"ATTITUDE"

She was trying on a hat in Macy's department store.  She had girl friends with her, and was putting on a show to make them laugh.  The sales lady was black and gorgeous and laughed along with them.  "You've got attitude!" she said with just that right drawl.

Having attitude seems a lot like "acting out" although I've never quite put my finger on that theory.  "Acting out" could also describe writers and painters and musicians.  These people put their artistic personalities "out there".  They express what's in their souls and put it out for the world to see.  It seems to me that this would take some guts, to bare your innermost thoughts and feelings and passions and abilities.

If you were to line up the world, and put all the actors and musicians, and comedians, and writers, and dancers off to one side, it might look pretty small. Artists have different bells and whistles than the rest of humanity. 

This group must be growing though.  

Babies have cameras clicking as they come out of the womb.  Look at Facebook, listen to them talk.  Way more "in your face" than their parents were at that age. Look at their photo albums.  They have photo shoots, even dress up for them and pose in wonderful silliness. Teenage boys go to Malls to spend a day posing in various positions and various places in the Mall.  They don't even realize they have a sense of the shot, a perfect sense of silliness.  Artistic silliness.

You can shove a microphone in front of anyone on the street and as if they had been doing this sort of thing all their lives, "I saw it come down over there and then there was a loud explosion".  Take out your camera and the waiter, the girl in the table next to you, and the busboy fight over who will take your picture.

In far off lands, people are yelling and shouting and waving banners and flags and in some cases putting themselves in real danger fighting for a better life.  And all the while they know where the camera is and play to it. 

So, yes, perhaps there are folks that would say we have way too much 'attitude' .  Fair enough. 

I know there is an underside to this.  I know that we often say "He's way too full of himself". 

But in the trade-offs of life, I would respond most often to people with "attitude".

People who when they walk in a room make the others say "who's that?" People who light up a room. People who are larger than life. who say unusual things in unusual ways.  Attitude is not  the worst thing that a person can have.  

Jigsaw Table

Jigsaw puzzles are one of my favorite things.  I decide I want to have one "on the go" all the time.  Part of my day.

I was using a card table on the landing upstairs, but it was ugly.

So I go shopping.  "Look, I'm not going to have a glass of wine with a friend up there, I'm not going to read a book.  I'm going to work on the puzzle, look out the window to check on the world, perhaps sit on a comfy chair the odd time with a phone call."

I walked right by it at first.  It had been on the floor for awhile, had the odd ding here and there, so it was priced right.  Although I had no idea what my table might look like, this turned out to be the exact thing.  And it looked even better when the delivery guys said "where?" and I said "right against that wall".

So now I pour my second cup of coffee and head right up here.

I've discovered that you can do a jigsaw puzzle and listen to the radio at the same time.  They seem to use different parts of the brain.

I get my puzzles from the Pomegranate website.  They cost about $18 each, and a lot of them are from the Boston Museum. 

I order about 10 at a time.Takes me about 2 months to do a puzzle.

I choose the hardest ones -  take a piece and move it slowly back and forth over the puzzle pieces saying "Are you my mother?"

Not sure whether Frank Lloyd Wright's "Pencils" is hard.  Maybe it will be easy. 

But how about this "Huichol Yarn Painting!".

My system is chaotic - a whole bunch of a certain color.  Small completed sections dotted everywhere.  You can't believe the rush when you pick up one of these and it slips so smoothly and magically into the big picture.

I whisper a lot - "You are a genius!"  "Just look!  Did you see what I just did!".  My pretend friend giggles her congratulations and I go down for more coffee.

Reading

"The habit of reading is the only one I know in which there is no alloy.  It lasts when all other pleasures fade.  It will be there to support you when all other resources are gone.  It will be present to you when the energies of your body have fallen away from you.  It will make your hours pleasant to you as long as you live."
I know a lot of people for whom this comment would resonate.   
A friend comes for a visit. Her overnight case has one thing in it - a book.  A big, big book.  It looks like it weighs about 10 pounds.
I can feel the resignation in her voice.  "Yes, I know.  But what could I do?  I had already waited for 3 months.  The library called - and well, here it is".
We laugh as we get in the car.  I don't think she gets much of a chance to read while she's here.  But I hope she got that book read before she had to return it.
Many times I've been surrounded by women talking non-stop about the books they're reading.  "Have you read it?" is always the first question, and if you say "no" the flood gates open.  At the bridge table, Tim Horton's, or while the men are talking hockey, the women are talking books.  Oprah seems to be a good source, and I think they read their share of book reviews but it seems to me they get most of their ideas from each other.
And this is happening all on a background of "people aren't reading books anymore".  
I secretly admire these women.  I'm embarrassed when I admit to never reading books. I feel like I'm not keeping up, not dedicated.  
And I think this is true.  I'm part of the computer generation that is losing it's ability to concentrate.  I do most of my reading on the Internet and even my print reading is magazines and newspapers.  Everything I read is short.  Just the other day I noticed that the articles on one of my favorite web sites are becoming a bit long.  It's making me nervous.  I'm clearing my throat as I begin to feel my fingers getting itchy.  My eye is looking wildly down the screen to see how much longer this article is going to last.  
One of my web sites lets you read the full article for a limited amount of time, and after that you just get the shortened version.  This used to really bug me.  And then one day I realized that I liked the shortened version.
Even reading newspapers on the Internet, they often give you 3 paragraphs or less, and then give you the option of clicking "read more - "  Less and less I am taking that option, having learned all I wanted from the 3 paragraphs.  
I haunt the movie review web sites and read them all.  Watch the movie reviews and movie clips.  I wouldn't think of watching a whole movie.  It usually disappoints.
I haunt the book review web sites and read them all.  Increasingly we are given the option of reading the first chapter of the book.  I don't think I'll continue to do this.  I always like the book review better than the first chapter of the book.
I read a lot of blogs.  I read a lot of poetry.  But I don't read books.
I'm in bed right now.  Awake early, and reach for my computer.  I need to find out who wrote the words I quoted above.  In the search, I catch up with the world as we know it. A perfect start to the day.
You know that song?  "I know a little bit about a lot of things . . . . . . ."  That's me.
(The fellow who I quoted at the beginning is Anthony Trollope.  He wrote "The Way We Live Now" - a scathing 100-chapter of English greed (1875)

the Abbey

20 years ago, we were in Westminster Abbey.

It's a Sunday morning.  In London.  As we turn the first corner, we see a long long line up to the door of the church.

We walk to the front and say "We're here to take Communion".  

Without the slightest hesitation, the security rope is opened and in seconds we find ourselves in the lobby of the Abbey!

Before we can get our breath, the usher is there.  A discussion about seating.  

"It's a summer Sunday, and all we have here is the boys' choir, so there's lots of seats up there.  Would you like to sit in the Choir stalls?"

We try to look ho-hum about all this as we settle in our seats and timidly look to our left and stare at the crowd below filling the church.  Everything has happened so fast,  there's a "should I pinch myself to see if this is real" feeling about it all!

Is the word "Communion" the key to Westminster Abbey?  

Each seat has deep sides.  We have to lean forward to peak at each other.  It is comforting, because we feel exposed.  We hope that we look touristy enough that the rest of the crowd does not suppose we are members of the choir. 

Such an historic place. That morning, the past seems to be sitting next to us.

It still seems like a dream.  

We tell anyone who will listen about this adventure in our favorite city.

So here's to Kate and William.  We hope they have a perfect wedding day!

CHINA

China has taken centre stage lately.  I've always wondered what buttons they have been pushing.
Here's a short "take" on what makes China tick.  I found it in the New York Times.  I was impressed at the simplicity of the writing.  I grasped the characterization of the country instantly, and the concept has stayed with me solidly.  In fact, I heard myself describing it to a friend the other day.  I was a bit taken aback at the fragility of the arrangement there, and the idea that somehow the people in charge had seemingly lucked into the formula for keeping things on an even keel.  But you have to be impressed.  Very impressed.


"China largely operates on Confucian/Buddhist/Daoist values.  "Harmony" and "harmonization" are not euphemisms in China.  They are essential and basic tenets of the need to maintain balance between coexistent opposing and conflicting forces.  The alternative, perfectly understood by most Chinese and anyone aware of China's culture and history, is turmoil and chaos.  
Pew Global opinion polls show that the present Chinese Government enjoys higher public support than most so-called democracies.  The reasons for this are that the present Chinese government, probably more than any other government in China's entire history, is viewed by its public as competently delivering social and economic progress, and harmony.  Today is a very different China from that of the Empress Dowager, of Sun Yat-sen and the warlords, of many years of civil was and foreign incursions, or of Mao Zedong.  It is a reformist authoritarian state with many democratic characteristics.
It is intensely interested in, and is responsive to domestic and global opinion.  But China understands itself: it cannot stay on its path of steady progress without an authoritarian element in maintaining harmony.
To get some idea how different China's concept of harmony is from western values, consider this:
Confucianism is secular - a hierarchical system of sublimation of the individual to the higher needs of society and family.
Chinese Buddhism is intensely spiritual and individualistic.
Daoism is mystical and shamanistic.
While there is a good dash of Islam and Christianity in the Chinese values cocktail as well, there is no acceptance for the traditional claims of universality of any of the great belief systems.  
The result is a paradox: an extraordinarily harmonious, tolerant and peaceable society which is inherently unstable if allowed to slip out of balance.

Bob Dylan

Maureen Dowd is an opinion writer for the New York Times - political stuff.
But lately she's been talking about Bob Dylan.
He did a concert in China.
Perhaps because the Chinese are nervous about all the civilian uprisings lately, he was required to tell them what he was going to sing.

Maureen Dowd was incensed.  She implied that Dylan was "selling out",  that he's a protest singer and should have sung protest songs in China.
Lots of writers came to his defense.

What interested me in all the background material about him was that he himself never thought he was political.  "I had very little in common with and knew even less about a generation that I was supposed to be the voice of."
Some folks are even saying that he put one over on the Chinese, and sang lots of stuff that should have made them angry.
I heard that he was on the top of his game at the concert and that his harmonica was sizzling - so that would have made the crowd extremely happy.
Leave him alone, Maureen.  He's an icon and we want our icons unsullied.
Her column garnered 300 letters, most of which supported him.  I read every one of them.

computer obsession

Her computer plays soft jazz

The window blinds pulled high to catch the morning light 

computer shopping for designer fashion  

Eileen Fisher emailed the invite

Canadians welcome! they say on her site

Oh sure, but at what cost pray tell!

Zip over to the Picasso exhibit at MoMA   

Newspaper headlines from NewYork and Toronto

Facebook status check of the grandchildren 

clever and boistrous by turns, this new schoolyard communication

A long article "How David Beats Goliath" - when underdogs break the rules"

Compelling writing, New Yorker standard fare.

A glass of wine with lunch and earphones for Diana Krall,  Elvis Costello, Blue Heron. YouTube the new radio.

Jigsaw puzzle background favorite podcasts - science, books, religion.
Never enough time for the big world out there.

playing "store"

To three little girls

it was like a big department store

with dresses and shirts and hats hung all over

And our Dad would walk in

And look everything over very seriously 

and ask about a sweater or a scarf or a belt

"I'll take one of those and three of those - "

we would giggle and carefully mark down his choices

on old order forms from his office

We would feel grown up 

Not like we were standing around the dining room table

with all our paper cut-outs spread out in little rows

But like we were right at the Bay on Betts Avenue

and the murmer and laughter of the ladies shopping

was all around us.

the blossoms

Awkward like party dresses shy blossoms 

unaccustomed to adoration 

this annual wedding of the blushing bridesmaids 

we reach up and break off the blossoms

looking guilty for some reason 

as if a bank robbery

the evidence later found in a little jar

on the kitchen counter

or the small window in the bathroom

or just inside the front door on the cedar chest

no matter how many years how many colors how many trees

Ice cream for a hungry land longing for summer.

To My Last Period

Caroline Kennedy was on the radio today.

She's collected some poems and put them together.

"She Walks in Beauty" - mostly for women

falling in love, breaking up, work, children, growing old and growing older are some of the topics.

So the guy on the radio introduces her, talks about the book,

says he wants to read one of the poems.

He says "It's called "To My Last Period"

Well, girl, goodbye.

After 38 years, 38 years

And you've never arrived splendid in your red dress

Without trouble for me somewhere, somehow

Now it's done.

And I feel just like the grandmother who, 

after the hussy has gone sits holding her photograph and sighing

Wasn't she beautiful - wasn't she beautiful.

(By Lucille Clifton, who died last year)

He says to Caroline "and why did you choose that poem?"
There's a bit of a silence - 

"I can't believe you read that poem!"

It was a delightful piece of radio. 

Dad

It's hard to remember a long life.

It's hard to think back to years and years of stuff

My sister says "I can't remember that day!  

How can you remember something that happened

So long ago!"

And my brother says "Dad used to tell the weirdest jokes.

I never could tell whether they were funny

or just crude and tasteless"

This would get us all talking over top of each other

about our Dad

Nothing would get us going more than talking about our Dad

Lots of feelings there - sadness, guilt, hilarity, love, anger - 

I can still see him at the door 

Watching my Mom hugging us all - the laughter and smiles - 

And us watching him watching us with that comforting smile

His hands in his pockets. 

California Upkeep

You can tell a good chamber maid by the bedskirt.
If the bedskirt is always straight and true, no matter how complicated the design of the coverings - you can be sure the rest of the room will follow suit.  Many of these ladies are Mexican and we're impressed. Here in California, these people are just what is needed right now.  Along the coast, in Carmel-by-the Sea, Santa Barbara, and Palm Springs inland, many hotels and restaurants have been around for a long long time. And what makes them work is the exquisite upkeep they get.  Even though the bathroom from another era may lack counter space and the shower has seen a better day, the whole room is spotless and shining - every tile scrubbed and polished, taps gush hot water, toilets flush with exuberance, and you feel cared for and pampered.  The carpet looks freshly laundered, the old bedroom furniture oiled and wiped to fairly glisten. And this culture continues everywhere. The restaurants, shops on main street, museums  - all of them are constantly surrounded by small business technicians and workmen - carefully fixing this and that, making sure that all is well. 

We search for a good food store and are delighted. The produce department looks like an art show, the meat and fish are so tantalizing we have trouble choosing, and their massive aisles of better-than-average products makes the whole shopping trip a great deal of fun.  Because we'd been intent on the task at hand with the first visit, we laughed when we returned the second time to discover that the outside looked old and badly in need of a re-do.  It's obvious their large clientele could care less, and that the store had decided to put their money into products and service. But it's another indication that many places are in danger of becoming beyond their "best date".  A lot of these properties are in prime locations. Taxes must be horrendous. The landlords have to balance the budget.  They deserve full marks for working hard to keep from throwing out the baby with the bathwater. They preserve the important things - service, product and cleanliness - and impress us mightily with charm and integrity.  Good choices.

Away from home

I'm a home body.  I never want to be away from home.

But when it's time to golf, and to drive, and to see what's out there, we get in our little sports car and head down the road.

And when we get there, I like it.  Not right away, but when the rain stops and the cold stops, and we turn a corner to find sunshine forever, I like it.

And I'm good with it right away.  We find a place that's liveable, and different, and has 2 burners, and a frig, so we can stay home of an evening and cook a steak or lamb chops or salmon fillets, or an omelet and next morning have some really good toast with really good peanut butter.  It doesn't take a lot, you know, for happiness.  It doesn't take a lot.  Just a friendly room where hot water flows when you need it, and the bed is big and soft, and a little fireplace burns brightly for cocktail time, and we can get those burners going and we're in charge.  We love doing lunch, though.  We like to go out for lunch. Here's my favorite lunch.  A good restaurant.  A good menu.  And places to see before lunch and shopping to do after lunch - fun shopping in neat little spots not seen before.  

I miss the things we all love about home.  I miss my own bathroom.  My bedroom.  My piano.  My walks on the ocean.  My favorite fish and chip place.  My dance exercise routines.  My birds.  My views that change from day to day - all the things that make a home a home.  But there's a lot to be said for a little journey now and then.  And every time we leave home, we come back with a sense of awe about the world and all that's out there.

Tsunami

A girl from the prairies can't know this sound,

this roar from the beach.

She can't know that when she turns the corner 

to see the noise, she will be afraid.

The beach is crowded, kids pounding the sand

bare feet dodging to stay ahead of the rising foam.

roaring water hurling toward them as they scream and yell

She grabs his arm. He's shouting to the others

Pointing and laughing.  Wow!  Let's go!  Let's go!

Wait, her head is saying. Something is wrong

Something bad is going to happen

She sees the water wild, out of control - like the tsunami on TV

Terror rising in her throat, she starts running back up the beach

They call to her but she runs faster.

California Dreamin'

We've been living in Calfornia for awhile - a winter vacation.
The sun has been shining a lot, and this seems to have surprised the natives. "Oh yeah - we've had terrible weather lately" they say "even our summer wasn't good this year".  Be that as it may, as soon as we crossed the line from Oregon to California, the sun came out and it's stayed out ever since. Now, this is North America in January, so we're not talking about shorts and sandals, but for us from Canada, it's like a miracle.
Even more of a miracle is where we are in California.  Even been to Carmel, California?  Ever caught sight of the ocean when you weren't expecting to?  The waves in Carmel/Monterey California are truly "Hollywood" waves.  These waves simply roar - they roar in and out and up and down.  They crash into the rocks, climb up the craggy edges, bang against whatever is in the way.  People stand in awe. People are struck dumb by this spectacle. It comes in all forms. There are big-sigh waves, angry waves, show-off waves, king-of-the-castle waves and everything in between.
Sunsets are glorious, too.  Huge, rich and red, coloring the sky pink and coral. We're living in an apartment high up with a balcony. It looks down on huge trees of all kinds, with lots of invisible real estate underneath.  Through this, we get just a slice of the ocean, but it's a pretty good slice considering the price we're paying.  And if we're here at 5:15, Merv is usually out getting yet another shot of the sunset. This is also a sight that makes you feel very small.  It's the way the planet works - just doing what it's always done. Whatever or whoever is paying attention is of no interest to the principals involved.
Some of us respond to "planet" stuff with awe and fear.  All the stuff about "light years" and "black holes" and discovery of strange planets that may or may not have life on them.  Those shots the satellites take of outer space can be daunting, especially if you're the kind of person who is inclined to put music in the background - scary music filled with unknown chords and keys.
I mean - would you sign up for an interplanetary space journey?  The answer to that question definitely separates the men from the boys. And an ocean that is rich with movement and drama seems to belong somewhat in the category of wild and unknown phenomenon. Although I feel privileged to live within walking distance of an ocean beach, this piece of Carmel ocean is another kettle of fish entirely.

the outdoor rink

We were watching the outdoor NHL game last night. I think it was Washington playing in Pittsburgh.
It reminded me of a story a good friend told me one time.

"In 1940, my parents rented one of the very few houses in the east end of Regina, Saskatchewan, right next to Wascana lake. Along the lake was a wide open stretch of land.  Us boys in the neighborhood took it over. We built a football field, a baseball diamond and a 3 hole golf course.

When winter came we decided we needed a hockey rink.  In those days people didn't have running water or sewer in their houses.  We had to haul water for drinking, cooking, laundry and bathing from a "standard" at the corner of each city block.  We decided to build our rink under the street light adjacent to the standard so we'd be close to our water source.  The first year we ended up with a kind of pond surrounded by snow drifts and we spent more time looking for the puck than we did playing hockey.  Next year, they were building "wartime houses" in the area, and a delegation of us asked the contractor for the concrete forms left over from poring the basements.  He agreed and all of a sudden we had a hockey rink with real boards.  The installation wasn't easy as we had to build supports to hold the boards and then freeze them in place.  But the parents pitched in to help and we got the job done.  It was becoming a neighborhood project.  I can't really remember if any girls were interested, but I don't think so. I would have remembered.
As we progressed to a regulation size hockey rink with real boards, we encountered new problems.  It was almost impossible to flood this rink from the "standard" because of the low water pressure.  So our delegation went to City Hall to see if the fire department would help us by flooding the rink from the fire hydrant across the road.  They agreed to do it right after freeze up.  The day they did it was a very exciting day for us.  All that ice, and the boards around the ice.  It seemed like a miracle.  And after another delegation, they flooded it one more time during the winter.
Every kid would be out there from early morning until dark on Saturday and Sunday and on week days we started playing hockey right after school.  Warm-up for the game was cleaning the snow from the ice with home made pushers.  As things progressed, we built a "shack" with a wood stove.  We'd all huddle in this primitive little structure and drink ginger ale and act like real hockey pros after a full day's practice session.  I can't remember where we got the stove, but it's amazing we didn't burn the whole place down.
I was never a very good skater, so I always ended up playing goal.  I would strap "Eaton's" catalogues to my legs with electricians tape and sealer rings - and the odd old pillow as a chest protector.  No head or face gear except for a toque.  As I remember, I was fearless, and to this day I can show you the indentations in my shins from those encounters.
We would spend hours on this rink, go home exhausted, and be right out there again next morning. We were extremely poor in those days, but in many ways our boyhood was full and rich, and I remember it with great fondness."
Such a good story of one man's boyhood in a Prairie town in the 1940's.
Our boys also played a lot of outdoor hockey when they were young. We lived in a little house close to the school rink, and they would put on their skates at home and walk over to the rink of an evening - play until the lights went out, and sometimes longer.  But in their generation, there was the big indoor fancy rink down town, and they would play school hockey there the odd time, or go to the "general skating" on a weekend. They would skate as long as allowed, and show off in front of the girls.
I read in the paper today, that boys hockey in Canada is not # 1 anymore.  It's soccer.  Very likely this is as much about money and the difficulty of getting on a team as anything else.
But for whatever reason, times they are a-changin'.

know any good jokes?

Laughter.  I miss it.  We would laugh so much when we were kids. Big bursts of laughter. Trying to catch your breath laughter.  Stopping and then erupting again laughter.  Almost weeping laughter.  It was always with girlfriends - mostly in a girlfriend's bedroom where we all went for privacy back in those days of tiny little homes. It could start over anything. Something that happened in school or in our own kitchens, or at the store or just talking.  Girls are giggly, and anything could set us off.  "she started down the hill, and then things went way too fast, and her legs  - - - ".  Laughter in wave after wave, in glorious eruptions. We'd try to talk again, or add some fresh take on the scene - the laughter would start again and you wouldn't be able to finish. Helpless, uncontrollable laughter, and the best fun ever. Not sure whether "side-splitting" is still used, but it's true.  Sometimes, you thought that you would break something inside your body.  The most painful sessions would be in the middle of class.  Something would set us off, just 2 or 3 good girlfriends with the same sense of humor.  Maybe an answer to a question, or a silly face by the classroom clown. Then we'd try to be quiet, and the laughter would become almost a sob.  We'd get it under control, and then one of us would turn to look back at the other, and it would start again.  The teacher would know exactly what was going on and we would be scolded.  It usually ended there.  Sometimes something would happen in church, and then we'd have to deal with parents.  I still remember running out of the church one time, because I simply could not stop laughing.  It was such a high.  Boys didn't seem to do it as much, and they would be inclined to look over at us as if we were nuts, with that "I hope they aren't laughing at me" take on it.  I remember how good we felt after a laughing fit.  Very exhilarated.Very loose.Very energetic.
I don't have a sense of when that kind of sheer hilarity stopped.  I remember laughing a lot well into our twenties, but not as much as the years went by.  Sad.  I said to a friend the other day that I wanted to start a "laughter" file.  She sent me something not long after, but it didn't work. Really good laughter has to be spontaneous, I think.  It's not something you can book into your week.  "Let's see now, I'll book laughter for Friday night.  I think that would be a good night to laugh".
I read something last week that started me thinking about the subject.
"Laughing is found to lower blood pressure, reduce stress hormones, increase muscle flexion, and boost immune function by raising levels of infection-fighting T-cells.  It triggers the release of endorphins, and produces a general sense of well-being. Hospitals are incorporating formal and informal laughter therapy programs into their therapeutic regimens."
I was watching what could have been one of those programs on YouTube the other day.  Mmmmm.  I'm not sure how really genuine it looked to me.  Seemed there was too much heartiness, too much "put-on" about it, too much trying too hard to make it work.
You can't really make it happen, can you? It's like a special something when you least expect it. You're watching TV for instance.  Golf Channel the other day.  The golfer takes off shoes and socks and steps into the lake.  This is unlikely enough to be funny to start with and then he swings his club real hard and the water floods all over him. The camera zooms into the golf ball sitting in exactly the same spot. It was good for a solid giggle - a "way from the bottom" giggle that is genuine and delightful but doesn't go much further than that. But it felt good.  
 

the empty kitchen

Our Christmas hostess is a wonderful cook.  Not only that, she's gutsy and will take on cooking adventures that would make the rest of us nervous.  But she's not the norm.  And sometimes, I think that our kitchens are losing out to the food industry.
Look at coffee.  We can't compete with coffee in the kitchen any more.  Tim Horton's, Starbucks, in fact a lot of service stations will offer a perfect cup of coffee. Their coffee machines just don't make mistakes.
Baking - who bakes?  My food store has a dessert department that is a block long!  Their cheese cakes alone are astonishing.
This same store has a huge island just for fruit.  2 people do nothing but prepare fruit in all its guises and in all sizes and shapes. Their "made in store" orange juice is spectacular.
Sushi - there's a little counter next to this where hard-working folks are making fresh stuff that I'm increasingly buying and enjoying.
Bread.  Who would bake their own bread anymore.  Go to any good bakery department. The bread is incredible! We just had a bowl of soup for dinner, and I took an ordinary small loaf of frozen garlic bread out of my freezer.  8 minutes later, we enjoyed delicious hot bread, seasoned just right,  buttery and sizzling.
Speaking of soup.  For those of us who come from the Campbell's Soup generation - it's a big big world out there now.  I love to take a good soup and add to it - chicken, clam juice, niblet corn.
You want a great pot roast?  Go to the supermarket. Heat in the oven, succulent with delicious gravy.
You want Yorkshire Pudding to go with it?  Buy it frozen and ready for the oven, or buy it in a package, add an egg and some water, voila - golden, crusty, crunchy and waiting for that gravy.
Meat departments have larger and larger "butcher on call" counters. Here again, the choices of meats and fish that you take home and pop in the oven is growing - they are stuffed, and breaded, and sauced, and put on sticks, and so on. And if you want a salmon fillet for dinner, you get to choose exactly which one you want.
Been to a good deli department lately?  Watch the traffic.  It's endless.  Bean salads, ethnic dishes, three kinds of potato salad (when was the last time you had the nerve or the time to make a potato salad?) You want sliced roast beef? well done? medium? rare? Want a roast chicken?  Singles tell me they can do three nights of dinners with a roast chicken from the deli.
Pizza?  We have a favorite thin dough pizza from the supermarket that is much better than I could make. It's designed perfectly for 2 people, and takes 8 minutes to cook.
We're not talking about feeding a family of five, but in category after category, we are being out-done in the kitchen by store-bought prepared food.  Not that long ago, we rejected most of this stuff.  It didn't measure up, and there's still lots of rejections out there.  But their successes are growing, and will continue to grow.