What to give Mom for Mother’s day?
Oh that’s easy. Here’s a list of favorite gifts, where to get them, and how much they should cost.
For the Best Lotion, along with lots of other reasonably priced, delightful little treats, shop the Tyler Rose Museum’s Gift Shop. My favorite thing about the shop, though, is the lead salesperson Pat Johnson. For under $20, I walked out with Camille Beckman Rosewater Glycerine Hand Therapy, some rose-themed hand napkins, and a fun rose-shaped lip gloss. Shhh, don’t tell my mom.
For Best Chocolates, along with an ever-changing array of clothing and home fashions, I depend on Potpourri House. Locally owned, Les Elsworth keeps a selection of The Sweet Shop chocolates in a special display case and will wrap even one piece, say, champagne truffle, in a gold bag fit for mom. At less than $3 a piece for a bite of pure decadence, why stop at one?
Best Fine Dining? Well, that’s tough because East Texas has so many great choices, but I like Villa Montez for gourmet flavors, atmosphere, and price.
Best Blackened Catfish to be had, without a doubt, is at Edom Bakery, prepared by Chef Jackson York. Tell him I sent you; it’s not on the menu, but it is oh-so-good.
It’s not Mother’s Day without a Best Picnic. Brookshire’s FRESH wins in this category. I recommend bringing a cooler so you can take sushi, followed by Crème Brulee from their French pastry case. When they offer to melt the sugar crust on top, say yes.
The Best Book I’ve read lately is The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty, the author known for her southern perspective. Not your mother’s genre? I recommend Trudy’s Fireside Books, where under the guidance of Trudy’s friend and successor, James Leath, you are sure to get good advice. Plus, most of his books are gently-loved, so you can pick up a great little bargain. Mom will be so proud of you.
The Best Flower is a magnolia blossom, which could be obtained for free in your yard or from a neighbor. Or Sandra Abbiati of A Wishing Well Florist in downtown Bullard recently delivered some of the prettiest tulips I’ve ever seen.
Deliver any item on this list with a hug - or a phone call if she lives far away - and I guarantee she’ll love it.
That’s an easy guarantee because we all know it’s the hug or the phone call she really wants.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Easter gloves and hats
I am old enough to remember when no one went to Easter Sunday service without gloves and a hat.
Say what you want to about the 60s, but the fashion was historic.
There is something so spiritual for a tiny girl about having to keep beautiful white gloves clean.
No easy assignment.
However, as if to compensate for the responsibility of gloves, there was the incentive of the perfect new straw hat, haloed in ribbon and silk flowers, delicious enough to buzz with tiny, felt bumblebees and butterflies made of silk.
Nothing took the stress out of keeping gloves clean like a perfect Easter bonnet.
Over forty years later, I can’t say that I remember a single Easter Sermon.
In the days before air-conditioning, I do remember concentrating to sit perfectly still as the preacher droned on. And I remember the relief of getting to pop up and sing resurrection’s joyful and thankfully loud choruses.
Even kneeling was a relief on hot, spring Sundays because a breeze might catch you as you prayed.
In fact, the sermons were probably a waste on little ears burdened with the dignity of the proper head attire.
On the other hand, bouncing alive to glorious music accompanied by trumpets was probably the perfect metaphor for the resurrection.
Anyway, that’s the way I remember it.
May your Easter celebration include joyful music, trumpets, short sermons, and lots of children in perfect bonnets.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Say what you want to about the 60s, but the fashion was historic.
There is something so spiritual for a tiny girl about having to keep beautiful white gloves clean.
No easy assignment.
However, as if to compensate for the responsibility of gloves, there was the incentive of the perfect new straw hat, haloed in ribbon and silk flowers, delicious enough to buzz with tiny, felt bumblebees and butterflies made of silk.
Nothing took the stress out of keeping gloves clean like a perfect Easter bonnet.
Over forty years later, I can’t say that I remember a single Easter Sermon.
In the days before air-conditioning, I do remember concentrating to sit perfectly still as the preacher droned on. And I remember the relief of getting to pop up and sing resurrection’s joyful and thankfully loud choruses.
Even kneeling was a relief on hot, spring Sundays because a breeze might catch you as you prayed.
In fact, the sermons were probably a waste on little ears burdened with the dignity of the proper head attire.
On the other hand, bouncing alive to glorious music accompanied by trumpets was probably the perfect metaphor for the resurrection.
Anyway, that’s the way I remember it.
May your Easter celebration include joyful music, trumpets, short sermons, and lots of children in perfect bonnets.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Taxpayer should hold the right people accountable for education
With all the talk about education funding in the Texas legislature, here’s my question: Why should school districts be saddled with accounting for decisions that are simply not theirs to make.
For a close to home example, take Bullard. Last spring, I watched in fascination as Bullard ISD received a lower than expected rating due to drop out rates.
Really? And just who makes the decision to drop out?
In a flurry of accounting and research, the Bullard ISD was able to prove that of the unaccounted for students, some had transferred and some were homeschooling. On appeal, the official rating was raised. Unofficially, everyone in Bullard knew what was obvious; I have interviewed countless people who volunteer that they moved to Bullard for the excellent public schools.
Most the East Texas home educators I know - and I know plenty because I have homeschooled along the way – would view it as an intrusion of their God-given rights to have the public school district come sniffing around.
Imagine how intrusive it would seem, if you had already enrolled your child in another town far away? Weird.
Burdening the school district with the need to track down private citizens and get information from them about personal decisions is just plain silly. It is also an expensive and time-consuming task that distracts from the real responsibility of educating those who show up for class.
Education is the function of the school system. Truancy, juvenile delinquency, and child protection are functions of the justice system.
The truth is, education is a function of the family, but that’s a whole ‘nother column.
As citizens, we owe it to ourselves to get that straight.
One of the symptoms of the entitlement culture we’ve become in America, is the confusion about personal responsibility.
When we let our legislators pass laws that hold the wrong people responsible for actions, like holding districts responsible for the decisions of parents and their children, we are behaving in a very co-dependant way as a culture. As if someone could control the behavior of another individual or be held responsible for decisions they did not make.
Anyway, do we really want our ISDs used in a semi-law-enforcement kind of way, investigating private citizen’s lives?
No wonder students get the idea that they have a right to an education. They think they are entitled because taxpayers are not voting with clarity on this issue.
Make no mistake, though, education is a privilege, not an entitlement.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
For a close to home example, take Bullard. Last spring, I watched in fascination as Bullard ISD received a lower than expected rating due to drop out rates.
Really? And just who makes the decision to drop out?
In a flurry of accounting and research, the Bullard ISD was able to prove that of the unaccounted for students, some had transferred and some were homeschooling. On appeal, the official rating was raised. Unofficially, everyone in Bullard knew what was obvious; I have interviewed countless people who volunteer that they moved to Bullard for the excellent public schools.
Most the East Texas home educators I know - and I know plenty because I have homeschooled along the way – would view it as an intrusion of their God-given rights to have the public school district come sniffing around.
Imagine how intrusive it would seem, if you had already enrolled your child in another town far away? Weird.
Burdening the school district with the need to track down private citizens and get information from them about personal decisions is just plain silly. It is also an expensive and time-consuming task that distracts from the real responsibility of educating those who show up for class.
Education is the function of the school system. Truancy, juvenile delinquency, and child protection are functions of the justice system.
The truth is, education is a function of the family, but that’s a whole ‘nother column.
As citizens, we owe it to ourselves to get that straight.
One of the symptoms of the entitlement culture we’ve become in America, is the confusion about personal responsibility.
When we let our legislators pass laws that hold the wrong people responsible for actions, like holding districts responsible for the decisions of parents and their children, we are behaving in a very co-dependant way as a culture. As if someone could control the behavior of another individual or be held responsible for decisions they did not make.
Anyway, do we really want our ISDs used in a semi-law-enforcement kind of way, investigating private citizen’s lives?
No wonder students get the idea that they have a right to an education. They think they are entitled because taxpayers are not voting with clarity on this issue.
Make no mistake, though, education is a privilege, not an entitlement.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Living with Autism
Learning about the Autism Spectrum will be a process for me, but one thing has struck me as I listen; the variety and beauty of God’s design for humans is about as vivid, and, yes, as challenging as any human can imagine.
The following was sent in for you because I asked for help finding ways to let people know about living with Autism.
A day in the life of caring for a 25-year-old son with Autism
By Cynthia Matlock
Having an adult son with Autism is challenging and entertaining.
From a distance my son looks like a typical 6’, 220 lb young man about to cross your path until you question his sudden laughter, song, or repeating a phrase over and over again.
Each day requires thinking, predicting, and planning for behavior triggers that may cause a scene, especially when you go out in the public.
One day I drove to my local grocery store and told him to get out of the car.
He said he would stay in the car.
That’s good, I thought. If I hurry I will not have to worry about losing him in the store.
He loves to just walk around or put a bag of “hot fries” in my buggy.
So I went in, picked up a few things, checked out, and headed back to the car quickly.
When I got to the car he was gone. Imagine the panic.
My hope was he stayed in his routine, which is pacing the store or going to the restroom in the store.
“Routine” is important for those who live with Autism Spectrum. Changing their routine can be a major alteration or frustration to their day and your day.
Luckily he can read and goes in the correct facility, the men’s.
Being a lady, I asked the manager to check if my son was in the men’s restroom. The manager walked in the restroom briefly, came out, and informed me that he was still in there.
I waited outside the door about three or four minutes.
My son has an obsession of admiring himself in a mirror and smiling again and again. Impatiently, I cracked the door and shouted for him to hurry!
I then started walking toward the front of the store. Out the corner of my eye I saw the man, not my son, come out the bathroom.
Then, straight ahead I saw that my son was already going out the front door ahead of me to the car. Realizing my mix up, I made my escape quickly, hoping my flushed face didn’t show.
Oh boy, another day in the life of an adult with Autism.
Some days you just shake your head and smile.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
The following was sent in for you because I asked for help finding ways to let people know about living with Autism.
A day in the life of caring for a 25-year-old son with Autism
By Cynthia Matlock
Having an adult son with Autism is challenging and entertaining.
From a distance my son looks like a typical 6’, 220 lb young man about to cross your path until you question his sudden laughter, song, or repeating a phrase over and over again.
Each day requires thinking, predicting, and planning for behavior triggers that may cause a scene, especially when you go out in the public.
One day I drove to my local grocery store and told him to get out of the car.
He said he would stay in the car.
That’s good, I thought. If I hurry I will not have to worry about losing him in the store.
He loves to just walk around or put a bag of “hot fries” in my buggy.
So I went in, picked up a few things, checked out, and headed back to the car quickly.
When I got to the car he was gone. Imagine the panic.
My hope was he stayed in his routine, which is pacing the store or going to the restroom in the store.
“Routine” is important for those who live with Autism Spectrum. Changing their routine can be a major alteration or frustration to their day and your day.
Luckily he can read and goes in the correct facility, the men’s.
Being a lady, I asked the manager to check if my son was in the men’s restroom. The manager walked in the restroom briefly, came out, and informed me that he was still in there.
I waited outside the door about three or four minutes.
My son has an obsession of admiring himself in a mirror and smiling again and again. Impatiently, I cracked the door and shouted for him to hurry!
I then started walking toward the front of the store. Out the corner of my eye I saw the man, not my son, come out the bathroom.
Then, straight ahead I saw that my son was already going out the front door ahead of me to the car. Realizing my mix up, I made my escape quickly, hoping my flushed face didn’t show.
Oh boy, another day in the life of an adult with Autism.
Some days you just shake your head and smile.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Pee in the Cup
The last time I applied for a job a million years ago, no one asked me to pee in a cup.
For those of you who are retired and missed this phenomenon, now days, if you want a job with almost any big company, you have to submit to a drug test.
There was a time many moons ago, when you could look for a job without anyone even once recommending that you head to the potty. In fact, in those ancient days, people considered it poor etiquette to even mention the potty during an interview.
We even had euphemisms in the unlikely event that the subject could not possibly be avoided.
Like powder room. What a lovely concept!
Of course, powder was an extremely feminine luxury and putting powder on your nose was considered a complex and perplexing mystery.
Nothing at all like peeing in a cup. Which is pretty vulgar.
If you ask me, peeing in a cup is an incentive for keeping the job you’ve got.
While I was looking for a job, I applied at some temp agencies. I can write, but apparently I can’t type, so they never called me.
I was relieved. Not in the euphemistic sense.
Young people coming out of college seem to assume that peeing in a cup is just part of the process of landing their first big job. They have such good attitudes about the whole thing.
I try to tell myself that I should emulate their example, change with the times, accept what I cannot change.
And I will, too. Right after I write this column.
My goal is to write something that employers can give to their prospective employees along with all the proper medical forms, to acknowledge that, yes, the new system is really icky.
Imagine how happy I was to learn that peeing in the cup happens at a lab and not at the work place.
Picture yourself handing a cup of pee to your boss and you have the general concept. Try not to think about it.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
For those of you who are retired and missed this phenomenon, now days, if you want a job with almost any big company, you have to submit to a drug test.
There was a time many moons ago, when you could look for a job without anyone even once recommending that you head to the potty. In fact, in those ancient days, people considered it poor etiquette to even mention the potty during an interview.
We even had euphemisms in the unlikely event that the subject could not possibly be avoided.
Like powder room. What a lovely concept!
Of course, powder was an extremely feminine luxury and putting powder on your nose was considered a complex and perplexing mystery.
Nothing at all like peeing in a cup. Which is pretty vulgar.
If you ask me, peeing in a cup is an incentive for keeping the job you’ve got.
While I was looking for a job, I applied at some temp agencies. I can write, but apparently I can’t type, so they never called me.
I was relieved. Not in the euphemistic sense.
Young people coming out of college seem to assume that peeing in a cup is just part of the process of landing their first big job. They have such good attitudes about the whole thing.
I try to tell myself that I should emulate their example, change with the times, accept what I cannot change.
And I will, too. Right after I write this column.
My goal is to write something that employers can give to their prospective employees along with all the proper medical forms, to acknowledge that, yes, the new system is really icky.
Imagine how happy I was to learn that peeing in the cup happens at a lab and not at the work place.
Picture yourself handing a cup of pee to your boss and you have the general concept. Try not to think about it.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Publicity vs. Advertising; Know the Difference
“I count on you for advertising,” said the nice lady on the other end of the line.
Count to ten before you say anything, I thought to myself.
I know she didn’t mean it. She just didn’t know any better.
What she meant was, she counted on me to help her get the word out about her events.
She wanted publicity. And I wanted her to have it.
Most folks don’t know the difference between publicity and advertising.
Publicity is free. Advertising costs money.
You can imagine why that difference is crucial, especially with small town newspapers feeling the crunch of spiraling costs of paper, dwindling revenue from classifieds, and the general encroachment of the web on the news business.
Asking for free advertising is a sure way to make an enemy out of any local newspaper editor worth his salt.
A while back, I sent a press release to a newspaper in our region, which they graciously printed for a particular organization. For free. It was publicity.
The next time our organization had a meeting, one dear lady complained that another nonprofit organization was getting more attention than we were.
Don’t say a word, I thought to myself.
Later that day, I called a sales person at that paper and asked what the cost would have been if we had paid for it.
$800.
At the next meeting I pointed out what the free press release was worth.
Just for the record, there are some spots in the newspaper that are not for sale at any price.
Just so you’ll know, I write this column for free because I have a thing for community newspapers.
When nonprofit organizations demand publicity or want a price break on advertising, one experienced newspaperman in Central Texas puts it this way.
“You may be nonprofit, but I’m not.”
Advertising is the engine that drives the train. Publicity is a comfy passenger car that gets people places. It can also contribute to a better newspaper and a better community. Publicity has its place.
One word of advise, though, if you want to stay in the good graces of the newspaper editors and publishers you know, don’t call up asking for free advertising.
They want to pay their employees. They are in business.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Count to ten before you say anything, I thought to myself.
I know she didn’t mean it. She just didn’t know any better.
What she meant was, she counted on me to help her get the word out about her events.
She wanted publicity. And I wanted her to have it.
Most folks don’t know the difference between publicity and advertising.
Publicity is free. Advertising costs money.
You can imagine why that difference is crucial, especially with small town newspapers feeling the crunch of spiraling costs of paper, dwindling revenue from classifieds, and the general encroachment of the web on the news business.
Asking for free advertising is a sure way to make an enemy out of any local newspaper editor worth his salt.
A while back, I sent a press release to a newspaper in our region, which they graciously printed for a particular organization. For free. It was publicity.
The next time our organization had a meeting, one dear lady complained that another nonprofit organization was getting more attention than we were.
Don’t say a word, I thought to myself.
Later that day, I called a sales person at that paper and asked what the cost would have been if we had paid for it.
$800.
At the next meeting I pointed out what the free press release was worth.
Just for the record, there are some spots in the newspaper that are not for sale at any price.
Just so you’ll know, I write this column for free because I have a thing for community newspapers.
When nonprofit organizations demand publicity or want a price break on advertising, one experienced newspaperman in Central Texas puts it this way.
“You may be nonprofit, but I’m not.”
Advertising is the engine that drives the train. Publicity is a comfy passenger car that gets people places. It can also contribute to a better newspaper and a better community. Publicity has its place.
One word of advise, though, if you want to stay in the good graces of the newspaper editors and publishers you know, don’t call up asking for free advertising.
They want to pay their employees. They are in business.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Slithery snakes, sexual abuse, and being brave
I have a fear of having a snake show up in my garage.
Lest you think I am paranoid, this actually happens in my neighborhood from time to time. If you live in the country, you know what I mean.
I am not afraid of snakes in my yard and have learned to identify the common East Texas varieties.
I know I can take a deep breath, get my shovel, and cut the heads off the venomous varieties. I’ve done it so often that I am confident that I am the smarter, faster adversary.
But there is something so claustrophobic about meeting up with a snake, of any variety, in close quarters. It gives me the creeps and makes my skin crawl.
I have a very beautiful friend who has the cleanest, most ship-shape home I know. She is the last person on earth to find a snake in the garage, especially since she lives right in the heart of Tyler, surrounded by neighbors, neatly fenced yards, and concrete curbing.
Not like out here where we live, surrounded by woods, pastures, and oil top lanes.
One day she found a snake in her domain, all right.
And not in the garage, either.
That snake found his way to her master bedroom and was relaxing near her bed! Imagine the panic.
That was the snake’s final and most deadly activity – for him.
My friend’s brave and dashing grandson had the snake decapitated in no time.
On any given week day, in courtrooms all across the US, victims of sexual abuse are taking the stand to testify, often about close friends and trusted family members.
You may wonder how parents could not notice, but the truth is, just like snakes, sexual predators are sneaky and slithery.
This column is dedicated to the young victims who have the courage to testify.
Thank you for taking another snake out of action.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Lest you think I am paranoid, this actually happens in my neighborhood from time to time. If you live in the country, you know what I mean.
I am not afraid of snakes in my yard and have learned to identify the common East Texas varieties.
I know I can take a deep breath, get my shovel, and cut the heads off the venomous varieties. I’ve done it so often that I am confident that I am the smarter, faster adversary.
But there is something so claustrophobic about meeting up with a snake, of any variety, in close quarters. It gives me the creeps and makes my skin crawl.
I have a very beautiful friend who has the cleanest, most ship-shape home I know. She is the last person on earth to find a snake in the garage, especially since she lives right in the heart of Tyler, surrounded by neighbors, neatly fenced yards, and concrete curbing.
Not like out here where we live, surrounded by woods, pastures, and oil top lanes.
One day she found a snake in her domain, all right.
And not in the garage, either.
That snake found his way to her master bedroom and was relaxing near her bed! Imagine the panic.
That was the snake’s final and most deadly activity – for him.
My friend’s brave and dashing grandson had the snake decapitated in no time.
On any given week day, in courtrooms all across the US, victims of sexual abuse are taking the stand to testify, often about close friends and trusted family members.
You may wonder how parents could not notice, but the truth is, just like snakes, sexual predators are sneaky and slithery.
This column is dedicated to the young victims who have the courage to testify.
Thank you for taking another snake out of action.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
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