Friday, April 27, 2012

When I grow up I want to be a Tupperware Lady


When I grow up I want to be a Tupperware Lady Part l


I didn’t grow up with Tupperware, so I hold my mother responsible for the fact that you won't find any in my kitchen, except a partial set of measuring cups and spoons that were gifts many years ago. I think a few of them were taken out to the sandbox when I wasn't looking, because they're missing. Mom used, washed and re-used aluminum foil and shower-cap bowl covers, and yes, we lost track of leftovers. However, the amounts that went into those makeshift containers were usually quite small.She also washed and re-used plastic bags, pickle jars and cottage cheese containers. Never threw ’em away. She would never have bought a Tupperware food container. It was out of our price range.  

Utah State University, just a mile down the road from me, used to host Tupperware Jubilees, the stuff from which many legends came. Tupperware held two conventions, each a week long, to accommodate everybody, and each ended with fireworks on Saturday night. We got to step outside and  enjoy those free of charge. Everything else was closed to the public, and I wonder if the caterers had to sign non-disclosure agreements. It appears that what happened at Tupperware stayed at Tupperware. However, there were a few leaks over the years, and I learned that top sellers and lucky door prize winners went home with refrigerators, freezers, televisions, mink coats and cars, and that the last night's festivities resembled a "Let's Make a Deal!" frenzied bash. Maybe the winners didn’t exactly carry the appliances or cars home with them, but I’m sure the real thing was on display to be admired, and vouchers were awarded.

Clever local entrepeneurs cleaned up at convention time, too. All they had to do was design something around a Tupperware theme and set up a card table in the student center, and those enthusiastic Tupperware ladies would buy whatever they’d made. One woman made beautiful cloth dolls and embroidered “Tupper” on the boy dolls and “Ware” on the girl dolls. She couldn’t keep up with the demand for her "Tupper Twins." After a couple of Tupperware conventions, she started taking cruises. 

I learned to avoid the campus during those two weeks, though, after I was nearly flattened by a brigade of determined Tupperware Ladies on a crusade, marching ten abreast  (pun intended) through the Taggart Student Center. I don’t know if they were on their way to take over a men’s room or if they’d heard about a new product. I never asked. I just got out of the way before it was too late. I didn't want to mess with a Tupperware Lady. 

Research shows that after these annual Jubilees, national Tuppwerware sales take a dramatic leap upward. Ya gotta hand it to ’em. 


Then the Jubilees moved to another location. I never heard why. Perhaps they outgrew our facilities. Our valley was quieter (and poorer) as a result. 

I was invited to my share of Tupperware parties, and I even went to a few. There is an unspoken rule at these affairs: You don’t go without planning to buy something. The hostess is your friend, or your friend’s sister-in-law, and she needs her share of the profits from the party to pay the orthodontist. The Tupperware Lady wants to pay her kids' orthodontist, too, or make it to the next level, or become a manger, or maybe even win a trip to Hawaii. So you go, gamely, and coo over the latest products, to support your sisters and friends. 

I should state  that Tupperware’s quality is unmatched. It’s great stuff. Clever, ingenuous,  and made to last. They make good kids’ toys, too, last time I checked. Those shape balls will take centuries of teething and other forms of abuse by many generations of children. And those  alphabet blocks - - - each opened and had a small object relating to the letter on the outside, if I remember correctly - - - I’m sure they supported preschool literacy. 

Tupperware is pricey, too, but probably pays for itself over time. I can appreciate a good investment when I see one. I just never invested. It’s the principle of buying something you don't really need so someone else can earn money they really need, and that instills some guilt on my part. The obligation makes me uncomfortable. But I'm in the minority, which is why Tupperware is a multibillion-dollar business. 

But back to the parties. Well. I’m just not into the parties. I remember a few where grown women played silly games. The refreshments were always good, though, and recipes were shared, and friendships forged over Lettuce Keepers. The climax came when the Tupperware Lady demonstrated the “back burp.” Then, we knew the moment had come, the reason we'd been there for two hours: the order forms were distributed and we showed our true colors. I usually left in a hurry after ordering something small.

Several years ago my husband and I went away for a weekend to celebrate my birthday. Well, he had meetings part of the time, but that was all right. I can always lose myself in a good book. Strolling through the hotel, though, I heard some commotion in the theater, and curiosity overcame me. I opened the door and one peek told me all I needed to know. I had struck gold; it was a full-fledged upper eschelon Tupperware Convention. I found an inconspicuous place to sit and settled in to enjoy the pageantry. This one even had a slide show (we didn’t have Power Point then) that showed the new products, and each was met with excited gasps of approval. The announcer was a pro and whipped the crowd into a state of excitement as he introduced the new fall line. The loudest cheers, as well as a standing ovation, went to the Brand. New. Salad. Set!

Upon seeing this item, the Salad Set, the Tupperware ladies broke into a cheer I hadn’t heard since high school. “Way to go Tupperware, way to go!” they sang, and repeated it many, many times with claps, hand movements, and bodies swaying in unison.

It was a spectacle. I loved it.

When my husband returned to our hotel room he found a beaming wife.

“Thanks for the birthday present!” I said.

He looked confused.

“I found a Tupperware convention!” I told him.

He still looked confused.

I gave him a play-by-play account of my evening and he was soon laughing with me. My evening with Tupperware easily trumped his dull meetings. When you’re on the outside, some of the things we grown people do are really very amusing. Seriously. I know I’m poking fun at fine folks and a fine product and I do beg your pardon. It’s still funny. People are funny.

Tupperware is even older than I am. If you weren’t around in the early days of Tupperware, you can experience them by watching vintage commercials on YouTube; if you’re If you’re nostalgic, you can go to YouTube and revisit the good old days of Tupperware, as well as some truly dreadful hairdos.

This is an old commercial and actually shows a Tupperware Lady demonstrating the famous patented back burp. It’s a must-see. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOm9p5slihU


Here’s a 1972 French Tupperware commercial that needs no translation, because Tupperware’s a universal language and bridges all cultures. If you think about it, Tupperware points the way toward world peace.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6OrU5KGgQug


There’s even a segment on Judge Judy involving two women and their Tupperware. If you have a weak stomach, skip it.

Heck, just go to YouTube. It’s all there. Judge Judy’s about as American as you can get, along with American Idol, baseball, apple pie, flag waving, and Tupperware.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

About Chevy







I’ve been dreading this post.

Tomorrow I will take Chevy to the vet. And I will come home empty-handed.

Chevy is blind and deaf, senile and disoriented. Most of the time she doesn’t know where she is.

She’s 18. She’s had a good, long life. We’ve been good to her. She’s been a loyal friend. She's given us unconditional love and allowed us to love her unconditionally. 

We all say those things about our beloved pets. And they're true. 

But tomorrow I will take Chevy to the vet. And I will come home empty-handed.

Book Recommendation: Dead Running by Cami Checketts


Cami Checketts is hosting a fitness contest and a giveaway at her blog, http://camicheckettsbooks.blogspot.com (Love. Pray. Read.) in conjunction with the release of her new ebook, Dead Running. Here's a teaser: 

Cassidy Christensen is running.
Running from the mercenaries who killed her parents.
Running from a scheming redhead intent on making her life miserable.
Running from painful memories that sabotage her dreams of happiness.
With two very tempting men competing for her attention, she hopes she’ll finally have someone to run to, but can she trust either of them? When secrets from her past threaten her family, Cassidy decides to stop running and fight for her future.

Dead Running by Cami Checketts. An e-book. On sale at amazon.com and Barnes and Noble. 

Cami's writing is fast-paced and full of unexpected twists and turns. And did I mention humor? You can visit her blog where she is holding a FANTASTIC contest with great prizes, to learn more about her books. 

Leave a comment below this post, with contact information, and you may win a comment of my novel, Don't You Marry the Mormon Boys. Winner TBA mid-May. Thanks for your patience! 



Cami Checketts

Friday, April 13, 2012

Book Review: Things a Cowboy Sees and other poems




Things a Cowboy Sees
And other poems
By Rod Miller

The next time you hear a cowboy poet is in town, dig out your jeans, pointy-toed boots, sweat-stained ten-gallon hat, your worn leather belt with its custom-made hard-earned rodeo-trophy saucer-sized buckle (how anyone can bend over when wearing one remains a cowboy secret) and find yourself a seat in the hall. If you don’t have the trappings, don’t let that stop you; nobody gets turned away.

Say “cowboy poetry” and my first response is “witty.” The cowboy poets I’ve seen are engaging performers who recite their own original polished works from memory (and who memorizes anymore these days?). It’s a great example of the oral tradition, an art we’re forgetting to cherish and preserve and cultivate. In my mind, cowboy poetry boils down to two elements: the storyteller and the listener (or in this case the writer and the reader). Imagination forms the bridge where both elements meet, nod their mutual approval, and shake hands.

As a city girl who hasn’t written a poem in years, I don’t feel qualified to critique or analyze the literary form. Instead, I’ll tell you how What a Cowboy Sees and other poems by Spur Award winner Rod Miller makes me feel. From laugh-out-loud funny to poignant with a touch of silliness and a sprinkling of romance, Miller’s poems cover the gamut, and so did my reactions when I read them. From start to finish, this gem of a book feels genuine, with nothing contrived or forced. The introduction, which traces the history and development of this literary form, paired with Miller’s straightforward and very readable style (he always finds just the right word, and has the gift of “turning a phrase”), makes the commentary on the art as fascinating as the poems themselves, and his passion for all things western permeates every page. The cover, layout, font, graphics and overall presentation of the book are in complete harmony with its contents. 

 No matter what backgrounds readers may bring to this book, it has something for everyone, and offers new insights into a way of life and an art that are both uniquely Western American. Both are well worth celebrating and preserving. 

*



About the author: Rod Miller describes himself as “poet, novelist, historian, biographer, journalist, essayist, reviewer, screenwriter." He's also an experienced rider and rodeo participant. A visit to his webpage reveals that Rod's work appears in "books and magazines, anthologies and collections, online and on the screen. From poems to stories to articles to opinion, he writes in a variety of styles for various media. His subject matter is, largely, the American West, and he writes about its people and its places, its past and its present." He is a recipient of the prestigious Spur Award in poetry and short story. 
  

 Things a Cowboy Sees and other poems 
by Rod Miller 
Port Yonder Press, 2011 
www.PortYonderPress.com


Rod Miller

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Overheard in the grocery store



Then . . . 
now.



Jason F. Wright’s column is thought-provoking. In his latest, he describes overhearing a father-daughter conversation in the next aisle at the grocery store. Intrigued, he finally pushes his cart around the corner to see who’s been talking. The outcome was the subject of his column.

I’ve experienced that, only I’ve been on the other side. I was shopping with my youngest son one day, and when he saw the latest Lego offering, he said, “Mother, that is absolutely maaaagnificent.” A curious shopper came around the corner and did a double-take when she saw the child who had uttered such big words. He was 2 ½ at the time. 

He's 28 and probably hasn't played with Legos for a while, though as an engineer, he could build some great structures. Today he flies to Bejing, where he'll represent his company at a conference and plans to climb the Great Wall. 


My heart is with him. Be safe, Jeff. Remember, we have a tub of Legos here. Any time. 
Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Thursday, April 5, 2012

No bullies allowed here

If you are one of the few people who follow this blog, you know that I write mostly about writing and books and my family and things that make me laugh.


This post is very personal.


Jason F. Wright’s recent column on bullying in church (http://jasonfwright.com/column/the-unspoken-secret-of-bullying-at-church.html) reminded me of two experiences. I guess you could call them the good, the bad and the ugly, except that there are only two. You can choose your own adjectives. 


how it felt
When I was thirteen and we moved into an affluent area (though we were a less-than-affluent family), I was astonished and completely unprepared to experience a form of bullying that was well-entrenched within the junior high and high school kids at church meetings.They would choose a target and simply ignore him or her - - - not for weeks, but for years. It was insidious and went unnoticed by the leaders, but for their targets, going to church was hell. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I finally broke down one night and asked my parents, "What is wrong with me?" My baffled parents assured me that nothing was wrong with me, but they were ill-equipped to handle the situation; there was no resolution. And there's something I forgot to mention: the bullies were girls. There were some very nice guys in that ward. Thank goodness. 






how it felt
Many years later, when my own teenagers were giving me grief, a visitor sat next to me in a meeting. I had arrived with a heavy heart and the lesson hit home. I do not weep easily, and I do not weep in public, but I simply could not contain the hot tears that slid down my cheeks during the lesson. The woman casually rested her hand on my shoulder and gently traced a small circle with one finger, over and over. 


The teens eventually grew up and I’ve forgotten the lesson, or why it was so painful to hear it. But I will never forget this compassionate stranger’s kind touch and its message:
“I don’t know what has broken your heart, but you are never alone.”