tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-151794982024-03-17T17:12:21.354-04:00Dept. of Nance Uncorked and aging nicely Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comBlogger960125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-49677889050422098282024-03-14T11:38:00.002-04:002024-03-15T07:56:45.993-04:00Let's Ketchup--Er, Catch Up: The Flu, The Baby, The Experiment, The Siren Song Of Confectionery Snacks<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZY21NkH3525L1S-4ppG6weZcU9PuNc3i9MUVPunnM4laDxDVQ_o0N0LyHnRNcEXS85G25Yohq_SH_i4p92RyIzOASl0UNdsXPeySWRwg4Bhsa_5AHuTIIfGiqiAUUThtuFGr7H1bi4RU033dHupfyYlOvtSoSmwDmm0VwVU1CI421kD-BsI_q7A/s460/ketchup-460x259.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="460" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZY21NkH3525L1S-4ppG6weZcU9PuNc3i9MUVPunnM4laDxDVQ_o0N0LyHnRNcEXS85G25Yohq_SH_i4p92RyIzOASl0UNdsXPeySWRwg4Bhsa_5AHuTIIfGiqiAUUThtuFGr7H1bi4RU033dHupfyYlOvtSoSmwDmm0VwVU1CI421kD-BsI_q7A/w640-h360/ketchup-460x259.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;">G</span></b>osh, it's been a while, hasn't it? To quote one of my favourite lines from <i>The Last of The Mohicans, </i>"Things were done. Nobody was spared." Let's do an Olde Fashionde CatchUp wherein I foolishly use up a whole lot of topics, each of which could have been its own blog post.<p></p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">(*)The Dreaded Illness--</span></b>I'm just now feeling better more than a week after coming down with a vicious gastro bug. It left me feeling weak, sore, fatigued, and desperate. Rick got it immediately the day after I did and so did Sam, who lunches here daily. Whenever I get ill, I become irrationally angry. That does not help with Recovery. I also stay impatient to become well. Did I have my regular flu shot? But of course. Did everyone get well before I did? But of course. Did I miss some beautiful walking weather? Please. <i>Upside: I am about ten pounds lighter.</i> </p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">(*) Theo!--</span></b>Theo went on a business trip to Florida and stayed at a resort with his parents. Jordan's company paid for Jared and him to accompany her while she had to be there for meetings, etc. He was, in the words of his father, "a rockstar for the whole trip." Rick and I babysat for him while J&J went to Cleveland for a matinee performance of <i>Funny Girl</i>, and he was perfect: all smiles, chuckles, and cuddles, and nary a fuss for Nana and Grandpa. He will be four months old in about a week. He is a cute little roundheaded boy and I wish I could show you one picture. <i>Note: I think I took my first airplane trip when I was about eighteen. Just saying.</i></p><p> <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">(*)History Bears Me Out--</span></b>Every so often I just cannot take it anymore and I perform The Experiment, even though I know it's Not Good For Me. Even though I know that all it does is <a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/stress-management/in-depth/stress/art-20046037" target="_blank">raise my cortisol levels and make me crazy.</a> I mentioned The Experiment before, in <a href="https://deptofnance.blogspot.com/2006/05/who-are-these-people-and-why-are-they.html" target="_blank">this blog post</a> way back in 2006. It just goes to show you that I don't learn from my own suffering. Anyway, this is a photo of my latest Experiment:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltugIIYU1pdpJ1WYeT7jFSSvP9PMhf_bGdYJVeNXOLiez4_ZUk5QciItppugPCAUNcto4qT1Lh8r0tHitorFsPi3obuTKfR3Zri4OVxTDQRwJAQNEDq_H225i__GBIvgDqxDZm1OoSt_i5U1t2OEAUVRFXsTeVDsVarFWIBtO1biTbpe6gGXR1Q/s4032/IMG_2775.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltugIIYU1pdpJ1WYeT7jFSSvP9PMhf_bGdYJVeNXOLiez4_ZUk5QciItppugPCAUNcto4qT1Lh8r0tHitorFsPi3obuTKfR3Zri4OVxTDQRwJAQNEDq_H225i__GBIvgDqxDZm1OoSt_i5U1t2OEAUVRFXsTeVDsVarFWIBtO1biTbpe6gGXR1Q/w300-h400/IMG_2775.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><p>That bag of jellybeans behind the candy jar is EMPTY. Rick filled his candy jar after I went to bed--<i>desperately ill</i>--and left that empty bag there. FOR OVER A WEEK. He looked at it every day FOR OVER A WEEK and did nothing. Meanwhile, I refused to throw it away because of The Experiment and my own Disappointment and Frustration. Which leads me to History, and <a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/what-is-the-dominant-emotion-in-400-years-of-womens-diaries-180983834/?utm_source=smithsoniandaily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=editorial&spMailingID=49493697&spUserID=NzEwMTQ4NzQ2NTE0S0&spJobID=2643033419&spReportId=MjY0MzAzMzQxOQS2" target="_blank">this article</a> from the Smithsonian Magazine, which is titled <i>What Is the Dominant Emotion in 400 Years of Women's Diaries? </i>I bet I don't have to tell you, do I, Women At Large? <i>Hint: It is Frustration.</i></p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">(*) Warning! Do Not Ever Make This--</span></b>Remember how I made <a href="https://www.littlesweetbaker.com/christmas-crack-saltine-cracker-toffee/#tasty-recipes-8569" target="_blank">Christmas Toffee</a> with mini pretzels and said I was going to try it with potato chips? Well, I did. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nxw7Sm5tOlImmCxvlD4DzlMArJCTKwodijkp5XrVcVM6gvZoGATrZLAMQveibwbzUOATEf8VDECL6FMVaIPvQU9JPZfuznW0iNFwIilyQXYA62X7lH_fvbdork6QDdbwMhgrGb_AlTXFDtoDLzFu5sbdOZDof7VvMAIbCxL4wDDrMgM5fTb-Vw/s4032/IMG_2755.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nxw7Sm5tOlImmCxvlD4DzlMArJCTKwodijkp5XrVcVM6gvZoGATrZLAMQveibwbzUOATEf8VDECL6FMVaIPvQU9JPZfuznW0iNFwIilyQXYA62X7lH_fvbdork6QDdbwMhgrGb_AlTXFDtoDLzFu5sbdOZDof7VvMAIbCxL4wDDrMgM5fTb-Vw/s320/IMG_2755.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><p>Do not do this. Do not use Wavy Lays to capture every bit of the buttery, brown sugary wonderfulness. And instead of putting the semisweet chips on top of the pan of hot toffee-covered potato chips, do not instead melt the chocolate and drizzle it on. And don't sprinkle a bit more flaky salt on top. Because, after the requisite cooling and breaking, you will sit with the entire bowl of these and eat them ashamedly and continuously. <i>Black Box Warning: They are the Siren Song Of Confectionery Snacks. </i></p><p>There. I think you're all caught up. Let's chat in Comments. </p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-39140820419210224202024-02-25T13:44:00.000-05:002024-02-25T13:44:43.733-05:00The Skin I'm In<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFZzbzmMnmuyYjB5D2bhVy4Y63nmE0AVCKOEB4gY7-jJBfDaw1uWm1mPyXlUtOfCDPufQvggbPHQVJ_qQCxfmD3_oaCEJxYCfbsycBqfBLIETAy5uzcTIjL6E9uC9kAFAfruHz4KYFHGw28qc-N3N7BZkdec3ZSKOz0Lm-4S-qPChzIot4h2X6A/s252/young-woman-old-woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="252" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFZzbzmMnmuyYjB5D2bhVy4Y63nmE0AVCKOEB4gY7-jJBfDaw1uWm1mPyXlUtOfCDPufQvggbPHQVJ_qQCxfmD3_oaCEJxYCfbsycBqfBLIETAy5uzcTIjL6E9uC9kAFAfruHz4KYFHGw28qc-N3N7BZkdec3ZSKOz0Lm-4S-qPChzIot4h2X6A/s1600/young-woman-old-woman.jpg" width="252" /></a></div><b> <span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: x-large;">T</span></b>his morning, after I washed my face in cold water and observed it closely in the mirror, I struggled to choose a moisturizer from among three jars on my dresser. Did my skin need moisture and brightening? Did my skin need moisture and sculpting and tightening? Did my skin need extra moisture and a boost of collagen repair? As I stood there deciding, I could feel my face draw and dehydrate. In truth, I needed all of them--immediately. <p></p><p>What has become of me?</p><p>I am the girl who used to wash her face with whatever soap was available in the dish back on E. 38th Street: Safeguard, Ivory, Caress, Irish Spring, or Dove. My skin was constantly oily. I used to use straight rubbing alcohol on a wad of toilet paper dabbed on my nose and forehead to rid myself of the shine and the greasy feeling. All of us had that skin, a gift from our Croatian father whose own swarthy complexion never got a wrinkle as he aged. I abused my skin for years, according to dermatologists, using harsh soaps and astringents, Laying Out for a tan and using baby oil. Even well into my thirties, forties, and fifties, I never understood all the Women Who Lotion religiously. </p><p>I am also the girl who had storybook-worthy thick hair. I wore it long, and I had to shampoo it every single day or it would look greasy and stringy, especially at the scalp. It was incredibly frustrating. At times, I even washed my hair with dishwashing liquid, again using whatever was available at the kitchen sink, where all hairwashing was done since we had no shower. (You try washing long, long hair while taking a tub bath.) Forget conditioner because it made my hair lie flat and look--you guessed it--oily. On date nights, I washed my hair in the morning and again when I was getting ready to go out.</p><p>Now, I have dry skin and wash my hair about twice a week. My skin drinks in even the richest, most emollient creams and lotions like water. My lips are as dry as that old-fashioned onionskin typing paper. My gorgeous thick hair is a shadow of its former self, and I condition the ends. I also use a volumizing spray at its roots. It all seems incredibly cruel to me. And terribly unfair.</p><p>Perhaps there should be a product for us, The Extremely Dry, that is Industrial Strength. It could come in a huge drum, and we could put on a bathing suit and merely stand in it, up to our nostrils, for about a half-hour each day. We could conveniently locate it near a television so that we could be occupied for that time and not be fidgety. When our time is up, we'd carefully emerge fully moisturized and ready for our day or for our restful night's sleep. Certainly, there are Safety Considerations, and Sanitary Ones as well, but that's for other people to figure out. I cannot be bothered with those sorts of Engineering and Science-y details. </p><p>I feel a little better now, having thought of a Possible Solution. Do you have one? Share it--and your feelings about all this Unfairness--in Comments.</p><p><a href="https://nikkistern.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/young-woman-old-woman.jpg" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p><p><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-83939840309744088882024-02-14T17:33:00.000-05:002024-02-14T17:33:33.372-05:00Walt<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZJxuVbUItb8oZb4y9eYwQFTNBpUt77E5ZDlY5Syp1EXbW1jQkc3K5Gqa5NfyJBHJtHiu7VUoGrBtQFPtXe4OQdpvL3_a5i0_hz8Tdt1UGzg6vNQukCiPRc6Uum3N4YSkLCh8KboIGfUoqWaNkxQfgYE4znrjjYQPDMpKmVxNNXrd4oVP2HIH1A/s6500/Forest_Heart_Sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3656" data-original-width="6500" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZJxuVbUItb8oZb4y9eYwQFTNBpUt77E5ZDlY5Syp1EXbW1jQkc3K5Gqa5NfyJBHJtHiu7VUoGrBtQFPtXe4OQdpvL3_a5i0_hz8Tdt1UGzg6vNQukCiPRc6Uum3N4YSkLCh8KboIGfUoqWaNkxQfgYE4znrjjYQPDMpKmVxNNXrd4oVP2HIH1A/w640-h360/Forest_Heart_Sky.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: x-large;">A</span></b>uthorities found the body of one of my former students on 12 February. Walt had been missing since late August when he failed to show up for lunch with one of his kids. They found him in a wooded area out past some hiking trails not so very far from one of my grocery stores. I drive past that area on that pretty road fairly often. There are nature preserves there, and some dog owners like to run their pets in the clearing. <p></p><p>I remember when Rick came home and told me Walt was missing. It was sad and terrible news, and I knew it was ominous. "This won't end well," I said, "unless Walt is somebody else now." </p><p>In October, the family and some friends organized a search party. "I feel so bad for the family," I told Rick. "Do you want to show up and help?" he asked. "No," I said. "I was his sophomore English teacher; even then, only briefly. And I don't want to go out and look for a body."</p><p>My time with Walt was, indeed, brief. He was added to my third period Basic English class about midway through the year. I already had his brother, who was a star running back for the football team, in my other Basic class. It was probably around 1983. Walt came from a juvenile facility where he had spent quite a bit of time. (You might recall from my story about <a href="https://deptofnance.blogspot.com/2021/06/j-is-for-jeremy.html" target="_blank">Jeremy</a> that my class was the usual landing spot for such kids.) He was on probation and a short leash, but I didn't get any details. He was merely plopped into my class with a transfer form. As usual.</p><p>He gave me no trouble as far as routine discipline. He sat where assigned. He was respectful. He wasn't late to class. But did he bring a book, pen/pencil, paper each day? Not usually. I didn't make a big deal out of it and supplied whatever he lacked, as I did for everyone. No, the problem with Walt was that he was high almost every single day, and he often couldn't stay upright or even <i>in </i>his seat. He was a mess. Even so, when Walt wasn't too obliterated, he could be funny and charming. When he could manage to be sober, he was a gentleman. And he tried.</p><p>I found out from my usual Reliable Source--a smart, peppy girl from their neighbourhood named Darla--that Walt's dad and uncle were in jail. That Walt figured he'd end up there and share a cell with one of them at some point. He ran with a bad crowd that he'd hooked back up with the minute he'd gotten out of the facility. </p><p>I decided that I wasn't going to send Walt out for being high. It was better to keep him in the room and try to get him to do <i>something. </i>One day two assistant principals knocked on my classroom door, called me out into the hall, and asked, "Is Walt in there?" When I assured them that he was, one asked, "Does he have his yellow gym bag with him?</p><p>"Yes, he does. Why?"</p><p>"Okay. We have information that he has a gun in the bag. You need to send him out here and make sure he brings the bag with him."</p><p>(Dear Readers, you and I know now, in 2024, how much is So Wrong about this conversation. But it was 1983; I was 24 years old and in my <i>third year </i>of teaching; school shootings were Unheard Of.)</p><p>I was too dumb to even be in shock, I think. I merely went inside and said, "Walt, they want you to go to the office. Please hand in your book and your work, and be sure to take all your things with you." He did exactly that, and I never saw him again. </p><p>Every so often his name would pop up in the local paper. He'd be arrested for a rash of break-ins at gas stations or convenience stores. He'd threaten the cashier, say he had a gun, but he never did. I'd read the article and shake my head. Poor Walt. </p><p>Poor Walt, found dead under the trees in the brush. I feel sad and helpless and impotent. What in the hell did I do for him, all those years ago? Him or Jeremy? Sometimes it feels as if what I was up against was insurmountable. For some of my kids, they were in a hole so deep, my ladder couldn't begin to step them up and out. A lot of people who lay blame on our education system and teachers need to shut the hell up. They have no idea.</p><p>Despite the life that Walt led, he didn't deserve to lie cold and alone in the woods. I hold him in my heart.</p><p><a href="https://www.businesswire.com/news/home/20210607005333/en/The-One-Heart-Movement-to-Plant-%E2%80%9COne-Heart-Forest%E2%80%9D-in-Loving-Memory-of-All-Lives-Lost-to-COVID-19-Throughout-the-World" target="_blank">image</a><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-36180090336842562032024-02-09T15:18:00.000-05:002024-02-09T15:18:09.945-05:00In Which I Lighten Up My Life And Get A Little Airheaded<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5KH10ffoSnDIjWMvw_kDv83wlutBdoJqukQOm78DpYTT8V3JSDJYWNfdPss4ovHO_LZHCw9t7rJhaGJZ2JVfYoQGT3HEyEH8anqZM0vqn7ssqxoTNhE6hul5xi85w_0oAdmTUy_HtgJYK37l25B_HexGnaMckjAI-REgidF-qsPoYuDyje4LDtQ/s2652/lighten%20up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2652" data-original-width="1420" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5KH10ffoSnDIjWMvw_kDv83wlutBdoJqukQOm78DpYTT8V3JSDJYWNfdPss4ovHO_LZHCw9t7rJhaGJZ2JVfYoQGT3HEyEH8anqZM0vqn7ssqxoTNhE6hul5xi85w_0oAdmTUy_HtgJYK37l25B_HexGnaMckjAI-REgidF-qsPoYuDyje4LDtQ/s320/lighten%20up.jpg" width="171" /></a></div><br /> <b><span style="background-color: #e69138; font-size: x-large;">L</span></b>et me just say this: I'm feeling delightfully lighter in February. After 48 straight days of Absolutely No Sunshine Whatsoever, we've been treated to several bright, happy days of sun. Yesterday and today, I took my daily walks without a coat or a jacket in 60 degree temperatures. Yes, it will all come crashing down next week, but until then, I'm basking in this Joy. <p></p><p>And fresh air! My windows are open! Can you even imagine that--in Northeast Ohio! in February! What luck!</p><p>Another reason I'm feeling lighter is that this morning, I watched as a volunteer from the <a href="https://www.pickupsforvets.org/" target="_blank">Vietnam Vets of America</a> came to my home and picked up bags of clothes and several boxes of dishes, shoes, purses, and two pieces of furniture from my porch. All that stuff is now G O N E from my home. Hooray for decluttering and giving to a good cause.</p><p>Now let's see if I can declutter my head a bit and dump off a few things here.</p><p><b style="background-color: #e69138;">1.</b> This ad was in the Cleveland <u>Plain Dealer</u> a little while ago and hurt my eyes <i>and </i>my feelings:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4GVMbUrfFXHmNxdcb00qF7OWMxyYP12_PbUIBBz8HESbsKjOk_Eskzrwn5kiUAfKDmyphMajj0SHGqj4aNLmG-KWQqR5bnFEFbzDqNPk2OLl54B9raPyTEUDc-kTvq8zBOB5DMmiZDGxBf4txY83MfrL0XxEDh2GCU3PFbvcXgn_0lMcSqbDgQ/s2229/IMG_2642.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1340" data-original-width="2229" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4GVMbUrfFXHmNxdcb00qF7OWMxyYP12_PbUIBBz8HESbsKjOk_Eskzrwn5kiUAfKDmyphMajj0SHGqj4aNLmG-KWQqR5bnFEFbzDqNPk2OLl54B9raPyTEUDc-kTvq8zBOB5DMmiZDGxBf4txY83MfrL0XxEDh2GCU3PFbvcXgn_0lMcSqbDgQ/w400-h240/IMG_2642.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First of all, absolutely nothing in this estate sale interests me, thanks to the ad's key words and phrases: <i>Every room full </i>(they were hoarders); <i>CB radios </i>(no one ever left the house or had contact with the outside modern world); <i>precious moments </i>(dust bunnies galore and stuck in the 80s); <i>bennie babies </i>(Precious Moments turned out NOT to be the moneymaker they thought, so they glommed onto these, which tanked even worse, and, again, dust); <i>seasonal </i>(my experience with this is that many Collector-type people also collect tons of Xmas and holiday tchotchkes which also sit around collecting dust; these types of items do not sell, even at garage sales, trust me). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Also, let's talk about The Spelling now, shall we? Obviously, it's <i>Beanie Babies, </i>not <i>bennie babies</i>, like some sort of homage to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jf2Te1IfjuA" target="_blank">Bennie and the Jets</a> or the drug benzedrine. And it's <i>collectibles--</i>the noun form--not <i>collectables</i>--the adjective form. An easy way to remember is "if it's an Investment, it's a collectIble." Sigh. I know, I know, I should stop reading the Classifieds.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="background-color: #e69138;">2.</b> On my walk today, in addition to <i>a dandelion, </i>I saw this and it made me smile:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4jztXuAVPu3KlTTvhKzl4Cl3gqxpkKA9KjYzRofa5mGCM6n-954Og7-aDcajIa1DM9Zi4wMq7LWP33U1kDuw0NZ3RMOS8xlzTyX89LbGqGDmVXvXNgAYgW6tnhdO2j_W4gNvxgBG60j8NQupHE8Sg4J_dX4pLUafJKL31Jft9L1FzwuIW7bZ90w/s2450/IMG_2692.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2267" data-original-width="2450" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4jztXuAVPu3KlTTvhKzl4Cl3gqxpkKA9KjYzRofa5mGCM6n-954Og7-aDcajIa1DM9Zi4wMq7LWP33U1kDuw0NZ3RMOS8xlzTyX89LbGqGDmVXvXNgAYgW6tnhdO2j_W4gNvxgBG60j8NQupHE8Sg4J_dX4pLUafJKL31Jft9L1FzwuIW7bZ90w/w400-h370/IMG_2692.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>I apologize for the quality of this photo. I couldn't get very close because this is not a friendly cat. It's also Not <i>Their</i> Cat. Did you think I was just posting this for the Irony?<div><br /></div><div>This is a neighbourhood stray who hangs around on various porches. It's the first time I've seen it on this particular porch, however, and I'm rather surprised. This is where a St. Bernard lives. There must be something really good inside that Chewy box. You know what they say: no risk, no reward.</div><div><br /></div><div><b style="background-color: #e69138;">3.</b> Finally, this conversation occurred on Monday night:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Nance:</b> I'm exhausted. I was so busy all day. <i>(proceeds to list all chores accomplished that day)</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><b><span style="background-color: #e69138;">Rick:</span> </b> Wow. Well, thank you. That was a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Nance:</b> Oh, and by the way, I barely had enough battery left to finish using the leaf blower on the porch. Then I saw the charger wasn't even plugged in. What's up with that?</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: #e69138;"><b>Rick:</b> </span> You what?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Nance:</b> I used the leaf blower to blow all the peanut shells and sunflower seed detritus off the front porch. It's ridiculous out there, you know? And the battery went dead, and I had to put it in the charger, but first of all, the charger was crammed behind stuff on that shelf, and then it wasn't even plugged in.</div><div><br /></div><div><b style="background-color: #e69138;">Rick:</b> I unplugged it.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Nance:</b> But why?</div><div><br /></div><div><b style="background-color: #e69138;">Rick:</b> <i>(carefully, looking right at her)</i> Because I assumed that we wouldn't be needing A LEAF BLOWER in the WINTER.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Nance: </b> <i>(light finally goes on) </i>Oh! </div><div><br /></div><div>So tell me--What's lightening up your life in February so far? (And do you have the Winter Dumbs like me? Sigh.)</div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.lightenup-online.co.uk/" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">post header image</span></i></a></p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-69067633304547360202024-01-28T14:24:00.000-05:002024-01-28T14:24:01.037-05:00The One About Potato Peelers<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqIfEl1t3sD1ypUV71q88RnLQFlhyphenhyphenRtk7bvpflNpjpL_f3_jssHibfI2x9TrbEIJN5F-c5ZXRs-ZGcNoxVzyL46CGBrZdOp41iRT7aVhBWrUI1wUKBz92yonlGOIYFiPP0s9Bom_P4Lt7pzKjOLnnUa67s8zSn62GfRqBVw5xh6_X-lHYD0cG10w/s1200/VanGoghPeeler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="936" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqIfEl1t3sD1ypUV71q88RnLQFlhyphenhyphenRtk7bvpflNpjpL_f3_jssHibfI2x9TrbEIJN5F-c5ZXRs-ZGcNoxVzyL46CGBrZdOp41iRT7aVhBWrUI1wUKBz92yonlGOIYFiPP0s9Bom_P4Lt7pzKjOLnnUa67s8zSn62GfRqBVw5xh6_X-lHYD0cG10w/w313-h400/VanGoghPeeler.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Vincent Van Gogh</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="color: #444444; font-size: x-large;">S</span>ometimes, I am dismayed by the way my Life is Awash In The Mundane. The smallest, most pedestrian things earn my laser focus. This happens most often during the winter months when I'm forced to be inside more, and I become a little...well, crazy. </p><p>Anyway, this post is not about that, per se. This post is about Potato Peelers.</p><p>About a month or so ago, my Potato Peeler (aka Vegetable Peeler, or whatever) simply stopped working adequately. I was incredibly annoyed, for the obvious reason, but also because it was bright red, matched my kitchen, and hung conveniently (and cutely) on the wall within reach. Here is a photo of one just like it, because in a fit of pique, I threw mine in the trash with a lot of profanity.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEvEeBWS0L_cmVo0vVxIdLU5qvOowa7wyTT-emh11mpzDRKn_dIMiNwVtM2T1WWKKzWqEpKUFNrnOiM1BlZ9sc5iz0fxs0BHsBxzOkhK7sjtJkSYnFe_EFHTcv6kmxUkVPruQKskBPlGY_1H3zEXYoHfy0YYeptC3VeGoQinxqRrKqVJwyeR5BQ/s954/IMG_2663.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="954" data-original-width="708" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEvEeBWS0L_cmVo0vVxIdLU5qvOowa7wyTT-emh11mpzDRKn_dIMiNwVtM2T1WWKKzWqEpKUFNrnOiM1BlZ9sc5iz0fxs0BHsBxzOkhK7sjtJkSYnFe_EFHTcv6kmxUkVPruQKskBPlGY_1H3zEXYoHfy0YYeptC3VeGoQinxqRrKqVJwyeR5BQ/s320/IMG_2663.PNG" width="237" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Thank you, Ebay, for this photo.</span></i></div><p>That Peeler gave me many years of good service, but it let me down, so into my Journal Of Wrongs it went, right next to my<a href="https://deptofnance.blogspot.com/2007/10/if-theres-law-against-this-then-i-am.html" target="_blank"> can opener.</a> That meant that I had to use Rick's Peeler until I could find a new one. Rick's Peeler was THE Peeler many years ago until it displeased me mightily, and then it was demoted to backup status when I got Big Red.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRZBRd972sNn1UnHcFynOLugLf5rgmPadTTeIKNOTHfGKPtI0YN4X-pluqRzjyNeTMoqG0MIBvGXWsy8ioCO3-vTZ9D_M6nog2zaRtHNSyvmkJoAXGFpW56o5YEixZT0QxM_2UNw079b6jcH0BFgdUPxzJSi6Ni2blPUq53BJMCPAkaK_KKPHBA/s4032/IMG_2659.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRZBRd972sNn1UnHcFynOLugLf5rgmPadTTeIKNOTHfGKPtI0YN4X-pluqRzjyNeTMoqG0MIBvGXWsy8ioCO3-vTZ9D_M6nog2zaRtHNSyvmkJoAXGFpW56o5YEixZT0QxM_2UNw079b6jcH0BFgdUPxzJSi6Ni2blPUq53BJMCPAkaK_KKPHBA/s320/IMG_2659.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rick's Peeler: Barely Usable</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">His Peeler isn't sharp enough and doesn't peel away from me as well as it does toward me. I hate that. It also has separation there at the neck where the Peeler part fits into the handle. I hate that, too. And the whole handle is too big for my hand. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I was really on the hunt for a new Peeler, and I found one at Marshalls where I was also the Victim Of Rude Cellphone Usage. It looked okay, was a brand name, and was only $3.99. The handle looked small for my hand. I went ahead and took a chance.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrAOTIKdCisizoDGiQTQZZGzAiCIPpnL3XFnDeIfjivSG7dKXco-p84nx2R_FNvdadqR-lXMk_QKBjv0cvwLRJm0iy86_6v1aNI0_QZPogZifD1Q8hoWO37-L86QuuOOs-0AmxKyLwbVXcdyFnn-ngIKjYwtWdtPlJeV602dk07skfxgawq4WLQ/s4032/IMG_2649.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrAOTIKdCisizoDGiQTQZZGzAiCIPpnL3XFnDeIfjivSG7dKXco-p84nx2R_FNvdadqR-lXMk_QKBjv0cvwLRJm0iy86_6v1aNI0_QZPogZifD1Q8hoWO37-L86QuuOOs-0AmxKyLwbVXcdyFnn-ngIKjYwtWdtPlJeV602dk07skfxgawq4WLQ/s320/IMG_2649.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Farberware+Marshalls=Fail</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>I could not have been more wrong. This dumb thing didn't last even <i>one potato</i>. (And that potato was a Yukon Gold, not even hard to peel. Come on!) I berated this Peeler loudly and vociferously the entire time it struggled to get the peel off the potato. Did I use The Eff Word? Yes, I did, and as several parts of speech. It went immediately into the trash. Enter Rick's Peeler again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On Thursday I went to my grocery store and lo! and behold, hanging on an end cap in the Closeouts Section, were THREE bright red Potato Peelers. They were arrestingly red, a little odd-looking, and even better, priced at $1.99. How could I <i>not </i>try one? I tossed one in my cart immediately and hoped for the best. (I also scored a Carter's brand set of babywear for Theo for only $7.99, but this is not about that. Still, a major deal for 3 shirts and 2 pants, right?) Here's that Peeler: <table>
<tbody><tr>
<td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje420nXDjAPi-oPWot0pBGmSGx4qhFsHHyEmCEiNUYplXKBEyH8vJM3n_xlFN7U-mFBu4_RNYfZc_F1HgOH4Ey4e-M5jT3A4nGIab-y2qUQzeWGNJ-YRxUf8jJzOXah6pV7I3Z7ORXCdNei81nVzOn32CeEMtiTETymrx5_MyWXUgetyiSC9K8og/s4608/4E5A18B2-D9A0-4469-8AF8-D746EC944B99-COLLAGE.jpg" width="200px" /></td>
<td><img border="0" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBz5kYwtDDUhtgtXyHnHqMEhtoxubPvqhBCZSkD4IxsHhl9wiYu8HPffxsJJ_SBXEwafkjVT0n3GHzktXjbcROrx_dtjItTEPdccdQ40MzO9YfA8cJdcwkqy3-lRym55Bczne96WqVXZZ0HES-dFPtzYrGUT0li5pamH-9KXYtfkEqhCV3PvhTEA/s4032/IMG_2661.HEIC" width="200px" /></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The handle is made of bamboo! It's so red and shiny! And cheap!</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I put my new Peeler to the test the next day, and it astounded and delighted me! It flew through carrots and potatoes. It made short work of apples for an apple crisp. It fit in my hand perfectly and sturdily. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">IT'S EVEN DISHWASHER SAFE. I'M IN LOVE.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It has only one drawback--its hole is not big enough to fit over the hook where its predecessor hung. But that's okay! I've placed a pair of red and white kitchen scissors there, and it's proven to be a very handy place for them. (And you all know about me and <a href="https://deptofnance.blogspot.com/2021/11/s-is-for-scissors.html" target="_blank">Scissors</a>.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This week I'm going back to the grocery store to see if any of the Peelers are still there. If so, I'm buying whatever remain. I simply cannot go through this again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Talk to me about your Potato Peelers in Comments. Or any other Kitchen Utensil Persnickety-nesses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-63739601291862069592024-01-20T14:47:00.002-05:002024-01-20T14:47:12.264-05:00Is It Women? Is It Marshalls? Is It Cellphones? What's Ruining America?<span style="text-align: left;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNYh26YBtLkNs5QnI56LoROcJGlu13FIpkUAbc9MJwcgaQjcYrvyOS03Z8_DjoSeP4pLNxzvkbiSD2iloq0YuJ2j3LUKNAeOlL-0gtVjv3jGeM8I9eL5FAUC-ez25b3KBm_fdCsGbWT9R4QGSdq8TIWVjk0SEpyPobpE5BEAYseRhr9Ccfti4Ing/s1000/good%20manners.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="647" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNYh26YBtLkNs5QnI56LoROcJGlu13FIpkUAbc9MJwcgaQjcYrvyOS03Z8_DjoSeP4pLNxzvkbiSD2iloq0YuJ2j3LUKNAeOlL-0gtVjv3jGeM8I9eL5FAUC-ez25b3KBm_fdCsGbWT9R4QGSdq8TIWVjk0SEpyPobpE5BEAYseRhr9Ccfti4Ing/s320/good%20manners.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><b><span style="background-color: #f6b26b; color: #3d85c6; font-size: x-large;">O</span></b></span></span><span style="text-align: left;">ver the years here at the Dept., I've written many posts about the Casualization Of America. I've lamented </span><a href="https://deptofnance.blogspot.com/2016/04/k-is-for-khakis.html" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">Khaki Pants</a><span style="text-align: left;">, </span><a href="https://deptofnance.blogspot.com/2008/08/in-end-its-all-politics-but-politics.html" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">men wearing baseball hats everywhere but baseball games, and the godforsaken crocs and jammies in public.</a><span style="text-align: left;"> I've sighed about </span><a href="https://deptofnance.blogspot.com/2009/09/in-which-i-take-on-restaurants-bad.html" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">people wearing flipflops to restaurants </a><span style="text-align: left;">and flipflopping their detritus upward toward everyone's food. I've tried to be a Good Sport about all of this; truly I have. My eye-rolling has diminished by a good 70% or more as I've aged and learned to Let Go and understand that there are things far more worthy of my distress.</span><p></p><p>Like what I keep encountering when I shop for a shirt at Marshalls.</p><p>Every once in a while, I get sick of my clothes and pull stuff off of hangers and out of drawers to put in a donation bag. It's usually items that I realize I've stopped wearing or that I haven't seen in a long time. Once that's done, I see that I need a couple of things to fill a gap in the wardrobe. Marshalls is across from my grocery store, so it's a convenient trip.</p><p>Anyway, my point--and I do have one--is that I don't like what keeps happening when I shop at Marshalls, and it's women who are doing it.</p><p>The last time I was there, a woman was on her cellphone in the racks across from me. "So it was just so weird," she said. "I got him up, and he was perfectly fine at first. Then he started sort of spinning--literally--out of control. I got him settled down, gave him his meds, fed him, and he seemed okay. Then he started the spinning thing again. I didn't know what to do. I'm like, do I just go ahead and send him to school or what? So I put him in the car and take him, and I tell his teacher everything and she says she'll keep me informed."</p><p>At this point I started feeling a little uncomfortable. Clearly, she's talking about a special needs child. It felt like something I shouldn't be privy to, but here I was, in a store, looking for a sweater that wouldn't show a lot of cat hair. What was I supposed to do?</p><p>"Well, I'm just shopping right now," she continued. "I'm sort of waiting to hear. She didn't seem too concerned. I just wonder how much of it is diet, how much of it is environment, how much is you know..." I casually looked in her direction, just in case she wasn't aware that there was someone else so close. She barely looked at me and continued talking in the same volume, as if she were speaking to someone who was standing next to her and about something as mundane as the placement of buttons on the shirt she was looking at. </p><p>I wasn't too surprised. The last time I was at Marshalls I heard a woman on her cell tell someone about her daughter's MS diagnosis and her entire consult with the specialist. This woman didn't think much of the doctor, by the way, and she felt that the way he was going about things was totally wrong. If it were up to her, she'd leave that practice entirely and go with Cleveland Clinic all the way. This guy had zero idea what he was doing. But her daughter was grown and engaged to be married, for heaven's sakes, so all she could do was be there for her, but if you ask her, she really needed to see someone better.</p><p>Anyway, the woman with the spinning child wandered off to look at makeup, and I decided to look in Shoes for a pair of winter boots. Suddenly, I heard a woman tell me, "You shut up! Shut. Up. Right. Now." She had to be talking to me--even though I had yet to say a single word--because I was the only person in Shoes besides her. My eyes widened and teared involuntarily. I was almost afraid to move for a moment. Then I saw her. She came around the corner and suddenly started laughing. "Oh god! You have got to be kidding me! Shut it! You're sick!" She barely glanced at me and pushed her cart down the next aisle. </p><p>Who in the hell are these women who A) cannot modulate their voices if they must be on a phone; B) must be on a phone call whilst shopping; C) don't care if they blab their/their family's personal medical conditions in public; D) have so little concern/awareness for Common Human Courtesy and Basic Manners that they do this in the first place? We have become a nation of crass and selfish idiots.</p><p>People like this have already ruined Going To The Movies for me. I haven't seen a film at the theater since <i>Lincoln</i> with Daniel Day-Lewis. Even the Tuesday afternoon showings were full of people using their phones during the film, talking during the film, and being inconsiderate in general. It's a Sadness that so many people simply act as if they are in their own living rooms when they are out in public, and this cuts across all age groups. "If you have a problem with it, then stay home" seems to be their attitude. </p><p><i>Kindness Is My Default</i> has been my mantra for years and years, and it will remain so. I will continue to work on my Patience. </p><p><a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/61epG1c-v+L._AC_UF1000,1000_QL80_.jpg" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-8795912023467543722024-01-11T16:17:00.000-05:002024-01-11T16:17:20.845-05:00Happy New Year And I'm Back With A Recap Of My Getaway Weekend<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTqhUN_MlMz9b0yqjnMbg9hyeM0yaVOjSDHHAaTk6YSOQRxBosGhGUmOHOASmUI2ND0M-7VnVp1tMtkD8u6uXg-OAenufyibZhlNfueL7Tpg4cw3iKY8WXlfJcUU9EkZC7UmtOhWvVOeM_7mtcWgoCR-4L8vCoFwBT7PjtvEgzQAraeQPyuBHNwg/s2289/book%20and%20fireplace.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2289" data-original-width="1527" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTqhUN_MlMz9b0yqjnMbg9hyeM0yaVOjSDHHAaTk6YSOQRxBosGhGUmOHOASmUI2ND0M-7VnVp1tMtkD8u6uXg-OAenufyibZhlNfueL7Tpg4cw3iKY8WXlfJcUU9EkZC7UmtOhWvVOeM_7mtcWgoCR-4L8vCoFwBT7PjtvEgzQAraeQPyuBHNwg/s320/book%20and%20fireplace.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><b><span style="color: #e69138; font-size: x-large;">H</span></b>appy New Year! I took some necessary Time Off to battle a series of migraines and to travel to Niagara-on-the-Lake for a party and some relaxation. <p></p><p><b><span style="color: #e69138;">Migraines:</span></b> The changeable weather is killing me. We've had so many ups and downs with temperature and barometric pressure and rain, then snow, then high winds that I knew I was in for it. My fantastic neurologist Dr. B. told me long ago to watch the isobars: When they start packing together, that's a bad sign. I had a 48-hour migraine already in process when we left for NotL on Saturday 1/6, and meds weren't touching it. Talk about miserable. We arrived at our favourite inn, and all I could do was hibernate in front of the fireplace in our suite. Resting helped quite a bit, and we briefly went out for a quick dinner, then spent the rest of the night in. The weather was cold and inhospitable anyway.</p><p><b><span style="color: #e69138;">Winery Release Party:</span> </b>On Sunday afternoon our favourite <a href="https://bigheadwines.ca/" target="_blank">winery</a> was only open for the party, which was an intimate affair this time. It was Andrzej's birthday--a milestone one--so he was releasing a new family label of wines. I especially liked the sparkling, which spent 102 months <a href="https://www.decanter.com/learn/what-is-sur-lie-ageing-and-what-does-it-do-to-wine-ask-decanter-465202/" target="_blank"><i>sur lie</i></a>. All of them were a tribute to his skills and lovely to drink. I was so happy that my migraine had resolved completely overnight, and I felt almost normal albeit a bit fragile. My wine intake was limited to a taste of each variety (minus chardonnay, which is a trigger for me), and I made sure I had food in my stomach. </p><p><b><span style="color: #e69138;">Perfect Getaway:</span></b> I have to say that what I enjoyed the most about the weekend was the fact that I could relax completely. There was literally Nothing That I Had To Do. No vacuuming, no dinner planning, no laundry, no errands, no little task was needling at me since I wasn't at home. I <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/61771675" target="_blank">read</a>; I watched Netflix; I browsed a bit on my iPad; Rick and I chatted with our friend the innkeeper. The weather never cleared up sufficiently to make walking pleasant, and I was so exhausted from fighting a headache for so long anyway. We talked and looked at photos of Theo. On our way home we stopped at the winery and picked up a mixed case of reds to plug a few holes in our cellar for the long winter ahead. Oh! And when we went to check out, our friend refused to charge us for our stay! He said he was technically closed anyway, and we didn't have Full Service (No breakfast--We were the only guests there.) We protested strenuously, but he wouldn't hear of it. We've stayed there exclusively for decades now, and we consider ourselves good friends. </p><p>That's one of the things we love about returning again and again to NotL. We've made friends with so many people there and stay in touch year 'round. It's a home away from home.</p><p>I hope you have had a Gentle Entry into the New Year. Tell me about your Home Away From Home, or a Friend you look forward to seeing when you're Away From Home.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://www.ehow.com/info_12106192_dangers-sitting-front-fireplace.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p><p><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-23499033227788126882023-12-28T15:03:00.000-05:002023-12-28T15:03:31.738-05:00Three On Thursday: A Holiday Postmortem<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1Bm68gaPqHJBvgkmPr2Qs_Jc8hWiMx5jfrT6nb_SrmGlBcIG8VYw-duPpUlyAmm-CCDxKEKl1rG-YDoCS0_M3wtQ4qhgqu3M0iApF8eSceeeWgtyRflQ5NbNrB5VzapQ-2kaQC6bEthm-em281YGCRvRPH_mq1hZzlbxCMwXo3wBl9uPchFvFQ/s2121/three%20on%20thursday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="2121" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1Bm68gaPqHJBvgkmPr2Qs_Jc8hWiMx5jfrT6nb_SrmGlBcIG8VYw-duPpUlyAmm-CCDxKEKl1rG-YDoCS0_M3wtQ4qhgqu3M0iApF8eSceeeWgtyRflQ5NbNrB5VzapQ-2kaQC6bEthm-em281YGCRvRPH_mq1hZzlbxCMwXo3wBl9uPchFvFQ/w640-h426/three%20on%20thursday.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;">W</span></b>e made it. We are on The Other Side Of Christmas. We shopped, we bought, we wrapped, and we gave. We baked, we cooked, we served, and we packed up leftovers. We vowed that Next Year Will Be Easier/More Relaxed/Less About Stuff/In Costa Rica. We may have already Taken Down/Put Away all the decor (mine will be gone tomorrow). Lives will return to Normal if they haven't already. Let's do a little Post-Holiday Postmortem.</p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">1. Theo:</span></b> It was beyond wonderful to have my baby grandson here for Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning. True, he didn't do much besides eat, sleep, coo and fuss a bit, and nap in his swing, but <i>he was here.</i> I held him, cuddled him, and he absolutely loved touring my kitchen with all the black and white Holstein cows to look at. Did he appreciate his gifts? Heck, he couldn't even open them, but he wore the Santa's Helper outfit (and hat!) that I bought him earlier and looked adorable. I took almost no photos, so I flunked that section of the Nana Test.</p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">2. Food:</span></b> Last year I said I was never making<a href="https://www.littlesweetbaker.com/christmas-crack-saltine-cracker-toffee/#tasty-recipes-8569" target="_blank"> Christmas Toffee</a> again, and I lied. I made two batches, but I gave most of it away. For one batch I freestyled and used tiny pretzels as the base instead of saltine crackers, and it was a big hit. I have the ingredients to make one more batch, and I just might, but only to experiment with using potato chips as the bottom layer. Then I'll give it away, too, after I've tasted it to make sure it's good. I found little red and white metal buckets at a dollar store and used those, lined with tissue paper, to hold the gift toffee. </p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">3. Gifts:</span></b> So far, I have not heard of anyone needing to return anything, but I am vigilant about including gift receipts. All recipients seemed quite pleased with their things, and in spite of limited time, I was a thoughtful shopper and tried hard to be very personal. Zydrunas loves his treats and has already completely destroyed his toy, so Resounding Success there. Rick and I are returning to Niagara-on-the-Lake in January to attend a private party at our favourite winery, so that will be our gift to one another. There is sure to be another wine buy since they are releasing new vintages under a family label. Fingers crossed for good weather for us, especially through Buffalo. </p><p>So, tell me--are you Christmased Out? On balance, was it a satisfying one? How did things stack up for you?</p><p></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-45617984594693726802023-12-22T09:59:00.000-05:002023-12-22T09:59:37.237-05:00Happy At Last For Christmastime<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7fJyUF2tDsLdB2fsIxx6QJxvB7tzHopsqI8J1Le7flpEDhsmyRnfUFA9G_qycBTp-zYPE-rZl9_GcZ-Kq_VVosoMWI20CTpxdaAOsLtGVhB6jA3uFmUjRv99cqGwt6VEwgFSqFTQ9zLwCk8IX9jxTQC33SOevIOM6iVZXfZr66Cl8pDWUDooxQ/s540/happiness%20meter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7fJyUF2tDsLdB2fsIxx6QJxvB7tzHopsqI8J1Le7flpEDhsmyRnfUFA9G_qycBTp-zYPE-rZl9_GcZ-Kq_VVosoMWI20CTpxdaAOsLtGVhB6jA3uFmUjRv99cqGwt6VEwgFSqFTQ9zLwCk8IX9jxTQC33SOevIOM6iVZXfZr66Cl8pDWUDooxQ/w640-h426/happiness%20meter.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="color: #04ff00; font-size: x-large;">M</span></b>y Happiness Meter is registering Glee, Joy, and Jubilation. Quite the turnaround since last week, I know. In the past seven days, I've completed my shopping, boxed and readied all gifts for wrapping (which will be done tonight), shopped and readied all food for Christmas Eve, including two types of toffee, and I even baked dog treats for Zydrunas. All that pushed me well into the Yellow Zone, above. <div><br /></div><div>Then I got a phone call from Jared on Wednesday as I was driving home from taking my mother to the doctor, and he informed me that </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #04ff00; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Theo will be here for Christmas Eve, overnight, and for Christmas Day!</i></b> </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #04ff00; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">His parents will be, too, but the important thing is that Theo will be celebrating his First Christmas Ever here, at our house. Probably you can tell, but I could not be happier. Jared said he couldn't imagine not being here for Christmas, and he and Jordan wanted Theo to be here with everyone, too.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">It's strange how I can feel such Joy and Excitement, yet a sense of Calm and Peace at the same time. My <i>Family</i> will be here. Jared, Jordan, Theo, Sam, Emily, Rick, and me. I feel...Complete. Satisfied. Content. My Fulfillment is Profound.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;">May all of you, Dear Readers and Friends, find a sense of Peace, Calm, and Joy this Season. Thank you for being here with me. It truly means a great deal more than you could know.❤️</span></div><div><br /></div>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-44377638152033198712023-12-14T17:10:00.001-05:002023-12-14T17:10:22.131-05:00Have A Kirkegaardian Christmas And A Sartre New Year<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgQEEgT5_s3RlnHAjvXDnAsRL0-HTfEH9uuml2JIOXRjyNgZeI65I68HLCKsf8ryCelc7g5DGw4fsLMjlxA-zBpGvNMzN-DcoIcMCMrY6bF_WBLKmKOwU2hfsKGPngFnMDNkgqFA-hd_eVqDYBGmrAumlpBWYNrNclpySnu-4kI_jk4ZSElKl2A/s1000/is%20it%20over%20yet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgQEEgT5_s3RlnHAjvXDnAsRL0-HTfEH9uuml2JIOXRjyNgZeI65I68HLCKsf8ryCelc7g5DGw4fsLMjlxA-zBpGvNMzN-DcoIcMCMrY6bF_WBLKmKOwU2hfsKGPngFnMDNkgqFA-hd_eVqDYBGmrAumlpBWYNrNclpySnu-4kI_jk4ZSElKl2A/s320/is%20it%20over%20yet.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><b><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">M</span></b>y sons have asked me to put together a Christmas List to help guide their gift shopping for me. Just like everything else related to Christmas this year, I'm stymied and stuck. What do I want? What do I need? Honestly, WHAT <i>DO </i>I WANT?<p></p><p>Never before has the holiday seemed so Existential to me. Exactly <i>why </i>must I put up this tree, these mantel decorations and stockings, only to take them all down again in a couple of weeks? I'm not Scroogey or Grinchy, just a bit disengaged and weary. </p><p>As I said in someone's Comment section, I feel stalked and threatened by Christmas this year. It just keeps hanging around, taunting me with its proximity, and I cannot get away from its attendant responsibilities. I haven't done any shopping yet. I don't even know <i>where</i> it will be yet--here or at Jared and Jordan's to accommodate them, still trying to get some semblance of order and routine with Theo.</p><p><i>(Not long ago, Jordan had to be admitted to the hospital for a scary situation. Jared and Theo roomed in with her. What she has gone through...calling her a warrior isn't nearly enough. And Jared has been a pillar of strength and a neverending fount of love.)</i></p><p>This week I am caring for my mother in my home, so there will be no shopping marathon to search for inspiration and knock out some gift-buying. Next week is The Week. It either happens, or It doesn't. I am determined that It will. (And I hear you: I do know what day it is and how much time is/is not left and how to online shop--ugh.)</p><p>Here's what I really want for Christmas:</p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">1.</span></b> I want Men to share the load of Holiday Bringing.</p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">2.</span></b> I want Christmas to be less of a huge gift binge.</p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">3.</span></b> I want people to stop putting bigass inflatable figures in their yard but only inflating them at night as if we cannot see them during the day lying there like gigantic used condoms.</p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">4.</span></b> I want people online everywhere to stop using the word WOMEN as the singular form, completely forgetting we have the word WOMAN. (Not Christmas-related, but it's getting ridiculous.)</p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">5.</span></b> I want my neighbours to toss their Halloween pumpkins rather than allow them to continue rotting on the front porch where I have to see them every single day as if it isn't December, but still October.</p><p>These seem Reasonable to me. </p><p>Please, in Comments, do not tell me how you got all your shopping done by September, or how you have all your wrapping done, or how wonderful your Christmas Spirit is this year...unless you can also give me Sympathy, Commiseration, A Killer Pro Tip, or Righteous Indignation about my Real Christmas List. </p><p>I'm in a Fragile Place right now, and having an Existential Crisis.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://ih1.redbubble.net/image.1875169228.8748/flat,750x,075,f-pad,750x1000,f8f8f8.jpg" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p><p><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-36739281629095283032023-12-08T15:53:00.000-05:002023-12-08T15:53:22.492-05:00Tell Me Three Things<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZxt4d1D0k53BV4YERqcWmef3obyIf-zdWE2aZ-PYeDjY7GM8cc7dwsZavGCJv7N4ZX2yJ_o8C4HaoDJHMNFCMZLEt8RyPNi3QfxvySwNgnkAMbujZ5Q8YmKfhaQA0xfoDaPR5a14_qd5pOYhE4Nhmj-PA0Xbff-ydG6Bd71or3k9KQqyYXICmA/s768/threehearts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="768" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZxt4d1D0k53BV4YERqcWmef3obyIf-zdWE2aZ-PYeDjY7GM8cc7dwsZavGCJv7N4ZX2yJ_o8C4HaoDJHMNFCMZLEt8RyPNi3QfxvySwNgnkAMbujZ5Q8YmKfhaQA0xfoDaPR5a14_qd5pOYhE4Nhmj-PA0Xbff-ydG6Bd71or3k9KQqyYXICmA/w640-h414/threehearts.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-size: x-large;">M</span></b>y dear friend <a href="https://themsmysentiments.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mary</a> was asked this question, and she wants me to answer it, too. Here it is:<p></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">Tell me three things you like about yourself that aren’t ways you serve others.</span></p><p>I find this difficult. Firstly, I am usually not very good about accepting compliments. It's something I've been working on for a long time, ever since my husband brought it to my attention. He told me it was frustrating and joyless to pay me any compliment because I instantly backhand or negate it. Example:</p><p><b>Rick:</b> You look really good today.</p><p><span style="color: red;"><b>Nance:</b> </span> My hair is driving me crazy.</p><p><b>--or--</b></p><p><b>Rick:</b> Wow! This pasta you made is terrific.</p><p><b><span style="color: red;">Nance:</span></b> I feel like it's missing something. </p><p>He also told me that all I have to say is Thank You. Period. And that pretty soon he was just going to give up if I didn't knock it the hell off. I don't blame him. </p><p>The thing is, I give a lot of compliments, really good ones. And I'm happy when they makes someone's day. Why wouldn't I want the same for someone else? So, I've been working on accepting compliments graciously and pleasantly, <i>like normal people do.</i></p><p>Basically, this question asks me to give myself a direct compliment--three of them, actually--and it feels like Therapy. Let's see how I do.</p><p><b><span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-size: medium;">1.</span> I like that I'm Smart.</b> I have a lot of natural Curiosity about pretty much everything, so I read widely in many subjects and have done so all my life. I learned speed reading at a young age, too, so if I need information quickly, I can scan a lot of articles and get what I need. Teaching English meant I taught Life; my students relied upon me to know literally Everything in every story, play, novel, or poem. All references to people, places, and things were my job to explain or identify, so I anticipated that and made sure I knew them. </p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666;">2.</span> </span>I like that I have a good Palate.</b> Even though I am an apathetic cook a great deal of the time, I can toss any number of ingredients together and make a delicious meal. I've created many, many recipes that have become favourites and are often requested. I can balance out sauces by adding perhaps a little mustard or a little balsamic or a little butter. I'm also spot on with my wine pairings. </p><p><b><span style="background-color: black; color: #e06666; font-size: medium;">3.</span> I like that I have Command of The Language.</b> I'm a confident and excellent writer and speaker, and I can express myself well in both arenas. I delight in the MUGS (Mechanics, Usage, Grammar, Spelling) and never have more fun than when debating whether or not a comma belongs someplace or if someone's passive voice is justified. (I still don't judge any of that in the Comments section. Honest, I don't.) </p><p>Okay. Back in the Olden Dayes Of Blogs, I'd tag people (remember that?) to answer these questions over at their spaces. Instead, how about you<b> tell me three things you like about yourself that aren't acts of service to others</b> in Comments? </p><p><a href="https://betterfundraising.com/say-these-three-powerful-things/" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-37054917510351075632023-11-30T15:48:00.000-05:002023-11-30T15:48:53.281-05:00What A Great Morning!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdk76V0KVMqEtoVZEsJ9cftjMMo0n3wZr1bCQaJXSwku0AcCPfABNqyB_svqnOz4DQMIoGrVaPD_X57te940MrwJi3CQ0UAPpVWuJYIXn3M5II_W_A1q7xjMp-us2qExaw6Wm9DO-pJY9_lKPfzVTaELX7br1kbu3BdPYSmRGxc9EhlKwY1T_cA/s259/bull%20terrier%20in%20car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="183" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdk76V0KVMqEtoVZEsJ9cftjMMo0n3wZr1bCQaJXSwku0AcCPfABNqyB_svqnOz4DQMIoGrVaPD_X57te940MrwJi3CQ0UAPpVWuJYIXn3M5II_W_A1q7xjMp-us2qExaw6Wm9DO-pJY9_lKPfzVTaELX7br1kbu3BdPYSmRGxc9EhlKwY1T_cA/s1600/bull%20terrier%20in%20car.jpg" width="183" /></a></div><b><span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: x-large;">T</span></b>his morning's grocery shop was going to be a big one. I made sure to get up early and be on the road by 9AM, headed to the nicer store since produce was prominent in my list. There was still snow on the ground and ice in the driveway, leftovers from the storm earlier in the week. But the temperature was forecast to be at least 52 today, so I knew neither would last much longer.<p></p><p>Sadly, I hit an icy patch coming out of the garage and before I knew it, I had bumped into the corner of the house. My backup camera was no help, either, since it was caked with dirty salt residue. Luckily, it was such a soft bump that there was no damage to the car, and that corner was hit long ago by Rick, so any new damage to that piece of siding was hard to discern. I straightened out and carefully pulled down the rest of the drive. </p><p>I still couldn't see well out of the backup camera, so I decided I'd better stop and clean it off. Parking at the foot of my driveway, I saw a young man and his dog waiting to go past. He waved me by, but I got out of the car. "Go ahead," I said. "I have to clean off my backup camera so I can see what I'm doing." In an instant, his dog, a Bull Terrier mix, ran up to me joyously. "Sorry," he said, "I'm trying to train him to walk off-leash." </p><p>I bent and petted the wiggly dog. "Oh, that's okay. It's not his fault that I suddenly came on the scene." In an instant, the dog disappeared, and his owner groaned. "Sammy, no! Get out of there! Sammy, come! Aw, geeze, he's in your car. Sammy! That's not our car. You're not going for a ride! I'm so sorry."</p><p>I turned around to see Sammy, happily perched in the driver's seat of my Prius, smiling widely, tail wagging furiously. He jumped out and ran to me, jumping up to lick my face. His owner was mortified. I was completely delighted.</p><p>"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Sammy!" I really meant it. "I hope I see you in the neighborhood again soon." </p><p>Sammy's owner sighed. "I'm really sorry about your car."</p><p>"It's nothing! Have a good walk. You have a terrific dog," I said. It really was nothing, just a few wet pawprints that wiped away with a tissue. But the encounter kept me chuckling and smiling to myself for the rest of the morning.</p><p>Honestly, that just made my day.</p><p><a href="https://co.pinterest.com/pin/632544710171179168/" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-73947232741562677632023-11-29T16:32:00.000-05:002023-11-29T16:32:40.886-05:00The Decluttering Saga Continues: How My House Is Becoming Audrey Hepburn, And I'm Ready To Junk Precious Metals<p> <b><span style="background-color: black; color: #f9cb9c; font-size: x-large;">T</span></b>he decluttering and streamlining continue at the <b>Dept.</b>, and I have to tell you: my house feels alien to me. Right now, instead of looking Uncluttered and Airy and Streamlined, it looks more like I'm Moving Out. It's less cozy and more cool. I feel like my house is becoming aloof and might start smoking a cigarette using one of those long holders.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFmDb1AInmJiFYUt__YyL1-SxzkbCf6NQmuM3a-iyAem6eKQjv6bhX42_RSBWsQTjzlIMww0FOplADyO3kKRxxyJDC14IdXSLhJw-cegvgIkC7lQQ0_Cdoqdfeyd4R6jkbbJhMgRieEz1rmVHFbo-CinHfHVBMTNogJ79F_wi_uUdSbRpHbfrrQ/s266/hepburn%20smoking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="190" data-original-width="266" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFmDb1AInmJiFYUt__YyL1-SxzkbCf6NQmuM3a-iyAem6eKQjv6bhX42_RSBWsQTjzlIMww0FOplADyO3kKRxxyJDC14IdXSLhJw-cegvgIkC7lQQ0_Cdoqdfeyd4R6jkbbJhMgRieEz1rmVHFbo-CinHfHVBMTNogJ79F_wi_uUdSbRpHbfrrQ/w400-h286/hepburn%20smoking.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>My living and dining rooms now</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Have I gone too far in the name of Simplicity and Pseudo-Minimalism? Maybe I just need some time to get used to it. After all, I've lived with that stuff for decades. It was just sitting around for decoration! It wasn't useful! All it did was collect dust and make it hard to clean and vacuum!<div><br /></div><div><i>Do you know I have a silver casserole dish in the basement that has been sitting there, unused and still wrapped, for almost 40 years? It's sitting on top of a silverplate pie dish, also never used. They were wedding presents from 1981 that travelled to the house when we bought it in 1985. Today they were joined by a silver tray, badly tarnished. I just want to throw them all out and stop thinking about the ridiculousness of them all. (I already threw out a set of silverplate salad tongs; I mean, come on!)</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I also have dozens of Very Old Books, circa 1900-1920s, that I want to get rid of. I can't bear to think of tossing them, but they are not in terrific condition and likely not worth anything. Small volumes of classics, Shakespeare's plays, Poe collections, essays by obscure authors--all school texts from long ago. What to do with them? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UNDL9DRWVXo33n0qlDD3shkleMKlfdszSD8jwMHw94ixKckzSYW8hNJvl9cNhW5JWmX-njcz-kg_jiK0NPm9eVFD8lIiqqS0FInaeU6citrpqGLIITRcLb0SnEYkLozLNamJBwnXtFy7ZS02tCKUm4mC0I2uVyhxvbrse7p4vGTHq7g0pcQm0w/s4032/IMG_2523.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UNDL9DRWVXo33n0qlDD3shkleMKlfdszSD8jwMHw94ixKckzSYW8hNJvl9cNhW5JWmX-njcz-kg_jiK0NPm9eVFD8lIiqqS0FInaeU6citrpqGLIITRcLb0SnEYkLozLNamJBwnXtFy7ZS02tCKUm4mC0I2uVyhxvbrse7p4vGTHq7g0pcQm0w/w400-h300/IMG_2523.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Who is Macaulay? Who is Dr. Frank Crane? No idea.</i></div><br /><div>Right now, they are cleverly stacked on a chair slid under the dining room table. They are in a Transitioning Phase. I have to gird my loins and steel my spine for what I know I must do. It will be impossibly hard. But go they must. Perhaps I'll send them off with the silver pieces so that they feel Honoured and Worthy and In Good Company.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sigh.</div><div><br /></div><div>When Rick gets home from work, he will help me carry the breakfront out of the living room. It truly was serving no purpose other than decorative, holding tchochkes and more old (but beautifully bound) books under the faux Vermeer. It's going into storage in the basement or upstairs. I honestly think we bought it because it was lovely and matched other tables we bought at the time.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-RDMv3FVXvDO2x-FbZuMW6OIMoXf8Wwf_OB85bv-y5RcQiL7s31-zxGA3p_2Iqa_k4KzqSjJjnFszZ_RSTbN2yei6Av4rCzqMVUG3FUZWD0uL2K-h-Ec3uuNgIm78exi9DU2PEryoZ4oMcJUtMMdDZMvmiXPFyix1vS0wrWAQz9b0WX4_fiArQ/s4032/IMG_2524.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-RDMv3FVXvDO2x-FbZuMW6OIMoXf8Wwf_OB85bv-y5RcQiL7s31-zxGA3p_2Iqa_k4KzqSjJjnFszZ_RSTbN2yei6Av4rCzqMVUG3FUZWD0uL2K-h-Ec3uuNgIm78exi9DU2PEryoZ4oMcJUtMMdDZMvmiXPFyix1vS0wrWAQz9b0WX4_fiArQ/w300-h400/IMG_2524.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Pretty, but just a dust collector</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div>I'm letting it go. It will either be donated or sold at the lake community garage sale in the spring. The faux Vermeer can have the whole wall to itself. It deserves it.<div><br /></div><div>I think I'll give myself a couple of weeks to get used to the decluttered spaces, tweaking things here and there. It's a Process. But I'm fully committed. Tomorrow, I'm tackling the living room closet and all the junk that's accumulated in there. (Do you know there's actually a coonskin cap in there someplace? Trust me, that's gone, too.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Buoy my spirits in Comments, or at least tell me what to do with that Stuff!</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.tallengestore.com/products/audrey-hepburn-style-icon-painting-posters" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hepburn poster</span></i></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-10134112096942960312023-11-28T16:56:00.000-05:002023-11-28T16:56:25.761-05:00It's The Word Of The Year!<p><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6h4JSbHYLxs6MFhZIlMXlvunerS2DYphw9ku4rDPftbhFrF2VhXw7DOJ14kiwKCxn80dWFSJpyLuLX752EMoUSayynw15v9Lloj4a7GBAB7_GhA9CcA3oLLyo22kvgqrE0nMn6P3yO0xLzLMjDAtqz_jpRVS6zXSP8aofbJIgp_vW7RX357bnuQ/s480/words2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="319" data-original-width="480" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6h4JSbHYLxs6MFhZIlMXlvunerS2DYphw9ku4rDPftbhFrF2VhXw7DOJ14kiwKCxn80dWFSJpyLuLX752EMoUSayynw15v9Lloj4a7GBAB7_GhA9CcA3oLLyo22kvgqrE0nMn6P3yO0xLzLMjDAtqz_jpRVS6zXSP8aofbJIgp_vW7RX357bnuQ/s320/words2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">E</span></b>ditor at large Peter Sokolowski of Merriam-Webster (the dictionary of record, apparently) made a big announcement this week that we finally have The Word Of The Year for 2023. Before I tell you what it is, let me assure you that this Word isn't chosen at random by some Word Nerds in a dusty room full of card catalogs. Heavens no! Mr. Sokolowski and his team pore over vast quantities of data, watching spikes in the words that people look up and the events in the world that correspond to those words. This year, it would seem that there was a constant interest in The Word overall, and people were always looking it up to find out exactly what it meant. What word were they looking up?<p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>AUTHENTIC</b></span></p><p>That's your Word Of The Year, ladies and gentlemen. Let's now take a look at the Words that AUTHENTIC beat out. These words also spiked the lookup data, but are also-rans:</p><p><b>1. RIZZ: </b>slang for romantic appeal; possibly short for Charisma. (never once heard/read this out on the wild)</p><p><b>2. KIBBUTZ:</b> communal farm or settlement in Israel. (this has a sad reason for being in the news lately; I already knew what this was from my reading)</p><p><b>3. IMPLODE:</b> to burst inward. (probably spiked during the Titanic submersible tragedy; I thought this was a fairly common word)</p><p><b>4. DEADNAME:</b> the name a transgender person was given at birth and no longer uses upon transitioning. (this is a term that I learned from being an ally and trying to educate myself)</p><p><b>5. DOPPELGANGER:</b> a double; a lookalike. (it's so fun to say! I think it also has some nuance, like the double can also be your alter ego or opposite personality)</p><p><b>6. CORONATION:</b> the act or occasion of crowning, as a royal. (probably spiked during the ascension of King Charles)</p><p><b>7. DEEPFAKE:</b> a manipulated recording/video made to look like someone or something did/said something they did not. (these things are scary, and I worry about the election cycle and social media platforms like fb and Xitter, which are not very responsible or discerning)</p><p><b>8. DYSTOPIAN:</b> relating to an imagined state of intense human suffering and misery, usually brought upon by injustice and inhumanity. (I think we can all imagine why this word spiked)</p><p><b>9. COVENANT:</b> a formal, solemn, and binding agreement. ( Lots of talk of covenant marriages--a Supreme Court Justice has one, the new Speaker of the House has one, and the latter even uses a software app called Covenant Eyes to track his and his son's porn viewing and report back to each other. Not creepy at all!)</p><p><b>10. INDICT:</b> to formally accuse of/charge with a crime. (I can think of 91 reasons why this word spiked, can't you?)</p><p>The Word Of The Year--<b>Authentic</b>--is always my word of the year. As Miss Maudie said about Atticus Finch, I'm the same in the house as I am on the public streets. I was raised on it. My father always quoted Polonius to us from William Shakespeare's <i>Hamlet--</i>"To thine own self be true." He never quoted the rest, but I will here:</p><p style="text-align: center;">“This above all: to thine own self be true</p><p style="text-align: center;">And it must follow, as the night the day</p><p style="text-align: center;">Thou canst not then be false to any man/"</p><p style="text-align: left;">My dad was Authentic to a fault. Still, he had a lot of Rizz.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Chat me up about the Word(s) of the Year in Comments. </p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-88238899189224417402023-11-27T19:45:00.000-05:002023-11-27T19:45:22.692-05:00Second Thanksgiving Was A Bust, But At Least There's Soup<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPnY0Q9UrwfjuWZlRufKbdZjxNMyyvJYCbn9jLxAp-exd1szDMghWUVPHUSD06kw_kLF3xJzYxhESANJz2xMkxFvwHz7CC-kYLx6QcJeWfMV-RyCdXdAuvuboeQjIWpj9jx088TSb4vA3tAF69HhDxMcS67hg9M0v_n-oVEkNyibipfGSKGpPUg/s1200/soups.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggPnY0Q9UrwfjuWZlRufKbdZjxNMyyvJYCbn9jLxAp-exd1szDMghWUVPHUSD06kw_kLF3xJzYxhESANJz2xMkxFvwHz7CC-kYLx6QcJeWfMV-RyCdXdAuvuboeQjIWpj9jx088TSb4vA3tAF69HhDxMcS67hg9M0v_n-oVEkNyibipfGSKGpPUg/s320/soups.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: #e69138;">S</span></span></b>econd Thanksgiving did not happen at the <b>Dept.</b> after all. Sam got Covid. My turkey was already thawed, however; it had to be roasted, so today I made Thanksgiving 2.0 with the idea of delivering leftovers. Oh well, Life happens.<div><br /></div><div>I just don't know when Sam will feel like eating anything so substantial. Right now he's eating soup. Tomato soup, which is my Go To Soup. Do you have Go To Soups? Here are my </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="color: #e69138; font-size: large;">Top 3 Go To Soups</span></b></div><div><b><span style="color: #e69138;">1.</span></b> Tomato</div><div><b><span style="color: #e69138;">2.</span></b> Lentil</div><div><b><span style="color: #e69138;">3.</span></b> Winter Squash</div><div><br /></div><div>Look, I don't have to get fancy about my Tomato soup. Campbell's is great for me. I make it with water, and at the end, I add a splash of half-and-half. And I add a ridiculous amount of crushed crackers to it. Sometimes, I'm out of Tomato or I need a change. That's when I grab a can of Lentil soup. I'm the only one who likes Lentil soup, so I don't bother making my own. (I like Progresso's.) In the fall and winter, I make Ina Garten's Winter Squash soup. It's easy and has a canned pumpkin base. So good!</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to make my own Chicken Soup, and I add a big knob of fresh ginger to it. Sometimes I make it with rice, sometimes with noodles or ditalini pasta, and sometimes with diced potatoes. I always make a huge amount and freeze it in small containers so that I can give some to others. And I found a great recipe for Pasta Fagioli Soup (is it redundant to add Soup to that name?) that's really easy to make. Still, none of those are my Go To Comfort Soups. </div><div><br /></div><div>My Thanksgiving 2.0 turkey carcass and any leftover leftovers (you know what those are--the pieces that aren't good enough for sandwiches or turkey pie) will become Turkey Soup. Sam can have some of that, too, when he comes for lunch once he's feeling better. After all, it's the Season Of Soup, now that the weather has gotten much cooler for so many of us. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, what are your Go To Soups? Do you make your own as well? Chat me up about all things Soupy in Comments.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.veggieinspired.com/summer-soup-recipes-dairy-free-vegan/" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a> </div>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-14301791526176733752023-11-26T16:38:00.000-05:002023-11-26T16:38:10.033-05:00Let's See If We're A Success (According To A Millennial Guy)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2anPKHOj5Dmt-iVPvFvpG4j1E0sRbzXAdH9rhqKErDweLrQ5QCDDeiPtBG_FuUrJFpUBml4cmxWqG_frC9KcP3yw0jfK4LUPW6bzAbQmallBxalZ2e7_4v0UB5R0mj4lhZ8c270roPT6iQm_kpxzlXi_6WbxFkRprGTV90SaomE_WRE5Rcsq1RQ/s600/successkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2anPKHOj5Dmt-iVPvFvpG4j1E0sRbzXAdH9rhqKErDweLrQ5QCDDeiPtBG_FuUrJFpUBml4cmxWqG_frC9KcP3yw0jfK4LUPW6bzAbQmallBxalZ2e7_4v0UB5R0mj4lhZ8c270roPT6iQm_kpxzlXi_6WbxFkRprGTV90SaomE_WRE5Rcsq1RQ/w640-h480/successkey.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: x-large;">I</span></b>t's Sunday and even after beaching myself on the couch in my jammies like a Leisure Whale until almost noon, I still managed to have a productive day. My Streamline/DeClutter Project continued, and I got rid of or put away a lot of stuff, stuff that will later be donated or sold at the community garage sale in the spring. I was feeling quite Accomplished, let me tell you, and my efforts will continue tomorrow. <p></p><p>Lest you feel overshadowed by my Great Success, I've got you covered. I came across <a href="https://hackspirit.com/accomplished-these-things-in-life-more-successful-than-you-think/" target="_blank">this article</a>, brought to you by the hugely respected journalistic source known as <i>HackSpirit.</i> The author of the article, a man in his mid-thirties who admits he's "gearing up for his mid-life crisis," says there are "11 accomplishments that could mean you're more successful than you think." I don't know about you, but I'm definitely interested in what a thirtysomething man deems Success In Life. Let's go!</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">1.</span></b> College degree or equivalent</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">2.</span></b> Mastery of a hobby</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">3.</span></b> Marriage</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">4.</span></b> Own property/real estate</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">5.</span></b> Have a job, a car, a home, a partner at the same time</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">6.</span></b> 3 months' expenses in savings</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">7.</span></b> Someone has said they are envious of you</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">8.</span></b> Someone has asked to interview you</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">9.</span></b> Good credit rating</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">10.</span></b>Childhood self would approve</p><p><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">11.</span></b> Feeling of accomplishment</p><p><i>I cannot believe that Decluttering is not on this list. Nor is Restraining My Urge To Give Advice To Adult Children.</i></p><p>But I digress.</p><p>Obviously, a few of these are just bullshit. Does anyone have to be married to be Accomplished or Successful? Has everyone been asked for an interview? I think we all know plenty of accomplished people--successful people--who lack a college degree (or equivalent). </p><p>I will say that I like Number 10 quite a bit. Personally, my Childhood Self would approve of Grownup Nance many times over. I think I mentioned before that I keep my kindergarten photo on my dresser to remind me of the little girl who wanted to be a teacher and a mom. I look at her often and think about how so many of her dreams came true and then some. It helps me stay grateful.</p><p>Many of these smack of great privilege. Not everyone can own their own home. Not everyone can maintain 3 months' savings for emergencies. And we all know that Success is relative.</p><p>Some days, my only criteria for Success is to remain vertical during a migraine. Others, it's to refrain from saying anything about the pile of papers on the table next to Rick's chair. Or, it might be to get dinner on the table five days a week.</p><p>How do you feel about these 11 criteria for Success? Do you feel like you're a Success? Which criteria would you change or add?</p><p><a href="https://www.graphic.com.gh/lifestyle/life/what-they-never-told-you-about-success.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-13646935818650125152023-11-25T16:50:00.000-05:002023-11-25T16:50:59.786-05:00My Unofficial Uniform <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxYzpeg0Wg1uQhOJCORFFyf4j027XR4YyN8PXzf8xhfB3TlzbmyuRVMUPA7R8KsemfE9Eu2ZWSP66ufZiHqf-Dnh5aG59y0SjcNBZgthgCRGCLEbY3YdfySkTNbcp4k7ynRNQHAmvzJAXbEFqwMdpsy5O0lPR7k8x0XVRtCN3R3HSR9wr-nD0TQ/s1087/Uniforms.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1087" data-original-width="691" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxYzpeg0Wg1uQhOJCORFFyf4j027XR4YyN8PXzf8xhfB3TlzbmyuRVMUPA7R8KsemfE9Eu2ZWSP66ufZiHqf-Dnh5aG59y0SjcNBZgthgCRGCLEbY3YdfySkTNbcp4k7ynRNQHAmvzJAXbEFqwMdpsy5O0lPR7k8x0XVRtCN3R3HSR9wr-nD0TQ/w254-h400/Uniforms.png" width="254" /></a></div> <b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">W</span></b>hen I was still teaching, I amassed an incredible work wardrobe. It was important to me to look polished and professional every single day. Our school didn't have a Dress Code for teachers, but I made sure no one could mistake me for some random adult in the building. I wore high heels every day except for some Fridays, which were Bluejeans Day for staff. Even on that day, my jeans were impeccable, and I often wore a nice jacket or fancy sweater or blouse <i>and never tennis shoes/sneakers. EVER. </i>Students often asked me if I even owned a pair of sneakers. "Why on Earth would I?" I answered. "What would I do in them?" Bless their hearts. They found me enigmatic and irresistably curious, exactly as I wanted them to.<p></p><p>I often wished, back in those days, that our school would institute uniforms. Not for the students, but for staff. Some of the stuff my colleagues wore looked as if they had just finished cleaning their garage and hurried into school. Still others appeared as if they merely grabbed something out of a donation bin. It was sad how many of them wore tennis shoes every single day. </p><p>But I also wanted the simplicity of a uniform for myself. It would save me a lot of time and money. It would free up a ton of closet space in my teensy little house, where I was already using two skinny closets and a dresser. I dreamed about just slinging on the same outfit every day, or some variation thereof. It seemed like Freedom.</p><p>Now I'm retired, and I've adopted the Uniform Policy that I longed for. In cooler weather, I almost exclusively wear black leggings. The tops are interchangeable, depending upon how warm I need to be. Thick sweatshirts and sweaters, long shirts, boho flowy shirts, with a black cami underneath as needed. In warmer weather, stretch denim shorts with a long inseam and those same boho tops with long sleeves. Camis underneath, usually. Slip-on Vans-style shoes in black, grey, and brown leather and faux leather. </p><p>I've learned that I dislike jeans--they don't keep me warm and they aren't comfy. I sit all folded up, and jeans don't move with me. Their fabric gets cold. I don't like the waistband and button and zipper. It feels...bulky. I don't like that. And do not get me started on bras. I avoid them whenever I can, which is 80% of the time. Thank you, spandex camisoles.</p><p>Do I have to constantly remove cat hair from my leggings? SIGH. YES. Do I remember back when I said I would never wear leggings and that I would ban them as public outerwear? SIGH. YES. I consider those two facts to be Minor Inconveniences.</p><p>I'm wondering--do you have an Unofficial Uniform? When did it happen?</p><p><a href="https://www.bossierschools.org/domain/472" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-11226720982284045522023-11-24T16:27:00.001-05:002023-11-24T16:27:42.642-05:00My Thanksgiving Wasn't...Mine, And I Had To Find My Way<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUOU5Sv7fJ7yQsxEKRv6oICWfm5eh5AOfT2f7K8JBwQsKrqU7SfrQMt0E3SHarkhBvbsAtvD5I3W9OUpS_X6JTSckabO2CMlmp269NsuCz5a9JxMn6ykTj-fnJheM81JeY6Neq63kJpj05m8aso4SR8FFn3U4_qqSXeVj2ld6KhEGxZucBWNG_Q/s3072/change_sign1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1908" data-original-width="3072" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUOU5Sv7fJ7yQsxEKRv6oICWfm5eh5AOfT2f7K8JBwQsKrqU7SfrQMt0E3SHarkhBvbsAtvD5I3W9OUpS_X6JTSckabO2CMlmp269NsuCz5a9JxMn6ykTj-fnJheM81JeY6Neq63kJpj05m8aso4SR8FFn3U4_qqSXeVj2ld6KhEGxZucBWNG_Q/s320/change_sign1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">Y</span></b>esterday was not my usual Thanksgiving Day in so many ways. I thrive on quiet, lack of spontaneity, and routine, and not having my usual holiday made me feel sort of lost and rattled. Still, there were enough touchstones of tradition and routine that grounded me. <p></p><p>I didn't host our family Thanksgiving. Instead, because Jordan's family flew in from the West, we joined them for a lovely time (and later took food to the hospital for Jared and Jordan). I still baked pies, however, and Rick made his famous cranberry orange relish. I also made roasted Brussels sprouts (which suffered in the hour-plus journey, sadly). We also supplied the wine. Do I have a turkey waiting in my basement fridge? Yes, I do. Did I make a ridiculous amount of stuffing/dressing today? Yes, I did. Let's hear it for Second Thanksgiving.</p><p>This year, I did not watch any part of The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I had every incentive to watch it, too, since I heard that there were strong winds with gusts that made it iffy for the balloons to even be <i>in </i>the parade. I still remember the year that strong winds wreaked havoc on balloons, causing handlers to be dragged along the route. That same year, those winds caused <a href="https://people.com/macys-thanksgiving-day-parade-balloon-accidents-8403479#:~:text=Felix%20the%20Cat%20Flies%20Away%20in%20the%201927%20Macy's%20Thanksgiving%20Day%20Parade&text=Felix%20the%20Cat%20was%20the,him%20%E2%80%94%20and%20he%20promptly%20popped." target="_blank">Barney to deflate</a> after he got torn open. A few years before, Kermit the Frog suffered the same fate. I'm willing to suffer through a lot of drivel from Al Roker and his harem just in case a balloon goes haywire. Oh, and for the arrival of Santa. Macy's has the best Santa, bar none.</p><p>I did, however, watch a bit of the National Dog Show. Gosh, I love a dog show, especially one in which a poodle does not win. I have a deep bias against all poodles, and I'm unapologetic about it. Let me just say that I Have Tried with poodles many times. They make zero effort in return, so I'm done. In this year's Dog Show, once again, my favourite dog, the <a href="https://www.nbcsports.com/watch/dog-show/2022-nds-nova-scotia-duck-tolling-retriever" target="_blank">Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever</a>, did not win anything. I'm starting to think the fix is in. </p><p>We got to spend time with Jared and Jordan, and Emily (Sam's longtime partner) stopped by for a visit and to cut some fresh rosemary from my herb garden and sample Rick's relish. We did not see Sam, unfortunately, but he'll be here for Second Thanksgiving. Thank goodness for the family group chat; we were all connected that way. (And yes, Longtime Readers, I do remember all the times I said I'd never (A) text or (B) use text as a verb, and now I do both.)</p><p>It wasn't our usual Thanksgiving, but it was a pretty good one. Our usual Thanksgivings are bound to be changing anyway, come to think of it. Could the fortunes of the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever be next? I sure hope so.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://www.iptc.org/" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-10588725177101254852023-11-24T09:56:00.001-05:002023-11-24T09:56:25.873-05:00E=mc OOPS!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgfR_8Q2RDEjNTjydY4hD23BOc_1dV6JiN8yRWi7Ey44AQTrklSJXIkFZmaSvnCgDS8c9AGfTBl7ysjnX0Tj905YvkOPDTjiiWtAE4bvP5h7o_mY9l-te_Z9_jI2D0glHjDdcpYXnrIai1sEuceYinxBwx-y0pHAMJK5BDH5avk_BYm0-t5IzP_w/s600/oops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="584" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgfR_8Q2RDEjNTjydY4hD23BOc_1dV6JiN8yRWi7Ey44AQTrklSJXIkFZmaSvnCgDS8c9AGfTBl7ysjnX0Tj905YvkOPDTjiiWtAE4bvP5h7o_mY9l-te_Z9_jI2D0glHjDdcpYXnrIai1sEuceYinxBwx-y0pHAMJK5BDH5avk_BYm0-t5IzP_w/s320/oops.jpg" width="311" /></a></div><b><span style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #38761d; font-size: x-large;">W</span></b>hat the heck even happened to yesterday? This whole week has defied the very Concept Of Time. Heretofore, the days were neat little chunks with firm Start- and Endpoints. This week they all smeared into one another as if the ink was wet on the calendar and someone dragged her finger across it. <p></p><p>As a result, I missed writing here yesterday. I did manage to get to most of your blogs, I think, and comment. Honestly, I feel a bit drugged and hungover. Let's pretend this is yesterday's post, and I'll be back later today with a better one. And no need to comment on this. Honestly, what on Earth could you even say? I'm just trying to keep my Promise To Myself for the month of November. </p><p>See you later, and I swear it won't be gushing about the baby. That stuff has its limits, and you've all been More Than Kind. Terrific, even. I just need to get my collective shit together and hit Restart. Wow do I.</p><p><a href="https://st.depositphotos.com/1515446/2916/v/450/depositphotos_29161429-stock-illustration-comic-book-explosion-bubble-oops.jpg" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-21025786246793787332023-11-22T12:00:00.002-05:002023-11-22T12:00:47.912-05:00Finally!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKjEMSoVloU2_jg8gPY1FWAbiR4FhWppfNcUbXLn2s3hn7qRDS7fW7qfuiG0yBXRE7WQNJ7XhPaMtPxYFrn2nxAcybqzDwqTW4BIwQYEibUwjQoVKEuvr0oXDC78gMl0pTLorq_pO4yDYNCh5iNF3ZW32x8M_2lj7UOIlP22LAPgp6zSgsuwCMwA/s506/finally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="506" height="632" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKjEMSoVloU2_jg8gPY1FWAbiR4FhWppfNcUbXLn2s3hn7qRDS7fW7qfuiG0yBXRE7WQNJ7XhPaMtPxYFrn2nxAcybqzDwqTW4BIwQYEibUwjQoVKEuvr0oXDC78gMl0pTLorq_pO4yDYNCh5iNF3ZW32x8M_2lj7UOIlP22LAPgp6zSgsuwCMwA/w640-h632/finally.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><b><span style="color: #38761d; font-size: large;">W</span></b>hew! After so many agonizing hours (for Jared and Jordan, too! LOL), Theo arrived this morning with a little help from a surgical team. Everyone's fine and doing well.</p><p>I've already added his birthday to my iPhone calendar because that's what you do in a haze of Joy and Relief and Oh I Don't Know What. </p><p>He's beautiful and sweet, and I can't wait to see him and hold him and breathe him in like the first spring breeze after a long, cold winter. </p><p>I want to hold my son and tell him again how much I love him and how proud I am of him. And I want to hug Jordan and tell her what a warrior she is and how I love her for her strength and unwavering devotion. </p><p>It's a Big Day. Theo is here.</p><p><a href="https://i.imgflip.com/46pfbw.jpg" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a> </p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-33345501580186378602023-11-21T16:47:00.000-05:002023-11-21T16:47:23.536-05:00I Feel Like Tom Petty<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXiOkxQUBv2tD6Mu4EECnUPcrycdXVJRywJKn9YaZe1jze5HO7p0el5kq7LopLjnbejtJ1BBhXBE4UJwqe96dP2jD73iJuUBqkAu7td52PZhBOzYhbJXTtZ4ZoHTVttk1R-6hppWrb_81Hc82K8B11r_ZBNRcVL6J0bH7Tr0VCWwoRYC04y9ITWg/s236/still%20waiting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="214" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXiOkxQUBv2tD6Mu4EECnUPcrycdXVJRywJKn9YaZe1jze5HO7p0el5kq7LopLjnbejtJ1BBhXBE4UJwqe96dP2jD73iJuUBqkAu7td52PZhBOzYhbJXTtZ4ZoHTVttk1R-6hppWrb_81Hc82K8B11r_ZBNRcVL6J0bH7Tr0VCWwoRYC04y9ITWg/w363-h400/still%20waiting.jpg" width="363" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The waiting really <i>is </i>The Hardest Part. For me, anyway. I remember only too well what Jordan's going through. She and Jared are hanging in there, though. To quote another singer, "Tonight's the night. It's gonna be alright." Thanks, Rod Stewart; I needed that. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.memecreator.org/meme/still-waiting-for-delivery/" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">image</span></i></a></p><br /><p></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-65199462164569285342023-11-20T16:25:00.000-05:002023-11-20T16:25:41.428-05:00Holy Cow! And Did I Ever Pay A Lot For Produce Today (But It Was Unattached, Ambulatory, And Mobile)<p><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="color: #b45f06;">T</span></span></b>oday's post has to be quick and easy. It's BDay--Baby Day. Jordan and Jared report to the hospital today where she will be induced. I'm distracted, and I just paid <i>FIFTEEN DOLLARS </i>for Brussels sprouts at the grocery store today. I had to buy a large quantity, and rather than pick through a big bin like a fussy old lady, I bought two big bags of prewashed and sorted ones <i>without even looking at the price. </i>That's how you know I'm not quite myself.</p><p>So! In order to make this a Fast Dash Post, here are a couple of things I noticed lately.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKDMeP3ha7Xj-rehH1nWqplGE6PLTCjCeW7NwTrEk38OwOuCAKuAGIwIMdsHWYexDL_6R8V40BwsePGgagHi4eCUNSU5XvHALBYzZFPZxlLiXkZFKCa9r4tQ63OtZS6521p7zyoXxDZXx2ocdg06ZfyTlA4Mj3He9e2rED20bxZjadgl8eTQKUg/s2962/IMG_2470.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2608" data-original-width="2962" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKDMeP3ha7Xj-rehH1nWqplGE6PLTCjCeW7NwTrEk38OwOuCAKuAGIwIMdsHWYexDL_6R8V40BwsePGgagHi4eCUNSU5XvHALBYzZFPZxlLiXkZFKCa9r4tQ63OtZS6521p7zyoXxDZXx2ocdg06ZfyTlA4Mj3He9e2rED20bxZjadgl8eTQKUg/w400-h353/IMG_2470.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Goes with any decor!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div>This was from a recent Rural King ad. That's my go-to store for bulk quantities of birdseed and now raw peanuts in the shell. I'm not even interested in the idea of two breeds of cattle footstools. I just want to know why the ad felt it necessary to note that they were Deployable. The usual definition of deployable is a military one: able to be moved to a place of readiness or usage. A more general definition of deployable is unattached, mobile, or ambulatory; able to be moved from place to place. Now, yes, those all can describe a Simulated Bovine Footrest, but must it be noted? And must such a highfalutin word be used? <i>In a Rural King ad?</i> (Oh, and how many do you want?)<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqHoe9GRWuniFoks6ND1O2GIwBAbXf8pMIIKs1HEmt2qVd-0loE_o05GVG__DqbMJdWWkylUtE-bzw-ST5nz_BFnmF8MCdTtrLdtA6jZ0Eer1mnPBeLsoYbuMsWsQL-lfHG-V6HpTP4KXMy8wuXD7n6rP9-B18_CIQsp-wpR-X_HSjdEBP35uWA/s1172/Faith%20Flooring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="1172" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqHoe9GRWuniFoks6ND1O2GIwBAbXf8pMIIKs1HEmt2qVd-0loE_o05GVG__DqbMJdWWkylUtE-bzw-ST5nz_BFnmF8MCdTtrLdtA6jZ0Eer1mnPBeLsoYbuMsWsQL-lfHG-V6HpTP4KXMy8wuXD7n6rP9-B18_CIQsp-wpR-X_HSjdEBP35uWA/w400-h289/Faith%20Flooring.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>This slogan does not inspire confidence.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This was the contractor who was doing some work on a home in my neighbourhood. This sign made me stop and think. Exactly what are they trusting in God for? Are they largely unskilled and have faith that He will help them do a good job? Do they not take a downpayment for materials and figure that the Almighty will provide? Do they bring all the stuff to your house, pray awhile, and hope that God shows up to do the work for you/them? I have so many questions. Too many to ever hire them, and as a Recovering Catholic and atheist, I feel like they just aren't my people.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Can you answer my questions--or make me feel better about overpriced Brussels sprouts--in Comments?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-71293412198711630282023-11-19T19:00:00.000-05:002023-11-19T19:00:21.280-05:00Some Things--If They Must Happen--Should Never Happen Indoors<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYAUzvnnjm5yEpItEhM_8bTD8xGnjvN6bTy6Y2GHUJQr9LruZeorNv5EFtbMiMP3aZMCitZfZ3ePnQh5eqq7TNI9FvxRq7kxcwCEPsiCiXouzKpmTEFpE5ZPGF7cRMBtsQYSMhbW1PfbUA_Upg-jaawCh5nrbn3ycE8N_8DZG3LUUyfyB-eIpYA/s1024/i-hate-snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYAUzvnnjm5yEpItEhM_8bTD8xGnjvN6bTy6Y2GHUJQr9LruZeorNv5EFtbMiMP3aZMCitZfZ3ePnQh5eqq7TNI9FvxRq7kxcwCEPsiCiXouzKpmTEFpE5ZPGF7cRMBtsQYSMhbW1PfbUA_Upg-jaawCh5nrbn3ycE8N_8DZG3LUUyfyB-eIpYA/w640-h426/i-hate-snow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="background-color: #666666; color: #f3f3f3; font-size: x-large;">T</span></b>his morning as I was reading the newspapers and my ever-inspiring Google News Feed, I came upon an article predicting the US winter weather for 2023-24. <i>According to Science, </i>my area of the country will have a warmer than normal winter with a lot less snow.<p></p><p>Hooray, hooray, hooray!</p><p>That is my kind of winter, and I could not be happier. Bring it on, Science, and let's hope you're right! </p><p>I'll never understand the Kind Of People who say things like</p><p><b>1.</b> I love snow.</p><p><b>2.</b> Let's go skiing.</p><p><b>3.</b> I hope we have a White Christmas.</p><p><b>4.</b> Snow is so pretty.</p><p><b>5.</b> I just love to go tobogganing.</p><p>These people are, to be polite, crazy. Have they ever driven in snow? Cleaned it off their car? Shovelled it? Gotten stuck in it? Had it ruin/cancel their plans? Walked in slush or salt that ruins your shoes/boots? Had to clear snow/ice off your roof? Gotten tired of ice, snow, and melted same tracked all over the place? Does snow on Christmas really improve it in any way? </p><p> My mother likes to say Olde Fashionde things about Snow and Winter to me all the Tyme. She claims that we need Snow, that it's bad if we don't get enough. I tell her that there are enormous areas of the entire world that never, ever get Snow and they do just fine. She shakes her head sadly at me and tells me that I don't understand. And then she says some stuff about Nature and I give up entirely.</p><p>Truly. I give up on SnowLoving People. Like the people at <a href="https://holdenfg.org/attractions/cleveland-botanical-garden/frost/" target="_blank">this place</a>, which I heard about on TV this morning while Rick watched the local news. The reporter was very excited to tell us that during their FROST experience, the attendees will be snowed upon INDOORS. With real snow.</p><p><b><i>LIKE THAT IS A GOOD THING.</i></b></p><p>I was horrified. Even if I wore my battery-operated heated coat, there would be no way in hell I'd go to be snowed upon inside a building. That, dear friends, is my nightmare.</p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-3165707845283950612023-11-18T16:38:00.000-05:002023-11-18T16:38:03.830-05:00In Which I Reveal That Being A GrownUp Isn't Always Great<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYoLbZHHgeVi4DG764Byx_S8L8RdObfq5YTOt4mVYNZg-cD8cdQAToyqbqkYn_gXvOyv_CJHlaIKiYmB7YfjrZngKWwaAnMDTqxHlb0sNfL0IcmyvBiA8UzXKYOjRW25F1T4rKhXPm8EOE8wHuoR2svT4to0ROKd90vXp_0jdTa1iituRRC-bcg/s891/Cleaning-House-Clipart11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="891" data-original-width="643" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYoLbZHHgeVi4DG764Byx_S8L8RdObfq5YTOt4mVYNZg-cD8cdQAToyqbqkYn_gXvOyv_CJHlaIKiYmB7YfjrZngKWwaAnMDTqxHlb0sNfL0IcmyvBiA8UzXKYOjRW25F1T4rKhXPm8EOE8wHuoR2svT4to0ROKd90vXp_0jdTa1iituRRC-bcg/s320/Cleaning-House-Clipart11.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><b><span style="color: #38761d; font-size: x-large;">W</span></b>e didn't go to the lake this weekend. Instead, we stayed at home and did terrible, awful GrownUp Things like Fall Cleanup in the yard (Rick) and cleaning the stove, kitchen, and basement pantry and laundry area (Nance). It was No Fun At All, and now our backs hurt. And we both might be Just A Little Bit Crabby.<p></p><p>It reminded me of when I was a kid. Every Saturday we used to have to clean our room. I shared the big converted attic with my two sisters, and we'd take the better part of the morning to completely clean and dust the whole room, including clearing off the steps going upstairs and cleaning out from under the beds. The latter job was my little sister Susan's. My older sister Patti used to fashion a garment out of a garbage bag for her with holes for her head and arms and send her under there with a little plastic cup to collect dust bunnies and general crud. After we were all done, my mother or father would come up and inspect. "Looks great!" they'd say. "Don't you feel good now that it's all done?"</p><p>My answer then and now would be, "Not really. I'm glad it's done, but I don't feel good, per se. I feel crabby and sore. I feel a little bit cheated out of the day. I feel like this sucks." Now, did I say that out loud to my parents? Oh, heck no. Actually, I don't remember saying anything. Probably an answer wasn't required. Those kinds of questions from parents are largely rhetorical.</p><p>Anyway, it was a sunny day today, and I was inside doing Necessary Adult House Stuff. At least it was only 47 degrees, so it's not like I would have been basking in the sun out on the boat or anything. Besides, we've already pulled and dry-docked the boat. </p><p>Interestingly, the ice cream truck came by this afternoon, playing its music, driving slowly down our avenue. I was momentarily confused and tried to think back to the last time it showed up. Maybe early September, I'm guessing, if not late August. It had no takers, by the way.</p><p>Probably I should have run out there and stopped that ice cream truck. After a day like today--feeling petulant and way too much like an old grownup--I could have used both a childlike moment and a reward.</p><p><br /></p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179498.post-91521988287794168212023-11-17T15:51:00.000-05:002023-11-17T15:51:09.385-05:00I Need To Tell You Something<p> <b><span style="font-size: large;">T</span></b>his is a difficult post for me to write, so I'm going to start right in and not worry too awfully much about structure and correctness. It's important for me to share this so that I can avoid awkward questions later on and truly share the Joy to come.</p><p>Many of you recall that three years ago, almost to the day, (I was writing every day then, too) I wrote a post titled <b><a href="https://deptofnance.blogspot.com/2020/11/november-challenge-post-21-best-thing.html" target="_blank">The Best Thing That Happened To Me This Year.</a></b> In it I wrote about my eldest son Jared moving out of his apartment and into the home of his girlfriend and her three children who went on to call me Nana. A few posts throughout the subsequent months referred now and then to my grandchildren. I love them dearly.</p><p>Sadly, Jared and their mother became increasingly unhappy. There were too many obstacles to overcome. They separated, and Rick and I tried to stay in the kids' lives. It was very difficult, but I persevered, especially with the (then) eight-year-old. I would always respond to her FaceTime and text. I got her and her brother and sister birthday and Christmas gifts. Soon, I began to see her confusion that we were not invited to family gatherings for occasions. She would text <i>Are you coming? Are you on your way? </i>I knew that this little girl didn't need more upheaval in her life, what with a biological father, two sets of grandparents already, the father's girlfriend and her children, and her own family. And what would happen if her mom became serious with someone? More grandparents? It was time to let her go. Luckily, she was becoming busier and busier with friends and summertime/school activities. Our contact was becoming less and less frequent anyway.</p><p>My grief at losing them--especially her--was overwhelming. I didn't feel comfortable sharing it. It seemed ethereal; as if the Having and then the Losing weren't real. I carried it heavily for more than a year. Now, it's lighter, but very much there.</p><p>I wanted to tell you this because I have Important Joyful News. Jared is getting married to a wonderful woman named Jordan in September. She is perfect for him. Even more Joyful is that they are having a baby on Monday. We already know it's a boy. Chances are that I'll be referring to all that here at some point, and I want to be able to do so without confusion or questions.</p><p>It's a little bit painful for me when people say, "Oh! Your first grandchild!" Because, you see, I was very much a grandmother to three children already who called me Nana with genuine love and respect. Even people who know about the other three say this, and I know what they mean. I know they aren't trying to be hurtful or dismissive. Perhaps I just need more time.</p><p>And none of this mitigates my Joy for this brand new grandson. Or for my son and his wonderful fiancee. </p><p>Thank you for being the kind of people to whom I can tell this story. I appreciate you.</p>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com18