I think I’ve reached a new plateau of curmudgeon. My tolerance for fluff already at a low ebb, now greeting cards have pissed me off! Not just because of the price that seems to have escalated into the ridiculous, the content as well. Maybe it’s the fact that I wasted 45 minutes reading birthday cards, trying to find one that comes close to my relationship with Shane that fell short, starting out pleasant enough but as the minutes ticked by I found myself reading the cards through cynical eyes, each one a startling disappointment and I was filled with angst when I left the store.
Card shopping is daunting! Some are so sappy, so full of fanciful notions with unachievable perfection that they read like a eulogy. We all tend to martyr the dead, all flaws and bad habits vanish immediately with their last breath, so it’s perfectly acceptable to design sympathy cards to sooth the souls of the recently bereaved, with exaggerated truths, let them see only the best in their loved one, but a birthday card? "Blossom with joy and fragrance of happiness." What does that even mean?
Then there are the cards that make the receiver out to be divine, perfect in every way. Sorry but I haven't met one single person in my 56 years that would qualify as perfect or even close to it, except maybe a new born baby, full of hope and promise. Maybe my mother set the standard by never telling me I was perfect. That didn’t mean she didn’t love me, I think she was realistic. Maybe that’s why I’m truthful today, it’s the only option I know.
I love my son and husband, but rainbows don't shoot out of their derrieres, the moon doesn’t glow for their benefit nor does a day revolve on their axis. I don’t need to suggest they are flawless entities, always doing the right things, say something profound every time they open their mouth as nirvana glints in their eye. They are no more perfect than the rest of us just because I love them. When angel wings sprout out their backside, they walk on water, solve world hunger or cure cancer; I’ll glorify them with exaggerated Hallmark accolades.
As parents we can be proud and filled with love for our progeny, adore our spouses, grandparents and any acquaintance worth a $7.50-$9.50 card, but golly, water down the over the top praises and make the messages real! We’re not all inventing penicillin or winning the Nobel Prize so stop with the insinuations that we are all so bloody perfect. We’re ordinary people for goodness sake, don’t blow us out of proportion, and besides, some of us have big enough heads as it is! We don’t need to be told that we are “all that” all the time. I don’t know about anyone else, but I can’t live up to all the crap words they throw at us? Give me something simple, less wordy and generalized to fit the masses so there is some semblance of truth in the message. I know when I receive one of those cards that tell me I'm the reason for their happiness I think to myself, what a load of crap/waste of money that was, and throw it in the bin, but if you give me a fun card that tells me you care with a bit of humour, I can take you to a drawer in my secretary and haul out every last one of them. It's difficult enough for me to be in charge of my own happiness, I don't need the pressure of being responsible for yours as well. And probably what all this angst boils down to is having to pay $10.00 for an archaic tradition so as not to be viewed as a cheap so-in-so and then having to doctor it up to say something meaningful.
Reading the greetings that dripped syrupy goo, it drove my blood sugar over the top. I usually avoid the apple-polishing, bullshit toting ones with the sun rising or setting on their life, flattering to a fault type of card for a joke one. Sometimes a light chuckle is all you need to get the point across, make a loved one smile while splashing out that warm fuzzy feeling. You like or love them enough to spend a fortune on a piece of folded paper sporting a pretty picture, but you don’t have go over the top with the verse.
At my age, I don’t have time to waste, yet I spent three quarters of an hour perusing the poor card selection at the local drugstore. They were either too syrupy or too insulting, another trend becoming more prevalent that turns me cold. Although I have a dark sense of humour, some of the cards went too far and made me say “Yikes!” out loud. The bites were nasty, insuring the need for an antibiotic to ease the dripping infection. I don’t care who you are, deep down those cards have to cut, scratching the varying thicknesses of security veneer. I’ll confess, I might have more than my share of wiry chin sprigs and old man eyebrows, but if I received a card that pointed it out, I’d be crushed, never again leaving the bathroom with my new BFF, the tweezers.
There was very little happy medium to choose from and none applied to my relationship with my son. I ended up with the best of the heap to use as a cover for the note I wrote him that was simple, truthful and from the heart. I’m not afraid to tell my boy I love him because he is the most important person in my life, but I can’t make him out to be something he’s not, a perfect, idyllic angel, who does no wrong and vice versa and he couldn't do that for me. Being close as family and working together, we see each others warts, we don’t point them out but we don’t sugar coat it either. We are who we are, special to one another but not wonders of the world that stand above everyone else.
I learned this from my mother. Every time there was a scuffle in the school yard, or trouble in class, she believed it took two to tango and both parties got blamed. Same at home. If one of us was crying, two got punished. She never judged unfairly or took sides, she viewed us as kids, full of beans and vinegar. We were never perfect little angels like the kids next door, who never did anything wrong and were defended by their mother as if their feathers were showing.
Maybe I’m a hard nut, but I don’t believe in unrealistic praise. Being told you did a great job is fine, if you did the job, and it was truly great. They say flattery will get you everywhere but for me, if I know I didn’t do my best, flattery makes me wonder what you’re up too. Accolades have to be rightfully earned. If I was a teacher, I wouldn’t be handing out stars to all the kids for the sake of handing out stars, I’d be given my pink slip and be out pounding the pavement for a new career.
I’m a rigid sort of gal. Got the feet planted firmly, don’t hug trees or exaggerate, I’ve said it a million times. If I tell you “I love you” it means something because I don’t throw the words around for the sake of hearing my own voice. I can’t say the sun came up this morning because my son is in my life, although he does make my world all the more brighter. For me it’s all in the layout of the words.
This is the verse I wrote in his card.
Son, you are the apple of my eye,
and not just any apple,
you are a Gravenstein and everyone knows
how much I love a Gravenstein!
Card shopping is daunting! Some are so sappy, so full of fanciful notions with unachievable perfection that they read like a eulogy. We all tend to martyr the dead, all flaws and bad habits vanish immediately with their last breath, so it’s perfectly acceptable to design sympathy cards to sooth the souls of the recently bereaved, with exaggerated truths, let them see only the best in their loved one, but a birthday card? "Blossom with joy and fragrance of happiness." What does that even mean?
Then there are the cards that make the receiver out to be divine, perfect in every way. Sorry but I haven't met one single person in my 56 years that would qualify as perfect or even close to it, except maybe a new born baby, full of hope and promise. Maybe my mother set the standard by never telling me I was perfect. That didn’t mean she didn’t love me, I think she was realistic. Maybe that’s why I’m truthful today, it’s the only option I know.
I love my son and husband, but rainbows don't shoot out of their derrieres, the moon doesn’t glow for their benefit nor does a day revolve on their axis. I don’t need to suggest they are flawless entities, always doing the right things, say something profound every time they open their mouth as nirvana glints in their eye. They are no more perfect than the rest of us just because I love them. When angel wings sprout out their backside, they walk on water, solve world hunger or cure cancer; I’ll glorify them with exaggerated Hallmark accolades.
As parents we can be proud and filled with love for our progeny, adore our spouses, grandparents and any acquaintance worth a $7.50-$9.50 card, but golly, water down the over the top praises and make the messages real! We’re not all inventing penicillin or winning the Nobel Prize so stop with the insinuations that we are all so bloody perfect. We’re ordinary people for goodness sake, don’t blow us out of proportion, and besides, some of us have big enough heads as it is! We don’t need to be told that we are “all that” all the time. I don’t know about anyone else, but I can’t live up to all the crap words they throw at us? Give me something simple, less wordy and generalized to fit the masses so there is some semblance of truth in the message. I know when I receive one of those cards that tell me I'm the reason for their happiness I think to myself, what a load of crap/waste of money that was, and throw it in the bin, but if you give me a fun card that tells me you care with a bit of humour, I can take you to a drawer in my secretary and haul out every last one of them. It's difficult enough for me to be in charge of my own happiness, I don't need the pressure of being responsible for yours as well. And probably what all this angst boils down to is having to pay $10.00 for an archaic tradition so as not to be viewed as a cheap so-in-so and then having to doctor it up to say something meaningful.
Reading the greetings that dripped syrupy goo, it drove my blood sugar over the top. I usually avoid the apple-polishing, bullshit toting ones with the sun rising or setting on their life, flattering to a fault type of card for a joke one. Sometimes a light chuckle is all you need to get the point across, make a loved one smile while splashing out that warm fuzzy feeling. You like or love them enough to spend a fortune on a piece of folded paper sporting a pretty picture, but you don’t have go over the top with the verse.
At my age, I don’t have time to waste, yet I spent three quarters of an hour perusing the poor card selection at the local drugstore. They were either too syrupy or too insulting, another trend becoming more prevalent that turns me cold. Although I have a dark sense of humour, some of the cards went too far and made me say “Yikes!” out loud. The bites were nasty, insuring the need for an antibiotic to ease the dripping infection. I don’t care who you are, deep down those cards have to cut, scratching the varying thicknesses of security veneer. I’ll confess, I might have more than my share of wiry chin sprigs and old man eyebrows, but if I received a card that pointed it out, I’d be crushed, never again leaving the bathroom with my new BFF, the tweezers.
There was very little happy medium to choose from and none applied to my relationship with my son. I ended up with the best of the heap to use as a cover for the note I wrote him that was simple, truthful and from the heart. I’m not afraid to tell my boy I love him because he is the most important person in my life, but I can’t make him out to be something he’s not, a perfect, idyllic angel, who does no wrong and vice versa and he couldn't do that for me. Being close as family and working together, we see each others warts, we don’t point them out but we don’t sugar coat it either. We are who we are, special to one another but not wonders of the world that stand above everyone else.
I learned this from my mother. Every time there was a scuffle in the school yard, or trouble in class, she believed it took two to tango and both parties got blamed. Same at home. If one of us was crying, two got punished. She never judged unfairly or took sides, she viewed us as kids, full of beans and vinegar. We were never perfect little angels like the kids next door, who never did anything wrong and were defended by their mother as if their feathers were showing.
Maybe I’m a hard nut, but I don’t believe in unrealistic praise. Being told you did a great job is fine, if you did the job, and it was truly great. They say flattery will get you everywhere but for me, if I know I didn’t do my best, flattery makes me wonder what you’re up too. Accolades have to be rightfully earned. If I was a teacher, I wouldn’t be handing out stars to all the kids for the sake of handing out stars, I’d be given my pink slip and be out pounding the pavement for a new career.
I’m a rigid sort of gal. Got the feet planted firmly, don’t hug trees or exaggerate, I’ve said it a million times. If I tell you “I love you” it means something because I don’t throw the words around for the sake of hearing my own voice. I can’t say the sun came up this morning because my son is in my life, although he does make my world all the more brighter. For me it’s all in the layout of the words.
This is the verse I wrote in his card.
Son, you are the apple of my eye,
and not just any apple,
you are a Gravenstein and everyone knows
how much I love a Gravenstein!
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