Yarn And Blueberries

For about a month now, I have been trying to resume knitting as a hobby. My huge stash of yarn, needles, and other knitting accoutrement had been in a state of suspended animation, patiently waiting in the home office in various large baskets, project bags, on a closet shelf, and in a couple of drawers. Like many knitters, I became a sort of Eventual Project Hoarder, buying skeins that caught my eye, planning for their eventual use, and dreaming of the things they'd become. Knitting was a hobby I could enjoy everywhere and anytime, and I did for many years.

Because of my illness, it became increasingly difficult to knit. Not only did it create muscle aches and pains in my wrists, arms, and shoulders, I found myself struggling at times to remember certain stitches or particular skills. I felt frustrated, sad, and an immense sense of failure. A hobby should not feel like a chore or a test. I thought so fondly of the many hours I had spent knitting, creating, designing colourways, and the feeling of satisfaction when an item was finished. Additionally, I felt very keenly the money I'd spent on supplies--supplies which were now sitting unused. The sheer waste was crushing to me.

Finally, and with support from Rick, I made the decision to box it all up and find a home for it. All of it. Keeping it was simply another source of dismay and stress for me; I needed to get to a place of Acceptance and move on. It was much more difficult than I ever thought it would be. Just holding all the skeins and balls of gorgeous yarn as I put them into boxes felt like an admonition. But I knew it was the right thing to do, and I was doing it.

This morning, I called Wells Glen, a nearby senior residential facility. If the name sounds faintly familiar, it may be because that's where Tish went to live the last of her days.  It would seem that our saga has not yet ended. 

The young man who answered the phone at Wells Glen was delighted by my offer of knitting supplies. He checked with the activity director who said there were a great many knitters there, and she was excited to hear of my donation. "You're very kind," he said. "I'm so glad you thought of us." I told him we would be there shortly, and thanked him for his help.

Rick carried the huge boxes out to the car and we set off. I remembered the last time I had gone there on a mission to deliver a package for Tish that had languished on her porch for days and days. At that time, I was full of trepidation and sadness. This time, however, I felt energized and lightened. In a strange way, I sensed another circle closing, a glimmer of the power of Fate and the omniscience of the Universe. Instead of feeling grief or sadness, I felt resolution and serenity.

The same young man I had spoken to on the phone greeted me at the reception desk. He told me that he had only been working there for about a month. His eyes widened in surprise at the size of the boxes. He reiterated his gratitude and remarked again upon my kindness. "Please," I said. "I am so grateful that you could accept all this. It's doing me a huge favour. Thank you." We smiled and said goodbye. I went home and put other things on the shelf and in the drawers. I felt settled and happy. 

Sometimes in our lives, Struggles can become Victories. We can find Peace in our decisions when they are well-made and thoughtful. And we enrich our own lives when we consider others in Kindness. 

  

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In Which I Lament My Lack Of Suitable Staff

 

While Rick and I absolutely love our lakehouse and are so grateful for it, there are times when packing up stuff and getting ready to head down to it can feel, well, worky and a lot. Yes, we do have a basic pantry, and the fridge and freezer are stocked pretty well, but we still have to pack our own things for a weekend as well as some incidentals. Often, this involves fresh produce, any items we're replacing or restocking, wine, computers, and in Rick's case, any special tools he may need for a project. If we're having guests or family, that entails a LOT of planning and packing.

A recent Friday morning found me exhausted and sore from yet another night of poor sleep. I fed the blue jays and squirrels out front, tossed in some laundry, unloaded the dishwasher, took out the trash and recycling, and did a few other things all before 7 AM. About two hours later, Rick finally got up, and the following conversation ensued.

Scene opens in living room. Nance is stretched out in the recliner with the requisite bigass mug of decaf and her laptop open on her lap desk. Rick is silently perusing his newsfeed on the couch.

Nance:  (after several minutes) I have to tell you:  I don't feel like doing a single thing right now, or ever, really. 

Rick:  (barely glancing up) Then don't. We can just stay home this weekend. 

Nance:  No, I want to go. The idea of getting all that shit together is killing me, though. I mean, I have to go to the bathroom right now, and I don't even want to get up to do that.

Rick:  Yikes. It seems to me that you should want to take care of that.

Nance:  Why oh why can't I have a staff to do all of this for me? You know, like Molly Maids, but for this kind of stuff. I mean, I'd still direct and delegate--

Rick:  Hm. It really kinda sounds like you wouldn't. 

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History Repeats Itself: Chapter Six of Watching and Thinking About Blueberries

 It has taken me some time to revisit this saga that spanned six years and started in 2009. Very few of my Original Readers remain, so this series of five posts, Watching and Thinking About Blueberries, is unknown to most of you. I feel I need to write this chapter because the circle has closed so beautifully and joyfully; it reinforces my belief that There Is No Such Thing As Coincidence. 

The Blueberries posts began almost seventeen years ago exactly with this chapter (that I hope you'll read, as well as the others to follow). When Rick and I first moved into this house 41 years ago, we discovered that his kindergarten teacher, Tish, lived right across the street. Tish and her husband Barrington Cash (apt aliases), were jetsetters in their golden years. She welcomed us with two pints of fresh blueberries, making it clear that she was not a baker, but hoped I was and would enjoy her gift. Years later, her husband died from a heart attack, and I anxiously watched as Tish's life changed. 

Four years later, her huge silver Buick was no longer pulling in and out of her driveway, and a sense of foreboding gripped me. In Chapter Two, I couldn't bear the unknown anymore, and when an opportunity afforded me the chance to get answers, I took it. Unfortunately, my initiative didn't help me as much as I hoped. I learned only that Tish was still alive, and that her son was in charge of her affairs. That knowledge didn't do much to assuage my concerns, especially when a moving van arrived and I watched as all of her things came out the front door. 

In 2014 I got more answers, but they were not what I hoped for. Chapter Three takes place in 2014 as I watched the slow and painful death of her redbud tree, seeing it as a symbol for Tish herself. My heart broke when I saw the city had marked it for removal, and even more pieces of me crumbled as I discovered why we hadn't seen Tish in so long. Even though I had long ago learned--and many times over-- that Life Isn't Fair, I railed against her circumstances.

At a Christmas party one evening in 2015, the Universe gave me a dinner companion who was able to tell me news about Tish. This woman wasn't even supposed to be there, but I was so glad that she was. In Chapter Four this kind lady told me that my former neighbour was happy and well, and I was so grateful, both for the knowledge and for Tish's circumstances. 

It wasn't even a year later, however, that I was writing a far less happy installment in this saga. Chapter Five found me mourning the loss of our onetime neighbour and the woman for whom I felt...so much and for no tangible, comprehensible reason. I wondered so often about who would move into that house across the street--her house--and what the house would be like, alive again. 

After a time, not so very long it seems now, I found out. Tish's house is very much alive these days, and when I look across the street, it's easy for me to see through her eyes, to see what she must have observed many times herself when looking out her front windows across to my own house over the years, more than 40 years ago.

A young couple, Anne and Charlie, live there now. They arrived several years ago after a series of renters and set up house with their infant son Oliver. The front yard was made into an ever-burgeoning garden on either side of their front walk. Incredibly, a mainstay of this garden has been yellow marigolds and bright golden mums. At first we all simply waved at each other and called Hello and Good Morning. Soon, however, Anne and I exchanged phone numbers, and I looked after her garden while they went on vacation. A few years later a second son, Archie, joined the family. Anne's boys are three years apart, as mine are. We share our culinary talents with one another:  I keep her supplied with pesto and pickles and toffee; she is a fantastic baker whose sourdough rolls are, quite simply, heaven. She works as a youth mental health counselor, and I am the retired teacher her boys call Miss Nance. Their lives are busy and boisterous, and I love watching Ollie and Archie as they've learned to ride bikes, chase one another, and take walks with their mother and father, first in a wagon and now on their own two feet. When our next-door neighbour was having a cement driveway put in, I invited them to watch it all from our front porch. At Halloween, I prepare a special trick-or-treat bag just for them. If packages arrive on my porch while we're away, Anne or Charlie makes sure they are stowed safely.  Anne sends me videos of the boys, and we exchange texts often. We are both grateful that we are neighbours, and we say so often to one another.

History repeats itself, and the Past harmonizes. Many have philosophized about this occurrence, this cyclical nature of human existence. Some would say that History rhymes rather than repeats, that by its very nature, Life is a series of recurring patterns. Much of this depends upon noticing these patterns, of course. In my case it is an easy task; all I have to do is look right across the street. And each time I do, it's like looking into a magical mirror, one that reflects both my Past and their Present. The Universe is a wide and wonderful thing, and I take the time to notice. 

A Pre-Christmas Quartet: Random Moments From The Dept.

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Some random moments from around the Dept. lately:

I.  My desire was unusually strong to get our Christmas tree up this year. I very much wanted the pretty lights and decorations which I especially enjoy in the quiet of the early morning. As usual, when we are hanging decorations, I get very sentimental about one in particular. It's a small, faded silver ball that was given to me my first year of teaching. One of my sophomore classes heard me fretting about not having any ornaments for our first tree as a tightly-budgeted newlywed couple, and they each brought in an ornament for me as a Christmas present. This little silver one was from a student whose family had nothing to spare; it was obviously one from their very own tree, and probably used for many, many years.  I still remember her name and her face from 45 years ago, and I always hang her ornament where I can easily see it. 

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II. Even though I have a Christmas tree up and there has been plenty of snow and cold weather (UGH), I am not ready for Christmas music. Honestly, I wonder if I ever will be this year. It seems that I can't find any that doesn't annoy me. Pianos are too plinky for me. Vocals start irritating and distracting me. Organ music makes me feel like I'm in a church or roller rink. Violins make me feel stabby. Jazz, after a while, makes me roll my eyes. And why is it that every Christmas album has some song on it that no one has ever heard of or is just awful? And, speaking of awful, can we just not with Baby, It's Cold Outside? Anyway, what Christmas music are you listening to that isn't terrible (or country) and won't get me Whammed?

III. Scene opens on living room. Nance is in the recliner; Rick is lounging on the couch. The television is on, tuned to the local news.

Weatherman:  Temperatures will remain in the upper 30s, near 40 degrees. Rain will move in, followed by a wintry mix and then more snow. Wind gusts will be strong--

Nance:  Rick! Go hook up the hose.

Rick:  (turns to look at her with fear and disbelief) Whaaat?

Nance:  Go get the hose and spray the front and back yards. I want to be able to see all grass before it snows again. Just once. Even for a minute.

Rick:  (looks at her carefully; he is gauging her level of seriousness) Nance. I--

Nance:  Rick. If I really, really needed you to do this for me, would you? Would you go out there and spray down the yard so that I could see grass if I absolutely had to?

Rick:  Yes. Of course I would. But in the back yard. I don't want the neighbours to see me and think I'm nuts.

End Scene.

IV.  My longtime readers know I have a Cow Obsession. I've loved them since I was a child, and I still dream of owning one (yes, a real one). My kitchen has a black and white Holstein cow theme, and I might be the only woman alive who isn't offended when someone says, "I saw this cow and thought of you." On Saturday, I saw Theo and we talked all about his Christmas tree, and then we talked about mine. I told him, while counting off on my fingers, "Theo, Nana has 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 cows on her Christmas tree! What do you think about that?" He looked at me, shook his head, and said admonishingly, "Nana! Too many cows, Nana." And then he just leaned back and laughed and laughed. 

Everyone's a critic, you know?

As I'm writing this, the grass we finally saw is already covered in the snow they predicted. It's flying thick and fast, propelled by those high wind gusts. No, I will never think it's pretty, and I do not care whether or not we have a white Christmas. More and more, I like the idea of the kind of Christmas my Vacation Cow ornament looks like he's celebrating. That gives me an idea:  maybe I need to look for some reggae Christmas music. That, as they used to say, just might Be My Jam.

Update: A Better Place And A New Mantra

 Hello.

I couldn't let November pass without writing here at least once more. The time I took was necessary, and I realized I couldn't pretend that everything was okay, normal, fine, or as it ever was. Writing the list posts felt like I was lying to myself and you; like I was putting on a fake persona. It was stressful.

It's been difficult to adapt to life with this illness. I can't drive because it hurts and it wears me out, and my legs cannot always reliably react, so it's a safety issue. I haven't taken a real walk since July. I also have carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists, so I wear braces when I sleep. I do not vacuum, nor can I carry or lift much of anything because of muscle fatigue and weakness. There is also brain fog, so reading is very difficult because of concentration issues, and I keep reminding myself--out loud, often--of what I need to do. And always, I am so very tired.

Still, I have learned how to cope. I have learned how to rest without feeling guilty, how to ask for help, and how to take advantage of times when I do have energy, but not to overdo it. It's a very, very fine line, and not always the same each day. I am also trying desperately to learn not to sit or sleep with my legs all drawn up or crossed because it affects my nerves/neuropathy. This is almost impossible (as a matter of fact, I am sitting incorrectly right now, damn it).

In spite of all of this, I am in a much better place now than I was two weeks ago. I was, unfortunately, falling back into old habits and fighting hard, thinking I could change things merely by force of my will. That's behaviour that I worked hard to unlearn years ago. I had to find out the hard way--again--that it's not the way things work.

The New York Times recently ran an article titled What You're Thankful For:  Six-Word Stories of Gratitude.  In it, the writer shared what readers sent in when he asked them for six words that described what made them thankful in 2025. Of course there were the usual ones about family and friends and grandchildren and pets. Others were about partners and anniversaries and health and nature. One, however, immediately stopped me. It brought tears to my eyes and I almost couldn't breathe. It said:

It won't always be like this.

The impact of this one sentence is enormous. While I know that my illness has no meaningful treatment or cure, I will get better at living with it each day. I will get better at Acceptance each day. I will understand my limits and my abilities better each day.

Another facet of this sentence is that, right now, I have my whole family right here with me. Sam is only five blocks away. Jared, Jordan, and Theo are less than an hour away. Rick is here with me and such a great partner. Who knows what the future could bring? I need to stay in the moment and enjoy every single minute that I can. I see how quickly things can change; I'm living it. 

Finally, I have to believe that this applies to our politics as well. I've no energy or stomach to work up a Nance Rant like I used to, but even the worst of the republicans are proving to have a gag reflex. Read this poem by Yeats and you'll see how I feel. It's like deja vu. Or, to be more blunt and au courant, I'll quote rapper MGK:  "You need the arc of dumbass to enlightened."

 In the case of America, some of us apparently need it twice. I refuse to take any responsibility for either time.

Thank you again for all of your kindness and support. It has meant everything to me. And thank you for writing over at your places. Reading you makes my day. 

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Better Living Through Little Bottles And Jars: A List Of Stuff I Take That's Not Medicine

Listen, I'll be honest. This is a real Hail Mary of a post because I woke up with a headache (not unusual now with EB/ME) and it developed into a migraine. I had to go to a doctor's appointment that was not encouraging, and the weather is SO GREY and SO WINDY and SO COLD and I'm ... well, let's just not Go There.

One of the discussions I had with Superhero Neurologist Dr. B was about medications. I am not a fan of loading up on a bunch of them, especially if I'm treating symptoms only. If I can manage them another way, that's what I'd rather do. One thing I am willing to take is vitamins or supplements that my doctors recommend if my labs show that I need them or if there is research that shows they will have a positive effect. Here is a list of

Non-Meds That I Take Regularly 

1. Multi-vitamin formulated for women

2. Vitamin D3

3. Vitamin B12

4. Magnesium

5. Iberogast

Because I am on Topamax (generic name topiramate), my body's ability to absorb many vitamins is compromised, especially Vitamin D. I had a severe Vitamin D deficiency several years ago that made me desperately ill and set me on a search to multiple doctors to find out what was wrong with me. It took me a year to recover my health. As a result, I must supplement D3 for the rest of my life. The same thing goes for B12; my levels for that vitamin were also low, and it helps with peripheral neuropathy. I take Magnesium to help with migraines and balance. The Iberogast was not prescribed, but it's an herbal supplement (drops) that help to calm my stomach and gut. Digestive problems are another symptom of ME that I deal with. I find this supplement very helpful for that, and it's just stuff like chamomile, lemon balm, and peppermint. 

Some people call vitamins and supplements the ingredients for expensive pee. I'm following doctor's orders, so I feel vindicated. How do you feel about vitamins and supplements? Do you take very many?  

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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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When Rick Met Nance: Golf Class Explained

Yesterday's mention of meeting my husband in a college golf class provoked some discussion in Comments, enough that I decided to pause my Listing and devote today's post to that story. I'm honestly shocked that in the twenty years this blog has existed it's not been a topic before.

I started my college career in 1977 at Lorain County Community College, working part time at City Bank as a teller. I'd take morning classes, rush home, change clothes, and be at work asap. I also worked Saturdays. Luckily, college tuition at LCCC was ten bucks per credit hour back then, and it was on the quarter system rather than semesters.

Anyway, I was required to take three phys ed classes towards my degree. I was deeply disappointed by this; I had thought I would escape gym class once I graduated high school, where I was a very lackadaisical participant in all things athletic. If there had been a bookathon or a reading olympics, I'd have been all over that. As I made out my freshman college schedule, I scoured the phys ed offerings for anything that met my stringent criteria:  no running, no clothes changing, and no sweating. I was pleased to find three that fit that perfectly--golf, bowling, and marksmanship. 

Another reason I chose golf was because my father was an avid enthusiast of the sport. He played often, disappearing for half the day at least once a week when the weather was decent. He only played nine holes usually, but he never just played the course. He wandered around collecting interesting sticks, acorns, leaves, abandoned bird's nests, and other things in nature that interested him. His golf bag was a mess of environmental samples.

Back to golf class. It was taught by a young, brisk woman named Miss Pugh who was probably in her early thirties, if that, and largely populated by eighteen-year old boys. I was one of about 5 girls in the class. Some days were spent in the classroom, reviewing rules and taking quizzes, but most of the time we were outside in a wide, grassy area practicing putting, driving, chipping, and pitching. Miss Pugh would put us in teams of two or three, give us clubs and tees and plastic balls, and set up an area for us to aim for. 

I hated this part because I realized early on that I hated golf. A lot. It felt awkward and unnatural. And I sucked at it. I was a terrific and accurate putter, but the rest--not so much. I also hated that some of the boys in the class took these outdoor times as opportunities to Play Expert. And get very physical. They'd get behind me, put their hands over mine, and act like they were helping me with my grip and swing. I was quick to put a stop to that.

One day, I was put on a team with Rick and a boy named John. John was very cute (think Benson Boone and Timothee Chalamet) and bougie. We were outside to practice our chipping. All three of us were teeing up and getting ready to address the ball, and John came over to help me. He got behind me and I immediately told him I was fine and could do it myself while maneuvering away from him. I rolled my eyes at Rick and we all chipped. Well, at least John and Rick did. I stood there and watched my ball roll off the tee about six inches, probably from the draft of air my lousy swing produced. "Wow," Rick said, his voice clear and deadpan. "If that was me, I'd pick it up and hit it again."

I was already embarrassed, and now I was furious. Who did this jerk think he was, anyway? I turned around, looked right at him, and said, "And if I were you, I'd go straight to hell."

And thus began our neverending love story, Dear Readers. It continued with Rick pelting John with golf balls, a sort-of marriage proposal another time soon after and me accepting, and Rick getting an A in the class and me getting a C. I've never played golf, but he played many rounds with my father. We've been together 48 years, married 44. Astonishing, isn't it?

 

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Simon and Garfunkel Know: A List Of What I Grow

 

Every spring I walk over to the eastern side of my house that borders the neighbour's driveway to survey the tiny plot of ground that is my herb garden. Once the weather starts to settle in and the days warm consistently, I look to see which herbs have wintered over and which ones I'll need to replant. I clear away the dead leaves and the stray gravel thrown in by Scott's snowblower. (He's a great neighbour, and he'd apologize profusely if he saw me picking out the stones.) I make a mental list of what I need from the greenhouse, and go inside to write it down. 

Some of my herbs have been around for ages, and I so appreciate them. I garden organically, using this product for sturdy growth. When the season is over, I also dry my own herbs naturally by hanging them. Because my herb garden is so sheltered, I often have herbs well into November unless the weather becomes very harsh. Right now, I can--and do--still harvest parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (aka Simon and Garfunkel's Big Four).

This year, a volunteer Campari tomato plant made an appearance, and I harvested the last of those--green--about a week ago. They are sitting in the sun of my kitchen garden window, ripening at their leisure. I was also inundated with a dozen or so surprise jalapeno plants which I placed en masse in huge patio pots along the driveway. They look quite festive now, huge and full of bright red peppers.

But each year, my herb garden is lush and green, full of the same herbs. Here is a list of

Herbs In My Garden

1. Basil

2. French Tarragon

3. Italian Oregano

4. Chives

5. Rosemary

6. Curly Parsley

7. Thyme

8. Sage

My Tarragon, Oregano, and Chives have been with me for over ten years now. I've done nothing to them to inspire such loyalty and love. They have outstanding flavour, and I was cutting chives not a week ago for baked potato.

Many cooks prefer Italian Parsley, but I find that it tastes a bit like celery to me, so I prefer the Curly variety. I love it in salad, and I use it when I make pesto to help it stay green and lift the flavour a bit. I just cut some last night to put in meatloaf.

When I plant Rosemary, I like the barbecue variety, the kind that grows upright. It gives me more space in my little plot. It's also easier to strip. Rosemary is such a beautiful herb with potato, chicken, roasted vegetables, and you don't dare make lamb without it.

Basil = Summertime to me. I make quarts and quarts of pesto. I love a flatbread on the grill, smeared with pesto, topped with tomatoes marinated in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Add some fresh mozzarella and that's our go-to lake dinner. It's a shame that I can't winter over Basil, but it gives me so much to look forward to.

Thyme is an astonishing addition to mushrooms and onions. Try it. 

Sage makes all poultry better and it just tastes like Thanksgiving to me. It's also nice with pork. 

Do you have an herb garden? Cook with herbs? What are some of your favourites?

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Presenting Me: A List Of Random Facts To Get Newer Readers Up To Speed

It suddenly dawned on me that a great many of you have not been hanging around the Dept. since I started writing here in 2005. You've had to pick up context clues and figure things out as you go, and while it's pretty easy to catch on, it feels sort of rude to me that I haven't provided some background. I don't have an About Me page or anything, and the Blogger bio is glib and brief.

Quite some time ago, I did post a few photos of myself on a separate page to satisfy the curiosity of a few readers, then took them down. It's a Privacy Thing. Some of you have met me and can vouch for the fact that I'm a Real Person and do, in fact, exist. 

Anyway, I thought today I'd share some random facts about me that might help to fill in some gaps or merely round out your view of me. Or maybe even surprise you. Here then is the list of stuff that's

All About Me

1. I met my husband Rick in golf class in our first year of college.

2. I have two sons:  Jared is 40 and Sam is 37. Jared is the father of my grandson, Theo, who will be 2 in about two weeks.

3. I changed my college major from veterinary medicine to elementary education to secondary education and became an English teacher.

4. I learned to read when I was about 3 years old.

5. I am deathly afraid of snakes.

6. I detest winter.

7. I've lived in Ohio all my life.

8. I am a recovering Catholic who is now atheist.

9. I am almost always cold, and I have three heating pads.

10. I am a huge Dog Appreciator and know almost all dog breeds by sight, but I won't ever own a dog.

11. I do not like pizza.

12. I have a big 15-year old orange tabby cat named Piper; he will be my last cat forever.

13. I used to have a massive and long-running crush on Daniel Day-Lewis.

14. I hate country music.

15. I do freelance writing and editing.

Time is running out for me to post this. It was a tiring day. If you'd like details on any of these, please ask, and I'll be happy to provide in Comments. Otherwise, give me some similar facts about yourself:  Who's your celebrity crush? Do you like country music? Have a phobia? Dislike a popular food? Let's hear it.

Things I Learned From My Father

 

My dad and Mac

I awoke with a headache, thanks to a big front that's moved in. Sometimes migraines can make me feel emotional and a bit...close to the edge. Maybe I dreamed about him, maybe it was Rick greeting me this morning with the election news of all the Democratic victories, but I find myself thinking of my father so much this morning. 

For those of you who are new here, my dad was a lifelong union man, a steelworker, a former professional fastpitch softball pitcher known as the Lorain Tornado, and staunch Democrat. He was a first generation American, born of two Croatian immigrants. He was a WWII veteran, a deep reader of philosophy, an appreciator of music, and a guardian of Nature. He was also a terrible chauvinist who perplexingly encouraged his three daughters to be independent, confident, free thinkers, to never need a man, and to stand up for themselves always.

Here is a partial list of some other

Things I Learned From My Father

1. Look someone in the eye when you talk to them.

2. Don't be part of The Common Herd.

3. Some people simply cannot help themselves, and they need help from others and their government.

4. The anticipation of an event is just as important as the event itself.

5. Every person has value.

6. Be a good listener and you can talk with anyone.

These are all pretty self-explanatory, but they helped to make me a good teacher, parent, and person. All of us were raised without prejudice, and we were expected to be kind. In the later years of his career, Dad was a security guard at US Steel, working the gatehouses where big trucks came in and out and the workers left after their shift was over. So many of them hung around just to talk to my father, sometimes for an hour or more. It wasn't uncommon for us to be out and about and have several people come up to him and chat, even when we were on our cross-country trip! He knew everyone, and everyone wanted to stop and exchange a few words. Oddly enough, my father used to grumble about this often, saying he preferred to be left alone.

Growing up, I was often frustrated by my demanding father. He was old-fashioned and strict; he seemed as if he didn't trust us. I know now that he didn't trust the world and the people around us. He saw what was out there, more of it than we did. His own childhood was ugly and rough. I wish he had tried to make us understand.

He did see the results of his endeavours, however, both in his children and his grandchildren before he died 25 years ago. I know he found great joy in that.  

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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Cheers! A List Of What I'm Drinking These Days

Back in the days before my Miracle Migraine Medicine, I used to drink Diet Coke and Diet Dr. Pepper all the time. I drank these sodas at school in the classroom even though they gave me tremendous gas. The students used to love when I belched. It was such a bizarre juxtaposition, seeing me standing there, dressed to the nines and teaching Honors English, yet suddenly letting out such enormous burps that usually took me quite by surprise. But once I went on Topamax, the days of drinking soda were over. That med causes a very unpleasant reaction with CO2, and I can't drink anything with lots of carbonation anymore. I manage, somehow, to survive, rest assured. Here is a list of

Things I Can And Do Drink

1. Water

2. Decaf Coffee

3. Herbal Tea

4. Cider Hot Toddy

5. Champagne

6. Martini

7. French 75

8. Wine

9. Some Beer

10. Bloody Mary

Looking at this list, one may think, 'Wow. Nance is a boozy lady.' I wish. In reality, I am a cheap date because it's rare that I have more than one cocktail or craft beer. My tolerance for alcohol is laughably low. I'm a small person, and even after one sip, I start feeling it. 

This lady is the most hydrated person in the world. I drink water constantly. It is always at my side. I had to switch to decaf coffee shortly after I retired because it started making me jittery, and I didn't need the caffeine to keep me going through the day anymore. Now I drink coffee because I love it.

Last night I was chilly and exhausted after a day spent with Theo (so worth it!). I warmed up a huge cup of cider with a cinnamon stick, a clove, and a shot of Canadian Maple liqueur. I put myself under a blanket, put my heating pad on high, and luxuriated in front of Netflix with Piper snoring on my lap and the toddy cozying me up from the inside. Highly recommend.

What are your go-to drinks these days? Have you had to give any up? Do you belch like a teen boy in a contest?

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Stripping Down: Another Life List

 

About a hundred years ago, my son Jared and I had a blog together called Stuff On Our List. We wrote list posts about all kinds of stuff and then offered a few comments about some of the items on the lists. For November I've decided to use that format for my posts here. Let's get into today's list of

Things I'm Not Wearing Anymore

1. Makeup

2. Jewelry

3. Wristwatch

4. Wedding ring

5. Bra

6. Fussy Shoes

7. Glasses with those nose pad thingies

Let me be clear:  I have not Given Up. I don't drag around the house in sweatpants and slippers looking slovenly and pathetic. These are all things I stopped wearing well before my recent diagnosis. I still look Very Nice and Presentable. At any given moment, I could answer the door and be perfectly fine if it were, say, a handsome dignitary or sophisticated billionaire offering me a generous check. I do still wear mascara, geeze.

Many of you might be Nitpicking and say, "Nance. Wristwatches and Wedding Rings are Jewelry. You are redundant." To you I would say Perhaps, but I think of Jewelry as things such as earrings (I donated all my earrings and let my three earlobe holes close); bracelets (I have a huge collection of sterling silver ones); and necklaces (I have lots of sterling silver chains, too--necklaces began to trigger migraines). I stopped wearing my wedding ring when my weight kept going down, down, down, and it fell off. I also had to have it cut off once when I injured my hand, and that was awful. 

Years ago, I wore wonderful high heels to work every day. My students were astonished that I didn't own any sneakers. How devastated they'd be to know that I wear sneaker-type shoes every day now--soft, rubber-soled slip-in shoes that are comfortable but still attractive, like these. Or black Mary Janes that are knockoffs of these. Of course, I have many others because some habits die hard. I'm especially fond of these. And I have them in white, too.

Have you given up on Wearing Some Things, too? Why? Do you think I'm giving up too easily? Chat me up in Comments.

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It's Ketchup Time Again--A Tyrant Cat, EB/ME, And My Brain Finds Another Book Mistake

 Let me just start right in by saying that I am immensely thankful for all of you that manage to write so often over at your spots. You are Miracles and Superheroes, and you make my morning coffee even more pleasant. Sometimes, I have to peer over a giant orange tabby head to see you, but it is always well worth it.

Speaking of giant orange tabby cats, I think Piper's behaviour was kept in check by Marlowe, or she was a sort of calming influence because since she has been gone, he has really become a loudmouth and a tyrant. I'm not used to being bossed around by anybody, let alone a cat, but it would seem that I am that cat's bitch. And I'm beyond sorry that I ever, ever put ice in his water the first time. Is there anyone else whose cat demands his beverage On The Rocks? 

On the rocks. Sigh. Let's get this onerous part out of the way. After more than 30 different blood tests, an MRI, two EMGs, and a few doctor's appointments, I've been diagnosed with Epstein-Barr and Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (EB/ME). ME used to be called chronic fatigue, a term that you're probably more familiar with. The way it was explained to me is that the E-B likely came from my severe bout of mononucleosis when I was 17. The virus lies dormant forever, like chicken pox. It can resurface anytime and cause E-B in some people the way the chicken pox virus causes shingles. My E-B is severe and accompanied by unusual stress, leading to ME. 

I can't go into much detail about the unusual stress, but I'll just say this:  in late August and half of September, we helped Sam look for, find, and buy a house. For him and Zydrunas. In all of October, we have helped him clean, refurbish, and furnish the house, move into it, and provide whatever support we could throughout. Jared and his family have been monumental support as well. All this had to be because someone's social media wasn't as fun as it used to be. 

In November I'm going to try to post every single day and ignore all that stupid, unfair bullshit about my health situation and everything. I have to live it, but I don't have to talk about it ad nauseum here in my blog. I always appreciate your kind comments and any advice or support; I'm just not going to make it a topic here. I trust that you'll be grateful.

Before I go, I want you to check out this passage from Meet Me in Another Life by Catriona Silvey. I read this a while ago and greatly enjoyed it, even though its genre is not usually one I enjoy. Julie reviewed it and I was immediately drawn in. Anyway, I was reading intensely when I was jolted by this passage:

Maybe you're not a knitter or a crocheter, so this went right by you. When you knit, you use two needles. But when you crochet, you use one, and those who crochet almost universally call them hooks, not needles. Did this interfere with my enjoyment of the book? No, it did not. Do I wish that my brain didn't constantly notice these things? Yes, I do. Sigh.

Right now, I'm only reading our CBBC book, The Joy Luck Club, even though I have several books in my TBR pile. And let's not even talk about my stack of The New Yorker magazines. As I said, I'm looking to November for some fresh, renewed time. Maybe that will be more reading time. Maybe that will be less rain and possible short walk time. And for sure I'm going to try for more blogpost time.

Thanks for showing up, both at your spot and here in Comments. You make my days.

Goodbye, August. You Can Show Yourself Out

 

Goodbye, August. Be on your way and don't give September any ideas, unless it's for the beautiful blue skies, voluptuous clouds, and refreshing temperatures you've left as parting gifts. Other than that, take your leave and all your lousy vibes with you.

I've been struggling with a mystery condition for a while now. After any exertion my muscles suddenly become very weak. I start losing my balance; my feet will scuff the ground when I walk, causing me to trip, then fall. Sometimes, I can sense it happening; other times, I have no warning at all. My arms have no strength, and my hands shake at times with tremors. I cannot carry anything of much heft, and there are times I can't steadily put a drink to my lips. As you can no doubt guess, this has put an end to my daily walks; I haven't been able to take one for a month. 

I miss them more than you could ever imagine. And I am so very tired so much of the time.

This is eerily reminiscent of my Vitamin D deficiency in 2017, except that I've been supplementing D religiously since then. Obviously, these symptoms prompted a visit to my primary care physician, who ordered some labs and a visit with my neurologist. Her initial diagnosis is that my very high dose of Topamax for migraine prevention, that I've been on for twenty years, might now be just too high for my tolerance at my age. "I worry that we might be doing this to you, not a disease process," she said. My dosage of Topamax is extremely high--higher than what is usually recommended--in order to control my migraines. My neurologist--actually his NP--ordered more labs and stepped down my Topamax as a possible solution. Another possible diagnosis is myasthenia gravis; unfortunately, there is no definitive test for it, only markers to look for or rule it out in a big process of elimination. But my initial round of labs looked pretty good, at least from what I saw and could figure out on my own.

And, as is always the case it seems, I don't go back for a follow-up with my actual neurologist until mid-September after new labs are done next week. Sigh.

As so many of you know, Patience is Not My Gift. I'm angry and annoyed that I'm so limited. And that now there is so much more burden placed on Rick. Just running the vacuum can put me out of commission for an hour or more. He escorts me on short little walks in case I tire and begin to show signs of scuffing. Spending part of a day with Theo--holding him, playing on the floor, being active with him, a Very Busy toddler--makes me incredibly tired and sore, but that will always, always be worth it. 

In other news, August marks yet another year for Dept. of Nance. I've been writing here for twenty years now! It's astonishing, but even more astonishing is the number of you who have been here for so many of those anniversaries. Thank you, and a special Thank You to my Faithful Commenters, who engage in and encourage such a lively, witty, and intelligent discussion here. You're the best on the Internet, no doubt about it.

I'll write a more celebratory post soon, but I wanted to share this news with you, my friends and virtual support group. Thank you for being here, and thank you for writing over at your places. It's a joy to start my day with you every single morning.

Shaking A Few Things Loose

This week I feel a Big Purge coming on. As I was packing to go to the lake for the weekend, I noticed that there were several things in my closet that I hadn't worn all summer; in fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had worn them. Clearly, it's time for them to go. That made me think about the rolled-up rug in the office closet and the shoes in there that haven't been worn lately either. Time to box and bag things up and call my favourite charity, Vietnam Vets of America, and get them out here for a pickup. (As usual, I'll try to inspire Rick to--cue dread and doom music--go through his things as well, but I don't expect that to amount to anything.)

I'm also feeling the need to Purge a few Thought Nerfuls and Cerebral Clutterbits taking up space in my head, so I'm going to give it a rattle and see what shakes loose.

BOOBS.  As in, mine are because I am Rebelling and refusing to wear a bra for the rest of the summer as of about two weeks ago. Now, to be fair, I am not Copiously Endowed, and because I am an Older Lady, mine are not, shall we say, prone to Being Bouncy. I have spent too much money on trying to find a bra that is even remotely comfortable, and yes, I was even professionally fitted. If I am wearing something sheer, I wear a cami; if I am not, then Shirt Only it is. Chances are extremely good that I continue this for all three remaining seasons and for the rest of my life, especially since I Just Don't Care. 

BOOKS.  I finished--with some disappointment--Parallel Lines by Edward St. Aubyn. Listen, the writing is excellent. I remain entranced and entertained by the character Sebastian, who features in the opening chapter and made me want to read this book. BUT. There were too many characters cluttering up the landscape and they weren't all different enough to make me notice. As a matter of fact, at one point I just sort of skipped lots paragraphs concerning a couple of characters AND IT MADE ZERO DIFFERENCE TO THE PLOT. And the ending made me irritated in that I put up with SO MUCH just to get to...this? Maybe your reading will be vastly different and I truly hope so. Maybe I am just a Huge Pain In The Ass about modern fiction.

However.

I am now reading Orbital by Samantha Harvey. First of all, thank you Julie for reviewing this book over at your place and for providing an excerpt. This book. This book is so achingly beautiful that when I read it, there are times that I simply have to put it down and breathe and recover myself. This morning I took it out on the patio with my coffee; the sound of my little pond waterfall was in the background, and now and then a bird would sing. As I read I would almost be overcome. What an incredible piece of literature. I feel privileged to read it.

PLANTS.  My basil is a green machine. I've made so, so many jars of pesto--in total a little over two quarts so far. I put it in little jars so that it stays fresher longer. Somebunny has gotten into my parsley despite my menacing fake owl and mowed down almost an entire plant. One suspect lounges quite nonchalantly under my swing in the evenings. My catnip got a severe case of powdery mildew, so I cut it all back and took it outside. Neither Piper nor Marlowe care/d a whit about catnip in their old age (I found out), so I was basically growing catnip to give away to the grandcats (Baker and George) anyway. (Side Note:  Jared and Jordan often threaten George that "Nana will come and speak sternly to you" when he misbehaves because they heard me threaten him with that ONE TIME.)

PLEASURES.  It's important to make note of Small Things That Make Us Happy, and here are mine in no particular order:  

1. Coffee

2. The family group chat

3. My porch and patio

4. My little pond and waterfall

5. Blackberries

6. The icemaker

7. Seeing Theo's crib in the office

8. Watching the two little boys across the street and remembering when Jared and Sam were that age

9. My volunteer tomato plant 

10. Piper snoring

I absolutely cannot wait to read what you have to say in Comments about Boobs, Books, Plants, or your life's little Pleasures.

The July Report: Strap In And Let's Do This

this is from YouTube

 July has been all over the place so far. This post will probably reflect that. Hang on tight because I have no real idea what this may turn into. Let's go.

1. Cervical Facet Arthropathy/Syndrome and Cervical Epidural Steroid Injection:  This all has nothing to do with lady parts; rather, it's all about a pain in the neck. It seems that my most recent falls have exacerbated the arthritis in my neck and exposed a nerve. I've been in pain and physically limited for months and months, and it finally got bad enough that I was referred to a pain specialist. Long story short, we tried medicine, and on Monday a cortisone shot into my neck/spine. If that doesn't hold, next is a nerve ablation. After that, it's surgery to insert pins/rods. I'm Trying Very Hard to avoid that last thing, which is huge and scary and, to me, the very last resort. So far, I'm really pleased with the injection. Fingers crossed that it gives me relief for a long time.

2. Herb Garden Stuff:  I've already made a batch of pesto from my basil and parsley and dried some oregano. My oregano is from a plant I put in more than 10 years ago. I've had to seed dill twice now because of this horrendous heat. I have a volunteer tomato plant somehow in there (I haven't planted tomatoes there for decades), and my jalapenos from last year seeded themselves smack dab in the middle of my rosemary. Today I pulled 14 jalapeno plants and put them in huge pots along the drive. I'll be making pesto again this week, provoking much joy from Jared and Sam.

3. Social Commentary Or Just Laziness? You Decide:  Sometimes on my walk I am confronted with sights that cause me to ruminate for a block or two. As a former English/Literature/Creative Writing teacher and student, I cannot help but see Deeper Meanings in most things. Plus, it's a nice break from reacting with Just Plain Annoyance. Consider these two related things that caught my eye today:

Is this a commentary on the way Organized Sports have a chokehold on our kids, forcing them into a world of pressure and competition far too early? Is it trying to tell us that kids should be spending more time outdoors in free play, discovering the wonders of Nature? Is it saying that too much money is spent on professional sports--salaries, arenas, merchandise, and the like--perhaps to the detriment of our natural environment? That we've lost our way as to what's Truly Important? I like to give my neighbours lofty, artsy, and highfalutin intentions rather than admit they're just indifferent about their yards. It allows me to maintain my Zen whilst I walk.

4. Weekends At The Lake:  Theo was ill over Independence Day with new teeth and a virus, so he couldn't join us, but Sam and Emily (aka Samily) and Zydrunas came for the day. We boated and lunched and hung out. Later that night, Rick and I watched three different fireworks displays from our front yard. We had a makeup weekend last weekend with everyone (minus Emily, who had to work, unfortunately), and it was wonderful. Theo is obsessed with Sam, who he calls Guncle. He drove the boat, talked a lot, danced, and got in the water. He had the time of his life, and we all marveled at how much having him around is like having Zydrunas around. Eerily similar, especially on the boat.

5. Books, Etc.:  I've read two books by Jay Winik about the Civil War. I know I've mentioned them in other Comment sections, so I won't talk about them here except to say that they are excellent and captivating. The writing is engaging and excellent. I grew up vacationing in Gettysburg, and I have a bit of an obsession with this period of history as well as President and Mary Lincoln, reading deeply in these areas. Sadly, I just lost my favourite aunt who lived in Gettysburg and who was a very gracious hostess to our family and to me separately. She was also an English teacher, as was her husband. I will miss her much.

I'm now reading--as a palate cleanser--Parallel Lines by Edward St. Aubyn. It is witty, British, acerbic, and smart. Say what you will about Evil Amazon (and there is plenty to), but they let me read the first chapter of books, and this one had me smiling in admiration, recognition (of how one thought leads to another and another), and amusement. I'm only about 45 pages in, and I absolutely love it. I can't wait to read more by this man. If I were sweeter, I'd type out some passages, but honestly, it's time to prep dinner, and I want to get this published. Go read the first few pages. It's so so good.

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I think this catches us up. I'd like to say that I'll be better at posting more often, but I think we all know how that will turn out. Thank you to those who do post regularly. I wish I knew your secret. Certainly I have time! Perhaps I'll just say I'll Try.

Take A Load Off Your Brain: Visit My Grocery Store And Get A Music Lesson

 

Sometimes, you just need a Diversion--a Respite from all the strenuous gasping and concern and metaphorical hand-wringing brought to us by the agents of chaos that we, The Sane Ones, did NOT elect. I'm hoping this brief post provides a bit of that.

~*~My Grocery Store, Soon To Have Its Own Special On HBO:

These are actual photos taken by Me of actual signs in my funny grocery store's Closeouts Section. I hope it never, ever changes.

If you cannot see it, the sign says SEQUENCE DRESSES $2.99

You can see what a HOT DEAL these Fabric Lanters are. Or are they Fabric Lantens? 

Do you have five bucks lying around? You can score a set of Blue tooth Earbubs made by Sentry. Or maybe they're a Blue tooth Earbubs Sentry (although I'm not sure what that would be). Either way, a Hot Deal! And NEW!

Listen, I'm still wearing the cute denim sneakers I got there three years ago for $3.99. Their signs may be awful, but the Closeouts department has great stuff, usually Target merch.

~*~Mom Goes To Music School

 Last week, Maya wrote about talking music with her teen. Well, my two sons are way past being teens, but I had my own conversation over text with them about music last week, too. Rick and I were in the car, and Lose Yourself by Eminem came up on my playlist. (I love this song.) I got curious about its genre, so I texted Jared and Sam:

                                                   

*Fetter is Jared's nickname for Sam, after the hip hop artist Fetty Wap. Not sure how it came about.

Let me tell you, I listen to a LOT of hip hop on the boat when the boys come to the lake. A. LOT. Theo dances to all of it. And just a heads up, if you haven't already, don't watch the video to the song Knife Talk. It's...really disturbing in a crazy, avant garde sort of way. 

~*~

"These are the times that try men's souls," Thomas Paine wrote in 1776. "Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph." Resistance is not futile. What we say and what we do matters. Every act of Kindness is a defiance. Paine also reminds us that, "'Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death." 

Resist.

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