a new lifestyle, meet new people and learn all sorts of new things. By 8th or 9th grade, when we feel we've got it made and are at the top of the ladder, we graduate and are thrust into the new world of high school where, as freshmen, we're again at the beginning. By the time we're seniors, we're at the top again and this time we're sure we've got it made, only to find that we're back again on the bottom rung either as a freshman in college or a novice in the working world. When we feel we've reached a level of competency and confidence in our chosen field, either we change jobs or get married, and once again have to learn the ropes from the bottom. Parenthood, grandparenthood, widowhood ... on and on with new beginnings. And after this life, we'll probably begin again in a new dimension and the process will be eternal. So here's to a new year and a new beginning, without which we'd be stunted in our growth and life would be so much less challenging.
ΗΑΡΡΥ ΝΕW ΥΕΑR!
Terri the Typesetter
week of January 8, 1984

I love Fairs

Silver Linings

By Terri Andersen
I love fairs—the carnival atmosphere, the mingling of people, the aromas coming from the food stands, the feeling of celebration that permeates the air—they make me feel light and young and bouncy. But I don’t think fairs love me. Every fair I ever attended provided me with at least one traumatic experience.
The very first fair I attended was the New York World’s Fair (back in the Stone Ages, according to my kids). We went as a group with a class from School. I trudged the miles of fairgrounds with my classmates, Somehow I managed to get separated from them and can still remember the moment of panic when I thought I'd spend the rest of my life wandering around foreign surroundings. Luckily, a teacher found me in time to make the trip home with the group, but I can't say that that fair made the impression on me which the school had hoped for.
By the time I was a teenager, I lost my fear of fairs and when we were spending a vacation in Middletown, N.Y. and I heard the Orange County Fair was being held that week, I was determined to find a way to get there. Since my father wasn't the type to drive his kids five miles into town for something as frivolous as a fair, my younger brother and I decided to walk to it. Our enthusiasm stayed with us during the hike and all through the fair, but when it started to get dark and we realized we had a five-mile walk back, we weren't exactly the happiest people in the world. The next fair opportunity didn't come my way until I was married, had children of my Own, and we moved from Brooklyn, N.Y., to Danbury, CT. Of course, we had to see the Danbury Fair! Even people in the Big City knew about that one, and we couldn't pass it up, being so close and all. Our first visit to the Danbury Fair, however, proved that being in the same city didn't necessarily mean being “close” to the fair. When we found the parking lot filled, we drove around until we could find a place to park, and while it may not have been five miles away, it sure was a long walk to the gate. The trip seemed doubly long. On the way back, with overtired children who just “couldn't walk another step.” We learned our lesson that year...the early bird gets the parking spot. The following year we left bright and early, and got a terrific parking spot right near the main gate. Little did we realize, however, what happens when everyone tries to leave the fair at once at closing time. It took us over three hours just to get Out of the parking lot. Not long after that, we kept hearing glowing reports about a fantastic country fair in Bridgewater,CT and we decided to give that one a try. The parade preceding the fair would have been worth the trip all by itself...I loved the feeling of watching a parade from a blanket on the grass instead of standing 10-deep on a city street, trying to see over Someone's head. And the fair itself had something for everyone...rides for the kids and all the country fair aesthetics for the grownups. - It would have been perfect if I hadn't decided to go up on the Ferris Wheel with my youngest son. By the time we got near the starter again, I begged him in a state of panic to “Let me Off!”—which he did, and my son never forgave me for cutting his ride so short.
By and by, destiny brought us to the good old town of New Milford, CT and I’ve finally found
a fair that's just my speed now. No rides, no parking lots, just three blocks of Green to stroll back and forth, a seat at the bingo game when the feet start to hurt, with a canopy overhead when the Sun gets too hot, and a chance to see all the people we know, whom we might not have run into for months (like Our next door neighbors). The only traumatic experience that took place at this town's Fair was when a bargain I found at a sidewalk sale didn't fit anybody at home.
But, what the hey, the Salvation Army can always use a few brand new articles of clothing.
See you at the fair?