Today’s post is a long list of thoughts that occur to me while drawing in silence (if you don’t count the monotonous hum of the barely adequate A/C) and solitude. I decided to skip photos, so it is possible you will decide to skip reading. I will assume the risk of this.
We have become accustomed to hateful phone-calls with robots, non-native English speakers who read scripts, and fighting through a “phone-tree” to find a human who can address whatever our needs are.
We have become accustomed to relying on things we don’t understand with companies who do not care about their customers, only their bottom line. (think phones, internet, appliance repair, health-care networks, insurance…)
We have become accustomed to unreachable doctors, lost files, missed messages, unreturned phone calls.
We have become accustomed to figuring out medical problems on our own or with the help of friends who have gone through similar situations.
We have become accustomed to contractors who don’t return phone calls, don’t show up, don’t follow through, and do shoddy work if they actually do show up.
We have become accustomed to seeing giant supports for a so-called “high-speed rail”, one that will serve no purpose, because who needs to go at a high rate of speed from Hanford to Modesto, or whatever other smallish cities in Central California?
We have become accustomed to delayed or cancelled flights, poor service, crowded seating, paying for luggage, no meal service.
We have become accustomed to people staring at and depending on screens rather than greeting one another and conversing while in public.
We have become accustomed to instant gratification, ordering anything we might need, do need or simply want and getting it within days.
We have become accustomed to coarse language, the everyday use of words formerly only seen on bathroom walls by people who used to show restraint now using bad language in public, and crude “jokes” by so-called comedians are the norm.
We have become accustomed to immodest dress—sorry to shock you, but leggings are NOT pants, and cleavage used to be saved for specific occasions rather than be considered normal and accepted.
Phew. Let’s look at something beautiful and timeless. (Have we become accustomed to bloggers self-promoting??)
8 Comments
Sadly, you are right about all of these. This one especially hits home in my area: We have become accustomed to contractors who don’t return phone calls, don’t show up, don’t follow through, and do shoddy work if they actually do show up.
Michelle, it’s always been like that in my little foothill town, but now it seems ubiquitous. It probably has to do with the fact that for every 5 people who leave the trades, only 2 enter.
Yep, as Sharon said, you nailed it. All these head shaking things that so many accept these days, it’s kind of sad that there are people out there in American society (because I can’t presume to know or speak for any other) who don’t know any other way than these things that for many centuries have been considered inappropriate. I do love leggings myself, but stick to the rule that if I’m wearing leggings in public my shirt better be long enough to cover my hips at the very least. Nobody needs to see the shape of my (or anyone else’s) butt cheeks! (Now, riding breeches would be my one exception, but really, other than at the horse barn or a competetion arena, we equestrians typically consider wearing breeches not for public consumption. At least, those of us born prior to this century do.)
Kris, it sounds as if you truly understand that leggings are NOT pants, and those riding breeches are meant to be sat in, not pranced around in!
Spot on. I’m glad I’m not the only one who is shocked by the lack of modest dress.
Kathy, I just don’t get it. No mirrors? No mothers? No honest friends? “Hey, friend, might want to reconsider that amount of white meat!”
YOU NAILED IT, SISTAH!
On the other hand, as the old Gospel song says, “This world is not my home, I’m just a-passin’ through; my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue. The angels beckon me from heaven’s open door, and I can’t feel at home in this world anymore!”
Sharon, I wonder at what age most people start feeling this way.