. Spinning .

My sister just got back from visiting my niece in Seattle. She brought me back a huge ripe red pomegranate. We were at my dad’s yesterday when she handed it to me, and he said, “You always loved those.” But there was a touch of sadness in his voice, because he wasn’t the one who gave it to me.

I do not like people who cause me to change too quickly into evil Susan. I like to slide into the transition at my own pace and at my own discretion. However, after decades of being “too nice” one finds that to get anything accomplished these days takes a more dominant, aggressive attitude.

I went to pick up the broken brand new leaf blower to take to my father who lives forty-five miles away. It was to be ready by Friday, so I didn’t bother to call and check before I stopped in. Two teenagers were left in charge of the store on a Sunday morning, and they (both) at least asked me what I wanted before ensuring that every man in the store–including those who came in after me–was helped, rung up and on their way. I posed a problem for them. Because it’s a small town and the owner felt badly about selling me a defective $550 leaf blower he hadn’t even written a repair slip–but both kids knew about the blower anyway. They just wouldn’t give it to me. I asked them to check to see if it was around anywhere, and they looked, came back, and said no; there was just a new one there, and they couldn’t give me that. I asked them to call the owner because I was not about to go to my Dad’s and tell him that I didn’t have the blower. This would have been tantamount to telling a 5-year old on Christmas morning that Santa hadn’t shown up. Nor would I return home, ten miles back and wait for the owner to call me back since I knew the blower hadn’t left their premises. They called, he wasn’t home. I asked them to page him. They did. He called back and within a minute my blower was wheeled out to me, fixed and working. I apologized for being a bitch (my version, which is in truth a helluva lot nicer than some other people’s pleasant side).

I don’t like having to bully people into good service. I myself own a small business. I have delivered finished framed pieces to people’s homes as well as their hospital bed when such an emergency made it necessary. I have wiped my tears over severe personal distress at the sign of the store door opening and greeted customers with a bright cheery smile, and been able to let the air out of it to return to grieving as soon as they were out the door. I once brought a customer into my house, a strong burly man, who was coming to pick up something for his wife. When I told him I hadn’t finished it yet, he suddenly broke down and cried. I brought him into my house where over coffee he told me his wife was dying.

I get upset over Walmart and the like steamrolling over small business owners, but for goodness’ sake, they deserve it if they cannot offer the one thing that Walmart cannot: Personal, caring, professional service.

One of the neat things about believing in a God is that you have someone to scream at when things aren’t going well. And the drama; nothing can beat the effect of throwing your head back and looking to the sky as you rail against the unfair business practices of life. Try doing this and shouting, “Bush!” It doesn’t have the same effect. One must also squelch the nagging little doubt one has that God indeed would choose to live on undependable clouds and with blue walls for all eternity when just look at some of the 5,000 sq. ft. houses even common executives live in these days. But hey, it works for me.

I’m going to stop by and visit with C. today as well. I need to bring her some jeans of mine that might now fit her, and a sterling silver bracelet that is hers in a set of a matching three engraved with “Friends Forever.”

M & M’s have been coming up quite a bit in my life lately. I’m not sure why, and if there’s a purpose to it, I don’t have time to philosophically figure it out. Anyway, this bit of trivia is not just a boredom-filler post; honest to God, it’s important to me. On one of the leftover from Halloween M & M baggies there’s “Billy’s Science Facts” and the first one I noticed and read was that 85% of the population can curl their tongue into a U. This ability is caused by a dominant gene if you can do it, recessive if you can’t. Why this struck me is that starting with my older sister way back when, and continuing throughout my life whenever the opportunity arose, I have been teased about not being able to curl my tongue. While not a major factor in warping my psyche, it has made me feel inadequate upon occasion. Now I find out that I’m in the elite 15% of the population who cannot curl their tongue. Can’t tell you what a boost to my self esteem this is. Further research on more scientifically oriented websites disputes the 85/15% estimate, but who would you believe? The relatively new internet system or a candy that’s been around for over half a century?