Fewer Words, More Meaning

Recently, someone thanked me for keeping my blog postings 'relatively short'.  "Relatively?", I responded.  The person went on to say that, compared to some blog posters, mine could be read quickly and didn't take a lot of thought to decode.  At the time, I guessed that was a compliment.  Now, I'm certain it was, for brevity is exactly one of the traits of speakers that I am very fond of.

On my desk, to the left of my laptop, sets a stack of four Kroupa cherry lugs.  The name, Kroupa, has long been synonymous with the cherry industry in Traverse City, Michigan.  When the mechanical cherry pickers came along and displaced the human pickers (of which I was one for a string of summers in my youth), the wooden lug, that the pickers dumped their 'picked' cherries in, became a relic of the past.  I don't know how many are still resting in barns, warehouses, and storage sheds throughout CherryLand, but I am the proud owner, and protector, of nine of them.  The four on my desk house my favorite books (at eye level) and my personal collection of CD's.  The other five serve as shelves, elsewhere, displaying cherished items such as old Fiestaware, my tiny angel collection, and other glass objects d'art, special only to moi.

One of the books, at my eye level, is entitled, No-Nonsense Communication, by Donald L. Kirkpatrick. 
This book has been a staple of my library for about the past eleven years, coming to me from my SO, who utilized it during his corporate career.  The gist of the book embodies what most of us, me included, forget from time to time:  Just as in writing, when using the fewest words to get your point across is preferred, the spoken-word form of communication is no different.  "Say what I have to say, try not to repeat myself, then be quiet and wait for a response.", is basically what Kirkpatrick 'says'.  Be 'to the point' and stick 'to the point' is a good mantra for no-nonsense communication.

Now that I am taking note of the length of this posting, it is time to bring home my point about brevity and type my conclusion.  Actually the point of brevity's value was made, to me, by my eldest grandson, TLV, during one of our last meals together when he and his family visited during the holidays.  It was time to say a prayer before the meal and I volunteered to pray.  TLV, seated directly across from me, looked me in the eye and said, "Please don't make it a long one."  I chuckled, complied and we all got to eating more quickly than if I had prayed for everything and everyone.

Remember, on this last day of the year, that if all of your conversations - tonight and all other nights - are brief, succinct, and to-the-point, then the party can begin faster.

Happy New Year!

Ancora imparo

Meet The Kriegs: Blitz and Bliss

I think every home has an Achilles Heel somewhere within it.  A room or a closet that is a continual albatross where organization either never reigns supreme or reigns for a time so short that one wonders if they imagined the organization. 

My albatross-room is a walk-in storage closet in the lower level of the condo.  I don't know if any closet is ever built big enough but this one is roomy and, in theory, should hold all of the excess junque that we (actually I) harbor.  Note my use of the word should.  Not more than four weeks ago, I gave the room a thorough once-over, rearranging this, throwing out that and tidying up everything.  Then came the projects of Christmas-card sending, gift wrapping and cookie baking and the room went from organizational blisskrieg to an organizational blitzkrieg. After three weeks of grabbing, searching, rooting, and then randomly tossing back in and shutting the door, the room is in a shambles. 

Even from behind the closed door, I can hear the mess calling to me to get in there and straighten things out.   I've been ignoring that voice because there have been so many other voices calling out to me that I've had to put them in some sort of voice-demanding order......not an easy task.  I thought I had a bye on closet cleaning because the two fluorescent light bulbs that illuminate the room both burned out last night.  (Too many Holly- Daze trips into the Hinter-Closet)  However, my faithful SO was right on top of the task of going out, purchasing replacement bulbs, and changing them.  Alas and alack, I no longer have any excuse for changing the blitzkrieg back into blisskrieg.   

There must be something else I can think of that needs attending to more than my albatross-room........

Ancora imparo

Sock Logic

I am further fascinated by my seeming inability to discard old, used and familiar articles of clothing.  A while ago, I wrote about saying goodbye to my very ratty sweatpants that were tattered beyond socially acceptable.  Now I am faced with having to overcome my reluctance to throw away old Smart Wool socks that have clearly seen better days.  Thusly, I ask myself, "What is it about these old socks that makes them hard to throw away?" 

To which, I have to logical response.

There can be no logic to my inability to part with socks that have lost their cushion through repeated launderings and that are so thin in key places that, instead of the standard greyish appearance, the spots are bluish in color, a clear indication of 'wear-out'. 

My attachment to these old socks is so illogically strong that I've been doing my best to think of new uses for my old socks.  I've toyed with turning them into hand dust-mits, but just how many dust-mits does one person need?  Especially one who hates to dust?  I also considered using the old socks to put my hot curling iron in when traveling, but I only have one curling iron and six old socks.  Buying and carrying five more curling irons with me, when traveling, would be lunacy........but then is it not lunacy to be unable to part with six, old socks? 

As the beginning of a new year approaches, I am struggling with finding sock logic.  Actually, any logic would be useful, some days.  Before Christmas I always refer to the season as 'Holly Daze'.  It would seem that the holly has passed, but not my daze, or haze, or whatever it is that is clouding my reason.  Perhaps, my Number One New Year's Resolution should be to part with six socks. 

That seems logical.

Ancora imparo

Gastronomic Gaffes

OK, I suppose it was inevitable that my body would eventually rebel from its misuse over the past week.  After all, eating chicken-vegetable soup, cold chicken, or green bean casserole for breakfast is not the stuff of which my breakfasts normally consist.  After several days in a row of this foolishness, I should expect a rebellion, right?

I must say, though, that it was fun eating indiscriminately for a few days.  The Christmas train filled with Godiva chocolates was a big draw for everyone, including me.  The pumpkin/chocolate chip bread from Great Harvest was super tasty and it was an act of kindness, to my body, that I sent the remainder of it home with The Three Musketeers and their parents.  There is still the banana bread from Chez Moi that is hiding somewhere in the refrigerator. Those little Smokies that Gramps always makes at his house, by boiling them, taste TOTALLY different when warmed in a frying pan.  There is enough sodium in one of those little morsels to create the need for blood-pressure medication.  Somehow Gramp's  boiling method releases much of the sodium into the water, whereas heating them in a frying pan simply enhances the sodium to an uber-level. 

Then there are the two pies still taking refrigerator space, calling out, through the door,  "Eat me, eat me!"  Unlike the evil plant in the musical "Little Shop of Horrors" that calls out, "Feed me!", these pies are much more insidious with their friendly and caring tone of voice.  You actually want to sample the raspberry or pumpkin pie.  To add insult to injury, the real ice cream residing next door to the pies has joined in the chorus of "Eat me!".  I'm doomed.

To top this all off, Capt. SO decided that yesterday would be a good day to test a recipe for Bread Puddling.  We were given the chance to eat this recipe while at Gramp's house for Christmas when a friend brought over a large pan of bread pudding made with cinnamon-raisin bread that was soooo tasty.  Capt. SO decided he simply must get the recipe, which he did, and then, after all of this recent indiscriminate eating, HE decides that he needs to try making the pudding, which he did yesterday.  The recipe didn't quite turn out like he wanted, probably because he made a half-batch in ramekins, rather than a full batch in an nine-by-thirteen inch glass pan.  Hence, he has declared that, today, he will make a full batch in the type of pan called for in the recipe, continuing his quest to replicate the friend's pudding. 

While I admire his culinary tenacity for the truth.......a full batch.....on top of everything else calling to me from behind closed doors and lids?  Really?

Just roll me down the stairs to the treadmill.  I'm too full to walk.  I feel like one of those Russian nesting dolls.

Ancora imparo

My Own ClutterFree Picture Gallery

One of my Christmas presents was this beautiful calendar, each month adorned with pictures of the Three Musketeers.  The calendar has taken the place of the change-the-seasons wreath that always hangs prominently in the condo's foyer.  Nate Berkus might give me a big, fat zero on the home decor scale, but that is OK with me.  I'll sacrifice style for pictures of those three, beautiful Musketeers any day.

There are many web sites where one can store pictures and retrieve them for duplication but my favorite site is in my mind.  I call this site, ClutterFree, a not-so-subtle take on ShutterFly.  In ClutterFree, my memories are clear, distinct, personal, and all mine.  I do not have to share my mental images with anyone and I can determine what is funny, poignant, hysterical, and touching.

A few of my fondest memories from the past several days are:

• Eldest offspring at the Steinway, working on Nancy Wilson arrangements
• Eldest offspring at her espresso maker.....over and over and over.  She must run on caffeine
• The two offspring looking for 'squeaky Santa'......a little late, I might add
• Princess Leia helping clear the table
• Princess Leia discovering the Ziploc drawer
• Princess Leia pushing her babies in the stroller.....around and around and around the kitchen circle
• Princess Leia with her bracelets and her purse
• TLV'sLB's smile that illuminates the earth
• TLV'sLB's appetite for bananas.  They disappear almost instantly.
• TLV and his LB pulling their 'reindeer' around the condo
• TLV and his LB using a plastic bowl like a hockey puck.....back and forth.....while they are purportedly napping
• Having a sleepover with TLV and his LB
• TLV's new haircut that makes him look sooooo grown-up
• TLV discovering Walter, the stuffed-animal dog on a blade of the ceiling fan
• Playing YDKJ with TTMs' parents
• Finding my bag of Cheese-Its in the facial-tissue box
• Watching people open their gifts
• Hearing TLV and his LB pray
• Searching for reindeer with TLV and his LB
• Saying goodbye to everyone.  This was especially hard this year.  Don't know why.

I will close and spend more moments enjoying my very own mental PowerPoint presentation.  May you do the same.

Ancora imparo

It's Time

I'm almost ready.  I've been listing for days, now, and I'm down to just two day's worth of lists of any appreciable content.  Yes, after so many days of listing, I am now walking at a forty-five degree angle from my waist.  This does make it problematic going through doorways or getting into and out of my vehicles.  Other than that, I'm handling the exaggerated list quite well.

One of my cherished, daily self-treats, is to plop down into my favorite chair, with newspaper and coffee in hand, and read through my local, daily published paper.  These daze, well over fifty percent of the paper is devoted to advertisements, sale flyers, and those annoying peel-off coupons that are placed on the paper's front page, usually directly over some highly important and pertinent information.  Those stick-and-peel coupons act as a red flag to me.  I never read what is printed on them.  Rather, I peel and pitch. 

As I'm seated in my favorite chair, if my blinds are open to the deck, I can see across the lawn towards my neighbor's condo and deck.  My Holly Daze ritual is to shuffle out to the sun room first thing each morning, before turning on my laptop, exercising or making coffee, and flip the switch to illuminate the Christmas tree.  At the end of the day, turning off the tree lights is usually my last task before turning in.  Because both of these acts take place when it is dark outside, I have a clear view of my neighbor's deck and into her sun room, where her Christmas tree stands. 

Seeing the lights of her tree is as if there is non-verbal communication between her and me and her tree and our tree.  Silly, right?  Maybe, but that is what I sense.  I find her tree lights to be calming, welcoming, friendly and reassuring.  Even from a distance, the message to me is, "I'm here, I'm home and I'm enjoying the same ambiance that you are."  In this, one of the last daze of Holly, I find that very comforting.  Maybe she feels the same way?

I'm ready.  It's time.  Tomorrow our little family flock will be a unit, even if only for a few days.  There will be no daze during that time.  Only laughter, love, food and the privilege to be together.  The Three Musketeers are coming! 

Merry CHRISTmas 

Ancora imparo

Just Wonderin'

Have you ever been to Shipshewana, Indiana, the heart of Northern-Indiana's Amish country, and home to the famous Shipshewana Flea Market?  I've had the pleasure of going twice and it is an experience like no other.  You can find old, new, borrowed, trash, treasures, junque, antiques, collectibles, and crafts.  If you're looking for 'it' and cannot find 'it' at the Shipshewana Flea Market, then 'it' probably doesn't exist.

The Market is an example of extreme organization.  I do not know how long it takes the individual to set up his or her wares for sale, but the time and effort must be considerable.  I assume that these people do this on a regular basis so they must have a routine, plus very large vehicles in which to haul the sale items, some of which are quite large.....others are small but numerous in number.  I remember one vendor that was selling jack knives - hundreds, perhaps thousands of them -all either laid out neatly on tables, or in locked display cases.  Without knowing for certain, I would imagine that the 'shinkage' (retail-speak for theft) percentage must be rather high, considering the number of items for sale, out in the open, and the crush of humanity that sifts through the merchandise. 

Yes, the Shipshewana Flea Market is a destination that everyone should realize at least one time in their lives.  Just for the thrill, just to be able to say, "I've been there." and....for the food.  The restaurants are many in number and they all offer splendid feasts.  Shipshewana is not a place to expect to adhere to one's weight-loss program.  You can also purchase world-class-quality popcorn in the Shipshewana area.  The name 'Yoder' is synonymous in the Shipshewana area for good.....anything.....but Yoder popcorn is a 'must' in the take-home category. 

And, so, in this season of Holly Daze, where our bodies and brains are working overtime with effort and  creativity, I have just one pressing question: Do they sell fleas at a flea market? 

Just wonderin'.

Ancora imparo

The Ordinary Life

Just to prove that my mind can reflect on substantive issues (this, after my earlier posting about fling, flang, and flung), I wanted to write about a phrase I heard on the radio today:  The ordinary life.

This was spoken, in passing, but stayed with me because it made me think, "Just what is an ordinary life?"

What is ordinary?

In my ancient Roget's College Thesaurus, synonyms for ordinary are:  usual, medium, average, unremarkable, commonplace, regular, common, inferior, low, middling, second-rate, undistinguished.  At first, I thought I  would thoroughly disagree with inferior, low, middling, and second-rate being listed as synonyms for ordinary, but.......upon further reflection......isn't an ordinary life one that encompasses both ends of the experience spectrum?

If I lead an ordinary life, must I not expect highs and lows, ups and downs, heaven and hell, successes and failures, pinnacles and nadirs, calm and stormy seas, fast and slows, etc?  True, but when the lows, downs, hells, failures, nadirs, stormy seas and slows occur all at once, an unbearable vortex can result, leaving one feeling as if they just got run over by a steamroller.  Conversely, when the highs, ups, heavens, successes, pinnacles, calm seas, and fast lanes converge simultaneously, one can be left with a feeling of indestructibility and invincibility......a situation that usually does not last too long, either, because......

That is just not life.  Life, by its very definition, is a series of experiences, some good and others, character-building.....that is to say, difficult.  Charles Swindall refers to this yin and yang of life as being made into steel.  His analogy is that of steel-making to life.  Steel is produced after being subjected to a fiery furnace of unimaginable heat and so we humans are made stronger by the difficulties we pass through on our way to becoming steel-like.  Not invincible, but infinitely stronger.

The ordinary life.  We're all there, just at different points.  Some of us are at nadirs, others at the zenith, and yet others on a comfortable shelf, somewhere in the middle.  We shouldn't plan on getting too comfortable in any one position.   

I've waxed thoughtful long enough.  My next posting will be one of great import.  Don't miss it!

Ancora imparo

Tense(s)

The English language both fascinates and confounds me.  The inconsistency of spellings must be very vexing to those who do live with their Merriam-Webster's close by their sides.

Take, for instance, the beloved poem by Clement Clark Moore, "The Night Before Christmas".  At this time of year, the poem is recited in total or quoted piecemeal frequently.  It has long been a favorite of mine and as I was reciting it in my head this morning, a particular stanza stuck out for me:

"He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack."

It was the word flung that captured my attention and, as I am want to do, I fixated on it for a bit, particularly the present and past-tense forms, fling and flung,  then on to wondering why it isn't fling, flang, flung.  I did check my Merriam-Webster and there is no flang in the dictionary.....at least not in the one next to my laptop.  If I were to add the letter e, you would find the word flange.  One word under flange is flank, but no flang.

Consequently, I am left wondering who made all of these decisions centuries ago......to compose a word and, conversely, to not compose a word.  There is think, thank, but no thunk.......in proper English.  Besides, think and thank are not related, except to say " I think I said thank you.". 

I will leave myself with these thoughts swirling in my head as I proceed to the kitchen, once again, to bury my thoughts (thinking, not thanking nor thunking) in the fragrant aromas of holiday food favorites.  May you do the same.

Happy Holly Daze

Ancora imparo

You Could Feel The Eyes

My intent was to write about the haze, clouds and fog that seem to be permanent additions to my little corner of the world.  I had the occasion to be oot and aboot yesterday for a couple of hours as night was falling - earlier than usual on the shortest day of the year - and had to deal with the thickening fog, descending darkness and reduced visibility.  Most drivers were somewhat cognizant of the need for slower driving so maneuvering about was really not an issue.  What was an issue was the dampness that seemed to creep into every bone, joint and muscle, with an intensity and determination to remain that was impressive.  Hours later, when I finally gave up on accomplishing one more thing and went to bed, my body-chill was still present and did not leave willingly nor quickly, even under the warmth of the covers.  The dawn of a new day has done little to banish the bone-numbing chill and, once again, I've succumbed to the cold and raised the thermostat from sixty-five degrees to a heat-wave-producing sixty-six degrees.  Global warming has come to the condo!

Yes, I was going to write all about that, but, as I was seated at my desk, peering into the abyss of my laptop's screen, I felt a presence in the room.  I heard no sound but the presence of another was eerily unmistakable.  I looked up at the doorway, but saw no one.  I strained to hear a noise.....anything that would indicate company nearby.  I swiveled in my chair......nothing.  Yet, I could feel that I was not alone.  Suddenly, for some reason, I was compelled to look down and there was my answer.  Two yellow eyes, looking up, boring into mine with an intensity that cannot be described.

It was Cranky Kitty, poised at my feet, lurking about.  As our eyes held, as if in a blinking contest, she remained still.  I reached down to pet her, naturally hoping that this would not be a moment when she would chose to nip.  She allowed me to scratch her head and chin, eyes still gazing into mine.  I wondered what she wanted or was thinking about.  She and I maintained our eye contact for another thirty seconds or so and then she moved away, tail held high and swishing rapidly.  She then moved to an adjoining bathroom where she proceeded to scratch away at the shower curtain.  I should begin referring to her as Enigma Kitty, or EK, for short.

It was (and still is) amazing how I could feel her eyes.  She didn't have to make a sound, yet I knew I was not alone in the room.  I guess, in the end, that there is a connection in what I have written today.  Carl Sandburg, the great American poet (1878-1967),  knew about the correlation between fog and little cat feet when he wrote the poem entitled, simply, "Fog".

The fog comes
on little cat feet.


It sits looking
over the harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.


Carl must have had a cat somewhere in his life.

Ancora imparo 

Try As I Might.......

(Writer's Note:  Try as I might, I am unable to get the dialogue portion of this posting to line up and hold the indent.  It appears quite messy in the 'conversation' portion.  My apologies to the reader.)

Have you ever been in a conversation with someone who notices 'something' in the distance and wants you to notice it, too?  My SO and I had a verbal exchange of this type a short while ago.  I'll set the stage for you and then relate the conversation.

Stage:
Capt. SO has been out early and shoveled heavy, wet snow for about thirty, or more, minutes - some, like on the deck, more than twelve inches deep.  He has eaten breakfast and has taken a well-deserved, steaming-hot cup of coffee to the sun room to relax a bit and enjoy the view towards the woods.  Cranky Kitty is on his lap, eyes narrowed (no, it is not sunny),  not looking too pleased with life. Her customary visage.  I am, perhaps, ten feet behind him and to his left, my view of the woods partially obscured.  I am eating half of a gluten-free bagel that feels more like concrete dense enough to hide Jimmy Hoffa, than an edible food source, and reading the morning newspaper at the dining room table.  Normally I would be perched upon a high stool at the kitchen island-bar but I want to 'experience' the woods and cardinal activity as well.  


Conversation: 
Capt. SO:  "Can you see that bird, or big blob of some type, out in the tree behind the big tree right in front? "
Moi:          (Rising, as I speak, to stand before the windows, in hopes of sighting the big blob as well.)  "OK,
                  now where are you looking?"
Capt. SO:  "There, right there, on a branch on a tree right behind the big tree."
Moi:          (Bending over slightly, towards the window, squinting, as if that will help.)  "Which big tree?"
Capt. SO:  (Voice now having an ever-so-slight edge to it.  You know....the kind that is thinking, "Moron,
                  right in front of you.") "That tree."
Moi:           (Nose now pressed to glass in an effort to see which big tree.)  "I still can't see which big tree
                  you are referring to. Oh, right there?  Well, it is not a cardinal. "
Capt. SO:   "I know that.   It is that big tree (pointing).....and the tree right behind it with the big branch.
                  There is a big blob of some kind on the branch that moves every now and then".
Moi:           (Really wanting to experience seeing the same big blob, I now move to directly behind Capt.
                  SO's  chair so I have the same line of sight.......but to no avail.)  "Sorry, but I still can't see the big
                  blob."  (I then return to my seat and continue chewing on my concrete, gluten-free bagel, feeling
                  as though I must have missed something akin to last night's total lunar eclipse.)

Try as I might, I simply could not visually locate the big-branched tree directly behind the big tree, directly in front of Capt. SO's line of sight that had the big blob perched upon the big branch.  But, isn't that what makes life interesting?  We all see things differently, even when we are looking at the same 'thing'.  A big blob to one is not noticeable to another and vice versa.

It is time to begin baking some cookies.  I wonder if we'll each notice the freshly baked cookies when they come out of the oven and are cooling on the counter.  My guess is that we'll have no problem identifying them as tasty morsels of some type!

Happy Holly Daze.

Ancora imparo

Shopping-Cart-Operations Review

It was brought to my attention, today, that I need to conduct a store-shopping-cart-operation review once again.  I may consider writing a syllabus on this very topic, and perhaps, writing a textbook in an attempt to educate the uneducated populace on the rules of  store-aisle maneuvers.  

Navigating the aisles of any store that utilizes shopping carts is very simple if you follow these basic principles:

• Store carts (either pushed or motorized) should be driven just like your vehicle on the roadways.  (Perhaps this is the issue?) Just as we drive to the right of oncoming traffic, so should we push our carts to the right of oncoming carts. 
• Do not operate your cart in the wrong direction of a one-way passage.  
• Park your cart just as you would parallel park your vehicle.  (Perhaps this is an issue, too.)  Close to the curb.....not three feet away from the curb.
• Just as you would not park your vehicle three feet away from the curb and then open your car door, bending over, thrusting out your derriere three more feet into traffic, do not stand on the side of your cart, either thinking, looking, or having store tete-a-tetes with your friend.  
• When thinking or looking, do not park in the middle of the aisle. 
• The middle of the aisle is for passing.  
• Parking on an angle is considered to be in very bad form.
• When turning from one aisle, go straight through the intersection, then make a clean turn.
• Do not cut corners when turning. 
• You are not the only shopper in the store.
• Your children are not supposed to ride under the cart, but, if you must, make sure they are not perpendicular to the cart-bottom.  

I will take my proposed syllabus to the National Association of Stores Using Carts.  Perhaps we can initiate a cart-operation certification program. Those not passing or possessing a certificate should have to carry one of those flags that young children put on the back fenders of their bicycles.  That way we would all be aware that a bad cart driver is in the vicinity. 

Happy store-cart driving.  It's a jungle out there.

Happy Holly Daze.

Ancora imparo

It Is That Time of Year

I try to avoid gift shopping in December, if at all possible.  The malls, shopping centers, big-box stores, parking lots, and streets are jammed with people.......every one of them frazzled and in a hurry.  This fact was born out today as I witnessed a parking lot tussle between three car drivers who all wanted the same parking spot.  While I witnessed no actual vehicle contact, I did witness gesturing (the universal-sign type) and heard horn-honking and yelling.  So much for peace on earth and goodwill toward all. 

I did make it into a large department store within the mall where I encountered wall-to-wall people, most of whom were clutching papers, presumably studying gift lists.  There were conversations between people inquiring where the other people had been, who was still left on the list, where to find thus and such and, my personal favorite- usually uttered in a frustrated manner by a male - "How much longer?"  It was refreshing to not encounter any tired and cranky sales associates.  In fact, all of the sales associates I dealt with were energetic and pleasant, perhaps due to coffee breaks, puppies, naps, chocolate, shift changes, or substances of an unknown nature. 

Whatever the cause, my afternoon shopping experience was positive and completed in less time than I had anticipated......which was a good thing because Capt. SO was waiting in the vehicle......this after a lengthy car ride back from a neighboring state.  I did not want to press my luck with SO patience, although I was fairly confident that while I was shopping he would be snoozing. 

This time of year gives a new meaning to the word listing.  As a boater, listing, the verb, carries with it a very bad connotation, whereas if I were a realtor, listing, a noun, would be welcomed, these days, as great.  I'm introducing a new, verb meaning for listing:  the act of making lists, which is something that everyone, including moi, seems to be doing a lot of these days. 

Here's to Holly Daze Listing.  May we all construct our lists, may we all remember to take our lists with us when we leave the house, and may we all remember to look at the list (or lists) when we are oot and aboot. 

I have my Number Two, Ticonderoga pencil at the ready.  How 'bout you?

Ancora imparo

Reflections On A Weekend

Captain SO and I just traveled a significant distance to and back to spend time with family during the Holly Daze.  The drive is long and our stiff bodies always appreciate the arrival on either end of the trip.  Try as we might to walk during rest-area stops, our bodies so seem to stiffen up sooner than they used to.  This, I believe, is a sign of age. 

Although my SO and I spend some parallel time with each of our families, we did manage to at least make an appearance and have some conversation with the other's loved ones.  If there is one thing that we each were blessed with, good family cooks would be it!  You can always count on returning home from a far-family visit weighing a bit more than before you left home!  You can also count on lively conversations in a wide range of topics to experience.  There are young cousins, nieces or nephews taking part in sports games and those are always exciting to observe.  Other relatives have new pets or have done remodeling that begs to be seen so there is never a dull or boring moment. 

One of this year's highlights was a pan of cinnamon-bread pudding.  (Of course it is food related.  Did you expect some lofty observation?)  No one, or hardly any one, expected to be very excited about bread pudding.  Pre-dinner everyone was eye-balling the homemade raspberry pie (made by Capt. SO) or the homemade apple pie made by SO's Daddy-O, who happens to be ninety years of age.  When the evening was said and done, the bread pudding was mostly gone, as was the raspberry pie.  The two intact apple pies were quickly cut into slices and frozen, ready for another family gathering.  All those present were moving a bit more slowly and trying desperately to stave off the onslaught of the carb-coma that we all knew was inevitable.  Only the little nieces found their second winds by singing and dancing. 

Now the Holly Daze can officially begin!

Ancora imparo

Fashionable V.S. Functional

There are many things I am not.  Naturally fashionable is one of them.  I have friends and acquaintances that are fashionable to the bone.  They ooze fashionality (made-up word) and, I'm certain, could carry off donning a black, plastic garbage bag and people would pronounce them fashionistas.  I, on the other hand, could wear that same black, plastic garbage bag and someone might mistake me as a fall-off from a Waste Management truck and would simply try to toss me back on to the garbage truck. 

Realizing that I am no fashionista, as the current buzz-word would imply, I made an attempt to become more fashionable by wearing one of those weird and soft, fuzzy-yarned scarves around the collar of my winter coat.  Now, I must admit that in the mirror, at least, the overall effect is good.  So good, in fact, that I took  three cast-off scarves from my daughter, and paired them with three different winter coats.  I was feeling rather smug thinking that I had now arrived at fashionable and feeling proud that I liked my reflection in the pond as I gazed over the bridge's railing.

However, (Yes, there is a however here.) I have about had it with being fashionable.  Those scarves, while adding a bit of uncharacteristic pizazz to my  appearance, are about as annoying as can be.  A few days ago, I informed my SO that my fashionable days were numbered.  I am far too practical to put up with having to always putz with the scarf going underneath the hood of each coat....having to check to see that each side of the scarf is hanging down an equal distance....having to mess about with the scarf every time I hang up a coat....or my least favorite annoyance.....every time I bend over the scarf is either dragging on the wet, snowy ground or falling into some unwanted substance of unknown origin.  I find myself constantly flinging one end of the scarf back over a shoulder because it is in the way of retrieving keys from my purse or some other task that  requires an unobstructive path.

I did give this the good, old 'college try' and can rest easy that, for one brief moment, or two, in my life, I was fashionable.  Keep in mind that, as a child, I was always the kid whose mittens were safety-pinned to a long piece of elastic with each mitten hanging out of a coat sleeve, I was the child who wore black, rubber galoshes, and I was the child who had to wear Girl-Scout-brown and sturdy shoes.....just like Queen Elizabeth wears while walking about her Scottish estate.  

It is said that as we age we revert to our childhood.  Guess I've begun my age-reversal.  Soon you will see me with my gloves dangling on the ends of a long piece of elastic.  I'll hold off on the rubber galoshes and Girl Scout shoes.  Some childhood memories are just too painful.

Ancora imparo

Phone Pheedback

Occasionally, an Ancora imparo posting brings rather instant feedback, and yesterday's comment about a Pit Viper Gift Exchange did just that.  (For those of you that missed yesterday's post, I wrote about a White Elephant Gift Exchange phenomenon that created an atmosphere more like a Pit Viper Gift Exchange.)  My friend called and said, "Pit Viper.....really?" 

OK, so maybe more like a Roller Derby reaction.   You know, the rough and tumble world of Roller Derby, where one has to elbow, push, shove, and verbally intimidate the opposition in order to win the prize?  Obviously, there was no pushing, shoving and elbowing going on, but the reaction of some of the otherwise genteel and polished attendees was somewhat surprising and, at least for me, quite amusing.  Who would think that unspecified items, hidden in a variety of receptacles - i.e. bags, boxes, and other creative ways to hide a gift - would generate such frenzied fervor?

It has caused me to ponder, ever so briefly, what would ensue if someone was seen accidentally dropping something of great value in a crowded room, full of people who did not know each other and would probably never see one another again?  Would some honest person see the loss, retrieve the item, purposefully follow the unwitting individual until able to make contact, and then calmly tap that person on the shoulder to alert him or her to the lost-but-found? 

Would demographics come into play regarding the type of response......or lack of response?  Would age be a factor?  Would anyone who saw the 'incident', and picked up the item, return it to its rightful owner?  If multiple people witnessed the drop, would they tussle and tumble with each other in order to be the last person with their hands on the item of value?  Would it go to fisticuffs as sometimes happens in outfield spectator seats with pro baseball hits as each fan tries desperately to be the one to walk away with the souvenir?  Would the room remain calm and civilized or would a melee result?

Fascinating questions, as least for moi.  I hope I never have to be in that room full of crowded people.  Instead of puppies, kittens, and baby bunnies, the room might become filled with pit vipers, Roller Derby queens, wolverines, and the like.

I'll focus on the puppy in each of us.  A much more pleasant and reassuring thought during these Holly Daze, don't you think?

Ancora imparo

White Elephant Envy

White Elephant gift exchanges are certainly a curious slice of Americana. 

If you are not familiar with a White Elephant gift exchange, here is the concept:  Attendees are invited to bring a gift-wrapped item to share in the exchange. The item you choose to bring can be trash or treasure.  Most White Elephant exchanges dictate that when you select the gift you want, you open it there, on the spot.  If you like a gift you have already seen, you may 'take' that gift from a person who has selected a gift prior to you.  Likewise, you may become the recipient of theft and may find the gift you selected taken away from you.  This 'rule' can add an element of 'nasty' to the holiday gift game if some of the participants forget that it is only a game and that the gifts hidden beneath the fancy bows and glitter may simply be someone else's trash.

Occasionally White Elephant exchanges can begin to resemble an activity that would be more accurately described as a Pit Viper exhange, especially if one or more of the participants become so engrossed in the game that they lose sight of the spirit of fun that was intended.  On some rare occasions, rather staid and proper 'ladies' will give each other 'the raspberries' when some unsuspecting participant has the nerve to 'steal
a gift.

Yes, White Elephant exchanges bring out the best and the worst in women (mostly) at this time of year.  It matters not whether the message of peace and goodwill is foremost in everyone's minds.  It only matters about what we think is in the gift that looks as if it was professionally wrapped.

Maybe the bag or box contains a puppy?

Happy Holly Daze 

My Phantom Watch

I've been wearing my watch less and less as of late. 

Initially, leaving my watch off my wrist was common-sense related.  I was often engaged in tasks or activities where wearing the watch was either foolish or cumbersome and so I would remove it frequently.  After about a week of this new routine, I began finding that I was forgetting to put the watch on my wrist first thing in the morning.  My morning routine of adding the final touches of earrings and watch had been broken and I would later discover that I had simply forgotten to reach for my timepiece.  As the days passed by, I discovered that - for the most part - I did not miss having a portable clock on my wrist.  Almost every room in my condo, as well as both vehicles, has a clock embedded in something so there is no trouble telling what time it is.

But.......wearing a watch is a life-long habit for many of us and that 'phantom' watch on my left wrist is a hard habit to break.  This is particularly obvious when I am in an activity that requires rapt attention to a schedule and adhering to that schedule. If I were still in the classroom, I'd be sporting a timepiece because there are too many times (pun unintended) that a teacher's back may be to the clock, depending on its positioning.  If I am leading a group music rehearsal of any kind, be it choral or instrumental, I constantly rely on knowing how much time has elapsed and how much is left.  Chairing a meeting also requires an attention to a schedule so that those in attendance do not feel as if their time has been wasted. 

I know many individuals, now, who do not wear watches, but depend, instead, on their cell phones to let them know what time of day it is.  This is fine for those who have jobs where they are in isolation or semi-isolation but if you are leading in front of a group, pulling out your cell phone before the group's members would be considered an act of affrontal and rudeness.   

I have been enjoying the psychological freedom associated with not being a slave to my watch, but I think I will need to return to chronological slavery soon.  I find that, in rehearsals with my choir, I am constantly whipping my wrist out of my sleeve and looking down at my.....bare wrist.  In the split second where I realize, "Duh, there is no watch to see!", I quickly pull my sleeve back over my wrist and look sheepishly about, hoping that no one has seen my fruitless gesture. 

My wrist can still sense my phantom watch.  In fact, it is telling me, at this very moment, that it is time to stop blathering on about phantom watches. 

Ancora imparo

In A State of Acquiescence

You know the phrase, 'roll over and play dead'?  It is one of those cutesy tricks people teach their dogs.  Or, continuing with the dog theme, when a dog, or wolf, displays signs of submissiveness and rolls over onto its back?  That is how my So and I are reacting to the cold and blowing snow Mother Nature has thrown our way.

As I was contemplating our behavior over the last two days, the word acquiesce came to mind.  (This word is a seldom used word, apparently, because I just mis-typed it and the spell-check for this application did not even flag the word as misspelled.)  My favorite tome, Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary - Eleventh Edition, page 11, lists acquiesce, of course leaving out any canine analogy, and gives the definition as to accept, comply, or submit tacitly or passively, which is exactly how my SO and I have behaved, given the weather conditions as they are.

His and my response to being weather-bound have been predictably different.  We did share some sun room time with steaming, hot coffee, the newspaper and Christmas tree lighted-ambiance.  After that our day was in parallel motion with him working on Christmas cards in his man-cave and I in my kitchen-office woman-cave.  I even acknowledged the plummeting outside temps and howling wind by turning up the thermostat one degree from 65 degrees to 66 degrees - a big step for me, who is always saying, "Just add another laying of clothing."  I tackled baking Christmas cookies and later sewed Princess Leia's apron, while watching "Iron Chef, America", whose secret ingredient was pork fat.  That was both an 'eww' and 'yum'.  Ugly to watch but tasty to eat, I'm certain. 

I do sense that the cold is atrophying my brain, though.  As I was preparing my coffee, this morning, before beginning to blog,  I followed my ritual of placing a small amount of fat-free half and half (such an oxymoron) in the bottom of my coffee mug for pre-warming and when I went to put the carton away, my brain decided that the microwave was the refrigerator and I tried for a split-second or two to cram the half and half carton into the microwave until I realized my mistake. 

This does not bode well for the remainder of these Holly Daze, does it?  If you see me, out in public, with an article of clothing upon my head - as a hat - that should otherwise be hidden under my clothing, please be kind.  Take me by the hand and lead me to the nearest animal shelter where I will roll over and play dead.

My final acquiescence. 

Ancora imparo

Tibbles and Tisps

Every segment of our lives has vital terminology, does it not?  Much of this terminology has abbreviations associated with it and understanding these abbreviations is crucial to the success of whatever project one is involved with.  If you are a boater, you'd best know how to read the depths printed on your navigation charts and understand that soundings can be listed in either feet or fathoms.  If you are a jogger it would be wise to know just how far a 10K really is before setting foot (pun intended) on the raceway.  Driving a vehicle?  Know the difference between MPG and MTE on your digital readout.  I didn't pay attention to the difference, on our first vehicle with a digital display board, until I finally noticed that, while driving in a remote section of U.S. 2 in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, in the middle of the night with my two young children and my elderly father who was still recovering from a stroke, that the van had less than thirty miles to empty. 

Even in daily, household living, being aware of and understanding abbreviations is very important. 

Take for instance, woodworking or building.  When reading architectural drawings, schematics or floor plans, noticing whether a number is followed by ' or " is a deal-buster.  Those same little markings would mean the difference between smiles and tears when sewing a garment.   Baking or cooking?  The difference between pt. (pint) and qt. (quart) would make a recipe's outcome either fabulous or tragic, especially for a young person eager to please his or her dinner guests. 

I think one of the most confusing cooking and baking  abbreviations to decipher is the difference between tibbles and tisps.  What, you may be asking is a tibble and a tisp?  Why, tablespoons and teaspoons, of course.  These two measurements present particular challenges for cooks and bakers.  First, is the recipe hand-written or printed?  Many of us follow recipes from two, three or even four generations ago.  Handwriting skills present the initial obstacle to overcome and, secondly, cooks and bakers never had (or have) standardized abbreviations for tablespoons and teaspoons.  A few recipes actually have the words spelled out in their entirety, but, more often than not, these two words are abbreviated.  Tablespoon may appear as T, tb or tbl.  and teaspoon may appear as t, tp, or tsp.

The Holly Daze cooking and baking season is here.  Instead of minding our peas and ques, we need to pay close attention to our tibbles and tisps. 

Happy cooking, baking and consuming.

Ancora imparo

Winter Unleashed

Ol' Man Winter has flirted with us, teased us, and forewarned us for the past couple of weeks, but tonight he has been unleashed and nothing seems in the works to stop him, at least for the next twelve to twenty hours.  So here I sit, safe and warm in my humble abode.  Before dinner, my SO and I took the time to sit quietly with the Christmas tree lights as a backdrop, and watch the snowfall.  It is so much more restful and relaxing to watch the snowfall from inside than it is to drive in it, isn't it?  One way allows us to appreciate the beauty that snow creates.  The other way allows our knuckles to become as white as snow as our hands grip the steering wheel with a death-type grip designed to keep the car on the road.

With all of the meteorological posturing going on regarding the path the supposed storm will take, how many inches we can expect when all is said and done, the possibility of blowing and drifting snow creating blizzard conditions.....and the like, I became curious and visited one of my favorite web sites - that of the National Weather Service.  As a boater, I am accustomed to giving great credence to the information set forth on this web site.  I may be naive, but I expect accuracy from the government regarding weather conditions.  Granted this may be one of the few government agencies I have confidence in, but I figure all of those trained meteorologists cannot be wrong.  (Now a room full of economists.......that is another matter.)

I wanted to check on marine conditions on the Bay of Green Bay and Lake Michigan.  Not a good thirty-six hours to be boating or on a boat in either one of those bodies of water.  The bay has gale warnings out, with a forecast of six-to-eight foot waves, and the southeastern and eastern side of Lake Michigan has storm warnings out with forecasted twenty to twenty-five foot waves.  Since wave predictions are created from an average of wave measurements, a boater knows that the forecasted wave height is an average and that there will automatically be higher waves in the mix. 

Somehow, knowing all of this makes staying inside even more enticing and pleasant.  I've enjoyed a cup of hot lemonade as well as eaten my dinner by the light of the Christmas tree. I am missing a cup of tea and Christmas cookies but that will come soon enough. 

For now, I will enjoy the solitude afforded by remaining indoors.  Shoveling will come soon enough tomorrow morning.

May all of you remain safe and warm as well.

Ancora imparo

We All Learn to Bark Differently

For those readers new to Ancora imparo, you need to know that I am a dog lover and a dog-misser.  (I know.....there is no such word as 'misser'.)  I frequently refer to the fact that I'd love to have another dog in my life and every time I open a gift, I ask if there is a puppy inside.  While I am partial to English Springer Spaniels (Yes, yes, I know that the American Kennel Club has dropped the word 'English' from its classification of the breed.  I just still like the way 'it' sounds.) and Labs, for today's posting purposes, I will refer to myself as an Australian Shepherd.

I am a member of the Canis lupus familiaris classification of mammals.  Much like Homo sapiens, I come in different sizes, shapes, and colorations, although the American Kennel Club has very exacting specifications for what is the perfect representation of my breed is in terms of shape and size, as well as coloration patterns. I happen to have a brindle coat, of which I am extremely proud.   

One thing that all members of Canis lupus familiaris have in common is the need to be trained.  We canines have naturally bred instincts that have been perfected for centuries and, without careful training, we will be genetically pre-disposed to return to the behaviors that are second nature to us.  Training for us best begins when we are puppies, because we are eager to learn and please our masters - male or female.

If you came to observe puppy-training class you would note that we all learn differently.  Some of us catch on right away and pay rapt attention to whatever the trainer is saying.  You will see us cocking our heads to the left and right in an effort to hear each and every word and see each hand motion. Others appear to be paying zero attention but when the time comes to display what has been learned, these puppies can do it all!  Other participants in my puppy class prefer to simply lie down and snooze through the entire session, despite the best efforts of the owners and trainer.  Then there are my puppy-classmates who bark from the moment they arrive and are still barking as their vehicles pull out of the parking lot.

Yes, there are lots of puppies who would prefer not to come to puppy class but they were, probably literally, dragged there by their owners.  I, on the other hand, wish to learn and find my disruptive puppymates' behaviors distracting and disrespectful.  I am there to be trained so I can become the best puppy possible and grow into a responsible, adult canine.

I think that the puppies who do not want to listen to the trainer and their owners should have a room of their own where they can go and sleep or bark to their hearts' content.  There could be lots of treats and water available, plus they would be safe and dry no matter what the weather outside during class time.  They would have so much more fun and we puppies who are eager to be trained could spend our puppy-class time learning.  Everyone would be so much happier!

I am going to paw-print a note to my owners, tell them how I feel, and spell out the merits of my puppy-plan.  I may even have to bark a time or two to get my point across.

Just remember that a nightingale did sing in Barkley Square.

Ancora imparo

Exulting In The Small Accomplishments

Today was a day of opposites for my SO and I.  On the one hand, we had a delightful lunch with friends, tasty food, and great conversation.  The weather cooperated one-hundred percent for driving and being out and about and pre-Holly Daze traffic - both on the streets and in the stores - was civilized and moderate.  All in all, not a bad day when one considers what the volume of shoppers and traffic could be. 

What then ensued were searches for small and not-so-small gifts.....for others and ourselves.  Who would have imagined that there could be so many tea kettle choices?  Ceramic and aluminum; one quart up to 2.5 quarts; tall and slender profiles to short, squat profiles; low prices to not-so-low prices.  Then there is the rainbow of colors - mustard yellow, bright yellow, orange, orange-ish red, true red, lime green, black, white, brushed aluminum, stainless steel, and two-toned black and brushed aluminum.  There is the old-fashioned spout that simply pours water or the steam-release, small-hole variety with a flip-lid handle.  All in the name of boiling liquids

Next came the search at ToysRUs for Silly Putty.  It must not be a commonly sought-after item because even the store employees didn't know where it might be or even if the store carried it.  I finally found one employee who knew, for sure, that the store carried it but he could only tell me the general area the putty should be in.  Fortunately, for me, I'd overeaten at lunch so I was content walking all over the store, looking for Silly Putty and burning calories!  In the end, I did find Silly Putty so the world can still revolve tomorrow morning.

The final purchase triumph was a heavy-duty, seamless and deep 9"X13" baking pan.  A small, but important 'find' that was actually not easy to locate.  We must have looked at more than a dozen pans in several stores until discovering a pan that fit the parameters desired.  Another tiny but important victory in the quest for silly, seamless tea kettles.

I think I just mixed up my purchases.   

Ancora imparo

The 'Mute' Button

Are you familiar with those clever Staples commercials about pushing the "Easy" button?  After the commercials had achieved notoriety, Staples began selling the "Easy Button" and sales were brisk - perhaps they still are.

I'm advocating for someone to invent a mute button, much like I have on my laptop.  I keep the volume muted most of the time because the clicking sound that is frequently emitted drives me nuts.  I also find the sound that is created every time the computer starts up or shuts down to be highly irritating.  Hence, the muted sound.

Last night.....what am I saying.....it is still night and I'm up during 'it'.  I needed a 'mute' button last night to quiet all of the thoughts that were racing through my brain.  The previous night had presented the same issue before I went to bed, but after about six trips to write down tasks to remember, I had emptied my brain enough to allow sleep to overtake my body.

Not so lucky last night.

I went to bed with thoughts roiling in my consciousness and I was never successful in my attempts to still those thoughts.  After becoming even more wakeful just before 3:00 a.m., I laid in bed for an hour, which is my standard rule.  If, after one hour, sleep is still elusive, I get up and either stay up or engage myself in something that will eventually tire me enough to allow sleep to creep into my body.  Today, no sleep could creep and so I quietly arose and gave up the battle.

There is some solace in the quietude that is afforded when one is up with the bakers and early-morning newspaper deliverers of this world.  The outside darkness, illuminated only by either moonlight, street lights, or the occasional flash of car headlights is peaceful in its own way.  While all of this quiet tranquillness is restful, I will probably regret my decision to arise so early sometime either late morning or early afternoon, when my head may bob repeatedly toward my chest - at which time, I'll click 'off' my mute button.  

As for now, it's time to hit the treadmill. That ought to tire me out!

Ancora imparo

So Long, Old Friend

Why is parting with possessions so difficult?  Perhaps I should ask, "Why is parting with possessions so difficult for some people?"

I am not a hoarder - not even close.  My mother was not a hoarder but she did keep lots of 'stuff'. My 'growing-up' home had a cluttered appearance in some of the rooms, but that was mostly on counter tops or other surface areas.  All the 'stuff' mom kept was kept in drawers or stored away in boxes in the attic or closets.  The house was clean except for all of the 'old' food that was never thrown out in the refrigerator.  We could never eat 'new' food until the 'old' food had been consumed.

Because my mom kept 'stuff', it has always been my mission to keep as little as I can possibly be inspired to keep.  I am constantly reminded of the past by the 'clutter ghost' that lives on my shoulder and whispers sweet nothings in my ear.  Sweet nothings that encourage me to rid, rid, rid the closets of unused, unwanted, and unnecessary belongings.  So do I have clutter skeletons in my life?  Absolutely and some of them make no sense to me.

My 'keeping' challenges have evolved over the years, probably as my space limitations have changed.  I've always had to battle the box demon and have been more successful, as the years go by, overcoming the box demon even without a twelve-step program.  It is hard to put a perfectly good, solid box into the recycling bin, but I can bring myself to part with those charming cardboard containers more and more.

Another 'keeping' challenge is old, comfortable and soft articles of clothing.  My skin has never liked scratchy fabrics and, as I get older, that trait seems to be more exaggerated than in my youth.  My recent triumph over the 'soft and comfortable' demon came just yesterday as I forced myself to finally part with an old pair of sweat pants.  These ratty-looking green sweats have been my workout sweats for more years than I'd care to acknowledge or even think about. Over the past six or so months, numerous holes developed to the point that they needed to be discarded but I could not bring myself to part with my green faves.

The parting procedure began about six weeks ago when I purchased a replacement pair of sweats.  I couldn't find green so I had to settle with black.  The black sweats were comfortable from the outset and it should have been a simple act of throwing out the old, but I just couldn't bring myself to drop my old faithfuls into the garbage.  Two days ago I had a stern talking to with myself and said, "Self, this is ridiculous."  The path I took to release them was equally ludicrous.  I needed to know they would go on to a better life so I asked my SO if he needed any rags to take to the barn.  Affirmative.  So there was the second life for my ragged, green sweats.  I washed them up but then came the last, challenging step.......cutting the fabric.  Holding the shears, and actually squeezing them together, through the faded, green material was difficult.  When I was done, the waistband, ankle bands, and seams were clipped off and lay in a pile.  Dropping the pile of discarded material into the wastepaper basket was the final step.

Is this not silly?

I am happy to report that I have moved on.  This morning I donned my black sweats and the world continued to turn on its axis.

Ancora imparo

Pantry Surprises

This blog topic just changed - because of a typo!  I was going to write about something I learned at a dinner party this past weekend.  Something that both disturbed and amused me.  Kids, these days, are using nutmeg to get high!?!?  I suspect we've all known for years not to eat poppy-seed muffins before taking certain medical tests.  "Seinfeld" taught us that, if nothing else, but nutmeg?  What other standard spice can become suspect?  Nutmeg?  It simply belongs in apple pies and sprinkled atop of coffee, hot chocolate or Tom and Jerrys, not on a list of harmful substances commonly found in a household pantry. 

But, on to my change-of-topic topic. 

This is connected to a conversation I was part of yesterday at a Holly Daze open house, when those of gathered in a crowded corner turned to the subject of today's methods of communicating;  i.e. emailing, twittering, and texting.  We discussed the perils and pitfalls of the current-day practice of abbreviating almost every word, trying to avoid abbreviating almost every word, knowing which setting to abbreviate in, and the future of spelling for today's youth.  We all agreed that although 'spell-check' is convenient, it is a crutch upon which dependence foretells a loss of spelling knowledge and ensures future generations of non-spellers, not to mention the loss of the cursive-writing as a method of communication. 

Yes, the need for the ability to spell, on our own without the aid of artificial intelligence, is great and vastly underestimated. Case in point:  My blog title for today.

I was typing rapidly, intending to type the title "Pantry Surprises", but instead, in my haste, I left out one very important letter from the word 'pantry'........the letter 'r'.  Just suppose, for one second, that I relied completely on spell-check to alert me to a misspelling.  I would never had been prompted to check my spelling error because the word that I actually typed, panty, is a word and, as such, would not have been flagged by my computer as a misspelling.  Imagine the surprise of any blog reader who would log on to Ancora imparo  and find the title - Panty Surprises. 

Perhaps readership would increase exponentially?

Ancora imparo

Guess Who Had The Last Laugh?

I am happy to report that Mother Nature, with whom I have this running love/hate relationship, did not triumph over the dinner party last night.  Everyone made it from their destinations, safe and sound.  The people with the least distance to travel had, perhaps, the poorest of driving conditions on the first leg of their journey, so they left early, only to discover that the interstate was in much better driving condition than they thought it would be, and, thusly, arrived about thirty-five minutes early.  Which was fine and fun.  We were ready, just doing last minute kitchen preparations and we enjoyed the extra minutes of conversation and easy laughter.

As each couple arrived and hugs and greetings were exchanged, the laughter level rose until there were eight people, happy to be re-united and eager to hear about what each family had been doing since we last laughed together.  Of course, there was conversation revolving around boating, since that is what initially anchored us together.  (pun intended)  But there was plenty of other general conversation about politics (We do have some polar opposites among us.), church involvement, work (One of us is still gainfully employed and one is employed part-time.  The rest of us are now societal slackers, I guess you could say.), former work (two owned and sold their profitable businesses), and whatever other tack the conversation thread took us on.  With this group you never know what direction the lively conversation will travel in.  One of the more interesting conversation threads involved everything coffee, from where to buy your beans, to what type of beans to purchase, to the proper temperature with which to brew your coffee, coffee grinders v.s. bean crushers, the importance of a uniform grind to the beans, the best coffee brewing machines, etc.  All, of course, interjected with laughter since there are some very funny people in this group.  Even the topic of what foul-weather gear to wear became so humorous I don't think I can ever don clothing for inclement weather without a smile coming to my face.  Brussels sprouts as a topic of humor?  With this group, yes! 

All of this laughter was inspiring, a good kick-off to the Holly Daze season.  It felt good to laugh and be merry, even if it was for just a few hours.  For those few hours, the realities and frustrations of life were temporarily shelved and, yes, forgotten about.  The pumpkin did really become transformed into the glittering carriage and although the pumpkin reappeared at midnight, it looked better than before.

For this I am thankful. 

Ancora imparo

The Nemesis

Thwarted?  Vexed?  Confounded?  That was and is me as I've watched Mother Nature's untamable hand deal a dose of snow, the amount of which is still to be determined. Why do I care?  Well, two pans of homemade lasagna, Italian salad, twenty-four brussels sprouts, one pound of bacon, fresh artichoke dip, squash, Jarlsberg cheese spread, three-cheese garlic bread, and one freshly-baked carrot cake....plus the promise of lively conversation and cameraderie.......that is why.

We are hosting a dinner party tonight.....for either eight people or two, six of whom would have to travel at last an hour or more.  I was up several times in the night, simply to gaze out the window to see the snow's progress and accumulation.  The weather forecasters, about whom I wrote yesterday, have been busy over the past twenty-four hours preparing our region for anywhere from a dusting to six or more inches.  I love the way they cover their derrieres with all the verbal nested 'ifs'.  At any rate, the weather is what it is and will be what it will be.  In the meantime, I have one tasty dinner ready to go. 

It is a good thing that we bought our little freezer last week.  Of course, the prospect of a pot of coffee and a whole carrot cake, made from the world's best carrot-cake recipe does have some appeal.  I'd better do a lot of shoveling to negate eating an entire carrot cake, in a nine-by-thirteen inch pan....with creamed cheese frosting.  This would either be heaven or hell. 

Ancora imparo

Interpretation, Anyone?

I'm not a big proponent of prognostication.  Really.

Over the centuries, A.D. and before that, B.C., prognosticators were known as prophets and seers.  The Bible's Joseph is a well-known seer, being called upon repeatedly to interpret the King's dreams.  More recent terms for prognosticators are psychics, mystics, spiritualists....to name a few.

A recent morning found me chuckling as I remembered a dream I'd had just hours before.  In my dream, I was driving a huge station wagon like my parents always owned.  (We used to refer to these more-than-full-sized, three-hundred-fifty horsepower with V-8 engines automobiles as boats.)  I drove the station wagon down a steep set of water-front steps, settling smoothly into relatively shallow water.  No harm done to me or the vehicle.  I could use a Joseph on this dream.  I spent only a few minutes attempting to decipher what the dream meant but quickly gave up and decided that was just wasted time.

Another synonym for prognosticator is forecaster and forecasting, weather-wise, is what is on everyone's mind this morning.  For those of us who have weekend plans, the weather forecasters have our rapt attention as a possible storm moves our way from the plains states.  Possible is the key word here.  Depending on many meteorological factors, the 'front', as the professionals call it, may track north or south, slow (thereby dumping more snow) or fast (thereby producing less snow), blah, blah, blah.  Weather forecasters and meteorologists always give so many possible variables that it could turn out to be eighty degrees, instead of a winter storm, and there would be some reason why that remote scenario happened.  For those of us who live in areas where snow is a fact of winter life, it is almost as if we need to pack winter-survival trunk bags with not only a blanket, hat, mittens/gloves, road flares, but also shorts, tees, and sandals to be ready for any type of weather that Mother Nature may throw our way.

The other type of prognosticator is the economic market analyst.  I won't even go there.  These are the people who tell us the market reacted because someone with blue blood sneezed at a cocktail party somewhere on either the east or west coast.  Remember the dream I mentioned a paragraph or two ago?  I wonder how many market analysts could fit in a full-size station wagon? 

If anyone can interpret the content of my blog postings, I'm all ears.

Ancora imparo

Water Spots, Cat Litter and Other Annoyances

Ancora imparo readers know that I rail against cat litter on a somewhat-regular basis.  It is similar to dirt, pebbles and sand particles in a camping tent.  I know that these irritants are unavoidable, but it doesn't make them any less irritating, now does it?  With all of these substances, you can sweep, vacuum, wipe and dust mop until those proverbial cows return home and within SECONDS of the initial removal, more will have appeared.

Water spots are another of life's pesky realities, are they not?  Why is it that the act of cleaning produces yet another issue that has to be dealt with?  Is this not a household oxymoron?  Wash my car to remove the dirt?  Better have more clean, dry and soft cloths on hand with which to polish off the water spots.  Wash myself in the shower to remove dirt and grime and I had better be standing by to polish off the water spots....not from me but from the surface in the shower.  Shower surfaces are equal-opportunity offenders.  The surface cares not if it is Italian marble, Vermont granite, the finest of tile from Europe, fiberglass, or pre-fab wall units from a big-box home repair store.  Unless you are Oprah Winfrey, who has people to change her bed linens on a daily basis and probably keep her shower surfaces spot-free, then you, too, will have water spots.

Dust.....now there is another impossible household annoyance to conquer.  Unless your home is hermetically sealed, in which case I believe you could no longer breathe and dust would matter no more, then there will be furniture dust, dust bunnies, and floor-fuzz from origins unknown or best left unidentified. 

Cranky Kitty is a big contributor to the floor-fuzz of which I just 'spoke'.  Being part or all Maine Coon, she has this huge tail which emits hair on a per-second basis.  You touch any part of her and her body will gladly share some of its constant, excess hair.  She is the personification of the word hirsute.  I've been thinking that if I could just rig up a dust cloth around her tail then it would be so heavy that it would droop, presumably dragging on the floor and thereby collect all of the hair that her forward body has dropped.  

I wonder if Cranky Kitty is up for or down with being helpful?

Ancora imparo 

Mathematical Mystery

Email forwards are a curious phenomenon, aren't they?  There are the forwards that tell you that you must send the email to ten of your friends and one back to the person who sent it to you in the first place, or something horrible will happen to you......something like facial warts or unsightly hair will grow between your eyes.  There is always some unspoken threat if you dare to break the chain.  This is nothing more than the modern-day version of the old chain letter.  Remember the chain letter that told you if you added your name to the top of the list and then sent a dollar to the last person on the list, you'd end up getting five thousand dollars, or some other ridiculously phantom amount.  I'm certain that I fell for that chain promise at least once in my younger years.  Then there was the rumor that chain letters were illegal and if your name was found on one you would be in serious legal trouble. 

Different personalities forward certain types of emails.  There are some individuals who forward emails that you know will be funny and most definitely will exact a guffaw from the reader.  Other email forward 'sources' will send only the kind that have music, scenes of beaches with gentle blowing winds and young children frolicking in the sand, looking all cute and irresistible.  Other emails tell you to forward to ten other strong and independent women to celebrate National Strong Women Day, or something like that. 

I received a forward, today, from a friend whose emails are always funny and, generally, have a political theme.  I find her forwards funny because we share similar political views.  I understand that people of differing political persuasions might not nor would not find her forward contents to be humorous. I do.

Today's forward was about finding your favorite movie among a numbered list of movie titles.  The instructions were as follows:

Pick a number between 1-9.  Multiply by three.  Add three more.  Multiply that number by three.  Then add that number's two digits together and that sum's number would be the movie title on the list that would be your favorite.  At first I did not realize this forward had a political undertone to it.  I just thought it would be fun to see if I really liked the movie title associated with the initial number I selected.  After I did the first numerical iteration, I got curious and ran through the sequence, using every number from one to nine.  Sure enough, the final number is always the same.  Being a mathematically mental midget, I do not understand how this works, although I do know two people very well who could probably instantly give me the reason why the end answer is the same. 

All I know is that it was funny.  I do not want to spoil the mathematical mystery by knowing why.  Besides, I probably wouldn't understand the 'why' anyway.  I just enjoyed the chuckle.

Ancora imparo