Again. Every day is a “National Day” of something or other. This practice of making everything on God’s Green Earth, a “National Day” has trivialized the title, if you ask me.
I think National Days should be reserved for the big hitters, like Independence. Memorializing the Heroes. Or, like, big pumpkins and candy goblins, egg-laying rabbits, or the big, fat guy in a red suit, wedging himself down chimneys.
But no. We’ve pushed the limits haven’t we? And now it ALL is a National Day of Something. Yesterday was National HVAC Tech Day. Those would be the good technicians of Heating, Ventilation and Air Conditioning. Now, I know a LOT of people who do that. Many have been here at times, changing filters and replacing hoses and such. I did not send any one of them a card. Nary a one.
Albeit, on my last swing through the card section at Walgreen’s Pharmacy, there was no section for HVAC Tech Day. No Teddy Bears with little plumber butts, or bronze plaques. Nothing. Maybe a Hallmark Store would have such things, but in these parts, we are more likely to see Bigfoot walking through town, than to see a Hallmark Store.
So yes. The National Days certainly can be over the top.
Yet. Today. It three-fold.
National Hydration Day
National Pink Day
National Pecan Sandies Day
The first two are tapioca, if you ask me.
Every day should be hydration day. They should just throw that one out with the baby, and the bathwater.
And Pink Day? Oh come on. Like anyone needs an excuse to wear MORE pink? Sure, little kids love it, and they should embrace their pink. But adults? If you are an adult, and have a thing for “pink” — I have a truck full of Hello Kitty’s to sell you. Before I get hate mail from the Pink Supporters, pink is fine. I have a pink hoodie. There, if it makes you happy, I will wear it today.
But. Then there is the last one. The National Pecan Sandies Day. This one conjures up all sorts of memories for me. First of all. Any time I hear Pecan Sandy, I think of Sandy Duncan and her floating eye. When I was a kid, and she would be on TV, I couldn’t concentrate on anything except for her glass eye. Floating around. I’m told she didn’t really have a fake eye, but in my kid-head, she did. So when I hear the cookie name, I think of Sandy Duncan, and then subsequently, all the people with glass eyes from my past. Peter Falk. Sammy Davis Jr. Jack Elam. Marty Feldman. Oh the list goes on. Even if they didn’t have glass eyes.
But back to the cookie. The Pecan Sandy. People either say it pi-CON or PEA-CAN. I am the former, not the latter.
Anyway, we didn’t really get a lot of cookies growing up. At least I didn’t. And when we did, they were NOT Pecan Sandies. The only time they ever entered our house was during Girl Scout Cookie Time. Then, Mom would buy a box. But they were always the last ones to go. We killed the Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies first, and the Thin Mints. Next would be the Shortbreads. And finally, in last place, the Pecan Sandies. Without fail. Every year.
And I couldn’t eat them without seeing that dang old Sandy Duncan. Which would sort of spoil the whole cookie for me. And when I would dip it in milk, it would really freak me out. Sandy Duncan. Dunking Pecan Sandies. That’s a lot for a seven year old.
They should have National Go To Therapy Day for the rest of us. I think.
“No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.”
― Charles Dickens
“We only have what we give.”
― Isabel Allende
“Tell the truth, or someone will tell it for you.”
― Stephanie Klein, Straight Up and Dirty