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