I'm Not Buying It

Having just posted about the marvels of the iPhone and how it's changed my way of life, I was blown away at a presentation I attended recently given by a successful small business owner who talked about how the iPhone screen is at the core of her business product development.

As the manufacture of modern quilts doing business in the US, Canada and Europe, she discussed how ALL of her designs start small-- very small-- as in on the 2" X 3" screen of her smart phone.  Long story short-- If her quilt looks good on a very small screen... like a cellphone, Instagram or Pinterest-- then they will sell well.  If her quilts lose their impact, color, pattern/design, etc. on the small image size, it's scrapped from her collection.

Kinda makes sense if you think about it.  A gorgeous floral print, for example, may look stunning in a giant quilt, but on the very small screen-- thanks to modern technology-- the pattern is reduced so much it can get lost and, in some cases, can even disappear or muddy the colors meaning the customer might not be getting the quilt fabric/pattern they expected.

Genius, is all I can say because in a million years, I'd have never thought our buying habits (as well as design and marketing products) had changed so much so fast and to such a small-- and very cost effective format.

Then...  I got a look at another successful manufacture who has a very different idea of how people shop... It reminds me of the old Sears catalog approach which, in my opinion, is outdated, ridiculously costly (ultimately to the consumer?) and overkill to say the least.

Not long ago I received FIFTEEN POUNDS of Restoration Hardware catalogs delivered to my door step.  I practically needed a crane to pick them up off my porch.  The package included 14 different catalogs covering their entire product line.  And by the way, they were not promoting a sale.  The impression I got was that I was supposed to keep these catalogs as a reference for future purchases.  (Not.)

Granted, I'm talking about two very different companies and product lines, but the glaring differences between marketing via social media like Instagram and Pinterest versus old school catalogs with expensive photography printed on beautiful paper, then bundled and hand delivered to my front door left me wondering if Restoration Hardware was totally disconnected from today's shoppers-- not to mention the environmental impact of this stack of paper that almost immediately landed in my recycle bin without opening a single page.  Do plush towels, furniture and rugs really sell better using expensive, bulky catalog mailings?

In all honesty, receipt of the Restoration Hardware monster catalogs left me feeling guilty and a little bit miffed that I bought bath towels in their store about three years ago which is why, I'm assuming, I received this expensive collection of catalogs-- Guilty because I'm pretty "green" in our household and call catalog companies asking them to remove me from their mailing list to lighten my carbon footprint.  Dang!  Obviously I missed Restoration Hardware. 

Did my small towel purchase three years ago generate-- and warrant-- my receiving fifteen pounds of catalogs?  No, not in a million years.  My guess is the catalogs ate up their profits in my small purchase.  I'd have rather they shipped me a free towel instead.  That would be positive attention getting marketing.  And I'm guessing the towel would have been far less expensive then the cost to produce and deliver their catalogs.  The towel wouldn't have landed in the recycle bin either-- Just sayin'.

My shopping habits have changed drastically over the past few years and catalogs are long gone.  I turn to the Internet for everything from groceries and books to bathing suits purchases and prefer not to shop in brick and mortar stores if at all possible (Thus the bathing suit shopping online and it's lack of giant three-way mirrors!).  But, thanks to Restoration Hardware, I'm wondering if I might be missing something.  Or not.

What do you think? 

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

High Road

I'm a take-the-high-road kind of girl and have tried to be for as long as I can remember.  Let me tell you-- It's not always easy.  I've nearly bitten my tongue off more times than I can count but when it comes to friends and loved ones, I figure it's best to zip the lips in the heat of the moment regardless of how UNsatisfying it may be.

This is a picture of my niece's horse, Tilly.  I think this sassy mare might be on to something. 

Next time someone pushes my buttons, instead of "zipping it" on my way up the high road, I'll simply stick my tongue out at them and move on.  Maybe it'll leave them wondering what I'm up to.  Ha!

What would you do?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com - Joanna Jenkins

Pause...

Every now and then something happens that feels like a sucker punch to the face causing me to stop and be so present in the moment that it takes my breath away.  I hope that feeling has never, or does not ever, happen to you.  This week it happened to me again.

I was reminded how fragile life is when I walked into our favorite deli-- like my husband and I do every weekend morning for breakfast, and asked to sit in our favorite waitress' station.  The look on the young hosts face gave me pause, then a busboy rushed over followed by another waitress to tell me that Terri, a 20 year veteran of the deli, had passed away in the night from a massive heart attack.  Terri was only 53 years old.

The weekend prior she was out sick because of bronchitis.  Terri actually called my cell phone when she knew we'd be at the deli so I wouldn't worry about her.  She said she was okay but not feeling great.  She was seeing the doctor the next day.

Beyond being a fave waitress, Terri and I developed a friendship outside the restaurant that included emails and phone calls to catch up with each other on family and life in general.  Together we shared the loss of her mother ten years and my step-day last year, the joyful births of our numerous nieces and nephews, health issues, and new stores and restaurants in our neighborhood.  We had sort of woven ourselves into each other's lives over the years and considered ours a meaningful friendship.

Terri called me from the doctor's office to say she was on the way to the hospital because her bronchitis was far more than that.  She'd actually suffered a heart attack and was being whisked away.  We talked briefly so I could take down phone numbers of people she wanted me to call and promised to call me later.

We talked from her Intensive Care Unit bed for the next four days as doctors worked to stabilize her bronchitis that had rapidly progressed into pneumonia and to find a solution to her heart issues.  Wednesday night she started to sound better and a bit stronger when we talked and was optimistic but frustrated with the endless paperwork and social workers because she did not have any medical insurance.

Thursday multiple phone calls to Terri's hospital room and cell phone went unanswered.  Thursday evening she had a massive heart attack and was gone.

As my husband and I were finally seated after hearing the news on Friday, numerous wait staff members stopped by our table to share their sadness.  They'd only learned of Terri's passing a few hours earlier and were all still in shock.  Terri was a sweetheart and loved by so many that I wasn't surprised that the "old timers" who'd worked with her for countless years would be devastated.  But an interesting thing happened around the restaurant...

There was clearly a different vibe in the deli that morning and even if you didn't know Terri or what had happened, you knew something was up.  As regular patrons and "Terri's customers" continued to arrive and learn the sad news, sobs and words of shock could be heard around the dining room.

Terri had, purely by her smile, thoughtfulness, kind words and great service, touched the lives of so many people who were genuinely sadden by her passing.  The thing is, I think that Terri would be surprised by how many people miss her.  I don't think she realized what a difference she made in people's lives.

I know in the coming weeks more and more deli patrons will ask for Terri and hear of her passing. Many will cry as I continue to do.  And, I think many will pause for just a moment and remember her kindness.  I hope they take a moment-- we all take a moment-- to remember the people we see on a regular basis that touch our lives, even with something as simple as delivering eggs and a bagel with a smile and a few kind words.  Terri has reminded me to stay present and to take a moment to appreciate life's little things.

Big sigh.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit: © rgbspace - Fotolia.com

Not "Mad Men"

The fifth grade was when I decided I wanted to be a famous "window dresser" in New York City. Actually I wanted to be a famous bulletin board designer for school classrooms in my hometown but my teacher, Mrs. Fischer, suggested I stretch my career goals slightly higher.

Of course the fact that I always volunteered to "design" the classroom bulletin board and spoke with a slight French accent when I worked on them earned me the reputation as a bit of an over-the-top brown nose, but I figured that was the price of fame.

Fast forward to real life and "window dresser" wasn't a listing in the Help Wanted section of the newspaper so I moved on.

Eventually, I got into the advertising business in a roundabout way via a friend of a friend who knew a guy that had an entry level position available. It was a cool job for a real NYC publisher of a food magazine and the whole "creative process" kicked back in.

No, it was nothing like Mad Men. After all, I'm significantly younger than that era. It was the 80s-- *ahem* very early 80s. Honest.

Since then I've come to viewing advertisements with a different eye than perhaps those not in the business. I'm more critical and always wondering who the target audience is. But lately, say the last ten years, I've come to wonder who the heck the advertiser is too.

It seems advertisers are trying to be so cleaver and hip and cool that the brand name isn't mentioned until the end of the commercial or only in tiny type, if at all. Target stores has mastered this technique with their wildly successful bull's eye logo but most others-- not so much.

During Wednesday night's Men's Snowboard Finals on the Olympics I saw this ad and it cracked me up. But after watching it I couldn't remember what product was being hocked, so I looked it up on YouTube and soon found that not only was it not a new ad, it was also very popular-- Which told me the company was targeting younger males with their message (snowboarders), not middle-aged women (trying to stay awake late enough to see who won the gold metal).

Regardless, I loved this ad and although it would never motivate me to buy the product for "my man", I thought you might get a laugh out of it too.

What's made you laugh lately?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor - Joanna Jenkins

Blackberry Bliss

Often proclaiming he can't live without it, my husband takes his Blackberry with him everywhere. And it's a crying shame.

I am in the minority, no doubt, but I despise Beloved's Blackberry with every ounce of its blue-cased being. It spends far more time with him an I do. It commands his complete and undivided attention with a simple hum. And it's never, ever, turned off, no matter how much I beg for silence.

It is also a very old Blackberry purchased oh so many years ago, but Beloved does not like change and, in the case of this Blackberry-- his Blackberry-- Big is better. The screen and type that is. Beloved can read his old Blackberry without his glasses and he doubts that would be likely on a new model so upgrading has always been out of the question.

He emails religiously to clients around the globe or to family in the next room. It's checked during meals, birthdays, weddings and even yard work. I rue the day it entered our home and regularly curse at it's never-ending stream of interruptions.

Once I actually confiscated his little gem for 72 whole hours. I was in paradise. He was in Intensive Care following surgery. Did Beloved ask for pain medication, ice chips, a comforting hand? Hell no. He asked for his Blackberry-- It was drug of choice.

But today, I got my wish. The Blackberry was silenced once and for all.

Beloved dropped it in the toilet.

It was an accident of course. Tragic was the word he used. But into my Toto Toilet it went and all I can say is-- I wish I had been there to see the splash-- And the look on Beloved's face.

Giving credit where credit is due, Beloved did not call me to fish his Blackberry out of the potty. I did not ask, nor do I want to know, how he managed to retrieve his blue baby on his own. All I know is, one minute he was washing up for dinner and the next minute all hell broke loose.

When I arrived at the scene of the crime, all my might was required to erase the smile from my face. A happy dance would not have been appropriate, I saved that for later, in private.

Beloved took apart his precious Blackberry-- there are actually only a few parts, and laid them out neatly on a towel to be cleaned. Lysol, cotton swabs and my favorite pair of Tweezers were involved in the process. Then slowly, and ever so gently, the hair dryer was finally applied to absorb any lingering moisture from its pieces. I watched in silence as Beloved, mumbling a prayer to himself, reassembled his aging gadget. With a deep sigh he turned the device on and-- and-- and...... A great ZZZZZZzzzzzzzZZZZzzzzZZzzzzZ z z z z z z was heard throughout the house.

No it as not the angels singing, although I was sure I'd heard them in my mind. The Blackberry was humming an impatient wail that grew louder as if to rev itself up into working order only to slide back into the aching, tired moan of a fading showgirl.

Being the dutiful wife that I am, I made the appropriate "gee whiz" sad face and whispered a few words of encouragement reminding him the phone store would open again at 10am.

Beloved was distraught, almost paralysed with despair. We had a moment of silence in honor of the bitch he calls Blackberry. Beloved eulogized all the phone calls, business deals, well wishes, and "I'm running late" messages it's sent over the last zillion years. All I could think was "Blah, blah, Blackberry.....".

I was finally able to pull him away from the bathroom repair area. Then we had dinner, in glorious Blackberry-free silence. Ahhhhh. Life was good, if only for one brief evening. Beloved was at the phone store this morning, at 9:45am waiting for the doors to open, so he could get a new annoying gadget.

It was fun while it lasted.

Do you turn your gadgets off?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor - Joanna

Photo Credit: © Kaitlyn McLachlan - Fotolia.com

Glass Half Full

In my continuing quest to view my glass as "half full", I consider my dry eyes (Sjogren's syndrome) a little "perk" of having lupus. I've had lupus for nearly 20 years and the Sjogren's "perk" for the last seven.

In a nutshell, the silver lining, so to speak, is that my eyes don't make tears, so I don't cry with tears-- Not ever.  I couldn't squeak a tear out if my life depended on it, even at my most emotional times, therefore, I never have to worry about "mascara tears".  See what I mean about my glass being "half full"?  No more make-up running down my face.  How's that for positive thinking!

It's a strange feeling though, not having tears when I cry, and honestly, crying is a lot LESS productive without them. I actually feel silly crying, because without the waterworks, it's just a series of funny looking facial contortions.  As a result, the physical part I used to feel when I cried simply does not happen anymore.  Look in the mirror and try boo-hooing without tears and you'll see what I mean.  

So basically, I haven't cried in years and that makes for significantly less drama in my life!  Instead, I channel my sadness, angst, anger, stress, happiness, joy, love or excitement in other ways-- Sometimes it works great, but sometimes, I'm left wishing I could just have a great long cry like Diane Keaton in "Something's Gotta Give" when Jack Nicholson dumped her.  That was a "wail" of a good cry and eventually she felt better!  Crying can be a good thing and sometimes I miss it.


Something's Gotta Give

The thing that bugs me about my lack of tears is that, I'm pretty sure, when I'm not crying and should be, people wonder what I'm up to-- as if I'm not hearing, feeling, participating or caring, when I really am.  Yes, I am taking all the emotions IN, I'm just not releasing them with a flood of tears.  This leaves some people wondering about my sincerity.

Take funerals for example-- I've attended more than my share lately-- No tears! Not even when my heart was breaking as I delivered a eulogy for a longtime friend. Everybody in the place was sobbing and passing Kleenex except me.  Grieving, without the benefit of a good tear cleansing, takes much longer, by the way.

On the flip side-- Weddings-- I used to cry like a baby at weddings.  I love them!  All that joy, the love, the hopes and dreams.  I always carried my make-up with me to weddings so I could "fix my face" after a good cry.  Not necessary anymore. 

In a crisis, I look like a pillar of strength because I'm the only one not crying.  At times like these, the doctor, Rabbi, police officer, funeral director, or the likes, usually walk straight over to me-- as if I know what the heck to do.  (Ha!)  In those cases, my inability to cry isn't suck a great perk.

How about sappy chick flicks, corny love songs, Hallmark card commercials?  Bring 'em on!  I don't even whimper.

Menopause mania, hormonal swings, volatile emotions- Cry me a river, right?  Not!  Oh sure, I can be a crazy woman, but I'm not crying.

Watching President Obama's inauguration would normally have left me in a puddle of emotions.  That was a day I will never forget, but my eyes were bone dry. Watching Sarah Palin resign early as Governor of Alaska would have left laughing so hard I cried-- Instead I just laughed, and laughed, and laughed-- dry-eyed.

That's the really good news-- Laughing until I cry is one emotion that has not changed despite my Sjorgen's.  And all I can say is thank gawd!  There is nothing better than a great, big, throw my head back, heeheeheehee, snort through my nose (embarrassing), roaring, fall on the floor and laugh hysterically until I can't speak, kind of belly laugh.  Even without the waterworks, all the joy, feelings, emotions, and hysteria are still firmly in place, regardless if tears aren't rolling down my face.  And for that, I know I am truly blessed, despite my chronic medical issues.

My vision is not impacted by my dry eyes, at least not yet, but I get it checked all the time.  I'm not a fan of the prescription eye drops I could take to help the dryness. They burn like a trip to hell so until I must take them, I'll be the driest eyes in the house.

When I was first diagnosed, life expectancies for lupus patients were discussed in "five year" increments with less than favorable odds.  It scared the living daylights out of me.  These days, lupus has come a long way baby-- diagnosis isn't followed by the "get your life in order" speech and medical progress is slowly being made.  

Over the years, lupus has occasionally had its way with me, but all-in-all, I've been lucky and have successfully dodged medical bullets.  I'm holding up pretty darn well. 

When I council other lupus patients, I remind them that a good sense of humor goes a very long way when dealing with the disease.  I share medical "war stories" and what I call my "lupus bloopers" to help ease their concern and to show lupus is usually pretty manageable.  If I can get a big belly laugh of of them, well, all the better I say-- even if tears aren't rolling down my cheeks.

Is laughter your best medicine?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor  -  Joanna

Questions and Letters

Do you write letters?  Not letters to family and friends, I mean letters to make your voice heard?  I do, a lot of them.   Not that I'm an advocate, obnoxious, or a huge pest. I'm more of a polite, inquiring mind, who's rarely snarky and tries to keep my letters short and to the point.

Over the years I've written letters to my elected officials encouraging them to vote on meaningful legislation. Senators Dianne Feinstein and Barbara Boxer have heard from me often. Thanks to the Internet, they're just a click away.  And they always write back too-- With a nice form letter.

The Deli, that's also known as my "second kitchen" hears from me every year at the holidays.  The staff is great and the food is fabulous so I send the owner a different kind of letter-- A note of thanks naming those that have been especially kind over the year.  I know a copy of the letter goes into their file and hopefully is remembered come bonus time. Although I know the owner well, he's never acknowledged my letters.  But that's okay, it's showing my appreciate that counts.

For the past year, I've been writing letters to the Controller of the State of California. They owe me $600 in escheated funds.  I've been trying to get my hands on the cash for so stinking long that I think they owe me more in interest than the principle!  

You might have read that California is a hiccup away from bankruptcy.  I'm sure the state workers reading my letters were stressed out of their minds, so I tried to make it as easy as possible for them to pay me.  Each letter included copies of all our correspondence, my file number and the relevant information needed to process my payment.  Last month they wrote to tell me to leave them alone!

The Controller's letter said my $67,822 was already paid!  

For the record, I so did not receive a check from the State of California for nearly $68K.  I would have remember that and celebrated wildly.  

I admit, my response to this "payment" was a tiny bit snarky.  I wrote back asking what planet they lived on and if their accounting records had anything to do with California's current economic crisis.  I'm still waiting for my 600 bucks.

I've written so many letters to Oprah that I'm probably on her "stalker" list.  I always ask for a ticket to her big "favorite things" show where everyone in the audience goes home with a boat load of free merchandise.  Not that I need all that stuff-- although it would be nice.  No, I would like a ticket for all that loot so I can turn it into a fund-raising raffle for charity.  There are a number of organizations I work with that could use a financial boost.  But so far, no response from Oprah and her peeps.  

The last letter I wrote was to the Los Angeles Times about their story on Raymond Lee Oyler, the arsonist recently sentenced to the death for killing five firefighters in the 2006 Esperanza, CA fire.  You can read the article here.

No, my letter had nothing to do with the death penalty-- actually it was far from it.  My letter was about his photograph that appeared in the article.  That's Mr. Oyler below, in the orange prison jumpsuit, photographed the day he was sentenced.

I simply asked if California taxpayers were paying Mr. Oyler's orthodontist bills.

They say a mind is a terrible thing to waste and I think the same goes for questions too.  If you don't ask, you won't know the answers.

Are you an inquiring mind?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor  -  Joanna

Bubble Bath Time

The only time anyone ever wants to talk to me is when I'm in the tub taking a highly anticipated, much needed, and well-deserved bubble bath.

Tonight, after a long day of work; after the dishes and laundry were done, and my husband was happily parked in front of the big screen TV watching basketball, I run a hot bath and stepped into paradise-- just me, bubbles, and a few candles-- in perfect, quiet, bliss.  It's my happy place.

Before I could finish my first sigh of relaxation, my husband was knocking on the door with a game score update. 

Go away.

My second attempt to relax was interrupted by the phone ringing. My husband swings the door open and hands me the phone.  I shiver from the cold draft.  It's a political telemarketer! Apparently, hubby dear, is unable to screen calls.

Third try-- The neighbor kid calls selling chocolate bars for school.  Then my mother calls.

Fourth go 'round-- He's baaaccckkk asking if we have any ice cream-- as if ice cream would be somewhere other than in the freezer-- where he is perfectly capable of checking for himself.

Beat it buster! 

At last-- finally, peace and quiet.  The water is barely warm.  I close my eyes and....

"Hey honey, are we busy three weeks from Tuesday to have dinner with the kids?"

For the record, I do not, nor have I ever, taken my calender into the bathtub.  And while we're at it, "the kids" he's referring to are grown women probably trying to take a hot bath at that very moment.  

Get me a sharp object so I can end my misery!

At this point, I'm turning into a prune, the water is cold, the bubbles dissolved and my head aches.

I turn on more hot water in an attempt to salvage my sanctuary. You see, a long, hot, bubble bath is my escape from all things stressful; a way to relax my tired body and clear my throbbing head.  I do not like company in the bathtub, the bathroom or even that side of the house when I'm bathing.  I just want to be alone.  

My husband is at the door again.  Apparently I'd been in the bathtub for so long he asked if I was okay? 

 I'll be out as soon as I finish calculating my alimony payments.

Defeated, I pulled my soggy self up out of the tub and got dressed to join my husband in front of the TV--

At which point he had absolutely nothing to say to me.

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna

How Do You Communicate?

I was born at a time when children were seen but not heard.  My first words were please and thank you and I was taught to say my prayers each night.  We had one rotary telephone in our house but I longed for my own pink princess phone.  

Times sure have changed!  So has my vocabulary-- at a dizzying pace too.

It started with gee whiz and holy smokes then groovy, sock it to me, and well, excu-u-u-use me!

Over the years I found out what a doobie was, had a cow, knew several airheads, burnouts and your mama.  Archie Bunker taught me a few new words I could have lived without.  

The Force was with me.  I could dig that, was grossed out, gagged with a spoon and dated a dufus.

Then things got really interesting.  I got some bling, was phat and wacked.  

Whatever!

Now, in the new millennium, OMG, I LOL with my BFF on IM. What is that about?  

Today I have an unlimited calling plan and ten phones in our household.  But no one seems to actually TALK anymore.  We email, instant message and text, in shorthand no less, but rarely communicate face to face anymore. It took me three weeks to figure out what TTYL meant and frankly, I should have just picked up the phone and called my Internet savvy friend to ask WTF?!?!?

Keeping up with our new lingo is exhausting.  Seriously!  My overheated head is going to explode and my arthritic fingers and thumbs can't keep up.

But wait, I need a Facebook page to communicate with the younger generation-- my nieces, nephews and grandkids.  So much for less cyberspace.... or my pink cell phone.

How do you communicate?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna

No Cussing Week in Los Angeles

It's official, this week is "No Cussing Week" in Los Angeles County.  Will someone please tell me what a fifty-something with an occasional foul mouth is supposed to do with all the swear words, profanity rants and crude snips on the tip of her tongue?  

What happens if I squeak a peep of potty talk?  Will the Dirty Word Patrol snatch me up and duct tape my mouth shut?  If I stub my toe and spit out a few four letter words will I be added to the naughty list and get nixed at Christmas?  Will the Wash-your-mouth-out-with-soup Squad ring my doorbell?  This could be a problem.

Who is the snot-nosed cuss crusader-- a sophomore from Pasadena, who made up this squeaky clean idea?  Is this his idea of a joke on the cuss-challenged because I'm not laughing?  I think we're getting a bad word rap but I cannot really say-- without the possibility of incarceration.

Yes, "No Cussing Week" has been all over the news and I get the point of all the fuss.   For half my life, "stop cursing" has been on the top of my New Year's Resolution List.  But seriously, I don't cuss all that much really, just a tiny bit, from time to time, every hour on the hour.  But never, ever, at anyone.  Oh no, I'd never do that because, well, that's just nasty talk. But come on already, don't you think at fifty-something I've earned the right (and learned the place) for a little colorful language now and then? Okay, maybe not this week.

Are you "cuss-challenged"?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna