The Dept. of Nance is six!
Oh, wait. My other site already got both of those things. Sigh. And I'm still not famous? WT--?
Anyway, the Dept. is six, and in six years, I've covered a lot of territory.
SIX Feet Under: Here at the Dept., I've even dealt with the subject of death a few times, and that's one I'm not entirely comfortable with. I will be vastly annoyed by my own, I'm sure, especially if it inconveniences me, such as if it occurs when I am not suitably dressed, not wearing makeup, or if it causes me to do anything unseemly, like make an inappropriate noise or facial expression. I prefer the old cinematic deaths wherein the woman can lie in her bed and look pathetic and wistful, then flutter her eyelids a few times and sigh while her Significant Handsome Male holds her pale, manicured hand. Aside from all of that, though, here are a few posts wherein I did chat about The Grim Reaper, in a very Nanceian way: If A Blogger Falls In The Forest;When Walt Whitman Said "To Die Is..."; and Reports Of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated.
SIX A.M.: For all six of the years I've been writing at this site, I've been teaching English and Creative Writing I and II at a "large urban public high school with a significant minority population." I set alarms to get up, but my internal clock got me up by 6:15 every morning. All this summer, I still get up before seven, even without Piper and Marlowe tugging at my hair and nudging me to fill their dish. I wrote quite a few posts about my days at The Rock, as it was known before the New Place was built, and it's a bittersweet look back. My Dept. Faithful will no doubt remember some of these: It's A Perception Thing; Ahhh, Youth; Of Edgar And Literature And Abraham Lincoln; Somewhere In Here There's A Great Pun...; Hostage Crisis Ends Without Bloodshed; and Flamingoes: They Don't Teach You This In Teachers' College. That last one...well, every teacher should read it when he or she is feeling like Society's Whipping Boy, which is all the time these days. Kind of a good reminder.
Concession Road 6: This phrase won't mean anything to you, but it brings a smile of recognition and satisfaction to me. That stretch of asphalt lies in Ontario province, Canada, and is home to one of my favourite wineries, Cattail Creek. Rick and I discovered it when it first opened and we were hooked. Thus began our love affair with Ontario's wines. We laugh now when we think back to our initial foray into a winery: we walked in, looked around, were immediately overwhelmed and intimidated, and walked out. Finally, we took a tour of a winery which included an instructional group tasting, and our obsession was born. Right now, we have a pretty well-stocked cellar, and you might want to do a little Time Travel and Tasting here: A Taste Of My Vaca-hic-tion; Day 2, So Much Wine...; and I Don't Look At It As Wine.... There has been so much more wine, and so many new wineries have opened up since then; I just haven't described them.
The SIX O'Clock News: I've been a news junkie for most of my life. My father read the paper religiously, even reading it aloud to my mother as she cooked dinner. We watched the news at six and discussed it during and after meals. And I was a papergirl back in high school. I delivered the local paper to 43 customers seven days a week, reading one as I tossed its companions into front and side doors all along the route. Politics--well, that goes without saying. Our local Cleveland news at six is horrendous. I wait for Brian and his tie at six-thirty, but I wander among CNN, MSNBC, and HLN all day when I'm home. And if I'm not on a break from NPR, I grab that in my car. What can I say? It's an addiction, as you can tell from: I Need The Cronkite 12-Step Program; If There's A Law Against This,Then...; Christmas Kickoff...Complete With Crocs And A Six-Pack; Extra! Extra! Read All About It!; In Which I Worry Whether I Am A Bad Person; In The End, It's All Politics; and It's Called Priorities, America.
SIX Degrees of Separation: Often, I have lamented the distressing reality that is my life in Minutae, Ohio Northeast. I have Zero Chance of ever seeing anyone of note in the local establishments. This does not stop me from writing about them here. Here at the Dept., I can freely discuss my decades-long relationship with Daniel Day-Lewis, my on and off dalliance with Johnny Depp, my puzzlement over my attraction to Hugh Laurie, my devotion to the President (only a couple get the capital P), and my List. Oh, the List. It's been overhauled as of late, but the top spot is still...well, we can talk about that later. (You've got one, right? Oh, everyone should!) To dish, start clicking up: DoN Takes A Look At Her Cabinet; DoN Weighs In On Infidelity; The List; Politics Make Strange...; O! Whatever Should We Do Without Men?; and Why Daniel Day-Lewis And Ohio Are Really Irritating Me, to name a few.
And those are only SIX things that the number SIX made me think of. We didn't even get into cows, bunnies, polar bears, stupid smackdowns, fashion, food, grammar, or oh, so very many things that I feel are under the purview of this, the Dept. of Nance.