Measure Your Face

 When I was a young girl every girl was to have one goal in life. Catch a man, marry the man, and have children. My parents did not emphasize anything so silly but we were taught that concept in school.

Glamor magazines and women's magazines told us how to make ourselves more attractive so men would notice us and of course they would be interested if we looked good enough. There were so many beauty tips and instructions on how to act so that men would be interested.

Of course all of this instruction included the fact that men had very fragile egos. A female should not be too smart or the male would be intimidated by her. A female should be demur. If she was too forward or confident it would scare the male.

When I was in the 7th grade we were required to take a home economics course for a semester. This class was packed with all the things needed to turn us into well-rounded young "ladies".

We learned to make a cake from scratch. I had been doing that for my whole life so it was boring. We made a magnificent apron. If I ever decide to sew I would make another because it was an apron that was useful. It even covered the sides of the body. If the cook absent-mindedly wiped her hands (and of course it would be a her) down the sides of her body the apron actually covered the necessary area.

We made a skirt. Mine was a dismal mess. One side was about 6 inches above my knee while the other was about 3 inches above my foot. It was terrible. It was a pretty color though and my mother was able to make something from the material later.

We learned to dry and arrange flowers to make a comfortable home for our man. We learned to properly set a table and serve a meal. Serve from the left, remove from the right. That is how to place a dish in front of the person. Is that not a helpful thing to know?

We learned how to behave on an outing with a man. Listen attentively and always look at him when he speaks. Of course you must not be too forward. Always defer to his wishes. And men like to be considered the protector so you must seem rather helpless. Poor fragile men.

An important thing to know was to change your underwear daily because we were told men have a more developed sense of smell. We must not offend.

Cleanliness is next to something that will be important to that man. We even had to learn to wash our hair. One of the girls had an expensive sweater on that day so she removed it to keep from ruining it. That happened to be the day the janitor walked into the room unannounced. She screamed a lot.

It seemed to me that by the time we were 12 years old we should already know how to do all those things (with the exception of drying and arranging flowers). I thought it was a frivolous class.

But the class was required. There was one thing that I learned there that was fun and funny. It is how to measure your face.

We were told that this was the measure of beauty. It was used to determine if a model had a photogenic face. I hope you try it. It is fun and seems to work quite well.

First you hold your hand up with fingers open. Move your thumb next to your forefinger. It should reach ever so slightly into the first segment of your pointer finger. This is your measuring tool.

From the earlobe to the top of your ear should be as long as the distance from the end of your thumb to the end of your forefinger. Did you try it? Amazing isn't it?

From one corner of your mouth to the other should be the same length. The bottom of your nose to the spot between your eyes is the same. Each eye should be the same from corner to corner. From your eyebrow to the hairline (your forehead) will also be the same.

But the most important measurement is that your face from the side hairline to the other side hairline while going across your eyes should be exactly five units of measurement.

Now I know that models are not supposed to be full-faced these days. That was a long time ago. But how well do you match up to the beauty standard of those days? It was truly important if you wanted to catch that man.

Hidden Treasure

I hate doing dishes. I mean I really hate doing dishes.

My family built a new house when I was 15 years old. Once it was built we settled into our normal routines.

My sister and I did the dishes. I convinced Mom to let me do the weekly laundry for a family of nine on Saturdays. On Saturdays I did not have to do dishes. And remember (this included diapers) all were washed in a wringer washer and hung on a line to dry.

Monday was the day to iron all those clothes. I happily did that instead of dishes on Monday.

When I did have to wash dishes I started with lots of bubbles in hot water. Glasses and cups were first to be cleaned. For a few minutes I had fun with the bubbles. Bowls, plates, and saucers came next. I lost interest quickly. By the time the dirty pots and pans came wanting a bath I no longer wanted to be there.

I often tried to hide them so I did not have to wash them. Mom always found the dirty skillet in the oven or the sticky pan in the cupboard behind the bag of flour.

One item she never found was one dirty cookie sheet. There was just enough room in the basement under the furnace.

If new owners have not needed to replace the furnace it is still there.

That was more than 60 years ago. I often wonder about that cookie sheet.

Something Weird

I know what purple tastes like.

I know. That is a strange statement. I will explain if I can.

I love flowers. All those colors make me happy. 

My mother also loved flowers. She insisted that a large portion on every garden we ever had be devoted to flowers.

I love the pretty orange of marigolds. I do not like their smell.

Apple blossoms fill the air with such a beautiful sweet smell.

Violets are delicate little purple flowers that bloom shortly after the bright yellow dandelions.

The bright red of cockscomb is stunning.

None of these flowers project a flavor.

Gladiolus are flowers that grow from bulbs. They come in vibrant colors from all across the spectrum and they are all gorgeous.

The purple gladiola is a deep deep purple color. Their fragrance is extremely strong. 

Our sense of taste is usually combined with our sense of smell. Did you know that? Of course you do.

I have never eaten a flower. Except for sheep shower which. tastes like dill.

Purple tastes like purple gladiolas smell. Why no other color tastes like a particular flower I cannot tell you. I only know the taste of purple.

Emotional Vampires

Have you ever known a person who is always in a negative mood? Maybe they are permanently angry. Maybe they are a constant victim. Maybe they are always depressed.

No matter the cause of their negativity they are so willing to share it. They can make everyone around them feel terrible. They feel no better but the people around them carry that exhausted feeling for a long time.

I am not talking about someone who just got bad news and has not had time to deal with it. And someone with a condition they cannot completely control such as clinical depression. At times like that most people are happy to help.

But there are those who are not happy until they have made everyone around them as miserable as they are. And even then they are not happy. So they move on to make someone else share their pain.

Now I am a disgustingly happy person. I have had a wonderful life. I am content. 

I sincerely offer help or a shoulder to cry on if needed. I can afford to be helpful because I have such a good life.

My sister calls the doom and gloom people emotional vampires. I am terrified of vampires. I refuse to suffer for them. 

Do you know any emotional vampires? How do you deal with them?

 

A Dime For Your Thoughts

 I always left my coins on a table. It was simple to take them at the end of the day and just lay them there. 

Nobody bothered them. After a while I would roll them up and take them to the bank. It was almost like found money.

As my children got a little older they were sometimes home alone after school until I got home from work. The money on the table was for them to run to the store for a snack.

It made me crazy that they would not touch the money. 

Then I began having grandchildren. What a wonderfully unique feeling that is.

My grandchildren did not bother the money either. But occasionally a spare coin would try to escape and end up on the floor.

For some odd reason my second granddaughter was eagle-eyed. Even though she was only a toddler she would pick up the fugitive coins and give them to an adult. Except the dimes.

I do not know if it was because a dime is the smallest in size but she liked them... to eat.

If she was on the hunt for change we had to watch her closely. If she found one she popped it right into her mouth. We then had to pry it out and put it where it belonged.

Sometimes it would get caught in her throat and she would choke. I became a bit of an expert at applying a baby Heimlich maneuver. It made her spit out the dime.

Thank goodness she outgrew her love of dimes. She is beginning nursing school this year. Then she can deal with the little ones who put odd things in their mouths.

Setting Pins

As a child I had many little jobs. Weeding gardens was hard work. 

Delivering newspapers was a large enough task that my two brothers shared the job with me. On Sundays and holidays Daddy helped because we had to go to the next town to pick up the papers then deliver them to farms on the way back. Then we took a stack of them to the town after ours and left them with a cafe. Then we went back to our town and got on our bicycles for our regular routes.

Of course I was a babysitter. 25 cents per hour was the going rate.Almost any little chore that people would pay for I did.

The bowling alley in our was located beneath the post office. We had 8 lanes. We were advanced enough that we had a pin frame so we did not have to crawl out and reset the pins manually.

I guess I should mention that I worked there as a pinsetter. It was the first job I had where I had a schedule to work. It was also the first job where I was paid by check and paid taxes and had Social Security deducted from my pay. I was 11 years old.

Usually a pinsetter was assigned to two adjacent lanes. We went back to the pit behind the pins by walking along the gutters and then sliding under the frames. There was the extension of the ball return lane that we sat on when people were in the process of bowling.

The ball came down the lane and knocked down the pins. The pinsetter then jumped down, picked up the ball, and sent it back to the bowler. Then the pins that were knocked down were collected and put into the spots in the frame that had no pins under it. Hopefully the pins fell into the pit.

If all the pins were knocked down or after the bowler's second try the pinsetter pulled the cord that set the frame down. It would place the pins for the next bowler.

The pit was aptly named. It was dark, dirty, and collected bits of the wax that keeps the lanes smooth. We were not pretty creatures when our night was over.

A complete game in bowling is called a line. Most people bowled several lines and there were multiple people at a time. We were paid a penny a line. It was good money.

One of the reasons I tell you this is because I was 11 years old when I began working there and paying taxes. When I was laid off from my final job I was 62 years old. 

I worked and paid taxes for 51 years. I was happy to be retired. A person should not have to work that long.

Ring 'Em Up

 The first year I worked as a cashier at the store that sold all things from grocery items to clothing to auto supplies Christmas came. 

Christmas is a busy time for all stores and a store like that is no exception. Sales for one day at our store would be at least a million and a half dollars. The selling season is about a month long.

Needless to say there were a lot of people with really big orders. You could see carts piled high with merchandise. Most cashiers did not mind ringing up those big orders because they would simply slide the merchandise down to the end of the lane and someone else filled bags.

For people who only stopped in to pick up a few things and did not want to wait in a line of big orders we had express lanes. If a person was buying 20 items or less these were the lanes to use. It was a lot faster for them and easier for the cashiers.

That first Christmas I was assigned to an express lane. I was kept busy all night.

Then I looked up. Pulling into my lane was a woman with 2 carts piled high with merchandise and groceries. 

I nicely said, "This lane is only if you have 20 items or less." I pointed to the sign above my register. 

She told me she had been sent there. By who? She pointed to my manager.

I looked at my manager. She shrugged her shoulders and lifted her hands as if to say, "What else could I do?"

I gave the manager a dirty look. Then I smiled at the woman and rang up het groceries. I bagged them as I went. Some of the other items were too large for bags. Those I placed right back into her carts.

Then I did what the baggers were instructed to do. I asked if I could help her take her merchandise to her car. She said she could manage 

I then turned off the light indicating that my lane was open. I took my 15 minute break.