It's just like forty going north...

This year, I wanted to buck the trend on New Year's resolutions by keeping the ones I make.

According to one survey, among the Top 10 New Year's Resolutions are enjoying life more, learning something new and getting organized.

I admit, I really do want to enjoy my life more. I've been described as being way too serious. Guilty as charged. It's seems like all I do is work, work, work. I honestly want to have fun, kick back and relax the way other people do.

Maybe smiling more or laughing out loud would be a good place to start. I know that using humorous metaphors sometimes give me a chuckle.

So, my first New Year's Resolution is to insert a metaphor somewhere in conversation once a day. For example, when I'm particularly pleased, I'll blurt out, "Well butter my biscuit!" When I'm not feeling negative, I'll say, "You don't have a snowball's chance..." Well, you know the rest of that one.

And when I'm frustrated with a certain individual's stubborness [wink, wink], I'll whisper to myself, "He'd argue with a fencepost."

When my schedule is overloaded, I'll shout out, "I've bitten off more than I can chew!" If I'm surprised, I'll exclaim, "Well shut my mouth!"

And at those rare times when I'm being blamed for something I did not do, I'll reply, "You're barking up the wrong tree, Mister."

O.K., well, enough of that silliness, now, back to my old serious self.

I am fascinated with biology, especially cell structure and have always wanted to reread all the fascinating facts in my old college biology book about eukaryotes cells, prokaryotic cells, protozoa, DNA structures and chromosone links.

So my second 2011 resolution is to learn one new biological fact every day. Wow, if that doesn't tickle my fancy, I don't know what does.

I also want to organize the spare room, which has been a catch-all for years. But to do this, I'll need my husband's help. Yeah, right, getting him interested in this project is like getting cold tar to run on an uphill grade in the middle of winter. (Maybe enticing him with a mulberry pie or a foot rub would do it.)

Stop! Stop, enough of the metaphors. Oh, the heck with the resolutions, here's my bucket list for 2011:

paint the shed,

ride in RAGRAI,

run a marathon,

start a non-profit for the needy,

travel to Tanzania with STEMM,

vacation on the south coast of England,

visit my cousin in Holland,

my friend in Brussells,

my sister in Washington,

and my other sister in Utah,

conduct another reading in Vermillion,

compile my second book,

my third book,

and my fourth book.

Whew, this is making me dizzy! Maybe I ought to downsize my list to just one specific, measurable, attainable, realistic and timely goal, like smiling more. Well, pick my peas, I could smile just like a gator at an old-fashion baptism.

[Happy New Year to all my faithful readers. May peace, love and all good things come your way in 2011 and always.]


2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at http://my-story-your-story.blogspot.com/ and find her on FaceBook.

Christmastime - a little bit of this, a little bit of that

Years ago, most children would ask Santa to leave a sled or a board game under the tree. Today, kids expect cell phones, electronic games and a whole array of other nifty gadgets. My how times have changed.

Speaking of Santa, I saw him riding shotgun today in a four-door sedan heading east on River Drive. I think it was Mrs. Claus driving. They sure were in a hurry. Express delivery, I suppose.

I don't think parents should use Jolly Old Saint Nicholas as a threat, telling kids, "If you don't behave, Santa won't bring you any gifts." Count to 10, give them time out, but don't use Santa as a weapon.

Santa's helpers who don't look like the real Santa Claus really creep me out, especially the ones with drooping beards, who smell like cigarette smoke or booze. On the other hand, maybe I should cut Santa some slack.

When it's cold and dark outside, I long for warmer times and daylight past 6 p.m. To perk up my dull-drums, I had my hair styled at the salon and wondered how long it would take for my husband to notice. I am happy to report he commented on my new do in less than 30 minutes!

The other day, I bought a bag full of Christmas jewelry for twenty-five cents at the Disabled American Veterans (DAV) Thrift Store, where I volunteer. Speaking of volunteers, the DAV may have to close its doors because of the lack thereof.

People inspire me this time of year, like the person who still catalog shops at home, the woman who makes all of her own holiday cards and the entire family who handcrafts all of their Christmas gifts.

What makes me smile every time are truckers whose rigs are all lit up like Christmas trees. Streaming through the night, they are holiday rockets on wheels. I saw one the other day that even had a lighted Santa on the grill.

Have you noticed how much glitter is used during the holidays? Back in 1934, someone should have reined in Henry Ruschmann, the inventor of glitter. While I appreciate sparkly things, glitter is not one of them.

I read up on glitter and learned why it bugs me so - you can never get rid of the stuff. Glitter is heavier than water, stays stuck on everything and that includes your skin. And if you are successful in washing it off, it sinks to the bottom of waterways, which contributes to twinkling toxic sludges. That reminds me...why do they add glitter to makeup?

Last month, when I passed an elderly woman with a worried look on her face in the juice aisle at the grocery store, I felt God nudging me to give her five dollars. But, I ignored it and went on my merry way.

The next day, I randomly opened "The Message" Bible Translation to Proverbs 3:27-29, which reads, "Never walk away from someone who deserves help, your hand is God's hand for that person. Don't say 'Maybe some other time' or 'Try me tomorrow' when the money is right there in your pocket."

After reading this, I was humbly reminded that with God there are no coincidences. The word "random" does not exist in God-speak. God is intentional from the get-go, and I have asked God for a second-chance to be obedient.

Talk about obedience, in the days leading up to the first Christmas, I ponder Joseph and Mary's plight. I think about the holy disruption of their everyday lives and wonder how they did it with such obedience and grace.

On Saturday, when delivering food to a needy family, I was ever so grateful for the young girls who answered the door and so willingly helped me lift the heavy boxes up the stairs to their house. Now, I am wondering what else I can do for them.

2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at http://my-story-your-story.blogspot.com/ and find her on FaceBook.

Christmastime - a poem in prose

There's a chronic tension this time of year,
one that I've experienced my whole life long...
A sensibility,
a knowing,
that illumines my consciousness offering brief visions,
like the flashing of humming birds and the flitting of winter wrens.
Once here,
now gone.
I can barely behold it,
capturing only a glimpse of its gaiety,
before it disappears into an airy rubble of emptiness.

Cravenly,
I want to float on the season's cheery promises
found in singing of carols,
chiming of bells and flickering of candles.
Where is this holy tide of Christmas
that ushers in great comfort and joy?
What do glad tidings tell
of wisdom from on high?

I experience a chronic tension this time of year...
A longing for a perfect and complete love.
No disregard, disappointment or dissatisfaction.
Only a desire to love and to be loved.

I have a sense of blessed notions
nestled in Christmastime.
Searching for the perfect gift,
exchanging tangibles,
a symbolic substitute for unselfishly offering myself.
A chronic tension that hides my longing
for supple assurance,
a pliable notion of belonging,
filled with a satiny warmth of security.
My heart faintly assembles
the valiant idea of peace
prevailing among nations.
Enemies?
None.
Friends?
All.
This hope summons something deep down inside.
It's a holy season, this Christmastime,
locating my soul,
working ever so hard
to satisfy my spiritual hunger,
a craving.

There's a chronic tension this time of year,
one I've been wrestling with my whole life long...
A sensibility,
a knowing that briefly brightens my consciousness,
like the flashing of humming birds
and the flitting of winter wrens.
It was right here,
now gone.
I capture only a glimpse of its gaiety,
before it disappears into an airy rubble of emptiness.

A perfect peace? A perfect love? Where?
2010 © Copyright Paula Damon.

Mannequin decor creeps me out

Now that Thanksgiving is over and some festive souls have had their Christmas decorations out since Halloween, let me say two words about decorating: no mannequins.

No mannequins in the yard. No mannequins on the porch for that matter. No mannequins anywhere.

Let's face it, using mannequins for yard ornaments is just not normal. There's a house on a hill a few miles away that has a crowd of at least 15 mannequins out front every year.

There are several shepherds, Joseph, Mary, three Wise Men, carolers, an angel and, of course, the Baby Jesus. Honestly, it looks like someone raided the display window at J.C. Penny's.

Mannequins belong in the store, not in the stable. They're downright frightening with their austere stares. Sometimes they have no eyeballs, only fleshy indentations and Frankenstein postures. They give me the creeps.

There's not one thing festive or whimsical about mannequin decor and no amount of fixing and fussing will ever change that.

Think star lights wrapped around your porch rail or one of those giant inflated snowmen. Maybe a lighted wreath or an animated reindeer, but not hard plastic models adorned with thrift store clothing.

Hey, I'm not fussy, even a property overloaded with a free-standing multicolored incandescent Santa with sleigh and eight reindeer, giant flickering candles, gingerbread houses trimmed with so many motion lights it triggers vertigo, dozens of spinning snowflakes hanging from the eaves and all the other outdoor ornaments you've collected since 1972 are by far better than a yard full of mannequins.

Here's a little advice: if you have a nagging urge to re-purpose some mannequins you snagged at an auction or a going-out-of-business sale, spare your neighbors the angst. Talk yourself out of it. Get some help. I believe there's therapy for just such a problem.

Thankfully, no mannequins have popped up in our neighborhood, that is, not yet.

2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took first-place awards statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comand find her on Facebook.

　

　

　

From the Office of the Governor...

I admit, when I received a letter from Governor Sean Parnell of Alaska, which was personally addressed to me and not to "Current Resident," I wondered which organization sold a list with my name and address on it to the forty-ninth state.

Even though the envelope was stamped with the official state seal "OFFICE OF THE GOVERNOR OF ALASKA," it screamed JUNK MAIL.

My curiosity got the best of me. I opened it to see the Governor had chosen the perennially impersonal salutation, "Dear Neighbor..."

Really? First of all, I'm not his neighbor. I can't see Alaska from my house. I wonder if he thinks he can see South Dakota from his.

Secondly, someone needs to take "the Gov" aside and fill him in on the nifty twenty-first century tool called "mail merge," which personalizes letters by automatically addressing recipients by their first names.

Although, I decided not to hold this against him and kept reading and quickly learned it was an invitation to visit Alaska. But, of course, why else would the Governor of Alaska write to me.

In it he raves about Alaskan wildlife, camping, fishing, hiking, breathtaking glaciers, rain forests, volcanic landscapes, rafting and dog sledding.

I suppose he did not mention that the 10 most popular recipes in Alaska have moose in them so as not to upset animal lovers like me. You betcha! Well, 11,623 Eskimos and everyone else who lives in Alaska can't be completely wrong. And, according to Sarah Palin's best seller Going Rogue, ''If God had not intended for us to eat animals, how come He made them out of meat?'' Huh?

The Governor's "Dear Neighbor" letter urged me to discover the state's native and Russian roots, explore the Arctic Circle and pan for gold. "Alaska is different from every other destination in the world," he continued.

I noticed that he didn't mention that the mosquitoes in Alaska are so big they have landing lights, that the state has three seasons winter, still winter and almost winter and Alaska's unofficial motto is "Don't retreat, reload." Hm-mm, I hope he knows that Africa is a continent and not a country.

What surprised me the most was that I didn't put the letter down. Now, don't get me wrong, I am no sucker for junk mail. Yet, I stood there dog tired from a long day at work, holding the epitome of junk mail in my hands.

Maybe it's because Alaska still represents one of the last frontiers. A place with strange laws, where it is legal to shoot a bear but illegal to wake a bear just to take its photo. And then there's the one where it's illegal to push a moose from a moving airplane. Go figure.

Let's face it; it's one thing to receive junk mail but it's a whole other experience receiving junk mail from the least densely populated state in the nation.

At any rate, I hung onto the letter from "Gov Sean," as you can see we're now on a first-name basis, and I'm considering completing and returning the enclosed postage-paid survey.

I'm not really that interested in driving nearly 4,000 miles from where I live in South Dakota to Alaska, nor flying there for that matter, but I'd kind of like to keep this thing going.

If I do visit the forty-ninth state, I hope my pen pal Sean completes his term and is still in office. Excuse me while I fill out the survey...

2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comandfind her on Facebook.



　

Confessions of an everyday columnist

"I think everybody longs to be loved and longs to know that he or she is
lovable. And, the greatest thing that we can do is to help somebody know that he or she is loved and capable of loving." Fred Rogers

Let's face it. When I look in the mirror, I don't see the same person my
husband, Brian, sees.

When Brian looks at me, he pictures a woman who could put on a few pounds and still look fine. He sees someone who has lovely hair. He views a person who has to do very little to turn his head.

I confess, when I look at myself, I see a fat person with unruly hair and too many wrinkles. I have often said, tongue in cheek, I could use a body image therapist.

My menacing picture of how I look is rooted in my childhood when my self-image was being formed.

I guess the good news is that I'm not alone. Research conducted at Flinders University in South Australia reveals that "one-third of all girls in grades nine to 12 think they are overweight, and 60 percent are trying to lose weight."

One study indicates that 57 percent of girls have fasted, dieted, used food substitutes, or smoked more cigarettes to lose weight, according to "Weighing In Girl Scouts of the USA." The same study reports that messages girls receive from the media can damage their feelings of self-worth and negatively affect their behavior.

An AC Nielsen survey says that girls question their own beauty and a majority of girls of normal weight believe they are overweight. More than 90 percent of girls, ages 15 to 17, want to change at least one aspect of their physical appearance.

According to a Dove study, "nearly a quarter would consider undergoing plastic surgery, and 13 percent acknowledge having an eating disorder."

Lack of self-esteem in children contributes to school drop-out rates, juvenile homicides, violence in schools, incidence of births to unmarried teens, suicides, eating disorders and abuse of drugs.

Sometimes I think what we all need is a good old-fashioned dose of Mr. Fred Rogers.

In a 2003 TV documentary, Mr. Rogers states, "I give an expression of care every day to each child, to help him [or her] realize that he [she] is unique. I end each program by saying, 'You've made this day a special day by just being you. There's no person in the whole world like you. And I like you just the way you are."

In another commencement address, this time at Dartmouth College, Mr. Rogers notes, "When I say it's you I like, I'm talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that allows you to stand for those things without which humankind cannot survive. Love that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war and justice that proves more powerful than greed."

If we all could love that deep part of us that allows us to stand up for things, just imagine where we'd be today. We would have found long sought-after cures, we would have stop wars, balanced budgets, eliminated crimes, and corrected so many wrongs.

Remember, it's you I like.

2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comandfind her on Facebook.

Braziers, bazaars and bake sales

Do you ever wonder what happened to good old-fashioned Christmas Bazaars? I do.

If you're young and have never heard the term, let me enlighten you.

Bazaars were kind of a quirky combination of a bake sale, craft show and rummage sale all rolled into one. Everything was a quarter, a dime and sometimes even a nickle.

Today's craft and bake sale is the new bazaar, but most of them cost money at the door. Whoever thought of paying to shop?

When I was a tyke, I could wander right into the neighborhood bazaar. Every year after most of the leaves had fallen and winter was nipping at my nose, I remember going to the Christmas bazaar at the church across the street from my childhood home. Inside, among all the baked goods were homemade trinkets and a clutter of second-hand items in a section called a "White Elephant Sale."

This peaked my interest, as I could not imagine how an elephant, let alone a white one, could be for sale in a church basement.

Of course, there was no real elephant, but I remember seeing a ceramic one that stood about a foot high in the middle of a long cafeteria table. Its trunk was creased and curled into a circle with ivory tusks protruding from either side of a wide-open mouth.

Although a little scraped and scuffed around the edges, that white elephant was surrounded by a half-dozen pairs of someones grandmother's clip earrings, used ladies' church gloves, a collection of gaudy lapel pins, including an over sized poinsettia, a star-studded American flag, a sequined turkey and a blinking Rudolph.

The Christmas bazaars of my childhood always had a homey feeling: the co-mingling aromas of coffee brewing and cinnamon rolls baking; the sight of fully decorated Christmas trees and wreaths, the musty smell of old books, the endearing appeal of simple wood crafts and decorations, knitted sweaters and crocheted doilies.

So, the truth be told, the biggest thing that separates craft and bake sales of today and bazaars of yesteryear - the word bazaar is missing. I remember the challenge of learning to pronounce it when I was a kid. I liked the exotic ring as I slowly and dramatically said BA-ZAAR. There's nothing interesting or surprising about "craft and bake sale."

I also miss seeing those large clunky hand-painted signs with the giant letters BAZAAR, which, I'm not afraid to admit always looked like the word "brazier."

I looked up bazaar and found that it can be traced to Persia, which is Iran today. A bazaar meant "the place of prices."

Bazaars of days gone by were magical where Christmas was neatly arranged and mother's kitchen was transported to the underbelly of the sanctuary.

I think all Christmas craft and bake sales should be called bazaars. In fact, could I ask you a little favor? The next time your church or organization plans a holiday sale, please stop calling it a "Christmas Craft and Bake Sale" when good old nostalgic "Christmas Bazaar" will do just fine. Thank you.

2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comandfind her on Facebook.