. Spinning .

I recall one evening after dinner; I had come back into the kitchen to help clean up. My mother was standing at the sink washing dishes, humming very quietly to herself. In the overhead light, dozens of small bubbles sparkled in front of her; sometimes she looked up to watch them as they danced up and away.  She was smiling. She held a sponge in one hand, a small sieve in the other, swishing it lightly back and forth, up and down, slowly through the sudsy water and the little bubbles would pop up in clouds with each dip through.

I laughed.  She turned and grinned at me in childlike delight, totally unembarrassed. 

That’s just the way the day goes, I suppose; rises with the sun and sets flatter than the horizon into night. 

And in between, the good, the bad and the ugly:  found a place that will get the mirror with an inch and a half bevel for a special order; a ridiculous offer to buy that’s all one-sided; two lawyers who don’t understand just and fair.

I’m clinging to a rope that’s fraying at the topmost end and I’m not so quick at scampering as in days gone by.

Checked my e-mail to find a link from my husband to a Willie concert!  Now that’s love.

However, I love him enough not to spend $193 per ticket (that’s right on the floor up close and fairly personal) to see fantasy man.

So here’s what’s gotten my knickers in a twist this morning:  As I was ironing, I noticed a label on one of Jim’s shirts, "Alex Cannon – Rowayton, CT" and this made me smile.  Then I noticed a much smaller label with the size, etc. and flipped it over to read, "Made in India." This bothered me for two days until I broke down and went through all the shirts in his closet, stopped at one hundred to get a nice percentage (and before everyone gasps at the number, he has probably a total of maybe one-thirty, all of them bought by me in the last sixteen to seventeen [we lived together a year and a half before we got married–ohmigod!] years and a good deal of them are that old), checked the labels as to where they were made and found this:

19  India
14  USA
10  Taiwan
7  Malaysia
5  Hong Kong
5  China 
4 each  Honduras, Canada, Thailand,
3 each  Singapore, Costa Rica, Korea, Mauritius, Guatemala
2 each  Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Egypt
1 each  Portugal, United Arab Emerites, El Salvado, Cambodia, Mariana Islands, Jamaica, Philipines

As we worry for America’s future being affected by illegal immigration, unemployment, inflation, and turn our backs on corporate greed (although being a semi-capitalist pig, I do understand the bottom line of profit and need to keep down costs, including the high cost of labor–such as it is), I can’t help but see a rising problem here and am sorely tempted to turn my own back on it because there’s nothing I can do.  But this is something that our kids (I have none) and theirs are going to have to deal with as times here get even tougher for manufacturing jobs as well as corporate white collar workers.  I may go through my own closet which holds about 200 shirts and blouses (I’ve had a lot longer practice of holding on to my own clothes; some may be 30-plus years’ old) and see if I can find a change happening over time; if there was a day when Americans bought what Americans produced here in America.

(NOTE:  When I could afford to have his work shirts and slacks drycleaned, the lady told me that he has the nicest shirts in Burlington.  They’re mostly plaid, like mine.)

Now when I started using computers I used to defend even the most difficult to understand service technician because they knew what they were talking about and were most helpful and courteous.  But then, I was under the impression that I was speaking with someone who was talking on a phone planted somewhere in the United States.  I no longer even bother calling for help without first exhausting all resources: my own bit of experience, my computer geek friends, a pile of books and next to last, Microsoft’s "Help" button.

So I fell asleep on the couch watching the early news and woke up to the late news. Read a bit and decided to go to bed but then wait…remembered that Willie is on Dave Letterman tonight.  Have to watch, even knowing that he’s usually on last and only sings one song (oooh, just saw that a new CD is out! Guess I’ll meander over to amazon.com.).  The first thing I do is turn the tv volume way down; I absolutely hate the opening of the show with the loud music.  Then I need to sit through some Bush-bashing and whatever guest is on for the hour.

But tonight, good news.  Ray Romano is the guest, and I do love him too.

UPDATE:  Oh poo; once again, he’s been left to the last five minutes.  But ahah!  Do I note that his wedding ring is missing?

Sitting on the couch/pew, listening/reading to the wisdom put forth by the priest/preacher/weblog writer on this rainy Sunday morning.  Today’s sermon touches beautifully well on the congregation’s/blogging community’s daily thoughts:

You Suck.  But Enough About You

Danny Gregory says what we’ve all been thinking/whining about over the last few years; why we write and why we need readers; how we converse with others and what we hear:

Creative people care so very much what others think of them. They ask, "Is it any good?" and then wait not just for what you say but for how you say it. It’s not enough to be effusive in your praise.

Put simply: no one is nearly as interested in what you do as you are. No one is judging it as hard as you, or analysing it, or wondering about it. The only time they really get involved is when your success or failure could effect them.

And because we are all, at best, living in our own self-reflecting bubbles, you should relax and do what you want.