I don't think shopping gets the respect it deserves. Instead of being considered an errand or chore, I think it should be considered a sport. It sounds more appropriate to say you are going to an iron man cart-a-thon, than to say you are going grocery shopping. Or, for those who are exercise enthusiasts, maybe they would prefer to say they are going to acquisition calisthenics?
Just as football, basketball, soccer, and many other sports activities are very physically demanding, shopping requires the shopper to not only be a quick decision maker and agile, but strong as well. I know, you're probably rolling your eyes and scoffing in disdain at the mere thought of grouping something as simple as shopping together with world class athletes, but hear me out.
Have you ever tried lifting the last 35 pack of 16.9 oz bottles of water from the back of the grocery store rack, without bouncing your head off the store's steel racking, while simultaneously trying to place the giant case pack on the bottom of a grocery store shopping cart? This is weight lifting and wrestling combined.
The really hard part of this task is trying to set the case pack on the shopping cart without having the cart scoot away from you. It's as though the water has some kind of reverse magnetic field which pushes the cart a few inches away from you every time you get close enough to load it onto the shopping cart.
Ever encountered an elderly person when they are on an electric shopping cart? As soon as a store attendant unplugs the cart from the charging station, you'd better step lively as the elderly person takes off at full throttle. Watching these silver foxes traverse the store aisles is akin to the running of the bulls in Spain as patrons flee in panic or try to climb to higher ground on store shelving to avoid being gored in the Achilles tendon or flattened in the meat department.
How about Black Friday shopping in the electronics department? You had better be able to throw a block as well as a Super Bowl defensive lineman if you want to get your hands on an electronic item at a rock bottom price.
Have you ever been to a 50% off women's shoe sale at a department store? If you haven't, before heading out you might consider donning a helmet and shoulder pads. Shopping at one of these sales is like being in a Roller Derby match, complete with body slams and take downs for that pair of killer Christian Louboutin pumps.
The threat of ice or snow in the South sends people in droves to the grocery store to quickly stock up on milk, bread, and batteries. When the stores' supplies start to run low, customers channel their inner Rocky Balboa and will box 12 rounds for a loaf of Mrs. Baird's bread.
Once the shopping trip is complete and all of the shopping bags have been loaded into the car, the sport of shopping doesn't end. It's now time to drive home. Shoppers revving their car engines in the parking lot sound akin to NASCAR drivers preparing to speed off at the first wave of the starting flags. And, if you've ever been in a parking lot crosswalk when one of these speed racers is bent on breaking the land-speed record, you would probably agree they are ready for their race car driving debut.
As you can see, shopping isn't for the faint of heart. It requires the shopper to be physically and mentally prepared for any obstacle they may incur. It also requires them to have a game plan, so their victory can be celebrated when the shopping list is complete.
The only difference between sports and shopping is in the awards ceremony. In sports, a metal trophy symbolizing the sport is awarded to the top finisher. In shopping, a glass of wine in a crystal goblet and a few bites of chocolate are the coveted award.
Yes, shopping is indeed a sport.
This past weekend my husband griped at me for not writing on the blog lately, or anywhere else for that matter. I slinked down in the couch where I was sitting when he gave me the "you're being lazy and not using the gifts you've been given" speech. I haven't really looked at writing as a "gift" so much as a release of the build up of stuff that runs through my head. I definitely would not say I'm "gifted" with the written word in any way, shape, or form. I just like to talk...... a lot.
I have always believed writing is something people with talent do. People like Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain, Jane Austen, and Maya Angelou are writers. Not me. Writers are people who know grammar and have a gift for making words become movies in our heads. I wish I had that gift, and because I realized I didn't have that gift, I let that stop me from writing.
My perspective towards my writing has been that I just spew whatever is in my head onto the computer, cross my fingers, and hope it makes sense to people who read it. When looking at writing from this perspective, all I could do was fail, so why continue?
It wasn't until I was talking to my Dad about some other hobbies I enjoy, and that I thoroughly stink at, that I realized lots of people do things for fun with no expectation of perfection. Can you believe people just do stuff for fun and however it turns out, is how it turns out? It was pretty heavy stuff realizing people are happy with their efforts because it was their outlet and they enjoyed their journey toward reaching completion, no matter the finished product.
It was then I realized: writing is my release. Some people play golf, work on cars, garden, participate in marathons, and lots of other things. For me, I write. Not eloquently, or even with proper grammar, but it is something I do which I can actually complete.
When the internet started exploding in 2000, writing emails to family and friends gave me a way to "talk" to them from another state, without incurring an exorbitant phone bill (that was back when telephone companies charged for long-distance phone calls by the minute). Writing emails gave me a way of relating my day-to-day experiences in a new state with all of the differences in culture.
On Sunday after I still had my fanny firmly planted on the sofa, my husband set his foot down and told me to get in my office to start writing or there would be no Super Bowl snacks for me. And he meant it. What?! No layered bean dip for me?! Well, that threat finally got me up off the sofa!
There I sat at my computer, wondering: Why bother? Is anyone really going to read this?
It was then that it dawned on me: Why does it matter if anyone reads it or not? This is my release, my outlet. If I write for other people, I will never please anyone - least of all myself. I also realized if I don't write for me, I will continue to be firmly entrenched on the sofa, feeling overwhelmed and unfulfilled.
So, 2017 will be the year which will see me making a few changes within myself. I've spent the past 2 years taking care of major medical issues with my family, which I gladly did, however, it is time for me to take care of myself as well. You can't give to, or care for, others if you're using everything up within you, and not nourishing and replenishing your soul. Writing is my soul food and it is time to nourish me.
Happy 2017! The redhead is back! It may be a wild and bumpy ride with a few sharp curves, but it's time. As a matter of fact, it's beyond time. Let's do this!
PS - I started the new me by changing up the color of the blog. I like blue. It's calming and peaceful. What do you think?
Christie Bielss
You may be wondering why I've started a blog when there are over 160 million people with blogs already. Well, as the title of this post says, there was an intervention of sorts.
Last Tuesday, as I'd finished putting a coat of primer on half of our kitchen cabinets while my husband was trying to carry on some philosophical discussion, there was a knock on our garage door. My husband stopped rambling and got a bit of an odd look on his face. I looked over at my son who was playing in the leftover paint while our other child was giving the dog a bath, so it couldn't be either of them. Who on earth was knocking on our garage door?
To my great surprise, my parents were stopping by after having a late lunch. I thought they were coming to see the progress on our kitchen renovation. I was wrong. They were interested in the renovation but they really had an ulterior motive - they wanted to have a "discussion". That's usually never a good thing.
A million thoughts immediately ran through my head - none of them good. All of those thoughts had to do with everyone else and involved illness, injury, or something someone had done wrong. But all of those thoughts were for other people, not for me. Why, it couldn't possibly be about me because my halo is usually just above my head and fully visible.......ok, so there is the rare occasion when the halo is held up by my horns, but there's a halo nonetheless..... ok, so the horns protrude on a regular basis but I'm the baby of the family, I could not have possibly done anything wrong.
And then the words came out "We've talked with your brother (I won't name him here on the blog but he knows who he is) and he thinks you are like the Erma Bombeck of Facebook.". Say WHAT?!! What the heck does that mean?! Is being called the Erma Bombeck of Facebook a good thing or is he calling me names like a bratty kid? Thoughts started racing through my mind. My daughter, who was as wet as the dog and covered in so much dog hair I was having difficulty differentiating between which one of them was the human and which was the canine, was asking for help trying to dry the dog.
Then, as I noticed my son occupying himself by painting himself white with the last dregs of paint, the next punch came, "We all think you should be writing and should really think of compiling your current writings into a book...... but at the very least you should be writing a blog". And before this sentence had even had time to sink in, my husband jumps in on the bandwagon and says he's been telling me to do this for a couple of weeks but hasn't convinced me.
So this is why the normally quiet and reserved man who is my husband was suddenly verbose and could talked the ear off a billygoat. Oh yeah, you think I can't see those horns holding up the halo which just magically appeared Mr. I've-been-trying-to-convince-her-for-weeks-now?!
And who are these people? Have aliens come and taken over the bodies of my family? Throughout my high school and college years, my parents would critique my writings as not being meaty enough. My husband has always said I was too wordy and that I need to be more concise. And now, out of the blue, these aliens are banding together telling me they like my writing? And my youngest brother was in on this too?!
I was having some difficulty processing all of this and had to ask "So, when (insert my brother's name here) said I was the Erma Bombeck of Facebook, is he saying I need to quit rambling and that I'm sharing things I shouldn't? Am I being one of those people?!". "No" they said, "he thinks you're funny but need a better format to write, such as a blog, and that you should go after it.". Go after what?!!
Well, I'd never thought much about writing other than it was my 2nd most favorite things to do when I was in school, with my most favorite being high school marching band in 110 degree heat with a wool uniform on, sweating until I thought my entire body had become completely devoid of all liquid matter and the sun had incinerated my brain. (I really did love marching band though.)
For 15 minutes, as I cleaned the paint off my son and de-dog-haired my daughter, they hounded me until I finally agreed to think about it. As my parents were leaving, my Mom said she'd think up a name for my blog while my husband interjected that he had already come up with a name for my first book - which, by the way was really funny. "Y'all are just plain nuts", was my reply to all of this hullabaloo. But, I had pacified them somewhat by agreeing to think on it and would let them know in a few days.
In those few days, my husband continued to be "supportive".... for my parents idea. I decided to shoot off an email to my brother to say "Hey Mr. Instigator! Have you lost your marbles?" - to which came the ever-so-brotherly reply which pretty much said "shut up and do it". Nothing like family to cut to the heart of the matter.
After a couple of days of thinking it over, I ran the family's idea past some friends who I thought I had stacked the deck with and would back me up and say "yeah, there are 100+ million blogs. It's a waste of time". To my shock (and utter dismay ....... and then fear!) they said "Do it!".
So, after a couple more days of contemplating the pitfalls of writing and how stupid I could sound, I figured, oh what the heck! I probably already sound that way to all of my friends and they still talk to me and acknowledge me in public, I guess I can try this whole blogging thing.
So there you go. That's my "short" story of how this blog came to be. Maybe if this goes well, we can even make this into a reality show................ we could call it "The Looneys"........
by: Christie Bielss
