TBT – Baby Sale

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In 1989 I wrote a weekly column for the local paper.  I know, that whole sentence that reeks of nostalgic and ancient terms:  1980, newspaper, column. Think of it as an early blog. Only with more readers.   For Throwback Thursday I thought you’d enjoy a taste of the past.  I don’t know how much I enjoy reading over my old material.  But it’s interesting to learn how little things really change.  Comment if you agree or disagree, then dig out your scrunchie  and welcome to the 80s.

The moral of this story is there is no moral.  Much,much, later I took a job as the Marketing director for a non profit.   By then, I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that babies sell.  They can sell any food, any drink, any color carpet.  AND they are great at solicitation.   

For years I  exploited  my own children to promote our own retail business, a bicycle store, In one ad we took a photo of Thomas in his play pen and called him our General Manager, which wasn’t all that far from the truth.  By  the time I worked for United Way, Thomas, though cooperative,  had grown out of the cuddly phase.  I needed to increase our donation base.  A baby was the man for the job.   I asked a friend who had in her possession, a rather round, easy going baby.  She allowed me to stage a photo with her boy. He was as easy as my son, once we handed him a chocolate bar (to emphasis that babies need good nutrition, we weren’t selling chocolate, although that would have worked just as well). Great baby, great photo, good results.  The only criticism came from the Executive Director of a Senior Service non-profit who complained that I always used babies in the marketing material thus favoring child-based services.

I was too busy hunting down a kitten for the baby to hold next to pay attention.

I suggested that seniors, as a group, are not cuddly. She was not amused, but then, nothing much amused this woman, not even a kitten.   

   Babies are natural sales people built to be adorable and appealing just to prevent their  sleepless, harried caregivers from giving them away.  We all know this.

Well, I know this now.

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TBT – All The Cancers

In the 1980s I wrote a weekly column for the local paper.  I know, that whole sentence that reeks of nostalgic and ancient terms:  1980, newspaper, column. Think of it as an early blog. Only with more readers.   For Throwback Thursday I thought you’d enjoy a taste of the past.  I don’t know how much I enjoy reading over my old material.  But it’s interesting to learn how little things really change.  Comment if you agree or disagree, then dig out your scrunchie  and welcome to the 80s.

I had forgotten about hairdryers in my rush to be one of the first to worry about the cancer implicationsin the 1980s Everything Caused Cancer
associated with cell phones and drinking too much wine.  Or not drinking enough wine, or calling friends to discuss how we should worry about drinking  which at that point  I needed a drink.

Things are neither good or bad but thinking makes them so. I have learned that over thinking causes more cancer than anything else evidenced by the fact that cancer has not been cured and  its causes are still debated, both in the medical field and in popular magazines. Hair dryers, red dye number 2, asbestos, apples. A no-win conversation.

As a parent, everything was fraught with either meaning or danger.  And I am so sorry that it hasn’t changed. It seems that parents today are as freaked out as we were thirty years ago.  I miss the 50’s when parents were not freaked out. They  smoked during pregnancy, let their children use plastic bags as space helmets and  bought lawn darts for Christmas.

Now THOSE were the days.

Now?  Not so much.  Maybe we need to just acknowledge that life is dangerous.  No one gets out of here alive. And if the conversation will not change,  we need to find strategies to work within the danger, make choices about the health or health claims of the food we ingest and eat our dinner.  Because  no matter what we invent, no matter what we ban, something new,  interesting and very tasty will pop up and become the new, new panic.

Let’s all raise a glass of red while we wait for our cheeseburger order and live. I really didn’t feed the boys Cheez Whiz.  But I never, ever, gave up the blow dryer. Not many of us did.

Blow dryers are no longer dangerous.  Just saying.

 

Visit us on iTunes – Newbie Writers Podcast – new episodes start again in January 2017
Check out our upcoming book Don’t Write Like We Talk that will be published eventually. All you need to do is wait . . . Like us.
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TBT – Are You Living in the Suburbs?

Suburban life in the 80sIn the 80s I wrote a weekly column for the local paper.  I know, that whole sentence that reeks of nostalgic and
ancient terms:  1980, newspaper, column. Think of it as an early blog. Only with more readers.   For Throwback Thursday I thought you’d enjoy a taste of the past.  I don’t know how much I enjoy reading over my old material, but  it’s interesting to learn how little things really change.  Comment if you agree or disagree, then dig out your scrunchie  and try on the 80s for a minute.

The suburbs are great for raising kids, and boring for raising adults.  Even in the midst of small children, I both longed for the culture and stimulation of city life, yet loved the convenient Safeway parking lot.  This conflict never really resolved itself.  I loved every city I traveled to (okay, maybe not Cairo so much, but I loved Luxor).  But I did not have to carry my groceries up five flights of stairs to my adorable apartment with interesting views and indifferent electricity.  I loved the noise and action of the city at night, but I didn’t need to get up for an early meeting the next day.

One of those suburban children lives in a small town in the Sierra Foothills and longs for acres of land for his multitude of animals.  The other lives in Kirkland, two blocks from a Starbucks.

My husband and I spilt the  difference and bought a house in a small, but lively town that has most of the culture, bars and restaurants of the big city without the stress.

Almost perfect. Isn’t that what we long for, really?

My friend “Frank” still lives in San Francisco.  And I still visit because I have season tickets to the ballet.  I don’t know why I called him Frank.  His name is Lester.

 To learn more.
Visit us on iTunes – Newbie Writers Podcast – new episodes start again in January 2017
Check out our upcoming book Don’t Write Like We Talk that will be published eventually. All you need to do is wait . . . Like us.
Subscribe to this blog
Or just follow me on Newbie Writers Group on Facebook
And Instagram #catharineBramkampWriter
And Pinterest Catharine Bramkamp
And @CBramkamp
The theme is, Catharine Bramkamp, thank god there is only one of me

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