My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Browsing Category Lifestyle and Culture

General news topics.

Draw Back Your Bow

by on ·Holidays, Lifestyle and Culture

Cupid archer and roses.Valentine’s Day is on the way out. I can see it coming. I think it’s a matter of time before PC advocates and Valentine’s Day haters put a lead-tipped arrow through cupid’s heart. (Someone please call 911 and resuscitate.)

My informal and impartial study (and the haters hotline) reveal that a lot of people – mostly single women who are not in a relationship and unhappily married ones – dislike Valentine’s Day. V-D is tough on some women. I get it. I’ve been there. During my lifetime, I’ve had my share of forgettable Valentine’s Days. Nevertheless, I still enjoy seeing the lover’s holiday celebrated and even if I disliked it I would not want it banished. Why destroy the joy for others?

Across the gender line, some men say they like Valentine’s Day as much as

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The Music Box

by on ·Lifestyle and Culture

Since publishing, Legacy, I keep thinking of other things that I wish I had included in the book. Discussions with some of my relatives also inspire ideas. One day, I may have to do as one cousin suggested, write Legacy II.

One thing that I might have written about, but didn’t is the music box. I recall seeing it while grandma was alive, but can’t remember if she kept it on the shelf of a small corner knickknack or on top of the old floor model TV. As far as I know, there isn’t anything special about the music box. It’s merely a keepsake for me. I received it, courtesy of a thoughtful aunt, who gave it to me after grandma died. “Just so you can have something that belonged to her,” she said.

Until a few weeks ago, when I was housecleaning, I had forgotten that I had the music box. I rediscovered it when I pulled a small cardboard box out of the closet. On top of numerous other odds and ends inside the box was the dusty music box. After glancing over the contents of the storage box, I hastily decided that I didn’t need any of the stuff and dumped all of it into a trash bag that I had placed on the floor near the closet. I picked up the strings, shook the bag a couple of times and was preparing to tie it up when the music box began playing a few notes. And then it stopped. Perhaps while shaking the bag, I had jarred the wind-up mechanism. I opened the bag, reached inside, removed the music box and then wiped off the dust on one pant leg of the old blue jeans that I was wearing for the cleanup. It was then that I remembered to whom the box had belonged.

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The Warmth of a Hug

by on ·Lifestyle and Culture

In a city where politicians rule and the power handshake is the customary greeting, I am probably an anomaly. I am a hugger.

I hug my relatives. I hug my neighbors. I’ve been known to hug co-workers and, depending on the circumstances, I sometimes hug people who I meet for the first time.

Just as the nod of Namaste recognizes a divine spark within each of us, a sincere hug, like a genuine smile, is a heart-generated gesture. It is a brief, spirit-to-spirit connection between the giver and the receiver that non-verbally expresses a range of emotions. And according to psychologist, Dr. Joe Rock, research shows that a hug not only “breaks down some of the barriers that can make us feel detached,” they also have a therapeutic effect.

There are plenty of people like me for whom hugging comes naturally, and there are people who aren’t huggers at heart. The latter often will not initiate a hug and will return one simply to avoid hurting the other person’s feeling. Sadly and perhaps unbeknownst to the reluctant hugger, a non-reciprocal hug can feel as empty as a limp handshake.

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Bedtime Story

by on ·General, Lifestyle and Culture

Counting SheepOne of my regular blog readers, Vye, recently left a note in my “What do you want me to write about?” box. She even signed her name (Gutsy, aren’t you, Vye? Just kidding.)
Vye said that although she enjoys reading my “two cents worth” blogs, I write too many serious posts (Was she alluding to the last one that I wrote about transgenders?). “Lighten-up,” she said. “I know from reading you in the past, that you have a great sense of humor. I’d like to see you write more entertaining, personal posts, and less newsy material. There are already too many blogs being written about contemporary trends and doom and gloom issues.”

Well, excuse me! I was tempted to tell her, “Girlfriend, I am serious by nature. If you want humor watch Donald Trump — on any platform.”
But I didn’t go there. To appease her – since she is one of my many loyal blog followers — Is it up to three now or four? — I decided to lighten the mood, this time, by writing something less opinionated and more personal. Like this.

∞

Several months ago, I bought a new bedroom suite to replace an aging, 20-year-old mahogany set. The timeworn and crammed dresser drawers would not slide in and out smoothly and the armoire, with a slightly unhinged door, had become a nuisance. I held on to that furniture for as long as I did because I dreaded the thought of transferring all of my stuff from one storage place to another. But it was worth the change.
My current, beautiful bedroom suite has a cherry finish and plenty of storage space. The chest and mirrored dresser has lots of drawers with shiny knobs. But my favorite piece is the queen-sized platform bed. Ahh, the bed. It is my dream bed with a bookcase headboard and ten spacious drawers around the frame. I love a platform bed. The one that I have now is the second one that I’ve owned. Box springs begone!
The best thing about a platform bed is that it eliminates the irritating squeaky noises and groans commonly made by an old mattress and box spring set. If you’ve ever had that kind of bed or have one now, then you know what I am talking about. You climb into bed; it squeaks. You roll over during the night, squeak! If there is more action than rolling over it is squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak. And there is additional squeaky, creaky noise when you are getting out of bed. Take it from someone who habitually tosses and turns in her sleep most nights, my platform bed with its memory foam pillow top mattress is as quiet as a monk in monastic silence.
Unlike when I was a child who delighted in jumping up and down on my mattress and box spring twin bed, my neighbor’s four-year-old grandson could jump on my current bed and not create a single bounce. Although he’d better not try it. There is only one downside to my platform bed. It is unlike the first one I owned which was low, down near the floor. I could sit on the side of that old bed, stretch out my legs on the floor and lay back on the mattress without bending my knees. My current bed gives new meaning to the term “climb into bed.” It is high. Waaay high. I am a five foot six woman. I consider myself in excellent health and flexible, but I almost need a springboard or step ladder to climb on that high a** bed. And Lord help me if I roll over while sleeping and fall on the floor. Regardless of the carpeting beneath it, from the top of my bed to the floor is a 32-inch drop. If I don’t break every bone in my body, I’d probably be hospitalized and in traction for months.
There, Vye. I have let you and the rest of the Internet community peek inside my bedroom. It won’t get much more personal than that. Can I now get back to expressing my two cents about the rest of the world?
[To buy my book, Legacy, at Amazon.com. Click on the “Buy My Book” tab above.]

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Putting an Old Spin on the New Norm

by on ·General, Lifestyle and Culture, Opinion, The Way I See It

Banana 2Contemplating the state of  things boggles my mind. I can’t speak to other countries, but in America, the land of the free, the home of the crazed, er, I mean brave, in the land of opportunity, you can be anything you want to be. If you are male, you can transform to female or vice versa. Just ask Caitlyn or Chaz. If you are white, you can go black without transforming anything, except your skin tone and hair texture. Ask Rachael. And if the King of Pop were alive, you could ask him about making an ethnic transformation from black to white. Plainly stated, with courage and enough money, you can have it your way. And I’m not talking about a burger.

Rational dictates that just because you consider yourself to be something doesn’t make it so. Perhaps in Fantasyland. But in the real world no matter how you try to color it, reconstruct it, snip it, implant it, legislate it or rename it – it is what it is. Remove the thorns, trim the stem, and pick the petals off, a rose will still be a rose. Calling a dog a cat doesn’t make it a feline any more than calling a tomato stuffed into a cucumber stuffed inside a banana skin makes it a new fruit. Or does it?

Political Correctness or fear of reprisal prevents numerous people from publicly expressing their feelings about controversial issues, especially if their opinion goes against the grain of what some call “the new norm.” But there are some brave hearts who are not afraid to speak out.

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