Shopping this time of year? Of course !

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar        

Daughter was here for a week sans kids and husband. It was very nice to have her to ourselves for a couple of days.

I’ve gotten spoiled to shopping online. It’s easier because I don’t have to fight traffic, grabby hands, and crabby people.

This time of year only intensifies those feelings.

Daughter likes to physically shop, touch everything and dig for bargains. I think we hit every store. I also think she learned from the best. Me. She is in the height of her bargain ability and it passed me two fake knees ago.  

By the third day I was wondering if her guilty pleasure Star Bucks was putting triple or quadruple espresso in her coffee. She was like an energizer bunny.

When she started to pack it became apparent we were going to need another huge duffel bag. All I can say is if they checked her luggage completely they would find no one corner or space in those two huge duffel bags.

She likes to buy Christmas presents here because there is no winter in Phoenix so the late summer and fall clothing doesn’t mark down as they do here.

One of our stops was a huge cosmetic store. I have never seen so many things for anti-aging. I was nearly sure there was a Botox shoot up in the back. Most of the sales ladies looked like mannequins they were so fake. The sad thing they were young and not even trying to regain their youthful good looks. They just took away from their natural beauty.

I browsed around in all the anti-anti stuff when daughter came over with several bottles of nail color

“Did you know for $75 dollars a fourth oz. me and my skin will look twenty again?” I glanced over to check her reaction and because of it added, “Yeah, I thought truth in advertising too.”

I noticed the nail polish colors she carried and two were gray. It was a new concept for me; I’d seen almost every other color on her, some of which should be banned as colors for nails.

I do buy lots of polish, but I only paint my toenails.

With nail polish in sack we left the store to conquer another store.

We had to take the polish to the car first. Jingling bottles aren’t safe the way she shops.

By the end of the day, I’m pooped, but in a good way.

Oh, I did buy the gray nail polish too.

I figure what’s good for her nails are good for my toenails!

Hearing - or not......

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

I’ve talked many times about getting older.

I’ve spoken about arthritis often because that’s my thorn in flesh so to speak. I have never touched on hearing because that isn’t one of my problems.

Though I always thought husband had selective hearing, I realized too late in the game he really couldn’t hear.

He finally gave into the ego and price and along with his insurance paid a nice sum for a pair of ears.

They work so well I have to be very careful what I really don’t want him to hear.

It’s been an adjustment for him as well.

I didn’t understand he could hear, but everything was extremely distorted. I don’t know how many times I repeated the same thing over and over and over until I thought I’d scream.

Okay, I’ll admit. I did scream.

I just didn’t realize how helpless he felt.

Until the ears came into the family and it was then I realized how much he’d missed. Not just TV, but interactions with people.

I can’t even imagine what it would be like to not hear someone directly in front of you. I wondered why he often let his gaze drift, thinking how rude that must seem to the person speaking to him.

Husband is a researcher of everything, especially if it concerns money. If I have the money and I want it, I buy it. One of the many reasons I drive him crazy.

Not him. Apparently unbeknownst to me, he’d been secretly researching hearing aids. Not to get into a hearing aid dispute, he chose to go with a company that had a representative in town and not the local one who sent weekly pamphlets in the mail.

For him, it was a good choice because he felt he had the upper hand in the transaction. It’s also not much fun to sell to a person who knows more about the product than some of the salespersons.

Luckily for husband they clicked. The representative enjoyed the fact that husband knew intricate details to discuss.

Many dollars later, it’s still the right decision.

This is not to say it’s been easy. Hearing aids are an adjustment like anything else and I’ve watched him go through many.

However, tenacity and will have won and overall he’s a happy camper with his purchase.

So am I.

I don’t scream near as much.

I do whisper though. J

From 2009

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

When I began a Veteran’s Day remembrance for 2009, I wasn’t planning on changing what I’d started. Because of the senseless massacre last week at Ft. Hood, I changed my original thoughts.

It’s come to me that we, as Americans, were taught well the manners bestowed us by our heritage and upbringing, no matter what religion, ethnicity or politics within each family.

We’ve become so “nice” that we’re the breeding ground of someone telling us we can’t discipline because it might hurt someone’s feelings. We can’t play certain sports because so-in-so isn’t able to play and feelings might be hurt. We’ve changed grading in schools because we don’t want to hurt feelings.

I want to interject something—my feelings are hurt.

I get a form of waterboarding every time I go to the dentist. Sorry but that’s what happens when you have a cavity. It stands to reason that a cavity of society could withstand water. We have to be “nice” and now there’s a chance those who terrorized our country on 9/11 may be out amongst us. What? Cavities need to be fixed, not let go to rot further.

MY FEELINGS ARE HURT.

I cannot begin to express the concern and sorrow I feel for the gentleman who took it upon himself to take out a few of his fellow soldiers for whatever reasoning he possessed at the time.

Our soldiers at this time are put into harm’s way when deployed to war torn countries to defend the freedoms we take for granted. We now desperately cling to those freedoms slipping one by one.

Veterans and current military are supposed to be safe on base. They are supposed to be able to mill about and take care of business and their loved ones. They are supposed to be ready to go and take care of America’s welfare.

They are not supposed to be blindsided on base by one of their own.

I only know what I’ve read about the person who decided fate for others. For me, it’s come to a point that religion, ethnicity, and politics are kaput. These soldiers and civilians deserve justice.

Not everyone will agree and that’s okay. We’re Americans. We’re still free.

Thanks to all military branches, past and present. I love the right to write what I feel and am grateful to those who’ve gone above and beyond to preserve an America I love.

Coming to an understanding----

 A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar       

          I worked for a research program housed in a regional VA facility. I ventured into a room to buy coffee and found not-friendly veterans. Eras and wars have distinct markings. Vietnam often wears disillusionment - like an old glove, one-size-fits-all, misshapen, frazzled, well worn-yet durable and still used. Eyes warily observed me. No hearty welcome while thoroughly examined. I turned to leave and noticed the dollhouse.

          Elegant and magnificently built, trimmed to perfection, brimming with exquisite furnishings, it perched on a pedestal-like table. Drawn to its beauty, I commented on its craftsmanship, immediately evoking animated conversation concerning its history. A man walked me in every room. Pride was evident and excitement contagious. I’d been too busy to create for the joy of accomplishment.

          Seeing multiple crafts in varying degrees of completion, awareness unfolded - I was in the craft room. Veterans weren’t too busy. They were rebuilding lives in a restorative manner with construction of this dollhouse.

All wars carry scars and emotional blemishes. Many left home innocents, joining to make a mark and came home changed - and forever labeled. Especially Vietnam.

          My own mark lay heavily within my soul, burdening my spirit.

          I’m not a veteran. I found myself to be a label maker. I strove for understanding.

          I’d sought in a quest for understanding of why some served without question while others balked to the point of denouncing the very citizenship and freedom others fought to maintain.

          It took getting lost in that craft room of the VA hospital for knowledge to come full circle. These veterans began to open doors. Faces brought names. I wanted what they sought – acceptance--to give back what I’d taken by labeling.

          The dollhouse became a symbol of what it’s about. Home. America. A right to be; to stand; to be beautiful; to be free.

          Finally, I understood.

          It is not a right.

          It is a privilege, often abused.

          In my case I simply didn’t look further than the end of my nose.  

          Thank you seems too trivial and comes out of mouths so easily. There’s no way for those of us who aren’t veterans to know what you’ve given and given up.

          Since then, I’ve verbally thanked every person I’ve seen in a cap or uniform with a “thank you for your service to America.”

          Our privileges are many and blessed because you served.

          Thank you cannot be said enough!

Quit sending me for plumbing supplies!!!!

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

Early June marked my 67^th year to be in this wonderful and amazing world. After the weekend, I wasn’t sure if hubby was going to make it to his 68^th in August. I also realized, again, that we’d never make it in a mom-n-pop business.

It’s called plumbing.

We’re having a houseful of company over the next month and our townhouse is going to be covered over each square foot with adults, teenagers, a toddler and Max, the weenie dog.

The faucet leak in the guest bath needed repair.

What does husband do? He takes off to Western Swing world in Snyder. Fine with me, I can do a lot when he isn’t there to “help” but buying faucets is not my thing.

As much as I shop at Wal-Mart I was so sick of them by the time our project was finished I’m not sure but what they had greeters on the lookout for me to warn the faucet area.

I picked a faucet but forgot the hook-up hoses. I asked husband why he didn’t tell me about those.

He didn’t know I didn’t know.

Do I look like I would know?

After four hours of spewing water, wet towels, and words I can’t repeat, husband realized the faucet was at default.

Oh really? Clues?

He put the old one back and no spews at the hoses, still dripping. He was sure the faucet was the defect, or the hose, or me for picking both.

I’d bought tickets to The Flatlanders which was my birthday present to me.

We met friends for dinner before the concert and I very nearly ordered a bottle of Tequila, but settled on two margaritas. One at a time of course.

The Flatlanders were the best ever. However, lurking in the back of my mind was the leaky faucet.

I’m sure the return clerk at Wal-Mart wished she’d not asked “why” – because I told her.

At a large home improvement store, I never dreamed a bathroom faucet could be so competitive.

I remembered the hose and added putty stuff, a putty knife, WD-40 (that’s good for everything).

I did ask first and come to find out the hoses were wrong. I was reading the wrong end or something.  Good grief.

In less than an hour the sink’s completed. No leaks. No spews.

He will make it to 68 after all.

BIg Mac and Fries?

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

Stephen King says of himself “I am the equivalent of a Big Mac and Fries.”

When I first read that I laughed because that man cries all the way to the bank, right?

I am fascinated by his works and when I really want to scare myself, I read one of his books.

Before I allow myself to be frightened, I wonder how this man created such horror. He is sorta scary looking but from all accounts he is relatively normal. Whatever "normal" might be.

He was asked once why he wrote such terrifying stories to which he replied “Why do you assume I have a choice?”

Being somewhat a writer I do understand “muses” and while mine generally just amuses me, I do wonder how he and other horror writers can see such intensity. I visualize every word I write and read.  In fact I am making a face as I type trying to see into their minds.

My favorite book by King is “The Stand” because it’s something I can actually imagine happening.

Once my dryer was on the blitz and I had taken all our clothes to the laundry and took up eight washers and five dryers.

During the wash and dry cycles I read The Stand.

When I read-- I’m in the book. When I’m at the movie-- I’m in the movie.

Stephen King is extremely descriptive. Lost in the book I was surrounded by rats and all alone because everyone had been eliminated. It was then I screamed bloody murder.

Some poor child had accidentally fallen into to me.

He cried. His mom immediately went into mama bear mode. I tried to grab my book which was flying through the air.

He’s really that good.

I see King more of a big bowl of Fritos with hot spicy chili pouring through the nooks and crannies with cheese melting between the two and a big plop of onions on the top.

You know, extremely appetizing but indigestion lurks slowly; you just don't know when it will strike.

It made me wonder what kind of writer I am.

I thought of a Whataburger with cheese. I love Whataburger,

Then I decided depending on the genre I could be Blue Bell Vanilla Bean with chocolate syrup melting down the sides into swirls of cream and caramel.

Or I could just be a writer.

Or better yet, just try to be.

Dancing With the Stars Wannabe. That's me.....

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

I have always accused husband of selective hearing. I think I have it also.

A co-worker and I went to a business expo where vendors give pens and note pads to advertise their product.

I tend to get lost so co-worker became my “person.”

Person was talking to a nice looking, well dressed young man. I thought he was one of our students. As it turned out he was Person’s daughter’s boyfriend.

I really know how to make an impression. At least an impression which left him thankful Person was his girlfriend’s mom and not me.

He represented a dance studio in town. I told him husband and I dance, but husband was interested in only Western Swing and I didn’t know if I could get him to take ballroom dancing.

Dancer said that his studio taught many different types which included Western Swing, country and ballroom. He went on to say the ballroom dances were foxtrot, waltz, tango, Latin, quickstep and samba.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?” He answered expectantly.

“Did you say lap dance?”

The very minute it came out of my mouth and I saw the look on Dancer’s and Person’s face I knew I’d not only misunderstood but probably insulted the Ballroom Society of the World, should there be such an organization.

“No ma’am.”

With that “ma’am” I immediately recognized I’d misspoken – just like politicians today, I had my foot in my mouth and I was feasting heartily on it while wondering where in the world I’d gotten lap dance.

“I said Latin dances.” Dancer replied and by this time he and Person were laughing and I was beet red with embarrassment. Hard to believe I was embarrassed, but I was mortified.

I’m not supposed to know what a lap dance is, right? I hadn’t even seen Magic Mike.

Yet.

After we laughed and Person explained to Dancer I was relatively harmless he decided to teach me the foxtrot.

Right there.

In the middle of the floor.

With people watching.

It was really fun, after I sort of got the hang of it.

As a Dancing With the Stars addict, for one fleeting moment I had myself on the show, dancing with Maks (only he had a shirt on), doing the foxtrot thinking I’d win the mirror ball trophy.

Dancer was very nice and told me I did a good job. Person was still laughing, so I’m not sure.

I really don’t have a place for that mirror ball trophy anyway.