Scenes From March

image courtesy Ebay

Long time, no see. March felt like it was several months long and a jumble of stuff. Let's get into it with a post that reflects that.

*I've written here before about my funny grocery store and the oddities it carries in its Closeouts section. Rick and I went grocery shopping, and I came upon a whole shelf of these. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this thing:

Pretty sure he's holding it correctly

*Another familiar theme here at the Dept. is my irritation for people who leave their outdoor Christmas decorations up far too long. Around the block from my home is this particularly egregious example. They finally took everything down a few days ago. In MARCH. 

The house is also only partially sprayed this horrific blue. You can see the spray marks about a quarter of the way across on each side.

I went by there a few days ago, and while all the Christmas crap is gone, the yeti silhouette is still there. I feel so bad for the neighbours on each side, both of whose houses are neat, tidy, and carefully landscaped (also bereft of any tardy seasonal decor or large cryptids). 

*The weather straightened itself out enough for several days in a row, long enough for my neighbour's Lenten Lilies/early daffodils to come out along my driveway. They never venture to that side of their home, so I don't feel guilty at all each year when I cut them and bring them in to brighten my mood.

And I'm going to keep cutting them, too!

Later, there will be garlic to harvest from that side, too, planted ages ago by the previous owner. My own daffodils are starting to bloom now; I couldn't be happier.

*Ever since we had to say goodbye to Marlowe, her brother's personality has undergone a transformation. Piper used to never say much of anything, and now we can't get him to shut up. He's also become demanding about many things, such as requiring ice in his water and a tablespoon full of my half-and-half when I make my coffee. Because of his advanced age (16) and...er...size, he also refuses to jump or climb up to be on my lap; rather, he howls until I pick him up and put him there. So many things meet with his disapproval, and I constantly hear about each and every one of them. This is the evildoer I am speaking of:

Luckily, he is quite affable around Theo, whose toys you see in the background

Did I unwittingly help create this monster? Yes. Yes I did, so please learn from my mistakes and give your pet no special treatment whatsoever else they come to expect it.

*I caught sight of this in a residential yard in my neighbourhood. I had to stop and take a photo. To me, it is the perfect symbol of present times in this country, about which I could easily write a thousand words expressing my dismay, outrage, and profound sadness. Instead, I'll let this say it all:

The stars are merely star-shaped holes. Vote blue!

*Finally, today I watched a very determined mother intent upon protecting her baby. I took a short video and want to share it with you here:

This mother squirrel carried her two kits across the street, one at a time, and no farther than 6 feet away from me. She carried them right past me and up the driveway, and past Rick who was working noisily on the lawnmower. Her final destination was a huge sycamore tree behind our neighbour's home, which has an opening in its trunk. I was able to catch a bit of footage of her second trip. The video is not terrific, but it does have a few dramatic seconds at the end--of the stamped concrete of my patio when I, completely astonished, forgot to shut off my phone. 

Because of her amazing feat, I have vowed to stop shooing squirrels away from my blue jay feeder on the porch. Let them eat peanuts! That squirrel mom is a hero (as are so many Mothers and Women, unsung though they may be). 

Happy Springtime, my friends. It's showing signs now of its green and blooming presence, and we certainly deserve it. 

Life In The Future: Parking And Doing The Hard Stuff To Make Life Easier

 

https://plexido.pl/

In my New York Times newsletter last week, writer Melissa Kirsch wrote about "doing the harder thing now so that you’ll have an easier time later...a fundamental concept in self-improvement communities." One example she gave was backing into a parking spot, an oddity noted by a colleague who wrote up his investigation into this apparently growing phenomenon. The article is short and, despite its seemingly boring subject, pretty interesting. 

I (along with the writer's wife!) still maintain that the majority of backer-inners are men who A) just like to show off; or B) feel that it's a Rite Of Their Masculinity And They Simply Must Do It. Also, I don't get it. Parking the car involves two actions, the initial parking and the leaving of the parking spot. Does it really matter which one you do when? You aren't saving any time. Or effort, really. It just seems stupid to me.

One year, I told my husband that all I wanted for Christmas was for him to back my car into the garage every single night. I hate backing out of our garage and down our driveway. It's not a straight shot, our neighbours erected a fence partway down on their property, we have a drainage pipe along the side of the house that is required by the city, and even with a backup camera, it is always irritating for me. What a joy it would be for me to simply drive out of my side of the garage and into the street! Sadly, I did not find that gift under our tree.

In days past I always parked in faraway spots wherever I went. I refused to make looking for a parking spot part of my shopping trips. Many times that meant that I could simply pull through to the spot in front of me, assuring that I didn't have to back out at all, even when it was time for me to leave. It also meant a bit of walking, which has always been my preferred form of exercise anyway. It also meant that I didn't have to sit in my car and wait around for anyone to back into his parking spot or sit there and wait while some idiot sat there with their blinker on, waiting for the person still loading their bags into their car in a prime spot to actually leave.

Aside from Parking and all its attendant This And Thats, I do believe in doing some harder things proactively so that Future Me has an easier time of it, and it was a habit I started as a much younger person, mainly because I hated mornings and wanted to get as much sleep as possible. Back when I was a kid, I used to put a chair right at the side of my bed and put my entire outfit for the next day on it. Many, many times, I'd even pull it on while I was still lying in bed, so loath I was to actually get up and admit that I had to start my day. It's a little embarrassing to admit how often I'd lie there, fully dressed, waiting for the exact last minute that I had to get out of bed and get downstairs before I risked being late.

As a career woman I still chose my clothes and readied them the night before. Anything I needed to take with me was placed in my school bag, a huge tote that also contained almost anything needed for any exigency that Future Me might encounter. Teaching in a huge urban school presented enough opportunities for stress; I was determined to head off any that I reasonably could.

Retired Me is still looking for opportunities to reduce stress and make my environment serene. Future Me does not want to wake up to a messy kitchen or unfolded laundry even though I have all day to do things. I also ready my coffeemaker so that all I have to do is push a button in the morning for my coffee whenever Future Me may want it. Mail passes through my hands only once; I act upon it immediately. Piles and clutter drive me nuts. 

Rick is not this way. His tolerance for piles of clutter and mail and clothes is much higher than mine. Future Him is the same as Present Him, pretty much, unless you count the carpentry rule of Measure Twice, Cut Once. He wonders at my lack of Patience in all things but our grandson and our sons. I tell him I do, too. For the record, he does not back into parking spaces, even if I am not with him in the car. He thinks it's stupid and rude. For the record, he does pull through into the spot ahead once in a while.   

5 From The Frozen Tundra: Is This My Life Now?

 

from fbook via google

Let me just say right here and right now:  the eventual spring of 2026 had better be one hell of a lovely, warm, beautiful one. And the sooner the better. I have had it with this winter and all of this abusive effing snow. And painful wind. And helplessly hoping that someday the temperature will rise to the lofty heights of The Twenties Fahrenheit. My heating pad is my constant companion.

If you are one of those crazies who Thinks Snow Is So Pretty, or Loves Winter, or Goes Skiing Or Sledding, or Just Loves Winter Cozy Time, DON'T YOU DARE SAY A WORD ABOUT ANY OF THAT TO ME. I AM NOT IN THE MOOD. 

Thank you.

I am fighting this winter with every fibre in my body. It is not going well. Aside from that, what else have I been doing? Let's have a review.

1. I finally read The Correspondent. I read the review that Julie wrote, and she enthusiastically urged me to buy the book, and I'm glad she did. It was wonderful. During this illness and during wintertime, I have trouble focusing/concentrating and mushbrain, and I worried that I wouldn't be able to fully immerse myself in it. That was not the case. This book was so engaging and charming, and I found myself at times identifying so strongly with the titular character. After reading it, it was immediately and lovingly placed on my Favourite Books shelf. Now I'm reading a scholarly nonfiction work called Dark Renaissance about the life and times of Christopher Marlowe, playwright, poet, genius, and spy of Elizabethan England who was murdered before the age of 30. We'll see if I can juggle it along with The Age of Innocence for CBBC.

2. Over the weekend we had the ridiculous snowstorm. On Monday Jared and Jordan moved to their new home during the leftovers of the storm. (And poor Jared has a broken foot that needs surgery this week, and has been in a walking boot for weeks.) While the movers trooped in and out of the house with all the stuff, I was in charge of Theo. Rick had gone over earlier to snowblow their driveway. It snowed the whole day, and the front door and back door had to be open the whole time. I wore my heated coat. Theo stood at the front window watching them bring items in, excited about seeing all their things coming to The New House. At other times, we played Airport and Airplane in his parents' big walk-in closet. This is a very happy move:  not only will they be less than 20 minutes away instead of an hour, they needed the extra room because Theo will be a big brother in August. If he has his way, the new baby will be named Crocodile.

3. I have been to my doctors--two of them in two days this month. All I can say is that it's devastating to hear two days in a row from medical professionals that there really isn't anything they or medical science can do for me. I am in a sort of dead zone of medicine. There is new research ongoing, mostly due to Long Covid, so that's at least something. But right now, aside from some stronger muscle relaxers that can help with my pain at night, there's nothing. I've learned how to rest, but it still feels like giving up to me. Even showering can wear me out. And I used to shovel the driveway and take my walk on the same day!

4. And speaking of those Rest Days, I have actually gone without my mascara on those days! I used to think that was a Venial Sin pretty much, but now, I just don't care. AND! I don't wear real clothes on those days, either. I wear a Lounge Outfit and a cardigan. I mainly do this for the technicality; no one can accuse me of wearing my jammies all day if I am officially wearing a Lounge Outfit and a cardigan (even though it looks and feels like I am doing just that). Rick enthusiastically supports this and says ridiculous things like, "You look great!" and "I tell you all the time that you don't need makeup", but the most important thing he says is, "Why bother when you're not going anywhere?" and this is the comment that really sells it for me. I mean, duh.

5. Can you nap? I mean, actually fall asleep during the day? I cannot, and I never have been able to. Obviously, it would be very helpful these days, but try as I might, I just can't. Right now, Rick is sleeping on the couch; it's 4:30 and Judge Judy is yammering, but he's sound asleep. His breathing is heavy and deep. It happened almost instantly--one moment he was talking about being sleepy, and the next he was doing it! Sleeping, just like that. I also cannot put a blanket on over my clothes. It just feels awful to me. I can, however, put a blanket over my Lounge Outfit. It's completely different somehow. (Just now, Rick said very clearly, "Should we go in and start dinner pretty soon?" FROM A DEAD SLEEP. How? I DON'T GET IT.)

Dinner. Ugh. I have been shopping for, thinking about, planning, prepping, cooking, and cleaning up after Dinners for almost FORTY-FIVE YEARS. I am starting to feel about Dinner like I do about Winter. It's almost abusive and brutal anymore. WHEN WILL IT END? How can I continue to endure it? Sigh. I might have Rick clear the ten feet of snow away from the grill and have him start making Dinner. I've had enough.

A Place For Everything: A List Of How I Keep My Kitchen In Check

 

It will probably not surprise anyone here that I like to Be Organized. Everything has a place, and I expect to find each thing in its place. Part of my fastidiousness comes from growing up in a home where this was not always the case. There were six of us in a very small house, and my mother was not the most enthusiastic housekeeper. My father was zero help in that area, being the breadwinner and quite the chauvinist.

Another reason I came to value Organization was my career. A highschool teacher with an average of 130 students for a class load, I learned that Being Organized meant my very survival. I had a system for everything, with fail-safes built into each of those systems. Nothing slipped between the cracks. My gradebook--yes, the actual black book--was a thing of beauty and efficiency and could tell me volumes at a mere glance. I had to build this empire because teenagers can find any flaw and exploit it to their advantage and to your ruin.

One important place in my own home that I'm quite Organized is my kitchen. It is a small, galley-style kitchen that also includes a breakfast nook. Space is at a premium, and I do cook, so I want it to be efficient and workable. Here is a list of

Ways I Keep My Kitchen Organized

1. Pot Rack 

2. Utensil Hooks

3. Containers With Their Lids

4. No Counter Decor

5. Store What You Don't Use Often 

I'm sure that none of these are revelations to any of you, but in case you have a small kitchen like I do, maybe one or two of these might be helpful. 

Kitchen designers or people who predict trends don't interest me. I want a functional and easy-to-clean kitchen. One of the best things I ever did was get a hanging pot rack. I put the pans I use most often on that and they're always within easy reach, ready to go. The rest of my cupboard can be used for sheet pans, cake and pie pans, and my big pasta pot. And lids (which are neatly stowed in the wire basket from a former freezer). 

I really dislike a big jumble of kitchen utensils like peelers, spatulas, ladles, serving spoons and whisks cluttering up a drawer. Not everything I use/need will fit in a cute crock on the counter. I installed a bunch of hooks, like plain old robe or towel hooks, on the wall, and hung a lot of these items if they had holes in the handles (or through the splines of a whisk). This saves space and the items are right there when I need them.

My good friend and fellow blogger Shirley taught me to end the madness of storing plastic tupper-type containers and lids separately. The summer I retired, I cleared out the plastic container cupboard, tossed any that had no matching lid or container, and stored all remaining containers with lids on them, keeping only the good stuff. It has been that way ever since and it has been life-changing. Trust us; do this.

My kitchen is red, white, and black and full of Holstein cows. I am a Cow Lady. Love them. You can imagine the vast amounts of Cow Stuff I would get for gifts, let alone the stuff I couldn't resist buying for myself. However, if that stuff lived on my counter, I was giving up valuable real estate I needed for food prep and other kitchen work. Rick built me shelves above the door frame and window, and I pared down my collection A LOT. None of it lives on my counter; I can't afford to give up that workspace.

Do I have a huge stainless steel bowl big enough to bathe a baby in? Do I have muffin tins? Do I have three springform pans and lots and lots of wineglasses? How about an electric griddle, ten boxes of pasta, five cans of tomato soup, ten cans of various beans, and dozens of Mason jars for homemade pickles as well as even more smaller jars for pesto season? Heck yes I do. They all live in my basement on the sturdy shelves my husband built in the pantry area. There is no way I want any of that stuff--and more--in my kitchen until I need it.

How many of these methods do you already use? Do you have more to share? 

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Eating My Words: A List Of Nevers That Are Now Alwayses (Is That Even A Word?)

Many, many years ago I was a person of absolutes. I used the words Always and Never liberally in my conversations, and I really meant them when I said them. So many things seemed so clear to me all the time. Distinctions were not fine; they were obvious and defined. I found decisions relatively easy and clear-cut. 

In short, I was an idiot. And young. And lacked the wisdom and experience to know very much at all. As time has gone on, I've learned to stop using words like Always and Never. Instead, I say things like, "I can't imagine myself ever" or "At this point, it's my habit to". 

As you can imagine, I've had to eat my own words many times. Here is a list of

Things I Said I'd Never Do, But Now I Do Them All The Time

1. Text

2. Use the word Text as a verb

3. Go out in public wearing leggings

4. Be okay with my kids having tattoos

5. Wear sneakers any time but for exercise

6. Let Rick go to the grocery store with me

I know, right?

Back in the early days of cellphones, I could not understand how anyone wanted to type on those itty bitty keyboards and pay for the privilege. It just seemed ridiculous to me. I hated all the stupid word shortcuts, too:  ur for your or you're; l8 for late; cu for see you, etc. They irked me. Then! Students started using the word Text as a verb, and worse yet, they added tense endings to it. "He texted me that he'd be absent today." Aaarrgghhh. I swore I'd never, ever use Text as a verb, let alone pay for typing out messages on a minuscule keyboard. Not me! Oh, ha ha it is to laugh.

I held out on leggings for a bit longer, but not by much. Black leggings are my uniform, and you will never, ever pry them out of my grasp. I wear them 3.5 seasons out of the year, and I don't care if I have to use the lint roller every single time I step out of the house. It's worth it. 

Tattoos are so mainstream now that my initial objections seem quaint and stuffy. I still wish my sons did not have them, but that's mainly because they are my babies and I remember them as that. All that beautiful, perfect skin that I knew every unblemished inch of. But their ink doesn't change who they are, and they designed meaningful illustrations, mostly of family emblems and symbols. Will I ever get a tattoo? I can't imagine a scenario in which I would.

See? I've learned to never say Never! How about you? Have you had to eat your words like I have? Or has it usually been your habit to avoid that situation? (I'm pretty good at this now!)

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The One About Potato Peelers

 

Vincent Van Gogh

Sometimes, 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. 

Anyway, this post is not about that, per se. This post is about Potato Peelers.

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.

Thank you, Ebay, for this photo.

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 can opener. 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.

Rick's Peeler:  Barely Usable

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. 

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.

Farberware+Marshalls=Fail

I could not have been more wrong. This dumb thing didn't last even one potato. (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.

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 not 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: The handle is made of bamboo! It's so red and shiny! And cheap!

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. 

IT'S EVEN DISHWASHER SAFE. I'M IN LOVE.

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 Scissors.)

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.

Talk to me about your Potato Peelers in Comments. Or any other Kitchen Utensil Persnickety-nesses.

Is It Women? Is It Marshalls? Is It Cellphones? What's Ruining America?

Over the years here at the Dept.,  I've written many posts about the Casualization Of America. I've lamented Khaki Pants, men wearing baseball hats everywhere but baseball games, and the godforsaken crocs and jammies in public. I've sighed about people wearing flipflops to restaurants 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.

Like what I keep encountering when I shop for a shirt at Marshalls.

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.

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.

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."

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?

"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. 

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.

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. 

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.

People like this have already ruined Going To The Movies for me. I haven't seen a film at the theater since Lincoln 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. 

Kindness Is My Default has been my mantra for years and years, and it will remain so. I will continue to work on my Patience.  

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The Perils Of Snacking

Lunch didn't happen today. Nothing sounded appealing, and it began to Get Late. Getting Late is a dreadful horror to me when it comes to meals. I cannot abide Eating Late. Sometimes, Rick will come home on Thursdays, the day his boss buys lunch for everyone in the office, and say, "I had a big lunch, so I hope you're not ready for dinner anytime soon." When that happens, I hear ominous music in the background, not like when the shark is approaching in Jaws, but more like the theme from Unsolved Mysteries or maybe something from another dark and scary show.

But I digress.

I never eat breakfast--never have, even as a child--and I spent most of my adult working life not eating lunch, either. But in the last several years, I decided to be better and eat actual lunch, even if it was just fruit or toast.

Today, however, as I said, Lunch got lost in the shuffle of the day's tasks and my fussy appetite. So when it got to be about 2:30, I needed a little snack. Unwisely, I grabbed the 4-pound jar of peanut M&Ms and did not first scoop out a little serving in a separate cup, instead opting to carry the whole damn thing out to the living room and sit there, watching Judge Judy, mindlessly eating peanut M&Ms one after the other. Now I feel absolutely horrible.

This is the same thing that happened to me with Cheetos years and years ago. First, I binged on Cheetos; then, I rationed the Cheetos; then I made Rick hide the Cheetos; then, I had to permanently break up with Cheetos altogether. 

It was for the best.

I am currently On A Break from Lay's Original Potato Chips because of mindless snacking after skipping lunch and being unable to control myself. There is a bag of Sea Salt Pop Corners in the cupboard--unopened--because if I open them, I have no idea what might become of our relationship. (Have you tried them? They're unbelievably good. Try the cinnamon ones, too. Ridiculous.)

If I have to break up with Peanut M&Ms (aka The World's Most Perfect Food), I honestly don't know what will become of me. They were there for me when I couldn't eat anything else, literally, back when I was so ill and wasting away. They travel well. They crunch and provide chocolate and sweetness, but not too much sweetness. True, they added blue and took away the tan, thereby disturbing the fine balance of colour and ruining their original aesthetic, but I'm very close to forgiving them for that. 

Obviously, Rick will be hiding the Peanut M&Ms when he gets home from work shortly. I won't even have to explain. He'll agree to do it, and he'll look at me pityingly. And tomorrow I'm back to having a proper lunch. Whatever it may be.

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In Which I Talk About Fall, Robins, Lovely Views, And The Little Tree That Could

(This quote was NOT said by Daisy, but by Jordan. It's a lot of work to redo this graphic, so this correction has to do.)

Not much is happening except for Fall trying to figure itself out. It is definitely here, but it is having a hard time settling in and unwinding. We've had a few frost warnings, many days of blustery north winds off Lake Erie, and more rain than I care for. Sunshine has been in short supply, but there were two magnificent days of low seventies, slight breezes, and warm autumn sun that revived us all. On those days my walks were glorious.

The robins, who had disappeared sometime in August, are suddenly back. When they vanished, it was incredibly strange because it was all at once and completely. One day there were simply none at all anyplace, and it is the same with their return. A few days ago, they were everywhere again, on my walk, in my yard, and in neighboring trees. I'd mention it in conversation with my mother, but she interprets everything now as a sign that it's going to be a hard winter, and I am sick of hearing about it. Lots of pine cones? Hard winter coming. Less leaves turning colours this month? Hard winter coming. See a chubby squirrel? I think you get my drift. 

I won't be showing her this photo; I took it on my walk yesterday. It's either a crabapple or apple tree, and it's put out new blossoms on a few branches:

There are more in several other areas of the tree, but this is a representative sample. (I know:  it's going to be a hard winter, right?) I don't know what's up with this odd occurrence, but I like this tree's attitude, and I told it so. 

I have a good relationship with a great many trees on my route. I've just grown fond of these two baby redbud trees based solely upon their fashion sense. They've mastered the Art Of Ombre:

These sisters are in the same yard, and they're going to be even more beautiful when they start producing flowers. 

This Fall is full of mysteries so far. Many, many of our trees are still lushly green. Some trees have only a few big limbs that have turned colour completely. Yards still need to be mowed regularly when it isn't raining. In the herb garden, only the basil has been pulled out. The rest of the herbs still flourish (an understatement when it comes to my sage). A juvenile redheaded woodpecker frequents my feeder; isn't it awfully late for young birds?

This weekend we are dry-docking the boat and putting the deck furniture in the storage shed. Lake season will officially be over. We never completely close up the house, and we'll probably still weekend there from time to time. Here's a sunrise photo taken from the bedroom view on a September morning:

The fog soon lifted, and we had another lovely day.

Earlier in September, we had this sunset:

No need for filters--it's an awe-inspiring display on its own. I'll miss boat rides; they afforded us the best views for sunsets. Still, it's not good to become spoiled.

Talk to me of your Fall in Comments. Are you noticing, like me, anything unusual?

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The Soundtracks Of My Life

My life has a lot more Music in it lately. Jared included us in his Music streaming service plan, and being able to listen to exactly what I want to hear with no ads was revolutionary. Now I understand why both my sons sit for a few moments in the driveway after we said our goodbyes; getting one's Music set up is sort of a big deal.

Because I'm old, I immediately started a playlist of a bunch of songs I loved from forever ago spanning the 70s to the present. Do you want to hear Carole King or Carly Simon? I've got you covered. How about a little Matchbox 20 or Bruce Springsteen? Here you go. Eminem, John Mayer, Steely Dan, Sam Smith, Aretha? Of course. Jeffrey James or James Bay or maybe The Weeknd? Let me play Al Green first. And that's just a little sampling (I even have Milli Vanilli; I loved those songs) because I keep adding more songs to this big bloated playlist rather than make a separate one. Why make things workier than I have to?

Sometimes, though, I need some Music that's very serene and relaxing. I don't want words and I don't want a melody that my brain has to follow. I needed that desperately a few weeks ago, and thankfully, I found a ready-made mix called Mellow Cello. That led me to Yo Yo Ma, and I discovered that I have a deep appreciation for cello Music. It's calming and beautiful, and Yo Yo Ma's artistry is profound. 

I like that this service tries to figure me out and make mixes for me, too. Sometimes it does a pretty good job. Other times, it bores me to death or strikes out terribly. It also has a pre-made mix of something they named Yacht Rock, and I have no idea why it's called that. Do aging rockers really sit on expensive boats and listen to songs like Africa by Toto, Brandy by Looking Glass, The Pina Colada Song by Rupert Holmes, Into the Night by Benny Mardones, and Summer Breeze by Seals and Crofts? 

I will say that when Sam and Jared have joined us on the boat this summer and we drop anchor to do a little day drinking, they are in charge of the Music. They do not choose Yacht Rock. Instead, Sam brings his bluetooth speaker and fires up Hip Hop BBQ. This Music also gives my brain a break because I don't know any of the songs except for a few words here and there. Once in a while, I make reference to how many times the rappers/artists say "In da club," and the boys assure me that only Old School Hip Hop Artists say that anymore. I'll take their word for it because they would know and it's not my genre.

Quite often I'll simply tune into WCLV, the classical Music station, as I'm driving. I've discovered that there is a great deal of classical Music that I do not care for. Some of it sounds like they're throwing their instruments down a flight of steps. Some of it sounds like jazz, but with an orchestra. At times, violins irritate me. I've listened to enough Debussy to know that I don't like his stuff. 

I still like my Quiet, and it's rare that I play Music at home when I'm alone. I also don't play Music when I take my walks. It is, however, good to welcome Music back into my life. 

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S Is For Scissors

 

Right now in my home, were you to go on a Scavenger Hunt of sorts, you could find at least fifteen pairs of Scissors. It's not that I forget where I put them and so keep on buying them, pair after pair after pair. It's also not a case of being a sort of Scissor Snob or Scissor Specialist, buying highly specific Scissors for certain jobs, designating a certain pair solely for paper, another for fabric, another for my knitting needs, and another for flowers. It's not like that at all.

And I'm not into paper crafting, either, so I don't have those fancy schmancy Scissors that cut various designs onto paper edges for scrapbooking or card making. I don't even have a pair of pinking shears.

What I do have is the gleeful realization that I can have more than one pair of Scissors in my home!

Let me explain.

Growing up, we were a One Scissors Household. The six of us and all of our Scissor needs were met by a single pair of decent Scissors. Can you even imagine it? This condition persisted for as long as I lived at home. It was highly inefficient and, to me, extremely unsatisfactory. Oh, sure, once in a while a pair of our crappy blunt school scissors would surface, but I might as well try to cut with two butter knives taped together for as helpful as those things were. 

(Which reminds me--we also seemed never to have any Scotch tape, ever. Even at Christmastime, I cannot tell you how many times we wrapped presents with electrical tape, carpet tape, or, on one horrific Christmas, no tape at all, holding all wrapping paper together with ribbon and string. None of us will ever get over that one, not ever. But I digress.)

Trying to find the Scissors was also a chore. There was no end to the places they could be:  the drawer in the living room; the drawer in the kitchen; in the sewing kit; hanging up in the kitchen; upstairs or in their bedroom; check on top of the dresser! How it never occurred to anyone to get another pair of Scissors escapes me. My whole life, I merely assumed that you could not have more than one pair.

It wasn't long after I got married and had my own home that I realized you could buy Scissors at the store, as many as you want, and just HAVE THEM. Honestly, I got a thrill. And so I began buying Scissors.

I have two pairs of Kitchen Scissors, and I love them. I don't struggle with opening bags of anything; I grab my Scissors and cut them. I happily spatchcock chickens like a chef and snip away skin and fat that I don't want. 

I buy little Scissors at Back To School sales and put them in my knitting bags. They're perfect for cutting yarn when I finish a project or start a new colour or whatever. I have lots of those, and they have fun colours on the handles.

There are Scissors in my desk drawer, my bathroom drawer, my nightstand drawer, and Rick has barber Scissors in the bathroom cabinet. I have Scissors (and Scotch tape galore) in my Christmas giftwrap tubs in the attic. I have Scissors at my back door to cut herbs in the garden, and I have a pair of Scissors in the basement so I can cut open new cat litter bags. I have a sturdy pair of Scissors in my toolbox, and another pair in my tub of craft supplies. 

As far as I know, my brother and my sisters are not as Scissor-Happy as I am. Perhaps they have hoards of Scotch tape or something else they felt the lack of keenly. I don't know. But I wonder if I have the most Scissors. Do I?

Tell me all about your Scissors or something you stock up on now because you hated being without it before. I look forward to reading about it all in Comments.

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H Is For Hair

 

An article I read not too long ago proposed that most women cycle among three hairstyles. They don't stray from these three, and if they do, they try to make the errant haircut look like one of the three styles they are more comfortable with. 

I absolutely get that. 

Every so often, I used to get a restless fussiness about my hair, usually in the late spring, and I'd decide to Try Something New And Short(er). This almost always resulted in either A) Disaster or B) Immediate Regret the next morning when I'd try to style it myself and my hair would refuse to cooperate. I'd call my stylist and book a recut, or more often, I'd sit in front of the bathroom mirror with Rick at my side and point to wayward hunks of recalcitrant hair while he used his barber scissors and tried to Do Something. These unhappy incidents are all duly recorded here in my archives someplace, of course.

I've been at war with my hair for more than fifty years. Ever since my mother first decided that I would have long, long hair that she would braid every morning, my hair has been almost a separate entity. I wanted to wear it long and loose; that was not an option. And like most people with straight, straight hair, I longed for naturally curly hair. I remember watching The Wizard of Oz with particular longing:  Judy Garland had dark hair like mine, and she wore it in the most beautiful curls. That (and those red ruby slippers) nearly killed me with envy.

Remember the book Little Women by Louisa May Alcott? In it, the sister Jo has her hair cut off short and boyishly in order to sell it for twenty-five dollars. She wants to raise money so that her mother can bring their father from the war and nurse him at home.  When Jo reveals her shorn head, one of them cries out, "Oh, Jo! How could you? Your one beauty." I read that book when I was about eight years old, and that quote stuck with me. Your hair is part of your beauty and your femininity. And it's not like history and the media didn't agree.

"Nance," Rick will say, after I've gone on a tirade about my dissatisfaction with my hair, "I think your hair looks nice." And because I have been working on Accepting Compliments Graciously Without Negating Them, I try to simply thank him. Without sighing and rolling my eyes and saying something like, "Oh, Rick. What the hell do you know? Don't you see how flat it looks? Do you know how much time I spent with the round brush, and it looks like all I did was roll out of bed after sleeping for fifteen hours on this one side of my head?" 

It's not easy.

Why can't our culture be one in which women shave their heads and write clever slogans or cute drawings on them in Sharpie markers? Or have haircuts like men, who mostly walk into some place and don't really care all that much because It Will Grow Out In Two Weeks And Look The Same Anyway? 

My eldest granddaughter is 19. She dyes her hair all different colours, sometimes several at once. My son Sam's girlfriend walked into her stylist and said, "I'm sick of messing with my hair all the time and trying to make it something it's not. Give me something short and trendy that suits my hair." And he did and it's awesome. My son Jared's girlfriend has wonderful wild curly hair that descends in spirals and makes me want a crazy perm. 

But I know better. I'm currently on #2 of my 3 Usual Hairstyles. And I'm actually having a Good Hair Day. 

That's today, however; tomorrow could (and probably will be) an entirely different story.  Talk to me of all things Hair in Comments.

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F Is For Fingernails

 I've kept my fingernails quite short for awhile now, so short that there's plenty of finger above the nail at the tips. It makes for easy typing, easy prep and cooking, easy everything, really. And my Fingernails are so thin and bendy when they grow out now that having them long is a hazard. They tend to bend backward if I'm digging at something, tear awkwardly, or break off because they're dry and papery. (Don't suggest biotin. I was on that and it caused some unpleasant intestinal effects.)

Back when I was teaching, I used to let my Fingernails grow out long as part of My Look. I filed, base-coated, polished, top-coated and took pride in them. I favoured Revlon nail polish, and I had the bottles all lined up in my night table drawer. Do you remember the Chanel nail colour that everyone was knocking off there for awhile, that deep, deep black cherry? You'd swear it was black, but upon closer inspection, you could see it was actually a sort of midnight red. I loved that and wore it often. I also loved a colour that looked just like dried blood. Those Fingernails made my hands look terrific. 

How on earth did I find the time (and patience) to do all that? I had two kids, a demanding teaching job, and a home and pets. Ah, Vanity, thy name is Nance.

If one of my Fingernails would break, I'd cut them all down to match the broken one. I was ruthless and brave. (I've always been a Symmetry Junky.) I'd use a more muted colour--Sand Beige, or Pearl--until they were long and beautiful again, and then I'd celebrate with a bright red. 

Acrylic Fingernails were a big thing among a few of my friends, and at one point, I was tempted. It had been a long time since I'd had my long Fingernails (I'd given up the drudgery due to one thing or another), and I mentioned to a friend that I was thinking of going to a nail salon and getting a set put on. "You'll hate it," she said. "It involves maintenance. Do you know you need to go back every few weeks for a fill? When your nails grow out, they'll need to fill in that gap at the base of the acrylic where your real nail shows the growth. And--"

That was enough for me. It sounded worky, like getting hair colour and dealing with roots, another thing I've never done because of the maintenance. What a lot of bother and expense. And Bossiness, and if there's one thing I detest, it's being Bossed Around by obligations. The last thing I need in my life is my Fingernails or my hair telling me what to do or making me drive to an appointment. Sounds terrible. 

Do I miss my long, stylish, sexy red Fingernails? No. I really do not. That part of My Look was easy to give up. So were earrings. Let's not talk about my high heels, though. 

Sigh.

Talk to me about your Fingernails, past and present. I want to know.

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November Post #8--My Worst Habits

I wonder if I should consult my husband Rick for this particular post. He would probably have a much better perspective on my Worst Habits than I would. Presently, he is napping in the recliner, having already been awake for a strenuous three and a half hours, most of which were occupied by watching the Sunday morning political chat shows. Apparently, they took a great deal out of him.

While he rests, let me take a shot at what I think might be

My Worst Habits

1. I Cannot Sit Normally:  Most people sit on a chair or sofa with their feet on the floor. I fold one leg underneath me and then sit. Eventually, both feet end up under me or I sit cross-legged. It is a gargantuan struggle for me to sit with both feet on the floor like a normal adult, even at a dinner table.

2. I Sleep In The Fetal Position Always:  Even in a king-size bed, I cling to the edge and never, ever stretch out my legs. I now have to wear night braces on my wrists to keep them straight and prevent daytime pain. 

3. I Am A Leaner:  My mother, St. Patsy, called me out on this constantly as a child and teen. If I sat next to her on the sofa, I leaned on her heavily. I lean to one side on the couch now, resting on an armrest. I do the same thing in my big chair. I even lean to one side in the car, both as driver and passenger. Even when I walk on the sidewalk, I tend to drift. I often wonder if my center of gravity is off or what.

4. I Need Symmetry And Order:  I hate when the big rug in the dining room is askew and must straighten it. I have to have the light switches synced--if one is in the Off position, but is actually On because the other switch was used, I have to make it right. I immediately fix any crooked picture, mirror, or clock. I hate if the wrong pillow is in the wrong spot. I'm working on it.

5. I Can't Get Going In The Morning:  After 30 years of exploding into my morning full-blast and in high heels with a room full of relentless teenagers, I looked forward in retirement to easing into my days. Now, I've taken it to the extreme. I might wake up at 7:00 or 7:30, but I will fritter away my time for three or four hours reading the newspaper, blogs, and other sites while I sip my two cups of coffee. I answer my Comments, make comments, answer emails, and do all sorts of procrastinating activities before I finally truly Get My Day Started. It's by far My Very Worst Habit.

By the way, Rick surfaced a moment ago and I asked him to weigh in. After several minutes of thought, he said, "I don't think you really have any bad habits." Bless his heart. I love him so much.

Your turn, if you feel like 'fessing up. What are your worst habits? Do we share any?

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Holy Crap, We Are Old Now

Scene opens on the living room. Rick is in his chair, researching something with his laptop. Nance sits on the couch with her laptop open, reading the newspaper online. Behind her are perched the two cats, mildly interested in what lies outside the window. Maybe.

Rick: So if we have Amazon Prime, we have Amazon Music, right?

Nance: Yes. Which reminds me, earlier this week, when I was coming home from the store, I had the radio on, and--

Rick: (whole face brightens; looks doubly interested) I can't believe I just heard that.

Nance: I know, right? *I* was listening to the radio. Did you know you can change stations right on the steering wheel? I just discovered that. There's a little button right on board, and--

Rick: Haven't you been reading the book? I thought you said you would read the book.

Nance: I have been, but it's terrible. It's all over the place.

Rick: And it's vague.

Nance: Yes. It's vague. Anyway, I had the radio on, and Lose Yourself by Eminem came on, so I cranked it up.

Rick: (grinning and wholly amused) I cannot believe what I'm hearing right now. Go on.

Nance: What? That I like that song or that I cranked it up?

Rick: All of it. Go ahead.

Nance: By the way, you can crank it up using the same button that changes the stations. So, I'm blasting Eminem and doing some car dancing and it's really alleviating my stress from shopping, and then it's over. The next song is some boring song by Diplo and somebody.

Rick: Who? Who is that? I never heard of him.

Nance: Not important. Anyway, I don't feel like listening to that, so I switch stations and try to find something else. I find something briefly, then I decide to go back to the original station, figuring Diplo is about done. Next thing I know, here comes Eminem with Lose Yourself again!

Rick: What the heck?

Nance: I know! So I crank it back up and car dance like crazy. All I can think is that a lot of these stations are automated now. They don't even have DJs anymore, just preprogrammed lists and ads and it's all autopilot. It's probably a glitch in the program. So as I'm sitting at the light acting like some hyped-up senior from 2002 on the last day of school--in my Prius--I'm laughing and wondering if the next song is going to be Diplo again.

Rick: And?

Nance: I was already pulling into the driveway, but I actually sat in the garage and waited to see if Diplo was next. It wasn't. They must have fixed that glitch. But now that I'm thinking of it, I want that song on my phone. The Eminem one. I'm going to download it now. (looks at Rick, who is shaking his head and laughing) What?

Rick: Just...everything. All of it.

Nance:  I know. It's a lot.

End scene.

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Words For 2020: #2 Meditate/Reflect

It's my habit to park in a space distant from the entrance at the grocery store. It gives me a little more exercise, and I don't have to worry about finding a place to park or some distracted driver backing out and hitting me. Today, however, I had no choice; those were the only spots left. As I pulled in, the woman in front of me, whose hatch was facing me, was unloading a cart full of Kleenex boxes. I'd guess she had at least fifteen single boxes, and she was tossing them into the back of her car with a grim face.

In no way was I prepared for what I walked into. People were steering carts that were overflowing. The line at the deli was across the length of counter and three customers deep. I checked my list and tried to pick up a little speed. I was starting to feel tense and uncomfortable.

"Attention shoppers. We apologize, but we've just received the following instructions from our corporate office and must place limits on the following items. Isopropyl alcohol 70% to 90%, one bottle per customer. Bleach, one bottle per customer. Sanitizing wipes containing antibacterial or bleach..." and I stopped listening. I started to feel like I was in a Stephen King novel--like The Stand. Stores had been out of hand sanitizer for days and days now. (Even though every single healthcare professional has said that washing your hands was far more effective, there has not been a run on soap.)

I finished my shopping--and encountered several hastily made signs listing the limited products once I got to the cleaning supplies aisle--and realized that I was starting to feel panicky and almost sick. Another announcement was added, this one apologizing for the long checkout lines.

They weren't kidding. Part of the reason was that many people had two carts. I looked down at my cart and wondered again if I was being foolish for not stocking up. I keep a pretty good pantry and freezer as it is, but who knows? The governor has shut down schools for three weeks beginning on Monday. All shows, sporting events, and large expositions (Sam's Piston Powered Show this weekend!) are cancelled. I could feel this struggle begin welling up in me, this fight against the surreal.

I couldn't wait to get home. I needed a walk and some time to decompress and breathe. And then I needed to Meditate and Reflect.

Walking helps a great deal. The physical activity, the reconnection with Nature, the breathing of fresh air--all of that recenters me and grounds me again. But I also need some time for Meditation/Reflection. I use that quiet time to check in with myself and relax my tension. I'm not a Traditional Meditator in that I don't sit cross-legged or use a mantra or any accoutrements. I don't get all jazzed about Clearing All Thoughts From My Mind or all that. For me, that's nearly impossible. I'm a Chain Thinker. One thought leads to another to another to another and pretty soon I'm thinking about the time many years ago that I forgot a bag of frozen peas in the car for like two weeks.

No, usually, I listen carefully to any sounds in my environment and/or my breathing. If a thought comes in, I go ahead and think it. If a thought endangers my Zen, I just give it the Scarlett O'Hara--"I'll think about that tomorrow." Today, my stomach growled a lot while I was Meditating and Reflecting. It made me laugh, which I really needed. I Reflect a great deal on how grateful I am; how so many things in my life are Good; how many things I have to look forward to. And I make sure I take an inventory of how I've been doing that day: how do I feel? what did I accomplish? am I tensed up anyplace?

Some days I can take my time; other days I do a shorter version. Some busy days, this is actually done in bed! For me, Meditation/Reflection is some important Me Work. And I feel like I'm worth the effort.

So in 2020 and beyond, Meditate/Reflect are two of my Words.

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Finally Risen From My Sickbed

Let me just say this, and you can certainly write it down and quote me if you wish: Life Is Not Fair.

I'll give you a minute because I know that's a stunner.

...

Okay.


I just want to go On Record with the following:

1. I wash my hands constantly.
2. I keep hand sanitizer in my car.
3. And I use it as soon as I get in after I've been anywhere.
4. I use the antibacterial wipes on all shopping carts.
5. If Rick sneezes or coughs--for any reason--I will not let him kiss me on the mouth.
6. And then I interrogate him sternly, "Are you sick? Are people sick at your work?"
7. I don't eat or drink after anyone. Ever.
8. If someone near me is sniffling, sneezing, or coughing, I hold my breath until I am well out of their space.

In spite of all of this, AND A VACCINE GOTTEN IN A TIMELY MANNER (Mid-September), I got the flu. A lot of the flu. A bigass bunch of ass-kicking, no-prisoner-taking, bitch-making flu. Was I sick? Oh, ha ha. It is to laugh. My already lousy immune system rolled over and played dead immediately, taking all my dignity with it.

It was only in the last few days that I have finally felt truly well and entirely myself. And been able to go on my entire walk. The whole thing was/is completely ridiculous and I could not be more annoyed. I couldn't do a damn thing!

But let's not say another word about it. Because that would be letting the terrorist win. (One positive--I lost about 10 pounds.)

Before The Episode I had plans for this blog and things I wanted to write about. That is still my mission. And I have Things To Talk About beyond that. I'm glad to be back.

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It's A Peanut Butter Thing

I grabbed my huge water tumbler just now and there was peanut butter on it. Not a lot, but enough to make me roll my eyes, sigh, and not feel the least bit amused by it. It's ridiculous how often I find small dabs or smears of peanut butter in the most out of the way places. And lest you think I'm babysitting a toddler, let me assure you that I'm not. And for those of you who are settling in for a husband rant, you're going to be disappointed.

It's me; I'm the Typhoid Mary Of Peanut Butter.

Honestly, it's embarrassing. That stuff gets all over me whenever I'm near it. It doesn't help that I'm into the peanut butter every single day, sometimes twice.

During the summer Rick eats the very same lunch every single day, a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. He simply cannot face anything else, especially in the heat when he's out in the field. So, every night, I make him his Smucker's and Extra Crunchy Jif on wheat bread sandwich. As you can imagine, we buy a lot of peanut butter, so I get the enormous three pound jars, which are about eight inches tall, at the warehouse store. Once the level of peanut butter goes down in those jars, it's tough to maneuver the knife in there, especially in Extra Crunchy. Why don't the Jif, Peter Pan, and Skippy people put peanut butter in wide-mouth, squatty jars? Life would be so much easier! (And can we do something about that paper disk on the top that never, ever comes off cleanly and efficiently and that I have to wrestle with, resisting the urge to use my teeth? That would be terrific, too.)

As a child I had not much use for peanut butter. Now I am suddenly attracted to it like chocolate. A tart apple with peanut butter is my favourite lunch. Sometimes, I just eat a spoonful of peanut butter for lunch. Other hungrier times, a slice of toast with peanut butter and cheese.

Later, I find peanutty smears on my wrist, keyboard, phone, or nose. They could be on my sleeve, glasses, or refrigerator water dispenser.

It's...nuts.

I'm not a messy eater, and this doesn't happen to me with other spreads like butter or mayonnaise or even the strawberry jam. During my Nutella phase aeons ago, it wasn't a problem. And when I occasionally binge on (please don't judge me) marshmallow fluff, I don't mark a trail with it, either.

No, my dear friends, it's A Peanut Butter Thing. Is it just me? And if it is, any idea how I can clean up my act?


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The Last Of The Wise Words And Helpfulness From The Dept. Of Nance

This week we toss in a little bit of everything, from Parenting to Getting Stuff Done to Whatever Lies Between. A few of you decided to share meaningful sayings in Comments last week, so our series will end here. Did lives change immeasurably from our exchange? I'm betting No, but I never made the claim that they would. Instead, we had a chance to share What Works For Us in hopes that we'd lend a little glimmer of light along the way of someone else's pathway in Life.

Let's get started, shall we?

Reader Denise Fortney, in an effort to teach her children personal responsibility, used to tell them, "If you're going to be dumb, you'd better be tough." The longer version, she said, was, "If you're dumb enough to do it, you better be tough enough to handle the consequences." I think this applies to Life in general, where personal responsibility seems to be sadly lacking. The twenty-four hour news cycle is full of people making stupid decisions, stupid statements, or performing stupid stunts but not taking ownership of them. Or acting surprised when they are confronted with their actions. Good heavens! There are cameras and recorders everywhere. And would people everywhere learn how to simply say, "I'm sorry" and then shut the hell up? Too many apologies aren't.

Bridget, from The Ravell'd Sleave, finds this traditional saying to be very true: If you want something done, ask a busy person; the other has no time. I really get this. When I was working, I did so much stuff! I look back on it now, and I marvel at the Superwoman that I was. There were days when I fed the boys, took them to the sitter, went to school for an early meeting, taught all day (grading papers and creating exams in between classes), picked them up, did the grocery shopping, went home and put it all away, made dinner, bathed kids, graded more papers, then finally went to bed. These days as a retired person, I fritter away so much time and feel incredibly imposed upon if I have to do anything out of my usual little routine. The day I had to go get my oil change almost killed me. When I'm busy, I feel like I'm in Go Mode--I do a ton of stuff. But when I have only one thing to do, I will put That Thing off until I absolutely have to do it.

NCmountainwoman at Mountain Musings shared this as a favourite, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but if one of us is going to be angry, then it might as well be you.” I have to admit that I'm not too sure about this quote, and that either I need some context or I'm just not understanding it very well. I tried to imagine myself saying it to my husband in a discussion or argument under some circumstances such as me confronting him about his habit of leaving piles of mail all over, or the unfinished basement tile project. But I just can't imagine saying it...to anyone. I'm sure I'm just misunderstanding the saying, and I know all of you will remove my blindspot in Comments.

Finally, I wanted to share with you a very practical piece of advice that made a huge impact on my life, both professionally and personally. It's a small thing, really, but the difference it made has been incredible. First, a little backstory:

I grew up in a family of six in a tiny bungalow. We had one bathroom with only a tub. We had two bedrooms for four kids; we three girls shared an attic room. My father never did a bit of housework, ever. My mother did just enough, but laundry alone (and we had a wringer washer for ages) took forever. As a result, things were clean, but not always tidy. We were crowded, and if each of us left one thing out of place, it looked messy.

As a teacher, I quickly learned that Organization is your Best Friend. I put into place so many failsafe systems for grading, recording grades, filing, and make-up work that my students were awed. They could never claim that I lost a paper, forgot to enter a grade, or never got a make-up assignment. The System Never Failed. Ever. Other teachers got sick of hearing about how they "should ask Mrs. D. about her system."

I heard the advice on some local chat show. No idea who it was or why she was offering it, but as soon as I heard it, I knew it was great advice for me. She said, "Touch something only once and act on it immediately." She went on to explain what she meant, but I only half heard the rest. I already knew what she meant and that it was easy to do. Stop piling mail on the counter to look at later--toss the junk and put the bills in the bill folder NOW. Don't drop your clothes on the chair--hang them up or put them in the hamper NOW. Don't leave the clean crockpot sitting on the counter--put it away NOW. Don't let the clean clothes languish in the clothes basket--Put them away NOW. Don't wait to fill out that form--fill it out and put it in the mail NOW.

I think you get the idea.

That piece of advice is now so ingrained in me that it's involuntary, instinctive--I do things immediately as a matter of course. Even when I absolutely do not feel like it, and it's then when I realize how little time those things actually take. The serenity of having fewer loose ends and an always tidy environment is my reward, and for me, so worth it.

I do hope you've enjoyed this Series of Wonderful Wisdom from our mutual friends here at the Dept. of Nance. And, as usual, we all look forward to your discussion in Comments.

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