Toothbrushes and Pandora's box

In this day and age what used to be simple tasks are made so much harder, thanks to several dozen options that could be "perfect" for you in varying degrees.

Example: purchasing a new toothbrush.

I was grocery shopping today and planned to pick up a new toothbrush too, since oral health and well-being is kind of a good thing to keep up. I ran down the toothbrush/toothpaste/mouthwash aisle and planned to grab the first toothbrush that looked decent.

But no!

First I encountered the flimsy store brand toothbrushes. Nah, I thought; I can do better. Then I looked over at the highly overpriced multicolored gel-handled toothbrushes with several dentists' stars of approval.

Meh... I didn't want to pay $20 for a mere toothbrush. I have student loans.

I scanned the rows of bristled plastic sticks and pondered what my options were.

There were the clever double-packs; I mean, brushing your teeth is a lifelong commitment. But what if you don't like that type of toothbrush in the pack, and you're stuck with a second miserable toothbrush once you're through with the first?

Vocation

Recently I was talking with someone about what I do for a living. 

Somehow the conversation came up about my being a reporter in a career sense of the word. When I talk about my job, I say, "I'm a reporter." When I call someone to interview, I say I'm a reporter with this newspaper and I want to talk to you about this thing, etc. I don't introduce myself as a journalist. 

Yarn. More on that in a minute... 

But I am a journalist also. 

Our conversation turned to whether I use "journalist" and "reporter" interchangeably. I realized I define the two as separate but related concepts. 

For me, being a journalist is a vocation. A journalist is a communicator, a story-sharer, a truth-teller. 

I am a journalist, who happens to be a reporter as a way of having a job. A reporter, I feel, is a very specific role: you interview people and research stuff and write an article about it, or broadcast something about it or whatever you do to get your news out. It's very concrete.

'It shouldn't happen at Christmastime...'

A representation of the Nativity, by Fra Angelico

You know the feeling.

The single mom who loses her job, the sudden death in the family, the family whose missing child still hasn't turned up, the grandparent whose test results come back positive... right before the holidays.

"It shouldn't happen at Christmastime," we sigh.

No, it shouldn't. The Christmas holiday is one of happiness, laughter, sparkle and fun. When we think of Christmas, the last thing we want to think of is tragedy and pain.

"It's the most wonderful time of the year! Have yourself a merry little Christmas!" scream the radios in our vehicles, or in the mall, or wherever there's a source for music to blare out of speakers.

You better not pout or cry, because Santa Claus is coming. And things like sadness aren't really in the spirit of the season, you know.

Late-night CVS visits and nuns having fun

It was 8:30 p.m. and my Friday was over at last. My brain was shot from the diverse and busy events of the day, and I wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. I was worn out and needed a break from people. 

This looked nothing like the CVS I visited. 

But before I hopped on the interstate to head home, I knew I had to stop somewhere and acquire caffeine, or I'd certainly fall asleep at the wheel. I exited the cathedral and glanced across the dark street to the brightly-lit CVS parking lot. 

This was not the safest part of town. It was nighttime, I was by myself and dressed more professionally for the day's earlier events; I didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. 

Also, I'd never considered visiting the iron fence-circled drugstore as an option in past visits to this area of the city. But there was an easy access to a caffeinated beverage standing before me, and wouldn't even need to reset the GPS to find some obscure coffee shop elsewhere. 

Eh. I decided I'd pop in quickly, pick up one of those cold, premade jar bottles of Starbucks frappe-somethings, and not be stupid about anything. 

Melvin's envelope

I pass an old Catholic church on my several-block-long walk from the parking lot to my office. My general posture is that of "look straight ahead, walk quickly, no eye contact with people unless the occasion calls for it."

Once in a while, the old church is open - I'm guessing it's so that people can make a visit to Jesus, or perhaps so that homeless people can take a break from the chilly autumn air.

When I pass by the open church I almost always pause to make a visit. I like to sit in the dark, slightly musty interior of the old church and offer some thoughts/prayers to God for the day, or for things going on personally that I'd prefer not to bring into work.

Within the past few months I've encountered "Melvin" standing by the open door, with his crisp suit, hat and walking stick. Oh, and his sunglasses.

Melvin's an elderly fellow who is somehow associated with the church. We introduced ourselves a few times after we kept meeting when I'd pop in the church before work. He was always really nice and wished me a good day (and I to him, of course) when I'd exit the church.

One morning a few weeks ago he greeted me with a cheery smile and offered me a blank, sealed envelope.

The turn of the screw, or my day at camp

My souvenir of the day. 

"My tire was flat. The atmosphere at camp was anything but," suggested the camp counselor.

I was staring at my car, at the utter flatness of the back left tire, at the reality that I may truly be stuck at camp forever, never to return home.

A few hours ago, I had been driving merrily along the highway in anticipation of what I thought would be a fun-filled visit to a local summer camp. I planned to interview participants, counselors, and whomever else wandered by for a feature in the paper.

But instead... upon arrival, I detected an unusual hissing from the back of my car.

The camp's maintenance team took full control of the situation, but the prognosis was grim. We peered at the hefty screw (see photo) sticking out of the tire.

I'm back!

After a hiatus of sorts, (that is, getting married) I have returned.