FISHY2ME

Monday, May 30, 2011

Haiku Monday: Cliche`

The fat lady sings
Our red, white and blue high notes
While patriots weep

Our balancing act?
We weigh our bad paper now,
not golden eagles

If I am lying
I am dying to see you
standing tall again

It's a crying shame
These legislators blame game
forfeit our good name

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Last week I scheduled a one on one tutoring session on my new camera. Blowfish and Mermaid gave me this awesome piece of equipment. As a joke, or an oversight, the manual is in Spanish. I was okay with that for the first few chapters, and the areas with enough pictographs for me to follow. Once I turned the page on the technical stuff on shutter priorities and metering I was in trouble.

On the way to the lesson in nearby Big City, while stopped in traffic, I observed a sign in a dry cleaners window. It said:

Help wanted!

Twittery people do not apply!

My pocket sized point and shoot camera wasn't in my purse. The new Nikon was in the cargo bay tucked into it's compartmented bag with the lenses. The distance was too far for the phone camera. There wasn't time to stop, get the camera, take some pics and get to the lesson on time. Too bad. I think I would have enjoyed interviewing the employer as no doubt there is a good story behind that sign.

I take that back! There is not a "good" story behind that sign. There is tragedy. Probably we all have experienced our fair share of irritation with those who are hired to provide "customer service" but cannot be interrupted to perform these responsibilities because they are too busy tweeting/texting. I have been chastised by a teen sales twit for interrupting her obviously personal phone use by asking if she would soon be available to answer a question about a product. No doubt she had to tweet all her friends about how awful it is they expect her to actually do something to receive a paycheck. It does NOT count as an awesome accomplishment to just show up.

The camera tutorial was informative. Not too overwhelming. Maybe.

After the lesson, since I was in Big City, I went by the largest regional mall to check on a few things. Sometimes clients ask me about the quality of products at various retailers so when possible I take a look. On the way to Pottery Barn I was approached by a charming young man who informed me my skin was in tragic need of nourishment from dead sea salts which were right over here at his kiosk. Hard to believe I turned this down right? He was undaunted saying,
"I see you keep your nails natural, I can make them healthier". I am sure he could but as I was side stepping and he was refusing to take "no" for an answer his phone barked which made him abruptly turn and walk the opposite direction gesticulating with abandon and bellowing in his undecipherable native tongue. For once I was glad personal issues trumped the professional. I did wonder though, if he would have taken the call had I succumbed to his pitch for a public sea salted massage?

As always, when I walk into a Pottery Barn, Restoration Hardware, Anthropologie , West Elm or Crate and Barrel, I had that gut squeezing clutch. I CAN damn well imagine what I would do in a store of that size with that endless budget. I will never have the budget. Maybe I should just succumb to the lust and apply to be the "visual designer" for others.

That too is getting phased out. Did you know Restoration Hardware is closing stores? Their E Business is up so there is less need for physical locations. They are spending investment dollars in state of the art automated logistics, not real estate. They also have a great program for buying designer rooms. Just scroll through the collection, pick a room you like, send them dimensions and they will ship it all to you. Rug, art, furniture, lamps, window treatments, accessories. Sort of a high end RTG.
If you see a room you love but you spouse is away, not to worry, you can tweet the entire package with a single click. If you are a developer in need of a furnished model just contact their commercial division, they'll ship and install.
Just pick you rooms off the website.

Later I was in a department store when I heard one staff member say to another , " Ready? We've got about 90 seconds." I looked around but everything appeared normal to me. Had I known what was coming I would have used the 90 seconds to flee! Ignorance is not bliss in all circumstances. What happened was the store had just tweeted members of their "juniors club" a one hour special on a particular brand of jeans. In seconds I was in a screaming teen mob scene of hellish nightmares. First I cursed the proximity of the shoe department to the teen department . Next I stopped to observe the frenzy and thought, " I need to find a way for this to work in the design industry. I would be richer than Tweet"!

I puzzled on that on my way home.

So I'm asking you bloggers this question
" Do you sign up to get tweets?"
Say I was at a market and encountered an awesome company which will turn a photo of your dog into rocking dog art? Or a dog from your past? They do custom as well as inventory the popular breeds. Suppose I tweeted this and took pictures and orders for the rockers? Would you do this?

Or, say I was traveling in Charleston and encountered an artist who weaves exceptional seagrass baskets. If I tweeted a one hour window for orders to be placed, would you do this? Do you do this? How do you choose with whom to do this?

Is this THE way?

If Chickory is at the Farmer's Market and she has the e-mail addresses for persons who bought apples locally could she tweet them with: I will be here for three hours; 8 paintings, great veggies and amazing flowers available til noon!
Could Moi and Aunty send out a tweet offering a special on 5000 words?
Can Boxer clear her warehouse with a single tweet?

Would enough come for Chickory to return home with an empty truck?
Can this work for micro businesses as well as big retailers? Is this possible without harassing everyone you ever met or will meet? Would you find this rational if you did not know the person or recognize a business name?

It might be I need a sign which reads:
" Twittery people apply here."

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Haiku Monday: First Kiss

Family History:

Enthusiastic
Canine kisser of wee babe
Guardian of love

Anxiety:

What about noses?
Tilt right? Tilt left? Collision!
Kiss my racing heart.

American History:

Johnny kiss'd sweet Rose
sparkin' the feud atween them
Hatfields and McCoys

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Haiku Monday: SONG

My favorite verse from the original Doors version:

"Oh mother tell your children
Not to do what I have done,
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun"

Karma:

Mama's boy would sing

"The House of the Rising Sun"

plaintively at five.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Square Roots

Do you know Zephirine Droughin?
A beautiful, lipstick pink climbing rose with few thorns, a preference to not be fussed with and, amazingly, shade loving?
Yep, a beautiful, robust, blooming, climbing, grows-in-the-shade rose. I have three of them. They were presents from my mother.

My mother's gardens have always been anchored by beautiful roses. I did not get her rose thumb although I have done fine in other gardening categories. Here at the Pond, my mother would look around and say,
"Fishy, where are the roses?"
" In a vase Mama, in a vase".
Having roses in vases is ALWAYS a welcome sight and scent in any proper Southern home.
Having a garden without roses is, apparently, unacceptable.

So, about a decade ago, when Mama was here, she went forth in search of roses which could defeat my no-rose talents. This is how the Zephirine's came to be blooming next to the hammock under the big oak tree in the back yard. I do give them a season long fertilizer every Spring and a quick spray with a product which promises to keep fungi and insects away from roses. I do sometimes remember to water them when God has not, but not always. Every Spring the Zephirines show their appreciation for my neglect by blooming in big generous bouquets.

Today, I went out there to lie in the hammock and say my gratitudes the feared tornado spawning horror storm skipped our little patch as it crossed the state. The images on the media today have been grim so there is MUCH to be gratefully said. I was peacefully swinging in the hammock, smelling the roses and listening to the newly fledged family of Cardinals find their voices. A rare afternoon delight.

I think I frightened the fledgelings when I started laughing aloud. I rarely make it through a Spring without remembering the day the Zephirines got planted. The day I saw my mother and my husband go to war. On that day I was not laughing as I was sick with the horror of the conflict. In her younger years my mother was quite well known for her caustic tongue with a quick fire temper to boot. Blowfish, as I have mentioned before, did not get the temper gene in his dna package. He did get the I-will-irritate-you-beyond-all-rationality gene. And he is stubborn.

My Mom was intent on supervising the placement and the installation of the Zephirines. Clearly a daughter without roses was not to be tolerated. Mom had Blowfish tote and organize roses, soil ammendments , a hose and various general gardening implements to the selected location. Before the first shovelful got turned over Mom was carefullly explaining the importance of the size and depth of the hole, the importance of the placement of the roots. The key to becoming a successful rosarian. Roses do not have a single tap root or a root ball, they have sort of a multi-pronged root spray below the grafted base stem. When planting, it is crucial to have a pyramid of loose dirt to support this root system. Once this core support has happened all the roots sprays are then layed out like a circle skirt. No folding, crimping, cutting or encircling is allowed.

Once the rose planting 101 instructions had been reviewed multiple times, Blowfish suggested we "girls" go inside for some lemonade. He would call us back out once the shovel work was done and the planting could actually commence. We did just that. Which was perhaps a seriously bad idea. When we returned to the rose planting area there were three perfectly spaced holes in the earth at the perfect depth.
Each had a mound of loose dirt alongside, each had a rose bush standing at the ready in the nursery container, the hose was on with a proper control nozzle. Perfect.

As we approached I called out,
"Wow Blowfish! this is great".
I barely caught a glimpse of my mother's glare while receiving Bloowfish's response which was about getting the roses in the ground so we could all have a beer. Eventually it dawned on me my usually chatty mother was speechless. I turned to observe her standing still as Stonehenge , frowning at the holes in the ground. Uh-oh. Blowfish stepped forward a bit and said,
" Okay Mom, which one do you want to plant first?"
" I am not your Mother."
Yep, that response caught my attention. Actually it was the tone of voice more than the words which struck terror to my heart. I took a good look at Mom and realized she was beyond annoyed. I looked at Blowfish, still smiling but looking a tad confused. My stomach started doing gymnastics on it's own.
I stepped forward saying in a cheery tone,
" Okay, lets see if I can get the hang of becoming a Rosarian. Mom, what do I do first?"
My Mother, stepping carefully with her cane over uneven ground moved closer to the holes in the ground, studied them a bit then pointing with the cane asked Blowfish,
" Do you see these holes are square?"
" Yes ma'am"
" Do you think roses come or grow in squares?"
"No Ma'am. The holes are the size and depth you asked me to dig".
" You do know squares do not have diameters?"
Oh God! I knew that tone of voice. I knew that slight change in Blowfish's chin position.
The stomach gymnastics were getting robust and, creeping into my psyche was a never before experienced type of anxiety. Definitely there was no laughter. Trying again to prevent any furthur or,
God spare me, escalation of conflict, I tried to intercede by saying,
" Blowfish, why don't you go get a beer while Mom and I start the planting".
It was hopeless. Mom again pointed to the ground saying,
" Explain this!"
" Explain what?"
" Stop with the passive agressive responses and answer my question"
" You didn't ask a question. You issued a command."
I was falling down the rose hole to hell.
" Did you or did you not understand the importance of the supporting pyramid and the spreading of the roots when planting a rose?"
" Yes ma'am"
" Then why did you dig square holes"
" I was using a square shovel".
I am not sure but I may have whimpered aloud at this point. The absolute worst aspects of my mother's character and my husbands were about to have a full on collision.
" Did you think it a good idea to put round pegs in square holes too?"
" I like to think outside the circle"
" STOP! Both of you. This is crazy. Mom, can't you be at least civil if not actually grateful? Blowfish, you absolutely have lost your mind if you think I am going to stand here and watch you bait my mother. Now Mom, tell me how to get these things properly planted."
I was not heard by either war lord.
I fled into the house.
The roses got planted.
There was an uneasy truce around the dinner table.
Over time, " square holes" became family code for unresolved conflict.
Over time my mother and my husband laughed together over this memory.
It took me longer.
But today as I lay in the hammock listening to the fledgelings bait each other I thought about how
time changes your response if not your perspective. I can lay in the hammock, smelling the Zephirines and leave the bickering to the birds.