Past Blogs

I may have to skip 2012. Pantone, the color gurus in America, once again have chosen the color of the year, and it is orange. Pantone has scores of oranges in its color pantheon; the honored hue this year is Tangerine Tango.

I find both the color orange and tangerines to be problematic. I’ve tried many times to become fond of that fruit, but, to me, they taste like oranges that have gone bad.

Being an art teacher, I don’t discriminate against any color. I do, however, think orange is at its best on pumpkins, sunsets, sunrises, fall trees and Baltimore orioles. It does not work on orange satin bridesmaid gowns, the color chosen by the bride the only time I have ever been a bridal attendant. I went directly from the reception to the Goodwill donation box.

When I bought my last car, I asked the saleslady to search for a leftover from the previous year’s models. “I hope you don’t find an orange one,” I kidded her.

I’ve been driving my orange car for three years now. In its defense, spotting my little hatchback in any parking lot is a snap.

Pantone offers this rationale for its choice of Tangerine Tango. Their spokeswoman says,”For us, the color of the year is not the hot fashion color, but an expression of a mood, an attitude, on the part of consumers…In 2011 we chose Honeysuckle Pink because there is a feeling of activity and movement about that color. Although orange is not pink, we felt the necessity to stay with that feeling that encourages us to face everyday troubles with some vigor. We know there is a big elephant in the room. We can’t ignore it.”

Are things really this bad? In my opinion, the elephant in the room just might be the walls that were painted orange.

I’ve been banned from juice boxes.

“I don’t think you should associate with juice boxes any more,” my husband said.

I took no offense as I had already come to the same conclusion. When you wipe out the upholstery in a brand new Fiat 500 rental car, any sensible person would change their behavior.

It’s not that I was unaware of the dangers of those little, flimsy boxes with holes to poke straws into. Memories of an elementary school incident many years ago were still fresh in my mind. I was at a school doing programs on the exact day that the new space-saving pyramid shaped milk boxes were introduced. At lunchtime 400 children simultaneously picked up the boxes, stuck in 400 straws and created 400 geysers of milk. Most of the kids were whooping with joy. The teachers and maintenance staff were less thrilled and brought back the sturdy milk cartons a week later.

Environmental concern was my motivation for buying my last six-pack of juice boxes. Instead of using plastic water bottles on our trip, I opted for a greener alternative.

I managed to get the straw in without incident, but then must have held the box too tightly. Zap…I created a juice fountain all over my hands, clothes, purse and the car seat. Later in the trip, I cautiously tried again. That’s when I discovered that even a tiny bit of juice in the bottom of the box still could erupt like Vesuvius.

So now I am barred from juice boxes along with Mr. Coffee and sewing machines. I’m unfazed; as Joe E. Brown says in the last line of Some Like It Hot, “Well, nobody’s perfect”.

“Stay tuned, “the announcer said, “for the Word of the Year.”

Loving linguistics, I immediately found my brain speculating on what 2011’s hot word would be. Computer jargon and names of techie gadgets flooded my thoughts along with the sinking feeling that I might not even have heard the word. I do tend to be about a century behind in some areas.

I was wrong on all counts. The most important word of 2011, according to commentator and linguist Geoff Nunberg, turned out to be “occupy”.

Since I like the word occupy, I cheered that selection. Occupy dates back to the 14th century and means “take possession of” and “to take up space and time”. During the 16th and 17th centuries it was a euphemism for “to have sexual intercourse” which caused the word to fall out of favor from polite usage.

To be clear, I do not intend to sleep in a tent near Wall Street or anywhere else for that matter. I do not even sleep in a tent when on vacation.

But since our country has turned as surreal as Oz, I do intend to fully occupy my own life and protest injustice wherever it occurs. I’m looking forward to a busy 2012.

Happy New Year!

Christmas Eve is the only Jewish style holiday Christians have. I’ve always been puzzled why this phenomenon isn’t noted.

Celebrations on the night of December 24 are the most important of the year for millions of American families. Yet the day starts out as a normal, ordinary work day for most of the populace. Stores and offices, banks and restaurants are all open, the mail is delivered, traffic is jammed and life is normal.

And then, the magical transformation begins. As the sun sinks lower and lower, the wheels of commerce start shutting down. The ordinary day gives way to a magical evening. For children, the most eagerly awaited night of the year is upon them. It doesn’t start with a bang or a sunrise; it just fades into a different aura.

I shouldn’t be surprised.

Buying, acquiring and possessing are huge values in America. Logically, the frantic, excessive shopping will be extended to the last ray of daylight. But the madness does stop, if only for a few precious hours. The peace is palpable. Time seems to be suspended, and we can all return to a place where meaningfulness still exists.

No one will ever call this cat “kitty”. While researching the Norse goddess Freyja and her twin, chariot-pulling cats, I stumbled onto a reference to the Icelandic Yule Cat, Jolakottur.

Visions of a sweet Christmas tale appeared in my head. A trip to Google quickly dispelled those notions. Iceland’s Yule Cat is a bad cat, no doubt about it. The gargantuan cat eats children, and that’s about as grim as it gets….pun intended. The only protection from this ferocious feline is to wear all new clothes on Christmas Eve. Most Icelanders do exactly that.

In Icelandic mythology, the Yule cat is the household pet of Gryla the ogress and her children, the 13 Yule Lads. Their stories must be saved for another blog as Gryla myths are numerous and date back to the 13th Century.

The Yule Cat myth most likely was created to make farm laborers work harder. The Masters stipulated that all the work with the Autumn wool be completed before the Yule. The hard workers were rewarded with a new piece of clothing while those who were lazy were told by the gentry that they would be eaten by the fiendish Yule Cat. The cat would recognize those who were behind in their chores: their clothes would be old and worn.

In our household we have one cat named Taj who looks exactly like the black Yule Cat with his yellow eyes. But Taj is sweet, and I think we will survive the holidays without donning all new clothes.

Unless you are a curmudgeon, click here for an absolutely delightful short video from Iceland about the infamous Yule Cat.