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Pandas are high on the list of charismatic animals. My husband, however, is resistant to their furry charms. For decades, he’s staged a one man panda vendetta. So it’s good news to him that China is recalling their pandas.

His loathing of pandas started in 1972. Richard Nixon and his wife Patricia visited China, and Mrs. Nixon blurted out “I love them” to the Chinese premier. Two months later, a panda couple, Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing, arrived at the National Zoo in Washington D.C. and America went panda crazy.

Prior to the arrival of the pandas, my husband and I had planned a visit to D.C. We wanted our young children to experience all the wonderful monuments and museums in our nation’s capital. A trip to the zoo had not been on our itinerary. But how could we deny our two young children a visit to those black and white fur balls?

While viewing the pandas, my spouse was only seeing United States tax dollars flying out the window. Our nation paid one million dollars per year to China for the privilege of hosting the bears. That fee was just the start of the money flow. A bamboo grove was planted for them, specialized vets were hired to tend them and zookeepers kept a round-the-clock watch over them. “Cute” came at a high cost.

Those first bears were our guests for ten years, and replacements were sent when the original bears went home to enjoy their golden years. Three other zoos in Atlanta, San Diego and Memphis have subsequently hosted panda visitors. But with rising tensions between the United States and China, the remaining pandas are being recalled. The era of panda diplomacy is ending. The only remaining pandas are in the Atlanta Zoo, and they are scheduled to return next year.

The National Zoo pandas recently got a police escort to their plane, the Panda Express. A veterinarian, two zookeepers and 220 pounds of bamboo accompanied them on their trip home. The dollars keep flying.

Ever since that first encounter, my husband scowls at the sight or mention of pandas. In his opinion, if we wanted cute, we could have bought a carload of koalas, free and clear, from Australia and had money left over to bank.

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In our house, I’m the chef and baker while my husband is the barista. The other day, he got out our French press to make coffee, set it on the counter and the glass bottom fell out of it.

Neither of us could complain about its demise. We could not say, “Another piece of Chinese junk hits the dust.” Our Bodum coffee maker had performed faithfully for over thirty years. It just got tired.

The French Press is an essential piece of equipment in our kitchen; a replacement was needed. We both agreed that the new one could have no plastic parts. Coffee oils and plastic are not conducive to a good brew.

The search began but ended quickly. All the French press options (sans plastic) in the cookware store we visited had eye-popping prices. One model was even $400. But serendipity was our coffee salvation.

We were in Madison, and I wanted to check out a St. Vinnies. No thoughts of coffee makers were on my mind. My husband, who usually naps in the car while I’m seeking thrift store treasures, decided to come in. His goal was inexpensive work pants.

We entered, parted ways and I was deep in the clothes racks when my guy suddenly appeared with a smile on his face and a Bodum French press in his hands. We both checked it out and found all the glass and chrome parts to be in mint condition. The price was right as well…$3.60.

Luck or the Goddess of Coffee was with us. We were back in the coffee business. And my husband got to experience the thrill of a great thrift store score. Perhaps he will be taking fewer car naps in the future.

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It’s my birthday week, and I can do whatever I want. Therefore, I can subject you, dear reader, to a cat blog. If you are a dog person, it may be time to check out.

The author, Charles Bukowski, states:

Having many cats is good. If you feel bad, you look at the cats and you feel better, because they know that everything is just the way it is. You don’t have to be nervous about anything. And they know it. They are saviors. The more cats you have, the longer you will live. If you have a hundred cats, you will live ten times longer than if you have ten. One day, this will be known and people will have thousands of cats.

Computer algorithms have seized on my love of cats and delivered a catastrophic number of cat pictures to my media streams. From this furry flood of felines, I have edited out the best, the crème de la crème, and made this little video. One thing stands out. Cats have been stellar muses for artists from around the world. And may they be so for many years to come.

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Everyone knows these song lyrics about Santa Coming to Town:

But nice hasn’t always been so nice. In addition, it’s a pariah to lovers of language. I clearly recall walking into a classroom of one of my favorite teachers as she was telling her middle-schoolers, “Don’t use the word nice in your writing. It is overworked, tired and non-specific.”

So here’s my nice lowdown on nice. The word originally came from the Latin nescius meaning ignorant or unaware. In the 12th century, the French turned the meaning of nice into foolish, careless, clumsy, weak or stupid. By the 14th century nice morphed into meaning fussy and fastidious. In the 18th century nice meant agreeable or delightful. It finally reached its current meaning of good or kind in the 19th century. Santa did not have its original meanings in mind when making his list.

So if you want Santa to leave lots of goodies under your tree, forget about being nice. Try kind, warm-hearted, generous, caring, unselfish, empathetic or considerate instead.

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Downtown department stores played a huge role in my childhood Christmases. In late November, their huge display windows would be covered to conceal the window dressers. These artists would be making magic; wondrous scenes of elves, giant gingerbread houses, furry animals and more, all sprinkled with sparkling snowflakes.

When the drapes were lifted, people packed the sidewalks to view the delightful scenes. Freezing temperatures and real snowflakes flying did not deter the crowds.

Magic was created inside the stores as well. They all had an entire floor called Toyland with glittering decorations for the season. Towering stacks of toys filled every inch of space. It was a child’s idea of heaven: massive train sets going round and round, lovingly stuffed toys from Germany, exquisite dolls, dollhouses, sleds and loads of puzzles and games.

No Christmas trip to a downtown department store was complete without eating. Gimbel’s first floor lunch counter called “Tasty Town”, dished up the best mint hot fudge sundae in the world. Plus their eighth floor restaurant featured a raised podium in the center of the massive room where an organist entertained the lunchtime shoppers.

The big stores spent massive sums of money to give their customers an ambient, leisurely experience. They have subsequently hooked me for life on their sights, smells, sounds and tastes.

These incredible stores have fallen on hard times. For example, the iconic 1899 building by Louis Sullivan that housed Carson, Pirie, Scott and Company in Chicago is now a Target, that suburban staple. The cardboard cutout decorations that Target stores dangle off their ceilings at Christmas will never compare to the enchanting displays I viewed as a child.

However, I don’t believe in brooding over things that are gone. I just seek out the remnants of those experiences that remain. The upscale stores such as Sax Fifth Avenue and Nieman Marcus still pour on the Christmas splendor. And they don’t charge admission to ride the escalator up their floors. Macy’s is especially generous with their holiday giving. All of America can view that Thanksgiving Day parade they put on.

All is not lost.

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