In Which I Lighten Up My Life And Get A Little Airheaded

 Let me just say this:  I'm feeling delightfully lighter in February. After 48 straight days of Absolutely No Sunshine Whatsoever, we've been treated to several bright, happy days of sun. Yesterday and today, I took my daily walks without a coat or a jacket in 60 degree temperatures. Yes, it will all come crashing down next week, but until then, I'm basking in this Joy. 

And fresh air! My windows are open! Can you even imagine that--in Northeast Ohio! in February! What luck!

Another reason I'm feeling lighter is that this morning, I watched as a volunteer from the Vietnam Vets of America came to my home and picked up bags of clothes and several boxes of dishes, shoes, purses, and two pieces of furniture from my porch. All that stuff is now G O N E from my home. Hooray for decluttering and giving to a good cause.

Now let's see if I can declutter my head a bit and dump off a few things here.

1.  This ad was in the Cleveland Plain Dealer a little while ago and hurt my eyes and my feelings:

First of all, absolutely nothing in this estate sale interests me, thanks to the ad's key words and phrases:  Every room full (they were hoarders); CB radios (no one ever left the house or had contact with the outside modern world); precious moments (dust bunnies galore and stuck in the 80s); bennie babies (Precious Moments turned out NOT to be the moneymaker they thought, so they glommed onto these, which tanked even worse, and, again, dust); seasonal (my experience with this is that many Collector-type people also collect tons of Xmas and holiday tchotchkes which also sit around collecting dust; these types of items do not sell, even at garage sales, trust me). 

Also, let's talk about The Spelling now, shall we? Obviously, it's Beanie Babies, not bennie babies, like some sort of homage to Bennie and the Jets or the drug benzedrine. And it's collectibles--the noun form--not collectables--the adjective form. An easy way to remember is "if it's an Investment, it's a collectIble." Sigh. I know, I know, I should stop reading the Classifieds.

2. On my walk today, in addition to a dandelion, I saw this and it made me smile:

I apologize for the quality of this photo. I couldn't get very close because this is not a friendly cat. It's also Not Their Cat. Did you think I was just posting this for the Irony?

This is a neighbourhood stray who hangs around on various porches. It's the first time I've seen it on this particular porch, however, and I'm rather surprised. This is where a St. Bernard lives. There must be something really good inside that Chewy box. You know what they say:  no risk, no reward.

3.  Finally, this conversation occurred on Monday night:

Nance:  I'm exhausted. I was so busy all day. (proceeds to list all chores accomplished that day)

Rick:  Wow. Well, thank you. That was a lot.

Nance: Oh, and by the way, I barely had enough battery left to finish using the leaf blower on the porch. Then I saw the charger wasn't even plugged in. What's up with that?

Rick:  You what?

Nance: I used the leaf blower to blow all the peanut shells and sunflower seed detritus off the front porch. It's ridiculous out there, you know? And the battery went dead, and I had to put it in the charger, but first of all, the charger was crammed behind stuff on that shelf, and then it wasn't even plugged in.

Rick:  I unplugged it.

Nance:  But why?

Rick: (carefully, looking right at her) Because I assumed that we wouldn't be needing A LEAF BLOWER in the WINTER.

Nance:  (light finally goes on) Oh! 

So tell me--What's lightening up your life in February so far? (And do you have the Winter Dumbs like me? Sigh.)

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Let's See If We're A Success (According To A Millennial Guy)

 

It's Sunday and even after beaching myself on the couch in my jammies like a Leisure Whale until almost noon, I still managed to have a productive day. My Streamline/DeClutter Project continued, and I got rid of or put away a lot of stuff, stuff that will later be donated or sold at the community garage sale in the spring. I was feeling quite Accomplished, let me tell you, and my efforts will continue tomorrow.  

Lest you feel overshadowed by my Great Success, I've got you covered. I came across this article, brought to you by the hugely respected journalistic source known as HackSpirit. The author of the article, a man in his mid-thirties who admits he's "gearing up for his mid-life crisis," says there are "11 accomplishments that could mean you're more successful than you think." I don't know about you, but I'm definitely interested in what a thirtysomething man deems Success In Life. Let's go!

1. College degree or equivalent

2. Mastery of a hobby

3. Marriage

4. Own property/real estate

5. Have a job, a car, a home, a partner at the same time

6. 3 months' expenses in savings

7. Someone has said they are envious of you

8. Someone has asked to interview you

9. Good credit rating

10.Childhood self would approve

11. Feeling of accomplishment

I cannot believe that Decluttering is not on this list. Nor is Restraining My Urge To Give Advice To Adult Children.

But I digress.

Obviously, a few of these are just bullshit. Does anyone have to be married to be Accomplished or Successful? Has everyone been asked for an interview? I think we all know plenty of accomplished people--successful people--who lack a college degree (or equivalent). 

I will say that I like Number 10 quite a bit. Personally, my Childhood Self would approve of Grownup Nance many times over. I think I mentioned before that I keep my kindergarten photo on my dresser to remind me of the little girl who wanted to be a teacher and a mom. I look at her often and think about how so many of her dreams came true and then some. It helps me stay grateful.

Many of these smack of great privilege. Not everyone can own their own home. Not everyone can maintain 3 months' savings for emergencies. And we all know that Success is relative.

Some days, my only criteria for Success is to remain vertical during a migraine. Others, it's to refrain from saying anything about the pile of papers on the table next to Rick's chair. Or, it might be to get dinner on the table five days a week.

How do you feel about these 11 criteria for Success? Do you feel like you're a Success? Which criteria would you change or add?

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I'm Worried About The Pandas' Mental Health

 My Google News Feed really dumped on me today. It was bad enough wading through the tragic events in Gaza, the barrage of intensifying bad behaviour among republicans in the House of Representatives, and another road closure in my neighbourhood, but did it have to tell me about how China is cruelly using their Pandas as a bargaining chip?  As always, no need to click over to the article because as I said so many years ago, when there is a Panda story, I am all over it. That is my vow to you.

As some of you may know, China refused to renew our Panda Lease on three Pandas we had here in the US (Tian Tian, Mei Xiang, and Xiao Qi Ji housed at the National Zoo, DC). They were bid a tearful farewell when their lease was up about a week and a half ago. Previous to that, Pandas living happily in San Diego and Memphis had their Panda Visas cancelled, too. The only remaining Pandas are in Atlanta, and their lease expires next year, at which time they're also headed back to China. 

Previously, Panda Leases were perfunctorily extended, but since diplomatic relations have gotten a little strained, the Chinese decided to Pull Their Pandas. President Xi didn't like that the US shot down his spy balloon; he didn't appreciate then-Speaker Pelosi's visit to Taiwan. Basically, Xi said, "Hey, just for that, we're taking back our Pandas!"

He's a tough guy, that Xi. He was, however, moved to find out that Americans, especially children, went to the zoo to say goodbye to the Pandas. That evidently softened him up a little. “Pandas have long been envoys of friendship between the Chinese and American peoples. We are ready to continue our cooperation with the United States on Panda conservation,” he said. Translation:  Make nice here if you want some Pandas, Mr. President.

This Panda Diplomacy has gone on since 1972 when Nixon made his historic visit to China. Since then, China has gifted nations with Pandas as a sign of friendship and good diplomatic relations. And when the nations displease them, China yanks those Pandas back. 

China also gets all the Pandas born to their Pandas in other nations. I feel bad for those little Pandas, raised in another country and shipped off to China. They don't know the language! Everyone looks different than what they're used to! It's a culture shock!

Maybe we should tell Xi Jinping thanks, but no thanks. It all sounds traumatic for the Pandas, young or old. Maybe China should just keep their Pandas to themselves.

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Do You See This?

Sometimes when I go shopping, I wonder if I'm the only one who sees stuff like this. I also wonder if employees put these things out on the shelves just for fun. I mean, everyone deserves to get their kicks during the workday.

Here's this, from Closeouts in my funny grocery store:

Okay. I'm not exactly sure what this is, but I can positively say that it is NOT a Trio Of Li'l Mice. 

And then I saw this Bargain at Marshalls on Clearance:

Hey! I'm sorry, but since you waited so long to buy this Italian Macaroni Product Made In Italy--and that's not redundant at all--you now pay the Special Clearance Price, marked down up to $5.00. You know what they say, "He who hesitates...yada yada yada."

And, no, I didn't buy either one of them.

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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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Another Grocery Store Outrage: Move Over, Bananas

Of course you all remember how invested I get in the price of things at my grocery store, especially bananas. Since I'm not on anxiety medications, I've had to learn to roll with the capricious price increases foisted upon us by the pandemic and corporate greed.

I will say, however, that there is NO REASON for coffee to be as high-priced as it is. I have been monitoring the commodities markets, and coffee has done nothing but slide for the past year.

Just saying.

Anyway, my point, and I do have one, is this. 

I am breaking up with you, Biscoff.

This is outrageous and unreasonable, and I am not having it. Do you know what I used to pay for Biscoff cookies when I first discovered them? $1.98 a package. That was about one year ago. Then, sometime in the spring, my funny grocery store stopped carrying them. I subsequently found them at Target for $2.99 a package--and of course I was outraged--but I paid it (many many times), mainly because Rick discovered Biscoff and would polish off a package in one sitting. 

Suddenly, Biscoff disappeared completely. For months. When it reappeared, the price had shot up to what you see, above. I shopped around, but Biscoff was now ridiculously priced everywhere. So I did what I always do; I researched it. And here's what I found:

"'Responsible' price hikes and rising volumes earned Lotus Bakeries new record figures: for the first time, the Belgian company’s turnover surpasses half a billion euros in the first six months of a year. With turnover up more than 20 % to 501 million euros in the first half of the year, Lotus Bakeries speaks of a “new milestone”. ..Biscoff biscuits (+ 20 %)...advanced strongly. Net profit went up 15.9 %. The figures are better than what analysts had expected.

According to the biscuit baker, the strong results came as “responsible” price increases combined with an 8 % increase in volumes. The tariff increases the company implemented early this year to counter rising costs led to a double-digit price effect. Lotus Bakeries stresses that the price increases over the past two years were always aligned with actual costs, and were unavoidable due to unprecedented increases for raw materials, packaging, transport and wages, among others. The company claims that the price effect has now reached its peak."

Well, la di da, Biscoff people. Whatever. 

I'm just now okay with being gouged for bananas. I'm not okay with being gouged for cookies, even if they're as delightful as Biscoff. This is going to take some time, and maybe Forever. Breakups are painful and sad. It's a Process, and in the meantime, I need a Rebound Cookie. And some Support Outrage. 

Help me out in Comments.

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A Scene Of True Love, With Swirling

 

Scene opens on lakehouse kitchen. Nance is spreading pesto on flatbreads. Rick is opening a bottle of red wine. He pulls the cork and pours each of them a small amount to taste. Nance furiously swirls her glass on the counter before lifting it to her nose; inhales deeply. Rick takes a sniff of his and drinks.

Nance:  (slightly annoyed) You never swirl. I don't understand. 

Rick:  (mildly; he's heard this before)  I'm not a fan of the swirling. And sometimes, yes, I do swirl. But I know this wine. I know it's fantastic. I don't need to swirl.

Nance:  I know this wine, too, but it is possible to get a bad bottle. It could be from the end of the run. The cork could fail. And I like to fully appreciate the first taste. 

Rick:  I know you do. And you should. I just don't do all that.

Nance: (sighs deeply) Well, will you promise me something? If I get too old or frail or decrepit, will you always swirl my wine for me?

Rick:  Of course I will. I promise.

Nance:  And will you always pour it in the correct glass, too, even if I'm too senile to care?

Rick:  Yes. I'll try.

Nance:  And if I have to use a straw, will you make sure it's made of glass so it doesn't affect the taste and quality of the wine? 

Rick:  You know I will. Of course. 

Nance: (hugging him) Oh, thank you. You're the best.

End scene.

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May The Blue Jay Of Happiness Bring You More Than Just Peanuts

 Many of you may recall that I feed the blue jays. My Number One Goal was to get a blue jay to take a peanut out of my hand. It never happened, but that's okay. Every morning I feed raw peanuts in the shell to a dozen blue jays on my porch and it's wonderful. I sit on my couch and my cats lie at the door and watch while all of them swoop in and out. Of course, there's far more to it than just that, as there is to so many seemingly simple things in my life. I take what should be an Easy, Joyful Thing and find a way to Make It Worky. 

It never starts out that way. It starts out simple and innocent and easy. Then I read something and talk to someone and then read some more and pretty soon it becomes a Whole Production in which I involve others. 

At one point my brother informed me that he discovered blue jays taking eggshells out of his compost. "You should try giving your blue jays some eggshells," he said. I could not google it fast enough. Rick takes a hardboiled egg every day in his lunch. He now peels it with utmost care; my blue jays prefer large pieces of shell. Sam, my son who comes here for lunch, also peels eggs with gentle precision For My Blue Jays.

Not long ago, some particularly shitful squirrels began invading my porch during Blue Jay Breakfast Buffet. They were shameless and greedy. They took over both peanut pedestals and peed all over the place. I couldn't have that. In a burst of frustration, I sent Marlowe out the front door with a command. "Get 'em! Get those squirrels!" Marlowe ran right out and did her job. Then she installed herself at the porch post, waiting. A few blue jays swooped in; Marlowe merely looked at them. When a squirrel came up, she pounced at it. I was thrilled.

Unfortunately, Marlowe has since been fired, and so has Piper. Their bloodlust for marauding squirrels turned into curiosity and tolerance. It was pathetic and sad to see them merely sit and watch the squirrels wander past them and onto the peanut feeders. At that point it was up to me, and I traded my leisurely mornings for several of vigilance and Squirrel Terrorizing.

Lately, I've had trouble finding raw shelled peanuts at my grocery store. Whenever I did find them, I'd always buy a couple of bags. I was down to my last bag, and the store had been out for a while. I went to a different town, but still no peanuts. Earlier this week, I ran out completely. Panic set in. Still, there was one option. I got in my car and took a short drive.

Thank you, Rural King

As God is my witness, my blue jays will never go hungry again! That's 25 pounds of raw shelled peanuts right there. Those peanuts now live in a big tub in my basement and I couldn't be happier.

I know; it doesn't take much, right?

Sometimes, it's the Simple Things (That You Make Worky) in life that are the best.

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Look What I Found!

 Quite unintentionally, I found some fun stuff last week. Now you get to look at it, too.

I have a terribly sad history with Cheetos. In 2003 I had to break up with them after they turned on me in a gastric episode that stays with me still. When I saw this bag of Lay's Cheeto flavoured potato chips, I literally did a double-take. Then I stood there, trying to decide whether to take the risk and try them. The amount of hemming and hawing I did was ridiculous and pathetic. I'm sure that someone saw me and commented about it on their Twitter account: Some crazy woman is mesmerized by the new cheeto lays chips. Shoot me if I ever get that enthralled by snacks.

Anyway, I bought them (of course I did) and we tried them. 

Meh. 

And they ended up making me a little bit nauseated, so Cheetos--we're still broken up after all.

Spiders, especially the daddy longlegs kind, and spider webs are the bane of my existence at the lake. Every weekend I'm trying to get rid of the damn things in every conceivable nook and cranny. I found this duster at my goofy grocery store and bought it. It's on a nice long handle. I took it and my groceries up to the cashier, a diminutive elderly man with an impeccable haircut.

Cashier:  Wow, look at that thing!

Me:  I know. It's ridiculous.

Cashier: They should have put trump's picture on it.

Me:  Ugh. Then I wouldn't have bought it.

Cashier: (fixing me with a keen look) Oh sure you would. 

Me: Oh, so I'd have the pleasure of getting him all dirty? Yeah, maybe so!

Cashier:  What a crook! You know, my wife is the most laid-back, gentle person. But any time she hears his name, she goes off. That guy...what a jerk. What a crook.

(Woman behind me laughs and nods)

Me:  I couldn't agree more. 

Finally, I found this treasure in my Cleveland Plain Dealer over the weekend. Yes, it's rife with grammatical errors, but that's not my favourite thing about it. I know once you read it, you'll be as delighted as I am with what you find. 

I certainly hope you are similarly Up To Date and feeling fine because of it. Regularity is often something for which to be Thankful, is it not? 

Enjoy your week, and I hope you find things to brighten it up. Talk to me about Finds in Comments.

B Is For Bananas (And My Belligerence About Produce In General)

A great deal of advice exists about Food Shopping. Don't go to the grocery store hungry! Shop the perimeter of the store! Stock up on great deals on meat and nonperishables! Honestly, I ignore all that. I find that I have my own Internal Rules about Food Shopping, and most of them can be distilled to these two:

1. I'm not paying that; they're crazy.

2. I will buy this no matter what it costs.

Produce falls into the #1 category constantly. I am weekly dismayed at the price of some items of produce, and will happily (but begrudgingly) do without until Those People come to their senses. If They think I am okay paying $1.50 for a single English cucumber, They are insane. That is Madness. Likewise, my threshhold for a bunch of broccoli is $2.50, but it had better be some damn goodlooking broccoli. And do not get me started about mushrooms or avocados. I'll need medication.

Pretty much every week, I snap a photo of the sign overhanging the tableau of Bananas and send it to my friend Leanne in southern Maryland, who never looks at prices and simply buys whatever she wants from Peapod, the online grocery service. Or sends her saintly husband Jim to the store for this and that. They buy Bananas weekly, and I often fuss via text message about how the price continues to go up on Bananas here. Here is today's sign:

Good heavens! I remember not so long ago when Bananas were 39 cents a pound. Then they went up to 47 cents a pound. Each time, I communicated my outrage to Leanne. "We just paid 98 cents a pound," she said airily. "That is criminal," I texted back. "No way in hell I'd ever pay that. You're being robbed." Ever philosophical, she replied, "But we don't have snow here."

Which made me wonder, would I trade better weather if it meant higher-priced produce? 

For those of you who wonder about my Grocery Rule #2:  I will buy this no matter what it costs, that is reserved for things for which there is no substitute, such as certain wines, Hellman's mayonnaise, Philadelphia cream cheese, Heinz ketchup, Campbell's tomato soup, Old Bay seasoning, and such things. You have things like that, too, I know. Store brands or other labels will simply not do. 

I haven't bought Bananas in a couple of months. I am resentful about how fast they become overripe, no matter how many tricks I use. I've also developed a particularly bad habit of craving peanut butter with my Banana, and we all know how irresponsible I am with peanut butter. 

 And I'm not caving in to Them and paying Their heinous high prices. It's flagrant Produce Profiteering, that's what it is, and I'm not going for it. 

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A Is For Appliances: This Is How Far I Have Fallen

Here is a rather Sad Commentary about what my life has become:  I got excited because Rick bought me a leaf blower. I'll pause now while the Absurdity and Dismay wash over you like a Tsunami Of Pity.

Sigh.

Allow me to forestall your eye-rolling outrage about Leaf Blowers In General, too. Few things annoy me more than the cacophanous legions of Leaf-Blowing Men on Saturdays and Sundays, relentlessly walking up and down their yards and driveways, stalking leaves, herding them into swirling rows, and noisily guiding them all the way down to their curb lawns. For hours. For all the months of Autumn. Starting at 8 AM. And never, never ending.

I don't use my leaf blower like that. My leaf blower means I will no longer have to drag my vacuum cleaner out to the porch, wrangle the cord, lie on my stomach, crane my neck to see under the flap of the GFI outlet, and finally get it plugged in to vacuum the rug so that I am not surrounded by detritus. Or, snake the vacuum and its cord through the front door and let bugs in and perhaps a cat out. My new leaf blower is cordless and quiet. It sounds no louder than a hair dryer. It's wonderful.

I love it as much as I love my new vacuum.

I know; this is equally as pathetic, coming from me. I detest vacuuming. Everything about it irritates me:  the incessant noise; the fact that you never stop having to do it; the boring repetitiveness of it; the dragging around of a machine that only does one thing. Our previous vacuum was a nice little vacuum that did a great job. And! It had an automatic cord return that saved me the insult-to-injury of having to wind up a bigass cord after I was done doing a hated job. But recently, I noticed that the vacuum cleaner...wasn't. I was going over and over and over places, and cat hair and stuff was still there. 

It had to go. And fast. After a day of research, we got my new vacuum, and at that point I realized how how much of a slacker my old vacuum had been. It had been getting away with doing a half-ass job for years, and I had merely put up with it. This new machine makes my dining room faux Persian rug look like new. It plucks up the nap again on my carpets, making them feel cushy and deep. Its low profile gets way underneath furniture without me having to move it. It has suction settings! And no more sitting on the floor with scissors and pliers, ripping our long hair off of the brush roller; it has a self-cleaning roller that hair doesn't tangle around. It's almost the perfect I Hate To Vacuum Vacuum. 

Alas! It has no self-winding cord. And believe me, I do miss it.

I have a Love/Hate relationship with many of my appliances.  I've written here before about my infuriating can opener, which I still have. And let's not forget the time my icemaker attacked me, and yes, I still have that fridge, too. And, finally, my beloved coffeemaker, which, thanks to Rick, is still brewing after sixteen years. My old vacuum and Rick's heavy leaf blower did not inspire my love. They had to go. (But I still don't know why I have that damn can opener.) 

What's Your Sign? I'm Taurus, So I'm Loyal, Emotionally Strong, And Into Decluttering Kitchen Items. And Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream? (Heck No)

Sometimes, the Interwebs can bring us things we didn't even know we were looking for. I love when that happens. Even better is when I have No Idea how I got to where I arrived, having completely lost the thread of Where I Was Going in the first place.

This particular twisty-turny journey led me to an entire search page of zodiac signs. Let me say here and now that I do, in fact, read the Horoscopes every single day. I read mine, Rick's, and my sons'.  It benefits me in no way whatsoever except to occasionally laugh when it says things like "Tonight:  out on the town" or "exotic travel is favored". Oh, and once, a friend who dabbled in Astrology produced a chart for both Rick and me. There. Full disclosure.

But I digress.

This search page was fascinating. I had no idea that Astrology had branched out so far. It has moved into so many realms. As a Taurus, I was used to hearing about things like Tauruses are loyal, emotionally strong, independent, creative, practical. Our weak health is usually concentrated in our necks/throats. But all that stuff is Old School now. For example, did you know that your zodiac sign can also determine what you should De-Clutter?

bhg.com

Point taken. I promise to get right on that. And Rick, a Leo, does need to weed out the wardrobe. I keep telling him that. To be fair, he also hoards old receipts. 

Your birthdate also rules your ice cream preferences, supposedly. 

addiebusola.com

This is wrong, wrong, wrong. I detest mint chocolate chip, and Rick would not eat birthday cake ice cream. Actually, what the hell is going on with some of these flavours anyway? I advise everyone not to eat or drink blue stuff. You just never know.

Let's see how we fare with something else that's sweet.

tasteofhome.com

Yes! Out of all these candies, I would always pick Reese's (NOT Ree-sees; please pronounce it correctly. It rhymes with Pieces.) Peanut Butter Cups. Rick, however, would not ever pick Skittles. And Jared, who is NOT a Gemini, loves Swedish Fish. I know; I don't get it either.

Our zodiac signs also drive our footwear decisions. Take a look.

yahoo.com

Nope. Nude pumps? Not when there are patterned kitten heels or pointy-toe flats available. Now if they were red pumps, that would be perfect. I've owned dozens and dozens of heels in my life, and not one single pair was nude. For the record, Rick has no ankle-bow heels. 

Hey, if you're ever wondering what sort of book to pick up next, just consult your astrological sign. 

epicreads.com

This looks a little YA to me, but I used to read a lot of Stephen King, so it's pretty accurate there. I don't read much of any of these genres, except Historical. I like history, nonfiction, and some of what I guess would be called historical fiction. Rick has no interest in reading books, especially not fantasy. I would love to hear from all of you Aquarians who love to read Steampunk. I really would.

Finally, after all we've been through (and are going through), here's an astrological chart I like a great deal. See what else your birthdate can determine?

themindsjournal.com

I have no problem being designated as Hulk. My temper is mellowed quite a bit, but if you provoke me enough, I will, as my sons say, "put you on blast." I do not, however, turn even a little bit green. Rick is Superman, without a doubt. 

Had you any idea of the New Age Of Astrology and its incredible influence over our lives? How accurate were these new categories for you? Tell me who you are, according to the stars.

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I Saw These Things In My Bathroom, And Now You Have To Look At Them, Too

I wish I could say that I noticed these things because I was meticulously cleaning my bathroom, carefully wiping away each speck of dried soapsuds or polishing the porcelain and chrome knobs of the vanity faucet. Oh, I wish.

Actually, what I really wish is that Someone Else came in once a week to clean my bathroom. Hell, while I'm at it, I wish that Someone would come in and clean my whole house. Yes, I'm retired, but housework holds no charm for me.

But, I digress.

Here are a couple of things in my bathroom that snagged my Normal Filter. Let's see if It's Just Me.

1. I Am A Lousy Mother.

This tag is on my blowdryer. As you can see, I am a Rule Follower and DID NOT REMOVE IT! I did not, however, ever warn my children about the risk of death by electric shock. Ever. By some miracle, both Jared and Sam are still alive more than thirty years later. And I had blowdryers in the house the entire time! And bathtubs! By the way, neither my blowdryer nor my bathtub looks like the one pictured in the tag. I'd have to consult Rick, but I'm pretty sure that building codes do not allow an outlet right there by a bathtub. I'm absolutely positive, however, that Rules Of The English Language do not dictate that set of quotation marks. Just sayin'.


2. What Kind Of Mixed Messaging Is Happening Here?

This is my shower curtain liner. We have incredibly hard water, so I end up getting a new one about every four months. No amount of washing/soaking in various solutions will completely take out the ugly orangey residue. I just replace the liner, and I get nice cloth ones at my wondrous grocery store for two bucks. This one made me laugh. I'm pretty sure no sultan ever got his linens from China, and if he somehow did, they were not 100% polyester. I think about all the beautiful fibers and textiles made in the geographic areas of the Ottoman Empire, and then I look at my $1.99 shower curtain liner. I imagine entire desert tents, perhaps, made of shower curtain liners flapping in the warm nighttime breezes as the sultans clap for a servant. "Send to the Chinese for more of these polyester linens!" they command. "They are durable and cheap, and lightweight for easy travel." Of course, there is the Sultan of Brunei. He could certainly get his linens from China, but he is worth about 28 billion dollars, so I doubt he'd be surrounding himself with 100% polyester anything, let alone polyester shower curtain liners. He probably has a Himalayan Pink Salt cavern shower, no curtains needed.

My bathroom has nothing like that, just a death trap blowdryer and a wannabe royal shower curtain liner, both good for a couple of laughs.  Thank goodness I noticed them both.


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Don't Ever Let Anyone Tell You That Old Gas Stations Or Spelling Cannot Be Romantic

Scene opens on Rick and Nance driving home. It is blistering hot, and they are tired. Nance, perhaps unwisely, tries to lighten things up when they stop at a traffic light and, on the near corner, is the gas station you see above.

Nance:  (very serious) Rick. You must never, ever stop at that gas station.

Rick:  (tiredly) What? Oh god. That place. It's terrible. The pumps are all--

Nance:  I'm not talking about that.

Rick:  (looks at the gas station for several moments; the light changes; they drive on) Well, what then?

Nance: It's just not safe. There are (adds a meaningful pause, then says the rest in a stentorian voice) Icy Conditions. Even now, at the height of the Dog Days Of Summer, there could be sleety puddles or--

Rick:  (a little exasperated)  Geeze, Nance! And here I am, looking for misspelled words or an out-of-place apostrophe!

Nance:  I could not love you any more than I do right at this minute. You know me so well.

Rick:  (big sigh)  Yes, I do.

End Scene.

Three On Thursday: The Road Trip Edition And An Early Happy Mother's Day

It didn't seem like more than a week ago since my last post, but the calendar does not lie. Here's a quick Three On Thursday to remedy my laziness.

1. We spent the weekend at the lakehouse, where Rick is replacing the deck. Sunday was an unexpectedly gorgeous day, and we spent a large amount of it sitting on the dock in the sunshine. Since it was my birthday, we did a little Day Drinking and waved at the people who floated by in their boats. We were more than a little envious that they already had their boats in the water, but since warm days are so few and far between right now, we know we still have time. Right now, the deck is Priority One.

2. On our way home, we talked about what the heck to have for dinner. We were very tempted to stop at the ice cream stand on our way home (you know the one), especially when we saw this:

They were doing a decent business, and there was a moderate amount of social distancing. No specialty pizza was offered because this news was Too Big to share the sign. It was on both sides.

3. Sam was recently behind this truck and snapped a photo. He sent it to me immediately. I know you'll be positively astonished by its awfulness.

You don't no weather two laugh or cry, due you? Sigh.

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I hope you have a lovely weekend. For those of you who are Mothers, have a lovely Mother's Day. For those of you who, like my brother, are not technically a Mother but have been one for all intents and purposes, it is Your Day as well. It will likely not be like other Mother's Days past, but it does not change the fact that you are a Mother, no matter what.

And chocolate is back!

Saturday Sillies: A Photo Collection Of Shopping In The Good Old Days (Like Three Months Ago)

Way back in the Pre-Corona Days, when we used to be able to run out Willy Nilly for Doo Dads and Whatnots whenever we needed them, I snapped a few photos of things in the stores that caught my eye. "Someday, I can use that for the blog," I wisely said to myself.

That Someday has arrived, Dearest Readers. I need some Mental Chex Mix--you know, just a bit of light snacky stuff right now. Here we go.

1.  Back in January I was looking at my grocery store's Closeouts section for some cheapo memo cube paper. I wanted to use it for my Good Things Jar. In my search I came across this wonderfully perplexing item:

Are Seniors these colors, or are these colors only for Seniors? Am I yello?

2.  It was a December trip to my grocery store that produced this find. I was dawdling through the Closeouts department (imagine!), unmasked and ungloved, browsing leisurely, probably looking for stocking stuffers, when I saw this ridiculous item. It's ironic and irritating, yet fabulously vexing in its way.

Because nothing says Civilized and Elegant like black vinyl and a misspelling!

3.  I like to keep a running list of items I need from the grocery store, adding to it as I think of them. As a result I've become a big fan of the long narrow pads of lined paper with magnets on the back. I get them at dollar stores, and that's where I got this next snapshot, also in December. These signs were hanging literally everywhere I looked in that store, but I waited until I was driving away to take the photo. I didn't want to offend the person who made them, should he be the same individual ringing me up or stocking shelves as I shopped not a few feet away. (Ah, the Good Old Days!)

NO CASH BACK IN ANY DEVIT CARD. But your debit card--a different story? 

Happy Saturday, everyone.

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In Which I Admit I Have A Problem (But I'm Not Doing Much About It)

Ah, September! You are sneaking away so speedily, like the chipmunks that scatter across my deck. When I sit out on my chaise lounge, book in hand and ice water tumbler in a shady spot, I'm so quiet and still that many of them wander right up to my chair. If I've sought the coolness of my umbrella table, some will even scamper across my feet. The moment I move to grab a sip or turn a page, however, they run for cover as if launched.

And here's me, trying to think of the last time I ran. Oh, ha ha. It is to laugh.

Perhaps I shall have to run one day soon. You see, each day on my walk, I pass by a tall fence bordering the sidewalk, and peeping out from its slats are a few fronds of a cherry tomato plant. Every so often, there is a perfectly cheerful little ripe tomato, completely red and plump, hanging there to greet me. I've been picking them and eating them as I go on about my way, telling myself that it's Perfectly Okay, that they're Sidewalk Tomatoes, all the while living in fear that the gardeners will one day catch me at it and I'll have to a) run like hell and reroute my walk; or b) face up to my sin and apologize like the Tomato Thief I am.

More likely, I'll walk by one day and there will be a sign that says STOP STEALING OUR TOMATOES! THIS MEANS YOU!

All of those things sound terrible.

But today, I ate two of them and they were terrific.

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I'm So Happy That My Phone Has A Camera And Here Are Some Pictures To Prove It

Sometimes, I think back to The Olden Times when things were Very Sad, like when my cell phone did not have a camera I could use easily. Now, I can snap pictures of tremendous Things, share them, and then delete them once they have served their purpose, like becoming Blog Material. A collateral benefit is that others take pictures for me and send them to me, too.

Isn't Life great? I'm glad The Olden Times are gone.


We are so Advanced now that some Beings no longer use words. It's true! Witness this ad, which has run for a few days now in the Rentals section of my Cleveland Plain Dealer:

I feel like I'm getting some of it: grand staircase; cable tv; party room downstairs; no phone or casual hookups; outdoor pool; references available upon request. The rest is self explanatory. If you can handle complex communication and don't have a pet, the rent seems pretty reasonable.


I, however, will be staying in my neighborhood, especially after what I saw in this next photo. The joy (and relief) I felt on my walk when I saw this sign just around the corner from my home was immeasurable.

Until I went to edit this photo, I didn't notice the rays of light shining down upon it from The Heavens Above. It's awfully comforting to know that The Universe is rooting for The Rest Of Us in 2020, too.


This last photo was sent to me by my dear friend Jeanine, who keeps a sharp eye out for such things with me in mind. This sign made my day; it is magnificent in its oddness and bossiness. I have never, ever seen anything like it. It defies explanation and logic in every way. I love it.

This sign mystifies me, and I am not over it. I struggle mightily to figure out exactly how driving at a regular speed or even zippily will affect a grieving family. Wouldn't it make more sense (but still be a ridiculous imposition, really) for the sign to read QUIET: DEATH IN FAMILY: THANK YOU? How slowly must the drivers pass by? Can they drive r-e-a-l-l-y s-l-o-w-l-y but blast "Old Town Road" or "Sucker" with their windows open? Perhaps it would be better for drivers to stop altogether and observe a moment of silence for this dead person, whom they do not even know, in a family they do not even know, who are, right now, attempting to BOSS THEM AROUND IN THEIR PERSONAL CAR ON A PUBLIC ROAD. 

Isn't it just The Best? I told you I'm not over it. This will take some time. I'll get back to you.

In the meantime, why not chat about these pix in Comments?

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Offering Some Perspective (And A New Cooking Show Idea?) For 2019

The Long-Suffering Zydrunas

One of the last conversations I had in 2018, via telephone with my eldest, Jared.

Jared: Ma. Got any ideas for a killer sauce or something for salmon? Decided to stay in tonight for New Year's Eve, so she's bringing stuff over and we're making salmon for dinner.

Nance: Ugh. You know I detest all fish, and salmon tops the list. But I have a teriyaki glaze recipe for it from back when I thought you all liked it.

Jared: I've always liked it. You know that. I can do an Asian thing. I don't need a recipe.

Nance: You could do a traditional lemon-dill-butter thing.

Jared: Yeah, that sounds good, too. The pressure's on. I've never cooked for her before.

Nance: Well, then the two of you could just cook together. That way, there's no pressure, and it's more of a fun situation.

Jared: Here's the second problem: I usually cook with my shirt off. You know, I put on some music, take off my shirt, and dance around, throwing shit together. Then, when I sit down to dinner, I complain to the dog when I find a hair in my food.

Nance: Oh, Jared.

Jared: I hold up the forkful or the hair or whatever, and I look him straight in the eye. I say, "Zydrunas, this is unacceptable. I've found a hair in my food. I expect better quality from this establishment."

Nance: What does he say?

Jared: The usual. He huffs and rolls his eyes. He's so tired of all my bullshit.


Happy New Year, everyone.  We might all be Tired Of The Bullshit, but let's have some Laughs!

Be Careful What You Wish For: A Little Sunshine Is A Dangerous Thing

Today one of the worst possible Nance Domestic Equations occurred, and put simply, It Was Not Good. It set into motion a chain of events that became frantic, manic, and so far-reaching that it just may cancel Christmas here at The Dept. as we have heretofore known It.

I was unready for this Perfect Storm, and when the maelstrom was upon me, I was already so in the thick of it that I was powerless to stop it. The momentum of my astonishment, anger, dismay, and industry carried me on until I was literally too spent to continue. And when I now ponder a Christmas tree and its worky luxe...I feel I might take to my bed (ah! if only I had a fainting couch!).

What on Earth were the Terrible Factors in this Equation, you ask? What Horrific Elements conspired to bring about such Disastrous Results?

Here they are:

Bright Sunshine Streaming Into My Kitchen
I Had A Rag In My Hand
Rick Was Not Here (To Stop Me)

It was, in a word, scary.

I was like a woman possessed, a Whirling Dervish of Windex, a Tasmanian Devil of the Dishrag, and a Hurricane of Scrubbery. I cleaned in a fever-dream; the sun mocked me ceaselessly, showed me everything.

The broom in my hand swept me into the dining room where the sunlight sparkled on cat hair in the corner, just out of reach of the vacuum. I traded in my wet rag for a dry one and a can of Pledge, knowing they would lead me to the leather furniture and more tables and shelves in the living room. It would be Eternal, Endless, Infinite. Would Rick never, ever come home? Would the sun never set?

Would I die?

On and on it went. I vacuumed. I unloaded the dishwasher. I emptied wastebaskets. I dusted and tidied the desk in the office. Hysterical, at one point I even considered bathing a cat. At that moment, I knew Things Had Gone Too Far. I had to, somehow, rein myself in. I realized I had not eaten all day. Was I delusional?

I went to the kitchen to forage for a snack. It looked beautiful--so clean and perfect. And...dim. Suddenly, I realized that it wasn't so sunny anymore. I took a look out the window and saw a milky sky with gathering grey clouds. And felt myself relax. It was over.

I am exhausted.