Automotive Ailments

My car used to be healthy. It has always received regular checkups and preventive maintenance. I care about my vehicles and take pride in keeping them in good health. My theory is that if I take care of my car, it will take care of me.

Recently my 'baby' began displaying signs of stress and poor health. Concerned, I immediately contacted my car's health-care provider. To my shock and dismay, I discovered that her coverage and primary health-care provider had changed. The new provider is located in a remote, hard-to-reach area and does not speak English, which made communication difficult, if not impossible. I maintained a patient, pleasant countenance while 'baby' had her physical exam. Everyone smiled and bowed a lot, in an effort to demonstrate capability and skill. A prognosis along with prescriptive parts were recommended, and 'baby' was sent home with her new parts.

Shortly after her visit she developed a severe allergic reaction and she appeared to be in critical condition. I took her to an emergency car-care provider and I was shocked to hear the diagnosis: Lead poisoning and sawdust in her gas tank.

Needless to say, I am very unhappy with her new health-care provider. It is apparent to me that quality parts and skilled care are not commonplace with the new provider. I think, perhaps, that they should stick with egg rolls and moo goo gai pan.

Ancora imparo

My I-Pod and I

Today's walk was an I-Pod walk and it was glorious.....simply glorious. The weather was perfect and some of my favorite tunes came up right away on shuffle. The tunes that are my walking faves are the ones that have a strong back beat, about one hundred and twenty to one-hundred thirty-six beats per minute. When one of these tunes comes on, I will often repeat it many times. A smile comes to my face and my feet pound the pavement in sync with the rhythm of the music. My taste of music has less to do with the decade or genre than with the beat. If you checked out my I-tunes play list, you'd find hits and obscure pieces from the last fifty years of music right up to present.

Since I was enjoying my play list so much, I thought it would be fun to blog with the music playing in the background. Perhaps, I reasoned, inspiration would come with each tune. As it turns out, I was right......to a point.

Here are some of the inspirations I had:

Carrie Underwood inspired me to run away from the handsome dude leaning up against the record machine or slash a hole in all four tires of his pretty little SUV. Cold Play made me think about when I thought I was on top of the tire-heap world. Clash took me to the Casbah. FFH told me I could fly and Kenny Loggins took me back to the shack. Stevie Wonder convinced me I could see joy through my tears but Aretha Franklin asked me who was zoomin' who (or should it have been whom?).

Anyway, I kept trying to type to the beat, which is one of my favorite ways to type but it doesn't foster accuracy. It was great fun.....just not productive for blogging purposes. After a few minutes I could see that my fun was outweighing any thread of a thought process that might be forthcoming and I abandoned the idea to blog while listening to my I-tunes.

It was fun while it lasted.

Ancora imparo

Big Mistake

We have to keep this posting between us.

I cannot let my SO know that I have been working in my office and watching "The View's Second Annual 'Mutt' Dog Show". Some of the mutts were viewer-owned and all had adorable stories behind their adoptions. My favorite was the dog named 'Maxwell Fartington'. As his owner shared, when he adopted Maxwell about ten years ago, Maxwell had a flatulence problem - which thankfully has been corrected.

Then came the mutts that produce sniffles - human sniffles that is - pooches that are available for adoption. Most of these dogs came to the New York City area from other states and many of these dogs were scheduled to be euthanized but were plucked from their fates by rescue groups whose mission is to give dogs a second chance by moving them to "no-kill" shelters. The dogs were all shapes, sizes, colors, and a variety of ages.

Continuing with the theme of the "Mutt Show", a spokesperson from a national dog show was there as the "MC" and pronounced a first place dog from each category - viewer-owned mutts and dogs available for adoption. At the show's conclusion, a "Best-In-Show" mutt was named and it was a very young dog, a shepherd-chow mix, who was crowned the 'winner'. By winning "Best-In-Show", the dog gets a lifetime supply of Pedigree-brand dog food, which should give it a much higher chance for adoption.

As any regular reader of this blog knows, I love dogs and really miss having one.
Becoming 'dogless' left a little hole in my heart that hasn't mended yet. Watching this 'mutt' show was hard to do but I am thankful that there are canine angels out there, watching out for our four-legged friends and companions. And so, I couldn't 'not watch' today.

Just be sure to keep this between you and I.

Ancora imparo

Soggy Cashews

I was asked to make a salad for a luncheon yesterday. This was the first time I'd been approached to help prepare food and was happy to do so. I actually gave quite a bit of thought to what I would make and I enjoyed going through my recipes, java mug in hand, looking for just the 'right' recipe. My strategy is always to make something for others that I would enjoy eating myself. I settled on a salad that would be both tasty and visually appealing - utilizing dried cranberries, cashews, salad greens, red onion, and blue cheese crumbles. In my world this is considered very tasty.

I followed the instructions on where to bring the food and what time to have it there. Not wanting the salad greens or cashews to become wilted and limp, I brought the ingredients separately and assembled them at the last minute......or so I thought. As it turned out, the actual luncheon did not begin until about an hour and a half AFTER the published time and so my salad, along with any other similar dishes, had lots of time to absorb flavors and liquids.....a recipe (pun intended) for wilted and limp.

There was zero I could do about it except to be glad I wasn't there at the actual luncheon to see my salad or experience the textures for myself. But.....this did get my brain in gear about other experiences that are similar to soggy cashews. Little life-experiences that don't quite turn out as we hope for or expect.

For example, I recently bought an angel food cake from a local bakery. It looked fine until I took off the clear, plastic top and discovered that someone had done a masterful job of creating the appearance of a cake that was all in one piece. Obviously, when the cake had been removed from the pan, there had not been quite enough non-stick surface from which the cake was released. Soggy cashews.

About a week ago, SO bought a candy bar from a young man selling them door-to-door. The candy bar was from a well-known, national brand, but upon opening the wrapping, we discovered that the candy bar was either old or had been stored improperly. Soggy cashews.

I did several loads of laundry yesterday. One of them was a load of 'good' clothes that I wanted desperately to avoid becoming wrinkled. Guess who forgot to check when the dryer stopped? Soggy cashews.

And, my final example of life's 'soggy cashews' comes from Cranky Kitty, who left me an unexpected and UNNOTICED 'gift' on the floor near her litter box this morning. My shoe found it. Very soggy cashews.

May you have no soggy cashews in your life today.....or any other day, for that matter!

Ancora imparo

Will Wonders Never Cease?

Some of my personal fog lifted yesterday. To be sure, I have plenty of fog left in which to navigate but at least several layers are gone.

My exit from the teaching field suddenly took on some meaning yesterday. This only took four years, but, who's counting anyway?

I made the decision to renew my teaching certification one more time before I put myself out to pasture, somewhere amidst the deer and the antelope playing. I've known for several years that I would take this step and took the initiative to earn enough graduate credits to enable my re-certification to take place. Two months ago I learned what administrative steps would be required, got the proper instructional paperwork, heard the instructions, then waited so long that I forgot all of the verbal instructions! Going online yesterday was an exploratory journey that was mostly successful......until about half way through the process and, voila, I was stuck. A phone call to a bureaucrat brought surprisingly quick and friendly help and soon my task was completed - painlessly.

I also learned, yesterday, that somewhere within the next twelve months, I may be eligible to enroll in a retirement-group health insurance plan, as well as my SO. If this comes to pass, this would be an answer to prayer.....an answer that will cause me to pinch myself to see if it is 'real'.

Lastly, on a very serious note, I learned how to chat on Facebook last night. This may be the single most personally influential thing I've accomplished in some time. I am now fluent in 'Facebook-ese', a talent for which I will be eternally grateful.

And, to think, all I had to do was hit 'enter'! Will wonders never cease?

Ancora imparo

Today's Impressions

Ah, what a curious day this has been thus far.....a cavalcade of vignettes that are etched in my mind.

As I drove past a sign for a new business, the wording on the billboard seemed so obviously trite.....like the ads I used to see in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan many moons ago as we would drive from one state to the next. "Stay here. Clean rooms with tv." What do you think they'd say, "Slightly dirty rooms with tv"? No need to state the obvious. Or, for instance, a financial lending business that advertises itself as "quick and affordable". Did we expect "slow and costly"?

Reading the paper, seeing pictures of little girls, no more than four to six years of age, full-out make up on, competing in a 'beauty pageant'. Why?????

Missed opportunities for effective communication......just because someone desires to work as little as possible......and then wonders why no participants know what to do, where to go, etc.

An elderly woman shopping with a younger man, perhaps a son, grandson or care giver......being verbally badgered so loudly and constantly, his voice carrying throughout the store, causing people to stare.

Misreading the contents of lettuce bags, buying enough for about twenty people instead of ten to twelve. Guess I'll be eating lots of salad over the next few days.

Being in a string of traffic when the car in front of you suddenly brakes hard.....and watching the car behind you, in the rear view mirror, struggle to stop in time to avoid hitting you.

Discovering the fine print (very fine print, I might add) on a health insurance 'explanation of benefits' (which in my case, being self-insured, is an oxymoron) and discovering that the insurance company is unable to process the claim because of who-knows-what? Any excuse is a good excuse to have a claim denied when you are self-insured. Pardon my cynicism here but the Great Illusionist and his cronies did nothing for the already self-insured.

It is time to shut down the movie projector in my brain. The feature-film is about to begin.

Ancora imparo

Insiders and Outsiders

Inside versus outside.

If you are a grade school student the difference between inside and outside recess is huge. Outside is fun. You can let your hair down, run around getting all of the ants out of your pants, work off a little energy and, hopefully, return to the classroom more receptive to focusing and learning. Inside recess probably means that it is either raining, snowing, or too cold to be outside and so the principal makes the announcement that "today is inside recess". Both the teachers and students dread this announcement because it means that everyone gets their style cramped during inside recess. The teacher may have to stay in a classroom with the students, supervising 'quiet' activities and the students have to be quiet in the classroom, using 'inside' voices instead of 'outside' voices and participating in low-energy activities.

Now, if I add just one letter to inside and outside, an 'r', the new words take on totally different meanings and connotations, don't they? Being an insider versus an outsider is nowhere near inside versus outside.

If I am an outsider, more than likely I feel alienated, disparaged, and/or excluded. I do not have an impression that I am worthy of being with those who are considered 'the insiders'. Very possibly, this is exactly the desired effect the insiders are striving to create. On the flip side, if I am an insider, I may feel as if I am 'in the know' and I may equate power with having information.

Perhaps you noted my use of the word 'may' in the above sentence. It was intentional. Those who see themselves as being insiders all too frequently see that as the optimal group to be in whereas those who think of themselves as outsiders view their perceived position as a detriment. I would argue that the position of outsider may (Yes, this word choice is intentional.) be more attractive and valuable than first believed.

If you see yourself as an outsider, consider these possibilities:

Expectations for you may be low. Surprise everyone.
Take the opportunity to watch, observe and formulate ideas.
Peering in from the outside offers a vantage point of neutrality.
Prepare your viewpoints, take notes and take note.
See yourself in a position of strength and leadership.
Be patient but when your opportunity arises, be prepared to articulate your thoughts.

Remember this: While some consider information as the ultimate power, real power is internal, not external. Power is not something given, it is earned, but never wielded in a powerful manner. Influence is more desirable than power but respect is the ultimate in influence. What resides inside us is far more effective than what and who grapple for dominance outside of each of us.

Ancora imparo

Abated My Curiosity

Abatement is a word I've heard bandied about for years, usually associated with the terms tax abatement and noise abatement. I had a good idea of the word's meaning simply from the context of what I was reading or the conversations that I was listening to, but I had never taken the time to search out the meaning of the word in my Merriam-Webster 'indispensable'.

Today's newspaper had a bi-line regarding noise abatement and my curiosity was renewed about abate(ment). Some key words in Merriam-Webster's definition are: nullify, moderate, deduct, omit, deprive. Some of the synonyms are: subside, wane, ebb.

Researching the word abate(ment) inspired me to consider topics or situations I would like to see abated or to consider topics or situations I've been in that others would like to have had abated.

First would have to be the choral selection that I just had my choir sing.....in Latin. I know these men would have preferred a Latin abatement in the choir room. Second would be messages from the pulpit or altar that are either too long, seemingly unconnected and excruciatingly disorganized or patronizing. Third would be a political grandstanding abatement. Fourth would be an abatement on politically rhetorical condescension.

To be bilateral in my thinking, I do have personal solutions to the four talking points listed above.

First, regarding the Latin lamentations........ Have some wine, cookies, or chocolate.
Second, regarding my pulpit protestations........close your eyes.
Regarding points three and four: I'll have my own personal abatement at the polls, you can be sure.

And now, as I conclude this posting, I'll abate my abatement discourse.

Ancora imparo

One, Two, or Four Legs?

I was sitting in a waiting room this morning, perusing a smallish, paperback book, whose title now escapes me. It was a book about healthy eating and I'd heard about it before today. There were lots of cutsie, funny-but-true one-liners in it.....almost all I'd agree wholeheartedly with. Almost......

The author, whose name I cannot remember either, exhorts the reader to eat things that only come from "one leg", such as mushrooms and other vegetables. He also encourages people to eat fresh foods that have a 'crunch'. His 'leg' section recommends eating foods in this order: 'one' leg, two legs (i.e. poultry) and, lastly, four legs. Part of his 'stchick' is that people should eat more like our ancestors did and avoid processed foods, additives, and anything made with ingredients we cannot pronounce or spell.

I would take issue with his recommendation to rarely eat, or avoid altogether, foods that came from four legs. Did not ancient, prehistoric man more than likely eat the meat from animals he killed or found dead but the meat was still warm? As an employee of the state road commission, my dad lived by that rule. If the roadkill was warm, he brought it home to my mother who dutifully cooked it and we ate it. There isn't much I have not eaten. Maybe armadillo and fire ants?

Seriously, living things have been walking around on four legs for thousands of years and homo sapiens have been eating this meat for just as long. I can sort of understand eating less red meat, or avoiding it completely, depending on one's cholesterol condition, but if a person's metabolism can accommodate 'meat', there is plenty of healthful food from four-legged creatures that humans can consume. That lean pork chop that my SO so skillfully grilled last night is an excellent example. So I only get to eat meat once every four-to-six weeks.

Be sure to count the legs from which your food source cometh. Just one caveat:
I'd avoid food from three-legged creatures as well as those with five or more legs.

In an effort to be informative, cookies and chocolate do not count.

Ancora imparo

T.M.I.

I think that most people would understand that T.M.I., today, stands for 'too much information'.

I actually heard this phrase uttered twice this morning - both times at church. The first time came when someone speaking with a microphone publicly declared that she had started flossing. You could see the faces in the congregation react to this personal revelation. There were lots of wrinkled brows and noses as people digested this tidbit of shared information. Someone was overheard saying, "Too much information!" Later, a conversation ensued about Facebook and all of the interesting comments that people post. One man declared that he was not interested in knowing the minute-to-minute details of other peoples' lives. Another man said, "Too much information."

At times, we do get way more information than we either bargain for or desire. I remember years ago, playing a game with other adults and one of the women publicly shared she had been involved in an affair that her husband (in another room) was unaware of. All of our jaws fell to the floor and I'm sure a collective but silent gasp could have been heard in the next county. "Too much information."

A long time ago, in another state and another millennium (or so it seems now) I worked with a man who was driven to tell all who would listen about his digestive issues. I must admit that after a few months of being the 'newbie' on staff, I learned to duck into another hallway or classroom whenever I knew I would be encountering him. He was a very nice man but his predisposition to sharing 'too much information' did not invite the desire to converse with him.

My former brother-in-law used to take high-resolution pictures of his ankle wound that refused to heal and he would send multiple pictures, daily, of his open wound. While he must have been very proud of this malady, it evoked the 'yuck' factor from me. "Too much information!"

Rest easy. I have no digestive issues about which I'd like to share with you, nor do I have any pictures to share that would evoke a "yuck" from you. I did eat some questionable mushrooms for lunch and I hope that dietary indiscretion does not result in any digestive issues that should not be shared or does not create any problem on my body that pictures should not be taken of.

We're all safe from "too much information".

Oh, by the way, I'm................

Nah.

Ancora imparo

Laser Dot

Here's a rhetorical question: Have you ever had a temporary physical attribute that was glaringly obvious? Sure we have - at one time or another in our lives.

As teenagers, we most likely endured blemishes. Some had more than others. During my college freshman year, I remember a girl on my floor. She had a severe case of acne, for which she had been under a doctor's care for years. Twice a day she used her heat lamp, seated at just the prescribed distance away. At that time she thought she'd be using the heat lamp for the rest of her life. Her circle of friends, of which I was one (and still am), would gather 'round her at night and jabber away about the day's events. We cared naught about what was on her face. She was beautiful outside and inside.

I have family members who have endured multiple bouts of shingles, which can crop up on most any area of the body. Shingles, which are in the same family as chicken pox, (I'm going to research just where that name cometh from.)can be very painful, itchy, and even disfiguring, especially if on the face.

Just where am I going with this?

When we do have 'blemishes', I'll call them, lumping all temporary 'spots' on our faces together, don't we feel as if there is a theatrical spotlight shining upon us?

Just recently, I became the recipient of 'fever blisters', right above my upper lip....or....right under my nose. I've had fever blisters from time to time during my adult life. Usually they are small, almost imperceptible to the eye, and are easily scared away with an over-the-counter product. The last time I can remember having such a fine specimen of fever blisters (and in the very same place, I might add) was maybe nine or ten years ago, during which time I had to conduct two nights of school Christmas concerts. My current affliction, once again, makes me feel as if a sniper has a rifle laser dot trained on my upper lip or as if a neon sign has been placed over my head that says, "Check out the upper lip!"

I am desperately searching for either a cave in which to hide or a burlap bag to wear over my head. I've considered putting a band-aid over the area but I know that would just draw even more attention to 'it'. Applying foundation simply makes it look like a giant ugly patch covered up with make-up.

Look for me to re-enter society around Memorial Day, when I am confident that my blemish will be gone. If you happen to see me on the street, I'll be the one with the ski mask, even though there will be no snow.

Ancora imparo

When In Spain....

If I were a native Spaniard, living in the grand country of Spain, I would have certain expectations from customer service representatives I had to speak with. First and foremost, among my expectations would be that every customer service representative, to whom I would have to speak, would speak Spanish. Not Spanglish, not Spanch, not Sperman, not Spiranian, not Spurkish, not Spangladesh, and not Sparmerican. Just plain, understandable, clear, and distinctly Spanish. If I were Spanish and straining to understand the customer service representative butchering my language to the point where I had to repeatedly request to "say that again, please", I'd be livid and highly frustrated. In fact, I'd be willing to wager a bet that Spain wouldn't (or doesn't) tolerate customer service representatives that can not clearly communicate with Spanish consumers calling for service help or information.

And so I must ask the rhetorical question: "Why must we endure speaking with customer service representatives that struggle with English?" I am not opposed to hiring people for whom my native language is a second language, but I am highly affronted when the person with whom I am speaking can barely be understood. The company who hires individuals for whom English is a second language has every right to employ whomever they so choose, but for Pete's sake, only put those who can clearly communicate with the public in those front-line positions that deal directly with consumers.....who speak English in an English-speaking country.

If I were visiting or living in Spain, I'd have the expectation of frustration when attempting to speak with a customer service representative because I would expect said representative to speak Spanish, not English. Why my experience here in the United States should be any different is beyond my ken.

When in Spain.......

Ancora imparo

Old, Familiar and Comfy

Old, familiar, and comfy. No, these are not descriptives of me, in case you are wondering. Although, I do hope that it what I feel like to my grandchildren!

I'm trying to let go of articles of clothing that I know, in my heart of hearts I should get rid of - either because they have not been worn in 'years' or that I continue to wear but really should not. I am rediscovering how difficult this is.

This morning I took four articles of clothing to a local department store that is having what they call their "Goodwill Sale". One was a suit that I have always loved, or at least loved the way I used to look in it. Another was a favorite dress from yesteryear. Both items, I realized, represented what I used to look like in them. Since both are over twenty years old, and so am I, I had to accept that it was time to release them to greener pastures than hanging in my closet, being moved twice a year from cold weather to warm weather positions. I also am in the process of trying to let go of a ski jacket that is easily thirty years old. It still fits but the style looks like something Linda Evans would have worn in "Dallas", with shoulder pads so enormous I could pass for a pro tackle. At least I have it out of the closet, off a hanger and positioned 'near' the give-a-way pile. I call this progress.

The garment that I am struggling to deal with and the struggle is not logical, is an old, gray hoodie with a broken zipper. The style is perfect for a short, petite person and that is why, years ago, I bought two......in differing colors. Did I mention I bought these two hoodies about fifteen years ago? I tried having the zipper professionally repaired this past winter but it was broken again within one week of its repair. Recently I wore it around the house, held together by three large safety pins. Needless to say, I did not plan on leaving the premises that day. (I realize this was either desperate, tacky, or wacky. Not sure which.) I told my SO this afternoon that I was considering removing the zipper and sewing the front together to create a pull-on hoodie. Since I think this would look OK, I would describe this action as either desperate or wacky.

In any event, I keep asking myself why am I so attached to this old, gray sweatshirt-material hoodie? The fabric is in good condition and I like the way it fits my frame, but, mostly, I like it because it is old, familiar and comfy. Kind of like the bathrobe that I really should part with. I wonder how a full-length, pull-on bathrobe would work?

Maybe I should have my SO take a picture of me wearing my gray hoodie, the old ski jacket and the blue bathrobe......all at once. Perhaps I could then let go of these garments and the mysterious hold they have on me.

But.......they are old, familiar and comfy.

Ancora imparo

Fascintating Fellow

Last week I attended what I believe is the largest collection of 'paddle and trail' vendors, under one roof, in the United States. Located in the Midwest and sponsored by a small, niche-store in a Big Ten community, this event draws people and vendors from all over the world. There were vendors from Canada (including Newfoundland and Nova Scotia), Mexico, Ecuador, and some Southeast Asian countries, just to name a few that I can remember.

Vendor-product lines included all types of canoes imaginable; every size, shape and type of kayak ever known to mankind; all of the paddles you could ever want to chose from; wilderness guides, tours, and excursion companies; every article of clothing ever designed to be worn out of doors - in any kind of weather; the equipment necessary to cart all of the aforementioned 'stuff'; every model of Subaru made (to haul all of the 'stuff'); shoes, boots, socks, socks with toes, shoes with toes, gloves with cut-off fingers; hats of all shapes and sizes.......get the picture?

I had the opportunity to speak to a lone gentleman at a Canadian wilderness-guide booth. He is the fascinating fellow for whom this posting got its title today. He told me that he is originally from Connecticut, but has lived in Canada for approximately twenty-five years and holds dual citizenship for the U.S. and Canada. A member of the Canadian Parliament, he travels weekly, by plane, from his home in Thunder Bay, ON to the Canadian capital of Ottawa, ON. The plane trip is about two hours - by car would be almost fifteen. Thunder Bay is on the northwestern shore of Lake Superior, which means it 'oversees' spectacular storms on "Gitchigami" - the Ojibwa word for Lake Superior meaning 'big water'. He said he loves Canada and can never imagine living anywhere else.

I think what captured my imagination about this man and his 'story' was where he lives, the lake he lives on, his job with its weekly travel demands, and, simply, the size of Canada. The providence of Ontario is huge, in and of itself. I have only tasted but a small morsel of Ontario and its large island, Manitoulin Island. I think he could live in Canada for another twenty-five years and still never fully explore the nation in which he now calls home.

Me? I'd be excited just to get my aqua RV on "Gitchigami" waters.........albeit only on a calm day!

Hope springs eternal. There is a new boating season a-comin'!

Ancora imparo

Eureka!

Oh, the great ideas seem to just be flowing from my brain.

As I wrote in an earlier posting, I'm studying online for boating certification and my head is swimming with marine rules, regulations and facts. Through the haze, though, I do see that mariners have a system of navigation rules of the 'road' that we vehicle drivers would do well to adopt. If these marine navigation rules of the road were adapted to roadway use, there might very well be less road rage and, most certainly, less 'gesturing', if you know what I mean.

For mariners, restricted visibility carries with it certain legal sound-signaling requirements and normal water navigation carries with it collision avoidance rules. Below you will find a sample of collision avoidance rules I am proposing.

For semis and other trucks larger than extended cab pick-ups, an intended lane change to the left should be announced by one long blast of the horn as well as utilizing the left blinker. Intended lane changes to the right would be announced by one short blast of the horn as well as utilizing the right blinker.

For automobiles that run on normal, unleaded fuel, an intended lane change to the left would be announced by three short horn blasts, followed by four blasts of a whistle, as well as utilizing the left blinker. Intended lane changes to the right would be announced by three short horn blasts, followed by four blasts of a whistle, as well as utilizing the right blinker.

For autos that should only run on the highest octane-premium gasoline blend, an intended lane change to the left should be announced by blasting Def Leppard or Kiss from the car radio, followed by ringing a bell continuously for five seconds, as well as utilizing the left blinker. Intended lane changes to the right would be announced by blasting Def Leppard or Kiss from the car radio, followed by ringing a bell continuously for five seconds, as well as utilizing the right blinker.

For all hybrid cars, any intended lane change would involve having the squirrels in the engines chatter as loudly as possible, plus the driver should write the intended lane change direction on a small chalkboard mounted in the rear window of the car. No blinker usage would be required as the battery may need recharging at the moment a lane change is desired.

Eureka! I think I'm on to something big here!

Ancora imparo

I'm Willing To Compromise

I need to get in touch with whichever government agency is in charge of fiddling with and manipulating the time changes that are rather arbitrarily forced upon our nation, and, ultimately......us.

I really do not mean to run this topic into the ground, because I know there are many of you, out there in Bloggerville, USofA, that like the time changes and cannot wait for them to occur. But there are infinitesimally more of you that find these time changes annoying and disruptive.

For moi, the spring change is probably the least disruptive to my body rhythm because my body really gets to lay down one hour earlier (in my head) than the clock face reads. It takes my mind and my body about ten days to become synchronized. Where my objection comes is that when the spring change occurs, we humans have just survived November, December, January, February and the depressing darkness that accompanies these months. We've weathered (pun intended) the shrinking daylight hours and the feeling that we are all bears just entering our caves for the cold-weather hibernation period. Toward the end of February we can see the days lengthening and our hope begins to spring eternal that, indeed, spring may actually commence. Daylight arrives earlier and earlier which makes it easier and easier to get up in the morning. In this part of the country, we can even retrieve our newspapers well before 6 a.m. in the daylight.

After a Midwest winter, we've earned the luxury of early daylight hours. But what the government giveth, the government taketh away and so returneth Daylight Savings Time. We are subjected to lingering darkness, the diminution of early morning light that plunges our psyches into a temporary funk as we must wait, once again, for the sun to agree with the government's decree.

I am willing to compromise and would like to propose to our citizen-friendly government that something called "Daylight Enhancement Time" is enacted. This would take that hour (This could do be done in reverse in the fall.) and split it - thirty minutes in the morning and thirty minutes at the end of the day. All clocks would simply be set thirty minutes ahead in the spring and thirty minutes back in the fall. The resulting change would be less insulting to our minds and bodies and much less disruptive to our sleep patterns. Who really cares if our clocks get set forward to 12:30 a.m. instead of 12:00 a.m.?

Honk once if you agree with my proposal and twice if you disagree. If it is foggy, honk once, followed by two short whistle blasts for agreement or honk twice, followed by two short whistle blasts for disagreement. If it is snowing or icy, stay home and off the road, which shouldn't be too hard to do because it is dark and no one wants to get out of bed.

Ancora imparo

Big Day

What a huge day in the life of our nation! It's National Pi Day and Daylight Savings Time begins. This is way more excitement than I may be able to handle. If I would have been planning ahead, I would have planned on baking a pie today. Of course, my SO and I do not, I repeat - do not, need to eat pie but the romantic notion of eating pie on Pi Day is difficult to resist.

As a former educator and lover of all things mathematical, I made it a priority to investigate the inception of the terminology and usage of pi. Did you know that Pi Day has its own website www.piday.org? (Riveting information) Pi is the symbol for the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter: pi=3.1415926535. (More riveting information) Pi is an irrational number (I could have told you that.) meaning that it will continue infinitely without repeating. With the help of computers, pi has been calculated to over one trillion digits past the decimal. (Someone had too much time on their hands.) The symbol for pi was first used in 1706 by William Jones, but it was popular after it was adopted by the Swiss mathematician, Leonhard Euler in 1737. (Source: www.piday.org) I find it ironic that such a mathematical cornerstone foundation was first used by someone with the last name of Jones. Such a common sir name associated with such an uncommon concept.

Since the residents of most states now have an extra hour of daylight-time on their hands and are wondering how to spend this 'found' gift, perhaps we should all make and/or bake (bake - for those who obtain their pies in the frozen food section of their local supermarket) a pie today. Of course, to fully celebrate National Pi Day , we all have to consume some pie as well.

My SO and I just may have to make an exception to eating pie today. Hmmm, where are all of those frozen raspberries?

Happy Pi Day!

Ancora imparo

Test Anxiety

I'm a little old for test anxiety but that is exactly what I am experiencing with this online course I am taking for boating certification. Each time I finish studying an individual chapter and I prepare to take the chapter-quiz (which you are required to do or the course will not let you advance to the next chapter), I get these little butterflies in my abdomen and I think to myself, "Oh, get over this!" , which does absolutely no good.

There are something like fifteen chapters so I have a ways to go. I really should do three or four chapters per day because I fear that, at my current pace of one chapter-per-day, I'll have forgotten all of the information, from the beginning chapters, when I take the final exam.

As with most educators who have had to (or currently have to) compose their own exams for courses, I am quick to criticize poorly worded test questions or ineffectively organized study materials. This, of course, indicates a high level of hubris, a self-charge to which I readily admit to being guilty of. In my own defense, however, allow me to explain.

Every chapter, regardless of how long the study section is, has a ten-question quiz at its conclusion. There is a minimum-passing requirement of seventy-percent in order to be able to view the contents of the next chapter. In the last chapter quiz, one question was exceptionally poorly worded and I got the question wrong. Before I realized which question I missed, I contacted the concern that administers the course and course exam. This was after I'd hit the back button dozens of times, looking for some way to discover which question I'd missed that gave me only a ninety-percent grade. (I know, I know.) The answer came back that the state I was attempting certification for does not allow that information to be released to the course-taker. Go figure that one!

I am now mentally preparing to study the next chapter. I have physically prepared for my test anxiety by buying a bottle of ready-to-serve margarita mix. As soon as I've taken the chapter quiz, I'll have the perfect nerve-settling, butterfly-banishing potion. Perhaps this will turn out to be so calming that I'll feel inspired to complete four or five chapters per day!

It must be four o'clock somewhere!

Ancora imparo

There Should Be A Rule About This

I am going to contact my Congressmen in an effort to propose legislation that would require new public dining guidelines. We've come a long way in making retail establishments and restaurants more pleasant with many cities and municipalities banning smoking in public places. Now we need to have separate dining facilities for those individuals who can (or do) still eat egg yolks, sausage, bacon, biscuits with gravy, steaks, steaks wrapped in bacon, meat smothered with blue cheese and the like.

It is simply not fair for people who have to eat egg whites, egg substitutes, tofu-sausage, soy bacon, and gruel-type concoctions passing as food to have to watch plate after plate of real (good) breakfast food (dinner entrees, too) being paraded past them. Having to see and smell what others CAN eat is not fair and it must violate some Constitutional amendment.....somewhere, somehow.

In fact, after I've contacted my Congressmen about this ground-breaking idea of mine, I'll work on organizing a new lobbying group, the AGLU: American Gruel-Lovers Union. We gruel-lovers must band together to help spread our message that we will no longer sit idly by in dining establishments and observe others eating what we no longer can. Let those who are able to eat fat and cholesterol dine by themselves - as a group - bound together by LDL and tri-glycerides.

How will AGLU members and chapters be identified? They'll be the ones frowning as they eat, wiping tears of sadness from their faces between bites - remembering the day when........ They'll also be the people with their faces pressed against the windows of the restaurants where the AFLU members eat.....with wistful expressions on each and every face.

What's AFLU, you ask? American Fat-Lovers Union.

I'm not allowed to join and there should be a rule about this!

Ancora imparo

The Last Laugh

Just yesterday, a friend stopped me to talk as I was out running errands. We chatted with ease for quite a few minutes. She maintains a blog and periodically makes postings to it. Her blog is much different than this one, with her postings being far lengthier than those of Ancora imparo. She has been writing for a very long time and so I suppose she simply has more to 'say'. Toward the end of our conversation she mentioned, in passing, that she thought I would enjoy 'blogging' and I was able to tell her about Ancora imparo. She shared tips with me and asked many questions, among them, "How do you select your posting titles?"

Today's posting title, "The Last Laugh", was easy because I wanted to write about Mother Nature and all of us optimistic folk that think that winter is over and spring is officially - in a non-official way - here. True, I took my early morning walk without a coat and I saw many joggers on the bike path without coats or jackets as well. There were even a couple of joggers sporting shorts. I drove past a house where people were bringing out their patio furniture to the deck and I decided that the bed has one too many blankets on it now. For a time, this afternoon, the sun was brilliantly blazing away in the sky although now the rain clouds have moved back in to produce a decidedly overcast and dull appearance to the sky.

We are all being fooled into thinking that snow will not make another appearance but, typically, Mother Nature does have other ideas in this region at this time of year. I'm not ready to trade out my winter clothes for spring and summer wear, although I will enjoy keeping the front door open and letting in more natural light. For now, I'll just enjoy seeing the snow banks melt away, diminishing almost by the hour.

Little by little, bit by bit, winter is slipping away but never underestimate Mother Nature. She always has 'the last laugh'.

Ancora imparo

What's Between the Rock and the Hard Place?

As a consumer, I feel as if I am suspended in the Netherworld. Daily reports with contradictory information accost me like asteroid particles bombarding the Mothership in a sci-fi movie. Between the pharmaceutical industry and our national governmental leadership, we - the American public - are buffeted about as in a Category Five hurricane. Add in the confusion and in-fighting regarding health care and one wonders where 'this' is all going.

Conflicting information about this and that prescription drug is released on an almost-daily basis. This drug, when taken as instructed, actually exacerbates the very condition for which it was prescribed. That drug, when taken as directed, is effective for the first years, after which its ingestion becomes counterproductive to the original remedial purpose. I find this highly unsettling and prone to make me question ever agreeing to take another prescription medication. Are we all just rats in a laboratory experiment, the results of which will be revealed at a later date? Oh-by-the-way, take at your own risk.

The seat of our nation's government is full of elected officials that would never be able to agree on which nursing home(s) to put their loved ones in. Of course, these politicians would not need to worry about that because they have the finest health-insurance coverage in the world........the same politicians, many of whom have never served in the military but are more than willing to commit our military personnel to the dangers of war and our nation's economic resources to funding 'conflicts' abroad.

Then there is the matter of our country's sad state of economic affairs. I wouldn't want any of my state or national elected men and women to handle my personal financial matters. The term 'balanced budget' is but a pipe dream from a 1960's hallucinogenic-inspired rock ballad.

So what is between the rock and the hard place? As I prepare to complete this, the four-hundredth posting of Ancora imparo, I am challenged to find an answer. I do know that I find solace in my family, my grandchildren, friends, the idea of becoming a poultry farmer in Iowa or becoming a dog trainer. I'd list baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet, but two out of those four are on the endangered species list. Perhaps it should be my Three Muskateers, chocolate, wine, a puppy and my cookie closet.

Don't bother calling me from my rock and the hard place unless the Three Muskateers have come to visit or a puppy ends up on my front-door step.

Ancora imparo

No-Dust Zone

Today, I'm writing about my SO. He has been immersed in a project that has become larger than he anticipated, I'm afraid. It (the project) probably seemed doable at the time he made the decision to make this a DIY project. Who would have thought that sanding, staining, and varnishing teak and mahogany pieces of wood would become so time-consuming, challenging and perplexing?

To his credit, he approached this task with the same dogged determination and attention to detail that he displays with any project he tackles. Most of the initial, major sanding was done off-site because we currently do not have the proper facility to manage large quantities of sanding dust. After the wood was prepared and he brought the pieces home to our tiny basement area, he did his homework and found the stain color that was the closest match, as well as procuring the highest quality marine varnish he could locate. Next came the actual staining, which was relatively quick and easy.

Now to the challenging part - varnishing. The varnish application process has been a work in progress, with lots of learning curves along the way. Unfortunately, for both of us, he discovered.....a little late into the game.....that regular household dust was a problem. I do not know what other mere mortals' homes are like but ours is most definitely not a no-dust zone. If it were, I'd do a fraction of the sneezing and nose-blowing that I do. Just being alive and moving produces dust, enough so that if the sunlight is just right, you can see all of the dust particles that naturally swirl around each living 'thing'.

This dust issue wasn't evident to him, initially. It took a number of varnish coats to realize that dust particles do, indeed, show up big-time on freshly varnished wood - especially in the right light. It was then that he became highly aware of the dust particles' effect on a fresh coat of varnish and began utilizing the vacuum sweeper and special dust-prevention tools.
Even now, after he thoroughly vacuums the work-space area, the vigilance required to keep dust to a minimum is huge. And, all of this effort in a home that has plenty of naturally-occurring dust, cat hair, cat dander, and other minute particles that routinely float about in the air.

Since there will be about ten coats of varnish in all, perhaps we should install a vacuum chamber that would suck all of the dust from our garments before we enter the condo. This might also remove other items from our bodies (guests' as well) such as fabric and hair, which could lead to interesting scenarios.

Imagine Cranky Kitty's shock and surprise should she get near the vacuum chamber.

Imagine my home a no-dust zone. Can pigs fly?

Ancora imparo

If I Had A Dime For Every.......

The publishing industry must think that consumers are either ignorant, illiterate or both. If I had a dime for every magazine renewal notice that comes across my desk for the same magazine, I'd be wealthy beyond my wildest imagination.

Hurry! Urgent! Last Notice! Renew Now! Your Subscription Is About To Expire! Don't Miss An Issue!

Years ago, I was not wise to the panic-technique, as I call the methodology employed by publishers of periodicals. I would receive a renewal notice in the mail and, not wanting to miss an issue, I'd fill out the form and return it right away. Never considering that I might be naive, I kept no records until one day some fine print caught my eye and I discovered my subscription for a well-known, weekly news-magazine had been renewed three years out.......by me! Imagine my anger and embarrassment. After that, I began carefully scrutinizing all magazine mailing labels. I read every word, large or small, on renewal notices, and I started keeping records on which magazine was renewed when and for how long.

This has been a successful routine for me and I'm confident that it will continue to enable me to decipher the decidedly deceptive and manipulative process utilized by the publishing industry. However, I just realized that my vigilance must be ever keen. Their latest technique to arrive in the mail went something like this:

NOTICE OF BENEFITS DUE from the Blah blah blah Consumer Services Dept. And I quote: A thorough review of our accounts confirms that the renewal of the Washingtonson (their word, not mine) Subscription to Blah blah blah is now pending. Act now to receive the following preferred benefits and services: .......... The notice goes on to give a "benefits must be claimed by" date and even has the audacity to make the tear-off, bottom portion of the "Notice of Benefits Due" form look like a benefits claim voucher.

Does this magazine think I'm living under a rock? Is the same advertising agency responsible for the television commercial tag-line "It's so easy a cave man could do it." now creating marketing techniques for the publishing industry?

I think and I can read - two dangerous traits for a consumer to possess. I'm not sure the publishing industry is prepared for intelligent, informed and literate consumers. Must be all these years we've just been looking at the pictures!

Ancora imparo

Winter Whining

I've had it with winter weather. Have you?


The past six or seven days have offered a preview of what Mother Nature has in store and I am ready!

• The night-time temperatures are high enough to prevent condensation from forming on the windows, then melting and, ultimately, dripping onto our window sills.
  
• I can actually get a vehicle washed and it stays clean.
  
• My SO and I have taken early-morning walks several days running now and it feels so good to be walking out-of-doors and giving the treadmill a well-deserved rest.
  
• Soup season is coming to an end, and, while I love creating 'scratch' soups, I am ready to take a break from the soup pot.

There is one thing I certainly will not miss! The cracks that come in my fingers from a combination of lack of moisturizer, the dry/cold air, and dried-out skin. These cracks can form in an instant and they are very challenging to close. Our household remedy is to use a form of 'liquid skin'. We've used so much of it this winter that I should recommend buying company stock to all of our friends. While 'liquid skin' is effective in healing these cracks, it stings like the dickens. While we are applying it, we try to 'open' the crack as wide as it can be opened, in order to get as much of the body-super-glue as possible into the crack. This usually results in hopping up and down, vigorously shaking the involved hand, or, in my case, saying my favorite word.

Yesterday, as if the giant crack on my thumb wasn't enough, I managed to get a paper cut as I was impatiently opening a letter. This paper cut is on the backside of a finger, right at the knuckle crease, which means that the cut is constantly being 'exercised'. I tried body-super-glue.......to no avail.....which only adds to my winter whining.

As I sit typing this posting, I am a perfect example of why winter should conclude....and quickly. I have body-super-glue on a thumb, a cumbersome and annoying band-aid covering the paper cut, and mole-skin on my foot, where my running shoes created a blister.

The funny-yet-sad fact is.....these are all just minor irritants and I know it!

Spring........where art thou?

Ancora imparo

Different Strokes For Different Folks

Remember the old adage, "different strokes for different folks"? That concept is playing out right before my very eyes.

Regular readers may recall that I blogged earlier about my SO and I 'working' a jigsaw puzzle together. We've been at this now for almost a week. The puzzle is Christmas-themed, with lots of reds from Santa's clothes, a ton of differing browns from Santa's giant knapsack, devilishly difficult braided rug multi-colored pieces, and an over-abundance of evergreen boughs and tree decorations - just to name a few of the challenges presented in this Sprinkbok puzzle. We are about two-thirds done with the puzzle and I can say that it has been relaxing, fun and very interesting.

While this has, for the most part, been an act of marital bonding, a few chinks in the matrimonial armor have occurred and, in the interest of the Freedom of Information Act, I'd like to present my side of the story.......FIRST.

We are working at a fairly large dining room table which has been perfect to lay out the pieces on, with plenty of room to work. Almost from the first night, we sort of, accidentally, settled into 'our chairs', with each of us returning to the same spot each time. It turns out that the lighting above the table problematically produces more glare from one angle (his) than the other (mine). "So", I helpfully suggested, "Get your sunglasses." Not good.

We have also discovered that we have differing working styles. (Why this should come as a surprise to anyone who knows us is a complete surprise to me.) He is very methodical in his approach and will spend.....in my humble opinion.....an inordinate amount of time looking for ONE piece. He is doggedly determined to ferret out this ONE piece and does so with an amazing amount of 'sticktuitiveness'. Unfortunately for me, after he has searched for the inordinate amount of time that I described, a conspiracy theory begins to formulate in his brilliant mind and he becomes convinced that I am either hiding this ONE puzzle piece, it has fallen on the floor and been kicked far away, or that the piece is missing and was never included in the box in the first place. A defective puzzle.

In fairness, I must tell you that he always finds his ONE puzzle piece.

I, on the other hand, seem to put a puzzle together via the shotgun approach. It is not unusual for me to have six or seven puzzle 'substations' going at one time. My mind has this need to accumulate pieces that, say, obviously go in the poinsettia section of the picture. I'll futz around with those, assembling as many as I can as rapidly as I can, then I move on to another section of the puzzle, let's say the doll in Santa's knapsack. And so it goes. I'm currently juggling sections of rug, knapsack, Santa's suit, poinsettia, and Santa's boots. I guess that we are like the tortoise and the hare, although I'm pretty sure that his slow-but-sure method results in his having completed more of the puzzle than I.

This style difference is also evident in interior painting and fishing. He can fish one hole all day long. Me? If the fish haven't bitten rabidly within the first fifteen minutes, I'm ready to move. When that doesn't happen, I get out my book and suntan lotion. The interior house painting I won't even begin to describe.

Different strokes for different folks. At least we are not boring.

Ancora imparo

Yo Momma, Too?

During a recent conversation among friends, we shared a laugh - actually quite a few - thinking about all of the wisdom our mothers had passed along to us. We decided to call them 'momisms'. You know, all of those little tips that moms universally seem to share, such as "always wear clean underwear because.........". All of us realized that, even at our ages, which ranged between fifty and probably early seventies, we still could hear our mothers' voices ringing clearly in our heads at various times. We realized that we never knew when a 'momism' would pop into our consciousness but that they did, on a regular basis.

One woman said that even though she would never think of leaving her house without every article of clothing changed from the previous day (get my drift?) her mother's voice was with her every morning as she dressed, exhorting her to "Put on clean undergarments!" Other exhortations the women remembered included "Be sure to walk with the sharp end of the scissors pointed down."; "Don't sit too close to the television. You'll go blind."; "Never cross your eyes. They'll stay that way."

I've tried to think of 'momisms' that I have shared with my own children but none come to mind. Of course, if I were to ask them, which I think I will, they would probably have a long list. I wonder if the 'momisms' have changed much through the generations? Obviously, the television's invention added a 'momism' that would have not been in existance prior to the boob-tube's entrance onto the American family's stage and, I'm certain that future generations will have 'momisms' that develop from inventions that we have never heard of. Something like, "Don't point that ray gun at Fluffy. He'll disappear!"

I hope that future Fluffys and Fidos live safe and lengthy lives. Who knows what legacies we moms have passed along to our children or future mothers will pass along to theirs?

Probably the most memorable 'momism' I carry with me to date has saved me from many a problematic moment:

"Don't eat yellow snow!" You shouldn't, either.

Ancora imparo

The Short End of the Stick

Needing to give equal time to an opposing thought, I'm dedicating this posting to short people everywhere........including myself.

Yesterday's posting dealt with the negative side of being 'vertically challenged' and I have spent a good deal of time, since, mulling in my mind why being short is a positive physical attribute. I'm sorry to say that my talking points are few in number and limited in scope.

Here's what I've come up with:

• I buy less fabric at the fabric store.
  
• It is easier for me to play hide n' seek with my grandchildren.
• I usually miss all of the overhanging tree limbs.
  
• I can find food faster in the refrigerator because it is at eye level.
• I can use shorter kayaks, skis, and dinghies.
• The bed sheets on a full-size bed fit over my head.
• When cheerleading, the shortest person usually ends up on top of the pyramid.
  

That was it. I'm embarrassed, though, to admit that I thought of even more reasons why being shorter is more vexing than being taller. Going to a theatre or attending a live performance usually results in seeing very little of the action on the screen or stage because, invariably, some taller (not too hard to imagine) person(s) sits directly in front of me. In fact, I think that taller people are automatically drawn to sitting in front of shorter people. Do we have neon signs above our heads?

My final protestation is that when traveling in a car with more than two passengers, the shorter person almost always ends up (albeit voluntarily) in the back seat so that the one with the longer legs, in front, can feel free to push the seat ALL the way back, thereby easing that person's discomfort. Hmmm.

I'm not bitter.......it is just that I had to wait until I was thirty-one years old to be tall enough to ride the attractions at Walt Disney World and Epcot Center. Until then, my taller friends just patted me on my head and said, "Don't worry. You'll grow someday." I did, but now as I age, my spine is compacting and I'm regressing, height-wise. Give me a few more years and I'll be four feet tall.

Argh!

Ancora imparo

Word Shortage? No Way!

I'm short. Sometimes my vertical status matches my temperament and my supply of common sense as well. Short people have been the brunt of jokes for centuries. I know Napoleon Bonaparte was short in stature and, I believe that Nero might have been also. Short people are frequent joke topics for stand-up comics, although perhaps less so since our society became so litigious. There is a famous song about short people, even entitled "Short People". The bi-line on this song is: "Short people got no reason to live." I have a tall friend who is always teasing me, saying, "Stand up."

I don't think there is a segment of our economy that understands nor properly targets 'short people'. The furniture industry certainly does not employ a single short person on any staff. As every vertically-challenged person can tell you or demonstrate, sofas and chairs are routinely designed with taller people in mind. If I sit down on ninety-five percent of furniture made today and attempt to place my feel flat on the floor, my rear-end will have slid a good six to ten inches forward - away from where the back meets the seat. If I place my rear-end up against where the back meets the seat, my legs will be in a perfect horizontal position with the floor. I look like Lily Tomlin's character "Edith Ann" when she sat in the giant rocking chair.

Grocery stores are not made for short people, either. I routinely have to climb on lower shelves or ask a taller person for assistance in order to reach an item on a top shelf. I'm still pretty good at jumping to grab a top-shelf item if it is even with the edge, but if the item has been shoved back from the edge of the shelf, forget it.

The automotive industry doesn't even recognize that short people exist. In order to comfortably reach the gas or brake pedals, I must position my driver's seat so close to the steering wheel that if my air bag ever inflates, I'm toast.

What started me on my tirade this morning was an advertisement for 'petite-wear' from a national clothing store. The garment industry must think that the only people who purchase clothing are at least five feet, seven inches tall and weigh one hundred and ten pounds or less. Even in petite lines, sleeve lengths can be ludicrously long and pant or skirt lengths can be laughingly disproportionate, too. The flyer I received featured models supposedly wearing petite-sized clothing with prints so large, a beached whale would look small in comparison.

So, to all the tall humans reading this that have the audacity to feel self-conscious about their height, whinest not, I say unto you.
I'm thankful that you are taller than I for you will be the one that I approach at the supermarket and say, "Pardon me. May I borrow your height for a moment?"

Tomorrow I'll blog about the benefits of being short. Until then, my thoughts will be in short supply.

Ancora imparo

Very Puzzling

It happened. Yesterday, I succumbed to the call of the unopened cardboard in our storeroom and opened a jigsaw puzzle box, unleashing the mystery known to others as 'puzzling'. During my earlier married years - BK (before kids) - I was an avid puzzler and several of our 'early married, shabby-style (no chic for us) pieces of artwork(?) on the walls were puzzles that I had completed, decoupaged (there's a seventies word), framed and hung. The framed puzzles matched perfectly with the style of furnishings throughout wherever we called home - apartments, duplexes, townhouses, and, finally, our first house that we built. My 'puzzling' career came abruptly to a self-decreed end when I knew I had to choose between the safety of our then three-year old daughter or the puzzle I was currently working on. The puzzle was a solid red circle, dubbed "Little Red Riding Hood's Hood". Each 'connection' took me about an hour and I had roughly fifteen pieces in place when our toddler-daughter became curious and rearranged the fledgling puzzle. After a milli-second of decision making, I collected the pieces and later gave the puzzle away. During our kids' later years, puzzles reappeared and family members would take turns at the puzzle table, each spying a hard-to-find piece, until it was assembled in total.

My choice, last night, was a Santa Claus-themed puzzle I selected because of the vibrant colors that I knew would be both vexing and challenging - just what my mind needed. The thousand-piece puzzle took a long time for me to lay out, the majority of the pieces needing to be turned over and I wanted to arrange them by either border-style or color family. After my back tired from three hours of bending over, I left the table and my SO took over. Later, in the middle of the night when events awakened us for about forty-five minutes, what did we do? We both ended up circling the puzzle table, gleefully proclaiming each connection that we made. Finally, common sense overcame our puzzle addiction and we returned to bed.

This morning, as we groggily stumbled from under the warmth of the covers, my SO and I looked at each other, laughed and just shook our heads. Our behaviors have long puzzled others, and now we, too, are 'puzzled'.

Ancora imparo

Scattered Thoughts

Today my brain's functioning reminds me of the scattered approach that NBC had to the coverage of the Olympics. I really enjoyed watching the Olympics, from time to time depending on the sport, but the shotgun approach selected in the control room only served to motivate me to channel surf at every opportunity. Constantly switching from sporting venue to sporting venue reminded me of what it would be like to be inside the brain of the brilliant Robin Williams on steroids.

I tried to bring my brain waves into some kind of focus, attempting to weed out the ancillary paths and divine those thoughts that would actually lead to some accomplishments this day. As this posting is being composed, this goal seems unlikely because my thoughts feel like a thousand hot air (pun intended) balloons that were just accidentally untethered with no operators in the gondolas. I'm banking on caffeinated coffee and, if that is ineffective, then a good pounding on the treadmill ought to help a little.

So where is my head?

Well, it is the first day of March and that feels really good. Daylight hours are increasing - although the government will soon take care of that, winter-weather days are truly numbered now, warmer temperatures may eliminate most of the accumulated snow in my neighborhood by the end of this week, and I should be able to walk outside soon without concern for 'black ice' spots.

That is where my 'head' is. My heart is in two places. TLV got a finger caught in the hinge side of a door yesterday and will, hopefully, see a hand surgeon today. My granny-instincts would like to have a hands-on experience but, fortunately his OG (other granny) can be with him today and he will be in the hands of many people who love him and will take good care of him. OG will be his granny-angel and I am thankful for that.

Another person, with whom I am very close, is experiencing heart-achingly difficult times right now and my ingrained instinct is to want to fix 'everything' but that is not possible, nor would it be in anyone's best interest. Watching someone you love experience pain, whether it be TLV's physical pain or my loved-one's pain of the heart, is gut-wrenchingly hard.

This is where prayer and the treadmill come in. Praying whilst pounding. Sounds like the best combination to me for now. If it brings any clarity of contemplation, you'll be the first to know.

Ancora imparo