Blue mustard/green catsup

I've been threatening to write this post for months. It's one of my favorite diatribes when faced with the absurdity of today's marketing world.

Blue mustard. Green catsup.

I can't believe it. Even for a major corporation, this was really crass. I mean, trying to appeal to the kids out there who will think it's gross or cool or "sweet" to squeeze a splot of green catsup on a plate of French fries. And can you imagine the color clash of blue mustard on a pink hot dog? Yuck.

All in the name of the All Mighty Market Share.

Let's face it. You can't change the taste of mustard much. Oh, they try. Flavored mustards line the shelves of the gourmet food store. I end up throwing out a bunch of teeny little jars of it that come in those gift baskets at the holidays.

But regular old mustard - YELLOW mustard as it is known on the generic brands - is, well, generic. It's almost like the Heinz and Hunts people have lost their patent and need to do something to jazz up the same ho-hum condiments.

Come to think of it, I haven't seen the blue stuff on the shelf lately. Maybe it got moved out of my line of sight: down to eye level for six-year-olds.

As it is, there are 18 different brands of catup and mustard fighting for grocery store top billing. Mostly its a packaging war: glass bottles, plastic bottles, upside-down bottles, combo bottles for picnics. So what do I buy? The Kroger brand with the red twist top that always leaves a tiny crust of dried mustard on the top.

Just last week I noticed that one of the Big Brands has come out with a mustard container that has a tiny lid that snaps over the hole, thus eliminating that dried crust. Might be worth a try. But first, I need to buy toothpaste. Now if I can just remember which one of these 156 varieties I bought last time...

Freedom

I heard the tapping first, as soft and quick as raindrops against my windows. Then I noticed the lower undertone, a frantic hum. And the frightened cries of a hummingbird, panicked beyond hummingbird imagination.

The little fellow had trapped himself in my garage. I had no idea how long he'd been beating his hard shell beak against the double-paned glass, wings a-whir. His squeaks of frustration must have gone unnoticed; there was no hummingbird contingent on the other side of the window, urging him on, to try harder to break free.

And freedom seemed so near. There it was, just outside the transparent barrier. Again and again, the tiny bird pelted himself at the glass, determined to fly off into the summer sky.

It was heartbreaking, if not glass-breaking.

The little guy didn't seem to grasp that the garage door was open, a giant invitation to freedom. I suspected that he had been locked inside for several hours, flown around and around and finally settled on the window as his most likely exit strategy. Apparently hummingbird minds are not easily dissuaded. He needed a little help.

The logical solution was to pull down the top window frame. removing the glass obstacle and allowing the tiny bird to finally succeed at flying straight out the window. But I only managed to increase the little bird's anxiety; the top frame was painted shut.

I thought briefly about trapping the little guy, but I didn't want to harm those delicate wings. I finally managed to wrench open the bottom tilt-out window. But the bird stubbornly maintained his vigilance at the top window, peck-peck-pecking, squeaking his terror.

In desperation, I grabbed a lightweight broom. Gently, slowly, I guided the terrified bird lower and lower toward the open window. The little bird fought back, tried to hold his position. I was suddenly afraid I would injure his fragile body even with the broom's soft bristles. He fluttered lower, then abruptly turned, noticed the broad opening of the garage door and was gone.

Smiling, I pushed the tilt-out window back into place and locked it.

It was such a metaphor for my own yearning, my insistent push toward freedom. It's right there. I can see it, beckoning, taunting me. And, like my little hummingbird friend, I peck ineffectively against the Big Barrier.

Perhaps it's time to stop beating my head against the glass and turn around. Wow. That other door is wide open. Excuse me while I fly.