Finally, The Summer Of Nance

Seventeen years ago Rick had his first back surgery. That summer, the boys were teenagers, seventeen and fourteen. They were a big help to me while their dad had to lie and sit, not bending or twisting or lifting. He spent a lot of that summer lying on a chaise out by the fishpond or lying in his recliner whilst we did pretty much everything under his careful observation and, when it came to the yardwork, his gentle specifications. Most of the time, however, we teased him about lolling around and goofing off. And we dubbed that summer The Summer Of Rick. It was All About Him, for we had to pick up his slack and haul around his chaise. And we babied him a lot.

"Next year look out," I warned him. "Next year is The Summer Of Nance." I wanted my payback, my chance to lie about and enjoy a sultan-like existence. I don't need to tell you how Life had other plans, year after year, and I kept waiting and waiting for The Summer Of Nance.

This past winter Rick had another back surgery. Dear friends moved out of state. My mother was diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer's disease and needed more help. In May I suddenly turned sixty years old. Life seemed very...big.

And then I realized, with the help of a very wise friend, that if I was going to have The Summer Of Nance, I was going to have to simply make it happen, that it was a matter of Perspective, and that it started with me, internally. I had to choose to have an Independence Day, and celebrate from there.

Sixty was my Pivot Point, my Liberation Day. I thought about how long I had lived with the shadowy presences of Guilt, Should, and Worry clouding my days. I took a hard look at how often I lived in two days I could do nothing about, Yesterday and Tomorrow. I analyzed all the stupid rules I made for myself about how I spent my time and conducted my life, and I looked carefully at just where they came from. And I wondered why I was so kind and forgiving and thoughtful to everyone except myself.

I decided that, at Sixty, it was about time Those Days Were Over. The only thing preventing me from having The Summer Of Nance was...Me. Me and the consistently bad (but well-meaning) choices I made.

I think as a woman, a mother, and a teacher, I was in a particulary vulnerable role, susceptible to the kind of mindset I was in for so long. I was the director, the planner, the nurturer, the command center, the fixer, the rule giver. And that's just the Adult Me. Habits formed in those roles are hard to break.

The benefits of Reclaiming Me have been many. I'm reading books again, and that is a profound Joy. My migraines are lessening, and my days are busy and happy. I don't think about Tomorrow or dwell upon Yesterday; I'm very content in Today. Guilt is almost completely gone, and I rarely use the word Should.

I sometimes mourn--briefly--the time I lost being so stressed and unhappy. But I know there were many Happinesses tucked away in there, and I know that I always did the very best that I could.

When I was about fourteen, I went to the doctor because I couldn't take deep breaths. I was simply unable to. The doctor, an elderly man who practiced family medicine in a pragmatic way, checked me over and listened to my chest with his stethoscope. He thumped my back a few times and pronounced me perfectly healthy. Nothing changed, really, for the remainder of my life. It was only a few months ago that I realized that I was finally able to breathe--deeply and fully--whenever I wanted to. Can you imagine?

So, this is The Summer Of Nance. I wish with all my heart that it is Your Summer, too.


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Your True Hero, Scabs And All

"Here," said the gods of Irony, "because you have been trying valiantly to be A Good Girl and stick to your Wellness Regimen, and because your hideous haircut has finally begun to Grow Out Into A Decent And Presentable Style, we are going to Screw With You."

And so it was that Tuesday, on my brisk walk, I fell face-down, full-length on the sidewalk. And in case you haven't ever done that, it really, really hurts.

Walking in our neighborhood is no mean feat. Our tree-lined sidewalks are a mishmash of old rocky concrete, recent cement, and original sandstone full of holes, waves, and sometimes grass; many of them are lifted by the roots of innumerable old trees that may or may not be around anymore. And an ongoing gasline project has introduced The Sidewalks That Are No Longer There, which are uneven mounds of dried mud and gravel allsorts. I try desperately to keep my eyes on my path, but after a while, I have to look up or I get dizzy.

The first thing I thought of once I reckoned with my sudden fall was my teeth, which a quick assessment told me were all there and intact. I carefully rolled onto my side and attempted to get up--slowly--so I could see if I had any injuries that would keep me from getting home on my own. I was lucky; aside from being scraped and bloody, nothing was broken or sprained. Once I got home--two blocks away--I could more fully see what I was working with:

1. Bloody--but not split--upper lip and philtrum
2. Scraped chin and cheek
3. Two scraped knees
4. One scraped elbow
5. Bloody skinned shoulder
6. Damaged prescription sunglasses
7. Wounded pride and vanity
8. Confirmation that Exercise Is Bad

It is important here to note that I Did Not Cry.

Not even when I realized that, for the next Eleventy Thousand Days, I will have a scabby upper lip and look like a female Hitler. I even kept a medical appointment FOR THE SAME AFTERNOON. IN ALL MY INSANELY BLOODY GLORY. And pain.  (Holy crap am I sore.  Everywhere.)

And people say There Are No More True Heroes.

It is to laugh.

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Our Finger Is On The Pulse Of The Nation: A New Feature Here At The Dept. Of Nance

Ladies and Gentlemen, we here at The Big Simple Polls, LLC, have our collective finger on the pulse of the nation. At times like these, it's important to know what Joe and Sally Citizen are thinking. Too often, talking heads, policy wonks, and Washington insiders get caught up in D.C. skulduggery and beltway mumbo jumbo. It's up to regular people--like us!--to bring all that political jibber jabber and Internet noise into focus and boil it down to something clear, easy, and basic. That's why we call ourselves The Big Simple: we ask the big, simple questions to people just like you and get answers that are, well, big and simple!

Here are two questions we polled recently and their responses below. We have given you two easy-to-understand pie charts to assist you. I think you'll agree that The Big Simple Polls, LLC, has not only assisted you in understanding these issues, but also distilled them into their most basic form.

Question 1: Is the current president doing a good job?

Question 2: Would you trust the current president to tell the truth under oath?

Until next time, Keep It Simple!


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In Which The Dept. Cleans House And Debates Fear And Love In The Martial Arts

Act I, scene i. Rick and Nance are in the living room. Nance is on the couch, center, knitting; Rick is in his easy chair, left, folding his laundry. The TV is on. The local news is riffing on the pop news story about Earworms, the songs that get stuck in your head.


Rick: That happened to me yesterday at work. It drove Chad crazy. I kept singing "Kung Fu Fighting."
Nance: (not looking up) That would drive me crazy.
Rick: (making karate chops with a pair of tube socks) But Nance! Come on! It's like the song says--Everybody loves kung fu fighting!
Nance: (raises her eyes only, looks over at Rick) Rick. The lyric is "Everybody WAS kung fu fighting."
Rick: Well...why would everybody do it if they didn't love it?

Act II, scene i. Kitchen. A few days later. Rick and Nance are doing weekend cleaning, mostly Cat Hair Removal, and mostly in preparation for guests. Nance has already dusted four rooms and is gathering cleaning supplies for the bathroom. Rick is on his back on the floor, puzzling over a piece of packing material left under the (years-old) refrigerator.  (Reminiscent of this episode.) His phone is clipped to his belt, and it is playing his extensive and...eclectic music library.

Rick: (singing loudly) You don't own me/I'm not just one of--
Nance: I figured you'd download that.
Rick: Hey, at least I didn't download "Kung Fu Fighting." Did you know everybody loves kung fu fighting?
Nance: (using lyrics) Yeah, and those kicks were fast as lightning.
Rick: (starts singing) Everybody was--
Nance: (more lyrics) In fact, it was a little bit frightening. And there is the flaw in your theory, by the way. How can everybody love kung fu fighting if they are afraid of it?
Rick: Nance. Come on. For the same reason some people love horror movies, haunted houses, surprise packages, gambling, all that stuff. Lots of people love to be scared. They go for the thrill.
Nance: That's true. And valid. I hate all that stuff and I hate that song.

End.

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G Is For Gallimaufry

Sigh. I know I'm almost cheating with this one. But G is proving to be a toughie for some reason, the greatest being that I am in a Terrible SAD Funk right now (Seasonal Affective Disorder). February always kicks me around pretty well, and trust me, I am bruised and battered.

And if One More Person says to me, "Hey, at least this winter has not been as bad as Last Year!" I will, with some Pleasantness, smack that Person right in the mouth.

Okay.

Onward, then! (She said brightly.)

This Week's Gallimaufry Of Miscellany

1. Shut Up Shut Up Shut Up. I would pay Actual Money if I could eliminate a Certain Name from all newscasting for the foreseeable future. Someone needs to invent this...this Thing wherein you could program your television and/or remote control to recognize words and immediately silence, bleep, or change them into a word you like better. Wouldn't that be so wonderful? I especially like that last option. I would change all mentions of a Certain Gameshow republican to Daniel Day-Lewis, a name I never tire of hearing. Or maybe something really cute, like Koala Ballerina. Can you imagine it? "In other news, Koala Ballerina, presumptive republican presidential nominee, has taken to Twitter to silence his critics." Or, "republican nominee Daniel Day-Lewis is hoping to meet with Pope Francis in order to put any perceived bitterness to rest."

2. Crazy Cat Lady. In my dining room right now are two boxes; I made a special trip to the warehouse club in order to procure them. They are tricked out, cut up, and otherwise Creatively Fashioned so that the cats will hopefully be interested in them and stop eating my iPhone and iPad charger cords. They are, basically, Busy Boxes For Cats. At any given moment, one of the cats is, instead, sleeping in them. Not sure if this is a Win.

3. Not In My House. We recently redid the home office. I opted for streamlined stuff, a camel/black/ivory colour scheme, and a mix of textures for the room. I did not, however, opt for this:

Someone get a pulse!

Lee Eun Kyoung's Free Hug Sofa. Thanks, but No.

(Even though it sounds like I could use a hug.)

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E Is For Endurance

Here's a short list of a few things which tax my Endurance. They require that I Soldier On gamely and mightily, often times with more Good Nature than I truly feel.

1. My Hair
2. Presidential Primary Season
3. Chapped Lips
4. Rick's Windshield Wiper Behaviour
5. Downton Abbey's Final Season

Please find something to grip tightly and To Steady Yourself, and allow me to Explain.

1. Something has happened to my hair in the past year or two, rendering it limply soft and Completely Impossible. There is no shampoo, no gel, no spray, no hair mucilage invented that can make my hair do a damn thing. Additionally, it is (cue horror movie music) Growing Out, which means it is Completely Awful and an Endurance Test each time I try to, oh, let's say...do any damn thing "with" or "to" it. Thank you to anyone who is crying empathetically whilst reading this.

2. We are now in Year Eleventy of the Presidential Primary Season, and I could throw up. Again. After ramming DTrump down our collective gullets for months and months, pollsters and pundits and news anchors are now gleefully performing gory post mortems on his Primary Corpse. After one primary. In Iowa. Listen, I'd be thrilled if we really could lay TheDonald to rest for real, but come on. One primary. And it was a caucus, which is like a coffee klatch, really. Is it okay if, oh, I don't know, THE REST OF THE COUNTRY HAS AN ELECTION? WITH REAL VOTES/BALLOTS AND SUPER DELEGATES AND STUFF? When is the country going to finally have one primary election date and stop this staggered primary voting? It's insane, and more than we should ever Endure.

3. This has been the mildest winter in years (NEO had temps in the 60's yesterday!), but I am Enduring the worst case of Chapped Lips in decades. Nance, you say, have you tried Burt's Bees, Carmex, Vaseline, olive oil, Blistex in a million varieties, and scrubbing at them with a washcloth? Oh, ha ha; it is to laugh. But of course I have. I have even tried the Super Duper All-Natural Remedy of Plain Honey. Here is what is working the best: None of them. None of them is working.

4. I am going to stop riding in any car with Rick when it rains because he cannot handle the windshield wipers. As soon as it stops raining, or if the rain lessens, that does not matter in the least; the wipers must still be employed continuously as before, even if they are screeching across a completely dry window. This is His Rule, apparently, and it is Consistently Applied. I have tried to Endure this with Extreme Patience And Silence. Believe me; I have. It is Impossible. After many minutes, I completely Lose It. "PLEASE TURN OFF THE WIPERS OR I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF/JUMP OUT OF THIS CAR/SCREAM MY BLOODY HEAD OFF!", is what I usually say if I don't simply reach over in a lather and shut them off myself.

5. How can PBS and creator/writer Julian Fellowes do this to me? That this is Downton Abbey's final season is too much to Endure! Why do all of My Shows end up gone but terrible and awful shows seem to go on forever and forever and forever? I've become a DA junkie. I've started watching each episode twice a week: once on Sundays, then again midweek when it's offered, savouring each little character moment, each costume, each British-accented word. Oh, how I'll miss it. And nothing--nothing--can take its place.

Oh, darlings.  What do you think?  And what are you currently Enduring?

The Dept. Is Back And With A New Feature: Ask A Large Cat

The Dept. is back, and with a new Feature, Ask A Large Cat. Without any Further Ado, here is Piper, resident Large Cat, to answer your Queries.

Query 1: Is it Just Me, or is Christmas feeling Blah and Tedious this year?
Large Cat: I feel the same way. I don't even watch Nance wrap gifts this year; I just lie under the tree and sleep. Here in NEO, everyone thinks it is due to the weather, which is extremely warm and snowless. I think that's Zzzzzz.

Query 2: Do you think the rest of the world is laughing at us due to Donald Trump leading in the polls?
Large Cat: No. I think they are shaking their heads in dismay and pity. The laughter ended with the re-election of George W. Bush.

Query 3: Every year, I ask for a pair of navy blue or red leather riding style boots. They do not exist. I don't understand why. I feel like they should, and that I cannot be the only one who thinks so. What's the deal?
Large Cat: Look, I understand. I feel like my dish should always be full of either albacore tuna or, at the very least, wet cat food. Keep hoping. I do.

Query 4: Our dog--
Large Cat: Next.

Query 5: I keep reading articles about tipping everyone at Christmas. Is this really necessary?
Large Cat: I don't think so. It sounds like a New York Thing to me. If you get regular service from the same people all the time, like a regular groomer or a regular mail carrier or pet sitter, then I would give them a tip. But tipping everyone sounds worky. And expensive. And tiring.

Query 6: Are gift bags okay to use, or are they tacky?
Large Cat: I really prefer boxes. They are cozy, and I can curl right up in them as long as they don't have some off-putting tissue paper in there. Gift bags tip over and require jumping and depth perception and quick risk-assessment.

Query 7: Is your Christmas shopping done?
Large Cat: I am a Gift Giver all year-round, and there are lint-rollers in two rooms to prove it. Sometimes I re-gift my breakfast.

Query 8: What do you want for Christmas?
Large Cat: A cat in the White House. Tuna every day. No more dog visits, ever. More quiet.

Query 9: With such impressive photos coming back from NASA's New Horizons spacecraft, and its myriad discoveries, do you think Pluto will be reassigned its planetary status within our solar system?
Large Cat: I wish.

This has been Ask A Large Cat, with Piper, resident Large Cat. The Dept. of Nance is pleased to be back after a Hiatus Of Sorts...sigh.

It's Called "Eclectic" If Anyone Asks

Perhaps you're looking to spruce things up a bit At Home. Or, now that Autumn is here, you are feeling that Nesting Instinct--the desire to prepare your cold-weather cocoon. Lucky for you, I can assist you with that.

And it doesn't even matter if you're redoing say, your bathroom, and it might look like this one:

or if you're finally remodeling your entire kitchen, and your taste is more along the lines of, say, this:

Let's imagine, even, that you are redecorating your bedroom (or guest room) and have opted for a style more in keeping with this:

Did you pack off the last tyke to college or into a home of his/her own? Are you finally getting the living room of your dreams, one For Guests Only?

I have just the little accessory for any of those scenarios. It will slide right in seamlessly and add not only functionality, but the stylish finishing touch you will appreciate. It says so right on the package. Here, let me show you:

  

Hey.  You're welcome.

(All images via apartmenttherapy.com, except living room from decoholic.com; bass switchplate via Amazon, mine.)

Today's Top Ten List: Random Nance Facts--Spot The Lie

You and I have been together for quite some time now, some of us ten whole years. In many cases I have shared a great deal of my life, yet I remain a stranger to you. I'm sure some of you feel as if you know me quite well, and probably you do. Well enough, anyway. Today, I'm going to toss out some bits of trivia about myself, and hidden amongst the ten is One Falsehood. See if you can spot it.

Ten Random Nance Facts

1. I don't wear my wedding or engagement ring.
2. I have only mowed the lawn once.
3. I once referred to Mike Tyson as a rapist right in front of him.
4. I was almost kicked out of Monticello at the age of 43.
5. I am allergic to rum.
6. I sprained my wrist opening a multi-pack of Cracker Jacks.
7. I always signal my turns, even when backing out of my driveway.
8. I was called "an excellent writer" by Conan O'Brien on his TV show.
9. I have never seen a Star Wars movie.
10. I have never tried marijuana.

Alrighty! You have your mission. Find the One False Fact up there, and let me know in Comments. I'm interested to know why you think it's The One, too.

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In Which We Have Some Politics, And Beethoven And Beyonce Have A Child For Hillary

zazzle.com

Ladies and Gentlemen, forgive my extended absence. My time away from you has been spent in deep reflection and consultation with my family as I ponder what may very well be one of the most important decisions of my life. Only after this period of profound soul-searching and huddling with trusted advisers have I been able to face this difficult and momentous challenge. But I have always been dedicated to a life of Service. So, with that being said, I am announcing today that I am forming an exploratory committee to consider entering the race for the republican nomination for President of the United States of America.

I mean, what the heck? Why not? Everyone else is Doing It.

Dearest Readers, it's a veritable Cirque de So Lame of republican clowns out there stumping around, making speeches and zinging--not each other, no!--Hillary. Bless their teensy little flinty, tarry hearts. Rather than narrow the field and slap each other around, they're going after The Presumptive Nominee Of The Democratic Party. Now. In the Spring of 2015. Sigh. If I were Hillary, I'd hire a Lookalike to zip around to points hither and yon (in sunglasses).  Then I'd go on one of those cruises where the boat never docks. You know, it just floats along, steaming off to its final port where it is spruced up for its next run. She can study up on policy, platform, and all sorts of stuff (like some truthing) while getting spa treatments and toning up her bod for the really tough campaigning.

But I digress.

So far--and it's Way Early--the republicans are fielding/look to be fielding the following candidates:

1. Rand Paul
2. Ted Cruz
3. Marco Rubio
4. Carly Fiorina
5. Ben Carson
6. Scott Walker
7. Mike Huckabee
8. Lindsey Graham
9. Rick Santorum
10. Chris Christie
11. Jeb Bush
12. Rick Perry
13. Bobby Jindal
14. John Kasich
15. Donald Trump

Kudos to the republicans for such a bigass and diverse list. They have a woman, a black man, two Hispanic men (three if you count Jeb Bush, who self-identified as Hispanic on his 2009 Voter registration form), one Canadian man, an Indian man, and an evangelical minister. It's quite the Clown Car Of Craziness, and I don't miss Michele Bachmann in the least. (She's still getting a limited audience for her cuckootalk. Just the other day, she got her name in the papers for this gem: "Barack Obama is intent. It is his number one goal to ensure that Iran has a nuclear weapon....That is where we are headed right now. That is why the best thing we can do is have churches and pastors explain our times." Sigh.) Each of these candidates has already brought his or her own loopy doofusness into the mix, and I won't bore you with fifteen quotes to prove it (although Huckabee's recent quote to a Hispanic audience that while he doesn't speak Spanish, he does speak Jesus bears mention).

I could not even begin to lay bets on who will still Be There In November. So much Dark Money is involved that it isn't even about the voters anymore. But I think it's safe to get rid of several early on, like: Trump, Jindal, Perry, Christie, Santorum, Graham, Huckabee, Carson, Fiorino, Cruz, and Paul. Some of them are kooks (Trump, Santorum, Cruz); some of them can't get their shit together (Perry, Christie, Graham); some are just not very electable for various reasons (Jindal, Fiorina, Carson, Paul), whether it's experience, recognition, sex, race, likability, or policy, or just the Great Unknown. It's an ugly thing to say, but the republicans are not a Big Tent Party, and that's what they get. Is Ben Carson electable in Wyoming? Is Bobby Jindal going to get a vote in Montana?  Utah? How well will Rand Paul's message play in Wisconsin and Peoria? And there are a ton of Duck Dynasty devotees who would rather not vote than vote for Carly Fiorina. They won't vote for Hillary, either.

When Serious Debate Season starts, we may see Rubio, Walker, Bush, and Kasich up there posturing, the latter being Ohio's governor. He's been doing a lot of stumping lately, and is in the "flirting" stage of campaigning, a great definition of which can be found here. He has also been doing a lot of Evolving on many issues that are making him more of a Compassionate "Bush 41" Conservative. But don't be fooled. Ohio loves its guns and is currently sitting with a heartbeat bill in its Congress. And its school funding is a disaster, its own Supreme Court in contempt of itself on that for almost twenty years, and the governor hasn't seen fit to order that fix. (In all fairness, either did his predecessors.)

Ah, same old, same old. What do you expect? Because, republicans.

Again, though, I'm not about to trust in The Wisdom Of The American People.  It is this Intangible which brought to us the republican majority in the US Congress even after it was that party who shut down the government, caused our national credit rating to be lowered, and brought us the famous Sequester.  The Wisdom Of The American People has brought us so many, many things which are the nadir of Human Existence, including Truck Month commercials, Sarah Palin book deals, dogs in Halloween costumes, and as I must always mention in this list, Kardashians and spray cheese.  And Olive Garden.  (I'm sorry; had to be said.)

Finally, regarding Hillary.  Donna Brazile, Democratic strategist, analyst, and campaign manager for Al Gore in 2000 (among her many achievements), said that Hillary is starting off like Beethoven, but that she has to end up like Beyonce.  I disagree; I think she has to be a blend of both.  That made me wonder:  what would that look like? So I took these pictures of Beethoven and Beyonce and hit "morph" at www.morphthing.com

And the Internet's answer to what Hillary's campaign should look like, according to me, is this:

All I learned from that exercise was that I waste a lot of time on the Internet when it's rainy and cold outside. 

But, if you...no.  Never mind.

February Survival Guide: Pick A Holiday And Celebrate The Hell Out Of It

katiebarnes.com

"February is merely as long as is needed to pass the time until March."--Dr. J.R. Stockton

Certainly Dr. J.R. Stockton could benefit from a little history lesson highlighting the Romans, namely King Numa Pompilius and Julius Caesar, but let's give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he was being snidely metaphorical. A lot of us know that March is just as bad, climatologically speaking, as February, with the added bonus of being even longer. We might say, even, "March is merely as long as is needed to pass the time until April."

But I digress. (Big surprise.)

My point, and I do have one, is this: February has some Image Problems, and being The Home Of Valentine's Day doesn't solve them; ask almost any male in A Relationship. Thankfully, I have an Excellent Readership here at the Dept., and because of their inspiration, we can not only help February, but also survive it.

Dear Reader Shirley from gfeeasily commented earlier that she is "one of those girls who just throws everything in the mix and cheers for it all", a trait that I find both useful and endearing. It sounded somehow familiar to me, and then I realized why. It complements perfectly a sentiment that Dear Reader J. over at Thinking About has shared often: "Life can be really hard sometimes, so celebrate when you can."

To that end, I present to you a list of Holidays in February far beyond what we usually associate with the month. Here is where you can discover the Origin of each of the Holidays, but personally, I don't care. To paraphrase Shirley and J., February sucks, so I'm just going to mix them all up and celebrate whatever the hell I want.

February is also known as:

American Heart Month
An Affair to Remember Month
Black History Month
Canned Food Month
Creative Romance Month
Great American Pie Month
National Cherry Month
National Children’s Dental Health Month
National Grapefruit Month
National Weddings Month

Here are the

Official February Holidays:

1 National Freedom Day

2 Groundhog Day

2 Candlemas

3 The Day the Music Died - Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper died in a plane crash in 1959.  We will commemorate, not celebrate.

4 Create a Vacuum Day--I'll just run the one I have, thanks.

4 Thank a Mailman Day--I will set out a nice card!

5 National Weatherman's Day--Grrrrrrrr.

6 Lame Duck Day--Do I send President Obama a note, or do I increase awareness about gimpy waterfowl?

7 Eat Ice Cream for Breakfast Day - first Saturday of month--I may have to add a scoop to my coffee.

7 Wave All Your Fingers at Your Neighbor Day--I think not.

7 Send a Card to a Friend Day--eCards do count; I give you permission and the environment thanks you.

8 Boy Scout Day

8 Kite Flying Day--Maybe where you live...?

9 Clean out Your Computer Day - second Monday of the Month

9 Toothache Day

10 Umbrella Day--I feel like this should be in April, really.

11 Don't Cry over Spilled Milk Day--Oddly, I like this.

11 Make a Friend Day--I'll let all the FB people do this.

11 White T-Shirt Day--My standard for jammies, so every day is this.

12 Abraham Lincoln's Birthday--I always read The Gettysburg Address. Often aloud.

12 Plum Pudding Day--In February? Have any of you had this?

13 Blame Someone Else Day - first Friday the 13th of the year--I choose...republicans.

13 Get a Different Name Day--I will always choose Samantha.

14 Ferris Wheel Day

14 National Organ Donor Day--All of us at the Dept. are donors!

14 Valentine's Day

15 Candlemas - on the Julian Calendar

15 National Gum Drop Day--Absolutely celebrating this one!

15 Singles Awareness Day--Kraft American for grilled cheese.

16 Do a Grouch a Favor Day--DOING THIS!

16 Presidents' Day - third Monday of month

17 Random Acts of Kindness Day--I feel like no one ever has randomly performed an act of kindness toward me.

18 National Battery Day--Check your smoke alarms again!

19 Chinese New Year - Year of the Goat. Don't trust goats.

19 National Chocolate Mint Day--St. Patsy's favourite ice cream.  I might take her some.

20 Cherry Pie Day--I will take a trip to the pie shop for this.

20 Hoodie Hoo Day--NOT even saying this. Ever.

20 Love Your Pet Day--This is every day. Come on.

21 Card Reading Day--I used to cast and read rune stones. Don't judge. But not cards. I'll read your business card or greeting card!

22 George Washington's Birthday--GW never did it for me. I don't find him as fascinating or compelling or wonderful as AL or even TJ.

22 Be Humble Day--Humility is admirable any day if it is genuine. Don't fake it just for the day.

22 Walking the Dog Day--Never could do this yo-yo trick well. Real dog--Zydrunas is too strong for me to walk him; he is dog-reactive.

22 International World Thinking Day--Primarily to think about global women's health issues. I will fit it in while humbly walking the dog.

23 International Dog Biscuit Appreciation Day--I appreciate how slipping my Dog Relatives these speedily ingratiates them to me.

23 Tennis Day--Very hard on my knees, this sport. Plus, why must the women wear skirts? Quite sexist.

24 National Tortilla Chip Day--Pass me the guacamole.

25 Pistol Patent Day

26 Carnival Day

26 National Pistachio Day--These are too pricey and worky for me. More for you.

26 Tell a Fairy Tale Day--Once upon a time the republicans listened to reason...

27 Polar Bear Day--I remain an avid Polar Bear enthusiast and supporter.

27 No Brainer Day--Sadly, an everyday holiday for so, so many.

28 Floral Design Day

28 Public Sleeping Day--Celebrated in classrooms daily.

28 National Tooth Fairy Day - and/or August 22--What? Santa Claus, a major International star/celebrity, gets ONE holiday a year. The Tooth Fairy gets TWO?

There is no February 29th this year, so we are spared an extra day of winter.  Next year we have Leap Day, which some people also call Sadie Hawkins Day, Opposite Day, Backwards Day, or any other sort of clever Anything Goes kind of classification.  I never understood any of that, but I did know someone born on February 29th who delighted in dividing her age by four and alternating between February 28th and March 1st for her birthday celebrations.  In most other areas of her life, she was quite joyless and plodding, so this tiny bit of capriciousness was a rare charm.

Which of these Holidays might you celebrate?  Are you embracing the new February Philosophy?

In Which I Am Impressed By The Level Of Some People's Commitment To The Holiday

Winner!  It's hard to top this yard for its authenticity, scope, and overall design. It's too bad that realty company Berkshire Hathaway had to destroy sight-line continuity with its sign, but hey--that's business. And you know what President Calvin Coolidge (famous dead guy said), "The business of America is business."

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What's In A Name? Dollar Store Scents Coin A Few Choice Ones

Lucky for you, Dearest Readers, that my travels lately have once again taken me to a Dollar Store. I am in search of an odd-sized bottle to replace an under-the-sink soap dispenser in the kitchen that somehow got broken. The manufacturer only has the newer model in stock now, so we are left to scrounge around and find something that will work. So far, no luck, but my latest foray into cheapo stores has at least provided me with blog fodder.

Did you know that you don't have to spend a fortune on perfume? Your local Dollar Emporium has many fine scents available at the low, low price of One Dollar. Let me present them to you.

Perhaps you want to remember your Youth. Those days when Mother loomed large in your life. When her advice and admonitions helped you remember what it took to grow up to be The Kind Of Woman Who Would Make Her Proud. For you, may I suggest:

Some women want to project a pleasant, nonthreatening demeanor. They don't want to be a sexy siren; they merely want to convey a kind femininity. Yes, they want to say, I'm a woman, and I'm easy to get along with and somebody's mom. I have extra Kleenex in my purse, and I volunteer at the school twice a week. If you need me to stop and pick up an extra bag of ice on my way to your party, just ask! No worries! This, then, is the perfume gift for her:

She's unabashedly a redhaired, freckle-faced lass who comes from a long line of Catholics. Her brothers and uncles are all policemen, except for Uncle Casey, who's a priest, and three of the women in her family are nuns. She can out-cuss and out-drink all the other women on the block, but they don't care because she has a heart of gold. And now there's a perfume just for her:

Let's say that your mother sent you to Fat Camp where you lost fifty-three pounds and found your breasts and a waist. Now that you're tanned and slimmer, and all those days of swimming have bleached out your hair into a shimmery blond, the boys back at Verizon Co. High School, Inc. are taking notice. You are getting the big rush, and how! Before the twerking starts, you might want to dab a little of this on your neck and wrists:

Gentlemen, consider your needs met as well at your local Dollar Superstore. Allow me, if you will, to showcase just a few.

Men, what is it that you want--and I mean REALLY WANT--from your deodorant body spray? Do you want an odor-killing formulation? Do you want a lady-killing scent? Well then, do I have something just for you:

Dude! Are you, like, totally over all the phony smelling GMO colognes out there? Like, do the American sensibilities offend you with their constant homage to chemicals and forgetting the earth and our environment? If you could, would you totally smell like...oh, I don't know, the earth, and herbs, and nature? Right on. Dude! I feel you, and so does this cologne, which is French for like black tarragon, which is like decomposing herbs. I know, right?

Hey, guys. R u tired of hearing everyone get on you about ur speling? If everyone noes what you mean, then whats the big deal? If ur not gunna be a english teacher then who cares? They'res more important things too worry about then this. Besides which their's even a colone that proves its no big deal. Hear it is:

You know, Dearest Readers, I do these things so that you don't have to.

Speak

Today's question is pretty straightforward.  Unfortunately, it will tarnish my reputation irretrievably in the eyes of thousands of people forever.  Oh, well.  As Lynn Anderson famously sang in 1970, "I never promised you a rose garden."  Here we go:

Do you speak more than one language fluently?  If so, how did you learn it?

Sigh.  The short answer is "No."  I hope you're happy now, Meme Mistress.  Thousands of my former students the world over are disillusioned and prostrate with incredulity.  Allow me to explain.

In my long career as a high school teacher (and one strange year at junior high), I used to, after giving directions, ask in several different languages, "Do you understand?".  A great number of my students used to make the assumption that I spoke all of those languages (French, Spanish, Japanese, Finnish among them), an assumption I did not take special care to disabuse them of.  I know enough French to be able to understand the language, to construct conversation, and to translate written French.  This also amazed and stunned my students, many of whom were only in first- or second-year French.

Additionally, my sons were in Spanish for all four years of their high school careers, attending the same school at which I taught.  I picked up enough Spanish from them and from living in my hometown for my whole life, a city which was home to the highest concentration of Mexicans and Puerto Ricans per capita, second only to New York City.  (Although, it must be noted that most of my Spanish-speaking friends back home spoke Spanglish.)  I could understand some Spanish and because it was so similar in some ways to French, I could translate it, too.  It also helped that I used to read Sesame Street anthologies to the boys, and they were chock full of Spanish vocabulary.  I tend to remember anything I am interested in, no matter how arcane, so Spanish stayed in a brain cubby along with birthstones, anatomy, and the lyrics to "Itchycoo Park" by The Small Faces.

Jared's and Sam's fluency in Spanish translated to a hike in their wages when they sought work in retail. Their ability to act as translator for customers was a desirable skill.  Their Spanish teacher early on was a dear friend of mine, Teresa, who both boys still adore and have vowed to take a bullet for. One of the most entertaining things was when, on car trips or even errands, Jared would translate song lyrics into Spanish, even partially, so that we could sing them that way.  My personal favourite:  El Partido de Crying.

My father was one hundred percent Croatian, first generation American, but because his mother wanted to be an American so badly, she forbid the language to be spoken in the house.  Consequently, he never really learned any, and neither did I.  I'm sorry about that.  I can't pass any of that on to my sons.

Some of my students claimed I didn't speak English because of the words I used and because of my correct pronunciation.  "You're not from around here, are you?" they used to ask.  "No, I'm not," I'd say.  "How did you know?"  They would look so proud, and someone would say, "You don't talk like anyone around here.  You talk different.  You talk proper and stuff.  Where you from then?"  It always killed them when I told them I was from the next town over.  Sometimes I do miss that; they're so easy.

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It Happened One Night: I Reach A Milestone In My Development

I may, finally and at long last, be Growing Up.

Look, I'm sorry to drop that on you without any sort of skid-greasing or fluffing-up, but with things like this, I feel it's better to do it with all alacrity and speed.  Like removing a Bandaid--real quick, all in one motion, right off.  You go ahead, however, and take as much time as you need.  There, there.

(And don't let the fact that I'm writing this while wearing my adult-sized blanket sleeper change this New Reality.  I forgot to do my laundry, and all my grown-up pajamas were in that load.  When I finally remembered to put it in the washer/dryer, it was awfully late to go down to the freezing cold basement to retrieve it.  I was actually being quite Maturely Resourceful when I put on my footie pj's.)

But I digress.

Several clues led me to the conclusion that I was truly Growing Up.  The Major one involved this:

This is my kitchen.  Or, I should say, it was my kitchen.  Not anymore.  Rick and I discovered quite some time ago that the red and white tiles were damaged.  Some were cracked and some had deep pits and dents in them, mostly near the counter where you see the round cutting board, in front of the sink, and across from there in front of the stove.  The culprits were my high heels, which I wore for thirty years in that kitchen, coming home from school and immediately prepping for dinner, starting something in the oven or on the stovetop.  The red laminate countertop is faded and dulled in spots where we tried several different potions to take out wine stains, permanent marker, and various skidmarks made by dragging small appliances across it.  When the kitchen was first complete, St. Patsy walked in and covered her eyes.  "Oh, Nance!" she exclaimed.  "How in the world can you cook in here with all this red?"

My kitchen now looks like a war zone, and those of you who have had kitchen remods can sympathize.  I'm not going into details except to say that some strange Grownup Nance took over and said, "I'd like to go all the way down to the original hardwood floors in here.  I don't care if they're not perfect.  I want a sort of rustic, homey, farm kitchen kind of look."  And so we are.  We have to wait until March for the floor guy we want, and at present the floor looks like this:

but it's okay.  That's solid oak, and in March it will be lovely.  Most of what you see will be sanded and buffed away.  Any imperfections left will add character and warmth.  My house was built in the late twenties or early thirties.  That floor has earned its marks.

Our other improvement would be new countertops.  This was a real heart-tugger for me because if I gave up my red on the floor, I couldn't bear to give it up on the countertops.  As it happened, our choice of stone for the job did come in a true red.  I was so torn.  We left the showroom having given instructions to the salesman to figure the cost for both the red and a simple white with a subtle vein of very light grey.  We stopped for dinner on the way home, and over sandwiches and drinks in the bar (the warmest spot in the place), we discussed our options.  (I had fish tacos, by the way, but the menu allowed a no-upcharge sub of shrimp for fish. How lovely and sensible.  I told someone else this, and she asked me why I didn't like fish.  "And don't say 'because it tastes fishy'," she said to me.  "What do you expect fish to taste like?"  It's not that I don't expect it to taste like fish.  The taste of fish is precisely what I don't like.  If bananas tasted fishy, I wouldn't like them, either! Most people hate liver.  Why? Because of its taste.  Just because they don't say, 'because it tastes livery' doesn't get them off the hook, metaphorically speaking.)

But I digress.

Anyway, we talked about the countertops, and Rick maintained that I should get what I wanted, meaning the red.  Strange Grownup Nance (who didn't complain that her martini olive was alone and without a toothpick) said, "But red is awfully specific.  It's going to detract from the saleability of our house.  Even if we don't sell until ten years from now, some potential buyers might look at that red and be very put off.  I can still have my red drawer and cabinet pulls and use red as an accent.  The white will brighten up the kitchen.  It will be okay."  So the new white countertops are being installed in a couple of weeks.  I am surprisingly okay with it.

You know, I can remember when the boys were much, much younger and the days were full and going by at breakneck speed.  I was teaching and stressed; Rick was working at a job where his day consisted of doing nothing but solving problems and soothing clients and putting out metaphorical fires.  There were times when he or I would turn to the other and say, "Please--can you be the grownup today?  I just cannot do it."  Thank goodness one of us would suck it up and put on the Grownup Pants and get through it.

Being The Grownup is Hard!  That's why it has taken me so long to become one.  Oh sure, I have been a Pseudo-Grownup for years, but the difference between the two is this:  Resentment.  Once you can let go of resentment and a sort of over-arching need for Revenge, you are a Real Grownup.  Here are some recent examples:

Blizzard Conditions Forecast:  The Old Nance becomes incensed.  She crabs to everyone.  She does a blogpost about shitty Ohio weather.  Hurls profane tirades at all weather forecasters during their news segments.  New Grownup Nance:  Makes a run to the pie shop, drops off the ski band she knitted for her sister, keeps hydrated to stave off headaches, plans pork roast for Sunday.

Garnier Fructis Discontinues Another Product:  As I predicted back in August, Garnier has discontinued its HiRise Root Lifter spray, a hairstyling product I adored and used daily.  The Old Nance would have written a lengthy missive to Garnier/L'Oreal.  In it would be statistics regarding the popularity of voluminous hairstyles, blowouts, and women who want thicker, fuller hair.  It would also include the market share growth, or lack thereof, of Garnier since they discontinued the various Body Boost products I loved.  I would also have immediately driven to every store in a 10-mile radius to hopefully buy any remaining product.  New Grownup Nance:  I went to Sally Beauty Supply and asked for a similar product that has been popular with local customers.

My Fantasy Basketball Team Sucks:  Due to being in the championship last year, my team (renamed The PuppyCats) had a lousy draft and is plagued by injury.  I am currently holding down 6th place...out of  ten teams.  Ugh.  Old Nance would be researching players, jiggering lineups, wheedling trades, and grumping around like a troll.  New Grownup Nance is Waiting For Next Year.

I'm not embarrassed to say that I am a Slow Learner in the area of Growing Up.  Some of us acquire grace later in life, when we have more time to recognize the need.  Some of us needed to be able to focus on our own development, not on others'.  And still others of us finally took a look around and found a few people who showed us a thing or two.  Or more.  Better late than never, right?

So, what about you Grownups or GrowingUps?  How's that going for you?  Or, at the very least, what do you think of my kitchen plans?

(Oh, and the pies were one large pecan, and two "personal" pies, a lemon and a coconut cream.  We're well-stocked for winter weather now!)

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A New Feature: Dear Nance

Surprisingly, a number of people click my email link and ask me for my opinion and advice on many wide-ranging topics.  Maybe not so surprisingly--I'm way cheaper than seeing a therapist or life coach.  I offer anonymity (if it's sought), and because I have nothing to lose, they are going to get an unvarnished reply to whatever question they submit to me.

Here are a few that landed in my Inbox.  I'm of course going to keep their identities a secret.

Dear Nance,

I'm not sure why I'm writing to you, other than a friend of a friend gave me your email.  I mean, you're not sports oriented at all, but maybe that will be good in that you'll have a more objective perspective.

I was in my first Olympics when I was really young.  I did okay, but I wanted the gold medals.  Since then, I have been chasing that Olympic dream.  I train and train so that every four years, I can compete.  I've been in several as a result, and I did get gold.  Now I'm plagued by injury and have had to drop out of competitions due to constant surgeries and rehabs.  Basically, I don't think it's entirely fair that I should have to qualify for the Olympic team.  My past history and performance is on the record.  Why shouldn't my spot be a given?  Let these newbies have to qualify for the remaining spots.  Do you see what I mean?  Sochi may be my last shot, and if my knees hold out, I deserve to go.

Sincerely,
Dynasty Athlete

Dear DA,

Let me tell you a little story.  Back in 1981 when I got my teaching degree, I had a hell of a time getting my first job.  I finally got my foot in the door, subbing for a teacher who had been there a long time.  So long, in fact, that she had trouble getting around and problems in general.  So her schedule kept her in the same room all day, teaching the same thing all day.  Her duty was hall duty right outside her room.  Unheard of for a high school assignment.  She retired only because she became legally blind.  Fast forward thirty-three years later. I am retired, but the English teacher my husband had in tenth grade is still teaching.  The teacher the district hired to replace me is long gone, cut due to budget concerns.  But my husband's former sophomore teacher is still there, going on year eleventy million.  So, no.  I don't see what you mean.  You make millions in endorsements.  You are taking someone else's spot.  Grow up and get a real job.  You are a selfish, stunted child who is afraid to face the real world.

Dear Nance,

I'm sick and tired of my hair.  When I was working, I truly did not have time to do anything with it even though I could certainly afford to have any stylist I wanted come to my office or home and give me a cut and blow-dry.  Besides, I felt like it would reflect poorly on my sense of priorities at the time.  Now, as a private citizen, (at least for now) I can do pretty much whatever I want.  I'm still in the public eye, so I can't do a big change, but I want a transitional look that will soften my features a little.  Can you suggest anything?  Oh, and just in case I decide to get back into public life in a big way, I need it to be able to look very capable and businesslike easily.

Thank you,
Party Grrl

Dear PG,

So easy!  Feather it around the front a little and go for bangs.  Not a heavy London Girl fringe, just a soft light bang that can easily grow into a sideswept, then off the forehead look.  Later, when you grow out more, you can work into a French twist with a few tendrils.  You know, feminine but capable.  Like, Red Phone Capable.

Dear Nance,

I hate my job.  Well, not so much my job, but mainly the people I work with.  Some of them are just plain awful.  If I say yes, they say no.  If I say it's up, they say it's down.  If I say we have to have more money for something, they say we have to cut out money for something else.  It's ridiculous.  It's like they hate me on principle.  What did I ever do to deserve this?  I can't get anything done with these people around.  And the worst thing is, I'll get judged by the work these people do.  The whole thing is lousy.  Thank goodness I only have a little more time left, and then I'll never have to work here again.  Ever.

Aloha,
Counting Down

Dear CD,

Didn't your parents ever teach you to stand up to bullies?  If they didn't, certainly you saw it on "The Brady Bunch" or "Leave It to Beaver" reruns or the holiday film "A Christmas Story."  If your co-workers hate you on principle, then you have nothing to lose.  Start with that as your reality and lead from there.  They're going to spin negative everything you do, so do everything!  Don't be like the Puritans.  The Puritans believed in Predestination, the idea that God had decided at birth whether a person would go to Heaven or to Hell, and no amount of good works or evildoing would change that destiny.  Now, to our modern way of thinking, why didn't the Puritans live sinfully and play hard and fornicate day and night since their behaviour did not determine the destination of their souls?  Instead, they tried to live lives of strict purity and goodness and deprivation, hard work and prayer.  Why?  It didn't matter; it wouldn't influence God.  So, CD, don't live your life like it's 1634.  It's 2014.  Get in there and mix it up.  Show those bullies who's boss and bully a little yourself.  Knock some metaphorical heads and make some deals.  Call in some markers.  Leverage, CD.  Use your remaining time as Leverage.

What fun, right, Readers?  Do you have anything to add?  Who else do you think needs my advice?

On Luncheon: A Word Of Advice To Those Hampered By Celebrity

Astonishingly enough, my now-frequent luncheons out have gone completely unnoticed by The Media At Large.  It would seem that Hillary is Doing It Wrong.  I've given this quite a bit of thought lately since the former Secretary has been all over the television news, print media, and Interwebs munching on salads with President Obama and rumoured to be lunching with Vice President Biden soon.  If Hillary wants to have a nice afternoon meal (or snack, or cocktail with nibblies) with her friends, and she does not want it to become Journalistic Fodder and a Media Event, she should pay attention to the points I delineate below.

1.  Location:  Hillary went to the White House for lunch.  I go to relatively pedestrian, often chain, restaurants.  There is no way that a bunch of reporters are hanging out in a press pool at the Ruby Tuesday or the Olive Garden.  Additionally, I lunch in Northeastern Ohio, where no one of any consequence lives or works, (unless you count members of the Cleveland Browns football team or the Cleveland Indians baseball team.  Right.  I didn't think so.)

2.  Location 2.0:  Hillary and Barack ate (ahem) outdoors.  As in, outside.  As in, not inside like People.  Also as in, They Were Asking For It.  Now, while I applaud the Secretary for considering being photographed in natural light, this is an Invitation For A Photo-Op.  I, on the other hand, always ask if we can be seated along a wall with no vents so that I am not cold, which pretty much guarantees an obstructed view for cameras.  (It is a Given for all Dept. readers that I will not eat outside. How silly.)

3.  Companions:  Hillary's lunch companions are Washington D.C. elites.  My lunch buddies are retired teachers, teachers on summer break, friends, and family.  I would venture to say that a good 80% of the people who Hillary pals around with or is related to probably are newsworthy on their own.  I would say that a good 99.9% of the people who I can call up and who would know who I was are not.  Newsworthy, I mean.  This is how I can maintain my Cloak Of Privacy and Anonymity, but Hillary cannot. 

I feel like Hillary isn't even trying.  That we have in common.

For me, this whole Going To Lunch Thing is part of my new Retirement Philosophy, which I add to every now and then.  Of course, I forget what I already adopted as part of my Retirement Philosophy in the past, but I just go ahead and assume that I've mastered it and move on.

Anyway, this latest tenet is inspired by a quote from a favourite book, The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton.  In it, a pariah countess tries to explain to a straitlaced admirer why she is going out that evening to a dinner even though it is hosted by a man she does not care for.  She says, "I must go where I am invited or I should be too lonely." 

I decided to be mindful of this, so when I was invited to a retirees' monthly luncheon for the staff of the junior high where I served one year, I went.  And I also went to the retirees' lunch for the high school.  Both were pleasant, and at both, my colleagues said, "I never expected to see you at any of these!"  And even though I normally do not care to eat lunch, I found that having a Bloody Mary can be wonderful. 

One drawback to that, however, is that it often ends up costing as much as a Lunch.  Incredibly, my Bloody Mary at the Olive Garden cost eight bucks.  And all I said was, "I'll just have a Bloody Mary."  What arrived was a tarted up Bloody Mary containing a skewer with a few olives, slices of pepperoni, and cocktail onions.  A couple more slices of pepperoni lay atop the drink.  There may or may not have been celery.  I was so stunned, I can't remember.  When my check came, I was glad I had an old gift card my husband's boss had given him. We don't care for the Olive Garden, but I'm happy to eat Bloody Marys there for lunch on his dime.

Oh, and one more drawback to the Luncheon Bloody Mary.  I am often not tall enough to drink it using a straw.  Who the hell are these things for, the starting centers in the NBA?  Why are they served in fourteen inch tall glasses full of ice, slippery with frost, garnished with a half-cup of foliage, then set down in front of me like a challenge?  Yesterday, out lunching with my friends Pam, Sheila, and Sue, my drink arrived and I felt like a toddler who refused her booster seat. 

Amid the laughter, lunch was lovely.  We talked about things International and Cultural (Croatian customs and Belgium); Education (why are the wackos afraid of Common Core?); Nature (the Pony Swim at Chincoteague); and lots of other things.  Probably not much different than what Hillary and the President talked about, topically.  And all without the crush of reporters and photographers.

So, Hillary, give me a call or zip me an email.  We should definitely do lunch.