Defining "Black Friday" to Foreign Exchange Students

I  have two foreign exchange students in my speech class this year. One is from Brazil and the other is from Germany. It's always interesting to hear their perspective on American culture. However, sometimes it's difficult to explain certain "Americanisms" to them.

The other day a few girls walked into speech class gabbing about how much they were looking forward to Black Friday. As my exchange student from Brazil listened in, I noticed a confused look on his face. Then I saw him mouth the words to another student, "What's Black Friday?" The other student couldn't tell what he was trying to ask him, so I piped up.

"Oh, are you wondering about Black Friday?"

"Mm-hm"

"Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving when the 'official' shopping season for Christmas starts. All the stores open extra early and they have really good prices, so the majority of Americans go shopping on that day."

"Oh. Okay. . . but why is it called 'Black Friday'?"

The other students in the class chime in, "Yeah! Why is it called that?"

I've never really heard why it's called "Black Friday," but the eyes of all my students were looking at me expecting an answer.  I decided to tell the students why I think the day is called "Black Friday."

"Well, I'm not positive without looking it up, but black usually represents death and my speculation is that it's called 'Black Friday' because people get killed on that day. I've heard of people who've been trampled to death by crowds of people rushing into Walmart to get the best deal on flat screen TVs."

A chorus of "Oh, yeah!! I heard about an old lady who got smooshed behind a door!" and "There was a man who got hit by a car in a parking lot, too!" and "Did you hear about the lady who . . . blah, blah, blah," swept across the room.

I looked over at the two exchange students. Looks of horrified shock and disgust had swept across their faces.

"Does that answer your question?"

"Uh, yes. Thank you."

And then the bell rang for class to begin.

I later found out that "Black Friday" is called such because it's a time when the stores bring in so much money, they are said to be "in the black," as opposed to "in the red." A few of my fellow teachers couldn't believe that I had given the reason I had to the students. I kind of felt bad after that because I was sure I had made America look horrible to these exchange students. HOWEVER, I don't feel so bad now because I found out that my definition of "Black Friday" was actually somewhat correct!! After doing some research, I discovered the phrase was coined in the 1960s by a police officer who had observed the horrible traffic accidents and mobs of people crushing other people on that day. It was only in more recent years that retailers decided to give a positive spin on the name by saying it was called "Black Friday" because sales were up so high on that day. Personally, I think the former definition is more fitting. :-)

The Perils of Making Hot Chocolate

This morning I woke up to a cold, dark, windy, rainy day and decided that today would be the perfect day for hot chocolate. My Facebook friends agreed, so I knew it must be a good idea. I tucked a couple packets of Kroger brand Dutch Cocoa into my purse to take along to school with me. (Kroger Dutch cocoa is much tastier than the Swiss Miss cocoa we have at school, in my opinion.)

I arrived at school and got all set up to watch my morning care kiddos; then I headed into the kitchen. I grabbed a styrofoam cup and emptied the contents of my cocoa packet into it. That was pretty easy. Then I took a spoon and headed around the corner to the hot water dispenser. I began filling my cup with the hot water. I must have been cold, because I got a shiver and my hand shook resulting in hot water pouring onto my left hand and down my sleeve. It was so hot that I quickly jumped which resulted in spilling all my hot chocolate down the front of my skirt and onto the floor. *sigh*

Naturally, I now have a dilemma. Do I run to the sink and flush my hand and arm with cold water, or do I first attempt to get the hot chocolate out of my skirt? Of course, I opted to save my skirt. I mean, I do have to wear it in front of judgmental high school kids for the remainder of the day! Fortunately, it's a black skirt, so it didn't take too long to hide the hot chocolate. So I got the hot chocolate out of my skirt,  got my hand and arm cooled off with some cold water, and got the mess cleaned up off the floor. But I still wanted hot chocolate. It's a good thing I was prepared and brought two packets!!

Let's try this again. Empty contents into cup--check. Dispense hot water into cup without spilling on yourself--check. Stir--check. Add marshmallows--uh-oh.

I don't always go for marshmallows in my hot chocolate (although I am quite the marshmallow connoiseur), but I figured after my ordeal I certainly deserved them. Mrs. Fleming knows I like marshmallows in my cocoa once in a while so she always keeps a bag on hand for me. (Okay, okay, I'm sure she doesn't buy them just for me, but it makes me feel special to think so.) Anyhow, I grabbed the bag of marshmallows. It had already been opened, but had been twisted shut with a baggie tie. I removed the baggie tie and started to untwist the bag. Before I knew what was happening, marshmallows were flying everywhere. (Did you know that marshmallows seem to have a little bounce to them???) Apparently the bag had been torn clear down the side and it only looked like it was closed up with a baggie tie. *sigh* At least the whole bag didn't spill.

Anyhow, after I cleaned up my mess, I carefully added marshmallows (the ones from the bag, not the floor) to my hot chocolate, which was now more like warm chocolate. So it took me a little while to get my hot chocolate made, and I had a few mishaps; but, boy, I must say that was some good hot chocolate!!

I Want a Leaf Globe

When I was a kid, I thought snow globes were so beautiful. Actually, I still think that. What's prettier than watching snow gently swirl quietly around a pretty winter landscape? You know--some pine trees, a deer or two, little red cardinals sitting on evergreen boughs, etc. Okay, okay, you're probably thinking that there are a lot of things prettier than that, but you catch my snowdrift.

Anyhow, as I was drivng home from church this afternoon, a brilliant idea popped into my head--at least, I think it's brilliant. Here it is:

Somebody needs to make a LEAF GLOBE.

That's right, my friends. . . a leaf globe. I was just struck by the sight, the sound, the smell of the leaves swirling around the pretty autumn landscape today. (Today was a bit breezy, I must say.) It was absolutely beautiful. And tonight coming home from church I observed the same scene, except everything was bathed in the light of the full moon. It was mesmerizing.

Of course, some modifications would have to be made to a leaf globe that a snow globe doesn't have. For instance, the leaf globe would need to make a rusltling sound as the leaves swirled. Snow is silent, but leaves are not. And you'd have to hear the howl of the wind. And it would need to smell like leaves. And it it would be really cool if it lit up to recreate moonbeams.

If anybody has any expertise in making snow globes, please try to make me a leaf globe. I want one. :-)  

A Delightful Day

This is a poem that was written for Rachel and me by Mama C.C, one the residents at the nursing home we play at. Our hearts are always blessed by her sweet, cheerful disposition. :-)

A Delightful Day

The seventeenth of September

Is a great day to remember;

For me, there can't be any other

Way for childless me to "mother."

Better then to give each special song

I once sang, to two sweet girls, who, long

After I am gone, will sing on!

                                                       Lovingly,

                                                                                                          Mama CC

Overcoming Writer's Block

Crazy buffaloes! It's been over a month since I last posted! I would apologize, but an apology would assume that I have done the world (or at least my readers) a disservice by not posting anything lately on my blog. In reality, I should probably apologize for the many minutes of your life that are wasted when I do actually post something new and you take the time to read it. However, for those of you who actually enjoy reading my blog, I apologize for the few seconds of your life that have been wasted lately when you've checked my blog only to find that there's not been anything new. This post is for you. :-)

So why haven't I posted anything lately? Well, to be honest, I've been busy. And being busy triggers my writer's block. How? Well, anytime I have a good idea to write about, I'm too busy to write about it. And then I forget it. The obvious solution to this problem would be to jot down my ideas as soon as I think of them and then go back later to write about them when I have the time, right? Of course. But the problem runs much deeper than not writing the ideas down as I think of them. . . I can't write the ideas down! I am incapable of writing the ideas down at the moment I think of them. You see, my problem is that my best ideas come at the most inopportune times: when I'm sleeping, walking, or showering.

Sometimes, I wake up thinking to myself, Wow, that was a good idea! I should write about that! But as soon as I think of that, my mind blanks and I totally forget what it was that was such a great idea. I used to be conviced that I never dream. Now, however, I'm convinced that I just plain forget all my dreams. On the other hand, sometimes at night as soon as my head hits the pillow, all kinds of great ideas rush to my mind. I could turn on my light and grab the notebook on my bedstand and write down the ideas as they come to me, but this solution means that I would never get any sleep. As soon as I wrote down an idea and turned the light off to go to sleep, another idea would pop into my head and I'd have to turn the lights on again to write it down. It would be a never ending cycle.

Walking always seems to generate good ideas in my head. Now, you'd think that it would be easy to write down ideas that I think of as I'm walking. Wrong. I am a very uncoordinated person. Walking and writing at the same time just doesn't work for me.

I've also noticed that I think of a lot of good ideas when I'm in the shower. Now, we all know that you can't take paper into the shower for obvious reasons. And by the time I get out of the shower and am all dried off, my ideas have left my head. I guess the obvious solution to this problem would be bathtub crayons. With bathtub crayons I could write my ideas all over the sides of the shower. Might not be a bad idea. . . but then my roommate who showers later could see all my ideas and steal them!! No, bathtub crayons are a bad idea.

Sigh. It seems the best solution to overcome writer's block is to write about writer's block itself. I guess that's what I just did.

New Posts Coming. . .

. . . eventually. I have a list of ideas to blog about, but blogging's not high on the priority list right now. Sleep, however, is.

This Day in History. . .

Okay, okay. So maybe it doesn't classify as history since it was only a year ago and I'm not really a famous or significant person, but one year ago today my wrist looked like this:

I normally don't like to toot my own horn, but what you may not know is that this funky looking wrist is the product of a sacrificial, heroic feat that should someday be included in the history books. On September 13th, 2010, Rachel and I were cruisin' along the trail at Freeman Park on the new Rollerblades my friends had bought me for my birthday. (Well, we weren't both on my Rollerblades; Rachel had her own pair. . . but you know what I mean.) After we had gone most of the length of the trail, we came to a hill. As we were descending the hill in high style, some elderly folks who must've been hard of hearing crossed our path. Not having enough time to stop and not wanting to run over them, Rachel and I risked our lives and purposely crashed into the side of the trail. The old people were safe!! We were heroes!!

Okay, okay. Maybe that's not exactly how it happened. Actually, the funky looking wrist is the product of my fear and stupidity, which is generally not a very good combination. Let's rewind to an hour before Rachel and I set out on our Rollerblading expedition. I was talking on the phone to my mom, telling her that Rachel and I were getting ready to go out Rollerblading.

"Oh, Honey! Do you have a helmet??"

"No, Mom. I'll be fine. I remember your tips on how to safely roll off a sled when I see I am about to hit a tree. I'll bet it works for Rollerblading, too."

"Okay. Well, do you have wrist guards? You don't want to break a wrist. You wouldn't be able to play the violin and dulcimer anymore."

"Mom, I'll be okay. If I fall, I'll make a point not to put my hands out to catch myself."

"How will you catch yourself then?"

"I'll just let my body fall and roll."

"Then you'll need a helmet, dear. I don't want you to break your fall with your head."

"Mom, I'll be fine. We'll go very slowly."

"Okay, Honey. You know I worry about you. Just be careful."

"I will. Love you."

"Love you, too, Sweetie."

So Rachel and I head out on our Rollerblades with no helmets or wrist guards. The trail at Freeman Park is pretty flat, so we were doing pretty well on the Rollerblades. About halfway around the trail, we stopped at a bench because I needed to adjust one of my Rollerblades. I sat down to make the necessary adjustments. As I was doing so, my good friend Melissa sent me a text message:

"How's the Rollerblading going?"

"It's great!! I haven't broken anything yet!"

"That's good! Well have fun and be safe!!"

"Thanks!"

So Rachel and I continue on. Soon we come to a hill. (Yes, I am aware that I have swtiched to present-tense verbs. I feel they are more effective at this point in my narrative.)

"Umm. . . Rachel, do you think we should attempt to go down this hill?"

"Sure. We'll take it easy."

"Rach, I don't know how to use my brakes."

"It'll be fine. I'll go in front."

"O-k-k-kay."

Rachel takes off down the hill. I follow. Rachel is keeping a nice, steady pace. I, however, start accelerating very quickly. Too quickly.

"RACHEL!!!! I CAN'T STOP!!!"

"Calm down, just turn your foot a little and let it drag. It will slow you down."

"AGGHHHH!!!! I CAN'T STOP!!!"

"Kim, don't panic. You're doing great."

"AAAGGGGHHHH!!! THERE ARE PEOPLE DOWN THERE!! I'M GOING TO HIT THEM!!"

"Kim! No, you're not. Just slow down. Don't panic."

"AAAAGGGHHH!! I CAN'T STOP! I'M PANICKING!!"

"Kim, you're being dramatic. Calm down."

"MOVE, PEOPLE!! I'M GOING TO HIT YOU!!! AAAGGGHHHH!!!"

The four, obviously hard-of-hearing old people keep walking, blocking the entire width of the path.

At this point I catch up to Rachel and grab her in a bear hug as I pass her. We both spin around two or three times before hitting the pavement, rolling over one another as we tumble down the hill. We come to a stop at the bottom of the hill, and the old people continue walking, oblivious to the whole spectacle.

A nice man comes running and asks us if we're okay. We start to get up. Rachel gets up almost immediately. I roll over and attempt to push myself up. I get up on my knees and notice that my wrist looks a little funny.

"Oh my. I think my wrist is broken. I think my wrist is broken! It's broken! I just know it's broken!!"

"Kim, you don't know that. Calm down. Just calm down."

"Rachel! Look at it!"

She looks at it.

"Oh dear. Okay. I know where the emergency room is!"

At this point, I'm cradling my wrist while the nice guy and his wife take my Rollerblades off. Rachel runs back to the car to get my shoes. When she returns, I'm up on my feet and we begin walking to the car. I feel very nauseated at this point.

On the way to the ER, I'm trying to hold my cookies and not cry at the same time. When we arrive, we walk up to the desk and I almost pass out. Some nurse gets me a wheel chair and rolls me into triage. The room is very messy and one of the guys rummages through the junk on his desk and finds a magazine that's buried under a McDonald's bag. He wraps the magazine around my wrist and tapes it. Then he asks me a few questions.

"When's your birthday?"

"September 13th."

"Oh, that's today! Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"What's your height?"

"Five-eight"

"Weight?"

"Mumble, mumble, mumble."

"Allergic to anything?"

"Ragweed."

"Um. Okay. Allergic to any medications?"

"Benadryl knocks me out, but I think that's a normal side effect."

"Um. Okay. Thanks. Does anything else besides your wrist hurt?"

"Nope." (Knowing that I was heading for X-rays next, I wasn't about to tell him that my tailbone was hurting!)

He finishes his questions and says, "Okay. You're free to go."

Umm. . . a magazine?? For a splint?? Are you serious?? What kind of place is this?! I'm going to be charged a  few thousand bucks and they wrap a magazine around my wrist?? Rachel assures me it's just a temporary splint while I'm in the waiting room to go back for X-rays.

As we're sitting in the waiting room, Rachel makes a few phone calls to let people know that we're in the hospital. At this point I'm in a lot of pain. Rachel asks me if she can get me anything. I tell her I'm thirsty. She goes to the front desk and asks for some water. The lady nicely tells her that I'm not allowed to drink anything. That makes me mad.

We wait FOREVER.

A nurse comes out.

"LaShonda Moore?" [DISCLAIMER: This name and the following names are made up.]

We look around. No one is getting up. I pipe up hopefully, "I'm Kimberly Moore."

"No. I need LaShonda Moore."

sigh

Eventually a lady comes running into the room. "Sorry. I needed to get a drink."

(SHE gets a drink?? That's not fair.)

So we continue waiting.

The same nurse comes out again.

"Bertha Moore?"

Again, no one moves.

"I'm Kimberly Moore!"

"No. I need Bertha Moore."

sigh

Bertha hears her name and puts her magazine aside and follows the nurse.

And we wait some more (moore???)

The nurse comes out again.

"Julius Moore?"

No one moves. I look around.

"Are you sure you don't mean Kimberly Moore?"

"No, honey, I meant Julius Moore. Julius Moore?? Is there a Julius Moore in here?"

Julius gets up and follows the nurse.

Sigh. The whole Moore family must be here for some reason. I wonder if maybe it's carbon monoxide poisoning or something.

Finally the nurse calls, "Kimberly Moore?"

"Do you mean me?"

"Are you Kimberly Moore?"

"Yes."

"Then I mean you."

"Good. I'm not related to those other people."

"I know." The nurse rolls her eyes.

I'm pushed back to X-rays. The nurse says it's okay for Rachel to come with me. We get back to the X-ray station. There's some young cocky blonde guy sitting at the desk eating his supper. The nurse informs him he has a patient.

"Good. I'm bored.I need some entertainment."

He pushes me back to the X-ray room.

"So what happened?"

"I broke my wrist."

"How'd you do that?"

"I was Rollerblading."

"Why were you Rollerblading?"

"Um. Because I wanted to."

"Did you fall?"

"Uh, yes."

"You're not supposed to fall."

"Um. I know."

"So why'd you fall?"

"I don't know!! Because I wanted to, maybe?!!"

At this point, I'm getting rather perturbed at his attempts to be funny. I'm in a lot of pain and I just want somebody to do something to make my wrist feel better.

He takes 40 million X-rays of my wrist. As he's looking at the X-rays in the other room, I hear him say, "Woah. That doesn't look good."

"Cool. Look at that!"

"Ooh. Gross. That's nasty."

Again, I panic.

He comes out and and I ask him, "Am I going to need surgery?"

"Definitely."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah. You did a doozy on your wrist."

"When will I have it?"

"Tonight."

"Oh, no! Oh, no! I don't want surgery! I can't have surgery!"

I begin to cry. I've never been to an emergency room, and I've never had to have surgery!! This was not good news. Rachel tells the guy that he is NOT funny.

Finally, the cocky blonde guy takes compassion on me and tries to comfort me. He apologizes for joking around with me when it was obviously an inappropriate time. Another guy (who's much nicer) rolls me into another room where my wrist is examined.

The nice lady in the bright room gives me some pain killers. Those make me happy. Very happy. I ask her if I really have to have surgery tonight.

"What?? No! Who told you that?!"

"The X-ray guy."

"Girl, pay no attention to him. He's a jerk."

Needless to say, I was very relieved. I was even more relieved when my mommy-away-from-home mommy arrived at the hospital. I guess Rachel must have called her. It is comforting to have someone who's like a mom be with you when you're traumatized and your real mom can't be there.

The nurse puts my arm in a real, honest-to-goodness splint, tells me to call the orthopaedic doctor in the morning to make arrangements for getting my bones reset and having a real cast put on, and sends me off with a prescription for pain killers.

So Rachel, Mommy-away-from-home mommy, and I head out to the parking lot (I got to ride the wheel chair again!!) and head off to get my prescription. We get the prescription and take Mommy-away-from-home mommy back to her car. Then Rachel and I head home where Dawn is waiting with my birthday cake:

As you can see, pain killers and chocolate cake make me very happy. The moral of the story? Don't go Rollerblading. And if you do go Rollerblading, make sure you have great friends who will take you to the ER and give you cake when you return home.