Just Another Syndrome

In the cluttered mind of a middle-aged woman, many thoughts can run at the same time. This can be, at once, both productive AND counter-productive, a perfect storm of mental collisions that often result in the syndrome, "Why did I come in here?" I have this syndrome frequently and feel well-qualified to speak on the issue.

Just the other day, when I was doing a thorough condo-cleaning (this happens once in a blue moon), the process went something like this:

Deciding to start with the bathroom in the lower level, I went downstairs to gather up the towels. On the way down, I realized that I should think about how many towels needed washing in the condo, because it would take more than one load. I turned around and headed back up the stairs to collect all the towels from the three bathrooms. Moving into the master bath, I remembered that I wanted to dust those floors, but first, I'd have to take the three throw-rugs out to be shaken. I took the three throw rugs outside, gave them a good shaking and laid them over the stair railing. I went into the laundry room to get the floor duster (to use in the master-bath area), saw the washing machine and remembered that I was supposed to be washing towels. At this point, I did actually gather up all the towels and get a load started. In the meantime, I noticed that the hardwood flooring in the upper level was really dusty. I started to work on that, but realized that there were a lot of food particles that needed sweeping first, so I returned to the laundry room to fetch the broom and dustpan. When I reached for the dust pan, I noticed that the duct tape holding my old, favorite dust pan together was beginning to fail so I went down to SO's workspace to get the duct tape. As I walked past the lower-level bathroom, I spied the basket of tub toys from the grandchildren's visit and thought I should put it away. I did that and continued on to get the duct tape, which hangs above the shelf where the bottled water is stored. Seeing the bottled water reminded me that I had been meaning to bring up more bottled water from the lower-level storage area to the first floor storage area. I put as many bottles of water in my arms as I could carry and, as I turned to leave the basement storage area, arms full, I spied the duct tape, which was the last reason I had gone downstairs. Realizing I could not grab one more item, I headed upstairs, arms full, to the closet where the bottled water is kept. I placed the water bottles in their 'spot', but noticed the container of vacuum sweeper bags and remembered that the upright vacuum sweeper needed a new bag........................

Do you see where this is going?

Later - about three hours later - I did finish cleaning the lower-level bathroom. As I was closing the door, I laughed at myself because I could remember the many 'detours' I had taken during the course of the day and marveled at how I could get anything done while suffering from the 'Why-did-I-come-here? syndrome'. I know this is a common affliction among women because we have the courage to say so. I suspect that it afflicts men, as well, but they are reluctant to admit it.

As we approach a new decade, I challenge all who read this blog to acknowledge and face our syndromes.......head on, with courage, grace and dignity. Now, which syndrome was it that I just wrote about??????????????????

Ancora imparo

Once In A Blue Moon

As a child, I can remember my mother, grandmother and other elders using the phrase, "Once in a blue moon." Although I had no real concept of what a 'blue moon' was, I was able to discern that it meant something would happen 'not very often', to put it in the phraseology of a child. Throughout my growing and aging years, I'm certain I've uttered the phrase myself, usually (or always) with a sarcastic tinge to my voice. In today's vernacular, we might be heard to say, "I'll believe it when I see it.", or young people might say, "like that will ever happen" or, "riiight". (Misspelling intentional)

My newspaper, from this morning, has an article by Associated Press journalist, Alicia Change, entitled, "Rare New Year's Eve 'blue moon' to ring in 2010". The piece goes on to explain just what a blue moon is....two full moons in one month..... a rare occurrence and even rarer to happen on New Year's Eve, with the last New Year's Eve blue moon occurring in 1990 and, after this year's, the next one won't come until 2028.

This made me think of happenings/events/actions that will probably occur only 'once in a blue moon', but I wish could occur more frequently. With the New Year approaching, each of us may have a list of wishes that we will have formulated......call the items on the list wishes, promises, resolutions........whatever.

What is it about this time of year that makes us look both forward and backward? The need and desire to start afresh is strong but so is the proclivity to take a gander in reverse. Does reverse-viewing, I'll call it, serve any purpose?

As I take this day to clean, organize, and dust away, I'll be spending some time pondering my own ponderings. I'm sure that after I've analyzed my year in 'reverse', my neck will feel like Linda Blair's in the movie, "The Exorcist" and I will need to make an appointment with my favorite 'bone cruncher'.

If any readers have wisdom learned from 2009 that you would care to share, please send it my way and I'll pass it on! I think I'll be in short, personal supply.

Ancora imparo

Purple Napkin Particle-Proliferation Problem

Recently, I shared a story with readers about my 'purple napkin particle- proliferation problem'. As a former educator, I'd like today's posting to serve as a public service warning to others who are in charge of the laundry service in their homes.

Ancora imparo's Public Service Announcement Number One:
(I pray there will be no need for Number Two.)

Caution should be used when gathering soiled linens or clothing to be placed into a top-loading washing machine. (Owners of front-loading washing machines ought not to need this warning because if the 'purple napkin particle-proliferation problem' happens to you then you have bigger issues confronting you......perhaps the need to lay off the sauce or other controlled substances.) If the surface of the adjoining clothes dryer is to be used as a resting place for items not laundry-related, then care must be taken to clear same area before sliding soiled clothing or linens from dryer top into washing machine drum. Constant vigilance must be observed to prevent foreign objects from entering into washing machine drum. However, in the event that caution is not heeded and foreign objects (such as forty purple, paper napkins) do find their way into the washing machine - unnoticed until the wash cycle is completed, the following steps may be necessary to reverse the effect of the 'purple napkin particle-proliferation problem':

1. Crying and muttering unprintable words at the washing machine have not been found to be effective.
2. Care should be taken when removing articles of wet clothing or linens covered with thousands of tiny pieces of shredded, colored paper.
3. If care is not taken in the removal of the wet laundry load, you will need a vacuum sweeper with an empty bag to clear away the mess.
   
4. Waiting until the thousands of wet, tiny pieces of shredded, colored paper have dried only exacerbates the problem when the air from the furnace blows the thousands of wet, tiny pieces of shredded, colored paper everywhere.
5. You must be prepared for the appearance of your washing machine tub, which will be totally covered in whatever color your formerly dry napkins looked like.
   
6. You will need to run one, perhaps two cycles of plain water through your washing machine in order to clear the tub of the thousands of wet, tiny pieces of shredded, colored paper.
7. New towels unfortunate enough to have accompanied the colored napkins on their laundry journey will never look the same.
8. When attempting to dry the ill-fated laundry load, your lint trap will fill within the first five minutes and then need to checked and emptied every ten minutes or so to prevent a dryer-fire.
9. Subsequent dryer loads will reveal large chunks of shredded, colored paper that seem to appear from nowhere.
   
10. After approximately ten more dryer loads, your lint trap will be free of shredded, colored paper.
    

Failure to heed this Ancora imparo Public Service Announcement Number One may result in the need for talk therapy, drug therapy or both.

Ancora imparo

My Peeps Are Gone

The inevitable has happened. My children have taken their children and themselves back to their homes, their beds, their schedules. How comforting their own pillows will feel tonight.

I know and understand all this but it is still hard to make the shift from the sounds of active exuberance to the quiet stillness that two older adults live in. I much prefer the squeals of delight when, playing hide and seek with grandkids, they find the hidden grandparents. Or, when we had a parade, around and around the kitchen island, banging pots and pans. Or, the goofiness that only two and three-year olds can produce or appreciate.

Having your grandchildren visit gives you the excuse to bring your inner child back out. If I slid down the hill, in my yard, on a plastic saucer at any other time, my neighbors' tongues would wag forever, but, in the company of my grandsons, it seems perfectly natural. If my SO and I made the faces and sounds that make Princess Leia smile and laugh, we'd likely be committed to a facility where all the walls are padded and the residents smile continually.

Mornings are special because the little people usually appear before their parents. Little feet come scampering up the stairs from the lower level, little hands often clutching a favorite stuffed animal, and the little faces almost always have big smiles on them. Sleepy parents then get a little more time to rest and relax before making their appearance.

Lastly, I realize what truly priceless times they are when my children, their families, and my SO and I are together......for any amount of time. I feel like the brood hen who gathers her peeps under her wings for protection. The urge to parent, protect, and provide never leaves. Oh, it may be dormant or subdued, but the parenting instinct is forever, I believe. Once you have children, your DNA is permanently changed - the parenting chromosome is genetically attached and sealed, to be altered only at the end of a parent's life.

Although my peeps are gone now, this old brood hen will go scratch the ground, rebuild her nest, and forage for vittles in order to be ready for the next peeps visit.

I hope all of you had a good visit with your peeps.

Ancora imparo

Teachable Kingdom

Our household is quiet - for the moment. The past twenty-four hours have spawned many teaching moments..........

TLV and TLVLB have been sharing the same bed during their visit here. This has inspired 'active' bedtimes and nap times. One of their parents usually goes in to settle the two, which turns out to be often ineffective because the parent then becomes the one who falls asleep while the boys gain energy from resting.

Twice, now, in twenty-four hours, G and G have gone outside to play in the snow with TLV and TLVLB. The slope along side the condo is perfect for sledding and the two plastic saucers that G and G bought have turned out to be inspired purchases. After an hour or so outside, the adults are appropriately tired out and ready for naps while the boys have gained energy from playing.

Princess Leia developed an ear infection whilst visiting G and G. She and her mother went to the doctor for the official diagnosis. Now Princess Leia is medicated and the adults want some, too.

TLV and his dad made their traditional Sunday pancakes for lunch and they were really good. Small children can eat a lot of pancakes........so can adults!

Moi learned that haste makes a mess. While hurriedly 'throwing' in a load of laundry this a.m., I accidentally grabbed what was intended to be a stash of colorful purple, paper napkins (approximately forty in all) to be used during our guests' stay. The bed sheets accidentally trailed across the stack of napkins, dragging the napkins into the washing machine. This mistake was not revealed until the load was done, the washer lid lifted, and a thick, purple haze was found to be on every surface of every item in the washing machine. The entire interior of the washing machine was also covered with this thick, purple goo....as that is what paper napkins turn into when thoroughly wet......I really needed medicating.

But, now, Princess Leia is awake, smiling and I get to sit with her. This is my reward for the napkin mess.

Perhaps I'll make another mess. I have two other grandchildren!

Ancora imparo

Twas the Night After..........

Across America, the hoopla is winding down. Underneath the Christmas trees, the flooring is bare. Where there were once brightly wrapped gifts, now just the tree's base sits, looking naked and lonely. Discarded wrapping paper, ribbons and bows clutter the floor and the carefully-selected gifts have been squirreled away to who knows where. Bellies are too-full and the carbohydrate comas have settled in. Dishwashers are humming or the dishwashers are tired, their hands have wrinkled skin and they have had it OR no dishes have been washed and sinks are piled high with dirty dishes. Damp dish towels lay in clumps on countertops or have been thrown into washing machines, waiting to be cleaned.

On the other side of the coin, families have dined together, meals have been shared, babies have been smiled at and played with, toys have been explored by grandpas and grandchildren, books have been read, baths have been given, cookies have been eaten and grandchildren have been tucked in. Priceless moments have been experienced and recorded on digital cameras and video recorders.

These are the memories of Christmas past, present and future.

Merry Christmas.

Ancora imparo

All That Glitters IS Ice

Ice, Ice, Baby.

Remember those words from a song? We do have ice, ice, Baby.

Lucky enough to still have power through this storm, I remembered the previous storm that dumped fourteen or more inches of moisture-laden heavy snow that snatched the power from us for enough hours to make things a bit chilly and grind all things electrical to a halt. Sometimes memories work against us.

My first tip-off, that something meteorological was amiss, came last night as I worked in my kitchen, which overlooks a busy state highway. I was mixing and stirring away when suddenly I realized that I'd seen zero headlights go whizzing by for a while. Now that the trees and bushes have shed their foliage, we can see through the trees and have a bird's-eye view of the roadway. Normally a relatively busy road, to not see vehicle movement is, indeed, strange. Feeling the need to know all things weather-related, I opened up the front door and stuck my head out. Not my feet, mind you, just my head, and two of my senses told me all I needed to know. My ears could hear the sound of the icy rain as it pelted (and adhered to) every surface. My eyes could see the glare of ice as it covered sidewalks, brick, and driveways. Just like the groundhog, Phil, who sees something, doesn't like it, and tucks his head back into his hidey-hole, I closed the door and pondered all things pre-Christmas.

Certain that power would be lost (I was wrong......so far), I became determined to accomplish everything in my world that would require electricity before Christmas morning. I looked at the clock, learned that it was 7:07 p.m. and said, "Hmmm". "Let me think of all that I cannot do without power." The list was long. "What tasks need to be done that do not require power?" The list was short.

I proceeded to put my multi-tasking skills to the test. While two bowls of butter were quick-softening in a warm oven, I started the washing machine. Checked the butter. Still more time. Hauled out the vacuum sweeper and swept through the upper rooms of the condo like Hurricane Katrina. Mixed up two batches of cookie dough that needed to be chilled overnight and grabbed a box of gluten-free brownies so that child number one would have something sweet to eat while she visits. Discovered that the first load of laundry was done in the washing machine, threw that into the dryer, and tossed another load into the washer. Consulted the clock. Hmmm, 9:10 p.m. Starting to lose personal steam but cannot stop now. The specter of no electricity was pushing me forward. Frequent glances out the windows let me know that what traffic was moving was moving VERY slowly. An earlier accident - probably a car in the ditch - had cleared of police cars and wrecker, but still little, if any traffic. By 10:00 p.m. my body had indicated that it was fed up with my irrational fear of losing electricity. The gluten-free brownies had cooled enough to cut up and store, the kitchen was wiped down, and the laundry dried, folded and put away. I needed to be wiped down, folded and put away.

Which is exactly what I did until 4:30 a.m. when my mind woke up, discovered that it was still raining that icy mix, discovered that I still had power, and I did what all good cooks do at this time of year.

I headed for the kitchen.

Ancora imparo

Amidst The Glitter, Wrapping and Ribbon

I attended a funeral this morning. Funerals are hard enough anyway, but, thinking of the deceased's family, this time of year seems especially difficult. A niece of the woman spoke lovingly of her suddenly departed aunt and how much she loved Christmas - decorating for Christmas and baking Christmas cookies, all of which her aunt had already completed, as if she was leaving a gift for her grieving family.

Upon returning to my home, I looked about and was able to appreciate, a bit more, the tree with its lights aglow and the ornaments sparkling from the reflection of the lights. Even though Mother Nature is not cooperating with travelers, she is putting on an impressive show of winter stunts, holding nothing back from her bottomless bag of tricks.

'Tis a good afternoon to stay indoors. It is on days such as this that I miss a fireplace the most. The crackling and spitting of the wood as it burns is still archived in my aural memory, as is the sight of the mesmerizing flames as they dance about. Combine the aura of the fire with the lighted Christmas tree and you have an unbeatable Christmas setting.......one that could almost make a person forget the Holly Daze that tries to engulf us all.

There are still a few smallish gifts that need to be wrapped - mostly mine. I have as much fun selecting (and forgetting) my stocking stuffers as I do selecting 'stuffers' for others. Amidst the clutter of the glitter, the wrapping paper and the ribbon, there lies some of my joy for this season - giving to others. Even thinking of gifts for others is fun and relaxing. Watching the faces of the recipients, as they open their gifts, is what makes the experience fun and, well, turns the Holly Daze into the holidays.

As Christmas Eve and Christmas Day approach, I hope that each of you can feel your daze retreating amidst the glitter, wrapping and ribbon.

Ancora imparo

Some Even Smiled

Have you done any shopping out in public these past few days? You can tell that a major holiday is looming. Streets are clogged with drivers (not all courteous) and parking lots are crammed with parked vehicles or vehicles waiting to be parked. The scenario that fascinates me is when vehicles are being driven around and around (and around) waiting for a spot close to the building to open up. This almost always results in 'parking lot chicken' when two vehicles, approaching from opposing directions deem the open spot to be rightfully theirs. The looks, gestures and words that spew forth would be hilarious if not for the sad, human-nature commentary that plays out right in front of others' eyes and ears.

Stores are full of shoppers whose arms are laden with 'just-the-right gifts' for friends and relatives, many of whom will re-gift the present at the earliest opportunity. Check-out lines are long and filled with cranky, crabby people who would sell their elderly grandmothers just for the chance to claw their way to the front of the line, only to stand before a tired and equally cranky check-out clerk.

I braved a large grocery store today. When I drove into the parking lot and saw that most spots were filled I knew what was in store for me when I entered the building. But.....although aisles were crowded, most shoppers followed the grocery-store-cart rules of the road and you could actually navigate through the web of well-stocked shelves. Shoppers - old, young and in-between - were pleasant and some, really many, smiled. People waited patiently for other people and I observed acts of helpfulness and kindness.

So, the good news is, that while parking lots, city streets, department and big box stores seemed filled with Scrooges and Scroogettes, the grocery store was a haven today for Holly Daze peace and goodwill.

It is amazing how a smile generates another smile. Let's all smile at one another. People will either think we're medicated, happy, or, like babies, have gas. Either way, it is a win-win effort!

Ancora imparo

Needing to Be Rescued From Myself

I've been trying really hard..........I mean, really hard..........not to become a slave to the Holly Daze Syndrome.

SO and I just got home from a few daze (misspelling intentional) with the 'fam'. I thought I was well-organized for the Holly Daze when I left but now that I am back, I am discovering that thought was just an illusion. Just because I had labored over my grocery list, had it all written down according to the aisle order at my favorite super market, AND had attached all applicable coupons to the list - I mistakenly considered my work, here on earth, finished. My desk was neat and orderly and ninety percent of the Christmas gifts were wrapped. What more could a person ask for?

I think men and women must have similar reactions and issues during the Holly Daze - perhaps just in differing household or work-related realms. For those folk unlucky enough to have no more than a day and a half off from work, to be at home, the feeling of crunch-time must be palpable. The length of your list(s) must be enormous. For those of us with more discretionary time at our disposal, the items on our to-do lists can run from the sublime to the ridiculous. For instance, so far today I've found myself checking the National Weather Service forecasts for the next five days......just in case; looking at the quilt that needs to be re-stitched; wondering when I'll get the rip in my SO's 'barn' jacket mended; counting the number of large paper bags in the laundry room closet; looking for a set of bed sheets that I may not even need; logging on to the weather web cam site at our summer marina (go figure that one!); rifling through a pile of business cards - I'm embarrassed to continue.

Suddenly I recognized the insanity of my actions and said to myself, "Just stop!", which I have done......momentarily......until the insanity returns and I find myself counting cans of soup, or some other equally inane task.

I need rescuing from myself.

There is one antidote to all of this: A puppy. Would someone please tell my SO that Christmas is coming?

Ancora imparo

Proliferation of Plastic

Plastic is everywhere! Our nation (and world) is being inundated with plastic. The creators and manufacturers of plastic must be laughing all the way to the bank and off-shore money accounts.

Lately, I have seen more plastic containers for food and storage than I ever imagined could be possible. In my current remote location, I am sleeping next to an eye-catching, wheeled storage container that has about twelve drawers. This would be great for the crafty person to keep craft supplies in.....as long as she did not have toddlers. Toddlers could easily pull out all of the drawers and would love dumping the contents onto the floor, then playing with everything.

Plastic bags.......have you ever seen such an assortment and array at the grocery store? It seems that each week I shop, I find newcomers to the plastic bag aisle. (Before continuing, I must confess that I am a lover of plastic, zippered bags: small, medium, large, extra-large and extra-extra large. I find multiple uses for all of the sizes almost daily. The joke at my place is that if you sit in one spot too long, you may end up in a zippered, plastic storage bag.) Zippered, plastic storage bags have become an 'almost' staple in today's modern kitchen and home.

We drink from plastic, we eat off plastic, we eat with plastic, we cover our tables with plastic, our cars' bumpers are made from plastic, etc. Plastic comes in soft, pliable forms and hard, almost indestructible forms. Our children's toy makers rely on plastic and the lens in our eyeglasses are made from this substance. Toothbrushes and hairbrushes are manufactured using plastic......even some surgical stitching material is made from plastic.

Perhaps the most famous, yet controversial, form of plastic is the kind you slide through a smallish, rectangular machine. After sliding, you punch some buttons, make an electronic purchase, and a white slip of paper slides out, reminding you that your balance has just shrunk.....again. During these Holly Daze, retailers are hoping that our love affair with plastic will continue and, even, thrive. Why, a politician was recently quoted saying that for Americans to not 'use' their plastic was un-American. He (it was a he) reminds me of the television commercial currently being shown about a man who is in a "state of 'un' ". The commercial character and the politician are mostly just 'uncouth'.

Plastic has its place. I'm sitting on it right now and my computer shell is undoubtedly indebted to the stuff. It is entirely possible that without it, my aqua RV would be much too heavy and would either sink or get worse gas mileage than ever........which would simply mean that my SO and I would have to use our plastic........and the cycle would go on and on.

I do have some standards, though. I draw the line on plastic fruit, vegetables, cookies, ice cream, popcorn and chocolate.

Stand with me on this, please.

Ancora imparo

Emptying My Trash Bin

Here I sit, coffee cup in hand, at a remote location, using someone else's computer, so the process of checking email and signing on to the net is totally different. I miss my easy-on access and the familiar feel of my laptop's keys. Still, I have my coffee so my world is not totally off-balance, even though my hands are. This computer 'station' has a separate keyboard, positioned much lower than I am accustomed to and I keep making wrong keystrokes because the feel is so different.

Attempting to find my zen in a foreign land, I've stolen a few moments, trying to find remnants of my familiar morning routine. Any physical exercise I get today will most likely be only in my mind but at least I can spend time with my brain and exercise it through the practice of writing.

As many readers will know, checking email from a location other than your own computer is possible but certainly a more time-consuming procedure than from 'home'. And so it was for me this morning, while reading my email, that I had to continually go through the annoying process of checking 'delete' on each separate email, only being able to view ten emails per 'page', then having to check an aggregate 'delete', and finally answering 'yes' I want to send the selected emails to the trash bin.

It was the term, 'trash bin', that fired up my imagination. Feeling far more annoyed than I should (just because I do not have my laptop with me), I began to think of what else I'd like to send to that great 'trash bin' in the sky......if only I could. Below you will find my list. Please feel free to send me your additions to this list and please note that all references to people, places or things are fictional in nature and not based upon any individual or group.

• Thin, scratchy facial tissues
• Bad coffee
• Coffee cups with hollow handles
• Glass cleaners that streak
• Flies that do not hibernate
• Shoe soles that leave black marks
• Security-sealed packages that require a fork-lift to open
• Lumpy mattresses
• Hard pillows
• Drivers who are not aware that their vehicles have directional signals
• Singing hymns while seated
• Churches that want you to sing music but don't give you the printed music
• Junque mail
• Spam email
• Phishing
• Seams on the top of socks that give you blisters, on your toe tops, from your shoes

Now my personal trash bin is temporarily empty. Why not make your own list, write it down and then empty your own trash bin. This could be very therapeutic.

Ancora imparo

Old School

As the name of this blog, Ancora imparo, suggests, still I am learning......though perhaps not quickly enough. Recent events and conversations have caused me to ponder whether or not this old dog may not be able to learn new tricks. I've spent time over the last twelve months having the opportunity to observe people younger than myself in their educational leadership roles and I have come to the conclusion that teaching styles may have changed enough to make mine seem from the Land Before Time.

Just a few days ago an educator asked me, "Do you miss this?", and I quickly answered, "Yes." Later, when I had time to reflect on my response, I began to wonder just how this square peg would fit in today's round hole. Not too long ago, I attended an event where I was appalled at the attire the participants were allowed to wear. My SO leaned over and whispered in my ear that I was 'old school'. I retorted back that he could put a period right after the word 'old'.

And so, I pose the questions: Do you think that 'old' means odd or outdated? Is new always better? Does different equate to 'preferred'? Does disorganization encourage creativity or foster respect? Conversely, if a person is organized and is respected in his or her field, does that mean that the people working with that person have their creative juices diluted or diminished?

My answers to my own questions are firmly - no, no, no, no, no.

If you are feeling 'old school' today, despaireth not. Let us hold our heads high and with dignity. After all, we are still learning.

Ancora imparo

Formerly Favorite Fantasies

Ah,yes, the time of year that gastronomes love. I'd love to be a gastronome - any time of the year - but I would then become gastronomically compromised and, would therefore, have to help pay the mortgage for a gastroenterologist.

I am about to pay a visit to the land where gastroenterologists must have a very high income. In this land, the calorie is king, cholesterol is queen, fat is revered, and heart-health is a term thought about only in the emergency ward.......after the fact. Oh, do not misunderstand me.........the food in this land is very tasty, plentiful, and graciously and frequently offered - a dangerous place for any recovering 'foodie' to be.

Middle age has me cornered, caged, and quaking in my boots. In order to escape an endowed chair in front of my pharmacist's counter, I've had to make some drastic changes in what I put in my mouth. Wheat, its bi-products and cousins, and white sugar must be my mortal enemies, but I can tell you, with all honesty, that it is difficult to hate what you love. One of my formerly favorite fantasies was hiding in a closet with a large plate of cookies - all to myself! Forget sharing when it came to cookies. I've now had to switch my fantasy formula to hiding in a closet with a plate of apple slices, carrots, and broccoli flowerettes.

Whoopee:(

Why, this morning for breakfast I combined brown rice with hummas and declared it tasty. What is my palette coming to? Yesterday someone gave me a dark chocolate mint sweetened with honey. Yuck. Tomorrow, who knows? I draw the line at tofurkey, though. I've tried it and declare it inedible......at least for me.

In these Holly Daze, I'm working on a whole new batch of fantasies.......all about food, of course. Sugar plum faeries will be replaced with cantaloupe and cauliflower. My nutcrackers will have to be content cracking raw almonds. No more roasted nuts for me! When I get together with my friends now I will live vicariously through them while they enjoy all of the tantalizing and tasty treats that this season showcases.

Bon appetite! (or is it Bon Appletite?)

Ancora imparo

Interrupted Reverie

Stolen moments of time, in the early morning hours, are always special for me.

When the children were young, those few snippets of minutes could seem like an entire day, and I could use fifteen minutes as if it were an hour. Later, when I was working full time, those before-dawn times were usually spent cramming in one more home or school-related task, the completion of which I was certain would make my day a bit easier. Looking back, I am not certain that easier is the most accurate descriptor. I know now that I just got more done as a result of less sleep.

I think I am still sleep-deprived.

Stealing early morning time alone continues to feed my need for personal peace and space. It is as if I am cheating the world by declaring that darkness equates choice........choice of how I spend my time rather than the world deciding.

This morning was no exception. Since sleep was evading and elusive, I dragged my still sleep-yearning body out of bed, got dressed and thought I would get my muscle-coaxing movements (exercise) out of the way. Afterward, feeling smug and stretched out, I sensed a fleeting feeling of peace and goodwill toward mankind, and thought I would continue my personal reverie by composing today's blog posting. As I sat down at my laptop, closed my eyes, took a series of deep breaths - preparing to let my creative juices flow - there came this awful, unmistakable sound of feline retching. Through a solid-wood door, mind you. For those readers who have a cat, you will instantly relate to what I am describing. If you do not have a cat, consider yourself one of the lucky ones who will never hear a cat relieving itself of a hairball.

Feline hairball-releasing is rarely quiet and seldom is confined to one area. Cats tend to move as they retch, spreading their discarded, internal offal in as wide an area as possible. This process is accompanied by what seems to be the loudest, most disgusting noise known to the human ear. My cat finishes her performance by loud, primal meowing, designed to ensure that her owners understand and can identify with her discomfort. When she is done, she moves to her kitty-bed and curls up fast asleep, leaving the humans wide-eyed and unable to return to any meaningful rest.

And, thusly, my reverie was interrupted by Grumpy Kitty, who I am certain plotted this action to coincide with my quiet time.

At least she gave me the inspiration for blog content today................

Ancora imparo

Differences

For some reason, my mind is 'chewing' on what differences are. I realize that differences come in many shapes, forms, ideas, etc. Some have come from our media and from pop culture such as The Differences Between Men and Women and Differences Between Cats and Dogs. Other well-known differences have been generated from either history or the human experience; e.g. Republicans vs Democrats, young vs old, culture vs culture, South vs North, religion vs religion, etc.

Interpersonal relationships hold prime examples of differences such as the way people react differently to similar situations, parents discipline differently.......even a sense of humor is different from person to person.

Give two people or teams the same project to manage or event to organize and I will guarantee that their journeys will be vastly different. Oh, the finished products may resemble each other but the methods, strategies and details may not hold very many, if any, similarities.

Are differences a good thing? Possibly and probably. Opposing viewpoints often generate new avenues and ways to look at a problem, dilemma, or challenge. Differences can give people pause to contemplate their own beliefs or values and differences can provide us with new insight and empathy. Differences also provide interest in what would be an otherwise dull and boring world. Imagine if we all agreed all of the time on every topic and issue.

Which brings my mind to its next question: What is the difference between agreement and consensus?

I think I need to turn off my brain and let the Holly Daze return. This cerebral clarity is giving me a headache!

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Cardinal Rule

I cannot explain my fascination with the North American Cardinal. Perhaps it is the vibrant red color that draws my eye to the species. Perhaps it is because they mate for life - or so I'm told. Once, someone who embraces the spirituality of Native American religions informed me that the North American Cardinal is very symbolic to those who practice this religion. I should look this 'fact' up on Wikipedia, the absolute end-all in fact-checking accuracy.

What I do know is that for years, I've held a personal goal to have a daily cardinal 'sighting'. Since I live in a geographic area where cardinals are plentiful, my goal is usually easily met multiple times per day. Our current condo 'roof mate' maintains multiple bird feeders in his back yard so we are blessed with a cardinal attraction that brings a multitude of pairs by the hour. It is not unusual to have four to six males in the trees surrounding the feeders. The winter months are particularly conducive to seeing the birds, mostly because the coloration of both the male and female are enhanced by snow cover. Since our last big storm, which dumped a lot of moisture-laden snow on the ground and trees, most of the tree branches remain snow-covered and crusty, providing a perfect backdrop by which to enjoy cardinal cavorting, darting and dining. Today's dense fog added an additional measure of clarity to contrast the brilliant red against a stark white.

The simple act of observing the birds is a source of relaxation and stress-relief for me that lowers my blood pressure and heart rate. I could spend hours just sitting and watching but tasks do and the world does call so that is not a realistic option. What I do know is that my 'cardinal rule' serves me well in this Holly Daze and I know I am not alone in feeling the freneticism that this time of year can bring.

If you find yourself in a Holly Daze, go find a cardinal. You'll be glad you did.

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My Back-Up

As a Freshman student at a Big-Ten University, my favorite class - hands down - was ATL - American Thought And Language. I still remember the name of my professor. She was the kind of teacher/professor that inspires and encourages, even though her class was one of those large, 'cattle-call' courses that were required for all incoming Freshman. Her students were charged with voracious reading and writing copious numbers of papers. I do not remember many of the books on the reading list, but I do recall loving the challenge of writing the papers. My imagination flourished under her tutelage. Her teaching location changed every term but, no matter the distance, I followed her to each different building.

Flash forward to today, after firing up my laptop, the daily message appeared on the screen, asking me if I would like to back up my Outlook folders now and I clicked, 'back-up now', as I always do. Instantly my mind took me to the question, "If I had to back-up my memory right now, what personal folders would I choose?"

I would choose the folders where I am with my maternal grandmother; high school; the experience in California, at the age of 21, when my ear drum broke and I called my mother in the middle of the night for comfort; the times I read chapter books to my children in DePere, Wisconsin; singing the chicken song for seven hours on a wintry Christmas eve, with my SO, as we drove through the night to get to our families; watching the fireworks from our second story bedroom window; time spent as a musician and employee of the Green Bay Symphony; the days performing with my classical trio; tending geraniums on the window sills of my classroom at Aldo Leopold School in Green Bay, Wisconsin; the thousands of eggs the flies laid in our garage.....and they all hatched; the time the kids brought home acorns from the park in De Pere and put them safely away in a closet.......(acorns hatch creepy-crawlies, too); grocery shopping with my kids; cold and wet days in make-shift tents spent playing cards and drinking hot chocolate on family camping trips; meeting my grandchildren for the first time; sitting on the back deck of our aqua RV, listening to the roar of the diesels; playing web cards during the Thanksgiving weekend; Max.

The list could go on for pages but anyone reading this posting would either fall asleep or begin drawing Social Security.......if there is any left to draw.

Go back up your memory folders.................

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I Surrender All

There is an old-time hymn that shares the title of today's posting: I Surrender All. Some hymns have the copyright date listed, this one does not. One of the hymnals that I located the hymn in is copyrighted 1939 so it has been around for a while. No offense to those who love this hymn, but it is not a favorite of mine. I respect the lyrics and find meaning in the words but the melody is a little sugary and sappy for my personal taste and I've known some pastors who have used the syrupy nature of this hymn to manipulate parishioners.

Having said all that, the lyrics of this hymn came to mind this morning as I was thinking of my fellow 'sisters' during these Holly Daze. I know of four women who, this week, have mentioned in one way or another (none complained) about everything they were trying to accomplish this weekend or had accomplished over the past week. Two of these 'sisters' have jobs outside the home, two have HUGE jobs in the home. Three have children, one does not. But, to a woman, the universal clarion call was the shot heard 'round the world during the Holly Daze: I must accomplish......I must accomplish......I must accomplish.

Accomplish what and to whose standards, I feel compelled to ask?

I think of Mary, mother of the Baby Jesus. The story, that many know so well, lets us know that she had to 'surrender all'. She had to surrender to the government who declared that a census must be taken, she had to surrender to Joseph, the man who would be known as the earthly father of Jesus, as she trusted him to get her safely to the town where he had to report, and, according to the beloved story, she had to surrender herself to the donkey that would carry her on their journey. Talk about surrendering! Mary did not have the luxury of deciding what gift to buy where, which cookie recipes and how many cookies to prepare, and what to serve for the big Christmas-day feast.

Maybe, for the sake of our collective sanity, we 'sisters' could consider surrendering something, if not all. Just maybe we could surrender creating the perfect gift-wrapping look, or surrender two of the six cookie recipes we absolutely must bake, or surrender purchasing the perfect gift for each of our child's teachers and write a simple thank you note instead?

Wouldn't everyone, men and women alike, be less stressed during the Holly Daze, if we didn't look and act like we are in a Holly Daze?

Surrender most of 'it', if not all of 'it'. Find your inner child. Sit in the dark and just 'be'. Listen to your favorite music, even if the music plays only in your head. We'll all recognize each other. We'll be the only adults smiling.

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Have YOU Got Your W On?

My little car has this nifty feature for driving in snow. There is a button on the console that has a W on it. You push the W and the drive-train power gets reassigned to all four wheels. When my SO and I are oot and aboot in wintry weather, our question to whichever one of us drives is: "Have you got your W on?" We've had fun with this question even out of the car. "Got your W on?" has taken on many meanings inside and out.

For example: Grumpy Kitty got a new kitty bed today. Her four-year old bed had so much cat dander embedded in it that it is no wonder I sneeze constantly. Actually Grumpy Kitty, herself, is loaded with cat dander because, well......because she is a cat. Since she is not so easy to, well.........let's just say she is here to stay because no one else would have her.......my SO and I thought a new bed might alleviate some of my allergy symptoms, however temporarily. Hence, the new bed. At first, Grumpy Kitty was very suspicious of her new sleeping apparatus. We placed her up in it several times and she would immediately jump out. Later, when I was eating lunch, GK tried to get up into her bed and it slid right out of the wooden captain's chair that she calls 'hers'. It was as if GK didn't have her W on. I felt badly for old GK and went over to reassure her that her bed was not out to eat her. As I was placing the kitty bed back into the chair, I noticed that the bottom of the bed is a taffeta-like fabric. Very slippery. Why the kitty bed manufacturer would make a bed with a slippery surface on the bottom is beyond me. I have now attached two ties to the bed and it is affixed to the slats on the back of the chair. Now old GK has her W on.

Later this afternoon, I was feeling lazy and decided not to dress properly to head outside into the frigid temps whilst fetching the mail. I scampered out, dressed in my workout shorts and sleeveless t-shirt. I was sockless and shoved my feet into backless, slip-on shoes. As I was scurrying down the driveway my feet found a tiny spot of ice. Fortunately, I only slightly lost my balance and was able to keep going and stay upright......a highly desirable position in winter months.........or any month, for that matter! As I slipped I thought to myself, "Oops, where is my W?"

The take-away in this posting is, for all of you readers, to keep your W on today and every day this winter. Plus, do not go outside with a sleeveless tee, shorts, no socks and no coat. Take it from me: Get your W
on!

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Fascintating to Whom?

I'm always annoyed when lists are made that supposedly speak for me and my preferences. Even with surveys, if the survey was conducted to identify a prevailing opinion, a percentage of those surveyed will not have their viewpoint acknowledged. A well-known, pop-culture magazine publishes a yearly edition of its opinion of the sexiest men alive. I've seen some of the past choices and think, "He needs a shave and a haircut!"

Ah, yes. Each to his/her own.

Then along comes Barbara Walters' annual television special about her and her handlers' opinions regarding the Ten Most Fascinating People.......to which I want to respond, "Fascinating to whom?" What or who is fascinating to one person will most certainly not be fascinating to another. How can the producers of that show presume to speak for me and millions of others regarding the very subjective topic of fascination?

I'll be presumptive and pass on a list of people or categories of people that fascinate me. Maybe my list will generate conversation, twitters, or emails!

• Individuals whose actions do not merit receiving awards
• Drivers who ride your bumper when the roadways are snow-covered and slippery
• School principals
• Men and women whose career is serving on corporate boards of directors
• Public figures who think their private behaviors, moves, and actions can stay private
• Educational administrators who force or encourage inflated grades
• People who think that wills and trusts are just 'for others'
• Parents who refuse to believe that their children could misbehave
• Shoppers who cut in line in front of others
• Shoppers who drive or park their grocery carts in the middle of the aisles
• Toddlers, pre-school age children and middle-schoolers
• Grandparents
  

There you have my list. I'd love to hear who would be on yours. If you have coffee or share a meal with others in the near future, toss out the question of "Who fascinates you?" and see where the conversation takes you. I'll guarantee you'll not be bored!

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One Spoonful At A Time

Mother Nature played one of her infamous practical jokes on my geographic area last night. Our driveway had only twelve to fourteen inches of snow on it this morning, whereas areas north and to the west of us received greater amounts. Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, we lost power and had plenty of company. Fortunately, the outside temperature was in the low thirties, so our residence was able to hold a sixty-five degree interior temperature throughout the power outage, which lasted about nine to ten hours. Grumpy Kitty knew it was a bit chilly and took refuge in the plump sofa cushions that she knows she is not to be on. I looked the other way and she knew that, too. Smart, Grumpy Kitty.

My SO and another gentleman from our neighborhood helped an elderly man get his rear-wheel drive Caddy unstuck and back home into his garage. SO then took off in Beast, so named because it is not a green vehicle but comes in very handy when moving children's belongings OR pulling unfortunate souls out of the deep snow. I decided to shovel 'just a wee bit o'snow and set out with my trusty shovel.

Today's snow is heavy-laden with moisture and I could only scoop what looked like one spoonful at a time. At first, my goal was just a small area at the top of the driveway, but when I reached that goal I thought, "Oh, just a wee bit more." and so on and so on until I was nearly finished. Suddenly I realized that with just a few more tiny scoopfuls I would have the job completed. Along the way I had a snowplow angel who was plowing our street and after three swoops past our driveway, the end was totally plugged......about four feet high and about four feet deep. During one of his swoops he rolled down his pickup window and said, "Sorry", in his broken English. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. A little while later, he came back with his blade and completely cleaned out the end of my driveway. What an angel! I told him he was my hero and offered him as many cookies as he'd like. He smiled broadly and said, "I take two!" and off he went.

He is my hero for today. He saved me many more heavy spoonfuls.

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Blast From The Past

The search engine that my laptop has as a default engine is very creative, as are probably most search engines in their efforts to woo and win users. The whole 'search-engine-concept' is fascinating because the company names have become, in some cases, verbs. The lines, "I Googled" and "Do you Yahoo?" are used interchangeably between verbs and proper nouns.

But....I did not sign on today to discuss the nouveau grammar that must be driving English majors nuts. What caught my eye and my attention, which then migrated to my imagination, was the always-inventive header that my search engine created. Today's graphic was an shout-out to Elzie Crisler Segar, aka E.C. Segar, the creator of the Popeye character.

Here is where you say, "Ooh, you are so showing your age!"

When I was a child, Popeye was a huge hit with children of many ages. The television cartoon was sure to be on in thousands of households as 'we' followed the adventures of Popeye, Olive Oyl and frynds. (Intentional 'friends' mispelling.) I cannot remember what, as a child, I would have found particularly fascinating or funny about the series. Most likely it would have been the exploding biceps after the ingestion of canned spinach, or the muscled and bulging forearm constantly sending villains into rocket-like trajectories. As an adult, the memory that remains indelibly imprinted in my mind is the 'voice' of both Popeye and Olive Oyl. I could hear those two 'voices' across a crowded room today and recognize them instantly. To be sure, Popeye's gravely voice would win no present-day Oscar and, heaven knows that the voice of Olive Oyl was akin to fingernails on the old chalkboard, but trademarks those voices were and still are.

The cartoon must have also improved and burnished the reputation of the canned spinach industry. For years - until my early twenties - I thought I hated any form of spinach because, when I was very young, my parents would feed me canned spinach (disgusting) and make me sit at the table until I had eaten every bit of it. I'm not certain when this parental practice of torture ended. Probably years before my recollection of my high school graduation dinner???????

Now, the cynic in me wonders how much the spinach industry paid the producer of "Popeye and Olive Oyl" to feature canned spinach as the energy booster. Of course, this is a far healthier energy boost than a beverage loaded with fifty-times the normal caffeine amount in regular soft drinks. The irony in all of my spinach-speak is that I grew to love a hot spinach salad with bacon and sliced, hard-boiled eggs and now I am too old to be allowed to eat it.

Where's the justice in that?

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Mea Culpa

I am about to make a confession. Not that it is required, nor necessary, but will be personally and imperatively cathartic.

This is a church-related experience so bear with me if you are not into religion.

Last night was my church's annual Christmas Concert which simply means it is has lots of singers and instrumentalists and not nearly enough audience to appreciate all of the hard work that goes into an event such as a concert. The audience that does attend is hugely appreciative and expressive about their approval..........there are just too many empty spaces within the pews.

One of my roles last night was to play handbells as part of a smaller group of players who were to accompany the choir during their cantata. Most readers of this blog will never have played the handbells so their perspective on what is difficult and what is not will be challenged.

Playing the handbells is much more difficult than it looks......unless you are a four-handed musical savant. Otherwise, it takes supreme concentration and requires decent hand-to-eye coordination - not to mention it is also highly desirable that note-reading skills would be 'off-the-charts-good'!

I am not a bad note-reader.......better than some, weaker than others........but I can usually hold my own. It was, however, humbling to play the parts that accompanied the choir cantata. Challenging, humbling, yet fun. So, here we are in the midst of the performance, perhaps two-thirds of the way through. All of the players are using multiple bells and the key signature changes frequently, hence our bells can get quite 'messed up'. I've missed notes but played very few wrong notes. The only reason my wrong-note percentage was so low was that I had missed playing notes. Anyway, I am playing bells that are in a multi-chordal passage and I hear this odd sound and I think, to myself, "Wow, where did THAT come from?" Just then I have to grab the same bell that will be used as a single-sound note and, VOILA!, there is that awful sound, and IT IS ME! Mind you, this has all taken place within six-to-eight beats so just a few seconds have passed. Hearing my clunker for all the rest of the audience to hear was mortifying. I grabbed the clanger with my hand the shut the awful sound up......not soon enough to prevent aural damage but soon enough to prevent permanent scarring.

There you have it.......my musical confession that only a musician would feel necessary to express. Just remember, I am in my Holly Daze. That must count for something.

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Can Someone Explain Why.....

Since I am in my self-proclaimed Holly Daze, I am somewhat dazed and confused and the thoughts coming from my head will reflect as such. Hence, I am sending the following questions into The Great Unknown that have been brewing in my cerebral petri dish:

Question Number One: Can someone explain to me why God created earwigs?
Question Number Two: Can someone explain to me why God created sinus cavities?

I became curious about earwigs and went to that great font of information - Wikipedia. (After all, if Wikipedia says 'it's so', then it must be so. ) Earwigs, also called pincerbugs, make up the insect order Dermaptera. Well, there we have it, except that I still do not 'get' their purpose on this earth. Other than providing themselves as food for other species higher on the food chain, there can be no earthly explanation for their presence. And, it is exactly their presence that I detest. These bugs, whoops - insects, lurk everywhere, usually in large groups. If you find one, that often indicates an entire extended family hiding somewhere nearby. The mailbox is my least favorite place to find them. If there could be such as thing as 'insect profiling', the earwig would be at the top of my list to send somewhere, anywhere other than here.

Next, let's examine my question about sinus cavities. Naturally, I went back to Wikipedia for all information accurate and official and discovered there is a product called Sinuswars, which is an apt description for the battle that develops between a human and the sinus cavities. The Sinus-Cavity War is much like the war in Afghanistan - it has been present since the beginning of mankind, will never end in spite of outside intervention, and is not possible to win. I do understand that there is supposed to be a physiological purpose for the existence of the four, paired sinus cavities but that purpose seems often to be in conflict with the pain and misery that is created when the cavities malfunction, which is frequently and usually severely. I do not forsee any relief on the horizon regarding this pressing life-question.

Thank you for allowing me to share the two elephants presently in my cerebral petri dish. As readers of this blog know, there are always many elephant species sleeping in the wings of my mind, waiting for an invitation to come front and center.

I hear the trumpet sound.....................

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I Can See Clearly Now

In 1972, the recording artist, Johnny Nash, wrote and released the song, "I Can See Clearly Now". Memorable lines from the lyrics are, "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind. It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day."

One of my many annoying habits is to constantly hear melodies in my head from old tunes and sing them during a current vignette. You would be surprised how many lyrics pop into one's head during the hours and days of life as we know it here on earth!

This morning was no exception. My desk and surrounding office space has been littered with the ever-expanding clutter associated with the Holly Daze's shopping, shipping and receiving. As a big on-line shopping fan, the process goes like this: I shop, a business receives my order and, subsequently, ships the order to moi.

Having 'had it' with the non-organizational appearance and functionality of my desk, I set out, today, with the goal of being able to see and touch at least seventy-five percent of my desk-top surface. Is there a measurable performance outcome to this goal? Yes, if only able to be measured in my perception! There are now large, open spaces of glass on my desk top.

Alas, I digress. Having achieved my intended goal, the Nash song came to mind, (with just a few lyric changes) which I will share with my readers - some of whom may identify with my feeble attempt at humor.

I can clearly now, my desk is clean.
I removed all obstacles in my way.
Gone are the papers, pens, pencils, receipts, clipped recipes, birthday cards waiting to be sent, shopping lists, coffee cups, cough drops, paper clips, cell-phone charger, flute case and banana bread crumbs that had me blind......
It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day.

And it is! Now I can move to the important 'stuff' of December: Baking Christmas cookies!

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The Value of Music

This is an open letter to all readers who have children at home or, who can still contact their inner child. Embrace music and the act of studying music. Encourage your child or inner child to find an instrument of interest and then learn how to play it. If it is your child that expresses a desire to join band, choir, orchestra, or study a solo instrument such as harp, bagpipes, or the piano, actively listen to the school music instructor, who should be a good barometer of assessment regarding which instrument would best suit your student and give your child the greatest chance for success and personal achievement. Resist the urge to insist that Uncle Joe's old 'whatever' instrument, lurking in your attic, garage or basement would be the best instrument for your child to play. Of course, listen to your child's 'request', but, only to a point. The instrument your child is insisting on playing may not match skill levels or physical characteristics needed for success. Often, the instrument that 'all the other kids are playing' is not the right choice for that very reason........everybody else wants to play it. Many times, the best musical experience comes from playing the 'oddball' instrument (oddball to parents only) because not very many, if any, other students want to play that instrument.

If your inner child wants to learn to play an instrument, or reacquaint yourself with your instrument from younger days, GO FOR IT! It is never too late to acquire a new musical skill, dust off an old one, or sing in a choir for the first time. Last night I had the pleasure of watching adults , whose vocations have nothing to do with music, thoroughly enjoying themselves while singing. Then I had the pleasure of watching and listening to a pianist whose avocation and vocation is music performance. Her years of training and the legacy of piano teachers was displayed in her skill, musicality, stage presence, and technique. Although the piece was ultra-physically demanding, there were many moments when the audience could also see that the performer was truly enjoying herself, which engaged the audience even further with the artist.

My final entreaty to all who will read this posting: Sing today, sit down at your piano - even if just for a few, stolen moments, pull out your long-forgotten instrument that you once derived pleasure from playing, or be even more selfish and actually listen to a recording that brings you joi de vivre. Let music help assuage and massage your way through this hectic holly-daze
that we find ourselves in.

Take a deep breath......one day and one step at a time.

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Emperical Data

Today has been filled with such obvious observations (redundancy intended), so blatant that they shouted at me, yet so subtle I could have easily overlooked them. Life is like that at times. There are days, periods of life, where I can easily become wrapped up in 'stuff' and so self-absorbed that the rest of the world swirls by, figuratively, and I am oblivious to what is happening around me. Fortunately, over the past twenty-four hour period, my eyes and ears have been opened to my surroundings and I am more sensitive and less self-absorbed.

Observation Number One: Tell the truth, from the very beginning.....the alpha of the story. Do not delay or obfuscate the facts because the maelstrom of rumors will bring a person down......much farther than if the reality of the situation is confronted and dealt with. The public may be naive but we are not stupid.

Observation Number Two: A home, that I frequently drive past and that has been for sale for almost two years, now has a sold sign in its front yard. Finally, closure for the family that lives there. I do not know these people, but I've watched the For-Sale sign languish in the yard, gathering dust interrupted only by the occasional open house and the addition of "price reduced" slapped across the sign, rather adding insult to injury. Not only was the "sold" sign prominent today, but two moving trucks were loading belongings out of the home, another signal that a new journey is about to begin for the home's present occupants. The romantic optimist in me hopes the story's ending is a happy one that finds a nuclear family once again united, just in time for the holidays.

Observation Number Three: This one was laughable. Since it was so cold this morning that I had to actually don a winter coat AND wear gloves - all the while snow flakes are falling, the empirical evidence was overwhelming........it was cold. Plus, the outside temperature sensor on my vehicle told me the temp was thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. So when the little snowflake icon appeared on my dash display, I began to laugh aloud at how ludicrous the icon's presence was. It was truly a 'duh' moment. Thank you, Volvo, for your uber-advanced electronics. Without the snowflake, I would have never deduced that it was cold and snowing.

Lastly, I am no fan of winter weather. I do not mind looking at snow but I'd rather not drive nor walk in it. Final observation: I'm living in the wrong climate. Too bad!

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I Object

If you asked my SO, he would tell you that there are many things that I object to and that it is not infrequently that you might hear me say, "I object." Until today's posting, the last time I can remember saying "I object." was at the auto dealership where we take our car in for service and repair. I had been the one to schedule the oil change and costly ninety-thousand mile service and inspection so it was I who waited for the vehicle. I discovered that the complimentary coffee service had been moved out of the full-service waiting area and into the quick- lube area. To get to the coffee now requires walking through the service area, which surprised me because it has been my experience with car dealerships that they either do not encourage service-bay customer traipsing or disallow it completely. When the service rep escorted me to the 'new' complimentary coffee area, I told her "I object." and went on to explain that coffee should also be available to the customers who are waiting in "the big-bucks area" (my words) and not just in the waiting area for quick lubes where the dollars spent per customer are much lower.

To the object of today's objection: Toys for children/toddlers - their colors, 'focus', and store location. First of all, why did this well-known store have separate aisles for girls' and boys' toys? Why not have aisles simply by age? Why do the toys for girls have to be largely pinkish and concern mostly cooking, food, nurses, and dolls that resemble emaciated string beans, while the toys for boys appear more adventure-related, sports-related, tool-related, and imaginative? The stereotyping was obvious and I found it insulting to the miniature feminine gender. Every little girl needs to be encouraged to find adventure, throw around a ball of some kind, build things (or take them apart), and allow her imagination to thrive.

Let's see. My auto-related objection came in November, my current, toy-related objection has been voiced in December and prior to that I've objected to how people 'drive' their shopping carts in the grocery store, poor customer service.....oh, the list is long. I hope to keep my objections to one-per-month but I'm not holding my breath. I might make the one-per-month goal if I keep ignoring what is happening in our nation's capital with the elected doofusses but that is a tall self-order.

Then today there were all the crazed drivers in the parking lots......................
I see another objection taking shape!

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Very Excited

The unthinkable dream has happened! I'm in. Well, I think I'm in!

Ah, let me explain.

I have this friend. Well, she's not really a friend - more like an acquaintance - but a really 'good' acquaintance. We run into each other from time to time - mostly at coffee shops, dress boutiques, gala receptions, little places like that, you know. Sometimes she and I see each other at the valet station of our favorite parking garage.....you know the one where the valets are sooooo cute?

Anyway, the Grande Pooh Bear is having this really big party.....I'd give anything if I could go.....you know, get all dressed up and everything........and my really good friend, (well, a really good acquaintance) mentioned that I might be able to sneak in through the service entrance and get into this really big party!!!!!!!!!! She wasn't sure, or anything, but I just know that she'll come through and be able to spirit me in so my pumpkin can turn into a carriage and I'll be Cinderella!

Did I mention that I'm so excited?

Gosh, she and I have emailed several times since I last saw her and she hasn't mentioned the really big party at Grande Pooh Bear's. But, the party is tonight and I just know that she wanted me to come so I'll just get all gussied up and go. When I get to the service entrance, I'll just mention that my really good friend (well, sort of a passing acquaintance) said I could come. Whadathey gonna do? Turn me away? I'll bet they'll have so much to do that they'll just let me in and I'll get to see the Grand Pooh Bear. Maybe I can even get my picture taken with GPB.

I'll keep you posted. This is my big moment. Maybe it will be my chance at fame?!?!

I am leaving now for the plastic surgeon's office to repair the damage done from from my tongue protruding through the wall of my cheek.

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