Will you watch it? I just am not interested at all.
My father, of blessed memory, called it a 'meat market' and said women should not be judged on such silly standards.
In February I usually post this as a memorial to my father. I forgot this year but its never too late.
Here it is:
My father was a romantic.
He loved my mother dearly and he loved her mother, who lived with us most of my life, very much also just as he had loved his own.
He showed such a great deal of respect for her and for his own parents and as my maternal Grandmother said.."He is as good to me as 20 other sons".
She lived with us my whole life and never paid for anything herself. My father would not allow her to have to pay her own way.
He was a scientist,vice president and chief chemist of a well known chemical company, who for many good reasons, later opened a soda fountain/ice cream shop that eventually became a commercial stationers store in a tiny town, selling stationary to businesses and office supplies to walk in customers.
Later on, he took a beating money wise from malls and the new mega stationers like Staples who drove small business owners out of business and literally all but destroyed small town downtown shopping.
But he was honest to a fault in all his dealings, his customers loved him, his repuation was good and he was ever the romantic.
Sometimes for no reason at all he would bring home boxes of candy to my mother, grandmother and me after work.
I remember him walking home without his brand new coat one frigid night because he had given it to a poor man. "Its only a block walk", he had said to my mother--- the candy tucked under his arm. "I don't need a new coat when someone else has none."
Without exaggeration, that was who my father was.
We lived in a tall. narrow Victorian home on a hill over looking our whole street which was set one block back from the little main street of town. That house was a child's dream of nooks and crannies, with heavy wooden real, actual hurricane shutters on the windows.
My grandmother and I had rooms that shared one very long house wide closet that had separate doors in our individual rooms. When I knew she was in there I would open my side and peak around and wave down its length at her. What fun I had!
In my grandmother's side of that closet, on a shelf , were a few frilly old candy boxes filled with her beautiful crochet work (she made filet crochet for slips, camisoles, hankies and doilies that said, 'cake' and 'bread'), news clippings of friends deaths, births of grandchildren, marriages, cards from holidays, yellowed news of her oldest son serving in North Africa and France during WWII, mementos and tiny souvenirs.
One such box was used to house her "good gloves" and one held "my good scarves".
I once asked her why she saved all those boxes. "Oh, " she said, "its a shame to waste things". "Yes", I said, "but you could fit this all in one or two big hat boxes".
She looked at me with those sparkling gray eyes , one of them now blind and said , "But there is so much love in these boxes".
I knew what she meant.
( Originally posted March 6, 2006)
Have a lovely weekend my friends.